“You’ve been staring at the same page for three minutes.”
Stiles, to his credit, did not jump nearly as high as he would have a year earlier. He yanked his earbuds out and music floated out from them, tinny and flat, until he turned it off. “And you’ve been staring at me for the last three minutes, I’m guessing.”
“Five, actually.” Derek shifted his weight where he was perched against Stiles’ window frame, and Stiles watched the muscles of his forearms as he flexed his hands on the sill. His gray henley was tight enough to cling to his chest and stomach and Stiles had to look away. The afterimage stayed in his eyes anyway.
“Way to be a creeper, dude.”
“Way to get yourself killed, not paying attention like that.”
Stiles swiveled in his desk chair to face Derek fully. “There aren’t many people who would try to come through my window, and right now they’re all my friends.”
Derek cocked his head and Stiles tried not to think of a dog’s curious expression. “You never know when that could change. You should be more careful.”
“I should lock my window, you mean? But then you’d have to come through my front door, and no offense, but you’re not a front door kind of guy.”
It was very subtle, but Derek’s mouth twitched just a little bit, and Stiles realized that he was amused. He felt warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. “Oh, you know what I mean. Jesus.”
Derek nodded toward the open laptop and the books strewn around the desk. “What are you working on?”
Stiles looked back at the screen for a second. “Bestiary. Just trying to translate some more of it. I think I’m getting better at archaic Latin, actually.”
“Isn’t Lydia working on that?”
“I want to be useful,” Stiles said, shrugging one shoulder as though it was nothing, as though he wasn’t trying to assuage his guilt. “Anyway, she’s preoccupied with Jackson right now.”
Derek was watching him carefully. “I thought maybe you two…” he broke off, looking awkward. “I saw you that night. How you looked at her.”
Stiles laughed a little, but there wasn’t much mirth in it. “That was just me mourning the death of an unlikely possibility, that’s all.” Stiles knew he had a proclivity for hopeless possibilities. One in particular was far more important and even more unlikely than Lydia, but Derek didn’t need to know about that one. It wouldn’t do any good.
There was a long silence then, and Stiles looked down at the floor so that he wouldn’t stare at Derek. He picked at the hem of his ratty shirt, worn thin and soft from washing. He hadn’t been expecting company so he wasn’t dressed to impress. Derek wouldn’t care, or even notice, so it didn’t matter.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Derek muttered.
“Like what? Lovelorn?”
That startled a real laugh out of Stiles. “Enjoy it. I’ve had a rough few days, but I’m sure I’ll be back to peak annoyance soon.”
Derek looked like he wanted to smile but didn’t. “Scott told me you wanted to see me,” he said.
Stiles took a deep breath. “Yeah. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d actually come.”
Derek looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk to me.”
“Why would you think that?” Derek’s gaze was guarded but curious, and Stiles wished that his eyes weren’t so many colors at once, so easy to get lost in.
Stiles stood up and cleared his throat. “Because of what I did.” He was very proud that he could keep his voice from shaking.
Derek frowned and his fingers tightened on the window sill beside his thighs. “What do you mean?”
Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and then dropped them again, shifting nervously. “I just want you to know I’m sorry for telling Gerard where you’d be, for putting everyone at risk. I didn’t want to. I didn’t think I was the type of guy who would.”
Derek stood up slowly and took a step forward. He lifted his hand and reached out for Stiles’ face, pausing when Stiles flinched. Then he touched him anyway, running his thumb gently over the healing bruise on his cheek, the reddened edge of his mouth. Stiles took a stuttering breath and fought the urge to either lean away or lean into it. Derek dropped his hand.
“Let me see the rest of it,” Derek said, his tone implacable.
Stiles awkwardly pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, letting Derek see the bruises spilling like watercolors over his ribs. “Nothing’s broken,” he whispered, feeling too exposed.
There was something flickering in Derek’s eyes, an emotion that Stiles couldn’t name. He quivered as Derek ghosted the backs of his fingers over the deepest blue, nudging his ribs as though to check their soundness for himself. Stiles made a small hurt sound and winced away.
“He said it was a message for Scott, but he kept asking me where you would be, how to find you. I think...I think he already knew, and he just did it because he wanted to. Erica and Boyd wouldn’t give you up, but I did. I did.”
Derek’s jaw ticked and his eyes flickered, and just for a moment it seemed as though he was fighting not to change. “You were tortured. People will say anything under torture.”
Stiles nodded. “I have a surprisingly low tolerance for pain, always have. If I even think about the possibility of pain I fold like a cheap card table. Doesn’t excuse it, though. I betrayed you.”
Derek stepped back, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t blame you for it, Stiles. If anything I blame myself. I didn’t foresee it happening. It didn’t even occur to me, and it should have.”
“Well it’s not like you had anything else on your mind at the time,” Stiles replied with a tinge of his usual sarcasm, surprised at Derek’s almost-apology.
Derek smiled ruefully. It wasn’t at all a happy expression but Stiles still stared in wonder, having seen Derek’s smile so rarely. It was beautiful on him, even like this. “I failed at keeping everyone safe. I failed at a lot of things. It’s hard to admit.”
“But you can admit it to me. You don’t have to worry about being a big strong leader around me, because I’m not pack.” Stiles tried to sound reassuring and not like a weight had settled inside his chest. It occurred to him too late that Derek could hear his heartbeat pounding, faltering, but there was nothing to be done for it. “I’ll always listen, if you still want me around.”
Derek fixed him with a sharp gaze. “Why would you think you’re not pack?”
Stiles blinked in surprise. “I’m just the human who tags along. I know it’s different for Scott, for Isaac and the others. I understand how the pack works. It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but Stiles still had his pride.
Derek tentatively touched Stiles' shoulder and his palm was startlingly warm on his bare skin. This time Stiles did lean into it, helplessly. Derek was standing so close, far too close for rational thought, for good sense. He smelled like leather, like earth. Stiles closed his eyes.
“Stiles,” Derek started, then stopped. After a moment Stiles felt Derek’s forehead rest against his own. “Pack doesn’t just mean wolves. Pack means family. You’re as much a part of it as they are.”
Stiles gasped out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice small.
“That’s my fault too,” Derek whispered. He cupped Stiles’s cheek again, pressing lightly against the fading bruise. The sting of it was worth the touch itself. He wanted so much at that moment, so many desperate things. His heart choked up into his throat and his blood rushed hot through his veins.
Derek jerked back a little, suddenly, but didn’t let go of Stiles. He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he searched Stiles’ face.
“What is it? A scent?” Stiles asked, alarmed, glancing toward the window as though he’d be able to see something lurking outside. He thought of the alpha pack, or any number of possible threats they might be facing. “Something dangerous?”
Derek nodded slowly, and the look in his eyes wasn’t fear, exactly, but it wasn’t too far off. “Yes,” he replied, and kissed him.
Blank shock and soft heat were all Stiles could register for a moment, then he tangled his fingers into Derek’s shirt and held on. He opened his mouth on reflex and Derek’s tongue was there to sweep over the tear in his lip. It tingled and Stiles pressed closer, and when a small sound escaped his throat Derek’s hand tightened on the back of his neck, and Stiles couldn’t remember him putting it there. He felt immobilized in his grip, languid and helpless even though his heart was pounding in his ears like a drum.
“Derek,” he mumbled, pulling back enough to get some space between them. His lips bumped into Derek’s when he spoke and Derek nipped at them with blunted canines, then licked across the sting. His hands slid down to span Stiles’ lower back, his thumbs digging into his hip bones. Stiles shook a little bit, inexperience and confusion warring with the desperate want he’d always felt around Derek, the need to press closer, to get under his skin any way possible.
Stiles didn’t even realize they were moving until the backs of his legs hit the bed, and then suddenly they were horizontal and his head was spinning. Derek slid between his thighs and Stiles made a frantic sound when he felt the line of Derek’s cock pressing into his own. Everything was happening so fast, moments skipping by before he could understand how they strung together in a line, and yet he rocked his hips up into Derek’s because his body knew what it was doing even if his mind didn’t.
“Derek,” he tried again, gasping when he had to pull away to breathe. “Oh god, can you just--”
Derek tugged him hard into another kiss, and the message to stop talking before he’d even started couldn’t have been clearer. Stiles had never been one to accept anything at face value though, especially things that seemed too good to be true, so he gathered his wits and shoved upwards with his fists still caught in Derek’s shirt, trying to get a few inches of distance. Derek dragged his mouth over Stiles’ bruised cheek and licked a stripe across his throat, breathing deeply.
“What are you doing?” Stiles couldn’t stop the quaver in his voice.
Derek pulled back, his lips slick and flushed red, and his eyes were so many colors that Stiles couldn’t count them, even so close to his own. “I thought it was obvious.”
Stiles tried to catch his breath, shaking his head. “I mean why.”
“Don’t you want it?” Derek’s hands slid away.
“I don’t, you never,” he tried to say, lightheaded and unable to think. “I mean, do you?”
But Derek was already levering himself off of him, breaking Stiles’ hold on his shirt. Stiles felt suddenly cold where Derek’s heat and weight had held him down. “I thought,” Derek said, swallowing hard. “You smell like you want this.”
Stiles shook his head when he should have nodded, and everything was coming out wrong. “I do,” he said, and his voice was too loud in his small bedroom. “It’s just, I wasn’t expecting. I didn’t think. Why would you?”
Derek half-turned away from him, angling toward the window. Stiles scrambled off the bed and tried to block his way, but Derek shouldered past him. “This was a mistake,” he growled, and Stiles was startled to hear the wolf in his voice.
“No,” Stiles pleaded. “I just wanted to ask, to understand.”
“Nothing to understand,” Derek said, and wouldn’t look him in the eye. “This never happened.”
He was out the window before Stiles could hold him back. Stiles rushed after him, tripping on his shirt where it lay discarded on the floor, but Derek was already a retreating shape in the darkness along his roof. Stiles knew he couldn’t follow.
He stood there for a long time staring into the darkness, one hand clutching the window frame and the other touching his swollen mouth. “What,” he finally said in a daze, “the fuck just happened.”
Stiles wandered in a daze through his classes, shrugging off Scott’s concern by giving him a vague story about not sleeping well, which wasn’t untrue. He couldn’t stop thinking about how warm Derek’s mouth was, how sure his hands had been on Stiles’ bare skin.
He escaped his house after dinner as soon as he saw his dad’s car turn at the end of the street. He turned the keys in the Jeep’s ignition with unsteady fingers, nervous but determined. The drive to Derek’s house was long enough that Stiles changed his mind several times, even pulling over at one point and almost turning around, but his blood was already buzzing with a thrilling combination of trepidation and want, so he followed where it led.
He parked in front of the crumbling shell of a home and Derek was already standing on the front steps of the porch with crossed arms. Any indecision he’d felt on the road disappeared when Stiles locked eyes with Derek, even though his gaze was as impassive as a brick wall.
“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, his voice low and gruff.
“Hello to you too,” Stiles replied, leaning back on the side of his Jeep.
Derek narrowed his eyes. “Problems? Anything to report?”
Stiles shook his head and tried not to fidget. “All quiet on the western front.”
They stared at each other long enough that it became uncomfortable. Finally Stiles sighed. “Where are the others?”
“Gone on reconnaissance, looking for signs of the alphas.”
“Out of town, researching.”
Silence fell again. As far as greetings went, it wasn’t much of one. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome but he was still disappointed when it didn’t come. Derek looked like he’d rather be absolutely anywhere else, but Stiles persevered. “Can I come in?”
Derek’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he finally replied, and stalked back into the house. Stiles shook his head and followed.
He made it as far as the entry where Derek was leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs. It was darker inside than it had been outside, but there was just enough sunset light through the windows that Stiles could make out the flat look in Derek’s eyes. He could see the reluctance in his rigid spine.
“I know you said it never happened,” Stiles said softly, “but it did.”
Derek let out a breath through his nose, impatient. “If you came to talk about it, you might as well turn around and go home.”
Stiles braced himself and gathered his courage. “I wanted it to.”
“You said you didn’t.” Derek stared somewhere off to the left of him, still as a statue.
“I had no idea what I was saying. You scrambled my brain, dude.”
“Don’t call me dude.”
“I call everybody dude.”
“Go home, Stiles,” Derek said, and his tone shifted to one of weary resignation instead of standoffishness.
Stiles ignored him and stepped closer. “I came to ask if you wanted to try again.”
“To kiss you?” Derek sounded incredulous.
“To try to explain.” Stiles paused. “And then to kiss me. If you want.”
Derek finally looked at him. “What is there to explain? It was a mistake. I won’t make it again.”
That hurt, but Stiles took another step. “Have you ever looked at me like that before? Ever thought about me? See, I didn’t think that you had. And I didn’t understand.”
Derek frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “No, I…”
“Use your words, Derek. I really need you to use your words right now.” He took another step closer and Derek started to look hunted.
“It wasn’t the first time I thought of you,” he growled quietly.
Stiles’s heart kicked up and he tried on a small smile. “Was that so hard?”
Stiles was close enough now to touch, and he reached out carefully as with a wild animal, hoping not to get bitten. Derek watched his approach with wary eyes, but didn’t stop Stiles from wrapping his hand around his crossed arms and pulling them down.
“I think we’ve had our wires crossed,” Stiles said softly, sliding his fingers down to hold Derek’s wrist in his hand, feeling his pulse ratchet up. “Because if you want me, and I want you, then there shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
Derek looked conflicted but slowly turned his hand to catch Stiles’ in a loose grip. “Stiles, you’re too--”
“If you say ‘young’ I swear to god I’ll clobber you with something, Derek. Young is relative.”
Derek’s lips twitched a little. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He blinked at Derek and started to feel a tendril of hope curl in his stomach.
“Are you sure?”
Stiles closed his eyes and begged the universe for patience. “Would I be here if I wasn’t sure? Here,” he said firmly, and stepped up into Derek’s space. He lifted his chin and bared his throat. “Would I do this?”
A low rumble reverberated through Derek’s chest, and he tightened his fingers on Stiles’ to the point of pain. Suddenly Derek was breathing him in with great gulping breaths, scraping blunt teeth over Stiles’ neck and biting down just hard enough to warn him. Stiles considered himself warned and still didn’t move away. His pulse was as fast as if he’d been running, but it beat out of need rather than fear.
“The way you smell,” Derek murmured, almost a growl but softer, thicker. He didn’t finish his sentence, licking over the bite, and Stiles shivered. Derek’s hands settled on Stiles’ hips, tightening and tugging until they were flush against each other and Stiles could feel Derek’s cock pressing hard against his own.
“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groaned, feeling hopelessly inexperienced and a little bit giddy. “Hey, you know I haven’t…”
Derek pulled back with visible effort and slid his hands up higher to lightly cradle Stiles’ shoulders. His eyes, even perfectly human, were slow burning fires. “We don’t have to. I can wait.” He took a deep breath and tried to step back.
Stiles gave him a lopsided grin and slipped his fingers under the hem of Derek’s shirt to seek out warm skin, keeping him there. “Yeah, you look like someone who can wait.”
Derek squirmed and trapped Stiles’ hands, flattening them against his stomach. “I’m serious. We can stop.”
It was easy enough to break the hold and skim his hands upwards over the planes of his stomach and ribs. When he passed his thumbs over Derek’s nipples Derek let out a groan and closed his eyes. “If you take a step back I’ll just follow you,” Stiles promised. “I’m very tenacious that way.”
Derek huffed at him but let him explore. “I know you are.”
“Some say it’s my best feature.”
“Name one person who says that.”
Stiles tugged until Derek stripped the shirt over his head. “Well…”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Anything he might have retorted was lost when Derek caught his mouth in a kiss that gave no room for talking, and Stiles forgot what he had meant to say anyway. Derek was so gentle that Stiles could have cried, taking his face in his hands and teasing Stiles’ tongue into a little dance. Stiles dug his fingers into Derek’s shoulders and brought his hips back to Derek’s to show he wasn’t afraid.
“I don’t want you to stop, I just want you to show me,” he whispered against his cheek, testing the feel of Derek’s stubble against his lips.
Derek groaned when Stiles kissed along his jaw and down the column of his throat the way he’d always wanted to, feeling for Derek’s pulse against his lips. “You’re doing just fine on your own,” Derek assured him, his voice rough.
Stiles grinned and pressed his mouth to Derek’s collarbone, darting his tongue out for a taste. “I may have come up with a few ideas.”
“Have you?” Derek slid his hands back down to Stiles’ hips again and ran his fingers along the waist of his jeans, dipping inside.
“You don’t think I spend all my downtime translating ancient languages and running for my life from supernatural creatures, do you? There’s always time for imagining what you look like naked.”
Derek smiled, slowly and with a hint of teeth. “How did I look?”
“Perfect, obviously,” Stiles said, leaning his hips against Derek’s fingers. “Don’t go fishing for compliments.”
Derek tilted his head a little, watching Stiles, who stood calm under the gentle scrutiny. “Come here,” he finally said, and tugged Stiles up the stairs.
Stiles followed on shaky legs, gripping the banister with the hand Derek wasn’t holding. He hoped the upper story would remain stable long enough to allow him to see Derek naked, but he really had no idea what to expect from a fire ravaged house.
Derek’s bedroom was relatively untouched except for some smoke damage. There was a clean bed with rumpled sheets, warm and inviting. A dresser that had seen better days stood in the corner, a toppling stack of books beside it, and a hurricane lamp was already burning on the nightstand. It cast the whole room into a golden glow with deep shadows, and it was perfect. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles from behind and nosed along the nape of his neck, breathing.
Stiles nodded his head. “Frequently.”
“Never of you.”
Derek kissed the top of his spine and pulled Stiles’ shirt off to run his mouth along one shoulder, and Stiles didn’t know if most people normally used so much teeth during sex, but it seemed perfectly in character for Derek, so he had no complaint.
Derek’s body was warm at his back and he could feel Derek’s hard cock nudging up against his ass, and he was amazed at how unafraid he felt. He leaned back and let his head roll against Derek’s shoulder while Derek worked at his jeans with slow fingers until they fell open. The release of pressure against his cock was a relief, and Derek’s hand sliding into his briefs was a shock to his senses that had him gasping for air. He reached back and grabbed wildly at Derek, who leaned over and kissed Stiles until he was still and pliant again.
“Shoes,” Derek said, removing his hands and nudging Stiles when he just stood there dumbly.
“Oh,” Stiles said, wondering where all his usual eloquence and chatter had gone. He awkwardly tugged his shoes off and let his jeans and briefs slide down to puddle on the floor around his feet. He looked up to see Derek watching him intently.
“Fuck,” Derek whispered, running the backs of his fingers down Stiles’ slim chest, his nails catching against Stiles’ nipple. “You’re perfect.”
Stiles felt his cheeks flush and grinned, embarrassed but also pleased. He didn’t think he was anything special to write home about, but Derek didn’t seem to agree with him and that was all that mattered. He lay back on the bed and scooted up toward the headboard to get his head on the pillow, because it seemed like that was the thing to do next. The sheets smelled like Derek, like leather and earth and clean sweat.
“What about you?” he asked, gesturing to Derek’s jeans.
Derek kicked off his boots but shook his head. “Later,” was all he said, then he put a knee on the bed and crawled up his body, straddling Stiles’ thighs. When he kissed it was with intent, tilting Stiles’ head back to better get at his mouth, pulling him into the kiss and growling when Stiles tentatively licked at his mouth in return.
Derek pulled away to kiss a line down the center of Stiles’ chest, carefully avoiding the fading bruises. “You can talk, you know. Or moan. Be loud,” he said between kisses. His stubble scraped Stiles’ skin like little burning pinpricks of light.
A thought occurred to Stiles then, and a little shiver zipped down his spine. “What if the others come back?”
“They won’t come in, don’t worry. They’ll know.”
Stiles slapped a hand over his eyes. “Seriously?”
“They’ll be able to smell me on you anyway, later.”
“And you don’t mind that?” His voice came out strained.
Derek looked up at him from where his mouth had been exploring around Stiles’ navel. “I want them to. You’re pack, remember?”
Somehow, for some reason he chose not to examine too closely, that made Stiles’ cock jump. Derek grinned knowingly and ducked his head down to lick him from root to tip without any warning whatsoever, and Stiles wailed.
“Fuck, Derek,” he panted, squirming against Derek’s sudden hold on his hips.
Derek watched him carefully.
“Well, are you going to do it again?” Stiles asked urgently, flailing one hand out in desperation.
Thus began the very first blow job of Stiles’ life, and what was sure to be the shortest too, because Derek’s mouth was hot and wet and his tongue was wicked and the suction was perfect, and it was absolutely nothing like what Stiles had imagined it would be. He hadn’t imagined Derek holding him down and humming with enjoyment around his cock, hadn’t imagined the softness of Derek’s hair between his fingers, or how the lamplight fell on the long curve of Derek’s back as he worked.
“You should probably--not that I’m not enjoying--but if you don’t stop--”
Derek pulled off and even the sudden flow of cool air over his cock was like a caress, and Stiles grabbed himself by the base and counted by fives until he had control of himself again.
“Fuck,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
“Not tonight, though,” Derek replied.
Stiles lifted his head to meet Derek’s eyes. “No?”
Derek fought a smile. “No.”
“I’ll do anything for you,” Stiles said fervently. “You have to know that.”
“You shouldn’t say ‘anything’ to someone before you know what ‘anything’ means to them, Stiles.”
“But I’m not saying it to someone, I’m saying it to you.” He hooked his foot around the back of Derek’s thigh and tugged him closer for a kiss that was far deeper than he’d intended, and involved far more teeth.
“You’re a menace,” Derek said, and his eyes flashed just a little. Stiles didn’t think it had been a trick of the light.
“And you’re still wearing clothes,” Stiles retorted, reaching for the button on Derek’s jeans.
Derek batted his hand away and lay down next to him, and for one horrible moment Stiles thought that meant they were done, but then Derek repositioned him until Stiles was seated on Derek’s thighs and looking down on him. Stiles’ naked cock lay across Derek’s clothed one, and the look in Derek’s eyes was incendiary.
“Can I?” Stiles asked, then wasn’t sure where to go with that.
“Anything,” Derek said, and winked at him. Stiles’ mouth fell open, then the only thing he could do was stretch out on Derek and kiss him until Derek was the one gasping and shifting his hips for relief.
Stiles looked down at the body at his mercy below him and wanted to put his mouth everywhere at once, wanted to lick and bite the way that Derek had done to him. He started at Derek’s collarbone and swept his hands across the dipping lines out to his shoulders, slipping down to scratch lightly down his chest, following with his mouth. He paused for a moment, then gave Derek’s nipple an experimental lick, looking up to gauge his reaction. Derek groaned and arched up into his mouth, so Stiles grinned and did it again.
“How’s this?” Stiles asked, then tested his teeth on the taut flesh below Derek’s sternum.
Derek’s heaving breaths answered for him, but he said, “You’re a natural,” in a gravelly voice that sent a thrill through Stiles’ stomach. Derek touched his mouth, his cheek, ran his hand over Stiles’ short hair. “You could just do this and I’d be happy. There’s no rush.”
So Stiles just followed his own whims and explored Derek’s body, tasting his skin and soaking up his warmth through his fingertips. He slipped his hands down Derek’s outspread arms and linked their fingers, bracing himself up and pressing Derek’s hands into the bed. Derek let him do as he liked, watching him with pleasure-hazed eyes.
When Stiles moved his hands to Derek’s jeans they were unsteady, so Derek helped by unbuttoning them himself. Stiles moved to the side and tugged down until Derek was as naked as he was. His cock was thick and flushed red, hard and curved upwards on his stomach, and Stiles took it in his hand and tested the weight of it. The angle was backwards from what he was used to, and Derek covered Stiles’ hand with his and guided him into a rhythm. Stiles moaned when Derek thrust up into his grip, growling softly.
When Derek started shaking he gently moved Stiles’ hand away. He guided both of Stiles’ hands to brace against his chest, and Stiles was confused until Derek took hold of both their cocks at once, moving them carefully together. He swept the slick from the head of Stiles’ cock to ease the friction and Stiles couldn’t help the wavering sound that escaped him.
“Derek,” he pleaded, leaning on his hands, trusting Derek to take his weight as his hips jerked involuntarily. “I can’t last.”
Derek closed his eyes and bit his lip, his hand moving faster. “Good,” he replied, gripping Stiles’ hip with his other hand almost hard enough to bruise, pinning him still. Stiles could feel Derek’s hair-roughened thighs beneath him, and they were trembling.
Stiles felt a bright burn coiling tight within him, sending out tendrils of sharp pleasure, and he tried to say Derek’s name but all that came out was a cry as he spilled across both of them, over Derek’s fist and his stomach. Derek rocked him through it until his head hung limply and his fingers and toes tingled with pleasure. When he finally sucked in a breath, filling his lungs again and feeling new, Derek used his come to bring himself to a slick finish that had him arching hard between Stiles’ thighs with a groan that was entirely human.
If Stiles could have come again he would have, just from watching Derek’s eyes and their many changeable colors, fixed on Stiles and flickering with an emotion that Stiles couldn’t name, though he felt himself trying to answer it anyway.
Heedless of the mess between them Derek pulled him down into a hard kiss, sweeping his tongue through Stiles’ mouth with something like desperation. Stiles grounded himself in the kiss, his head still spinning, and Derek wasn’t letting him go.
Stiles hadn’t been absolutely sure what would happen afterwards, if Derek would let him stay or gently send him on his way, but then Derek ran his thumb over Stiles’ mouth and dipped inside for Stiles’ teeth to press softly. He slid his hand up Stiles’ back soothingly, then he eased him to one side to clean them up with a discarded shirt. Derek watched him silently, openly, gathering him against his chest to lay tangled together in his rumpled bed with the soft sheets, in his bedroom with soot on the walls, in the place he called home despite how it looked to others. Derek was letting him in.
Derek buried his nose behind Stiles’ ear and breathed slowly. He let out a little rumble of contentment against his skin. Stiles closed his eyes and soaked in the sound, thinking that he wouldn’t get tired of listening to it for a long time.
“What do I smell like when I want you?” Stiles murmured, when Derek brought his hand up to kiss his fingertips.
“Salt. Fresh bread.”
“Does everyone smell that way?”
“Just you. All the time.”
“All the time around you. It’s always been for you. You didn’t know?”
Derek shook his head. Stiles tipped his head back to kiss him carefully, then settled back down on Derek’s chest.
“So I smell like a bakery?” He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice.
Derek’s fingers trailed down his spine, leaving a bright line of warmth. “You smell like home.”