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Two Beds + Three People

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Derek sets down his bag on the bed closest to the door in the small hotel room and wonders what the hell he ever did to deserve this. Sure, he was never the best alpha, but he did what he could considering the circumstances. Maybe this is payback for the times he shoved Stiles into walls and chased Scott around a darkened parking lot in the name of “training.” Still, he thinks as he glances between the two beds in the room, was that really enough to warrant a punishment like this?

Oh my god, this bed feels like heaven,” Stiles moans, flopping down onto it and stretching out like a contented cat. “I swear, I’m never going back to my dorm bed. Ever.”

“I see your point,” Scott says, lying down next to Stiles and curling up against him, nuzzling into his neck.

Derek tries not to make his scowl too obvious and glares down at his suitcase as he begins to unpack.

“You’re not going to try out the bed, Derek?” Scott asks, and Derek really, really hopes Scott doesn’t notice the way his heart skips a beat. There are many ways Derek can think of trying out Scott and Stiles’ hotel bed, none of them appropriate.

“We don’t have time to lounge around,” Derek grunts, trying not to look at where Scott and Stiles are cuddled together. “The dinner and keynote speech is in less than half an hour.”

“I still can’t believe the Pacific North American Werewolf Symposium is actually a thing,” Stiles says, groaning as he rolls off the bed and stretches again. He runs a hand through his hair, which only makes him look like he took a different kind of tumble in bed with Scott, making Derek’s cheeks go pink at the thought.

“That’s not the actual name,” Derek grumbles, wondering if he should change before they go down to the dinner.

“Well the cover for this is stupid,” Stiles huffs. “I mean, really? An accounting convention? It couldn’t eve be, like, a wildlife conservation convention or something?”

“You don’t think Derek could be an accountant?” Scott asks, standing up from the bed and stretching, too, biceps flexing in a way which makes Derek flush with heat.

“Eh,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Maybe if he lost the leather jacket.”

Derek glares.

“We need to get going,” he grumbles, stubbornly keeping his jacket. The hotel’s weirdly cold, anyway.

“Alright, alright, just let me – ” Stiles replies, and proceeds to pull off his shirt. Derek finds himself staring. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, though, instead rummaging through Scott’s suitcase until he pulls out a soft-looking green shirt with a triumphant noise. As he pulls it on over his head, it ruffles his hair, making it look a little less gelled into submission. The shirt itself is a bit too loose around the chest for Stiles, but it looks distressingly good all the same.

It smells even better, what with the way Scott’s earthy musk mixes with Stiles more hormone-saturated tones.

“Ready,” Stiles says, smirking at Scott, who smiles indulgently and leans in to rub his cheek against Stiles’ own, sent marking him.

Derek, meanwhile, stands off to the side and tries – unsuccessfully – to not feel like he’s intruding. They’re disgustingly cute, and it’s making him want in ways he shouldn’t.

“I’m going downstairs, with or without you two,” he sighs, pushing through the doorway and starting towards the elevators.

“We’re coming,” Scott says, lacing his fingers through Stiles’ and pulling him along.

They hold hand for almost the entire rest of the evening, and Derek wonders how he’s going to survive the remainder of the trip.

---

It’s not terribly surprising that Derek wakes up before Scott and Stiles. As much as they like to complain about early morning classes and the amount of all-nighters they have to pull between school and the supernatural, he knows for a fact that Scott is pretty much useless until noon on Sundays and Stiles has his class schedule perfectly planned so that he doesn’t have to wake up until ten-thirty, at the earliest, on any given day.

Still, it’s not often that Derek gets to see them like this, softly snoring and curled around each other. Stiles is clinging to Scott like some sort of octopus, chest pressed flush against Scott’s back and arms looped around his stomach. Scott doesn’t seem to mind, though, if the small, fond smile on his lips is anything to go by, as if he can sense Stiles’ stubborn overprotectiveness even in sleep.

They fit together so perfectly, and Derek feels momentarily sick as he recalls every moment he’s ever contemplated inserting himself in the middle and ruining the whole thing.

He finally manages to tear his eyes away, rolling out of bed and slinking to the shower like a chastised dog. (And wouldn’t Stiles get a kick out of that, if he heard Derek think of himself in those terms. God knows he makes enough dog jokes already.)

He relaxes somewhat as the warm water cascades over his shoulders, and he can’t quite keep his mind from straying back to Scott and Stiles, pressed together in sleep – and if there was any way he’d fit. For a moment, he imagines himself pressed up behind Stiles, the biggest of the big spoons, but no; he’d just be an unnecessary accessory, trying to cling to an already established pair. In the middle, maybe? But what right does he have to separate them?

Maybe…

He can almost picture it, him as the little spoon, Scott sandwiched between him and Stiles, their alpha securely guarded. And Stiles, for all that he looks small, is all long limbs, and if Stiles is as determinedly clingy as he appears, then he could probably reach over both of them, fingers brushing Derek’s sides as he throws his arms over.

In the other room, he hears a muffled, “Stiles. Stiles, get off,” and quickly banishes his invasive fantasies.

“Why, Scott, I would love to get off,” Derek hears Stiles say through the thin hotel wall.

“Derek can probably hear us, you know,” Scott sighs, and Derek doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed that he’s not going to get a show.

“You’re no fun,” Stiles grumbles, but Derek hears the tell-tale rustle of the two extracting themselves from the bedsheets. “At least take a shower with me?”

Scott doesn’t dignify that with a full answer, but Derek hears his sigh.

By the time he reemerges from the bathroom, the two of them seem generally awake and put together. Stiles claims the shower first, complaining under his breath about Derek steaming up the mirror, and leaves Scott and Derek alone in the room.

“Sorry about that,” Scott says, once Stiles has shut the door.

“About what?” Derek asks, frowning.

“I know you could hear us through the door,” Scott answers, sounding a little sheepish.

“Well, as long as you don’t have sex in my bed,” Derek snorts, trying not to think about how much he would actually love the two of them rolling around in his sheets, mixing their scents together. Apparently he’s not terribly successful, though, because Scott cocks his head slightly, giving him a curious look.

“I’ll try to keep Stiles in line,” Scott finally says. He pauses for a moment, then asks, “What seminars did Lydia sign you up for?”

“Today is Helping Bitten Wolves Transition, Laws of Pack Land Rights, and Intrapack Conflict Resolution,” Derek answers, digging a slightly crumpled schedule out of his pocket.

“I thought I had Intrapack Conflict Resolution,” Scott replies, frowning as he tries to find his own schedule.

“No, you probably have Interpack Conflict Resolution,” Derek says, indicating the alternative seminar on his schedule.

“Oh, yeah,” Scott says, finally pulling up his schedule from the bottom on Stiles’ threadbare backpack. “That, Interspecies Diplomacy, and Integrating Non-wolves into the Pack Structure.”

“Thrilling,” Derek snorts. This is why he was always happy to make Laura go as the pack representative.

“It could be interesting,” Scott counters, shrugging. “It’ll be nice to meet new people, at least.”

Derek’s pretty sure Scott is the only person he’s ever known who could say they’re excited about meeting new people and actually mean it. It would be cute if it didn’t make Derek worry even more about Scott being too trusting for a young Alpha with a small pack. At least he has Stiles to be paranoid with him.

“Hey, Scotty. Shower’s all yours,” Stiles says as he pushes open the bathroom door, still toweling his hair dry. And apparently a freshly-showered Stiles is as irresistible to Scott as he is to Derek, because Scott’s quick to steal a brief kiss before moving past him to claim the shower. Derek would hate it if they weren’t so perfect together.

“You two gossiping about schedules?” Stiles asks, plopping himself down on the bed next to Derek in order to peer at the schedule clutched in his hands. “I’m hoping the seminars are actually more interesting than they sound.”

“I doubt it,” Derek snorts, earning him a wry smile from Stiles. “What are you stuck with?”

“Effective Allocation of Pack Resources, Liaising with Law Enforcement and Government, and Navigating a Relationship as a Werewolf’s Mate,” Stiles answers, ticking them off with his fingers.

“Shouldn’t Scott be doing the mate one with you?” Derek asks, frowning.

“It’s humans only,” Stiles replies. “You know, a by humans for humans sort of thing.”

Derek makes a little grunt of acknowledgement, still a little wary of the seminar. Then again, maybe it’ll teach proper etiquette, like not sitting on another wolf’s bed while your mate is just in the other room. He stands up abruptly as he hears the lock on the bathroom door click.

“Ready?” Scott asks, his smile wide and his eyes bright. Not for the first time, Derek’s grateful that Scott is a bitten wolf with little regard for tradition – a born wolf probably would have dragged him into a fight by now, with the way he’s been sniffing around Stiles. Then again, in this unorthodox situation, he can much more easily imagine Stiles trying to fight him for poaching Scott. Not that he actually wants to steal either of them, of course – at least not without the other.

He follows Scott out of the room, vowing to keep his head down for the rest of the weekend, as difficult as that may be.

In the lobby, they split off to go to their individual seminars. Helping Bitten Wolves Transition is useful, if incredibly dry. He’s pretty sure the speaker is nearly old enough to be his great grandmother, but at least she seems to know what she’s talking about. Derek feels a momentary pang as he wonders if he would have been a better alpha if he’d actually agreed to come along with Laura to these conferences.

Lunch is uneventful, although Stiles does make noises about the lack of curly fries at any of the restaurants in the surrounding area.

“You can survive a few days without curly fries,” Derek snorts, picking at his hamburger. It’s a little too cooked for his liking.

“Just like you can survive a few days without meat that’s still bleeding?” Stiles retorts, petulant in a way which has Scott rolling his eyes in fond exacerbation and Derek letting out a huff.

“We’ll get curly fries on the drive home,” Scott says, pulling Stiles a little closer, arm snaking around Stiles’ waist.

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Stiles replies, with a bright smile, going in for a light kiss on the cheek.

“Just promise me you’ll actually let me sleep in next weekend,” Scott adds.

“I swear, you’re the only guy in the world who could complain about getting a blowjob,” Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Dude, no, your blowjobs are awesome,” Scott reassures him, rubbing placating circles against Stiles’ hip. “Just wait until afternoon to wake me up with one.”

“You could always just go back to sleep afterwards,” Stiles argues, but he relaxes into Scott’s touch.

“You know I get all keyed up after sex,” Scott whines, and Derek wonders if they’ve already forgotten him completely. Probably. “It’s why we can’t – ”

“I’m going to find the room for my next seminar,” Derek announces, standing up from the table abruptly.

“Sorry, man, were we – ?” he hears Stiles start, but Derek’s already halfway to the door.

---

Unfortunately, his day doesn’t get much better from there.

“I’ve heard the McCall pack’s here, at the conference,” a wolf sitting in front of him at the Intrapack Conflict Resolution seminar says, leaning towards another wolf who seems to be from the same pack.

“McCall?” the second wolf asks, forehead creasing in confusion.

“The pack that’s taken over the old Hale territory,” the first wolf explains. “I heard the alpha’s a bitten-bitch.”

Derek bristles at the derogatory term, only barely managing to swallow a growl. The last thing he needs right now is to start a pack war over some stupid comments by a couple of lowlifes who don’t understand the strength it takes to be a bitten wolf. Not too many years ago Derek had shared some of the same prejudices, anyway.

“Shit, the one with a human mate?” the second wolf says, scrunching up his nose in distaste.

“A male human mate,” the first wolf adds. “Completely useless; can’t even produce born wolf pups.”

Once, Derek heard Scott and Stiles talking about it – about kids. Stiles thinks they’re still too young (and Derek privately agrees), but he knows Scott has his heart set on adopting orphaned wolves as soon as Stiles will let him. And, knowing Scott’s tendency of picking up strays, maybe even sooner than that.

“Pathetic. I bet he would slink off with his tail between his legs if a born wolf even tried to challenge him for the territory,” the second wolf sneers.

Derek doesn’t even try to suppress his growl this time, his eyes glowing bright, electric blue. The two wolves whip around to face him, their own eyes flashing momentarily yellow, a pale, sickly shade. They’re inbred wolves, then, probably from the southern Oregon pack.

“Say another derogatory word about my alpha,” Derek says through a mouthful of fangs, “and I’ll rip your throats out. With my teeth.”

It’s not an official challenge, but it’s close. If they wanted to, the two wolves could take him up on it, but Derek knows they won’t – not with how brightly his blue eyes are glowing. A yellow eyed wolf would never risk challenging a blue eyed one unless absolutely necessary, and although these two wolves may be cocky assholes, they’re not completely stupid.

“Scott McCall has as much claim to the Beacon Hills territory as any born wolf, myself included,” Derek continues, his voice dangerously steady. “And he has consistently proven that he will not hesitate to protect it, and his mate has even less mercy. If your alpha would like to challenge him formally, let them try.”

The two wolves duck their heads, cowed, but Derek doesn’t pay them any more attention. Their posturing has halted the seminar, and Derek can feel numerous stares fixed on him, but he could honestly care less as he storms out of the conference hall. The seminar was useless, anyway.

He finds himself making his way back up to the hotel room, in need of familiar scents. The constant cloud of smells from other, unfamiliar wolves is just making him more agitated. If he could, he’d prefer to just go to the source, gather up Scott and Stiles and scent them until he’s calmed down, but they’re probably still in their respective seminars, and the last thing they need is him interrupting.

When he gets back to the hotel room, for a moment, he contemplates which bed to curl up in. He should take his own, but the smell of Scott&Stiles is dull on it, unlike its sharp presence in the other bed.

Guiltily, he finds himself slipping under the covers of Scott and Stiles’ bed.

Which, incidentally, is how Stiles finds him when he storms into the room fifteen minutes later.

Bullshit, all of it,” Stiles growls as he flops down onto the bed next to Derek. Derek freezes, waiting to be told off for sneaking into a bed which isn’t his, but Stiles continues to rant. “I mean, Effective Allocation of Pack Resources wasn’t that bad, but the mate seminar was just – ”

His sentence devolves into an incoherent growl.

Wolves only have one true mate,” Stiles mimics in a mocking tone. “Once they fall in love, they are incapable of replicating the mate bond with any other person.

“Why are you upset that you’re Scott’s one true love?” Derek asks, frowning.

Stiles gives him a longsuffering look, and Derek feels like he’s missed something important.

They fall into silence, and Derek contemplates telling Stiles about his altercation earlier, but decides that it would probably only spur Stiles into giving the offending pack a piece of his mind – which, knowing Stiles, would probably start a pack war. It’s good that at least Scott has some sense of diplomacy, considering the rest of his pack.

Instead, he and Stiles just lie together, curled up on the hotel bed, dozing lightly. Briefly, Derek wonders if he’s pushing his boundaries too far. As much as Scott’s willing to forgive, sleeping with his mate (however platonically) might be too much. Still, Derek doesn’t quite have the heart to move.

However, when Scott arrives back at the room, he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. He just settles in between them, as if this is normal – as if this is where they belong.

“Can we leave early?” Stiles whines, wriggling a little until his cheek is resting against Scott’s collarbone.

“Did something happen?” Scott asks, all concerned alpha.

“The mates seminar was stupid,” Stiles grumbles, “and most of the seminars have been useless anyway.”

“Well, part of this is supposed to be about meeting other packs, right? It’s not all about the seminars,” Scott points out, but something must show on Derek’s face, because Scott turns to him with a concerned look and asks, “Derek?”

“Some born wolves were disrespecting you,” Derek grumbles. “I indirectly challenged them.”

Scott looks skyward, like he’s wondering why he ever thought it was a good idea to bring the two most undiplomatically inclined of his pack with him. (Alright, maybe not quite the most undiplomatically inclined. They left Malia at home, after all.)

“Right, well, I met some people at the Integrating Non-wolves into the Pack Structure seminar,” Scott sighs, running a hand absent-mindedly through Derek’s hair, making him tense up. “We’re supposed to have dinner with the Vong pack in half an hour.”

“Look at you, networking like a real alpha,” Stiles teases, making Scott roll his eyes fondly.

“I’ve gotta make up for all the people you offend somehow,” Scott replies, grinning, earning him an offended, “Hey!” from Stiles. They look like they’re about to devolve into play-fighting – or maybe sex – so Derek tries to discreetly extract himself from the bed, but the movement catches their attention, and he finds himself pinned by identical surprised gazes.

“We should get ready,” Derek says awkwardly.

Scott and Stiles exchange a look Derek can’t quite interpret, but then Stiles says, “Alright, alright, I’m getting up,” and lazily picks himself up off of Scott.

Derek tries to avert his gaze as their bodies flex against each other, but apparently he doesn’t do so quickly enough, because he catches Scott giving him a considering look.

He’s so fucked.

---

The dinner goes surprisingly well. The Vong pack is all curious questions and polite diplomacy. Stiles, meanwhile, is in full research mode, fascinated when he learns that they’re first generation Americans, families transplanted from Vietnam, refugees of the war. If he had a notebook, Derek suspects he’d be scribbling in it furiously as he badgers them for information about traditional Hmong pack structures.

Still, Derek finds himself not entirely invested in the conversation, constantly distracted by every small interaction between Scott and Stiles. They’re pressed up together, sides flush as they move together with the sort of natural fluidity only found in the most compatible of mates. They steal each other’s food like they’ve done it all their lives – which, knowing how long they’ve been friends – they probably have.

Derek aches to have a place of his own with them. But, of course, that’s all just wishful thinking.

When he sleeps in his own bed that night, he feels strangely alone.

---

As usual, he’s ready to face the day before Scott and Stiles even change out of their pajamas the next morning.

“Just go get breakfast,” Scott says, yawning widely. “We’ll meet you downstairs in a bit.”

Part of Derek wants to say he can wait, but his stomach growls and Scott gives him a pointed look. He huffs, but does as Scott suggests. However, once he reaches the ground floor, he realizes that he forgot his keycard back in the room. He mutters something unsavory under his breath and gets back in the elevator.

However, when he gets back to the room, fist poised to knock on the door, he freezes.

He freezes, because he hears a breathy voice moan, “Scott, Scotty – ”

The scent hits him then, the sharp tang of sex and sweat. He hears a low hum from Scott, and then Stiles’ breath hitches and he whines, all sweet desperation. Derek flushes as he wonders if Scott’s mouth is otherwise occupied, if he’s looking up at Stiles with his pretty eyes and endearingly crooked jawline.

“The room is soaked in his scent, isn’t it?” Stiles asks, somehow managing a coherent sentence. “You can pretend you’re blowing him, if you want.”

Derek finds himself frozen to the spot, listening as Scott pulls off with an obscenely sloppy sound.

“I want to blow you,” Scott says, and he does something else which makes Stiles keen.

“Yeah, but, if you wanted – ” Stiles manages, his breath hitching again. “I’d love to watch you two. You’d be so fucking hot.”

“Derek doesn’t want me like that,” Scott replies, a sad note to his tone.

Derek, meanwhile, feels like someone’s just punched all the air out of his chest.

“You don’t see the way he looks at you sometimes,” Stiles says, voice strangely wistful. “Trust me, he want you.”

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t be saying that if he knew about how he looks at you,” Scott counters. Through the door, Derek hears the telltale sound of slick skin sliding together. He can see it clearly in his mind, Scott and Stiles rocking against each other, slow heat as they take each other apart, Stiles’ fingers tangled in Scott’s hair as Scott’s hands press bruises into the pale skin of Stiles’ hips.

“Bet he’d bend over for you instantly if you asked,” Stiles murmurs, voice low and sex rough. The truth of his words makes Derek shiver. “And the two of us, Derek and me, we could both take you apart – together.”

Scott lets out a harsh, shaky breath and Derek smells a new wave of arousal. He’s so hard now, cock straining against his jeans. He has no idea what to do, though. It’s not like he can just jerk off here in the hallway, and he flushes in embarrassment as he thinks about how many people he’d have to pass to get to the bathrooms in the lobby downstairs.

“Stiles – ” he hears Scott pant, breaking him from his thoughts.

“He does want you,” Stiles repeats, only barely audible over their combined harsh pants.

“I only want him if he wants us,” Scott says, and Derek can’t quite suppress a whine.

He knows he’s made a mistake when the sounds of movement in the room suddenly stop. Derek knows he should move, but he can’t, glued to the spot as he listens to approaching footsteps.

The door swings open to reveal a sex-tousled Scott McCall.

“Get inside,” Scott orders, voice sex rough and alpha strong. Derek complies automatically. Once he’s in the room, his eyes are immediately drawn to Stiles, sprawled out on the bed, naked as the day he was born and looking at Scott and Derek with his kiss-swollen mouth hanging open wide.

“I – ” Derek starts, unsure how to continue once he has.

“You were listening,” Scott says. It’s not a question, but a statement of fact, and Derek is helpless to deny it.

“And?” Stiles asks, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at Derek expectantly. There’s a certain challenge in his eyes which makes heat sing through Derek’s veins.

“I want – ” Derek starts, suddenly nervous. “I want both of you.”

Fuck yes,” he hears Stiles hiss, but it’s background noise as Scott carefully pulls him into a kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed, yet still somehow tentative. It pains Derek to think that Scott could somehow doubt Derek’s attraction to him, so he surges forward, deepening the kiss with uninhibited ferocity. Scott seems surprised for a second, but then returns the kiss frantically, biting at Derek’s lips and pressing their bodies flush together.

When they finally break apart, Scott is breathing in hard, harsh pants, pupils blown wide as he looks at Derek like he can’t believe this is actually happening. Truth be told, Derek can’t quite believe it either, but if it does happen to be some sort of intense dream, he’s going to enjoy it as much as he can.

They finally tear their eyes away from each other when they hear Stiles moan, “Oh fuck, that’s hot,” hand tugging furiously at his flushed cock.

Scott grins, a certain mischievousness to his expression that Derek wasn’t prepared for, and pulls him in for another kiss. Derek grunts, surprised, as he feels Scott palm his erection through his jeans, other hand sliding up under his shirt. They break apart for a moment, just long enough for Scott to tug Derek’s shirt off up over his head, and then dive right back in, hot mouth sliding against each other.

Somehow in the process, they manage to make their way over next to the bed, and Derek startles as he feels another pair of hands slide over him, looping around him from behind to clumsily work open his belt buckle.

“Next time,” Stiles pants in his ear, hard cock rubbing up against the small of his back, “next time I’m totally filming you guys.”

Derek hadn’t even thought far enough ahead to consider a next time, but he groans in agreement – and then groans again as Stiles’ hand closes around his bare cock, pulling it out of his underwear.

Scott breaks the kiss, panting for breath, but then leans over Derek’s shoulder to kiss Stiles instead. Derek can scarcely believe what’s happening, that he’s sandwiched between two beautiful men, both of whom want him in way he’d barely allowed himself to imagine.

As Scott and Stiles break apart again, Stiles takes the opportunity to pull the two of them down onto the bed, the mattress bouncing slightly under the added weight. Derek watches, dazed, as the two exchange a look, communicating too quickly for Derek to follow. They’re perfectly in sync, though, Stiles moving up to continue kissing Derek and Scott moving down to fully divest Derek of his jeans.

Derek bucks his hips automatically, embarrassed as he accidentally hits Scott in the face with his cock. Scott looks surprised for a moment, but then laughs and pins Derek’s hips down with strong hands.

It’s almost too much for Derek – sensory overload – as Scott licks a stripe along the underside of his cock while Stiles sucks on his tongue. Just listening to the two of them was an assault on his senses, but this – Derek is going to lose his mind.

And then Scott takes him fully into his mouth.

Derek doesn’t last more than a minute, coming down Scott’s throat with barely a strangled warning which gets lost in Stiles’ mouth. Once again, Scott pulls off with an obscene pop, looking bright eyed and a little smug. He move up behind Stiles then, both straddling Derek’s stomach, and peppers biting kisses against Stiles’ neck as he rubs lazily against Stiles’ back.

Stiles breaks his kiss with Derek with a shuddering breath, straightening up to press his back flush to Scott’s chest. He tilts his head back, neck better exposed for Scott to bite, and grinds back against him. Derek watches them, sex dazed and helpless as they rut against each other, bodies moving perfectly in sync. Scott reaches a hand around to jerk Stiles off matching the rhythm of his hand with the rhythm of his hips as he rubs off against Stiles.

It doesn’t take long after that, Scott coming with a soft moan, shuddering against Stiles and painting his back with come. Stiles keens at the feeling and urges Scott to jerk him faster, snapping his hips forward and fucking Scott’s hand until he comes with a loud moan. A bit of his come spurts far enough to splatter across Derek’s nose. Stiles looks torn between embarrassed and turned on, mouth open to apologize, but Derek just grins at him and reaches a hand up to wipe it up off his face – and then lap it off his fingers.

“I’m dead,” Stiles moans, slumping down on top of Derek. Derek’s suddenly glad for his werewolf strength, allowing him to support both Scott and Stiles’ weight. “You two have killed me with sex.”

“Weren’t you already planning next time,” Scott says, in between putting the finishing touches on a large hickey just below Stiles’ jaw.

Stiles lets out another keening sound and Derek feels Stiles’ dick twitch against his stomach. Ah, to be young and have a short refractory period.

“Maybe I’ll feel more alive after a nap,” Stiles mutters, shifting around a bit to slide off of Derek and onto the bed. “A nap and then round two.”

“Alright, well I’m going to take a shower – ” Derek says, starting to get up from the bed, but he feels two pairs of hands scrabbling against him to pull him back down.

“No!” Stiles exclaims, tone petulant. “Post-sex cuddling is a mandatory ritual.”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Scott says, his words careful and his tone guarded, expression shuttered. Derek can’t help but remember the self-deprecating conversation he’d eavesdropped on earlier.

“If you’re fine with it,” Derek finally says, and Scott’s face splits with a wide grin.

“Absolutely,” he says.

Which is how Derek finds himself dozing with Scott McCall pressed up against his back and Stiles Stilinski pressed up against Scott’s back, long arms wrapping around both of them.

They don’t use the other bed for the remainder of the conference.