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Stiles doesn't wanna say it's like, when daddy-o's away the dildo comes out to play, but, yeah. 


It’s kinda exactly like that.


His dad's gonna be at the station until long past dinner, Scott's hooking up with Allison and unless Chris Argent catches wind of it and shoots Scott, he doesn't need Stiles for that.


Cue Stiles Special Alone Time.


With the dildo.


It really worked out well that right around the time Stiles was starting to wonder about dildos and their uses as applicable to him and how exactly he was going to get a hold of one in the small town where his father is the sheriff, that Stiles found himself in the company of a group of lovely ladies uniquely situated to help him with his problem.


It was a big deal. They wrapped it up in a box with a bow and threw him a “Your First Dildo” party.


It's a nice size.  Big, but not too big. Long, but not too long.  It fits just right.


Jesus fucking Christ, his dildo is Goldilocks.


He shivers as he thinks about having it inside him soon, and heat pools low in his gut.  It's been awhile since he's had the opportunity for this particular brand of Stiles time.


Stiles starts getting ready by battening down the hatches. This is not a show that anyone is going to be getting in to see, thank you very much.  He walks the whole downstairs and pulls all the blinds on all the windows, locks them and the doors.


Masturbation Station is secure.  




He takes his time, drawing it out by walking slowly; flicking each lock deliberately so that by the time he makes it up into his room, his cock is jutting out hard and throbbing through his track pants and his whole body is shaking with want.


So instead of going to his windows and battening down those hatches, (well, the one over his desk is always closed up with the blinds pulled anyway, but the other one is opened up and letting in the breeze through the curtains) his legs take him right to his bed and drop him down on the floor beside it.


Fuck it.  


Or rather, fuck him.


He's on the second floor anyway. It’s not like anybody can see what he's getting up to (ha getting up to ha), especially when it looks like he's not even going to make it onto the bed and is just gonna be laying out and fucking himself on his floor.  He reaches under his bed and pulls out a box of his miscellaneous research books, which range from Etymology to the Avengers Omnibus.  His dildo is in the hollowed out shell of a giant Anthropology book.


His hands are shaking as he grabs it and his cock jumps in his pants as he thrusts it immediately into his mouth.  He moans, closing his eyes and imagining (as he does every time) that it's Derek's cock.


Derek fucking Hale's fucking cock fucking his mouth.  God.  It had taken Stiles a while but he'd figured it out eventually, why he couldn’t ever stop thinking about him, why he couldn’t breathe around him. Why Stiles was aware of everything he did and why it made him jumpy and pissed him off.

From the first moment he'd seen Derek in the woods when they were looking for Scott's inhaler, he was gone.  Gone on fucking Derek Hale, and his tall dark brooding hulking

handsome fucking beautiful fucking terrifying fucking werewolf self.


Stiles moans again.  God, he wants it. He thought he'd gotten off to fantasies of Lydia before but that was nothing, pale shades and mere fragments of pleasure.


When he gets himself off like this thinking about Derek, bliss slams into him with all the force of a ten-ton building collapsing.


He keeps sliding the dildo in and out of his mouth with one hand and the other he brings down to yank at his buttons and zipper, pull his pants down one hip at a time, ignoring his cock.  Stiles is big on torturing himself in little ways like this.  Imagines that's how Derek would like to do it.


After a few unsuccessful minutes of trying one-handed to get just his pants off, Stiles slams the dildo down on his end table with a curse and flings his clothes off of him with both trembling hands as quickly as he can manage.


As soon as he's naked he jams the dildo back inside his mouth, stretching his lips around it and swiping his tongue all over it.  


He sucks on it over and over, obscene slurping sounds filling his room as he pretends that he's giving Derek the best head of his life. After a minute he lets his mind move to dwelling on what he's about to do, how it's going to feel, until the suspense is agony and he needs to fuck himself right fucking now.


He tries the one-handed approach again, fingers scrabbling at the cap of his lube (also conveniently situated inside the fake anthro book) until it pops open and he's squeezing it awkwardly over his fingers.


He reaches around to stroke the excess around the sensitive skin of his hole before it can leak off onto his floor.


Stuff is a bitch to get out of the carpet.


He moans like a porn star around the dildo as he drags his fingers firmly up and down against his entrance.  He's loud and wanton, the same way he likes hearing it on his favorite videos.  Stiles likes to be loud, okay? (In any scenario, to be honest.) It really turns him on to hear himself as he gets off, have every sense that his body possesses aware and engaged in the pleasure.


God, he wants it bad today.  His cock is fully erect, hard and aching. He hasn't even touched himself yet and it's leaking from the tip.  Every time his brain alights on a particularly exciting thought it jumps and twitches, electricity racing down his skin.


Thoughts like, these are Derek’s fingers or this is Derek’s cock in my mouth and Derek is getting ready to stick his dick inside my ass and fuck me.


He never said they were particularly original or imaginative thoughts.  


He groans around his dildo as he sinks two fingers inside himself, scissoring them open immediately, stretching himself hard and fast. Stiles is feeling the burn, the foreign edge of his fingers inside, and he pushes himself to take in the third before he’s really ready, riding the spike of discomfort and pain, both of which are familiar to him now.


God, he wants it. He wants to be debased, to be fucked, to have no control over his own pleasure, imagines that’s what’s happening to him now, Derek growing impatient and just taking.


Shame flushes hot along his neck and his cheeks.  What would Scott think if he knew?  What would Lydia?  Would even Danny be shocked, some kind of grudging admiration widening his eyes or would it just be an unimpressed realization?


Stiles’ fingers brush against his prostate and he groans out a distorted ‘yes’ around the dildo.  He slides it from his mouth, drawing against his lips for that loud porno ‘pop’ sound, and groans again as he withdraws his fingers from his ass.


He's gonna fuck himself as hard as he can and his dick jumps as he visualizes Derek standing behind him, ready to plunge his cock inside Stiles' ready hole.


"Gonna fuck me, Derek?" he taunts, "Are you gonna pound into me until I can't speak, can't fucking annoy you anymore?"


"Yeah," Derek's voice says behind him, rough and low.






It was a necessary evil, needing to resort to Stilinski for intel.  Why the fuck did the kid have to be so smart anyway?  Why the hell was this Derek's life, having to run to the insufferable little shit for answers?


He puts the Camaro in park three streets over and hoofs it from there.  Stiles' blue monstrosity is in the parked in the Stilinski drive, but there's no sign of the Sheriff's car.  The house is closed off and still.  Derek strains his ears and picks up Stiles' heartbeat, elevated and rate climbing.


He raises an eyebrow and takes an experimental sniff.  He smirks.  He knows exactly what the kid's up to.  He eyes the house and full-on grins when he catches sight of Stiles’ open window.  God, Stilinski's gonna die of embarrassment.  Revenge is sweet, and not beneath him at all.  Pun intended.  


Derek leaps easily onto the roof and crouches down below the window sill.  He can hear the slick sounds of lube on flesh and what sounds like Stiles trying to muffle his moans and groans.


Derek tries not to dwell on how he's about to scare the living shit out of a sixteen year-old kid trying to get off in the privacy of his own home.  Stilinski’s had it coming.  Sourwolf?  He'll show him sourwolf.


He vaults himself easily and silently in the window, mouth open and ready to deliver a truly crushing comment, and stops dead at the sight of Stiles crouched over on the floor, one hand shoving a fairly large dildo in and out of his mouth and the other with three fingers buried inside of his ass.




Derek is paralyzed by the sight of what Stiles is doing, the sounds of what Derek had thought he'd been doing resolving into what Stiles is actually doing.


He’s naked, the expanse of his back laid out before Derek, pale skin and moles, lean muscle and the tight perfectly formed ass of a teenage athlete.  Derek feels himself shudder as he takes in the sight of three of Stiles’ long fingers working in and out of his ass stretching open his tight little hole.  The scent of arousal and cock and sex is overpowering inside Stiles’ room, and Derek can feel his body responding to all of it--the sights, the smells, the sounds. He turns to leave because he did not sign up for this; when Stiles hisses "Yes," and withdraws the dildo from his mouth with a loud 'pop'.


Against his will Derek turns back, jaw clenching.


And then Stiles speaks, and Derek shudders as he hears how hoarse and wrecked his voice sounds from fucking his own mouth with the dildo. "Gonna fuck me Derek?" he taunts, he's fucking taunting, "Are you gonna pound into me until I can't speak, can't fucking annoy you anymore?"  


Derek knows that Stiles has no idea that Derek is actually behind him which means that he's getting himself off to thoughts of Derek, he's pretending that Derek is about to fuck him, and--




"Yeah," Derek hears himself growl out, "Yeah, I'll fuck you."


Stiles' whole body jolts and he lets out a startled yelp, high and panicked, like prey, and Derek shrugs his jacket off and puts a hand on Stiles' upper back, feels the smooth slide of his skin against his palm as he presses him down onto his hands and knees, pinning him, keeping him from moving.  With the other, he relieves him of possession of the dildo.


He observes it, slick with Stiles' spit, and leans down over Stiles' body to say lowly into his ear, "You like this?  Pretending it's me, getting off on your little toys and fantasies of my dick?"




Stiles feels frozen, powerless, like a rabbit.  In fact, that's probably the most accurate description of this situation, Stiles is a helpless little bunny, and Derek is, well, he's the Goddamn Big Bad Wolf.  And who's afraid? Stiles is, or rather he should be, in a way that he actually isn’t.

He can't seem to breathe properly and he knows without enough oxygen his brain is unable to process things accurately and he can’t get his lungs in gear to breathe and thus cannot think.  Derek Hale is in his room, Stiles is naked and spread out under him, his hole is bared to him, gaping open and wet and shiny, Stiles can feel himself clenching open and closed with raw need and God Derek knows,he knows, he saw what Stiles was doing, he heard him, Jesus Christ.


Derek is pinning him down on his hands and knees and Stiles can't do anything but be so fucking gone,so fucking turned on it hurts, feels like he's gonna come, like just one touch will send him over the edge.


When Derek drapes his body over, onto Stiles he almost does, has to grit his teeth, fist his hands in the carpet and hold it off as Derek’s larger body presses against his own, hard muscle and a smell like Stiles can’t even describe, leather and earth and musk and man and whispers in his ear, "You like this?  Pretending it's me, getting off on your little toys and fantasies of my dick?"


Stiles swallows hard over the sting of humiliation that’s building up and threatening to spill from his eyes.


He opens his mouth to say, ‘fuck off, Derek’ and instead whispers, “Please.”


“Please what?” Derek taunts in his ear, his voice is so, rough and different it sounds like sin.


“Please get me off,” Stiles yells, strangled and raw.


“Fuck,” Derek says quietly, then raises himself off of Stiles.  It’s quiet behind him, but Stiles doesn’t try to move or turn to look back.  All he can do is brace himself on shaking arms and quivering thighs and wait.


Then out of the corner of his eye, he sees Derek’s arm grab something off the floor, hears the squirt of lube and the sound Stiles recognizes as a hand slicking up the dildo.


Stiles heaves in a gasp for breath as a new wave of lust and wanting and arousal hits him so hard it makes his vision go spotty around the edges.  


Is this happening? Derek’s hand grips him hard enough around his hip to leave bruises.  This is actually happening.  


“You ready for this?” Derek grates out behind him.


All Stiles can do is whimper, “Yes.”


And then Derek shoves his dildo inside his ass.  


“Fuck!” Stiles shouts, his arms, legs, hips pushing himself back into that thrust, the solid familiar feel of his dildo suddenly foreign and overwhelming, Derek’s hard claiming thrust unlike anything Stiles has managed for himself.  


Before Stiles can even begin to try to catalogue the feeling, to adjust, Derek withdraws it all the way out and then plunges it back inside him.  


The force of it pushes Stiles down onto his forearms and all he can do is moan, “Please, oh please, fuck me, yes.”


It’s everything Stiles has ever wanted or imagined it would be and somehow even more, even better.  


Stiles’ body rocks back and forth with the rhythm of the dildo, Derek pumping it mercilessly in and out of Stiles, and everything that isn’t the friction and the burn and the fullness is fuzzy and indistinct.  


Then Derek adds an uptwist at the end of his next thrust and the head of the dildo drags hard against Stiles’ prostate.  


Stiles can feel his mind unravel and he thinks he’s wailing, a wordless cry, and he loses everything but the feeling of that next thrust and the next, Derek fucking nailing that spot like he has some sort of a lock on it.  Nothing else matters, nothing else exists, the only thing Stiles cares about is feeling that burst of pleasure again and again and again.


Desperately he braces himself on one forearm and reaches the other hand underneath him to grab onto his swollen ignored cock.  He doesn’t even need to do anything other than take ahold of it, the force of Derek fucking him back and forth with the dildo is enough to drag his dick in and out of the fist he has curled around it.


“Gonna come,” he moans.  



Derek isn’t quite sure how he got here, how one moment he was here to embarrass the fuck out of Stiles then it turned into fucking with him and now it is just literally fucking him with his own dildo.  


And he can’t stop.


His eyes are riveted to the plunge of the dildo in and out of Stiles’ ass as Derek works him over with it.  The way it disappears inside him, the way Stiles’ hole clings to it when he pulls it out.  




The smell, the scent of sex and desire inside the room is sharp and thick and it’s not just Stiles anymore, Derek’s arousal is mixing with his, and it’s making all sorts of urges and needs writhe in the back of Derek’s mind.  


“Please, oh please, fuck me, yes,” Stiles moans.


Fuck Derek wants, he just wants, as the force of him fucking the dildo into that ass rocks Stiles’ whole body with it.  Abruptly Derek realizes that he’s hard, desperate, his cock straining against his jeans and it hurts in a way that won’t be satisfied with anything less then fucking into the eager hole waiting for him.


Something, some instinct urges Derek to twist his wrist, pumping the dildo upwards into Stiles at the end of his next thrust.  


The sound, that broken cry that Stiles makes causes his balls to tighten, his dick throb inside the confines of his jeans.  He repeats the motion over and over, unsure if Stiles is even aware of the needy little moans and gasps he’s making with each thrust.  


Derek’s eyes flutter closed as his ears pick up the sound of Stiles’ hand on his cock.


Derek’s not sure what’s happening anymore as the scent of Stiles’ arousal spikes and he feels his cock leak a wet patch through his jeans in response.


“Gonna come,” Stiles moans, and Derek fucks the dildo into him one last time, hard and deep and then twists it around inside of him.


Stiles goes oddly silent as he comes, the only sounds are his hand jerking wildly on his cock, and the soft splatter of his spunk onto the carpet.  His body tenses with his orgasm and his hole clenches down around the the dildo.


With a sharp intake of breath Derek not only knows what he wants, but he knows he’s going to fucking take it.  




Stiles’ orgasm is so intense it fucking pinions him. He’s caught in the throes of it, pulsing out through his cock and down his spine.  His brain is undone, overcome.  He can’t make a fucking sound, can’t even breathe in or out.  


It doesn’t so much end as eventually taper off, aftershocks rippling through him like upset water in a pool.  


When Derek withdraws the dildo from his ass Stiles almost cries.  He’s not ready to be empty. He’s not ready to be done.  He still fucking wants.  


He hears the sound of the ‘snap’ of buttons, and the drag of a zipper being pulled down behind him and he whimpers.  Then he feels something blunt, and large and hot at his hole and his hand squeezes down on his dick as he realizes, that’s the head of Derek’s cock.


Derek just fucked him so hard with his own dildo that he came.  He made noises like a porn star, and not even a male one from any side of the sexuality pool.  He made noises he’s pretty sure he’s only heard women make before, high and breathy and needy.  Derek’s seen it all, heard it all, and there isn’t anything left to hide.  And now he’s gonna fuck him, right here on his hands and knees inside his own room, and Stiles wants it.  The begging he’s prepared to do for Derek’s cock to be inside his ass and fuck him until he can’t even think anymore is unspeakable.  


Stiles feels the hard edge of tears again, the heavy heat and weight of them gathering in his eyes, and is unable to hold them back any longer.  They spill from his eyes and down his cheeks and drip down onto the floor.


“Oh, fuck,” he says, low and wrecked and broken, “Oh, please.”




As he teases Stiles’ pucker with the head of his cock, the feel of his hot wet hole fluttering against the tip, almost driving him mad, Derek smells the scent of salt and wet.


Stiles' tears he realizes abruptly and then he hears Stiles plead for him, his voice sounding ruined and raw, “Oh, fuck” and then, even more lost, “Oh, please”.  


He knows that Stiles feels shamed and used and that his tears and begging shame him even more and before he can stop himself Derek growls at him, "You love it," and Stiles chokes back an honest to God sob, "God look at you, gonna fuck you so hard.”


Stiles whines, he whines, Derek will no longer be held responsible for his actions.  This little bitch is getting fucked.


He pulls back from Stiles’ ass and reaches down for the discarded lube to squeeze the last bits out of the little economy-sized bottle onto his dick.  Derek slicks himself up with a clinical detachment.  He doesn’t bother with pulling his shirt off or even pulling his jeans down.  He wants it like this, Stiles bare, naked and defenseless beneath him in contrast to the fully clothed breadth of his legs and thighs.  He bets the metal teeth of his open zipper and buttons will make beautiful marks against Stiles’ ass.  


Derek grasps Stiles’ ass firmly, digs his thumbs into the skin of his crack and pulls his cheeks apart, baring him open for his dick.  All the spit dries up in Derek’s mouth as he sees the state Stiles’ hole is in.  The round pucker is inflamed red and shiny-wet from the lube and the hard fucking Derek (his pulse pounds in his veins as he thinks I did that) just gave to him.  Small tremors run the length of Stiles’ body and he does his best to clench himself closed against Derek’s firm grip.  It looks like his little asshole (it’s still so little, gonna be so fucking tight) is fucking pulsing with want for Derek, for Derek’s cock.  


He licks his lips, and nudges his hips forward until the head of his cock is pushing insistently at Stiles’ opening again.


Stiles lets out an open-mouthed moan.  


Derek rolls his hips, drags his cockhead around Stiles’ entrance, up and down against his crack, smearing his precome around on his ass cheeks.  


The smell of his tears increases, and Stiles keens out, “Please, please please please,” like a litany.


Then he says Derek’s name.  Stiles is begging him, begging for it from Derek.  

Derek likes that a lot.


“Please, Derek,” Stiles chokes out, “Derek, please fuck me, I want your cock inside my ass, please fuck me Derek please.”


Derek presses the tip of his cock once more to Stiles’ hole, he pushes against him hard enough to be a tease, but not hard enough to breach the entrance.  




Stiles feels like he’s on fire.  When people say ‘being consumed by lust’ this is what they mean.  His cock is hard and ready once more inside his fist, sensitive and leaking.  His skin is straining to feel even the slightest hint of sensation.  


And Christ, where Derek has the head of his cock pressed up against his ass, fuck, it feels good, so good but it’s not enough, none of it is enough and fuck but Derek feels a lot bigger than his dildo.  He’s begging.  He’s begging and whining and crying, feels like he’s someplace else and watching himself do these things, feels like he would do anything, give anything if Derek would just stick his cock inside of him and fuck him.  


But he won’t, he keeps teasing, keeps dragging his cock all over and around Stiles’ ass and the friction and the suspense are driving him mad.  


“Please, Derek,” Stiles grits out around the hard lump of tears in his throat, “Derek, please fuck me, I want your cock inside my ass, please fuck me Derek please.”


Derek seems to like that, like Stiles saying his name because the tip of his cock once again comes to rest against his hole. Stiles can feel the ring of his pucker clenching open and closed, wanting more, needing more, trying to draw Derek’s cock inside of him.  


Why won’t Derek just fuck him already?


Stiles releases his cock and pushes himself up on his hands again, arms shaking and looks back over his shoulder and actually sees Derek for the first time.


His jacket is off, lying on the floor behind him but he’s still wearing one of his tight gray henleys and his tight as fuck jeans.  Stiles can see the lines of Derek’s stomach and the hard cut of his muscle where it dips down into a thatch of dark hair, and can just barely catch sight of his cock, thick and hard and flushed with blood where it’s pressing into Stiles’ ass.  


He flicks his eyes upwards to meet Derek’s heated gaze.  Derek glares at him and Stiles glares right back.  


Derek smirks and says, “I’m a lot fucking bigger than your toy. Think your tight little ass can handle it?”


“Goddamn you,” Stiles swears, “fuck me already.” Dere’s eyes narrow. “Fuck me!” he starts to demand, but it ends up as a scream, arching his whole body into it as Derek shoves his cock inside his ass.


There was no way the dildo could have prepared him for this.  How much larger Derek is, how he feels so fucking full he can’t escape from it, the heat and how fucking hard he feels, encased inside all of Stiles’ softness.  




Derek hisses in a soft breath as Stiles pushes himself up on his hands and turns over his shoulder to look at Derek.  His face is flushed and his cheeks glisten with tears, his lips red and swollen from his earlier sucking on the dildo.  


Stiles flicks his eyes up and meets Derek’s gaze and he fucking glares at him. Derek glares right back.


Then he smirks and says, “I’m a lot fucking bigger than your toy. Think your tight little ass can handle it?”


“Goddamn you,” Stiles swears, “fuck me already.”  Derek feels his eyes narrow.  He’s gonna give Stiles exactly what he asked for.  He’s gonna fuck him over so hard that Stiles can’t speak anymore, will finally be unable to annoy Derek.


“Fuck me!” Stiles starts to demand but he ends up screaming it and throwing back his head, arching his back as Derek shoves his cock inside of his ass, thrusting himself as deep as he can go, taking everything that Stiles has, pulling his ass flush against him, his balls slapping against the backs of his thighs.


“Tight, fucking tight, goddamn virgin--fuck!” Derek swears, vaguely he remembers Stiles complaining about his virginity at some point but he underestimated it.  Fuck he’s tight, and the heat Christ, so slick and smooth but he’s too fucking tight almost feels like a vise.  Sweat gathers on Derek’s body; slides down Stiles’ back.  They’ve long since past the point of no return.


“Loosen up, goddamn you,” Derek swears again, takes one hand off of Stiles to slap his ass, hard enough to leave an angry red mark.  Stiles’ body jolts with the blow, and Derek can feel the tremors of it against his dick.  


Stiles cries out and his arms give out and he falls forward on his forearms.  


Derek slaps his ass again.  “That’s it,” he grunts, as Stiles starts to loosen up around him.  He pulls his hips back, and thrusts them forward hard, shoving Stiles’ body forward along the carpet.  Fuck that feels good, that feels amazing.  Derek loses himself to the demands of his body as he fucks over and over into Stiles, fucks him open, fucks into that tight slick heat.  He feels like he’s being devoured by the want for this slender body beneath him, Stiles with his pale skin and lithe muscles.  Stiles with his tight ass and those sweet broken sounds.  Derek clamps both hands around Stiles hips to yank his body back into his thrusts as he gives himself over to the instinct to rut, to claim, to fuck.




Stiles ass is full, he’s so full.  Too full it’s too much; he’s fucking impaled on Derek’s cock.  


“Tight, fucking tight, goddamn virgin--fuck!”  Derek yells behind him.  Stiles feels his cock pulse, and spurt out precome.  He’s not a fucking virgin anymore.  He just gave it up to Derek Hale on his goddamn bedroom floor.  Fuck.


Stiles tries to get his body to accommodate the fucking intrusion (goddamn Derek’s got a fucking monster cock) inside him, strains against it, his pulse roaring in his ears.


“Loosen up, goddamn you,” Derek snarls behind him.


Stiles opens his mouth to say ‘why don’t you go fuck yourself then’ but doesn’t get the chance, because Derek lifts a hand off the grip he has on Stiles’ ass and slaps him, hard, right on the cheek.


Stiles jumps in surprise and sound that escapes him is entirely against his will as he loses the ability to hold himself up again and collapses down onto the carpet.


Holy fuck that might be a thing.  Stiles like that.  He likes that a lot.  


Derek smacks him again and his cock spurts out more precome and Stiles mouths “please” soundlessly into the carpet.  


Then Derek withdraws his dick and thrusts it back in and his mouth forms a soundless ‘oh.’


The pace Derek is setting is brutal, he’s, he’s pounding into Stiles and Stiles is reduced to a creature of base need.  He can’t speak and the only sounds he can make are the ones that Derek’s cock is forcing out of him.  


He reaches a trembling hand under him to shakily jerk himself off.   


He’s getting fucked yes fuck.  Every thrust sends sparks of pleasure racing up his spine, the friction and the burn the ‘slap slap slap’ of their flesh meeting; it’s all spiraling into the same overarching desire to come he’s gonna come again, fuck he wants it.


“Fuck yes coming,” he sobs and suddenly everything is light and pleasure beating inside his skull. His lungs gasp for breath and his bones turn to liquid as his cum spills over his fingers and down his dick.  




“Fuck yes coming,” Derek hears Stiles cry out and then he feels it, feels Stiles’ body tense around him, the pressure on his dick increasing, the contrast between the outside and the inside of Stiles’ ass becoming even more marked.  Derek smells the scent of Stiles’ semen and he feels an urge beat at the back of his mind, grow into a waiting pressure at the base of his dick.  


Fuck is he gonna--with this kid?  His pulse rockets up as he imagines it, imagines the sounds that Stiles will make, how it will feel fuck.  


He slows his thrusts, releases that little bit of his control, feels the base of his dick start to swell, the flesh becoming sensitive, the drag of the rim of Stiles’ ass against it making sparks flare up behind Derek’s eyes.


“Gonna knot you” he grunts, shoving his cock and his growing knot slower and more shallowly in and out of Stiles; deliberately drawing out the friction.


“You’re gonna what?!”  Stiles gasps under him.  “What is that what’s happening like fuck like a dog’s your dick actually does that?”


“Gonna fucking breed you,” Derek snarls, letting instinct take over again.  He thrusts his cock as deep into Stiles as he can and stays, feels the base of his dick widen, feels his impending orgasm growing in his mind like the moon, waxing fuller and fuller.  




Stiles recovers from his orgasm shakily and still wanting, somehow still not satisfied, Derek still driving into him with that brutal pace.  He feels like he’s run a marathon, he feels beaten and sore in his bones and it’s still not enough.  Derek starts slowing his thrusts and Stiles tries to keep mind from dwelling on Derek coming inside his ass or all over his ass, because his dick cannot handle anymore stimulation of any kind.  


Stiles is so gone in the afterglow of his orgasm and somehow unsatisfied lust that he’s feeling it and getting off on it before he even realizes that there’s something going on.  It feels like Derek’s dick is getting larger somehow, the base of it catching against the rim of Stiles’ ass and fucking hell that feels good.  


“Gonna knot you,” Derek growls, and his thrusts growing slower, fucking his cock less deeply inside of Stiles focusing on the edge of the knot dragging in and out of Stiles’ hole, which makes it hard for Stiles to breathe it feels so good.


And then his brain catches up with that last statement.


“You’re gonna what?!”  Stiles gasps.  “What is that what’s happening like fuck like a dog’s your dick actually does that?”


“Gonna fucking breed you,” Derek snarls and thrusts his cock deep inside his ass and just stays there.


Stiles isn’t sure what the fuck that means but, “Fuck.  Fuck,” he cries as the-the fucking knot grows larger and larger inside of him, pressing against his walls and starting to hurt, it’s so big, too big and it won’t stop growing.


Stiles starts to panic.  “No, no, too much it hurts fuck it hurts,” he pleads he begs but all Derek says is, “Take it, fuck, yes you’re taking it so good.”


“No no I’m not it’s not it doesn’t fit,” Stiles babbles, but it sounds like Derek is gone, fucking lost on what’s happening.


“So good Stiles,” he slurs out, “so fucking hot and tight, feels so fucking good.”


Stiles claws at the carpet and wails around the pain of it as it increases and then his wail is suddenly a cry of panicked unwilling ecstasy as the growing size of the knot presses against his prostate.  


Derek rolls his hips and that heavy weight drags against it again and suddenly, Stiles is so turned on he can’t breathe, the tide of lust in his body won’t fucking subside hasn’t gone down at all since he started walking the first floor and locking down the house, all either of his orgasms have done is make him more horny.  


The knot still feels like it’s growing, but now all that means is it’s pressing harder and harder against that point of pleasure inside of him.  


He’s sobbing.  He wants it again, his cock dribbling out precome, but as he jerks himself he can’t get up over half hard, everything feels like pleasure edged with glass, digging into him.  


He’s choking on his own tears.  “Derek,” he gasps, “I can’t.”


“Yes you can,” he practically hums above him, reaches one hand around to grasp his chin, rubs Stiles’ tears into his cheek with the edge of his thumb, “You’re gonna come again for me, ‘cause you’re so good, you love it so much,” Derek says as his hips continue to make shallow, abortive thrusts into Stiles, the edge of the knot making it impossible to garner any real momentum, but its enough to keep pressing the knot the fucking knot hard against Stiles’ prostate and he hears himself make a high pitched sound, a keen and Derek groans, “Yeah that’s it, fucking beg, fucking whine for it, you can’t get enough of it,”  Stiles whimpers and pleads, “please please please yes give it to me fuck please” he begs over and over, and he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for and then Derek shouts, and he presses hard into Stiles, as deep as he can, fucking climbs almost on top of him in his desperation, his weight driving Stiles flat into the carpet.


Stiles screams.  He feels it, can feel Derek’s cum flooding his insides, the heat and the pressure of it, it’s filling him up and it’s not stopping, Derek’s hips are still working, still trying to drive his cock further into Stiles, his thrusts shoving Stiles’ body against the carpet and dragging his still barely half-hard cock against the weave of it.  


It’s too much God it’s not enough he’s so close and he screams again, and then Derek’s teeth, blunt and human descend on the side of his neck and sink into his skin and his mind blanks out with white-hot pleasure, silence and grace as he comes.  




When he comes to, he’s lying on his bed, naked.  He blinks and lifts his head up, but there’s no sign of Derek and his jacket is gone from the floor.  Stiles expects to feel sticky with cum but he doesn’t, can’t feel anything leaking from his ass either.  He experimentally wriggles his hips and groans because he’s so sore he almost can’t move.  


He has some advil in his drawer if he can reach it.  He turns his head to the end table and sees a glass from his bathroom half full of water and two of the advil sitting out waiting for him.  


He takes them and downs the water.  


Holy fuck.  Stiles just lost his virginity to Derek Hale, the hottest fucker to ever have matriculated from Beacon Hills.  He pumps a fist weakly in the air.


Sex is fucking awesome. Stiles is fucking awesome.


God, he wants it again already.  He can’t even move and he’s actually worried that he may have broken his dick somehow, but he wants to have sex again like, right now.


He wants the sex to be a thing that they do again.  He bets they can.  He knows he drives Derek up a wall, maybe Derek will drive him against  the wall in return.  


He wants sex in the Camaro, sex in his jeep.  He wants to blow Derek and find out if Derek gives good head.  Fuck he wants the knot again, wants to see what riding it might feel like.


Stiles feels dizzy, groans and closes his eyes.  


What is even wrong with him?  He wants Derek to come all over his face, wants to see if maybe Derek might like to be fucked.  


Stiles is a sexual deviant and his own father is probably going to have to arrest him and press charges and that’s saying something because Derek is the former murder suspect and the one with the werewolf dickknot.