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Derek wakes up smiling, which still surprises him even though it’s been happening more and more often lately. It seems like the rough weather from last night has cleared up; the sun is streaming in through the east-facing windows of his new apartment, and he’s got Stiles’ skin under his hands and Stiles’ scent in his nose. It already feels like a good morning, even though there’s a strange, awkward heaviness in his chest as he rolls onto his back and arches into a stretch.

He figures he just overdid it with the pull-ups yesterday (it’s happened before, supernatural muscle regeneration notwithstanding), and he thinks nothing of it as he rolls back over to curl himself around Stiles and sleep in a little bit. 

Except that Stiles is wide awake, and staring at him with huge, horrified eyes. 

“Who the fuck…” he whispers, and then narrows his eyes at Derek’s face. “Derek?!” 

“Well, who else would be in bed with you?” Derek yawns. “No, wait, don’t answer that. You better not have an answer for that.”

“Of course I don’t—Derek, listen, this is going to sound crazy, and I’m like seventy-nine percent sure that I’m still asleep, but, dude… you’re a girl.”

“What.” Derek is disappointed in Stiles. Usually his jokes are a little less sophomoric, even first thing in the morning. “Is this about the muffins again? Because I can stop baking the muffins.”

“Shut up, I love your muffins, never stop with the muffins. I mean you’re literally a girl. Well, I mean, woman, actually—”

“Stiles, I swear, if you don’t start making sense in ten seconds—” Derek cuts himself off, because Stiles has reached out and put a hand on Derek’s chest.

Well, more accurately, he’s got a hand cupped around one of Derek’s boobs. Because Derek has those, now. 

“Whoa,” Stiles is saying. “You know, I just did that to prove a point, but, man.” He squeezes, gently, and Derek lets out an involuntary noise that’s much higher-pitched than he’s accustomed to making, oh dear god. “This is actually kind of awesome, can I just—”

“Stiles, hands off for a second,” Derek orders, a little reluctantly. “Aren’t you even a little bit worried about this? We need to figure out what happened.”

Stiles takes back his hand with a wistful little sigh. “Yeah, sorry, I know. That’s just the first time I’ve ever touched one of those before. And yours are… nice.”

“Uh huh.” Derek raises one eyebrow and keeps his face totally blank, and Stiles’ eyes widen.

“Oh, no, I mean—not that your actual body isn’t nice! So nice. The nicest, really. Nicer than any body I’ve seen in real life or Hollywood or porn or anywhere, seriously, and… you’re messing with me right now, aren’t you.”

“Uh huh,” Derek says, and Stiles punches him in the arm.

“Wow, that feels weird without the giant bicep, you’re so little,” he says wonderingly, while Derek gets up the courage to check the rest of his body under the blankets. “Oh, hey, lemme see!”

Once they’ve both gotten a good, thorough look at Derek’s current self, the uncomfortable wrongness of the situation has finally started to overcome the novelty of it. Stiles makes Derek get dressed—they button Stiles’ plaid shirt from yesterday over Derek’s henley to bind the breasts back a little, and he pulls on his oversized winter pajama pants because his jeans won’t fit over the swell of his new hips—and drags him to Deaton’s, even though if it were up to Derek he would probably sleep for a few more hours first.

“Oh my god, stop complaining,” Stiles chides as Deaton is checking Derek’s vitals and consulting his journals. “You seriously could sleep right now? While your sex hangs in the balance?”

Derek shrugs. “We don’t know how serious it is yet. Maybe it will go away on its own.”

“Your penis is gone, Derek. Possibly forever.” Stiles sounds inconsolable over the mere thought, and Deaton doesn’t even bother covering his snort.

Gratifyingly, it turns out that Derek is right not to worry.

“It’s a particular kind of electromagnetic storm,” Deaton explains, showing them the weather report from the night before on his cell phone. “It’s rare, but it has happened before, particularly in areas with high concentrations of supernatural activity. When such a weather pattern coincides with certain phases of the moon, it can cause some temporary… rearrangement, for shapeshifters. Should only last a couple of weeks, at the most.”

“Wait, so Scott’s a chick, too?” Stiles bounces excitedly. “Is Boyd? Do you think he’s still really tall? Oh my god, is Erica a dude?!”

“This type of energy surge only affects born shifters,” Deaton clarifies, rolling his eyes. “Not bitten ones.”

“I never thought I’d regret driving Peter out of town,” Stiles says sadly, and when Derek laughs it comes out as a musical, feminine giggle.

At least that seems to cheer Stiles up.



“Well, I’m still hotter than you,” Erica announces when he gathers the pack together at his place that evening.

“Nope,” Stiles and (shockingly) Scott say, in unison. Stiles gapes and Scott, who just shrugs and says “What? Look at her jaw. I mean, his jaw. And the eyelashes are completely unreal. He kind of reminds me of Allison.”

“And the crazy thing is, I’m flattered,” Allison says, grinning and kissing Scott on the cheek. 

“Can you still fight?” Boyd says, and then holds his hands up defensively as all the women in the room glare daggers at him. “Not what I meant. I mean, can you still move the same? Or does everything feel weird?”

“Can you shift?” Isaac adds, and, huh. 

“I don’t know, let me...” Derek closes his eyes and rolls his neck, and he feels the shift come on just as naturally as ever.

“Oh, okay, nope,” Scott says, “the resemblance is gone. Erica, you’re definitely hotter now.” 

“I’d still hit it,” Stiles says, giving Derek a soft, secret smile that has everyone groaning about how gross they are. 

“So,” says Lydia pointedly, “was that all? Because finals are coming up and if this thing is going to resolve on its own, I think we’ve all got better things to do than sit around here placing bets on how long it takes Stiles to get under your skirt.”

Lydia.” Stiles looks disproportionately appalled, considering the fact that he’s been known to brag about his sex life with Derek publicly and in great detail (Derek doesn’t mind; Stiles always uses really flattering adjectives).

“Who’s placing bets?” Jackson’s already halfway to the door, preoccupied with something on his phone. “We all know they’re gonna start fucking as soon as we leave this apartment. Who needs a ride?”

Derek hates to be predictable, but once the rest of the pack is cleared out he really can’t stop himself from pushing Stiles against the door and giving him the kind of deep, slow kiss that’s meant to goad him into losing patience and ripping Derek’s shirt off. 

“So what do you wanna do now,” Derek murmurs between their mouths, warm and teasing. He’s been thinking about this all day, almost, ever since Stiles touched him this morning—and okay, maybe his dick is gone, and maybe he has to lean up a bit to kiss Stiles now, and all that’s a little strange, but Derek’s had a rough life up until this point. He’s beginning to learn perspective, and in the scheme of things, being a temporary woman is pretty minor. 

Stiles hums against his lips, and one of his hands slides inwards from Derek’s waist a little, resting warm and low on his stomach. He slips a thumb under the waistband of the pajama pants, and Derek has always loved Stiles’ hands but they’ve never seemed this huge before, god, and suddenly there’s a rush of urgent heat under Derek’s skin and a sweet ache between his legs and he’s so there, he’s ready to go

—except Stiles is pulling back, awkward and apologetic, and Derek feels cold all along his front where they were pressed together just a second ago. 

“I, um.” Stiles is flushed, and his eyes are all pupil as they look everywhere but at Derek’s face. “I should really go, too. Finals and all.”

Seriously?” Derek hates the way his new voice exposes him; the higher pitch makes him sound far more desperate than he means to. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’d just be distracted. Um. Rain check?” 

Derek sighs, disappointed. “Sure,” he agrees, and Stiles leans in to kiss him goodbye. He tries to brace a palm on Derek’s chest like he always does for quick kisses, and then pulls back like he’s been burned when he remembers there are boobs in his way. “Oh, sorry.”

“You’re allowed to touch them, idiot, it’s just me.” Derek reels him in and kisses him again before pushing him at the door. “Go study. And don’t get too distracted from your schoolwork thinking about what I’ll be doing.”

“Wha… why, what will you be doing?”

“Just thinking about you, all alone,” Derek says with a predatory smile, and shuts the door on Stiles’ pained groan.



Derek studies his new face in the bathroom mirror for a long time after Stiles leaves, wondering if—despite his protests of a legitimate schoolwork emergency—there’s something about him like this that’s putting Stiles off. He still looks like himself, in all the essential ways; his eyes are identical, large and hazel-green, and he’s pretty sure his eyebrows have barely changed either. His nose is a little bit smaller (although unfortunately it still doesn’t have that ridiculously cute turned-up tip like Stiles’ does), and his face is maybe a tiny bit narrower at the bottom. His hair hasn’t changed, which he’s grateful for; he’s already going to have to deal with clothes shopping and possibly (god forbid) menstruation during this whole ordeal, and he’d rather not add advanced hair management to the list.

He likes his neck; it’s slender but strong, and the skin feels unbelievably soft and delicate when he runs his hand down his throat. His breasts are, as Stiles accurately pointed out, really nice; Derek shucks his two layers of shirts and admires himself in profile, pushing his shoulders back and watching the way they jut out. They’re not really big; B-cup at the most, and his nipples look mostly the same (if a bit… puffier).  He wonders if he could get away with not buying any bras. Lydia would probably throw a fit. 

He lifts a hand and cups one of them the way Stiles did that morning, and then drags the pad of his thumb over his nipple, which is nice. His eyes drift closed while his other hand slides down over his ribs and the slight curve of his belly. He was mostly joking at the time, when he told Stiles what his plans for the night were, but it seems crucial at the moment to get his hand between his legs, just something to push against…

At the first tentative press of his fingers, Derek gasps and falls forward against the sink. Holy shit.

Giving up on all pretense, he flings off the rest of his clothes on his way back into his room and falls onto his bed. He stretches luxuriously and palms the soft, eager insides of his thighs, trying to decide which mental image he’s going to use to ramp himself up even higher. 

He ends up going with the time he rimmed Stiles over the hood of the Camaro after a fight, angry and sloppy and fierce. He pictures the trembling curve of Stiles’ back and the way his hands made helpless fists against the smooth metal and oh, fuck, the sounds he made, so completely gone on it that he could barely form the words to ask for more.

Those memories bring Derek easily through the first two orgasms, bright and sudden like flashbulbs, and then he slides two fingers inside himself and switches to imagining what it would be like to be fucked like this, to ride Stiles slow and careful while he’s writhing and begging Derek to go faster—or maybe he’d just lie back and let Stiles take him, fingers digging into his hips, thrusting in hard like he’ll never get deep enough—

The third time is almost frightening as it builds and he holds his breath against it, tension everywhere like his skin is too tight to keep him in. The shaky cry he lets out as it breaks would probably be embarrassing, if anyone were around to hear it (so maybe it’s a good thing Stiles sat this one out). Everything is too intense and too much and Derek still can’t stop, shaking and clenching helplessly around his fingers before moving back up to rub a few more circles over his swollen clit, just for a second, just a little more

By the time he can finally bring himself to cut it out, he’s feeling sore, soaked, and radiantly smug, and has no fucking idea what time it is. It’s pretty fantastic. 

Derek can’t wait to show Stiles. 



Except Stiles isn’t cooperating. Days go by and Derek barely even sees him, at least without the rest of the pack breathing down their necks. He’s not used to spending nights in his apartment alone, anymore (and maybe he hadn’t quite realized that, yet, and he’s irritated with Stiles for getting Derek so used to him without even asking permission first). 

After Stiles deflects his third attempt at a suggestive text message, Derek shows up outside one of his classes at the community college with coffee and a sour expression. “We need to talk,” he says as soon as Stiles appears, and then rolls his eyes at the cliché.

“Whoa, Stilinski, who’s the babe?” There’s a gangly redhead eyeing Derek up and down with that particular kind of entitled appreciation that he still isn’t used to, even after he’s spent some time over the past few days in public wearing a bra (ugh) and clothes that actually fit his body. “Nice haircut, sweetheart. You’re not a lesbian, are you? Because you can tell me, I’m totally cool with it.”

“Oh my god, back off, Feldman,” Stiles says with his eyes fixed on Derek. “You’re gross, and also h—she’s mine.” 

Derek is annoyed with Stiles, so he tries not to let the rush of pleasure he feels at Stiles’ casual claiming of him show on his face. 

“Hi there, didn’t know you were meeting me over here today, did I miss a text or something?” Stiles takes his coffee from Derek and moves in to kiss him, backing away at the last minute when Derek growls a bit at the back of his throat. “What’s wrong? Are you actually mad at me? What did I do? I don’t think I’ve even seen you all week… oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Derek says, sipping his tea and waiting for Stiles to crack first. As usual, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“Okay, listen. I know what this looks like, and I apologize, really I do, but I just… I didn’t want to have to explain to you that I’m kind of uncomfortable with… you seemed so, you know… you know? And I just couldn’t. Okay?”

Derek tilts his head. “Is this a riddle? Or a word scramble? Was any of that an actual complete sentence?”

“I can’t have sex with you like this!” Stiles bursts out, and a passerby drops a whole stack of papers. “Oh god, sorry, Mr. Guthrie, sorry.”

“You… can’t.” Derek feels his body wanting to take a step closer to Stiles. He takes a step back instead. “You like girls. I know you like girls. You still talk about girls. You made me promise you that one time that I would have a threesome with you and Jennifer Lawrence, if the opportunity ever came up.”

“It’s not.” Stiles sighs gustily and rubs his hand over his head. “I don’t mean, like, I can’t get it up, or anything. I just.”

“You just don’t want to.” Derek doesn’t know why it stings so much. He knows Stiles is crazy about him, at least in his real body. He knows Stiles can’t get enough of him, hears it in his wild heartbeat and the desperate, disbelieving hitch of his voice whenever their bodies touch. 

Apparently there’s something about Derek like this that rubs Stiles the wrong way, though, and Derek isn’t going to make him spell out what it is.

“Fine,” he says, taking another step back. “Fine. I can manage on my own until this thing wears off. I can get off just as good without your help, you know. Maybe better.”

It’s an immature barb, yeah, and maybe he wants to get under Stiles’ skin a little bit in retaliation. What he completely doesn’t expect is for Stiles’ face to just crumple, pale and stricken and resigned.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, looking down at his coffee cup. “I know. Good. I’ll… see you when you’re… you know. Again. Thanks for the coffee.” And then he’s walking away, taking every shred of Derek’s sanity with him.

“I don’t understand relationships at all,” Derek complains out loud.

“Don’t even worry about it, that boy has a screw loose,” says Mr. Guthrie from the floor, where he’s still trying to get his scrambled printouts in order. “Audited my Monsters in Literature class last semester and handed in a final paper about all of the crimes in Northern California over the past decade with logistical connections to a potential vampire coven in the redwoods. Nuttier than a Baby Ruth.” 

“Yeah,” Derek says, heart surging with affection.



That night, just to spite Stiles, Derek decides to replicate the mind-blowing results of his first foray into female self-exploration. He soon discovers (to his great annoyance) that it’s practically impossible to sustain a good level of focused arousal in this body while his brain won’t stop dwelling on Stiles’ rejection. He strains into it for ten minutes or so, distracted and frustrated, until he gives up and rolls over to groan into his pillow. 

This has officially stopped being fun.



“I brought donuts, and I’m sorry,” Stiles says, barging into his bedroom the next morning. “Wait, are you sleeping in my MST3K t-shirt? You told me you lost it at the laundromat!”

“Stiles.” Derek sits up, nose twitching in the direction of the donut box. He can smell that Stiles bought all chocolate, Derek’s favorite, even though Stiles prefers jelly. “You’re not allowed to use the key when we’re in a fight.”

“Oh god, we’re in a fight now?” Stiles drops the donuts on the dresser and throws himself onto the foot of Derek’s bed. “I thought we were just, you know, waiting for the weirdness to go away. But I am sorry about avoiding you. I probably should have mentioned something sooner. It’s just…”

“Don’t.” Derek waves the apology off. “You don’t have to. I get that it’s weird for you. I don’t… I’m not the same like this.”

“You kind of are, actually,” Stiles says. He leans over and cups Derek’s face, running his thumb gently along the hollow above his cheekbone. “You’ve still got, like, the most freakishly beautiful eyes. Did I ever tell you that? It always seemed a little weird to tell you that, back when you were a 200-pound wall of muscle. But you do.”

“Stiles.” Derek takes hold of his wrist and gently pulls his hand away from his face. “You don’t have to compliment me, jesus. It’s fine. You don’t want to have sex with me like this, so we won’t. I promise you’re not hurting my feelings.”

“Don’t want…” Stiles scoffs. “Is that what you thought? That I don’t want you this way? Goddamn, you’re like the hottest woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Even the butch haircut is working for me, actually. And you’re still you. Of course I want you, oh my god, are you high?”

“But.” Derek leans forward on his elbows, studying Stiles’ reddening face. “If you do, then why…”

“Because you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” Stiles repeats, slowly and deliberately, and all at once Derek understands. 

“Ohhh,” he says. “You’re intimidated.”

“Oh my god, don’t sound so smug about it.” Stiles buries his face in his hands. “Look, I know this thing we have is fantastic now, but remember back when I was still new? That first time? When I lost it like four seconds after you got your hand around me and then accidentally hit you in the eye with my knee?”

Derek smiles. “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to remember that, okay? And what’s more, I don’t want you to remember that. I’ve finally gotten myself to a point where I feel like I’m at least approaching the sexual prowess one should have in order keep someone as extraordinarily hot as you locked down, and I’m still a work in progress, but I’m making great strides, I think—like that thing I figured out how to do on your birthday, that was pretty good, right?”

“Fuck yes,” Derek says. He still hasn’t fixed the patch of wallpaper above his bed that he ruined with his claws that night, because he likes the reminder (although he should probably do something about it eventually if he wants the security deposit back).

“So, yes, obviously I want to do stuff to girl-you.” Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s ankle through the blankets and squeezes. “I want to do pretty much everything to girl-you, trust me. But the last thing I want is to evoke sense memories of that time before I even remotely knew how to satisfy you, okay? I’d prefer to wait in blue-balled misery until you get your dick back and we can return to the familiar ground that I’ve worked so hard to establish.”

“Stiles.” Derek swings his bare legs out from under the blankets and gets up on all fours, crawling over to him. “Do you know what I remember, from that first time?”

“Nuh, no.” Stiles’ breathing goes uneven when Derek braces his hands on his thighs and starts pressing barely-there kisses under his ear. 

“I remember how I couldn’t stop thinking about how good you sounded, cursing and saying my name over and over, like you could barely breathe.” He draws his nose in a slow line down Stiles’ neck to the curve of his shoulder, inhaling deeply. “I remember how your scent was so thick that I couldn’t even smell anything else. I remember how you grabbed my waist when you came. You probably would have bruised me if you could’ve.”

“And then I almost took your eye out,” Stiles says with a self-deprecating smirk.

“And then that happened,” Derek agrees, working Stiles’ jacket off his shoulders and tossing it across the room. “I was too distracted to dodge. Your face. You were so embarrassed, I could tell, but you also felt so good that for a second you didn’t even care. I made you feel so good.”

“God, of course, always,” Stiles sighs as Derek gets his hands up under his shirt. 

“And then you groaned, and you laughed, and you kissed me. Right next to my eye, where your knee hit. And then you touched my cock for the first time and I came almost as fast as you did. Remember?”

“I, ah.” Derek’s back to nuzzling under his jaw, and Stiles cups a tentative hand behind his neck. “I guess I was remembering around that part. You make it sound almost… sexy.”

Derek nips his bottom lip. “Wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, for me.” Stiles tightens his grip and pulls Derek in for a kiss. “I lost my virginity to you, of course it was sexy for me. I just never really thought—”

“It was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Derek says honestly, leaning back a bit so he can look Stiles in the face. “I mean, up to that point. We’ve raised that bar a bit since then. But it’s still in the top five.”

“How could it—that’s insane. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, and kisses Stiles on the nose. “So, can I be your first again? It’s kind of a kink of mine.”

“You’re a lunatic,” Stiles breathes, and then he grabs Derek around the middle and throws him back into the pillows at the top of the bed, landing on top of him with wide eyes. “Whoa, did you see that? I just manhandled you, that was awesome.”

“Quiet,” Derek says, arching up and rolling his head back so Stiles can get his teeth at this throat. “You’re ruining it.”

“Oh, I am not.” He licks Derek’s neck lightly, with just the tip of his tongue, and Derek shivers. “You like it when I talk. You said so. Just now.”

“Mm, I think you hear what you want to hear.” Derek tugs on the bottom of Stiles shirt until he gets the hint and yanks it off, baring his skin for Derek’s hands. 

“Liar, you do, you like it. It makes you hard.” Stiles stops suddenly and laughs breathlessly into Derek’s neck. “Oh, or no, not at the moment, I guess.” He’s got one of his hands resting at the side of Derek’s breast, halfway between fondling and double-checking. “God, this is weird.” 

“You’ll be fine, weird is your element,” Derek points out. He wriggles himself out of his (Stiles’) t-shirt, and Stiles looks down at him like he’s just taken a hit to the back of his head. 

“Holy mother of jesus fucking christ,” he says reverently, and then just falls on Derek face-first, taking one of his nipples into his mouth without preamble.

Whoa, yeah.” Derek pushes up into Stiles’ mouth with a smile. “Don’t be so gentle. You know what I like.”

“I know what guy-you likes,” Stiles corrects. He pulls back and puts both hands on Derek, his expression a dizzyingly-hot mixture between calculation and lust. “Girls are softer, right? Are you more sensitive here, now, do you think?” He draws both thumbs in slow circles around Derek’s nipples before dragging them back and forth over the hardened peaks. “Would it hurt if I sucked like, really hard? Or if I used my teeth?”

Derek groans and grabs Stiles’ head, pulling him back down. “God, maybe, just do it and we’ll find out.”

It turns out it does hurt, but only a little bit, and mostly in a good way. Stiles moves to the other side, teeth scraping more carefully this time, and Derek hooks his foot over Stiles’ ankle and rolls his hips up with a pleading noise. 

“Ah, okay,” Stiles says, catching Derek’s thigh and hitching it up a little as they squirm against each other. “Okay. I’m just going to…” He reaches down and tugs the boxers Derek’s been wearing down over his hips, sudden and quick like tearing off a Band-Aid. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Derek teases, because he can’t resist. He works his legs the rest of the way out of the boxers, showing off more flexibility than he strictly needs to, and then settles in to bask under the almost-physical heat of Stiles’ gaze. “You need a minute?”

“I, uh, wow.” Stiles scrambles back until he’s kneeling at the foot of the bed, and then drags Derek down toward him by the backs of his knees. “You’re still hairy. That’s good. Familiar.” He runs his hands up Derek’s thighs, inching in toward the insides with maddening slowness. “You shaved your legs, though.”

“I didn’t do that for you,” Derek lies, and then gasps as Stiles brushes two tentative fingers against him.

“Holy fuck, you’re really wet.” Stiles huffs a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t mean for that to be dirty talk, or anything, I was just. Observing. Does it—”

“Oh for god’s sake.” Stiles’ curiosity is understandable and kind of cute, but Derek is aching and desperate and completely out of patience. “You wanna observe, fine—”

“…oh,” Stiles whispers when Derek reaches down and starts working his clit himself, in quick rough circles the way he’s figured out that he likes. “If, wow…” He rubs a hand across Derek’s stomach, biting his lip as he watches the muscles bunch under his palm. “If this is your way of trying to annoy me, I can tell you right now that it’s backfiring.”

“Whoops,” Derek says, his voice breaking on the word when he hits a really good rhythm. He reaches up to pinch at a nipple, then back down to grasp at the comforter as he rides out a shudder. 

“All right, nope, nope, nope,” Stiles says, his voice high and strained as he shoulders his way in between Derek’s legs. “I mean, yes, obviously you can keep… I just wanna…”

He starts with just one long finger, and Derek hears him make a tiny surprised noise when it slips in so easily. Derek lets out a long, satisfied sigh and slows the rhythm of his own hand to match Stiles’, happy to drag it out a little now that they’re finally on the same page. 

Then Stiles adds a second finger and rotates his wrist, crooking them both firmly and deliberately up, and Derek’s whole body jerks. “Wha…” He starts rubbing himself faster without conscious thought as he pushes down onto Stiles’ fingers, and he’s having difficulty catching his breath. “I—I didn’t teach you that, yet.”

“Oh, yeah, I found a book, it’s whatever,” Stiles says breezily. He rests a hand in the bend of Derek’s waist as he presses in again at the same angle, grinning when Derek whines sharply and clenches around him. “Yeah. You know, this is a lot less complicated than I expected.” He leans in and sucks a slow, wet kiss onto Derek’s thigh, and then bites down as he starts to fuck Derek with his fingers, fast and steady.

“You—I’m—” Derek manages, and then he’s coming hard, his body curling until his shoulders come right up off the mattress. He pushes himself past the peak of it, until he’s wrung-out and breathless, and then falls back with a groan. His eyes flutter open, and he chuckles weakly because Stiles is still going, stroking in and out at a slower pace that keeps wringing extra twitches and shudders out of Derek’s body. “Don’t stop doing that.” 

“That was painfully hot,” Stiles tells him. He’s breathing hard, watching his fingers move in Derek with focused intensity. “Are you aware that you basically, uh, gushed? Like, I’m pretty sure you never came that much as a guy. Your comforter is destroyed.”

“Mm,” Derek sighs, closing his eyes again and arching lazily into Stiles’ touch. “Your fault, so you can do the laundry after.”

“Nah, that’s women’s work,” Stiles says, and then cracks up when Derek cuffs him on the shoulder with his knee. “Hey, watch it! Know your place, missy.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Derek means it in very sense of the word. “Come on, you should fuck me now, condoms in the nightstand.”

“In a minute.” Stiles nudges one of Derek’s legs further open with his free hand and then leans down, licking at the crease of his inner thigh before closing his mouth over his clit.

“Shit, fuck.” Derek’s eyes roll back as he grabs at Stiles with both hands, nails raking over his shoulders and the back of his neck. Stiles alternates between mouthing at him and flicking his tongue, random enough to keep him shaking and gasping without pushing him over the edge. He still hasn’t stopped moving his fingers inside Derek, slow and perfect, and Derek puts up with it all for a few unbearable minutes before gripping Stiles’ head and shoving his hips up insistently. “Stiles.”

Stiles pushes him back down by the hip and makes a reassuring noise, buzzed right into Derek’s oversensitive skin. He latches on and sucks, curling his fingers inside him at the same time, and Derek is there, cursing and thrashing and digging his heels into Stiles’ back.

He comes back to himself with Stiles kissing him, mouth wet and salty-sweet as they share Derek’s taste between them. “I still miss your dick,” Stiles breathes, pressing their foreheads together. “And your shoulders, and everything, generally. But damn, I think I’m gonna miss this, too.”

“Just think of all that time you wasted being scared of my vagina,” Derek grins, and he presses another kiss against Stiles’ laughing mouth before pushing him off and shifting back up the bed to get a condom out of the drawer. 

When he turns back, Stiles is standing at the foot of the bed and stepping out of his jeans and underwear. He’s half-smiling and soaked with sweat, skin flushed all the way down his chest, and Derek takes a moment to admire him proprietarily before throwing the condom at him. “Hurry up, come on.”

“You’re awfully impatient for someone who just came twice.” Stiles’ voice is casual, but his hands are shaking a little as he tears the condom packet open and rolls it on. “Don’t you need a break or something?”

“Need you,” Derek counters, and pounces. He pulls Stiles back down onto the bed and throws him on his back, straddling his hips and taking him inside with a happy moan. 

Stiles keens. “Oh my god, fuck, Derek.” He grabs Derek’s waist and then slides his hands around to grip his ass, trying to thrust back and unable to get any leverage with the position Derek put him in. “You’re such a control freak, ah, I hate you.”

“Love you too,” Derek sighs, and it isn’t until Stiles fingers tighten on his skin that he realizes he’s never actually said that before. “Love you,” he repeats deliberately, looking down into Stiles’ gorgeous shocked-open eyes, and Stiles whimpers and pulls him down into a kiss that Derek feels all the way down to his bones. 

They stay pressed together, Derek down on his elbows sucking a bruise at Stiles’ collarbone while Stiles holds him in his arms and fucks into him desperately, bending his knees and trying to dig his heels into the mattress so he can get deeper. It’s ridiculously inefficient, and Derek thinks they’ll have to plan this better next time if they really want to explore the full range of possibilities that this body offers, but he’s too blissed out on the feeling of being wrapped up in Stiles to motivate himself into changing their position at all. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway; he’s still all keyed up, riding along the edge, and finesse isn’t really necessary at this point. Stiles’ thrusts start to turn erratic and he gets his teeth back around Derek’s nipple, and just like that Derek’s coming again, easy as letting out a breath. He forces his heavy eyelids open just in time to watch avidly as Stiles follows him, shaking and swearing and tightening his arms around Derek until it almost hurts.

Derek refuses to pull off right away after, enjoying the way they’re shivering against each other a little as they come back down. He settles into Stiles’ chest, and hums when he starts stroking his hands up and down Derek’s back. He kind of loves how supported he feels now that his own frame is smaller, and he’s already wondering if he can convince Stiles to try and fuck him against a wall. 

“We can pretend you didn’t say it, you know,” Stiles murmurs in his ear. “I mean, you’re not used to the way the new hormones work, they’ve probably got you all…”

“Emotional?” Derek yawns and nuzzles his chest.

“Yes, exactly, plus, nothing counts during sex. Everyone knows that. So it’s totally fine. Just wanted to clear that up. In case you were worried.”

“Stiles.” Derek slips his hand under Stiles’ neck and kisses him, closed-mouthed and soft. “Just say ‘I love you too’ and shut the fuck up so I can enjoy the afterglow for five minutes.”

Stiles makes a small, strangled sound in his throat, squeezing Derek in a breath-stealing hug and shoving his face into Derek’s neck. Then he releases him and starts petting his back again, like nothing happened. “I’ll say no such thing,” he says. “This relationship isn’t working out for me, in fact. You’ve changed since we met. It’s like you’re a completely different person.”

“You’re not even a little bit funny,” Derek says, pressing his smile into Stiles’ shoulder as he laughs and laughs.