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steal some covers, share some skin

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“This is a thing, isn’t it?” Stiles asks, because Derek is literally cuddling into his neck .

“Sh’up,” Derek slurs, happy and drunk on contentment.

Stiles is caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry, because these kind of things don’t happen to him. He doesn’t date someone for almost three months and then discover their apparent secret sweet side that has been kept under wraps. Or maybe he does–yeah, he probably does. He feels like Scott in this situation, and that’s something Stiles would have never thought he would say. Or think. Or something.

Derek is still nuzzling his face into Stiles’ skin, and he’s making these excited little puppy-kitten noises, like lying in bed with Stiles is something that makes him thoroughly happy–which he should have already known because they’re dating and it’s not like Derek is exactly infamous for doing shit he doesn’t want to do.

“Derek,” Stiles breathes, because it seems appropriate.

“Shut up,” Derek hisses, but there’s no real bite in it. “You’re ruining my moment.”

“Who are you ,” Stiles whispers, “and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“He came.”

Stiles blinks at him, because what? What?

Derek shrugs, and then throws an arm around his waist, a leg over his hips, and he’s suddenly being sloth-hugged by Derek, which actually isn’t as terrifying as it once would have been. Derek’s oddly soft for how fit his is, and is nearly just as warm–seriously, like his own personal furnace or something–and oh.

Oh .

Jesus Christ.

“Why–” Stiles chokes. “ Why are you licking me ?”

Stiles feels more than sees Derek shrug. “Cos, you taste good.”

He blinks, opens his mouth, and then blinks again. “Derek–”

“Shh,” Derek whispers. “Just wanna cuddle. S’alright?”

Stiles has always been somewhat of a cuddler. He enjoys physical contact as long as it’s with someone he likes, and Derek is definitely one of those people, but he just never expected Derek to be one, too. Derek’s always been a highly personal person–Stiles is pretty sure he'd have higher security than the President if he could afford it, which is a scary though and isn't something he wants to focus on, nope–and even though they’ve been dating for a while, he’s never been very big on the whole, you know, getting close and personal thing.

Stiles shrugs into it, because even though Derek’s totally out of it (this is something he files away for future reference, because knowing that his boyfriend gets idiotic and cuddly after sex is something he can use to his advantage later) and adorable and he’s there.

Derek just growls happily, low and appreciative in his throat as Stiles links their fingers together. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Yeah.”

Stiles falls asleep with a smile on his face.


Stiles thought it was a one time thing.

That maybe it was one of those werewolf ritual things that Stiles had read about on the internet. Maybe it was something that had to be done in order for Derek to accept Stiles as his mate, to cuddle into him and lick and just generally be a puppy, because, maybe Stiles had to see Derek at his best before Derek finally accepted Stiles to see him at his worst.

He didn’t think it was a permanent thing.

And then, it happens again.

They’re lying in bed three days later–and it sucked waiting that long, because Stiles is only seventeen and with a libido like his, you at least need sex three times a day, but school work and werewolf business kept getting in the way, so–basking in post-coital bliss, something that has gotten much more enjoyable now that he has someone to spend it with, when–

God .

Which is seriously–so, so girly.

“Hey Der–” Stiles cuts himself off, because, Derek is at his neck again, rubbing his face in it and giving him stubble burn, leg and arm thrown over him carelessly, until he hooks his ankle over Stiles’ ass and pulls them together.

Oh. Oh god–”

“Stiles,” Derek warns, but it’s light and slurred, like he’s high and utterly blissed out.

And Stiles–

Stiles realizes that he is . He’s high and blissed out on him .

“Derek, I need to wipe off my com–”

But no, no he doesn’t, because suddenly Derek is sliding down and is licking it off for him, eyes dilated, and tongue-happy. He leaves these little puppy nips every few seconds to this skin around his belly button, and fuck it, yeah, Stiles maybe screeches a little bit, but his boyfriend is basically licking him clean.

He’s only human, you know.

Derek literally crawls up his stomach, and there’s nothing sexy about it. It’s fun and playful and loving, like the little gestures that boyfriends share between each other after they’ve had their sexy fun times. Stiles never thought he would actually get this–not that it bothered him, because he fell for Derek because of, well, Derek, not because of what he could’ve been or what he couldn't have–but it’s nice to have it.

“You’re oddly sweet after you come,” Stiles remarks, almost idly. It’s not something he means to say aloud, but it’s out in the open now.

He expects Derek to get offended and brooding, but he doesn’t. He just smiles, dopey and dorky; intimate, just for Stiles .

“I think I shot the anger out of me with my come.”

Stiles resists the urge to smack his face with his hand, because really . At least Derek’s being seriously adorable, though.


He never thought he would call Derek adorable, because he once thought there wasn't a sweet bone in his body. But stranger things have happened, he supposes.


“I really want to kiss you right now, man,” Stiles says, because to hell if Derek thinks he’s shredding all of his masculinity here.

“I know,” Derek says, smug and pleased with himself, before leaning down, and getting close to his face. Their lips are a fraction of a centimeter apart before he switches tactics, and ends up landing one on his cheek. “Fooled you,” he whispers.

Stiles glares. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” Derek sighs. “ Hilarious .”

Stiles stares at him, unimpressed. “ Kiss me.”

Derek nods, happily, and complies. “Okay,” he says against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles thinks he can get used to this.