“I don’t believe you,” Stiles pants out, almost scared by what Derek’s trying to tell him.
“I’m serious, Stiles,” Derek says lowly. “I’ve never been more serious in my entire life.”
“I know you’re being serious. That isn’t the issue here—I know you truly believe in what you’re saying. The problem is that what you’re saying makes you sound like a complete whack-a-doodle!”
Derek snorts and pushes his hand a little harder. “You think so?”
Stiles trembles a little, but he looks Derek square in the eye and says, “I know so, you—you...whack-a-doodle.”
“I’m so glad you’re taking it so well,” Derek says, the amused smile on his face turning smug as Stiles’ thigh muscle starts to twitch.
“Bastard,” Stiles gasps, arching into Derek’s clever hands. “There’s no science to support what you’re theorizing.”
Derek quirks an eyebrow. “I think we’re conducting our own hands-on experiment right here. I think the survey says that I’m going to be right.”
“Oh, you asshole. Did you...? Did you just quote Family Feud at me? God, I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” Derek purrs.
“No I don’t,” Stiles admits, throwing his head back and groaning as Derek really starts to dig in. He lolls his head to the side and stares hungrily at Derek, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “I don’t believe you, Derek.” He asserts, breathing becoming more and more labored. “But I want to,” Stiles whines. “Goddamnit, I want to so bad.”
“Then do it,” Derek demands. “Do it right now,” he starts rubbing harder, deeper. “Stiles, I want you to come for me. Come on baby, let it go.”
Stiles starts desperately humping the air. “I can’t, Der! Oh God, I can’t!” he wails. “I need...I need—”
“I know what you need, sweetheart.” Derek digs his thumbs into the arch of Stiles’ foot and drags his own up onto the sofa and presses his toes firmly against Stiles’ balls. “Come,” he growls.
So Stiles fucking comes—back arching off the couch, his hips twitching helplessly as he rides out the pleasure. Derek rubs his feet through it, never looking away from Stiles’ bare, cum-splattered stomach.
“Holy shit,” Stiles moans. “I can’t believe it’s real.” He looks across the couch at Derek in awe, his feet curling happily in Derek’s strong, capable, orgasm-inducing hands. “You just made me come by massaging my fucking feet.”
Stiles sits up, only to flop over on top of Derek. “You were telling the truth.”
Derek smirks at him. “I was telling the truth.”
“Don’t get cocky. It’s not a good look on you.”
“Everything is a good look on me.”
“...okay, you’ve got me there.” Stiles pouts for a second before snuggling against Derek’s chest and sighing contentedly. “I’mma sleep here now, f’that’s ‘k?” Stiles asks, words slurred sleepily into Derek’s left pec.
Derek kisses Stiles’ forehead and whispers. “It’s okay, Stiles. Go ahead and sleep.”
Stiles raises his head and grabs ahold of Derek’s chin. “Don’t think this means we aren’t gonna talk more about the whole ‘werewolves’ thing. That literally only happened two hours ago, and I haven’t exactly let go of the fact that my boyfriend isn’t human.” He pokes the tip of Derek’s nose. “Ya with me on this, big guy?”
“Yeah, Stiles,” Derek murmurs as Stiles situates himself back on top of Derek. “I’m with you.”