Stiles arrives at the loft at five past seven, because although he got to the parking lot at six forty-five, there's no way he wants to appear too keen. Or needy. As Stiles touches his knuckles to the door, it opens. Derek's standing there, wearing a pale grey Henley that clings to his shoulders in a very appealing way.
"Hi," says Stiles. "I brought some, um, wine."
He brandishes the bottle at Derek, who raises an eyebrow.
"Seemed like the thing to do," Stiles says. "Somehow. I don't know. Shall I get glasses? It's screw-top, not cork, I wonder why-"
Derek takes the bottle from him. "Come in, Stiles. Are you hungry?"
"Always," says Stiles.
"I made lasagne."
"You want some?"
"Hell, yeah." Stiles doesn't know what's more surprising; that Derek can cook, or that he's cooked for Stiles. For them. Like it's some kind of dinner date.
He follows Derek into the kitchen.
They sit opposite each other at the small, square dining table that is a recent addition to Derek's apartment, or at least Stiles has never noticed it before. The lasagne is delicious. It's served with soft, fresh bread and salad with olives in. Stiles loves olives.
Derek opens the wine, and it's only when he's pouring it into glasses (half a glass each) that Stiles remembers.
"Werewolves don't drink," he says. "Man, sorry. I didn't think."
"We don't get drunk," says Derek. "I still like the taste."
"I wouldn't bet on that," says Stiles. "It was pretty cheap."
Derek looks at the label. "Wine doesn't have to be expensive to be good." He puts the bottle to one side, and takes a sip from his glass. "Yeah. Not bad at all."
Stiles gulps at his. He hasn't really thought about the taste of wine before: mostly it's something he and Scott used to drink at parties when the spirits ran out, before Scott got all wolfy and lost interest in drinking altogether. But it actually tastes pretty good.
Stiles pops another olive in his mouth, and wonders what the hell he's doing here, eating a meal that could only be described as civilised, with Derek, in Derek's loft, on the night of the full moon. When Derek has pretty much promised to have sex with him in new and interesting ways.
It's almost romantic.
"So, how was your day?" say Derek.
Stiles pauses with a forkful of lasagne half-way to his mouth, and stares at Derek as if he's just grown tentacles. There's no trace of irony on those perfect features. All Stiles can see is gorgeous cheekbones, a perfect jaw-line and surprisingly gentle eyes.
"Good, actually," he hears himself saying. "I had a great run this morning."
Derek chokes briefly on a bit of lettuce.
"It's amazing what you can find in the woods these days," Stiles continues, pouring Derek more water from the jug in the middle of the table.
Derek takes a long drink.
"You okay?" says Stiles.
"Fine," says Derek, giving Stiles a very direct look. "Just something stuck in my throat for a minute."
Stiles remembers suddenly and vividly exactly how it felt to have his cock in Derek's mouth, fucking over his tongue.
"All right, Stiles?" says Derek, the picture of innocence.
Stiles coughs. "Yes. Thank you. Um." He looks down at his plate, trying to unscramble his brain enough to say something else, but all he can actually think of is blow jobs and how incredibly hard his dick is. "I got detention," is all he can come up with in the end. "But it was okay. Got a lot of homework done, actually. Coach is good that way, doesn't make you just sit there watching the clock."
Derek nods. "Harris once made me stand in the corner of the Chemistry lab, facing the wall, completely still, for nearly an hour."
"You had detention with Harris?" This is such a fascinating proposition that Stiles almost manages to put sex to the back of his mind for a moment. Or at least to one side, where it doesn't interfere so much with his ability to listen to what Derek's saying.
"Quite a lot. He wasn't a basketball fan."
"He wasn't a lacrosse fan, either. Or a Stiles fan, come to that."
"Things really went to Hell after I found him drinking in the locker room one day. He never forgave me for that."
"Funny. Can't imagine him wasted."
"He was a mean drunk. And surprisingly functional."
"Given how unpleasant he was sober, I can imagine that. I kind of miss him though, you know? I learned a lot about sarcasm from that man. So, are any of your other teachers still there?"
"Of course. It's not that long ago."
"Yeah, but Beacon Hills, man. The mortality rate for teaching staff is shocking."
"I remember Natalie teaching us biology."
"Laura had such a crush on her."
"She is hot, I guess, in a friend's-mom-way, which, now I think about it, ew." Derek shrugs, which is a bit disturbing, but Stiles ploughs on, because Derek is talking about his family, which he never does. And Stiles wants to know. "Were you close, you and Laura?"
Derek's eyes flicker closed, just for one tiny second. "Yes. I teased her a lot about Natalie, until she kicked my ass so hard I was scared I wouldn't heal in time for the interstate championship game."
"I used to wonder what it would be like to have a sister. I think my parents wanted more kids, but, well, it didn't work out, you know, with my mom…."
It's a gesture, a gift, a recognition that Derek is sharing something difficult and Stiles wants to repay his trust. He looks up and Derek's watching him, his eyes full of all this new compassion that he's showing more and more these days. It's so beautiful it hurts.
Stiles drains his glass, but Derek doesn't refill it. Instead he asks about Scott, says he hasn't seen him lately, and it's easy to talk about Scott and Kira and how she's been trying to teach him Japanese but he's really crap at it, and how they're just adorable together, even if it does mean he doesn't get as much time with Scott as he'd like. Derek questions and smiles and shrugs in all the right places, lets Stiles ramble on while they finish their dinner. When they're done Stiles offers to clear the dishes, and that leads to the kitchen, where Stiles helps to load the dishwasher, because although Derek said it was fine to leave them, Stiles hears himself chastising Derek for sloppy housekeeping and mumbling about things sticking to dishes and the merits of thorough soaking.
But it's only when he closes the dishwasher and watches his fingers tremble as he tries to move the dial to economy wash that he realises he's nervous.
Derek puts a gentle hand on his arm, pulls him away from the dishwasher. "You can leave now, if you want," Derek says. "I don't expect anything."
Stiles smiles weakly. "I think I do. Expect something. If that's okay."
Derek is controlling himself admirably, but he can't hide a flicker of heat in his eyes at that. "Yes, that's okay."
"Seems stupid to wait a whole month for another full moon, after all." Stiles wishes he sounded more cocky, less nervous, but he can't help it. And maybe honesty is important. Besides, he can practically hear his own heartbeat, it's so loud; it must be absolutely deafening to Derek. "Yeah, I mean, God, why does it feel all weird all of a sudden? Does this feel weird to you?"
"A little," Derek admits. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Yes. Oh, fuck, yes. Totally."
"I want you to fuck me. With all your new wolfy parts. In the ass."
There's a blur of movement and suddenly Stiles is being shoved back against the refrigerator and Derek's kissing him frantically.
"Knot, Stiles," he pants out between fierce affection-attacks on Stiles' mouth and neck. "It's called a knot."
"I know that," mumbles Stiles. "I always make a point of being able to accurately label the parts of anything that's going to enter my body. I'm very diligent that way."
Derek makes a little snorting noise against Stiles' neck.
"So," says Stiles, slipping his hands inside Derek's shirt, up his back. "Is there anything I should know?"
"Like what?" Derek nips at Stiles' earlobe, nuzzles into his neck.
Stiles closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the refrigerator with a thud. There's some kind of sensual connection between Stiles' neck and his dick, because the more Derek nuzzles and licks and nips, the harder Stiles' dick gets, and the more difficult it is to think. And the more overrated thinking seems, actually, in comparison with just standing there and letting Derek do wonderful, delicious things to him.
Stiles can see the moon through the window opposite. It looks huge, filling the sky with a blue-white glow. Derek growls, not a threat but a sweet, affectionate growl, as if Derek thinks Stiles is cute and adorable and Derek's pleased to be nuzzling him.
"Hey," says Stiles, softly. "How about we relocate to your bed? To be brutally honest with you, my knees aren't working any more and if I don't lie down I'm gonna fall down, you know?"
Derek gives Stiles a little smile (which doesn't help the steadiness of Stiles' legs at all) and takes his hand. He leads him back to the main room, and it seems different, somehow. Quiet. Calm. Stiles has been here so often, usually with Scott and the pack, sometimes on his own. When he's been here alone with Derek, sex has tended to happen: in the crushing after-fear that followed a narrow escape, or the still boredom of waiting, or that one time after Boyd, when Derek was shaking and inconsolable, and would allow no-one but Stiles near him.
Derek's bed is big and familiar, and shockingly comfortable, and Stiles sinks down onto it easily.
Derek wanders around the room, softening the lighting, putting music on - something with a subtle, jazzy tone to it that Stiles hasn't heard before. He wants to rib Derek mercilessly for being so romantic, but something about the expression on Derek's face stops him.
He's reminded of the intimacy of their encounter in the woods that morning, of the look in Derek's eyes when Stiles teased him about his knot.
"There's something you're not telling me," he says as Derek returns from his atmosphere-creation to stand by the bed. "Or something I'm not getting."
Derek raises an eyebrow, and takes his shirt off.
Stiles stares, and swallows.
"You should probably tell me," Stiles says, as Derek peels off his jeans and underwear. He's naked now, and he's everything, exactly, precisely what Stiles wants.
"This is really special to you, isn't it?" Stiles blurts out.
"See?" says Derek. "You do get it."
Derek kneels on the bed and slides a hand under Stiles' shirt to rest on his fluttering belly.
"Because of the knot?" Stiles suddenly feels like a crass pervert, except God, this is so good. And Derek, of all people, would not be doing anything he didn't want to do.
"That's part of it. It's not something we do casually. It means something."
Derek leans in close, his body pressed warm along Stiles' side, his lips a bare fraction of an inch from Stiles'.
"What does it mean?" Stiles whispers.
"It means I care about you," Derek says. "A lot."
Stiles closes his eyes as Derek kisses him, and wraps his arms around Derek's neck, and lets the warmth and affection of the kiss seep through him.
"Okay," he says. "In that case I'll stop being such an insensitive ass, and I'll say thank you for the dinner, which was awesome, by the way…." Stiles pauses for a moment, because his earlobe's being licked and nibbled on, and it's very distracting. "… And God, it's not just research okay, it's not just sex, if it was I wouldn't, I… you have to know I'd never…"
"I know, Stiles," Derek whispers, his breath tickling Stiles' over-sensitive ear. "How about we get your clothes off?"
"Well, that, my wolfy friend, is an excellent idea." Stiles laughs at his own ridiculousness, and with the sudden, bursting joy that this is his. That he can have this, with Derek, right now.
And it's going to be amazing.
Derek helps him to undress between long, languid periods of making out that leave Stiles breathless and flushed, and wanting more. He wants Derek's hands on him, wants the warmth of Derek's body covering him, wants Derek inside him. Derek soothes and hushes him when his breathing gets too fast, brings him back with calm touches and slow presses of his lips to Stiles' neck. Stiles wants him to bite, to claim him, which is ridiculous, and scary as all Hell, but it's okay because Stiles knows he can trust Derek absolutely, always, and when Derek opens his mouth around Stiles' throat, Stiles simply arches and offers himself. Derek sucks, marks him thoroughly but does not bite him.
"That was a wolf thing," Stiles murmurs, stroking through Derek's hair. "You do more wolf things these days."
"I'm more wolf than I used to be." Derek licks his way down to Stiles' collar bones, kisses the little dip there. "More human, too."
"Yeah. Actually, yeah, you are. Weird how that works out, huh?"
Derek kisses Stiles' shoulder and rolls his body in close to Stiles'. Stiles hitches a knee up onto Derek's thigh, pulling him closer, Derek's cock, hard against his belly.
Derek kisses Stiles' chin, his lower lip, his nose, his mouth. His tongue twists around Stiles', a long, slow, lazy chase, as his hand ghosts down Stiles' back to settle just above his ass, and he rubs little circles there with his thumb. It's steadying. Possessive. Promising.
But Derek seems determined to take this slow. Every time Stiles begins to rock his hips in a meaningful way, or to reach for Derek's dick, or even if the kissing gets too heated, Derek backs off. It's glorious torture that renders Stiles flushed and breathless. His cheeks are hot, his lips kiss-swollen, his balls aching. He ruts, can't help it, and Derek admonishes him gently, telling him to be patient.
"Patient?" says Stiles. "Seriously? You do remember who it is you've got in your bed, right?"
"Oh yes." Derek buries his nose into Stiles' neck again, just behind his ear, and breathes in deeply. "You'd be amazed how much I know about you."
"Well, then, one of those little chemo signals you can get right there is telling you I'm as far from patient as it's possible to be. I'm one hundred percent impatient. And oh God, oh, oh…"
Derek's hand has moved down, gripping Stiles' butt and pulling him in tight, grinding their cocks together.
"That better?" Derek asks.
Stiles makes a broken, whimpering sound, and nods.
They kiss again, and this time Derek allows him to thrust in something like a rhythm, something that might just get him off, maybe Derek too, judging by the counter-thrust thing he has going on. And that would be good, surely, to take the edge off before they get down to fucking, only suddenly Derek stops and says, "No, wait, wait!" and Stiles could honest-to-God scream in frustration.
"We've got time," Derek says, soothing, stroking hair back from Stiles' forehead. "I want to be inside you."
Even when exasperated, Stiles is an adaptable kind of guy. While rutting to orgasm all over Derek's abs is incredibly appealing, and he's so close it's not funny, he hasn't been able to get the image of Derek fucking him out of his head all day. So he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to look into Derek's and says, "Yes. Please. Fuck, yes, I'd like that so much."
And Derek rewards him with a huge, heart-melting, knee-trembling smile.
"You look so innocent," he says.
"Seriously?" says Stiles. "I've been fucked before. You should know. You did most of it."
"Yes, but not like this." And then Stiles notices the freaking huge bottle of lube in Derek's hand, and gets a very clear vision of what Derek is going to do next.
"On your back," Derek says, and Stiles obediently rolls over, bringing his knees up so his feet are flat on the bed. Derek strokes up one thigh, from knee to hip, then trails his fingers down to gently cup Stiles' balls. They're sensitive, full, and having Derek touch them is dangerous and good and uncomfortable all at once. He fidgets.
"Shh," says Derek. "Trust me. Let me take care of you."
"I trust you," says Stiles. "It's my dick I don't trust. Little Stiles here is a bit overexcited, in case you haven't noticed."
Derek gives Stiles' dick a long, appraising look. "Not so little," he says.
Stiles chuckles. "And that, my friend, is the right answer."
"I guess I'll save the blow-job for later," says Derek, and while Stiles is gasping over that mental image, Derek's clever fingers slip down, under his balls to find his hole. Stiles spreads his legs a little wider, tilts his hips up, and Derek strokes gently, not even trying to get in, just playing havoc with Stiles' nerve endings.
"So soft," Derek murmurs.
"Hmm," says Stiles, eyes sliding shut, giving himself up to glorious sensation. Then he hears the unmistakable squirt of the lube bottle, and Derek's fingers are wet, and pressing very, very gently inside him.
Stiles arches, biting his lower lip, relishing every moment of the long, delicious slide. He whimpers as Derek pulls his finger out again, moans when he pushes it back in, slick with fresh lube. Derek strokes and pets and wets and fucks Stiles with his fingers to the point where Stiles' limbs are trembling and he's muttering "Oh God, oh God, oh God," under his breath, and his cock is hard and his balls tight and he actually thinks he could come like this. But he doesn't want to. Not this way. They were supposed to-
"Derek, wait. I want you. I want-"
"I know." Fingers buried inside Stiles' body, Derek leans over for a kiss, his tongue flirting with Stiles' for a few moments before he pulls back. "But not yet, okay? You're too close, let me…"
Stiles tries to form words as Derek slides down his body. Words about how he has far more stamina than Derek is giving him credit for, and anyway, what does it matter if…. But then Derek takes Stiles' cock in his mouth and all other bets are off. This is suddenly so right: Derek's fingers in his ass and his tongue flexing against Stiles' dick and oh God, it's just too fucking perfect.
Stiles thrusts into Derek's wet, warm, willing mouth, and comes.
There's a single, perfect moment when Stiles wholeheartedly believes that this is the meaning of existence. That he is on this earth purely for the instant his orgasm shoots spunk out of his dick with incredible force, and his whole body surges with pleasure and satisfaction at a job well done. His pulse throbs in time with his cock, and Derek swallows. Stiles' fingers clutch at Derek's hair, and he tries to say something that might have been 'thank you', but it comes out as a wordless squeak, and he can feel Derek smile.
He collapses back on the bed, breathless, as Derek releases his cock from his mouth and pulls his fingers from Stiles' ass. Stiles closes his eyes and lets himself drift for a little while. When he comes around again Derek is sitting next to him, cross-legged, a towel draped across his knees. He's holding Stiles' hand in both of his, threading their fingers together.
"Just give me a minute," Stiles says, sleepily. "I'll be ready to go again any second. God Bless the teenage refractory period, eh?"
"Take your time." Derek kisses Stiles' knuckles. "We've got all night."
"Right. I brought my toothbrush, like you said."
Derek smiles at him.
"I know," says Stiles. "I'm adorable."
Stiles shifts onto his side, head propped on his elbow so he can see Derek better. He looks so relaxed. Self-assured. It's a good look on him.
"I think you should know what to expect," Derek says.
"Okay. I mean, you know, I've Googled."
"I'm sure you have."
"It was surprisingly vague. There's quite a lot about wolves mating, but not werewolf sex, and yeah, here's a question I have, do you have a bone in your dick?"
Derek sighs. "No, Stiles. I do not have a bone in my penis."
"Cool. I thought not, I mean I'd have noticed, but then-"
"Unless I'm in full wolf form."
Stiles stared at him.
"That is so awesome."
"It's how wolves are made," says Derek, looking a bit puzzled.
"I know, I know, but - wow. I have so many questions."
"And I probably won't answer most of them, so let's keep on topic, okay?"
"Okay," says Stiles, reluctantly. "And the topic is?"
Stiles loves the way Derek says the word, like it's something really filthy. "It's new, right? Part of the werewolf upgrade? I mean, I know Scott doesn't get one."
"Yes, it's new. The thing is, if I put it inside you-"
"When. When you put it inside me."
Derek pointedly ignores the interruption. "Once it's inside, I won't be able to get it out again without hurting you. I think we'll be tied together for a while."
Stiles nods. He'd figured that much out for himself. "Like dogs."
"Like a werewolf and a human," says Derek, firmly.
"How long for?"
"How long does the tie last? Because on some of those YouTube videos it seems to go on forever."
"Videos?" said Derek, shocked.
"Yeah. Of wolves! Not werewolves. Jesus, Derek, if I find actual genuine werewolf porn, I promise you'll be the first to know."
"Like I said, I'm not a dog, or a wolf. I don't know how long it will last. It's not like I've done this with anyone before."
"What about when you do it by yourself?"
Derek looks blankly at him.
"Seriously?" says Stiles, sitting up, astonished. "You're not trying to tell me you haven't played with your own knot? That's highly remiss of you, Derek. God, if it was me I'd be playing with it non-stop. Like when I first made proper jizz, you know, the full-on white stuff, not those clear dribbly blobs you get when you're a kid. I spent the whole of spring break jerking off into a measuring jug, to see how much my balls could make. It was very scientific."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Stiles, but I have not in any way performed science on my penis."
Stiles tuts. "What's wrong with you, man? Aren't you the least bit curious?"
"It's not a matter of curiosity."
Stiles doesn't understand that at all, but he doesn't want to push Derek too far and mess stuff up either. So he reaches out to stroke Derek's knee instead, and Derek lets him.
"It's okay," says Stiles. "We can find out together, yeah?"
"I'd like that," says Derek.
Stiles leans in for a kiss. Derek's arms slide around him and he pulls Stiles closer, until he's is in Derek's lap, knees snug against Derek's sides, his cock getting hard against Derek's belly. Stiles fidgets at the towel and gets it out of the way; Derek's cock springs up against Stiles' ass, thick and hot and already Stiles wants it inside him. But he wants this to be right, not just for him but for Derek, too. So he shuffles back a bit to allow Derek's dick to bounce free between their bodies. It nestles against Stiles' as Derek pulls him in close again.
"It'll probably be easier if you're already inside when you get your knot," Stiles says, rolling his hips, creating tantalising cock-to-cock friction. "In case it gets too big to go in."
"That makes sense," says Derek, voice tight, his hips moving to answer Stiles'.
"And I'm thinking doggy style. Um, sorry, dog-joke not intended. But it'll be easier then if-"
Derek shoves his nose into Stiles' neck and takes a deep breath. "Yes. God, yes, fuck, Stiles…."
Stiles smiles to himself. He knows Derek's far-gone if he doesn't take offence at a dog joke, intended or otherwise. "Yeah," he says, tilting his head to one side. His eyes slide shut as Derek licks into the sensitive place where his neck meets his shoulder.
"Stiles, you're so…." Derek's hips stutter, and he runs his hands down Stiles' back to rest on his ass. Stiles opens his eyes. The room is washed with moonlight and Derek looks wrecked. He's staring at Stiles with undisguised hunger and lust. Stiles' balls pull up tight and his cock twitches, incredibly hard.
"Soon," Derek says, half-warning, half-pleading. "Stiles, it's happening, I can't-"
Stiles quickly takes Derek's cock in his hand, runs his fingers down from the head to the root, traces over soft skin stretched tight over a bulge as hard as muscle. It's not big, not yet, but it's there, and God, but Stiles wants it inside him.
"Okay, Der, okay." Stiles kisses him on the mouth, just enough to grab his attention. "Need some lube."
Derek gently pulls Stiles' ass cheeks apart, strokes over his hole. It's still wet from before, and he slips a finger in easily. Stiles groans, letting his head drop back as he sinks onto that finger, then another one, and then Derek's stroking inside him. "Need more wet," says Derek, kissing Stiles' neck again. "Won't hurt you."
Stiles looks around frantically for the lube, finally spots it near the foot of the bed, and twists around to reach it. Derek's fingers press up, deep inside him, stretching and moving, and it's a wonder Stiles can stay still long enough to pass him the bottle, never mind wait patiently while Derek slicks them both with trembling hands. There's a freshly-nervous look on Derek's face, but Stiles knows exactly what to do about that. He pulls himself out of Derek's lap, off those clever fingers, and arranges himself on his hands and knees. He spreads his legs nice and wide, sinks down to his elbows, lets his head drop in submission and tips his ass up in the air.
Because you can't spell werewolf without wolf, after all.
"I'm all yours, Derek," Stiles says. "Take me."
"Oh God. Stiles, do you have any idea…?" Stiles feels Derek's hand on his ass, the bed dipping and bouncing a little as Derek settles himself between Stiles' legs. "You look amazing."
"Come on, then. Fuck my amazing little ass."
He feels the hot, blunt pressure of Derek's cock-head against his hole, and suddenly it's very hard to remember to breathe. Derek strokes the small of his back, encouraging him to relax. And Stiles does, bit by bit, eyes closed, concentrating on the delicious warmth and thickness of Derek's cock as it pushes inside him.
Derek pauses, and Stiles knows why.
"Go on," Stiles says. "I want it. All of it. Want your knot. Come on, Derek."
Derek pushes again, and Stiles can feel it, hot and insistent against the rim of his hole.
Derek hesitates. "I can't-"
"Yes, you can. You won't hurt me. C'mon, Derek, I promise, God, I want this so much. Please."
He shoves back. Derek gasps, but his hips thrust forwards and Stiles feels Derek's knot nudging inside at last, an intense, aching stretch. Derek gets it further in with a series of little pushes, Stiles pushing back every time, and then Derek lets out a long, low groan and it's there, all the way in, Derek's ball's nestling against Stiles', Derek's body curled over Stiles, warm and protective, his breath hot against the back of Stiles' neck.
Stiles experimentally clenches his ass around Derek's cock; Derek yelps and Stiles quickly relaxes everything, ready to apologise. But Derek says, "Again. Please, Stiles, again."
Stiles grins to himself, and does it again. Not quite as hard, but he holds it longer, and the groan that rumbles out of Derek's chest is incredible.
Stiles clenches again, and again, and Derek's knot is swelling now, making Stiles feel full, makes him want to come, makes him want to keep Derek there forever because it's just exactly on the right side of too much, just perfect, and then Derek starts to thrust. Shallow little thrusts, because that's all the knot will allow, but it sends hot rushes of pleasure up Stiles' spine. Derek makes a soft, pleased sound, rubbing his cheek against Stiles' neck, and the next thing Stiles knows, Derek's hand is on his dick, thumb swiping through the wet at the tip. Everything is brilliant, every itch getting scratched, every ache eased, the steady little fuck-fuck-fuck jerks of Derek's hips rubbing his knot over Stiles' magic spot, so intense he screws his eyes tight and sees stars.
"That thing you did," Derek pants in Stiles' ear. "Do it again."
Stiles tightens his ass up over Derek's dick, over his knot, releases it, tightens it, and he knows (and wonders if Derek knows he knows) exactly what he's doing. He's milking Derek's knot, it's what wolves do, and it's sending Derek wild. His hand shakes on Stiles' cock; Stiles can feel the tremble in his thighs as he thrusts, still shallow but faster, really, really fast, and Stiles tips his head, biting his lower lip as Derek fastens onto his neck and licks and sucks and Stiles comes, spasming on Derek's knot, hearing Derek cry out and gasp his name, and Derek's hips jerk one last time as Stiles spills his load on the sheets beneath him; Derek convulses on top of him and Stiles knows he's coming too. He gives himself up to the fullness and the waves of tight, throbbing pleasure.
When he's done, and everything is silky and his heart is hammering and he can feel his pulse in his temples and the breath is starting to flow back into his lungs, Stiles realises that Derek's holding him up. His arms are wrapped around Stiles' middle, and Derek's hips are still twitching, micro-thrusts, and Stiles' mind rounds on a single thought.
"You're still coming," he says, full of awe and wonder.
"Uh-huh," says Derek. "Are you okay?"
There's a tremor in Derek's voice that matches the quiver of his muscles, and Stiles smiles. "Yeah, I'm good. Really good. Man. Is there anything I can do for you?"
Derek gives his middle a gentle squeeze. "Just… this is… just like this. It feels so good to be inside you, to be… God, Stiles."
He kisses Stiles' shoulder, his neck, rubs his nose in Stiles' hair, breathing in his scent. It makes Derek quiver. It makes Stiles quiver, too.
"I love you," Derek says, so quietly Stiles almost misses it. Almost.
"Me too, big guy," Stiles whispers back.
Derek rubs his face on Stiles' back, and God, all this nuzzling shouldn't feel so good. But it does. It really does.
"I'm gonna roll us on our sides," Derek says. "Should be easier that way."
"Okay. Hold me lower. Keep it deep inside. Take it slow."
Derek tuts at him for giving instructions, but he does it just like Stiles said, and it's easy, it fits, all of it fits, and then they're curled up on Derek's bed like they're spooning, except Derek's cock is still deep inside him and Stiles can feel his knot, a steady, not unpleasant pressure, a fullness that reminds him exactly how good his orgasm was, and makes him wonder vaguely if he could manage another one before Derek's done filling him with werewolf jizz.
It's only an idle thought, though, because it feels so good to be held, to be warm and safe, that he doesn't really want to move. Derek pulls a blanket over them and tugs a pillow under Stiles' cheek, and then goes back to the nuzzling and kissing and little wolfy licks at Stiles' ear.
Stiles nestles, holding Derek's hand close to his own lips, occasionally dropping kisses onto his knuckles.
"Thank you," Derek whispers. His voice is steadier now; he feels more relaxed.
"For making it amazing."
"Hey, you were the one who gave me dinner and lit candles."
"You know what I mean."
Stiles sighs a long, contented sigh.
"It's not just the full moon," says Derek.
"The knot. It's not just the full moon. I lied."
Stiles' eyes go wide. He twists around so he can see Derek's face. (He looks kind of blissed out, but at the same time a bit worried.)
"I see," says Stiles, with a smug grin. "So it really is because your dick loves me. I knew it! I have awesome dick-powers."
There's a pause, just a beat.
"Yeah," says Derek. "You kinda do."
"You too, buddy. You too."
Derek shifts and Stiles can feel things easing up; Derek's knot is going down and everything's getting very wet and slick and that's turning him on a lot more than he would have thought possible. But at the same time he's relaxed and warm and the cuddling is incredible. They've never cuddled like this before, not when they're both happy. Cuddling has until now been reserved for comfort after major catastrophes and life-threatening situations.
Stiles could get used to happy-cuddles.
Derek slips out of him, and Stiles whimpers when he moves away. But Derek's straight back with a towel, and Stiles lies there while Derek cleans them up and pulls them onto a less-damp part of the bed. Stiles lets Derek do a fair bit of sniffing and licking of Stiles' body, even when it gets tickly, and eventually they settle, Stiles cuddled up to Derek's side, stroking his fingers through Derek's hair.
"We're doing that again," Stiles murmurs sleepily at Derek's shoulder.
"Yeah," Derek says. "Give me an hour."
Stiles falls asleep with a huge, ridiculous smile on his face, while Derek lies there, and breathes him in.