“So,” Stiles begins. He's lying back on Derek's couch, legs folded up with his laptop resting against his thighs, and he has to turn his head to look at Derek. Derek looks up from the book he's reading when Stiles doesn't continue.
“What,” he says, his eyebrows creasing only slightly. It's taken them a year to get to the point where Derek doesn't frown at Stiles almost perpetually. It's an improvement.
“Hypothetical,” Stiles says, pushing himself up the couch and resting his hands on his stomach. “There's a bunch of different types of wolfsbane, right?”
“Yes,” Derek nods and Stiles isn't sure he can ever quantify how happy he is that Derek just answers his questions these days. Not having to fight for knowledge has seriously cut down their 'fighting for our lives' time.
“So these different types could conceivably behave like kryptonite, I'm guessing?” Stiles says and Derek suddenly focuses in on him, which is never not strange. “Different types do different things – like the one Allison's Mom used on Scott. Or that one that knocked you guys out but didn't hurt you that those hunters used last month.”
“Skip to the end,” Derek says, shutting his book and putting it on the arm of his chair. Stiles makes a face at him and one side of Derek's mouth twitches up.
“Is there a type of wolfsbane that would make you have to have sex?” Stiles says in a rush and frankly Derek deserves the poorly worded sentence for pushing him. Derek's face – well Derek's face is a picture, actually, eyes wide with the blue screen of death look he gets when someone (usually Stiles) says something he can't deal with.
“Why – why are you asking?” Derek asks after a moment, clearing his throat mid-sentence. Stiles isn't sure but he thinks Derek's ears are going red.
He's asking for a bunch of reasons Derek doesn't really want to know; he was in a research spiral and stumbled across references, he's always worried about consent because of Peter biting Scott without it, once the concept was in his head he couldn't shake it. He doesn't say any of that, though.
“There is, isn't there?” Stiles presses and Derek ducks his head before nodding slightly. “Right. Okay. Shit. That's – werewolves. You're ridiculous.”
“What?” Derek looks up again, his shock pushed aside for irritation.
“I mean - literal sex pollen, Derek?” Stiles shakes his head, taps his hands against his laptop. “That sort of shit should be left for fanfiction.”
“Sometimes I think you speak a different language,” Derek says, falling back in his chair with a whoosh of air. “There are a few varieties of wolfsbane that can override our instincts. Not all of them have the same effect but I remember my father telling me that there's at least two that can make it so we have to have sex.”
“It has to be sex?” Stiles asks, swinging his legs off the couch and setting his laptop on the coffee table. “You can't just jerk off?”
“Uh,” and Stiles had thought that he would never find a way to make Derek more uncomfortable than when he asked if knotting was a thing (it isn't, by the way). Derek can't even look at him. “I think sometimes any release is okay – but other times I think, if it's prepared a certain way, it has to actually be sex.”
“Are we talking the full penetration here?” Stiles asks because, well, he has absolutely no shame these days. It's hard to when you're surrounded by people with enhanced senses that rival Wolverine's. “Or can you guys just rub off against each other? Oral? Hand-hobs?”
“God, Stiles,” Derek lets out the 'what is my life' groan and covers his face with his hands. “I don't know, I didn't ask. I was thirteen – the last thing I wanted to talk about with my Dad was sex.”
Stiles can get that, actually, because when his Dad had tried to give him the Talk it had been amongst the worst days of his life. Luckily he managed to head it off by pointing out that a) he had the internet and b) he had the internet. He'd promised his Dad not to believe that what he saw in porn was how people really had sex (yeah, it was a fun conversation) and they never spoke of it again.
“So,” Stiles says, resting his elbows on his knees and settling his chin in his hands. “Hypothetical then: one of you guys gets dosed with some sex wolfsbane – how do we deal with it?”
Derek is silent for a long time but it's not the Silence of Ignoring Stiles, it's the Silence of Deep Alpha Thought. Stiles is well aware that he analyses Derek too much, but he's pretty sure that as long as he keeps his conclusions to himself Derek won't make the annoyed face at him. Besides – his analysis has kept them out of trouble for much of their junior year.
“Everyone should be made aware of those varieties of wolfsbane,” Derek says at last, uncovering his face to look at Stiles again. “But I'm not sure how to deal with consent.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says, nodding because that's really at the heart of it.
“The way I see it,” Stiles says slowly, feeling his way around an idea he's been thinking about for a few days. “The only way to come close to dealing with it is by instituting a sort of – a sex buddy system.”
To say the look Derek gives him is sceptical is to make an understatement. Stiles swallows.
“Hear me out,” he says, holding his hands up. “Say Jackson gets whammied and it's a complete fuck-or-die situation. He has Lydia, right? I know having someone consent to, I don't know, help you out doesn't exactly mean a lot when you've had your own ability to consent taken away from you but -”
“It would be better than coming out of the situation to find you'd forced yourself on someone,” Derek finishes for him and Stiles nods.
“I mean – it wouldn't stop the whole thing from being completely fucked up,” he says, bouncing a leg nervously. “But it might – mitigate it? At least a bit.”
“I think you might be right,” Derek says after a moment's thought, nodding his head. Stiles lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.
“I think this is literally the worst conversation I have ever had,” Stiles says, rubbing his hands over his hair. Derek snorts.
“I'll talk to everyone the next time we train,” Derek says, decisive. “Including the humans. Everyone has to have a choice.”
Stiles leans over a flicks through a few tabs, closing some things down, before checking the progress on his torrent. God he loves that he convinced Derek to get super fast internet when he rebuilt the house.
“We should give it a codename,” Stiles says and Derek looks up from where he was about to start reading again. “The sex wolfsbane. Because I'm guessing you're not going to be in the mood for explaining if you get hit by it.”
“A codename,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow. Two can play at that game so Stiles raises his own eyebrows.
“Yes,” he says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Something like, hah, red kryptonite.”
“I thought red kryptonite just made Superman a dick,” Derek says, lowering his eyebrow. Stiles stares at him. “Okay. Fair point.”
That's close enough to agreement for Stiles so he goes back to the webcomic he was reading. The problem is that it's not really the end of the conversation and he can tell that Derek knows just by the tension rolling off of him. Stiles manages a few pages before taking a breath and looking up at Derek again. Derek is already looking at him, his book shut on his lap.
“Who's going to be your sex buddy?” Stiles asks, pushing the words out as fast as he can. “I mean – I know you don't really do relationships for obvious reasons, I get that. But maybe a casual guy or girl?”
“I don't do fuckbuddies, Stiles,” Derek says and his voice does that thing where Stiles' brain tries to convince him that it's really deep but Stiles knows it isn't. The Alpha voice. Stiles holds his hands up again.
“Okay, right, no, I get that,” because he really really does. Not that Derek knows because, well, how do you bring up the fact that you figured out that Kate would've needed an insider to get the drop on the Hales the way she did and that if you put that together with Derek's endless guilt and trust issues, well, two and two equals Derek was used by Kate.
It's makes him angry every time he thinks of it and Derek must catch a hint of it because confusion flashes across his face for a brief moment. Stiles forcibly calms himself down.
“So, someone in the pack?” Stiles suggests, except, well, that's only really Isaac and that's just a weird thought. Derek goes stiff.
“I can't,” Derek shakes his head. “I have too much power over them. I could make them.”
“Yeah, okay,” Stiles nods. “I see that.”
The problem is – the problem is they both know that only leaves one person. The only other person Derek trusts enough to place that power in. Stiles.
The thing is: yes, Derek is objectively hot, Stiles is not denying that and, what with being older, Stiles is pretty sure Derek's awesomely experienced with the whole sex thing, fuckbuddies or not. But he's also Derek, the guy Stiles nearly cut an arm off of, who Stiles held up in a pool for a couple of hours, who's saved Stiles' life half a dozen times. They've found their way to a trust that's scarily deep and bit awesome – in the proper sense of the word – to think about. They're friends and Stiles just – doesn't really feel that way about him. Though he's guessing, what with being a perpetually horny bisexual teenager, he wouldn't have to try that hard to get it up for all of Derek's everything.
“You don't have to,” Derek says before Stiles can say anything. “We don't exactly – we're not like the others. We don't have -”
“Oh my God, stop, I am not talking about feelings with you,” Stiles says, waving his hands around. Derek's smile makes itself known again. Stiles looks at him thoughtfully. “You know. I'm not actually convinced that that's a bad thing, now I think about it. The lack of feelings, I mean. It almost makes things less complicated.”
“I didn't think you'd be the casual sex guy,” Derek says, lifting one of those eyebrows again. Stiles scoffs.
“Listen – as soon as people actually start wanting to have sex with me I am going to be the all the sex guy,” Stiles says, tapping his hands against his chest for emphasis. “Sex sounds awesome.”
Derek laughs, which is always a pleasant surprise, and Stiles smiles at him. Yeah. He could help Derek out if he needs him – that's what they've been to each other for a year or so anyway, this is just another dimension.
“You're sure,” Derek says, sobering and piercing Stiles with the look that says he's using all of his senses to be sure of what Stiles is saying. Stiles licks his lips and nods.
“Yeah, I'm sure,” he says. He nods again, just to be sure.
“You know that if you ever take that back – I promise I won't do anything to you,” Derek says, a slightly desperate edge to his voice and Stiles just wants to stab everything because Derek is so broken. Of course Stiles knows Derek would never hurt him, not now, not after Peter and Jackson and Gerard and the Alpha pack and Peter again. So a few of the werewolves have tried to kill Stiles before – Derek never has, he was born to this, he has control.
And the thing is, the thing really is, Stiles knows Derek would rather die first than hurt him. That's more terrifying than anything else Derek could lay on him.
“I know,” Stiles says, burying everything else. “Now – do you want to watch this episode of Merlin or not?”
Derek's quiet, genuine smile comes out to play and he shifts over to the couch while Stiles hooks the laptop up to the TV. He's fucked (hah!) if he knows how Derek even knows about Merlin but he's not looking a gift horse in the mouth – Scott has never understood this level of Stiles' geekery. He settles back beside Derek, tucking his feet under Derek's legs, and sets the episode up.
“Besides,” he says as the titles start. “It's not like it's ever really going to happen, right? It's all hypothetical.”
Famous. Last. Words.
“Where is he?” Stiles' distant voice is like an electric lick of fire against Derek's spine. This doesn't bode well.
“Through there,” Isaac's voice is stressed as he answers. “Listen, Stiles, are you really sure? We never thought -”
“I'm sure,” Stiles sounds certain but Derek can't hear his heartbeat yet, can't back it up with his senses. “Just get far enough away for, you know, privacy – but be close enough that if I, we, need you - you can get here fast.”
Derek can feel Isaac hesitating. Stiles must do something to convince him though because a moment later the door shuts and Derek can hear Isaac moving away, his feet scuffing the ground. Stiles doesn't come find him straight away, Derek can hear him pacing, and Derek tries to focus on his own breathing. Finally footsteps approach and Stiles' scent precedes him into the room. It makes Derek's mouth water.
This is really not boding well.
“Hey, there,” Stiles says, nerves fluttering in his tone now. Derek looks up at him from where he's sprawled on the floor and tries to ignore the way his body hums. Stiles rubs a hand over his hair. “So. Sex wolfsbane.”
Derek huffs out a breath and tightens his arms around his chest, fighting against the urge to leap at Stiles and burrow into his presence. God, this is embarrassing.
“What can I do?” Stiles asks, shifting backwards and forwards. Derek hauls himself up against the back of the couch more and draws his legs up to his chest. “Aside from the obvious.”
“I'm not going to -” Derek stops, breathes against the all-too-familiar shudder of want that's been coming over him in waves. “We don't have to go straight to that. We need to figure out what we need to do first. Did you bring Peter's laptop?”
The text he'd sent while Isaac carried him into the house had been five words, no punctuation: red kryptonite bring peters laptop. Stiles pulls his bag over his head and tugs the laptop out of it, throwing the bag onto one of the chairs. Derek jerks his head to the floor beside him and Stiles sits down, tension keeping him stiff. Derek barely manages to stop himself from leaning over and burying his face in Stiles' neck.
Stiles opens the laptop and sets it on his folded legs. One knee is bouncing gently and Derek wants to reach out and stop it – but he doesn't trust himself to stop there. Stiles notices him staring and stills the leg himself, letting out a shaky breath.
“You don't have to do this,” Derek says, even though every part of him rebels against the statement. Now that Stiles is here, now that the waves of want have something to focus on, Derek desperately doesn't want to let him go.
“I said I would,” Stiles says and his voice doesn't shake this time. “Stilinskis don't go back on promises.”
“It was a hypothetical promise at the time,” Derek points out. A shiver rips through him and Stiles instinctively reaches out to wrap a hand around the back of his neck.
Derek moans and Stiles freezes. They both stare at each other for a long moment. Stiles swallows and Derek's eyes flick down to the bob of his Adam's apple. He wants to taste.
“Please don't,” Derek says when Stiles starts to pull away. “It feels -” good “- better. I can think easier.”
“Okay,” Stiles says, leaving his hand in place. His thumb strokes up and down absently and Derek sighs into the touch. “It was hypothetical but I meant it, okay. I want to help you Derek.”
“I'm not going to stop asking,” Derek says, because he can't stop asking. He knows Stiles is still a virgin and that whatever they have to do – this is going to be his first time. He can't help but feel he's stealing something from Stiles.
“That's okay,” Stiles says, letting out a breath. “I'm going to keep saying it's okay. Besides. There's probably worse first times than with your hot, sex pollened friends.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, gritting his teeth against a surge of wantneedwant. Stiles squeezes his neck.
“If it's too much I'll stop,” Stiles says, holding his grip. “And so will you.”
“I can't promise that,” Derek says, shaking his head. Stiles shakes him by the neck.
“You will,” Stiles says. His mouth quirks into a grin. “Or you'll get a faceful of wolfsbane mace courtesy of the wonder that is Lydia Martin.”
Derek hadn't realised there was any of that left - all the humans had carried it during the Alpha pack crisis, it had saved their lives on more than one occasion. Derek felt something ease in his chest.
“That's right,” Stiles says, obviously reading something he liked in Derek's face. “I know what I'm doing. Well. I don't know what I'm doing. But I'm sure I'll figure it out. It can't be that hard. Heh. Hard.”
“Focus, Stiles,” Derek says, reaching a hand out and putting it on Stiles' leg. He needs the contact.
“What do you want to look up?” Stiles says, motioning to the laptop and ignoring Derek's hand, even when it starts tracing his inseam.
“We need to figure out which variety did this,” Derek says, waving a hand at himself. “We need to know what to do to get rid of it.”
“Okay,” Stiles says. He works one-handed and Derek is glad for that. Even though his blood still feels like it's burning through his veins Stiles' hand is keeping him grounded. He shifts his own hand further up Stiles' thigh, enjoying the intake of breath Stiles makes.
“Lucky for us Peter was obsessively organised,” Stiles says after a moment. His breath is shaky now but Derek thinks it's for a different reason than before, he idly rubs circles into Stiles' thigh. “He's got folders for everything and he even built an index. What exactly are you feeling?”
“Like my blood is on fire,” Derek says, digging the fingers of his non-Stiles-occupied hand into his own flesh as another wave of want rolls through him. They're getting closer together. “Building waves of want,” he adds, letting out a long breath. “Getting closer together.”
“Like contractions,” Stiles says. Derek rolls his eyes and nods. “And, uh, your, um – little Derek. Is he, uh, interested?”
Derek's cock is harder than it's ever been in his life. He's been trying to ignore it but now that Stiles has mentioned it it's all he can think about. He moves a hand down to press against it for a moment, trying to relieve the pressure. He moans instead.
Something tells him Laura would find this situation hilarious.
“I'll take that as a yes,” Stiles says, his cheeks going pink. Derek can't smell much beyond his own arousal but he thinks he's starting to get something off of Stiles – which hopefully means it won't take too long to fix this.
“Right,” Stiles says after a few minutes of reading. “There's one variety that does the, uh, want contractions. It, um, it says that someone has to -”
“I haven't got all day, Stiles,” Derek bites out. There goes another wave.
“It says I have to – I have to fuck you,” Stiles says, his voice quiet. He swallows again. “Properly. The whole thing. Um. Or you'll go feral. Apparently. Which sounds bad.”
“Of course,” Derek says, because it couldn't be easy. It couldn't just be 'rub off against another person'. Or blowjobs – Stiles has a good mouth for that. Objectively, of course. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says, sighing and slumping. He moves the laptop onto the floor and rests his head against the back of the couch. “You're sure you still want me for this? Because I may have watched a lot of porn but I really don't know if I'm equipped for...that.”
“It has to be you now,” Derek says, knowing it instinctively. His body has decided on Stiles now, it won't accept anyone else. Besides – there's no-one else Derek would trust with this.
“Fine. Right. Okay,” Stiles says, mostly to himself. “Then we're going to your bedroom and I hope you have a ton of lube.”
Derek laughs because he really, really, really needs to. If he doesn't he thinks he might just curl up and die. Stiles chuckles weakly beside him and Derek gives in, leans into Stiles' space and presses his ear against his chest. Stiles stills.
“Tell me again,” Derek asks. Stiles takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly.
“I'm okay with this,” Stiles says, moving the hand on Derek's neck into his hair. His heartbeat stays even.
“Let's go,” Derek stands and holds a hand out to Stiles. Stiles takes it and joins him, turning his hand around so they can twist their fingers together. He leans over his bag on the way out and retrieves the now familiar can of mace.
They're quiet as they go upstairs, Stiles moving restlessly about as if Derek's grip on his hand is the only thing keeping him tethered. They reach Derek's room and Stiles releases him, raising an eyebrow. Derek nods at the bathroom and Stiles disappears. Derek strips down while Stiles is out of the room, his movements economical, and doubles over when the next sex wave hits him like a ton of bricks.
Stiles returns to find him bent over the end of the bed, struggling for breath against it, and makes a strangled noise. Derek thinks about what he must look like; flesh reddening from arousal, his legs shaking from the effort of holding himself up, bent over the bed like an invitation. He feels – he feels amazing, actually, which is terrifying. He looks over his shoulder at Stiles and scents the air delicately – smells like Stiles just went from zero to raging hard-on in one second flat. Derek's lips twitch into a smirk.
“Oh, haha,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes and throwing the mace and the lube onto the bed. “I never said you're not attractive. And I'm seventeen – sometimes I get hard when I see a suggestive table leg. You are a lot more than a suggestive fucking table leg.”
“Get undressed,” Derek says and, yeah, he recognises the way his voice goes when he has sex. He hasn't – there's hasn't been a lot since...since before, but there's been enough for him to figure out the basics of what he likes.
He probably likes getting fucked a little more than his image generally suggests.
Stiles pulls his clothes off with jerky movements as Derek climbs onto the bed. He rolls onto his back and can't resist a few pulls of his cock, watching the way Stiles uncovers his pale skin. If he'd given any thought to this at all he would've assumed Stiles would be shy of himself, he doesn't present as confident of his body in anyway. He would've been wrong – Stiles moves easily when his clothes are off, maybe easier than he moves with them on, it's like he knows himself better now.
Now Derek can see that years of lacrosse have given Stiles a lean, gently defined body. He already knows that Stiles is deceptively strong, after too many incidents to count, and the thought of that lean, hard body crowding over him makes the next wave of want doubly powerful. Stiles' hardened cock is attractive too and Derek's wolfsbane fogged brain zeroes in on it, telling him what he needs. He needs it bare, which is so fucked up for Stiles' first time, and Derek desperately wants to call this whole thing off again.
Stiles kneels between Derek's legs and slides the tube of lube through his fingers, staring at Derek's body thoughtfully, lost inside his head. He trails a hand through the hair on Derek's thigh and it's like a brand against his flesh. Derek moans again, his cock twitching where it's still wrapped in the circle of his hand.
“Stiles?” Derek asks, wondering if he should prepare himself. He's done it once or twice before, enjoyed it even, but he doesn't know what Stiles wants right now. Stiles shakes himself and meets Derek's eyes.
“It's just,” he keeps his hand moving, getting closer and closer to Derek's groin on each pass. “I figured if I hooked up with a guy there'd be, I don't know, handjobs first, maybe some good old frottage -” Stiles over-pronounces the word and Derek snorts. Stiles reflexively smiles at him. “Blowjobs too, you know, plenty of them. Before going the whole way. I mean – any sex is sex, I know that, it's not all about the penetration. That doesn't equal devirginising or something. But I at least thought I'd get to kiss someone first.”
Derek blinks because that can't be true – someone must've kissed Stiles at least once. Derek remembers high school being cruel to the oddballs and the outcasts but Stiles is still on the lacrosse team, surely that must've been enough. Stiles must recognise his surprise because he goes shy for the first time since taking his clothes off, ducking his head. Derek finds himself making a determined noise and reaching for him.
He tugs Stiles down against him and spares a moment of enjoying how well they fit together. He forgets sometimes that they're close in height – Stiles is excellent at making himself seem small, unobtrusive, nothing to worry about. It's saved his life a few times. Stiles' hands press into the pillow either side of Derek's head and he stares at Derek, eyes wide. Stiles licks his lips, his eyes flickering down to Derek's mouth, and Derek wraps a hand around the back of his neck to draw him down.
He tries to ignore the way their cocks brush together, even though the slightest touch of Stiles' skin to his is like electricity, and concentrates on fitting their mouths together. If he's taking all of this away from Stiles he's going to make it count. Stiles makes a soft noise in his throat as they kiss and one of his hands moves so that he can thread his fingers into Derek's hair, tugging gently. He lets Derek lick his mouth open, sucking shyly at Derek's tongue and making Derek buck up against him. Derek coaxes Stiles into sliding his tongue into Derek's mouth and it's intoxicating – the warmth and the taste and the smell of Stiles all around him, amped up to eleven under the fucking wolfsbane's influence.
“Wow,” Stiles breathes when Derek finally lets him go. “You may not've been my first choice for that but I am so not complaining about it.”
Derek can't help the smirk and Stiles swats at him playfully before moving back to his knees. Derek whimpers, actually whimpers, when Stiles' body is no longer in contact with his and Stiles' hands are instantly on him, rubbing soothingly up and down his thighs.
“So,” Stiles swallows, looking down at Derek's ass and fiddling nervously with the lube again. “I know the logistics of this – like I said, lots of porn – but you'll have to, if I do something wrong, you have to tell me.”
“I will,” Derek says, his voice coming out hoarse and low. “Are you sure?”
“I'm sure,” Stiles confirms, uncapping the lube. Derek grabs a free pillow and lifts his hips to push it under them, spreading his legs as wide as possible. He tries not to laugh when Stiles grabs at the base of his own cock, cursing as he squeezes hard.
“Fuck off,” Stiles mutters, scowling and Derek lets the laughter out. Stiles huffs out a skittery laugh too and finally slicks his fingers up.
Stiles is hesitant at first, biting his lip in concentration, and his touches are feathery light, maddening. He grows bolder as Derek makes noises of encouragement, moving his fingers in circles around the pucker of his ass. Derek moves against him, tries to tell him non-verbally when he's ready for Stiles to try a finger, and Stiles is so good at reading him, which normally annoys him, that he picks it up. He works the first finger in slowly and there's a suggestion of experience in the way he does it that speaks to self-experimentation. Which isn't surprising from the guy who has to know everything.
After he has one finger all the way in, curling and testing until he hits Derek's prostate at least once (Derek cries out and Stiles looks at him with genuine surprise and pleasure), it goes much faster. Stiles has always been a quick learner and not for the first time Derek is struck by the half-wish that Stiles had been bitten instead of Scott – if only because he thinks Stiles might've listened to him more because of his thirst for knowledge.
Stiles works up to three fingers, applying more lube than is probably strictly necessary, and by that point Derek is moving against him, bearing down. He fists his fingers into the bed covers in an effort to stop himself from grabbing his cock and working off a quick orgasm – he doesn't want to risk fucking this up.
“Are you -” it's the first time Stiles has spoken for a while and his voice is dark and rough and it does things to Derek that he can't explain. He shudders. “Derek – can I – are you – I really need -”
In any other circumstance Derek would want to make a joke about Stiles being lost for words. But any sense of humour he has is lost in the sudden roar of wantneedwant in his ears. He draws in a shuddering breath and meets Stiles' eyes.
“Ready,” he says. Stiles licks his bitten lips and nods, slowly removing his fingers. Derek hates that they're gone, feels suddenly empty, but he knows it won't be for long. “The article said I have to be – that I can't use a condom.”
“I know,” Derek says. His body is starting to shake with the need now, so close to it's goal, and the contractions of want are making it hard to speak. “I know. You don't have to if you – I can't, I won't give you anything – but if you don't want to.”
“No, it's okay,” Stiles says, ducking his head for a moment. “I think – no, I know – it's gonna be okay. I trust you.”
Jesus Christ. What is Derek even supposed to do with that? He reaches out for Stiles and Stiles comes to him easily, letting himself be drawn into another kiss. This one is harder than the first, deeper, wet and filthy and the moan that vibrates through Stiles sets Derek on fire.
“Please,” he says when Stiles pulls back. Stiles nods and moves back to slick his cock.
It's only as Stiles is pressing against his entrance, Derek's legs folded back and apart, that he realises this would be a lot easier if he was on his hands and knees. He needs it like this though, the part of him that isn't clouded with wolfsbane, needs to know that it's Stiles doing this, that it's safe even if it's outwith his control. Stiles curses as he presses in, moving in shallow little thrusts, and Derek can't help the little noises he makes. He's not normally vocal in sex but something about this is so much more that he can't help it.
“Fucking shitfuck hell,” Stiles says when he bottoms out. “You're so tight and hot I don't – this isn't going to take long.”
“Take it as slow as you can,” Derek manages to get out as the deep, perfect feeling of being filled takes over his senses. “I'll catch up.”
Stiles leans his head against Derek for a moment, taking a series of deep breaths, and Derek's rebelling body revels in it, taking in his presence and warmth. Derek breathes deep too, drawing in Stiles' scent and his own mixed with sex and lube. His body shakes through another contraction and Stiles moans as Derek instinctively tightens around him.
“Let's do this, then,” Stiles says, straightening up and grabbing Derek's hips. He pulls back slowly and drives back in and Derek nearly rocks up with surprise when he hits dead on target. “Shit, I hope you realise that was an accident. I can't guarantee -”
“Move. Stiles,” Derek grinds it out as he reaches for his cock and starts pulling hard, going straight for endgame jerking off moves. Stiles makes an indescribable noise and finally, finally starts moving.
There's no rhythm at all, Stiles is too new at this to be able to do anything other than thrust and hope for the best clearly, but Derek doesn't give shit right now. He's filled up and each awkward stroke is enough to stoke the fires the wolfsbane kindled in him. He jacks himself as quick as is safe, pausing to squirt some of the lube into his hand, thumb circling around the head of his cock. It's good, illegally good, and nothing should feel like this.
He has a brief moment where he's realises that it's literally illegally good and he can't stop a laugh from bursting out of his mouth. Stiles shudders as Derek's body shakes around him and his hips snap even more irregularly forward. Everything about Stiles is screaming that he's holding back as hard as he can, desperate not to go off too soon, and Derek wants and needs him to let go.
There's a coil of heat deep inside Derek and it's half his and half the wolfsbane but he doesn't know which half is which and he no longer cares he just needs to come and he needs to do it soon before his blood bursts out of his skin and burns this fucking house down all over again.
“Oh my God,” Stiles says suddenly, his eyes raking up and down Derek. “I mean, I knew you'd be hot but this is just fucking ridiculous.”
“Stiles,” Derek says. “Stiles – I need – I want -”
Stiles does something unexpected and releases his hips to fall awkwardly over him. He crashes their mouths together, familiarly inelegant, and kisses Derek deep and dirty, pulling back enough to bite at Derek's bottom lip. He grinds up into Derek and Derek feels the first shocky touches of orgasm rippling up his legs and down his arms. Stiles gets a hand between them and wraps it around Derek's, helping, his mouth falling open and his breath huffing hotly against Derek's cheek.
“Fuck,” Derek says, his back arching. “Fuck. Stiles.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says, his hips driving awkwardly. “Come on.”
It hits Derek like a freight train, punching out of him like something out of Alien, and he doesn't even know what kind of noises he's making, only that he'll be embarrassed about them in the morning. It ripples through him in a continuous wave as he spills onto his own chest and Stiles stills inside him, coming violently hard and shaking with it. Whatever the hell the wolfsbane does amplifies the orgasm, dragging it out far longer than it should go, and by the time it finally finishes Derek is aware he's whimpering against Stiles' neck and Stiles is rubbing soothing fingers through his hair.
“Holy God,” Stiles breathes against his neck from where he's collapsed. Derek makes a noise of assent.
A minute goes by before Stiles is able to push himself up enough to pull out. There's the familiar sense of being suddenly bereft followed by the unfamiliar sense of Stiles' come slipping out with him. Derek likes it more than he normally would and he chooses to blame it on after effects. Stiles rolls away and throws an arm over his eyes, his chest heaving. Derek waits.
“How do you feel?” Stiles asks after a long silence, his breathing finally evening out. His heart is still hammering in his chest but is steady.
“I feel,” Derek stops and thinks about it. He doesn't feel like he's on fire any more – there's just the sensation of cool air on sweat stained skin, the sticky mess of his come on his chest and stomach, and the softly mixing scents in the air. “I think it worked.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Stiles says, laughing weakly. “I may be a teenager but there's no way in hell I was going to be able to pull off another round of that. I'm only human.”
They lie there for a little longer, Derek waiting until he's certain his legs will be able to hold him up. Stiles' arm brushes against his side occasionally but it's no longer the electric buzz, just the familiar comfort of pack. He lets out a slow breath and swings his legs off the bed.
“Going to clean up,” he says, wincing as he stands. Stiles nods and rolls onto his side, curling in a bit. “Are you okay?”
“I'm good,” Stiles says, his heartbeat even with the truth. He smiles for good measure and Derek finds himself returning it.
He takes his time in the bathroom, looks hard at himself in the mirror and waits for the freak out. It doesn't come though and he realises that Stiles was right about the 'sex buddy' idea. It doesn't pain him to admit it, which is something to think about another time. He knows he wouldn't feel like this if he didn't trust Stiles and if Stiles hadn't constantly reassured him that he was okay with it. It's still awkward and weird and he's pretty aware they're not going to be able to look at each other in the same way again but – it worked. It actually worked.
“So I'm a genius, right?” Stiles says when Derek goes back into the bedroom. Derek snorts and throws a cloth at him. “You can say it, dude, there's no-one but me to hear.”
“It was a good idea,” Derek says, going over to his drawers and pulling out a soft pair of sleep pants. He tugs them on before turning back to the bed.
“Damn right it was,” Stiles gets off the bed and hovers for a moment. Derek sighs.
“You can stay,” he says, resisting the urge to fold his arms. He has nothing to be defensive about.
“Good, that's, that's good,” Stiles says, he's nervous again and Derek wants to press him on why but he lets him leave the room.
Derek gets his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and texts Isaac the all clear, tells him to stay at Scott's house tonight. Stiles comes back about five minutes later, wearing boxers and a faded Star Wars t-shirt. There's the source of the nerves. Derek smiles at him and Stiles rolls his eyes.
“Yes, okay, I planned ahead,” Stiles shrugs. “I was almost a boy scout once, cut me some slack.”
“I didn't say anything,” Derek says, he falls onto the bed, avoiding the wet patch, and settles against one of the pillows. The one he'd tucked under his ass is in the corner of the room. It smells.
“You were thinking it,” Stiles says, pointing at him. Derek shrugs and Stiles throws himself onto the bed, wriggling up until he's settled next to Derek.
They've actually slept together a lot over the past year, sometimes with other packmembers around for security and sometimes just because they were too exhausted to separate. There's something peaceful about sleeping next to Stiles, even though Stiles is a restless sleeper. Derek's pinned it down in his mind as being something to do with the unshakeable trust he's found himself having in Stiles. Stiles still remains the only person who keeps coming back because he wants to and that means more to Derek than he can tell him.
“I'm sorry,” Derek says reaching a hand out to brush against Stiles' arm. Stiles makes a questioning sound. “Your first time should've been with someone you at least have feelings for.”
“It's all good,” Stiles says dismissively. Derek keeps listening for lies but Stiles isn't telling any. “I've kinda lost hope of getting anywhere with anyone until I get to college. They like the weird ones in college, I've been told.”
“You'll be waist-deep, then,” Derek says, tilting a smirk at Stiles. Stiles smacks him on the arm and grins.
“Now I'm going to go to college with a pretty hot – and successful! - first time under my belt,” Stiles says, waving a hand around. “Circumstances were fucked up but, I mean, we're okay right?”
“We are,” Derek says because it's true. They really are. It's unreal how okay they are.
“Then it's fine,” Stiles says. “But if I ever tell the story I'll probably leave out the wolfsbane part.”
“Probably a good idea,” Derek nods, straight faced. Stiles laughs then slides across the bed, curling into Derek's side.
“For what it's worth,” Stiles says, tracing a pattern on Derek's chest. “I'm sorry too. Your first time in a while should've been with someone you, y'know, wanted.”
Derek had wanted him, though, and he figures it'll take a while to work out whether that was the wolfsbane talking or some part of him he didn't know about until now. He's okay with waiting.
“It's fine,” Derek says, echoing Stiles' sentiments. “I trust you and that – that's more important to me than anything else.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says quietly. “Yeah, I get that.”
That seems to be about the limit of conversation Stiles' sex-sated body is capable of as he drifts into sleep a little after. Derek stays awake longer, letting his body calm down, making sure it's definitely over. He doesn't even notice falling asleep in the end, his head bent toward Stiles' and Stiles' scent calming in his nose.