Derek stops saying “No” the moment Stiles’ tongue slips wetly into his mouth, and he can’t be blamed for that.
Stiles is nothing if not enthusiastic in everything he does, and kissing is not the exception.
Actually, sex is not the exception.
It doesn’t take Derek long after the first insistent touch of Stiles’ lips to abandon all pretenses and just let go, crowding Stiles against the wall and trying to get as deep inside his mouth as he possibly can without actually crushing him. By the way Stiles claws at his back, fingers digging hungrily in Derek’s shoulders — deep, satisfied moan dying in his throat — Derek thinks Stiles wouldn’t even mind. The thought burns deep in his guts, clenches his stomach hotly in a way Derek never knew before. He presses into Stiles harder, chest to chest as he pushes his legs open with his thigh, and Stiles smiles against his mouth, wicked tongue catching on the underside of Derek’s upper lip and sucking on it with a happy little sound as he grinds down.
Derek can feel him already half-hard against the straining muscle, warmth bleeding through the layers of their jeans; his hands come up into Stiles’ hair, nails scraping his scalp as he cradles his head into his palms. Stiles sighs; his breath mingles with Derek’s, lips barely touching now as he opens his eyes on a murmured yeah before he starts to ride Derek’s leg with sweet, undulating motions of his hips.
It’s obscene the way Stiles moves, that’s what it is, and he does it so unashamedly Derek is full of wonder. He feels Stiles’ hands everywhere, sliding down his spine and catching under the rim of his shirt, scratching at his skin in long lines and riding up along the available surface of his body.
Derek is dying to look down, watch Stiles move where he’s practically getting himself off on Derek’s leg, but he’s hypnotized by the blush creeping up Stiles’ cheeks, the way the high arches of them flush with heat and his eyes blaze with want. Stiles looks straight at him just like every time they talk, gaze unwavering in his intensity as little pants stutter and die on his full, parted lips. His tongue comes out to wet them and Derek can’t resist that much temptation; he leans down again to snatch another kiss, slow and filthy and warm, and Stiles hums against him with his whole body. He gives himself over to Derek completely, doesn’t keep anything hidden as Derek mouths at his jaw, follows the sharp line of it down to Stiles’ neck and sucks a bruise there. He can feel Stiles’ heart pulsing under his tongue, powerful and fast and in time with the loud beating of it inside Derek’s head; it doesn’t skip and doesn’t waver. Instead, Stiles’ heart is steady, sure of what he’s doing, and Derek can’t help but being reassured by it.
When Derek lets him go Stiles’ skin is smooth and bitten red, his neck bared and inviting, beautifully stretched. “What,” he asks and Stiles just chuckles softly, shakes his head and kisses him swiftly on the lips before he slithers down to the floor and on his knees.
“Shut up,” Stiles says, and the next thing Derek knows his mouth is pressed against Derek’s cock, straining hard inside his jeans. Derek swallows a moan at the sight, at Stiles’ head so close to him and at his nose nuzzling against the hidden weight of Derek’s balls. “I’ve wanted to do this forever, so just—” His words die in a whisper as Stiles unbuttons Derek’s jeans, as he takes Derek into his hand and then just... stares.
“—fuck” he exhales, breath hot on Derek’s skin, and Derek has to close his eyes for a second, lean his weight against the wall to keep his knees from buckling under his own weight. He takes a deep breath and when he looks down again Stiles is still staring, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. His lips look so soft and plump Derek makes a conscious effort not to touch them, not to press his thumb into that perfect Cupid’s bow and see how well it fits.
“Derek,” Stiles’ voice is small, and he’s not smiling anymore. He’s just gaping like he’s lost, like he doesn’t know what to do with a dick in his hand, and while that would be normal for someone who’s admittedly a virgin Derek can’t help suddenly feeling nervous. He tenses, ready to take a step aside, zip himself up and move from Stiles, out of his bedroom and away. He doesn’t want to rush this, doesn’t want to risk ruining it, not even if it’s Stiles himself calling the shots here. Stiles is so young he might know what he wants but not be ready for it, and Derek is prepared to be the one to say ‘no’ once again. He opens his mouth to speak, to tell him that it’s alright, but Stiles’ fingers just grip him a little bit harder, his other hand shooting up to hold Derek by his hip and stop him. “No,” Stiles says, and it comes out sure. “No. Don’t move.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, gentle, “You don’t have to—”
“Oh, but I want to. I really, really want to.” Stiles looks up to catch Derek’s eyes, and his gaze is clear, his face impossibly flushed in arousal and what looks suspiciously like glee. “It’s just— I’ve never—”
“I know,” Derek nods.
“No, no it’s not that. It’s— I’ve never seen, uh— it looks different, that’s all.” Derek looks at him questioningly and Stiles keeps going in a rush of breath. “I mean— I’m not saying anything bad about it, just— in porn you never see it...you know...” He looks around uncomfortably and Derek wants to laugh at how frustrated he looks.
“Uncut.” Saying it so bluntly apparently frees Stiles of any other inhibition he might have had about Derek’s dick, and he barrels on. “You never see an uncut dick in porn. And I’ve watched a decent amount of porn so you can take my word for it. I’m surprised, that’s all; I should have probably thought about it, you know, werewolf and everything, though I have to tell you if I had prepared myself it would have been to the possibility of a knot...”
“A what?” Derek asks, incredulous. “Why would you even think that?”
Stiles huffs, annoyed. “The internet is full of weird shit when you look up werewolf anatomy okay? Very weird, suspiciously detailed shit.”
“Stiles,” Derek starts, but he loses trail of what he was saying when Stiles’ tongue is suddenly on him, tentatively playing over the head of his cock and tugging gently at the skin there. “Stiles.”
“I like it.” Stiles licks him again, growing bolder. “Yeah, I definitely do.” And then his lips are sealing around him and Derek has to touch Stiles now, really has to, because Stiles is killing him with soft, timid suctions of his cockhead that become bolder by the second until he feels confident enough to try and take Derek deeper into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Derek mutters. He touches Stiles’ face, fingers trailing down his cheeks, and he can’t look away. Stiles is beautiful like this, a little frown of concentration as he tries to get the hang of it, lips red and shiny with spit already as he pushes down to meet the hand still wrapped around Derek’s dick. He makes a sound in the back of his throat and Derek feels it go down right to his bones, shivering and folding both his hands around Stiles’ face. “—fuck.”
Stiles hms vaguely, apparently too engrossed in sucking dick to pay attention to Derek’s roaming hands, and Derek can’t mind that when all he feels is the wetness of Stiles’ tongue playing against his slit, rasping kittenishly at the bluntness of the head until it catches against Derek’s foreskin again and again. It’s like Stiles is testing it, playing with it to get a feel of it and its give, and Derek widens his stance to keep his balance, lost in the sensation of being the sole focus of Stiles’ attention.
That very thought is so dizzying it makes Derek groan and buck his hips involuntarily. He doesn’t realize it until Stiles chokes on a breath and lets him go with a wet, dirty popping sound; he stares up at Derek with shiny eyes, and Derek is ready to apologize when instead Stiles frowns at him stubbornly and says, “Do that again.”
Derek freezes, fingers flexing instinctively against the boy’s head. Stiles’ lips trace the length of him, parted in their usual way, a perfect O that just a second ago was wrapped tight around Derek’s erection. He licks a wet stripe from the base up as he holds him, hand pumping once, twice until a fat drop of precome breaks and slides catching on Stiles’ upper lip on its way down.
It pearls perfectly in the cradle of that sweet Cupid’s bow, and the sound Derek makes at the sight could never be mistaken for human. Stiles grins, licking his lips and tasting Derek with such innocent curiosity it’s insane in such a context. Derek’s fingers trace his mouth, the swell of it; he takes himself from Stiles’ hand and Stiles frowns, surprised, until Derek presses down onto the soft cushion of his disappointed pout to coat the tip of his cock in shiny liquid, dense and sticky as he plays with it. He rubs himself against Stiles’ skin — baby soft and smooth — and Stiles keens, opens his mouth again and tries to swallow him once more.
It makes Derek crazy how eager he is.
He only lasts a second longer before giving in to Stiles’ insistence and pushing the head of his cock onto Stiles’ waiting tongue, letting him suck on it again. Stiles sighs around the girth of it, sucks half of it down sloppily, precome and drool making a mess of him; he still can’t take all of Derek in but he tries, goes down bit by bit undeterred as Derek traces the puffed up contour of his mouth, puts a thumb inside to stretch it further, feel the gentle strokes of Stiles’ tongue on the pad of his finger.
The blush of Stiles’ face distracts him for a bit, makes him wonder how far down his body it could go. He can see it spreading to Stiles’ neck, disappear into the collar of his t-shirt and possibly down the boy’s chest. It makes him lose himself in the fantasy of following it with his tongue, biting down a trail to Stiles’ nipples and his abdomen, spread him long and open on Derek’s bed as Derek tastes every inch of him. A wave of pleasure rides down his spine and makes him shake until Stiles squeezes his cock tight, sucks at it obscenely one last time. When he suddenly lets it go it lands against Derek’s belly with a loud slap, and Stiles grins smugly.
“Don’t come yet,” he orders as he goes back to rub the side of his cheek over Derek’s wet skin, webs of precome forming every time Stiles moves an inch to kiss Derek softly in random places along his length. It’s playful and sweet the way he presses against Derek’s dark-pink skin, the tip of his nose grazing him from the bottom to the tip. Stiles hums against it, open-mouthed and relieved, and Derek doesn’t understand why until he drags his focus from the way he’s fucking liberally along the side of Stiles’ face — slick-slipping over his skin, over his jaw and catching barely at the corners of his smile — and sees that Stiles has whipped his cock out, jerking it happily.
Derek only has time to watch for a few seconds that Stiles lets loose a soft sound into the groove of his hip, a sort of aborted sob following close until he’s spurting all over his hand, Derek’s shoes and the worn carpet of Derek’s bedroom.
It’s so hot that for a moment Derek feels he’s gonna come all over Stiles’ face — his squeezed shut eyes, the long fan of his lashes pearling with Derek’s come — and it’ll all be over too soon, but Stiles’ fingers wrap around his cock even tighter as he rides his orgasm and Derek calms down, breathing hard. Real hard.
“Jesus Christ,” Stiles pants and then, inexplicably, giggles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry— I just had to, you know, take the edge off because dude, this is so hot.” Derek just looks at him — at the way Stiles slumps into his thigh, boneless and content and breathing deep — and he’s still so hard it hurts; he wants to move, wriggle his hips to speed things up. Stiles’ grip on his dick is gone slack as he comes down from his high, and as much as Derek doesn’t want to pressure him into doing anything too quickly he also wants with a kind of desperation that’s only being fueled by Stiles’ earnestness. “I mean, you are so hot. And perfect. And you totally didn’t come because I told you not to.” He kisses Derek’s hipbone, keeping him still with both hands and leaving traces of his own come on Derek’s skin. “You wanted though, huh? You wanted to come all over my face, I could see it in the way you were looking at me.”
It’s not like Derek could possibly deny it, not even if Stiles is a human and can’t smell lies. “Yes.” He touches Stiles’ sticky fingers and then his face, painting faint little lines along the underside of his mouth. Stiles licks at the tip of his index quickly, wickedly fast, and hmms as he tastes himself.
“But you didn’t,” he repeats.
“I didn’t,” Derek concedes.
Stiles ignores Derek’s finger as he tries to pry Stiles’ mouth open with it and instead he goes back to idly licking Derek’s cock. It’s not nearly enough to get him off, but it keeps Derek on the edge of frustration so he grunts in approval when Stiles starts stroking him again.
“You know what I think?” Stiles says, careful to breathe over Derek’s sensitive skin, to let Derek feel the weight of his words like they’re a physical thing between them.
“What,” Derek croaks, mesmerized by Stiles’ lips as they move.
Stiles kisses the tip of Derek’s cock gently, then the soft line of hairs that trails up to his bellybutton as he rises from his knees to get back to eye level with Derek. “I think you didn’t come all over me because what you wanted was to come inside me. Am I right?”
Derek groans, heart thumping faster, “Stiles—”
Stiles swallows the words with a kiss, hungry and greedy and so, so messy. He sucks on Derek’s tongue, presses against him until Derek can feel him getting half-hard again — talk about taking the edge off — against his own, painful erection. He moans inside Stiles’s mouth, helpless, hands roaming down Stiles’ back until he can slip them at the back of his jeans, squeezing his ass and pushing him even closer.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Stiles whispers when he lets Derek’s lips go, “You want to come inside me. Fuck me into the mattress until you’re so far deep you don’t have anywhere else to —”
Derek doesn’t let him continue, instead he lifts Stiles from the ground — hands sliding down the back of his thighs and pulling up — and hears him yelp in surprise. He bites at his neck, hopes to leave a bruise as Stiles laughs heartily, a breathy rumble rising up from his ribcage right into Derek’s as he loops his arms around Derek’s shoulder. “You really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek murmurs against his skin, but Stiles just keeps chuckling softly, holding onto him and peppering kisses to Derek’s forehead as he nods.
“Oh, yes, yes I know,” he says as Derek walks them the short distance to his bed and throws Stiles on it, watches him bounce once on the mattress and stretch languorously over it; his jeans are open and his erection is pressed against his belly by the slightly lowered band of his boxers, come darkening the cotton in places and little, translucent drops of it still caught over his skin.
He beckons Derek with a little gesture of his hand, hips canting up invitingly, and Derek doesn’t waste any time in getting out of his clothes and joining Stiles on the bed. He reaches for Stiles’ jeans and tugs at them, and Stiles graciously lets him take them off along with his socks until he’s lying there in display in just a t-shirt and his underwear. “Believe me, I’ve been thinking about it hard enough to know every single detail of what I’m talking about.” Derek doesn't feel the need to argue with him when it’s painfully obvious that Stiles is perfectly comfortable with all this, but that doesn’t stop Stiles from going on. “I’ve thought about it so much, actually,” he lifts his arms above his head and the shirt rides up over his tummy, up the gentle line of hairs over his fine abdomen, so slowly that Derek almost trembles with the need to touch, “that I know exactly how much you need to prep me before I can take you, or how hard —”
“Stiles—,” Derek moans as he slides between Stiles’ parted legs, stroking his own cock to try and relieve some the pressure. “—fuck, I shouldn’t d—”
“No,” Stiles stops him, rising up slightly to get rid of his shirt. It lands carelessly to the floor when Stiles falls back to the mattress, his eyes never leaving Derek’s. “Stop touching. I don’t want you to come yet; you should be inside me when you do.”
Derek huffs a disbelieving breath, squeezing the base of his cock hard before releasing and abandoning all arguments he may have had about this. The way Stiles is looking at him, so sure of himself, firm and unbelievably convinced about this — whatever this is — is enough to put most of his doubts away; the rest is squashed by the realization that if Derek can trust Stiles with his life, then trusting him with his body is just the next, natural step. He looks down as Stiles lazily jacks himself, his lip curling slightly in the corner, and Derek nods. He falls forward to cover Stiles’ body with his own, pushing his legs apart as their skin touches, his cock sliding wet against Stiles’, rubbing against the back of Stiles’ knuckles.
Stiles draws in a satisfied breath, legs tangling with Derek’s as they kiss again. He pushes his body up into Derek’s, doesn’t stop the slow rhythm of his hand as his hips come up to increase the pressure and his other hand tangles in Derek’s hair, scratching his scalp. When Stiles pulls his head away with a sloppy sound Derek follows, a sloppier string of saliva connecting them for a moment before it breaks and Derek chases it with his tongue.
“You need to touch me,” Stiles pants against his lips. “You need to put your fingers in me and open me up good so you can fuck me.”
A strangled sound dies in Derek throat; “I don’t have anything,” he says, panting just as desperately as he keeps pushing into the cradle of Stiles’ legs, his hands clawing at Stiles’ underwear hurriedly. “There’s no lube here. I don’t— I don’t usually—” He growls in frustration trying to bring his point across, but Stiles just nods and takes Derek’s hand up to his mouth, takes two of his fingers in and sucks at them, coats them until a trickle of spit is drooling from the side of his parted lips and then lets him go.
“It’s okay,” he says when Derek looks at him dubiously. “I’ve done this before, you know...in the shower? And on my bed. And once on the floor in my room because I was bored and watching porn — I told you I watched a lot of it, didn’t I? — and I couldn’t wait to get off and didn’t want to waste time moving. I can take it and you — Jesus fuck, Derek — you’re already leaking all over my belly, I don’t think lubrication is gonna be a problem.”
Derek snorts at that because yes, he is actually making a mess, precome pooling in the grooves of Stiles’ hips now that his boxer shorts have been pushed midway down his thighs. He moves to sit back, kissing Stiles quickly on the tip of his nose, and Stiles shimmies out of his underwear with less grace than eager anticipation. As he watches him lay back again, part his legs wantonly, Derek puts his fingers in his mouth to wet them even more, Stiles’ taste mingling with his own. “Okay,” he says, and then he leans along Stiles’ body to fall on his elbow; he nestles Stiles’ right leg between his own as he touches him, watches Stiles’ head fall backwards as Derek fingers him gently, and he’s mesmerized by Stiles’ quick breaths, his chest heaving as every puff of air gets in with little pants and out in sweet, broken laughs.
Stiles is the epitome of joy as Derek’s finger-fucks him, hips rolling as his dick bobs against his abdomen, whispering little nonsense as he pushes up, fucks the air languidly as he claws at Derek’s shoulders with desperate hands.
“Oh” he says, eyes screwed shut and mouth open, “—fuck, yes—”
Derek draws him even closer, gluing himself to the side of Stiles’ body until they’re one warm, squirming line of flesh. He feels Stiles’ fingers digging into his back and he likes it, wishes for the marks to stay as long as possible.
“One more,” Stiels moans, “use one more finger.”
Derek does as he’s told and looks closely at Stiles’ face to gauge his reaction, but finger number three goes in and Stiles just grins, says “Yeah...fuck yes, like that. God Derek, I’ve been doing this — ah — every other night in the past few weeks but —”
“But what?” Derek asks, kissing his temple softly, tightening the hold he has on Stiles’ leg with his own. “What, Stiles?”
“This is good, this is so much better. The angle— the angle is—” Derek’s hand speeds up a bit, fingers scissoring and opening Stiles more, following the rotating motions of Stiles’ hips as Derek humps Stiles’ thigh unashamedly, riding it as he licks the side of Stiles’ face, listens to him talk. “You need to fuck me,” he’s saying, so naturally as if he’s asking Derek to pass him the salt. “Derek, you need to stop this and start fucking me, now.”
It takes Derek a moment to really stop, and even then it’s only when Stiles’ hands come up to his face and Derek opens his eyes to find Stiles looking at him, irises two wide pools of black, lips bitten red and cheeks pleasantly flushed. Derek reads the words on Stiles’ mouth, tongue pink and wet as it forms each syllable; he kisses Stiles as his fingers pull out and suddenly he’s there on top of him, making his way between his legs, sliding together as they fall chest to chest, breath to breath. Stiles fists his hands into his hair as Derek grinds into him, tip of his cock catching behind Stiles’ balls and making them both groan.
“Derek, come on, man,” Stiles pants.
Derek hums in assent and with one roll of his hips he’s inside Stiles’ body. Just an inch, just a tid-bit, but enough for Stiles to nod enthusiastically, hands shaking as they hold Derek by his sides.
“Holy fuck,” Stiles exclaims under his breath, “yeah”. He bites down on his lips, eyes shut, and Derek trembles with the effort of not pushing in a little bit further. “Keep going, don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek murmurs through gritted teeth.
“You won’t,” Stiles says and his heart is beating fast, strong, completely backing up the truth of the statement. “It’s good, it’s fucking good Derek, but you need to get a move on because I need to come and I wanna do that in the next century please, so just move now okay?” He punctuates the words with little pushes as he tries to draw Derek deeper.
“You’re a pushy little fucker, you know that?” Derek says as he starts moving.
Stiles’ eyes widen and he smiles cheekily. “I don’t know why that surprises you; come on, faster now.”
“I should have known you’d be like this,” Derek pants into Stiles’ mouth, so close Stiles doesn’t even have to push himself up to bite at Derek’s lips. “Talking and talking...You never stop talking, even when you’re stuffed full of dick and —” Derek groans as Stiles licks and bites at his tongue, Stiles’ legs urging him on, his hands pawing at Derek’s back.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Stiles pants, “so much. You have no idea how long I wanted this— you. You screwing me, fucking me into the mattress. Or the floor— or— oh fuck I don’t know, I think I’ve thought about this so much there isn’t one flat surface you didn’t imagi-fuck me against in the whole worl— okay, yeah, there—”
He lets his hands fall behind his head, spreads himself over the bed further as Derek fucks deeper, faster and with purpose; Derek looks down at him, at this boy who for all intents and purposes is really a man in the making, and marvels at how simple this seems to be. How the sweet joy etched in every little line around Stiles’ eyes — every small tremble of his lips as he smiles through his pleasure — seems to seep right into Derek’s soul, like Stiles is giving him something that’s not only a good fuck, not just a wet tangling of bodies, but something more and offered in the open, guilelessly.
Stiles is giving himself away to Derek so beautifully, so innocently aware of what he’s doing, that Derek can’t do anything but accept it, cherish it, lock it all somewhere where the horrors of the outside world won’t get to them.
“Stiles,” he groans. Stiles looks at him, eyes shining with just a little hint of tears, and Derek knows he’s not the only one affected here. He kisses him once, quick and soft for no other purpose than just feel him against his lips. He moves to take Stiles’ erection in hand, straining painfully to Stiles’ stomach and steadily pumping precome in time with Derek’s thrusts, but Stiles swaps his hand away with a sharp, “No.”
Derek looks at him questioningly and Stiles shakes his head, grinning; “I bet you can make me come like that, just on your dick. What do you say?”
“You little shit,” Derek huffs but he grins, too, and when Stiles squirms from under him Derek lets him move.
Stiles makes a sad, bereft little noise when Derek slips out of him but it’s only a second before he turns on all fours and looks at Derek from over his shoulder, bracing himself on his elbows and wagging his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Come on,” he murmurs, “of all the positions I’ve thought about this was the one that made you happiest in my fantasies.”
It’s sweet, said not to please but because Stiles really thinks it’s true; and it is, in a way, the idea of mounting Stiles so hot it’s like fire in Derek’s guts as he drapes himself over Stiles’s body. “You—” he starts into Stiles’ ear when he’s buried to the hilt, but Stiles moans, shakes beneath his weight and Derek can’t even go on, needs to take a moment. He bites at Stiles gently, sucks at his earlobe as he pushes inside and finds the right angle, fucks into Stiles again, wet and sloppy and perfect.
Stiles is incoherent after only a couple of carefully placed brushes of Derek’s dick, and Derek already misses his chatter, the constant commentary of what Stiles wants, of what Derek can give him. He kisses Stiles in between his shoulder blades as his thrusts get faster, holding onto his hips hard enough to bruise.
“God, Derek,” Stiles groans, “I see why fantasy-you liked this so much; I can feel you everywhere. You have to — ah — you have to let me keep your dick; I love your dick, man. Your dick is like my new god. I want to — Jesus worship at the altar of your cock every day of my human life, and you — you have to let me, okay? You can’t not — this is not just— Derek—”
Stiles’ tone is approaching desperate now, his breath coming in quick pants as Derek feels his heartbeat skyrocket. He folds himself over Stiles, licks at the back of his neck, kisses him softly. “No, it’s not,” he tries to reassure and even though Derek doesn’t know exactly what this is he knows, certainly, undoubtedly, what it is not, and he wants Stiles to be sure of that, to be safe in the knowledge that this matters.
“Good,” Stiles nods and just like that he comes, untouched as he said he would.
He spurts all over the sheets beneath them, fat lines of come Derek can hear landing on the fabric in three long squirts, and his laugh — Stiles’ joyous, ecstatic, laugh — is what milks the orgasm out of Derek in return.
He fucks Stiles through it, falling over his back as Stiles collapses on the mattress right in the pool of his own come, but neither cares as they ride through the pleasure.
Stiles laughs when he comes — of course he does.
Derek keeps closer, tries not to crush Stiles with his weight as he lets himself slide partly on the side, his leg hitching up around the back of Stiles’ thighs possessively. He hums in contentment and Stiles responds in kind, nuzzling into Derek’s body as soon as he’s regained his breath.
“How long before you can go again, do you think?” He doesn’t even open his eyes, clearly exhausted.
“Not much,” Derek answers, “but there’s no rush.”
Stiles kisses him, soft and deep and just a little bit dirty, the point of his tongue catching Derek’s upper lip and pulling it forward for a little bite. “I want you to fuck my mouth next,” he says as he licks around Derek’s lips, “push my head on your cock and just go crazy. And I want to ride you, like, for hours, so slow it’ll take you ages to get off. And—”
“Okay,” Derek says, and shuts him up with another kiss, “okay.”
“I want to fuck your mouth, too,” Stiles adds quickly, blushing prettily but absolutely serious.
“Okay,” Derek nods again.
“Oh my god, you’ll really let me do that?”
“You’d only talk me into doing it anyway; you are persuasive.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Stiles grins smugly.
“Oh shut up.”
“You just can’t say no to me, I’m irresistible!”
“A godsend, gift to humanity!”
“You’re an idiot, that’s what you are.”
“An idiot with a boner, too.”
“It’s because I thought about your mouth around my cock and in my mind it really, really looked good and— oh … yeah, I guess accuracy is the gift of an hyperactive mind, eh?”