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A Birthday First

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Getting your first kiss from someone like Derek Hale really sets the bar too high, in Stiles’ humble opinion.


Not that it was perfect or anything, seeing as it was a mostly desperation fueled “holy shit we’re alive” kiss that came sort of out of nowhere, but also sort of not? Stiles’ relationship with Derek is complicated to say the least.


In the aftermath, Stiles gives Derek space, because he got the distinct impression that Derek did not mean to do that, and that could be for any reason in the world, including Stiles’ age, Derek own issues, the fact that the whole pack was watching, the alignment of the stars, who the fuck knows. Stiles sure doesn’t, because Derek sucks at communicating his feelings.


Even so, that first – and only – kiss has burned itself into Stiles’ brain, and he’s pretty sure nothing else will ever measure up. Hell, maybe even a second kiss from Derek himself wouldn’t top it, but it doesn’t seem like Stiles will get a chance to find that out anytime soon, because Derek goes underground for like a week following the incident. Stiles half expects to never see him again.


But, eventually, the pack needs to do pack stuff, and Derek might be a mess, but he takes his alpha duties deadly seriously, and it’s business as usual when Stiles walks into the loft.


He isn’t sure what he expected or what he hoped for, but he’s still a little disappointed that Derek seems completely normal and doesn’t treat Stiles any differently or shows any reaction to him out of the ordinary. Pack business goes as it always does with bickering, debating, a little growling and then final grudging acceptance. And when it’s over, Derek is completely stone faced and closed off, because that seems to be the only way he can cope with pack disputes. Bury his own feelings deep, and do his best alpha posturing until shit gets done.


It’s not the best way of getting results, but even Stiles struggles to think of a better way, considering that the whole pack is like a big bag of trauma and personal issues being shook up by the universe every few weeks. You do what you gotta do.


And, speaking of which, considering Derek has clearly gone the route of pretend it never happened, Stiles will shove his own feeling just as far down as Derek, and go home. To wallow, he’s not fooling himself.


Only, just as he’s leaving, last one to go, Derek clears his throat, and Stiles pauses.


“Something you wanna say?” he asks, not entirely as kindly as he could, but he is a little hurt that he was apparently good enough for a quick desperation smooch, but not good enough to actually date.


That may well be his insecurities talking, but since Derek so far hasn’t offered any counterpoint, Stiles’ intrusive thoughts are given free reign.


“Yes,” Derek answers. “I want to say… I’m sorry.”


That is so far removed from Derek’s usual track record of bully first and ask questions later that Stiles is left stunned for a moment. “Wait, what?”


“You heard me,” Derek snarls, and that’s a lot more like him.


Stiles rolls his eyes. “I did, yeah, but you gotta dial down on the snark if you want me to take you seriously.”


Gratifyingly, Derek nods slowly. He still looks massively uncomfortable, arms crossed over his chest and eyes fixed somewhere around Stiles’ knees, but his face does seem more open than Stiles has seen it in a while.


Not since… well since that fateful kiss, honestly.


“Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… do that to you.”


“What part, exactly?” Stiles asks, genuinely unsure. “Sorry for going underground for a full fucking week after planting one on me, or sorry that I was the nearest warm body when you needed a life-affirming make-out session?”


He’s aware he’s being crude, but considering the week he’s spent in limbo, wondering what the hell it all means, he thinks he’s entitled to that.


Surprisingly, Derek looks up with a frown. “Uh. None of those?”


Stiles deflates in his confusion. “Whu- okay? Then what?”


Derek shifts on his feet and takes an agonizingly long time to answer. “I’m sorry for… kissing you at all. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”


As much as Stiles wants to yell at him for being a dick, something about how he words it makes Stiles pause.


“Done what to me? I dunno if you noticed in the heat of the moment, but I kissed you back. I mean. I really did.” He’s honestly a little embarrassed at the memory of how he melted against Derek, and maybe also let out a little whimper, because even in the bloody, achy aftermath of a scary fight, it was really fucking good.


“And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people I get involved with tend to die gruesome deaths,” Derek says through his teeth, and Stiles feel his knees shake under him enough that he has to reach out for the nearest wall for support.


“Wait, hold up. Does that mean… you like me?”


Derek grimaces. “Did you not hear what I just said? People I like end up dead!”


“But you admit you like me? Right?”


More annoyances flow out of Derek’s snarling face, but Stiles doesn’t even hear them, because Derek likes him. Likes him likes him. It wasn’t just a spur of the moment outlet for the relief of being not dead. Derek likes Stiles. Derek wants to kiss Stiles.


Finally the universe throws Stiles Stilinski a fucking bone. He might not die a virgin after all.


“Fine, okay,” he says, cutting off whatever Derek was saying, because he’s clearly trying to have an argument right now. But that’s just stupid when they’re two guys in a room together who both want to be kissing each other and there’s literally nothing stopping them. “Get to the part where we can make out.”


Even Derek’s outraged face is really hot, and that’s just unfair.


“You can’t be serious! Do you want to die?!”


“No, but none of your relatives or fellow supernatural menaces to society has managed to kill me yet, so I like our chances.”


Derek actually pulls his hair in frustration, and Stiles decides he needs to step up if he wants to be someone worthy of being Derek Hale’s boyfriend. Not that he is, yet, so far it’s only really a mutual desire to smooch, but it’s never too soon to lay some groundwork.


“Hey, look, take a breath,” Stiles says, moving carefully closer. Carefully, because Derek might still be inclined to punch him in the face, even while wanting to kiss him. Stiles is very aware that he’s got a punchable face, he doesn’t hold it against Derek. “Unless you’ve got some secret ability to see the future, you don’t know what’s gonna happen.”


“No, but the past was a harsh teacher,” Derek grits out through clenched teeth, and Stiles holds his breath as he reaches out to touch Derek’s arm, again locked firmly across his chest.


“So, what, you’re just never gonna date again?”


Derek’s eyes are still fixed somewhere low, and dart off to the side when Stiles steps in front of him. “If it means no more people have to die. Then, yes.”


Stiles rolls his eyes. “No offense, but that’s stupid.”


Finally, Derek looks up, beautifully annoyed. Just the way Stiles likes him best.


But before he can argue, Stiles goes on. “I’m not saying you don’t have plenty of reason to be scared, hell, you should probably spend the rest of your life in therapy. But shit’s gonna happen whether you’re dating someone or not. That might sound bleak, but that’s really just life for all of us at this point. And honestly? If your only argument for not kissing me some more after you’ve already done it once is that I’ll be risking my life? That won’t be any different from any other day of the week.”


“It shouldn’t have to be that way,” Derek says, hunching in on himself even further, and Stiles lets his hand gently stroke across Derek’s steel rod of an arm.


“It shouldn’t. But it is. And, frankly, I’d feel a lot better about risking my neck on a daily basis if I also got some action, if you catch my drift.”


The ghost of a smile teases at Derek’s mouth, and it makes hope flutter in Stiles’ gut. He’s well aware of Derek’s multiple traumas, and navigating around them would probably be a horrendously bad idea for a first relationship for anyone other than them. But their lives are already so fucked up in so many ways, Stiles has found himself wondering a few times whether normal is even an option for any of them anymore. No matter how hard Scott clings to his white picket fence dreams.


“Look, Derek, the only thing you need to ask yourself right now is… do you want me or not?”


The question hangs between them, heavy and still, and Stiles prays to any deity who’ll listen that Derek will take that leap of faith. Because Stiles has been way too invested in this brooding asshole from literally the moment they met, and, even with all his issues, Derek will never not be Stiles’ dream guy. He also probably has a danger kink a mile wide, but that’s something for his therapist to try and unravel.


“I do,” Derek says softly, making Stiles’ breath whoosh out of him. “But… if you die-”


“Then it would be no one’s fault but my own. I’m going into this fully aware of of the incredibly bad luck you’ve had with romance-”


Derek’s huff makes it clear he thinks it’s not just bad luck. Not that Stiles can’t understand the urge to blame it on some kind of curse or whatever, considering the life they lead, but in this one instance Stiles is pretty sure magic had nothing to do with it. Derek just has shit luck with love.


“-and even if I end up buying the farm over this, then, well.” Stiles swallows a lump, hoping he’s not fucking himself over now. “I kinda think you’re worth it, dude.”


The look on Derek’s face is like nothing Stiles has ever seen before. And Stiles has seen him enraged, grieving, panicked and a whole cornucopia of emotions, but this one’s new. He looks almost… awed. And Stiles can’t quite tell if it’s because Derek thinks Stiles has reached whole new levels of idiot, or if he’s… just not used to people giving a shit.


“...You’re not lying,” Derek whispers, so, okay, definitely that last one, and Stiles once again wants to commit murder on Derek’s behalf.


“Nope,” is all Stiles says, and, well.


Looks like he has a boyfriend now.






Dating Derek Hale is like dating a very hot and intense minefield, and, for the first month at least, it’s a very chaotic experience. But since it comes with scorching hot make-out sessions, Stiles is completely on board.


Scott is predictably concerned, but since most of his reservations come down to how he still somehow believes that Derek is secretly evil, Stiles can’t take any of them seriously.


Especially since Derek turns out to be annoyingly strict on not going below the belt even a little bit until Stiles is eighteen.


“Come on, Derek, gimme some sugar,” Stiles says against his lips, making yet another attempt at climbing into Derek’s lap for some more up close and personal attention.


But Derek’s hands are like iron, and hold him off with zero effort.


“No,” is all he says, but he doesn’t stop kissing, so that’s something.


“Ugh, seriously, I’ll be eighteen in like two months, what difference does it make?” Stiles groans, and hates himself a little for how he surrenders so easily under Derek’s gentle petting of his hair and his cheeks. It makes him feel fucking precious, honestly.


“It makes a difference to the law, to your dad, and to me,” Derek says. “I wish I could have…” he trails off, and Stiles doesn’t push. He knows very well that Derek was nowhere near legal when Kate moved in, and, if nothing else, his sadness on Derek’s behalf cools his jets a little.


He does keep up the kissing, though, because not only is Derek incredibly good at it, he seems to genuinely think Stiles is too. And that’s just a hell of a confidence boost.


That isn’t to say he isn’t still lacking confidence in a lot of other areas, and as much as he hates to admit it, it still stings that Scott has been getting laid pretty much on the regular for over a year while Stiles is still stuck in virgin land. He knows it shouldn’t matter. He knows that.


But, christ, high school is cruel. And even though college is looming, Stiles still feels very much like the dedicated placeholder of the bottom rung on the high school social ladder, senior or not, and his glaring virginity seems like a major factor.


Something that probably doesn’t help his argument for why Derek should rectify that state of affairs asap. It’s not the most mature look, definitely.


“Okay, well, if you’re not gonna make an honest man outta me, can you at least hang out and watch a movie or something?” Stiles asks, not letting Derek go far. He’s been very good about being an attentive boyfriend, and so far hasn’t gone even a single day without at least a text, and he ends up on Stiles’ bed for some nice necking at least a few times a week. But, distressingly, he always takes off in the early evening, leaving Stiles with his homework and empty room.


“That’s a marriage thing, as far as I know,” Derek points out, and Stiles is jut about to call him out on his obvious hedging when he continues. “And no, I… I shouldn’t.”


“Why not, it’s just a movie? And my dad isn’t even home.”


Derek’s eyes seem very dark in the dim light of Stiles’ room, despite the very obvious supernatural sheen, clearly noticeable to anyone who knows what to look for. “I really shouldn’t,” he murmurs, stroking Stiles’ cheeks with both hands, distracting him far too much from the matter at hand.


“Why?” he manages, and Derek moves in for a kiss that starts out so soft and gentle that Stiles barely feels it, but takes a sharp turn into searing hot, and Stiles clings to him, weak in the face of it.


“Because I want you too much,” Derek mouths against Stiles’ tingly lips, and then, like the goddamn Batman, Derek is gone, leaving only empty air in Stiles’ arms.


Stiles groans and flops back onto his bed. “Asshole,” he texts Derek as soon as his shaking hands manage to dig his phone out of his pocket.


“Two more months,” Derek texts back, and Stiles hates how sensible he is. Hates it, but also loves it, fuck. Despite everything life has thrown at him, and all the mistakes he’s made, Derek still has principles and half decent morals, which is becoming more and more rare in Stiles’ life. Hell, he’s not even sure how he himself would measure up to a morality check.


So if anyone is going to keep them on the straight and narrow, it’s apparently gonna be Derek. For another two months, at least.


“Counting the days, fucker,” Stiles texts, and then takes care of business himself, since Derek isn’t here to help him out.






It’s been sixty three agonizing days.


Stiles is now officially eighteen. He’s had his cake, he’s been out with his friends, his dad went all mushy and sentimental on him, and through all of that, Stiles could only really think of one thing. And not the kind of thing you should be thinking about when your father is hugging you and getting all teary eyed.


“Alright, get your pants off, let’s get this show on the road,” Stiles says as he walks into the loft, dropping his backpack and stepping out of his shoes. Derek is on his couch reading, and huffs out a small laugh.


“Wow, you’re really sweeping me off my feet, Stiles.”


“Don’t even start with me,” Stiles says, getting caught on the sleeves as he tries to squirm out of his hoodie and t-shirt at the same time. He’s done waiting. “I’ve been so fucking patient, I’ve barely even nagged you, and you said yourself that you want me, so get naked already!”


Derek slowly closes his book, and puts it on the coffee table, not making even the smallest effort to undress, which Stiles is very unhappy with.




“What?!” he snaps as the shirts finally release him so he can yank them over his head.


Derek stands up smoothly, looking devastatingly handsome and a little exasperated as he comes over to pat Stiles’ hair down from the electrified look it’s sporting. His hands continue down Stiles’ temples to his cheeks, cradling them, and making Stiles once again go completely boneless from how treasured it makes him feel. After what seems like both an eternity and no time at all of Derek gazing lovingly with his multicolored eyes, he finally leans in for a soft and slow kiss that’s nothing like the raunchy abandon Stiles really wants to happen right now, but still makes his knees wobble.


When they part again, Stiles can barely stand, clinging to Derek’s arms to hold himself up.


“Hi,” Derek says, and Stiles feels the last of his jittery desperation leave him.


He huffs out a little laugh at himself and the whole situation, which in hindsight looks pretty ridiculous. “Hey, Sourwolf.”


“Do I look sour right now?” Derek asks, rubbing their noses together like the marshmallow he is.


“No. Actually I think you’re more like Sweetwolf, right now.”


Derek’s mouth crooks with amusement. “Cute,” he says, and Stiles can’t quite tell if that’s an insult or a compliment. He’s charmed either way.


“Come on. Put your shirt back on and come sit with me for a while.” Stiles is about to protest, but Derek interrupts him. “Not that I’m not enjoying the view,” he says, letting his eyes take a slow trip down Stiles’ chest.


The compliment somehow takes him completely by surprise, and he gapes unattractively for a moment. “What, really?”


Derek’s eyebrows do that thing where they say a whole sentence on their own, and this time the sentence is “are you being an idiot on purpose?” which… is fair, honestly. Derek did say he wants Stiles, so he must like the packaging. Not matter how much Stiles’ insecurities are screaming at him that he’ll never measure up to Derek’s whole beefy look of perfection.


“Right, okay, good talk,” Stiles says, and then untangles his t-shirt from inside his hoodie to put it back on.


If Derek wants to cuddle before the sex, then Stiles will do that, no problem.


It’s only after an hour or so on the couch, making out and easing into some borderline heavy petting, that it slams into Stiles that this may well be the first time Derek never had. Stiles might be the inexperienced party here, but considering Kate’s whole personality, Stiles can’t imagine Derek’s first time being all that romantic or maybe even all that good.


So it makes a distressing amount of sense that Derek is slamming the brakes, easing down to a snail’s pace to get everything done right, even when Stiles would be genuinely ecstatic with just a quick blowjob or something. He never put that much value on the sweetness of his first time, more preoccupied with just getting rid of his damn virginity, but with baggage like Derek’s it’s more than understandable that he’ll be deadly serious about getting it right. Even though Stiles feels like he might literally drop dead if Derek doesn’t touch his damn dick within the next hour or so.


But Derek deserves the fucking world, so if what he needs is to make love, glacially slow, to feel like he’s doing it right, then Stiles will go along with it.


Right up until the moment he comes in his pants, anyway, but that’s the plight of any virgin, and he’s made his peace with that possibility.


Having gone through that whole thought process, Derek’s kisses and careful touches seem all the sweeter, and Stiles can’t help but get caught up in it now. He’s being touched so gently and cautiously it’s almost enough to make him cry, and he whimpers as Derek’s hands travel up his chest, just skimming his nipples through his shirt.


“I got you,” Derek says against his lips, and Stiles shivers.


“Yeah, you do. I know you do.”


As if those were the magic words, Derek finally, fucking finally, allows Stiles to climb into his lap and really get into it, kissing Derek like he’s starving. Which he is, and Derek is a whole-ass meal.


Miraculously, Derek doesn’t try and slow him down or ease off, just lets Stiles lick into his mouth and run his fingers through his hair as much as he wants. And he wants it a lot. Derek’s hands travel down to cup Stiles’ ass, and he would be ashamed of the noise he makes at that, but he’d dare anyone to not make noise when someone like Derek is groping them.


“I got you,” Derek whispers again, and Stiles nods helplessly as he pushes into the touch, rocking jerkily on Derek’s lap, not getting nearly enough pressure on his dick, but chasing it nonetheless. Realizing this, Derek helps him along, pressing Stiles close with both hands on his ass, mashing their groins together, and oh shit, that’s a dick. That’s a dick that’s hard and not Stiles’ own.


“Oh fuck,” he whimpers and clings to Derek as he tries not to come in his pants like the virgin he is.


Derek can clearly smell it or something, because he’s smiling as he kisses Stiles again, and pulls away slightly to ask what is possibly the dumbest question in the world. “You need to come?”


“Since I was about thirteen, Derek, jesus,” Stiles croaks, and forces himself to stop his desperate humping so he can breathe himself down a little, even as Derek huffs a soft laugh against his lips.


“Let’s not mess up my couch,” Derek says, and while that is annoyingly practical of him Stiles is in no state of mind to argue. Especially since Derek stands up, just like that, lifting Stiles with him and just keeping hold of him with no effort as he ascends the spiral staircase to his bedroom.


“Fuck, I hate you,” Stiles says, and Derek clearly understands that he means it in the horniest possible sense, because he smirks like an asshole as he lowers them both onto his ridiculously luxurious bed. Even through his haze of lust, Stiles does notice he’s got a newer and fancier bed spread, and it honestly makes him feel like a goddamn prince. He’s a cheap date, honestly.


“You wanna mess up these nice covers instead?” he asks, because, honestly, if Derek doesn’t dunk him in ice water in the next thirty seconds or something, a mess will happen.


“Yes,” Derek says, eyes locked on Stiles’, and it sounds ridiculously hot. “I bought them just for this.”


“What, no rose petals?” Stiles jokes, even as he’s about to shake apart as Derek slides their dicks together again through way too much clothing.


Derek smiles, his cute bunny teeth looking far more sexy than they have any right to, before leaning in to nuzzle gently along Stiles’ jaw and up towards his ear.


“I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure if you’re allergic,” Derek whispers, and, fuck it all, Stiles wasn’t expecting his first non-solo orgasm to be this fueled by mushy, romantic emotions. But, here he is, getting lovingly dry-humped and sweet-talked, and he moans embarrassingly loud as he spills what feels like his entire soul into his jeans.


“Fucker,” he wheezes, trying really hard to ignore how awed and happy Derek looks as he gazes at what must be a very unattractive o-face.


“Usually...” Derek says, all languid and warm like he’s the one who just shot his load, even though Stiles can definitely still feel something poking at his hip, and Derek famously doesn’t like guns.


On the tail end of that thought, however, the implication of Derek’s words suddenly make it through Stiles’ orgasm-sluggish brain.


“What… really?” he asks, hating a little bit how insecure and inexperienced he sounds, but he honestly expected Derek to be the fucker and not the fuckee in this scenario. Not because Stiles feels any particular preference for top or bottom, but just because Derek is older, experienced and… well. Beefy.


He fits a certain stereotype, is all.


Derek doesn’t seem at all offended or surprised by the question and offers a tiny shrug. “It’s not my favorite thing, but. If you want it…” he trails off, still doing that gazing thing that makes Stiles feel naked with all his clothes on. “We don’t even have to do any of that. This is your night. Whatever you want.”


“Are you kidding me?! I’ve been waiting for this day for literal years, dude, and we have all night! There’s no way I’m leaving here without a peg going in a hole!”


“Please don’t call me dude,” Derek says, but he’s also grinning, all wide and adorable, and goes in for another kiss, just as Stiles is gearing up for more rambling. “And, frankly, that’s a limiting notion of what constitutes sex.”


Stiles rolls his eyes. “I know that, and I didn’t mean it that way! It’s just… it’s like spending your whole life eating TV dinners at home and then going to a restaurant. I want the whole VIP treatment! Entrees, dessert, appetizers, you name it! Everything on the menu!”


Derek’s grin turns into a laugh, and Stiles marvels at how he somehow gets even more hot when his face is all scrunched up like that. “I don’t think we have time for all that in one night, but I get the point.” He kisses Stiles again, slow and soft, but the short conversation break was more than enough to get Stiles fired up again, so he’s ready to get this show on the road, and throws his arms and legs around Derek to get closer.


“Clingy,” Derek says, muffled by Stiles’ insistent lips.


“You fucking know it.” Stiles is completely unashamed of it, too. He’s dating Derek Hale, he’s allowed. “Now get naked, please, before I do something drastic.”


Drastic like come in your pants again?” Derek says with that same smug grin, but he also untangles himself from Stiles’ arms long enough to sit up and whip his t-shirt off, before Stiles can argue.

“Oh, hell yes,” Stiles groans, and wastes no time getting his hands on Derek’s pecs. He looks fucking edible, sitting on Stiles’ thighs in all his muscled glory, obscenely hard in his pants and looking at Stiles like he’s the full course meal. God, he wants the big bad wolf to eat him, already.


Maybe he’s projecting that fact a little too hard, or Derek is just too turned on all of a sudden, because his eyes go a little bit red, and then he manhandles Stiles around in a way that’s very sexy and distracting until they’re both gloriously naked.


Damn!” Stiles blurts at the first look at Derek’s cock, because wow.


Derek preens, there’s no other word for it, and prowls on all fours up the bed until he has Stiles caged in and trapped.


“Holy shit,” Stiles says on a shaky breath, because this is so many of his most favorite filthy fantasies rolled into one, and Derek can clearly smell it on him, eyes glowing a steady red now as he hovers above Stiles on hands and knees.


He comes in close, as if for a kiss, but instead noses up Stiles’ jaw, behind his ear and back down his neck to his shoulder. He does the same to the other side, and ends up with his face pressed against the juncture between neck and shoulder, mouthing at it with a hint of teeth.


“Ohhh boy,” Stiles says, clutching Derek’s forearms to not fly off into fucking space.


“Mine,” Derek says, low and a tiny bit rumbly, and Stiles jerks, full-bodied, at how sharply it shoots through him, straight to his dick.


“Jesus, yes.”


Mine,” Derek says again, this time definitely growling, and licks a slow stripe up Stiles’ neck, making him whimper.


“Yes, yes, all yours, holy shit, Derek.”


Stiles is aware he’s babbling, but unless he’s completely lost his mind, there’s a hint of sharp fang on his neck, and it really should not make him as horny as it does.


When Derek finally finishes his extended tour of Stiles’ neck and comes up for air so Stiles can see his wolfed out face, he waits a breathless second while searching Stiles’ eyes.


“I told you I wanted you too much,” Derek says through his fangs, almost apologetically, and Stiles can not have that.


“Oh my god, are you serious right now, I love everything about this, and the only complaint I have is that your goddamn masterpiece of a dick isn’t in me yet!”


Those are the magic words because Derek makes a terrifying snarly face that would make sensible people run for their lives, but makes Stiles feel like it’s his birthday. Which it is, and he grins in victory as Derek flips him over onto his front without even a by your leave, and licks a broad path all the way up Stiles’ spine and back down again.


“Weirdo,” Stiles says on a laugh, because it does tickle a little bit, but Derek gets the last laugh, since he doesn’t stop, and oh, christ, that’s a tongue dipping in between Stiles’ ass cheeks.


He makes a noise like a wounded animal, and clutches the nearest pillow as Derek’s strong tongue goes to town on him, licking broad swipes across his hole at first, but soon circling in on the prize. Hiding his face in the pillow does nothing to prevent his shout when Derek holds him open with clawed hands, and stabs into him mercilessly with his powerful tongue. Stiles might be crying a little bit, he isn’t sure, because the world disappears into a haze of pleasure, and his second orgasm slams into him like lightning, making him moan and whimper mindlessly as he ruts back and forth between Derek’s face and his fancy bedspread. Which is now thoroughly ruined.


“Oh my god, I had no idea that was so good,” he says, muffled into the pillow, and Derek huffs a warm breath across his twitching hole.


“Had enough?” he asks, following up with a dainty little lick, that nonetheless makes Stiles’ whole body jerk.


“Didn’t you hear me? Full course meal, get on it.”


Derek huffs out a laugh, and kisses his tailbone as he moves to the bedside drawer. “Anything for the birthday boy.”


“Damn right,” Stiles says weakly, and shivers with delicious anticipation.


“As much as I’d love to do this for you, right now is probably not the best time,” Derek says, and holds the tube of lube under Stiles’ nose with clawed fingers, and it takes a long moment for Stiles’ brain to catch up.


“Oh, don’t even worry about that, I’ve been shoving things up my butt since way before I could buy actual toys online. I don’t really need prep these days,” he says, cheeks flaming, but too eager for things to move on to try and be subtle about it.


Derek is clearly taken aback by it, pausing with one hand on his ass, gently groping it, probably without conscious thought. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he says after a moment. “Considering how… sensitive you are here,” he adds, dragging a careful knuckle across his still slick hole.


Despite Derek’s clear appreciation, Stiles still feels embarrassment heat the back of his neck, and hides his face in the pillow again.


“Right, whatever, can we move things along?”


Again, without warning, Derek flips him over like a ragdoll, and takes one look at his embarrassed, ruddy face, before surging up for a kiss, fangs and all, which is a little awkward, but the sentiment is obvious.


“God, you’re perfect,” Derek growls, and Stiles’ dick is back in the game so fast it twinges a little.


“Am not,” he protests weakly, but there’s really no arguing with how Derek yanks him closer by the knees, hard cock bumping up against Stiles’ balls insistently.


“Shut up,” Derek says, and then makes sure his order is followed by slicking up his cock, and guiding it to Stiles’ hole, zeroing every bit of his attention in on that part of his body.


The thing about Stiles is that he’s loud, he knows this. He’s loud in all aspects of life, whether it be talking, eating, walking, whatever, he’s loud. Except for exactly one thing, and all air leaves his lungs as Derek’s cock slowly slides into him, inch after inch, leaving only a little aching in its wake.


Derek, on the other hand, makes a choked sound when he bottoms out, pressing in as deep as he can get, before pulling back again.


Stiles heaves in a desperate breath, and reaches for Derek, because toys are one thing, it’s a whole other ballgame when it’s real, with a person, and he feels like he’s going to shake apart at the seams if Derek doesn’t hold him.


Taking the hint, more than happily, Derek crashes down on top of him with a growl so deep that Stiles feels it in his own chest, and locks Stiles in his arms as he pushes his cock back inside.


Mouth wide open for air, Stiles lets it take him away, lets Derek pump into him, apparently losing all his perfectly made plans in the face of Stiles’ body taking him in like it was made for it.


Stiles doesn’t know if soulmates are thing, but, if they are, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s Derek’s, because their bodies slot together so perfectly as they move together, Derek letting out a growl against Stiles’ temple with every harsh exhale.


“Mine,” he growls. “Mine. Mine.”


All Stiles can do is cling to Derek’s strong body, and feel the air whoosh out of himself in silent scream after silent scream.


Derek comes with a roar, pushing in as deep as he can possibly get, and gnaws at Stiles’ neck, hard enough to bruise but not break skin. And even though that speaks to Derek’s self control, even at the most intense of times, the flirting with danger is more than enough for Stiles to follow Derek over the peak, letting out a long, hoarse groan when he can finally breathe freely again.


“Oh… my god, that was amazing,” he rasps, arms and legs flopping uselessly onto the bed as his lungs get to work properly.


Still joined as they are, Derek stays where he is, nosing across what feels like one hell of a bruise, and when he finally comes up for a kiss, his fangs are gone, and Stiles sighs against his lips.


“Sorry about that,” Derek says sheepishly, but Stiles just pets him weakly on the cheek.


“Hey, as long as I don’t wake up wolfy tomorrow, we’re good.”


“I don’t think a spark can even be turned,” Derek mutters, and lets out a hiss as he pulls out.


“Oh, gross,” Stiles says, feeling himself oozing. “Carry me to the shower, wolf man.”


He doesn’t actually expect Derek to do that, but he’s proven wrong when Derek scoops him up, bridal style, and takes him to the bathroom.


“Oh, hell yeah, I could get used to this,” he says, arms around Derek’s neck.


“Don’t. Birthday privileges,” Derek says, and supports him until he can stand on his own and turn on the shower.


“Whatever, come scrub my back.”


Derek grins, even as he rolls his eyes. “Anything for the birthday boy.”