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you blew through me like bullet holes

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The thing about sex with Derek was that it wasn’t much different than anything else with Derek – talking, arguing, whatever – always, it was heated and intense and Derek seemed on the verge of losing control. That, and the sex was good, it was so fucking good, better than Stiles could ever have imagined it being, better than any fight they’d ever had, better than riling Derek up with words and stupid name-calling. And yeah, part of that probably had to do with the way Derek went kind of crazy, the way he always seemed on the edge of something. And the fact that Stiles could drive him that far, well, that alone was enough to get Stiles off sometimes.

And it was so easy to get Derek going, too, which was initially shocking. Before anything between them, Stiles had always figured Derek in bed would be as cold and quiet as he was any other time. But during sex, Derek was loud, pushy, and strangely possessive, fascinated with Stiles and his body in a way that was both unnerving and sort of sweet. Stiles hadn’t known his body could ever be something fascinating.

Stiles would ever tell him, but Derek had been his first. His first in almost everything, in fact. Stiles hadn’t really known – well, of course he knew logistically what sex would be like, but he’d never really known. Not with Derek. Despite endless fantasies and sleepless nights watching amateur porn on the internet, dick in his hand, no – Stiles had never really known. Where he expected Derek’s frigidness and misplaced anger, Stiles got wet, frantic kisses on his jaw, his ears, his shoulders, got the feeling of Derek’s hand wrapped around his cock, got the dazed look in Derek’s eyes afterwards, all for him. All of it, all for him.

No, he didn’t really plan on telling Derek that the first time they’d fucked had been the first time for Stiles, period. Losing his virginity on a mattress sodden with ashes and filth in the house where Derek’s life had burnt down – no, that probably wasn’t one of Stiles’ greatest achievements. But after that first time, after Stiles had realized that this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing, that there was no way, there was no way they weren’t doing that again (so long as it wasn’t in a half-collapsed building), because fuck – he’d tried his damnedest to convince Derek that they needed to find somewhere else. In a gentle way.

“Listen, man, we can’t do this again. Um, here,” Stiles said.

Derek stared at him in that intense, vaguely frightening way. “Why not?”

“Uh, because it’s creepy? I get creeped out here? No offense,” Stiles said.

“Oh, here,” Derek said, and he breathed out through his nose in a way that sounded like relief. Like Stiles hadn’t specifically said here in the first place.

“Yeah, not here.”

“Someplace else, you mean,” Derek said, visibly calm now. You want to do this again, you mean, he seemed to say.


Which had solved several of Stiles’ problems at once – firstly that he was, indeed, not going to have to spend any more time face down on a bed that someone had likely died on. Even though the sex was really, really good, Stiles could not do that again. He had standards. Secondly, that they were going to actually do it again. Derek actually wanted to do it again.

But where problems were solved, more were created. Namely, where the hell else could they go?

Which ended up being solved rather quickly, when Derek showed up on Stiles’ window ledge at three in the morning a couple days later, thankfully when his dad was working an overnight. After nearly expiring on the spot when he woke to see a large, dark figure hulking in his window, Stiles had scrambled up out of bed and let Derek in. He would’ve made a joke about that, about letting Derek in, but Derek was a werewolf, not a vampire, and he could probably show up uninvited whenever and wherever he damn well pleased. Which, after that, he did. And Stiles couldn’t bring himself to mind very much.

The thing between them, the thing, the sex, the – the whatever-it-was, the thing Stiles couldn’t possibly put a name to – it was like a big thing inside Stiles was growing every time he saw Derek, a mixture of all the fear and hormones and insecurities he’d ever known. He could feel it lurking under his skin, dark and strange and unfamiliar. It made Stiles want to kiss Derek forever, made him want to grab Derek and hold onto him afterwards, force him to stay the entire night. It made Stiles want to see Derek’s face when he woke up in the morning, but that didn’t happen. It, well, it just wasn’t like that.

But Stiles wanted it to be like that.


Although Stiles didn’t really have much to compare it to, he knew Derek was kind of weird about sex. Sure, it was great, the sex. Beyond great. It was amazing, in fact. Derek was exceptionally good at drawing pleasure out of Stiles, and seemed to take some kind of pride in forcing strange and embarrassing noises out of him. But there were weird things Derek did. Things like never coming inside Stiles.

And the stupid thing was that, before Derek, something like that would never have been an issue. Before Derek, Stiles didn’t care about sex all that much, at least not with guys – but things changed, and they kept changing, and changing, and changing. Every time they fucked, every time Derek would start getting close (and Stiles always knew when, had memorized and categorized every groan and growl and whine that came out of Derek’s mouth), he would pull out, even when it seemed like it pained him to do so. Seconds later, Stiles would feel Derek come hot all over his back. Or, if Stiles was facing him, Derek would pull the condom off, turn around, actually turn around, and jerk off into his palm. It didn’t bother Stiles at first. Why would it? But it became a pattern, a ritual. Derek would never come inside him.

There was something weird about it. The reason might have been something personal, but Stiles was nothing if not straightforward.

“Hey, uh,” Stiles started, still shaky and breathing hard from his orgasm. “How come you never, you know.”

Derek looked down at him with exasperation. “Never what?”

“This is awkward,” Stiles said, laughing in a dumb kind of way. Derek just looked at him like he was crazy, which Stiles was pretty used to.

“If there’s something you’re trying to say to me, just say it,” Derek said, already getting snappy. He was usually pretty calm after sex, kind of slow and quiet, but in a good way.

“You just. You never finish inside me. Ugh. I mean, like, what’s with that? Is that – I mean, whatever, dude. Do what you like. It just seems like a thing. I was just wondering, I guess. Why you always do that. Uh.”

Derek stared at him for a few long, horrible minutes, before sitting up slowly and starting to pull his pants back on.

“You never mentioned having a problem with the way I do things,” he said quietly.

“Dude, I don’t, I don’t have a problem with anything. I just,” and then Stiles laughed, sort of. “What, is it a werewolf thing or something?”

Derek looked away from him sharply, his voice even quieter this time, so quiet Stiles could barely hear it. “Yeah, something like that.”

“What, really? Why?”

But Derek just shook his head and stood up, still not looking at Stiles.

“I have to go.”

And he did.


Along with being straightforward in unwelcome circumstances, Stiles was also hopelessly curious. Not long after Derek left, Stiles began his research. Of course, he couldn’t just ask Google why his werewolf boyfriend (boyfriend? Was that what Derek was?) was so weird about sex. He tried reading about werewolf sex, which didn’t turn up much besides bizarre porn.

Lying back in bed, he felt strangely alone, the space beside him cold. Derek usually stayed for at least a couple hours, dozing lightly by Stiles’ side, making Stiles’ bed seem less empty. What was Derek so reluctant to tell him? As he was drifting off, Stiles tried to think of why sex as a werewolf would be different. Did Derek think he would hurt Stiles, was that it? He could be rough sometimes. But that didn’t seem right. Sex between werewolves, how different could that be? Derek was still mostly human when he changed. Distantly, Stiles thought about wolves mating, how different that was. He’d seen dogs fuck before. Instantly, he came awake. But no, it wasn’t like that, Derek wasn’t – Derek wasn’t actually a wolf, not like that. But the thought kept him awake for hours, their conversation playing over and over in his head.


He was home alone again when Derek showed up the next time, almost asleep in his bed. Stiles had never been so grateful for how often he was home alone, not before Derek.

Derek didn’t say anything, just pushed Stiles down and started kissing him, which was how things normally started. Stiles kissed back, melting into the feeling of Derek’s tongue sliding against his. But the whole werewolf-sex-thing was nagging at his mind, and when Derek reached for the hem of his shirt, Stiles gripped his forearm.


“What? Wait for what?” Derek asked, breath puffing against Stiles’ chin.

“We need to talk,” Stiles said. Derek moved off of him, but he didn’t look anywhere near happy about it.

“This again,” he said, and he sounded, well. Nervous, Stiles would say. But Derek was never nervous.

“I just – I wanna know, okay? As your,” Stiles paused awkwardly, heat crawling up his neck. “Well, as the person you’re having sex with. I mean, I did some research –”

Derek finally met his eyes. “Oh, did you now. And what did that do for you?”

“Look, it’s, it’s okay with me, whatever it is. I mean, I don’t really know what it is that’s the problem. I want you to, you know. I wouldn’t be letting you fuck me if I didn’t like it,” Stiles said. To his surprise, Derek coloured at that.

Derek didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared down at his hands. Finally, he sighed, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“It’s complicated, okay? When I – when I’m having sex with someone, the werewolf part of me, it gets difficult,” Derek says, gritting his teeth like it’s painful to say. “Difficult to control. Look, this is stupid, just forget it.”

He made to stand up, but Stiles reached out and grabbed his arm, something he normally wouldn’t dare do.

“Please, just tell me.”

Derek sighed heavily, fists clenching.

“The werewolf part wants to mate with you, okay? It wants to – to own you, to dominate you, to mark you. I don’t understand it completely, it’s just these feelings, these instincts. I don’t know,” he said, and he sagged a bit, looking slightly horrified with himself.

Stiles ran a hand up his back, gently draped his arm over Derek’s shoulders. He leaned in closer, pressing his face to Derek’s neck. His heart hammered in his chest, half from the admission and half from the fact that Derek was letting him do this, letting him touch him even when they weren’t actually fucking.

“I’d be okay with it,” he said. “With – with everything. All of that.”

Derek went very still, then.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said softly.

“It doesn’t matter. I trust you,” Stiles said. And it was true.

Derek grit his teeth. “I might hurt you.”

“I know you won’t.”

Derek looked at him, just looked. His eyes were as unreadable as always, eyebrows creased. Stiles wanted to smooth that crease out. Distantly, he wondered when he got to be such a sap.

“Tell me,” Derek said, voice rough all of the sudden. “Tell me you’re sure.”

“Fuck, I’m sure.”

And then Derek was kissing him hard, leaving barely enough room to breathe. In an instant, he pinned Stiles to the mattress, arms locked above his head. Derek was heavy on top of him, but it was a good weight. A comfortable weight. Derek was making noises in his throat, little growling sounds that sounded more beast than human. Stiles felt his cock twitch in his pants.

Derek sat up long enough to shed his jacket and shirt, flinging them halfway across the room in his haste. Stiles tugged his own shirt over his head, too turned on to be embarrassed about how scrawny he must look under Derek. Derek reached down and tugged Stiles’ sleep pants off, groaning when Stiles’ cock sprang free. Derek stood up and undid his jeans, kicking them off impatiently. When he sank back onto the bed, Stiles met him halfway, leaning up to kiss him hard, his hand twisting up into Derek’s hair. Derek panted into his mouth, tongue hot and slick against Stiles’.

“Do you have –” Stiles started, and Derek nodded, pulling away.

“Yeah, let me –” Derek leaned over the side of the bed and went digging through his jeans pockets. Stiles took a moment to appreciate the view of Derek’s bare ass before Derek was returning with packets of lube clutched in his hand. He lost no time opening them and slicking his fingers up, before slowly sliding one inside Stiles.

“This all right?” he asked, voice gruff. Stiles nodded, moaning softly when Derek began moving his finger.

“Yeah, s’good,” he mumbled, hips jolting forward. “More. Please, more.”

Derek pulled out and added a second finger, moving even slower this time. Stiles grit his teeth. Compared to everything else about Derek, he was always so gentle with this, so careful. It had hurt the first few times, still did a little, but it was good at the same time, the pleasure always overriding the pain. Those were Derek’s fingers inside him, stroking him, bumping against his prostate. Stiles gasped. When Derek added a third finger, Stiles reached down and gripped Derek’s arm.

“Please, I’m ready. Just fuck me,” he grunted. Derek met his gaze, baring his teeth slightly. Stiles let go.

“You’re ready when I say you’re ready,” he growled, and Stiles nodded, lying back down. He realized, belatedly, that it probably had to do with the dominance thing. And he was submitting to Derek, essentially. The thought made his cock jerk, made his heart race.

When Derek seemed to deem him ready enough, he eased his fingers out and wiped them on the sheets. Stiles scowled, but said nothing. More laundry to do.

Derek paused before continuing, looking down at the condom in his hand. He glanced at Stiles, then away quickly.

“If we’re doing this,” he started, fist closing over the packet. “Stiles, I’m clean.”

Realization dawned on Stiles. Derek didn’t want to use a condom. With anyone else, Stiles would have refused immediately. But this was Derek, and the thought of, of Derek’s come in him, of how that would feel -

“Yes, okay. I – you know I’m clean. I mean, there’s no one else,” Stitles said, stumbling over his words. He exhaled sharply. “I trust you.”

Derek stared at him for a moment, relief flickering across his face, before he nodded and tossed the packet onto the floor.

“Turn over, on your hands and knees,” Derek said, pushing on Stiles’ hip. Stiles said nothing, just turned around, spreading his knees apart as far as he could. He heard a muffled groan from behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Derek staring at him, eyes fixed on where Stiles was slick and open. His heart hammered in his ears, heat prickling up his neck. He hung his head, trying to get his breathing under control.

Seconds later, Derek was draped over him, his erection pressed against Stiles’ thigh. He started nosing at Stiles’ neck, breath hot and wet against his skin.

“Stiles, god, you have no idea how good you smell like this,” Derek said, which was slightly baffling. Stiles probably just smelled like sweat or shampoo or something, but the way Derek was huffing at his neck, he figured there must be something more to it. Werewolves could pick up way more scents than humans, probably. Stiles let his head drop further, baring more of his skin to Derek, who whined in his throat.

And then he moved off Stiles and settled between his legs. The way he squeezed Stiles’ hip was the only warning before he was pressing inside. Stiles groaned at the feeling of Derek’s cock stretching him, the way his own body relaxed and let Derek in. Derek didn’t pause until he was fully inside, at which point he wrapped an arm tight around Stiles’ middle and began fucking him frantically.

“Oh, oh god, Derek –” Stiles gasped, already breathing hard. Derek’s grip prevented him from moving back to meet his thrusts, but it didn’t really matter, at the pace Derek was going. The sharp sound of their thighs slapping together filled the room. Derek still had his mouth at Stiles’ neck, and he was alternating between pressing his lips there and lathing the whole area with his tongue.

Already, Stiles felt close, could feel his orgasm building steadily. He slowly shifted his weight to one arm and reached to touch himself, but Derek snarled in his ear.

“Don’t,” he said, and Stiles bowed his head automatically, hand shrinking away. Derek nipped at his shoulder gently, almost like an apology.

Stiles knew when Derek was getting close, his rhythm faltering slightly and then becoming erratic. The sounds coming out of him were becoming less and less human. Stiles turned his head slightly, peering up at Derek’s face.

To his surprise, Derek looked like he was halfway transformed – mouth open, his teeth lengthening, his hair growing thicker. Stiles could feel the points of Derek’s claws against his belly.

“Hey, just do it,” Stiles rasped, and Derek’s eyes flickered open, meeting his. They looked so blue. “Please, just do it.”

Stiles dropped his head again and instantly felt Derek’s jaws close around the nape of his neck. But his teeth didn’t puncture, just held on. Derek’s hips snapped a few more times before he surged forward, pressing in as deep as he could. And then he stilled.

Stiles stayed frozen for a few moments, confused. Why had he stopped –

But then Derek let out a long whine, and suddenly Stiles could feel it. Inside him, Derek’s cock was getting thicker, expanding at the base. The feeling was bizarre at first, the way it felt like he was being stretched open. Stiles couldn’t help grunting a bit when it started getting uncomfortable, hands clutching tight at the bedsheets. Derek released his neck, tongue sweeping over the skin again.

“It’s alright, it’ll stop soon,” he murmured into Stiles’ ear, his voice hardly recognizable, it sounded so rough.

Stiles grit his teeth and held still, trying not to clench down. Just as the stretch was beginning to edge on unbearable, it stopped all together. He could feel it when Derek came, the hot splash of it so deep inside him. Stiles groaned, wanting so badly to touch himself.

Derek seemed to get the message, though, as he reached down and started jerking Stiles off. It only took a few strokes before he was coming with a shout, his orgasm tearing through him.

Gently, Derek maneuvered them until Stiles was lying flat on the bed, Derek pressed tight against him, still locked inside him where they were joined. It didn’t really hurt anymore, besides a dull ache from the stretch. It felt kind of good, actually. He could feel Derek’s heart thumping against his back, felt it gradually slow down. It calmed him.

It was another ten minutes before they could separate, and when they could, Derek pulled out of him as slowly as possible, but Stiles still grimaced at the feeling. Derek sat up and gently spread Stiles’ legs apart, pressing the tip of a finger inside him carefully. Stiles hissed.

“Shh. I’m just checking,” Derek whispered. After a moment of gentle prodding, he moved away.

For a heart-stopping moment, Stiles thought Derek was actually going to go, was going to get dressed and just leave again. But then he was back, pulling the comforter up and lying down beside Stiles, draping it over both of them. He tugged at Stiles until they were pressed together, legs tangled beneath the sheets. Stiles felt so tired all of the sudden, could barely keep his eyes open. He shifted until his head was pillowed on Derek’s shoulder, his arm slung across his chest.

“Stay,” he mumbled. Derek chuckled, the sound vibrating through him.

“I am.”


It was light out when Stiles woke. He could feel the sun on him even with his eyes closed. Derek was a solid weight at his back, warm and still there. Stiles hid his grin in the pillow. His dad would be home soon, probably, and he had to leave for school in a couple hours. But it didn’t really matter. Stiles felt good.

“I know you’re awake,” Derek mumbled into his shoulder.

“You stayed.” He hadn’t even meant to say it, hadn’t meant the way it sounded so surprised. Happy. Derek snorted.

“Said I would,” he said. His arms tightened around Stiles.

After a few more minutes in the warm circle of Derek’s arms, Stiles yawned widely and sat up. His muscles burned pleasantly, and he knew he was probably bruised all over. Derek looked up at him sleepily, not smiling, exactly, but not frowning either. Stiles took that as a win.

He felt Derek’s eyes on him as he got up and began to get dressed. Derek sighed and followed suit, stretching when he stood. He started pulling his pants on, then sat back down on the bed. He looked at his hands, clenching his fists slowly.

“What?” Stiles asked. He felt a brief rush of panic, suddenly afraid that Derek was about to tell him that this couldn’t happen again, that Derek wasn’t coming back.

“What we did last night,” Derek started, still not looking up. “We only do that with our mates.”

Stiles took the we as meaning werewolves in general, and nodded. “Okay?”

“Meaning you’re my mate now,” Derek said firmly, voice rough, but he looked faintly embarrassed.

“Okay,” Stiles said, and laughed when Derek’s head shot up, brows furrowed.

“What do you mean, okay? You don’t even know what that entails –”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles says, walking over and putting his hands on Derek’s shoulders. He grinned down at him. “I trust you, dude. You’re stuck with me.”

Mate sounded better than boyfriend, anyways.