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Bound

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Stiles walks around Derek, gently tugging on the ropes and knots, making sure they're secure. Derek remains still, the only indication he's affected in his panting breaths and leaking cock. That's bound too, rope carefully twined to tug on his balls, twisted around the base of his cock to keep him hard and on edge. There's a small puddle growing beneath him on the hardwood floor, precome beading on the tip before dripping down.

“Color?” Stiles’ voice is soft in the quiet of the loft, the sound of his pants swishing as he makes another circle nearly as loud.

“Gr-green.” It takes Derek a second to reply, having to clear his throat. There's a fine sheen of sweat coating his body, glistening in the muted light. He's been kneeling for hours now, patient and good while Stiles trussed him up. His werewolf healing the only thing that would allow him to remain in this position for such a prolonged period of time. Stiles makes an approving noise at him and steps closer, hands trailing across the indented skin and ropes, watching Derek's muscles twitch in response to the stimulus.

“You're so beautiful like this, wearing my ropes. So good for me, so perfect Der.” There's a small gasp at the praise, a rosy flush blooming. Stiles knows it's still hard for Derek to take compliments, but he's getting better at not arguing, hearing the truth in Stiles’ voice, in his steady heartbeat. They don't do this often, but when they do, Stiles makes sure to tell Derek how amazing he is, knows he takes it in better like this than he does on any other normal day. He doesn't want to disappoint Stiles by arguing with him, not when Stiles has already spent hours showing how much he loves him by meticulously binding him up. Stiles learned this for him, after all. The hints of lust in Stiles’ tone drag him back out of his head, and Stiles smiles. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” It's simple, and truthful, and it makes Stiles laugh.

“You have me. You'll always have me. That's not what I meant though. Do you want me to decide?” Derek nods, but Stiles taps his chin to remind him to use his words.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay.” Stiles steps back to slide out of his pants before moving in front of Derek and kneeling briefly to steal a kiss. He pets through Derek's hair until he relaxes under Stiles’ touch. Stiles’ hands become firmer, carefully pushing and adjusting Derek's position. Stiles pulls Derek up as he stands, until his thighs are flexing and he's firmly up on his knees, ass no longer resting on his heels. He uses the tips of his fingers to encourage Derek's shoulders to arch back, his abs flexing to keep himself up at the awkward angle. Stiles moves behind to look at the beautiful line Derek makes, his back bowed, muscles flexing to stay where Stiles has put him. Stiles wants to take a picture, but they didn't discuss that ahead of time, so he lets the thought go.

Stiles steps back in front of Derek, his legs spreading to bracket the body beneath him, thighs shifting until they're snug against Derek's sides. He feels more tension ease out of Derek's frame at the contact, though his body remains unmoved from the difficult angle. Stiles watches for another moment, sees the way Derek's throat bobs as he swallows, neck arched and head dropped back. Stiles shuffles as close as he can, balls brushing against the stubble that dusts Derek's skin, his own cock flushed and beginning to leak. He uses one hand to brace himself on Derek's shoulder, shifting to the balls of his feet as he slides his cock towards Derek's mouth, rubbing the first pearled bead of precum onto his bottom lip. His other hand reaches back to grip Derek's hair, tilting his head back up a bit, makes noises of approval when Derek's tongue darts out to wet his lips, catching Stiles’ slit a bit in the process.

“Derek, color?” It takes a moment for Derek to reply, tongue wetting his lips once more, throat clearing. Stiles can see the bob of Derek's Adam's apple as he swallows before he speaks.

“Green.” There's a hitch in his breath after the word, lips catching on the head of Stiles’ cock when he'd spoken. Stiles smiles and adjusts his grip on Derek's hair, helping hold his head up as he slowly pushes his hips forward.

“Open up.” It's a gentle command and Derek complies instantly, lips curving over his cheeks as his mouth forms an imperfect 'o’ and Stiles slides in, slowly until he can feel his cockhead bump the back of Derek's throat, feel the way Derek is working to swallow around him, drawing Stiles forward the last inch until his balls are pressed firmly against Derek's chin, the head of his cock pushing down into Derek's throat. There's a pulse and flutter against his length as Derek fights his body's urge to expel the intrusion. Stiles can see the flare of Derek's nostrils as he breathes harshly through his nose, knows he's taking in more of Stiles’ scent with each inhalation. He rests there for only a few seconds before drawing himself back out as slowly as he'd entered, hissing a little at the suction from Derek's mouth. Stiles repeats the actions for a few minutes, slow and unhurried, until he can feel Derek trembling beneath him, hear the low whine that starts up.

“I'm gonna speed up now Der, okay?” He draws back until he's fully out of Derek's mouth, wanting to make sure he can answer, giving him another tap to the chin when all he does is nod.

“Please…” it's not exactly a yes or a green, but Stiles hears the desperation in the word and takes it. He's careful on the first slide inside, but after that he lets go, his knees tightening to help hold Derek up as Stiles grips is face with both hands, hips slamming forward with all he's got. It's sloppy and wet, Derek barely able to do more than drool on his cock as Stiles chases his release (though it doesn't stop him trying to suck as well as he can). Stiles is nearly there, feeling the burn low in his belly when Derek whines around him, the vibrations tipping him over the edge as he hears the splatter of Derek's come on the wood floor beneath them. Stiles holds still as his own orgasm rips through him, cock buried in Derek's mouth, pulsing as he spills down his throat. He draws back slowly when Derek starts to go lax in his grip, the last few bursts of come landing on Derek's tongue. Stiles whines a little when Derek's mouth suddenly tightens down around him as he sucks, cleaning Stiles’ cock on its way out of his mouth. He's oversensitive already, but he doesn't protest beyond the small noise, he's out soon enough.

The fingers of one hand comb through Derek's hair as Stiles does his best to lean over and reach the table without breaking bodily contact, as much for himself as for Derek. He almost misses the scissors he's going after, almost has to move away, but he manages, just barely. After that it's quick work to snip through the anchor knots, watching the ropework he'd spent hours on flutter to the floor in pieces. It's easy after that to draw Derek up, fingers massaging his skin as Stiles draws him into a kiss before leading him back to the bed. He uncaps a water bottle and helps hold it while Derek drinks, making sure he paces himself. There's cut up fruit too, but Stiles can see Derek's not quite ready to eat yet, so he just shifts them around, braces himself on the pillows set against the headboard before pulling Derek between his legs, letting him burrow his face into Stiles’ neck. His hands never stop roaming, through Derek's hair, across his shoulders, down his arms. Stiles watches the marks from the ropes slowly fade, the skin returning to its unblemished state. Soon, they'll talk about it all, how they felt during the scene. But for now they're happy to take comfort in one another, to enjoy the skin on skin of exhausted cuddles, to relax into their love and trust.