When Stiles arrives home after a long day of work, he's bone-tired. He gets out of his Jeep with a groan, shuffles past where Derek's black Camaro is parked and up the steps of the wrap-around porch, until he comes to a stop before the large front door. He rests his forehead against the cool wood and breathes, glad that tomorrow is Saturday. He'll have two blissful days in which he won't have to work hard to prove himself to his demanding new boss.
He already has the perfect idea of how he'll spend them:
He'll convince Derek to stay in bed for most of Saturday, just cuddling together between rounds of slow lovemaking and naps. Then on Sunday, they might migrate downstairs and cuddle some more on the living room sofa while they watch lame movies and stuff their faces with junk food.
It sounds like heaven to Stiles, and it's all the encouragement he needs to open the door and step inside the house, longing to change out of his work clothes and into something much more comfortable. Possibly nothing at all, if Derek's amenable to getting a head-start on his weekend plans. He deposits his bag on the floor beneath the coatrack and turns toward the stairs, his mouth already open to shout a cheeky, "Honey, I'm home!" to his boyfriend. He doesn't even get the first word out, though, because Derek is already waiting in front of him, no doubt having heard him pull up.
And the state of the werewolf is nothing like Stiles was expecting.
Derek is completely naked, every carefully honed muscle and every inch of tanned, hirsute skin on display. But that's not the most striking part. No, what really leaves Stiles speechless is that Derek is on his knees, sitting on his heels with his spine ramrod straight, his hands behind his back and his head bowed. To top it all off, lying across Derek's thighs is a long strip of elegant black leather with a D-ring in the middle. It seems that Derek is definitely on board with getting a head-start on the sexytimes. It's just not in the way Stiles envisioned.
They've done this before. While their sex life can't really be called vanilla, it's usually nothing too out there. But every now and then, Derek gets an itch under his skin and needs not to think. He needs to be used, and Stiles has no problem using him.
"So this is how it's gonna be, huh?" Stiles asks, sudden exhilaration causing all traces of exhaustion to leave him. "How far?"
"Oral only," Derek responds, gaze glued to the floor by his knees.
"Aconite. Pinch your leg if I'm unable to speak."
Stiles makes a circle around Derek, checking that his pose is right. As usual, it is. Derek is nothing if not perfect when he gets the urge to submit like this, and he never does anything by halves.
Satisfied, Stiles makes another half-circle and comes to a stop behind him. "Give me your collar," he commands.
Without moving any more than necessary, Derek picks his collar up from over his thighs and holds it above his head for his master. Stiles takes it but doesn't thank him or reward him for being good. That isn't what this is about. Derek doesn't want to be treated with kindness right now. He doesn't want to be treated like anything other than a pet—a toy—for Stiles to get his own pleasure out of, so that's what Stiles plans to do.
He fastens the strip of leather around Derek's neck so that it's snug but not too tight and then returns to stand in front of him. He puts a finger beneath Derek's chin and tips his head up, just daring Derek to break the rules and look at him. He's almost disappointed when Derek keeps his eyes steadfastly cast downward, following the rules flawlessly.
"Come, pet," Stiles says, walking toward the living room. He undoes his shirt on the way, not paying any mind to the sound of Derek's bare feet padding softly over the hardwood floor behind him.
When he's naked too, Stiles sits down in the middle of the sofa with his legs spread and points to the space between them. "Kneel."
Derek does so, still looking down. Stiles watches him and strokes himself as his cock fills with blood. He's quick to reach his full size of nine inches, as he always is when he has Derek in front of him like this. There's no sight more arousing to him, especially when Stiles notes the tightness in Derek's thin lips. He knows what caused it. His pet longs to be able to raise his eyes and look at Stiles' cock, but the poor thing hasn't been given permission yet.
That's something that had surprised Stiles greatly when they first engaged in a sexual relationship after he turned eighteen—how much of a slut Derek is for cock. Stiles had figured going into it that he'd be doing most, if not all, of the bottoming himself, and he had no problem with that. In fact, it used to feature quite heavily in his jerk-off fantasies, being pinned down by Derek's bulk and fucked into the mattress all night long, Derek's breaths hot and ragged in his ear.
But that wasn't the case. Sure, Stiles bottoms every now and then and it's great, but for the most part, Derek loves taking it up the ass, loves the feeling of a cock on his tongue, especially when he's in a mood like this evening. He gets downright desperate for it.
It's an excellent boost to Stiles' ego.
"Look, pet," Stiles says, taking pity on Derek. "Look at how hard I am for you."
Derek flicks his eyes up to Stiles' cock. He swipes his tongue out over his bottom lip and watches raptly as a bead of pre-come forms at the slit and slides down the shaft.
"Such a slut, aren't you?" Stiles asks, smiling devilishly. "Come here, pet. I'm gonna use your mouth."
Once Derek has shuffled forward, Stiles fists a hand in his hair and drags him the rest of the way onto his cock. Derek opens his mouth willingly, Stiles' leaking cock head immediately slipping past his lips and then invading his throat. Derek gags for a moment but then gets a handle on the reflex and goes limp, his nose in Stiles' trimmed, brown pubes.
"God, the way your throat feels around me," Stiles groans. "It'll never get tired of it, pet."
He holds Derek there for a while, eyes on his face so that he knows the exact moment his werewolf is close to running out of air. Only then does he allow Derek to pull away, but it's not for long.
Wanting even more control, Stiles stands up and takes Derek's head in both hands as he starts to fuck his face mercilessly. Derek remains obedient and keeps his own hands on his thighs, gripping them so hard that the skin turns white. Stiles tips his head back and pants with exertion as he rides his pet's mouth. He can feel Derek's saliva dripping down his balls, getting them both messy, but he doesn't care. He loves it messy sometimes, maybe just as much as Derek.
All too soon, Stiles' orgasm approaches. He thrusts even faster and holds onto Derek's hair so tightly that he thinks he might actually pull out a few strands. The pain only adds to the experience for Derek, though, his throat vibrating around his master's cock as he moans. That's what does Stiles in. He shoves Derek off of him and finishes himself off with his right hand, the left still in Derek's hair to make sure his face is tilted up at the right angle.
"Look at me," Stiles rasps.
As soon as Derek's hazel eyes snap up to his and he sees the redness around the edges and the wetness of Derek's tears on his cheeks, Stiles comes hard. The thick load spurts from his cock and paints the werewolf's face, reminding him who he belongs to. It splatters over his forehead, nose and mouth, gets caught in his beard, the pearlescent-white fluid contrasting nicely with the dark bristles. A particularly forceful jet even ends up in Derek's hair, and then it's over.
Stiles releases his pet and falls back down on the sofa to recover. Derek continues to look at him, and Stiles looks right back, drinking in the sight of the usually strong and stubborn man covered in his come.
"Fuck, you look hot like that," Stiles compliments, grinning lazily. "Speak."
"Thank you, master," Derek responds, his voice sounding like he just swallowed a handful of gravel.
For another few minutes, Stiles stays where he is as his come dries on Derek's face. It'll be all crusty and gross soon, but until that happens, he's content to let it stay there. The fact that it also denies Derek the taste of it is an added bonus.
When he has finally caught his breath again, Stiles gets up and walks in the direction of the kitchen. "Stay," he barks over his shoulder, not bothering to actually look back. He doesn't need to; he knows that Derek will obey him. He grabs a glass of water for himself and downs it quickly before refilling the glass and bringing it with him into the living room. He sits in front of Derek on the edge of the sofa and brings the glass up to Derek's lips.
Watching Derek's throat work, Stiles gradually tips the glass until all of the water is gone, then he reaches around his pet and sets it on the coffee table. Leaning back into the sofa cushions, his arms resting along the back of it like he doesn't have a care in the world, Stiles looks down and smirks when he discovers that Derek is still hard.
"You wanna come too, pet?" he enquires, so casually that it's like he's talking about the weather. "Yes or no."
Derek swallows tightly, his Adam's apple catching on his collar. "Yes, master."
Stiles can see the desire in his eyes and decides that Derek has earned it. He took all nine inches of Stiles' cock down his throat without complaint and didn't even try to lick the come off of his lips while his master was in the kitchen. Such good behaviour deserves a treat, but Stiles isn't just going to hand it to him. No, he thinks mischievously, Derek is going to have to work a bit more for it.
"Move your knees apart," he says. When Derek has done so, he presses the sole of his foot against the underside of Derek's cock. "You wanna come? You're gonna do it just like this."
Derek's face turns a pretty shade of red beneath Stiles' come, but Stiles doesn't reconsider.
"Go on," he says, making his voice steely.
Derek tries to bow his head so that he doesn't have to maintain eye contact with his master while he gets off humping his foot like he's some kind of depraved animal, but Stiles doesn't allow that. He orders Derek to stay looking at him and gets a kick out of how Derek whimpers piteously as he begins to do as he has been told, his hips gyrating. He's uncertain at first, his movements jerky and uneven like he can't believe that his master is really making him do this. But as the pleasure builds, his humiliation fades and he rears up onto his knees so that he can get himself off more easily.
In his new position, Derek's chest is thrust out, the dark hairs becoming matted down as a sheen of sweat forms all across his body. His nipples are hard and pebbled, and Stiles can't resist their lure. He plays with them to help his pet achieve orgasm faster.
"I'll have to get you some clamps sometime," Stiles says. "Would you like that? Your nipples squeezed so hard they go numb. Imagine how it'll feel when I take the clamps off."
Derek whines high in his throat, the sound all wolf. It's indescribably sexy.
"Yeah, I'm definitely gonna buy some for you," Stiles goes on. "Maybe I'll get a set that comes with a cock ring and a chain to connect it all together. That way, every time you move, the clamps'll pull and tug on your poor nips like I'm doing right now, but the cock ring will prevent you from coming. I'll have you breaking the rules and begging me to come before I even consider letting you."
Derek whines again, a clear sign that he's getting close in the present.
Stiles chuckles and stores the filth he just spewed in the back of his mind to revisit another time. For now, he leans forward and licks a stripe up the side of Derek's face, collecting some of his own release on his tongue. He feeds it to Derek, who grinds his flushed cock against his foot with more fervour as he's finally gifted with the taste of his master's essence.
"Come for me, pet," Stiles whispers against Derek's lips.
It's instantaneous. Derek goes rigid and cries out, his jizz coating the underside of Stiles' foot. It seems to go on and on, his orgasm prolonged by how long he was denied it and by the abuse to his nipples. When it's done, he falls backward like his strings have been cut, knocking into the coffee table. Stiles grabs him shoulders to steady him and doesn't let go until he's sure that Derek is in no danger of hurting himself. The werewolf wouldn't stay hurt for long because of his advanced healing rate, but unless it's done deliberately in this game they play, Stiles hates when Derek gets even minor injuries.
It takes about twenty seconds for Derek to crack his eyes open again, at which point he gives Stiles a dopey smile.
"I don't know what you're looking at me like that for, pet," Stiles says, not quite finished with the game yet. "You made quite a mess and you've still gotta clean it up."
Derek is slow to catch on, his brain not functioning a hundred percent yet, but he eventually does. He gets down on his hands and knees and cleans his own come off of Stiles' foot, pausing intermittently to swallow. With one last suck to Stiles' big toe, he completes his task and sits back on his heels, his lips shiny as he patiently awaits further instruction.
"Come up here, pet," Stiles says, patting the cushion next to him.
Derek climbs up on the sofa and, with his master's coaxing, lies down on his side with his head in his master's lap. He closes his eyes with a contented sigh when Stiles runs the fingers of one hand through his dark hair and fingers the clasp of his collar with the other.
"Was that enough?" Stiles murmurs, not wishing to disturb the calm that has settled over them.
Derek hums his assent, so the younger man removes the collar. He tosses it onto the coffee table and resumes petting the werewolf, soothing him after the rough treatment he endured.
"Are you gonna tell me what happened that made you need the collar this evening?" Stiles asks.
Derek shakes his head. "Not right now."
"Okay. D'you just wanna be here with me for a while?"
"Then that's what we'll do." Stiles looks down at the older man with affection. It seems strange to him that Derek can be so cute like this, but he always is when the collar comes off again, extra cuddly and soft. He's the only one who gets to see Derek like this, and he never takes it for granted.
"I love you, Sourwolf," he whispers.
Derek smiles sleepily. "Love you too."
A minute later, Stiles senses Derek go under. His slack face is still partially covered in come, but Stiles doesn't disturb him yet. He'll let him take a power nap and then get him upstairs, in the shower to get clean and finally in bed to sleep for real. But until then, Stiles remains sitting exactly where he is, thinking that this was the perfect start to their weekend.