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Porniverse [manties]

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Derek is vaguely aware of Stiles calling his name as he paces around his bedroom, casting occasional glances at the open dresser drawer but elects to ignore him. If Stiles wants him, he can come find him. Derek’s far too preoccupied with the contents of his underwear drawer to deal with whatever it is Stiles wants right now.

"Are you having some kind of existential crisis in here?" Stiles demands as he flings the door open and scowls at Derek. "You're supposed to be helping me cook."

"You can't cut up hotdogs by yourself?" Derek teases, holding his hand out to Stiles and smiling at him when he predictably steps closer and takes it. And then shoves a sauce covered spoon towards Derek's face. Which, OK, Derek definitely wasn't expecting.

"Taste this," Stiles instructs as he jabs the spoon towards Derek's mouth. "And also, I can cut up hotdogs just fine. But if you keep up your dumb sarcastic bastard routine, you just might not get any."

Derek shoots an over the top pout at Stiles before opening his mouth obligingly for the spoon. As he's licking the cheese sauce from it, he feels Stiles' knuckles digging in to his hip as he pulls loose the towel Derek has wrapped around his waist. Correction, had wrapped around his waist.

Because now Stiles is fully in possession of his towel and Derek's left standing completely naked in the middle of his bedroom with just a spoon wedged in his mouth.

"S'a good job I like you," He huffs as Stiles balls the towel up and tosses it across the room. "You're a royal pain in the ass."

"I know, right? Now hurry it up Hale. Hotdog time."

"I'm getting dressed first," Derek adds, handing Stiles his spoon back. "Go away."

“Fine," Stiles replies, swatting at Derek’s ass with the spoon as he twirls away. "But for the record, I like you much better this way."

Derek ignores him, trailing after him and kicking the door closed as he leaves the room before heading back to his dresser and glaring down at the open drawer once more. He can't help but think he might be about to make a huge mistake here. After another few second’s hesitation, he plucks out a pair of underwear and pulls them on before hurriedly dragging on a pair of sweats over them, like that’ll help him forget him what he’s doing, stop him from thinking about how he might be seriously missing the mark right now.

# # #

To his surprise, his kitchen is relatively clean and tidy when he finally makes it through there. Normally it’ll be left looking like a bomb’s hit it after Stiles has been cooking on his own, because Stiles gets distracted by what he’s doing and forgets to do the basic things like putting things away as he goes or washing the dirty dishes.

"That's what took you so long to put on?" Stiles asks, one eyebrow creeping up towards his hairline as he drums his heels against the cupboard door. "A pair of ratty old sweats? I was hoping you'd be rocking some kind of fancy dinner outfit."

As comments go, it’s pretty hypocritical, coming from someone who’s wearing pajama pants and a faded t-shirt, the words “property of Beacon Hills High athletic department” still just visible across the chest.

"You're making mac and cheese with cut up hotdogs," Derek reminds him, crossing the room and nudging Stiles' knees apart so he can stand between them. "I'd say the fanciness of my outfit is just about right."

Stiles sticks his tongue out, because apparently he's an eight year old, not someone who just turned twenty a few weeks back but then wraps his arms around Derek's neck and nuzzles at his jaw anyway.

"I like the way you smell after a shower."


"I dunno, clean and more like you," Stiles shrugs as he nips at Derek's earlobe. “And don’t pull that face. I never sniffed people before I started dating your weird ass.”

"You're weird."

"Why you love me," Stiles beams, hooking his ankles behind Derek's knees to stop him from moving away. Not that Derek has any intention of moving away from him; he prefers to have Stiles right here, within kissing distance.

"Maybe," Derek admits. "You need any help?"

"Nope," Stiles replies, popping the p unnecessarily. "Like you said, I can cut up hotdogs all by myself. It's almost like I’m a real person!"

"Almost," Derek agrees solemnly.

"You’re cool with having mac and cheese for dinner, right?" Stiles asks as he trails his fingertips up and down Derek's biceps. "It's not exactly classy."

"It's what you want," Derek shrugs. Because honestly, that's all he really cares about. He'd happily eat mac and cheese everyday if that's what Stiles wanted; it’s probably just as well he doesn’t have to worry about things like high cholesterol and heart disease.

“Want other things too,” Stiles smirks, stroking his fingers down Derek’s sides and towards the waistband of his sweats, managing to hook his pointer finger beneath the elastic before Derek pulls away. “Um, OK, or not.”

“Later,” Derek replies with a shrug, turning to the sink to get himself a glass of water so he doesn’t have to look at Stiles, who’s making affronted huffing noises as he hops off the counter. “I’m hungry.”

“It’s mac and cheese,” Stiles points out, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Derek’s stomach as he kisses the back of his shoulder. “We can heat it up after – later, I mean.” His hand is wandering lower as he talks, fingers stroking through the thick line of hair on Derek’s stomach.

“I’m hungry now though,” Derek mutters. He pulls Stiles’ hands away from his stomach and moves away from him, watching as Stiles makes a show of huffing and grumbling as he grabs the pot holders off their hook and pulls a huge casserole dish full of mac and cheese from the oven, depositing it on the side with such force that Derek’s surprised when the dish doesn’t shatter.

"Why are you being weird about your ass?" Stiles demands as he turns away from the food and makes to grab at Derek once more, scowling when Derek takes a step backwards.

"I'm not being weird about my ass."

"You are too," Stiles huffs, finally giving up on trying to catch hold of Derek and digging viciously into the mac and cheese with a spoon. "Did you get my name tattooed on it or something?"

"Why would I get your name tattooed on my ass?" Derek asks in exasperation as he passes Stiles a plate.

"Duh. So everyone knows who it belongs to."

"Everyone knows I'm yours already," Derek tells him, taking the plate full of food that's being held out to him. "I don't need to show people my ass to prove that."

"You should. It's a nice ass. People would feel honored to look at it."

Derek raises an eyebrow and turns his back on Stiles, crossing the kitchen and sitting down on one of the stools in front of the breakfast bar. "I'm not showing anyone my ass."

"Fine," Stiles grumbles as he slides in beside him and waggles his finger at him. "Fine, you keep being weird about your stupid ass. I'll find out eventually though."

"Mm hmm."

They eat in silence for a few minutes, and Jesus, that's some good mac and cheese: Derek's suddenly feeling less annoyed about the ten minutes he had to spend loitering in the chiller aisle at the store while Stiles deliberated over cheeses. When he makes mac and cheese himself, there's only one type of cheese involved, not four, but clearly Stiles knows what he's doing.

# # #

Derek can feel his eyes slipping shut again as the theme tune for yet another obnoxious Adult Swim show plays from the TV. Stiles loves them, whereas Derek isn’t particularly bothered about TV shows, so more often than not, they end up watching what Stiles wants to watch. Derek gave up on try to pay attention some time ago, laying down in Stiles’ lap instead, drifting along the line between sleep and wakefulness.

“You should go to bed if you’re tired,” Stiles says quietly above him, reaching over to pick at a small hole on the hip of Derek’s sweats. “I won’t be offended or anything.”

“Maybe,” Derek sighs sleepily, as he turns onto his back to look up at Stiles. Stiles keeps picking away at the hole in his pants, enlarging the hole enough that he’s able to poke his finger through.

“You wearing underwear?” Stiles asks in surprise, his finger twitching against Derek’s hip. That wakes Derek up immediately, and Stiles must feel the way he tenses because he stiffens too, pulling his finger out of the hole in Derek’s sweats and fixing him with a suspicious look. “Why do you look weird?”

“I don’t look weird,” Derek replies, sitting up and grabbing for Stiles’ wrist as his hand moves towards the waistband of his sweats. “Don’t.”

“OK, scratch looking weird. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not. I just – just don’t, OK?”

Which is probably just about the single stupidest thing he could have said, because now Stiles is painfully aware that there’s a reason why Derek doesn’t want him grabbing his ass or trying to work his hand down the back of his sweats, and he leans back and openly glares at Derek before darting forward and grabbing the waistband of Derek’s sweats, his eyes going wide as he pulls it low.

"Are you –" Stiles starts, leaning forward so he can stare openly at Derek’s crotch. "Are you wearing women's underwear?"

"The website said they're for men," Derek mumbles as his cheeks burn red hot with embarrassment. Stiles doesn't look particularly impressed with the whole lacy panties plan and he's desperately trying to think of ways that he can explain all this that don't end up with Stiles leaving him for being a massive weirdo. His dick apparently hasn't got the memo about being embarrassed though and is starting to press obscenely against the black lace.

"Man panties?" Stiles asks with a mischievous grin, hooking the very tip of his finger beneath the waistband of Derek's underwear and flicking the elastic against Derek’s stomach. "Manties?"

"I can take them off if you want," Derek replies. "If you think this is weird?"

"Why would I want you to take them off?" Stiles asks, his eyebrows drawing together as he frowns. "You look so fucking hot right now." He tugs Derek’s sweatpants a little lower and cups his cock with his hand, giving him a gentle squeeze when he moans. "In fact," he continues as he keeps moving his hand, coaxing Derek towards being fully hard. "I think I should fuck you while you're wearing them."

Derek nods dumbly, because that's exactly what he'd hoped would happen but can't seem to find the words to say that.

“Up!” Stiles says decisively as he kneels up on couch and wraps his hand around Derek’s wrist, tugging at him until he follows suit. “Now. Right now.”

Derek obliges, getting to his feet and standing in front of Stiles. He frowns when Stiles doesn’t move to copy him and instead sits back down on the couch, starting to feel self conscious as Stiles stares openly at the inch of lacy underwear showing above the waistband of his sweats. Before he can say anything, Stiles leans forwards, fisting his hands in the sides of his sweats and yanking them down until they’re round his knees.

“Take them off,” Stiles says softly as he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it down on the couch. “The sweats, I mean. These,” he hooks a finger under the waistband of Derek’s underwear and snaps the elastic against his skin again, “these definitely stay on.”

He scoots forwards on the couch as Derek obliges and wraps his hands around the back of Derek’s thighs, applying just enough pressure that Derek takes the hint and steps forward into Stiles’ personal space. As Stiles stares greedily up at him, Derek reaches out and cups Stiles’ cheek in his hand, smiling when Stiles turns his head slightly and presses a kiss against his palm. He likes the way Stiles’ eyes darken when he catches his bottom lip with his thumb, slides his hand round into his hair.

“Like that, is it?” Stiles asks quietly, the smell of his arousal thick in the air.

Derek just nods, sighing happily and letting his head flop backwards when Stiles presses a fleeting, teasing kiss against the head of his cock before mouthing at him through the lace. Derek whines quietly, looking back down at Stiles and with his free hand, reaches for the waistband of his underwear.

“I don’t think so buddy,” Stiles tells him, slapping his hand away. “You wanna wear the panties? You wear the damn panties. They’re staying on.”

“But –”

Stiles doesn’t say anything in response but does grab hold of Derek’s wrist, holding his arm behind his back as he leans forward again, soaking the lace underwear as he lavishes Derek’s cock with attention. Derek rocks his hips towards Stiles, unable to stop the frustrated sound that escapes his mouth because as good as Stiles’ mouth on him feels, the lace is making it feel different than usual and he’s not sure he likes it. He pulls hard on Stiles’ hair, forces him to tilt his head back a little, fakes like he’s going to pull his hand out of Stiles’ grip. Basically all the little tricks that would normally have Stiles moving on from his teasing and giving Derek the kind of sloppy blow job he loves. Because surely that’s preferable to licking at a bunch of lace?

Only Stiles seems to be onto him and looks up at him, a wicked glint in his eyes as he holds Derek’s gaze.

“Maybe I should just stop,” He murmurs as he pulls away from Derek’s cock, cupping his balls and squeezing, just on the right side of painful. “You want me to stop?”

Derek shakes his head, frowning when Stiles elects to press a kiss against his stomach instead. That earns him a smirk from Stiles, because there’s probably nothing he loves more than winding Derek up and he sits back on the couch, watching Derek with interest, his head tilted to one side.

“I’ve got a better idea,” He announces after a moment. “Trade places with me.”


He pulls Derek into a quick filthy kiss as he stands, flicking the tip of his tongue briefly against Derek’s, like he wants Derek to be able to taste himself. Knowing Stiles, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

“Nope!” Stiles exclaims when Derek goes to sit down. “On your knees. Other way,” he adds, making a circling motion with his hand.

“This is weird,” Derek complains but obliges anyway, resting his elbows on the back of the couch and looking over his shoulder at Stiles. He raises an eyebrow as Stiles drops down to his knees on the floor and tugs at his hips until he’s manhandled Derek to where he wants him.

“Stop complaining,” Stiles tells him, hooking his finger under the fabric of Derek’s panties and pulling it aside. And just like that, Derek knows where this is going and smiles down at the couch cushions. “And you’re not allowed to let go of the back of the couch,” Stiles adds as he leans forward and plants a noisy kiss against Derek’s ass cheek that quickly becomes a bite when Derek laughs. “If you let go, I’ll stop.”

Derek sticks his ass out a little further, arching his back and moaning softly when Stiles slowly drags the flat of his tongue over his hole. Stiles hums happily, clearly pleased with the reaction he’s received and licks at Derek again, tracing his rim with his tongue.

Derek manages to gasp out a breathy ‘fuck’, dropping his head down onto his arms as he feels the tip of Stiles’ tongue nudging against his hole. Derek’s desperate to get his hand around his cock because he wants to come so badly it hurts and he gets the feeling that Stiles is more than a little aware of that fact and that part of the reason he seems determined to eat Derek’s ass until he’s sloppy and loose is because he gets off on seeing Derek desperate and wanting.

“Want you to fuck me,” He blurts out.

“I know you do,” Stiles replies after a moment as he pulls away from Derek. There’s an obscene noise from behind him and Derek sneaks a peek over his shoulder to see Stiles sucking on his fingers. “I see you looking at me,” He adds in a muffled voice when he catches Derek’s eye.

“I like looking at you.”

Stiles smiles around his fingers and stands, leaning forward to kiss Derek, sweet and slow. Derek’s just starting to get into it when Stiles pulls away and drops back onto his knees, pressing his thumb against Derek’s hole for a moment before replacing it with his finger.

He can’t stop himself from crying out at how good the not quite slick enough drag of Stiles’ spit coated fingers feels, the way it almost hurts when Stiles works a second finger inside of him, twisting his wrist and brushing Derek’s prostate with his fingers. Every time Derek thinks he’s about to get into a rhythm that’ll push him over the edge, Stiles changes his pace. The first time it happens Derek doesn’t think anything of it, but by the third time, he’s certain Stiles is doing it on purpose.

“Fuck me,” Derek says again, aware how sex-dumb he’s starting to sound. “Need you - need you in me”

“Ah!” Stiles reprimands when Derek goes to turn around. “I didn’t say move.”

“Bossy,” Derek tells him, glancing desperately over his shoulder when Stiles withdraws his fingers and watching as he pulls off his shirt and tosses it onto the armchair.

“I don’t even need your werewolf senses to know you have no problem with that, whatsoever,” Stiles replies gleefully as he heads towards the bedroom leaving Derek frowning at the couch because no, he really doesn’t have a problem with Stiles being a bossy little shit. “I’ll know if you’ve moved,” Stiles yells from the bedroom, the sound of the contents of Derek’s bedside table being dumped out onto the floor as he looks for lube.

Derek laughs and shakes his head at the sound of Stiles’ triumphant little ‘ah-hah!’ from the other room and chances another look over his shoulder.

“Want me to –” Derek starts, turning on the couch and holding his hand out when Stiles reappears with a bottle of lube in his hand.

“You’re moving,” Stiles tells him in a singsong voice as he comes back to the couch and shucks off his pajama pants, his cock bouncing up to slap against his stomach as he stands up again. “You’re not supposed to be moving.”

“You’re supposed to be fucking me,” Derek counters, grabbing for the lube in Stiles’ hand. Stiles swats him away and tugs Derek’s panties aside again.

“Impatient much?” Stiles asks, smirking at Derek as he squeezes a blob of lube onto his fingers and without bothering to warm it first, begins to run his fingers over and into Derek’s hole again. Derek huffs, partly because the lube is fucking cold and partly, because yes, he is impatient which means of course Stiles is going to deliberately take his time, work him open slowly.

He pulls away before Stiles can work a third finger into him, scowling when Stiles slaps him on the ass.

“Fine, have it your way,” Stiles tells him, grabbing up the bottle of lube again and squirting some into the palm of his hand as he sits down on the couch beside Derek. “But don’t blame me if you end up with a sore ass.”

Derek pointedly ignores him, turning round and leaning into Stiles’ side. “I like it when you fuck me open.”

Stiles groans at that, his hand moving a little faster on his cock as he slicks himself up, taking far longer than is strictly necessary, because why wouldn’t he?

“Are you trying to torture me?” Derek asks as Stiles lets his eyes slip closed, his head resting against the back of the couch.

“Don’t know what you mean,” Stiles replies drowsily as he strokes his cock.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“I like when you get all desperate,” Stiles tells him, opening one eye and regarding Derek. “I like knowing you want me.”

“Always want you,” Derek replies earnestly, because he does. There hasn’t been a day in the last three years where he hasn’t wanted Stiles in one way or another. The last eight months where he actually gets to say that to Stile, and even better, gets to have him when he wants him, have been some of the best of his life.

Stiles opens his other eye at that and smiles at Derek before glancing down at his cock, slick with lube. “Same,” He says after a beat, tilting his head to indicate that Derek should move. Derek doesn’t need telling twice and straddles Stiles’ lap, grabbing hold of the arm of the couch as Stiles twitches the lace of his ridiculous panties to one side and rubs the head of his cock over Derek’s hole.

“Say it again?” He asks, pushing against Derek.

“Want you,” Derek repeats as he sinks back onto Stiles’ cock. “I need you – need this.”

Stiles groans happily, pushing more forcefully into Derek, his dick twitching as Derek clenches around him,

Derek keens as Stiles bottoms out, digging his fingernails into his own thighs as Stiles goes still. He’s fairly certain that he’s going to lose his mind if Stiles doesn’t move soon and makes a point of rocking down against Stiles, his muscles clenching as Stiles’ cock brushes his prostate.

“That feel good baby?” Stiles asks quietly, hooking his arms under Derek’s and grabbing hold of his shoulders. “You like that?” Derek nods and rocks down again. He normally hates it when Stiles calls him ‘baby’, because nine times out of ten, the precursor to a sarcastic remark or Stiles’ attempts to make him feel awkward in front of their friends. There’s something about the distracted way he’ll sometimes say it when he’s turned on though that sends a shiver up Derek’s spine.

“Would feel better if you moved,” Derek replies, shifting his foot so he can curl his toes over Stiles’ own.

Stiles laughs, a quiet little barely there laugh as he tightens his grip on Derek’s shoulders and Derek braces himself for a sudden movement from Stiles; after all, his heart is racing like he’s seconds away from fucking Derek like his life depends on it so it comes as something of a surprise to Derek when Stiles just rolls his hips, almost imperceptible, as he presses kisses against Derek’s back, loosely following the swirls of his tattoo.

“Please?” Derek murmurs, trying to disentangle his arm from Stiles’ so he can get a hand on himself.

After what is probably only a few minutes but feels like an age to Derek, Stiles trails his hand down Derek’s chest, pinching his nipple hard and making Derek hiss.

“Like this?” He asks, lightly running his hand over Derek’s aching cock. Derek can only whine in response, jerking his hips forwards, feeling a sense of satisfaction when Stiles lets out a pleasurable groan.

But then, because apparently Stiles hates him now, he moves his hand away from Derek’s cock, deciding instead to drag his fingernails up the inside of his thigh. He moans quietly when Derek gasps at the sensation, his cock twitching desperately; glancing down he can see the slick shiny spot on the front of his underwear where he’s been steadily leaking pre-come and grabs for Stiles’ hand, guiding it back to his cock and covering it with his own, pressing down against the back of Stiles’ hand when he goes still.

“Not yet,” Stiles tells him, pulling his hand free from Derek’s grip and reaching up to grab hold of his hair, tugging hard enough that Derek has no choice but to move his head, exposing his neck to Stiles.

“I –” Derek starts, crying out as he feels Stiles’ teeth against the side of his neck. It’s too much for his wrecked brain to cope with and he feels something almost like a sob building in his chest, can’t stop it from slipping out of his mouth as Stiles’ cock nails his prostate again.

“Shh,” Stiles whispers against his skin, nipping at Derek’s neck before licking over the indents he’s just made when Derek whimpers and squirms in his lap.”Shh, baby.”

“Stiles,” Derek gasps out, his thighs trembling as he hovers in that delicious just-about-to-come state. “Please?” He can feel it already, the base of his cock starting to swell as he gets closer to the point of no return and he needs more pressure, hell, any pressure, more than he needs air right now. He doesn’t care how desperate he sounds as he scrabbles for Stiles’ wrist again and drags his hand around, flopping his head back against Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles grazes his hand down over his stomach and into his underwear, curling tightly around the base of his cock and squeezing, hard enough that it should probably hurt. It’s just what Derek needs and he tries to says something, anything, to let Stiles know how good it feels but all that comes out is a broken whine. Their movements are almost imperceptible by now, Derek barely moving because he knows if he does, it’s going to be too much and as on edge as he is right now, he doesn’t wants the amazing tingling sensation that’s spreading through his entire body to stop.

It almost hurts when he comes, the knot at the base of his cock swollen and red and angry in Stiles’ hand, and he goes rigid, trying to squirm away from where Stiles’ own cock is still nudging against his prostate; it’s too intense right now and every time Stiles’ cock jerks inside him, it feels like it’s punching the breath out of his lungs.

“I – I need –” Stiles gasps out from behind him, his breath hot and damp against Derek’s already sweaty back. He arches his hips up again instead of saying anything more, the movement a little jerky and desperate, and Derek realizes what he needs, nods, and grips the arm of the couch tight as Stiles snaps his hips, two, three times before he comes with a needy moan, pulling Derek down against him with his free hand as he fills him up.

“You come more when you knot,” Stiles mumbles after a moment, sliding his hand up Derek’s cock and rubbing his thumb across his still leaking slit. He sighs happily and sits back, head tipped back against the couch cushions as Derek leans back against him. “Wish I could do that to you,” He adds, lifting his hips slightly and Derek knows he’s imagining what it would feel like. Derek’s imagining it too, his softening cock giving a valiant twitch at the thought of Stiles stretching him wide open.

“Hmm,” Stiles sighs, wrapping his arms around Derek’s stomach and pulling him back against him. “I like you in panties.”

“I like you in me,” Derek replies unashamedly, sighing in frustration when Stiles’ cock starts to slip out of him. Stiles makes a happy little noise of agreement and presses up against Derek. By now though it’s no good and he slips completely out of Derek in a rush of come and lube.

“We’ve made those panties kind of gross though,” Stiles continues after a long, peaceful moment, tapping on Derek’s thigh and pushing lightly at his back to indicate that he should move.

“You could’ve let me take them off,” Derek replies as he stands. He glances down at the empty spot on the couch but decides against sitting down because Stiles is right, the panties are kind of gross and he can already feel Stiles’ come sliding out of his ass and he doesn’t feel like steam cleaning come stains out of his upholstery again. “Come to bed?” He holds his hand out to Stiles who takes it readily, letting Derek pull him up and towards the bedroom.

# # #

He flops face down on his bed, not caring that he’s smearing come across the sheets and hums happily when Stiles lies down beside him, curling into his side and wrapping an arm tightly around him. They lie in peaceful silence for a long time and it takes far longer than Derek expects before Stiles starts to get bored, his hand straying down Derek’s back and sliding under the waistband of the come soaked panties his still wearing.

Derek fidgets as Stiles’ fingertips brush against his hole, rubbing circles against his skin for a moment before Stiles slowly lets one finger, then another, slip inside him.

“Feels good,” He murmurs as Stiles pulls his fingers nearly all the way out before sliding slowly back in.

Stiles yawns against his back, fingers him for a little while longer before pulling out and pressing a kiss against Derek’s shoulder blade. Derek feels the mattress dip beside him as Stiles sits up, makes a whining noise in his throat when Stiles moves away from the bed, padding into the bathroom and running the tap, the pipes groaning in protest.

“C’mon,” He swats lightly at Derek’s leg when he comes back into the room, prodding and poking at Derek’s calf until he begrudgingly opens his legs to let Stiles sit between them.

“I can do that myself,” Derek mumbles into his pillow as Stiles starts tugging the ridiculous lacy panties lower until the waistband is digging into the back of Derek’s thighs.

“I know that,” Stiles replies lightly as he moves out of the way for a moment to let Derek shove the panties lower in the front before flopping back onto the bed. “But I like doing it for you.” He settles himself back between Derek’s legs, runs his hand up the back of his thigh, hums happily to himself before dragging the warm, wet washcloth he’s holding in his other hand between Derek’s ass cheeks. “I made the mess, I should clean it up.”

Derek huffs out a small laugh and moves his legs a little further apart, “Seems fair.” He lifts his foot off the bed so he can press his heel against Stiles’ back, not hard enough to make him move, just enough to be able to feel him there as he busies himself cleaning Derek up.

“There,” Stiles announces at last, tossing the washcloth in the direction of Derek’s laundry hamper, and by the sound of it, misses by a country mile. “All better.”

“Thank you.”

“Aww, you almost sound like you mean that,” Stiles teases. He pulls the comforter out from under Derek and tosses it over both of them, curling back into Derek’s side and worming his cold fingers under Derek’s warm stomach.

“I do mean it,” Derek replies drowsily his eyes slipping closed. “I like you taking care of me.”

If Stiles responds to that, Derek doesn’t hear it as the comfortable pull of sleep drags him under.

# # #

“Are you watching cartoons again?” Derek asks through a yawn as he pads out into the lounge to find Stiles sprawled along the length of the couch, an empty plate on the floor. Judging by the crumbs on it, Stiles has eaten the last of Derek’s poptarts. The ones he’d hidden away to stop Stiles from eating them all.

Stiles nods, slapping ineffectually at Derek’s legs when he gets in the way of the TV.

“Want a coffee?” Derek adds as he moves out of Stiles’ way and pauses in the kitchen doorway.

“I’m good thanks,” Stiles says with a shake of his head. He turns his attention back to the TV, grumbling under his breath when Derek comes back into the room and pushes his feet out of the way so he can sit down at the opposite end of the couch.

“What are you watching anyway?” Derek asks as Stiles dumps his feet in his lap.

“Adventure Time. And don’t pull that face, it’s fucking awesome.”

“Didn’t say it isn’t. And neither did my face,” He adds, cutting Stiles off before he can say it.

“Get out of my mind,” Stiles laughs happily before his expression goes more serious. “Hey. About last night?”

Derek pauses, or more accurately, freezes, his cup of coffee halfway to his mouth, because that doesn’t sound good.

“You know you can tell me, if you want to try stuff. Talk to through first. You don’t need to spring it on me and hope for the best.”

“I don’t spring things on you.”

“Uh, yeah, you kinda do,” Stiles tells him. “The panties, the dildo. There’s probably a whole bunch of other things in that weird ol’ brain of yours that you’re thinking of springing on me.”

“I do not have a weird brain,” Derek huffs.

“Sure you do, but I do too, that’s why we work. My crazy matches your crazy. Seriously though, just tell me if you want to try something new. You should know by now there’s literally nothing I’m not up for, or at least willing to try once. Like, if you want to dress up in, I dunno, a dress or something, or tie me to the bed, hell, wear a dress while you tie me to the bed, I’m game.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Because you know, you’d look kinda good a dress,” Stiles says with a grin, poking Derek in the stomach with his big toe.

Derek scowls at him and grabs hold of his ankle, digging his thumb nail into the arch of Stiles’ foot and laughing when he squirms.

“Don’t!” Stiles yelps, trying to pull his foot free. Derek ignores him and drags his thumbnail the length of Stiles’ foot, enjoying the way he wriggles and curses. “I’m serious Derek,” Stiles snaps, kicking at Derek’s thigh with his other foot. “Cut it out.”

“Why?” Derek asks shifting around on the couch so he can throw his leg over Stiles’ and stop him from moving. He lets the very tip of the claw on his thumb extend and traces another line down Stiles’ foot.

“Because it fucking tickles,” Stiles says angrily, his stomach muscles contracting visibly when Derek repeats the movement. “And if you don’t fucking stop it, I’ll piss myself all over your precious couch. How’d you like that, huh?”

Derek gives him a wolfish smile, holds Stiles’ gaze and very pointedly drags his claw back down Stiles’ foot. Stiles’ eyes go wide and he gapes at Derek for a moment, seemingly having forgotten about Derek’s claw pressed against the sole of his foot. “Seriously?”

Derek extends another claw and hovers over Stiles’ foot by way of an answer.