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“Stiles, I'm getting really tired of finding you slinking out of my office.”

Stiles grins a bit and holds up his hands. “Just had to Google something!” he says easily. “No biggie!”

“Last time you said that you were slipping nudes into my briefcase.” Derek folds his arms over his chest. “The truth now, Stiles.”

“I just had to look something up! Seriously!” Stiles whines. “Why don't you ever believe me?”

“Because I've known you for too damn long.”

Derek steps forward until he and Stiles are almost chest to chest. He's not above using his new position as Stiles' sometimes-Dom to get the truth out, especially when Stiles is being a little shit. He brings his hand up and puts it on the back of Stiles' neck. His thumb rubs across the side of Stiles' neck, and the hold allows him to feel the jump in Stiles' pulse.

“Don't make me ask you again, Stiles,” Derek says lowly. Stiles chokes on a whimper.

“I – I was looking something up,” he repeats faintly. Derek sighs like he's disappointed, and Stiles is quick to add, “Something – something sexual.”

That gives Derek pause. He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” he says. Stiles nods. “Why did you tell me? That's something we could've done together.”

Stiles squirms and won't look Derek in the eye. “I didn't think you'd be into it,” he mumbles at last. “I wanted to get all my facts straight before I brought it up.”

Derek is quiet for a long moment, and Stiles finally looks back up. Derek has a look on his face that Stiles can't quite place – he's always good about keeping Stiles guessing when they get like this.

Finally, Derek's grip gets a little less firm and he presses a kiss to Stiles' forehead. “Good boy,” Derek murmurs. “That was smart, Stiles. I'm glad that you're thinking ahead.”

Stiles positively glows under the praise, squirming happily. Warmth pools low in his belly the way it always does when Derek praises him, tells him he's a good boy.

“But,” Derek continues, and the warm feels quickly plummets into something cold and nervous. “But,” Derek repeats, this time softer (he can always read Stiles like a book, after all), “Stiles, if you want to try something new, I want you to talk to me first, okay? And then we can look into it together.”

Stiles nods emphatically. Derek lets go of Stiles' neck and instead runs his hand through the young man's hair. Stiles sighs, relaxes into the hold. He's just starting to think that they're done with the conversation when Derek speaks up again.

“So what was it that you didn't think I'd be into?”

Stiles squirms again, this time not so happily. “Do we have to talk about it right now?” he pleads.

Derek doesn't hesitate. “Not if you don't want to. You know that. We can talk about it whenever you're ready to.”

Stiles sighs. “Why are you always so damn understanding? It makes things really hard on me,” he mumbles. Derek chuckles. The sound quickly tappers off. He tilts Stiles chin up until the younger man is looking him in the eyes.

“Just let me know when you want to share with me,” he murmurs, “and we'll talk about it. Okay?”

Stiles nods. He leans up to kiss Derek, slow and sweet, and Derek contentedly kisses back. When they pull apart, Derek drops his hand and slaps Stiles' ass. Stiles yelps.

“Stay out of my office,” he orders. “I bought you that laptop for a reason.”

Stiles grins. “Maybe I just like getting punished,” he replies, waggling his eyebrows.

“Don't say that unless you really want it,” Derek warns. “Repeat offenders get harsher punishment.”

The phrase, the wording, should make Stiles snicker and mouth off about it. Instead, he shivers delightfully. Derek smirks.

“It's gonna be that way, huh?” he says. He steps back, composes himself, and points down the hall. “Bedroom. I want you naked, kneeling, and waiting for me.”

Stiles can only nod, his throat suddenly dry. He turns and hurries down the hall, already stripping. Derek stares after him for a moment before dipping into his office.

He sits at his desk and opens up his web browser. It would only take a few seconds to pull up the search history and see what has Stiles so hot and bothered. The cursor hovers over the toolbar, ready to go, but Derek can't click despite his curiosity.

Finally, he closes the window and shuts his computer down. Stiles will tell Derek when he's ready. In the meantime, though, he has a punishment to take.

It's almost two weeks before Stiles brings it up again. Derek has been thinking about it, wondering what it is that has Stiles suddenly so timid. When it comes to their sex life, Stiles has never been shy about asking for anything, not even when he was still a fumbling virgin. Derek is actually starting to worry a bit that it's going to be something that he won't be able to give Stiles.

It's Friday night, nearly midnight, but they're still up. Derek is leaning against the headboard with Stiles sprawled over his chest. The TV drones quietly in the background, but Stiles isn't paying much attention. He's drawing idle patterns over Derek's chest instead, and he's unusually quiet.

“Can we talk about it now?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

It takes Derek a minute to realize what Stiles is talking about. When it hits him, he grabs the remote and mutes the television. The light from it continues to throw colors over them, but now the only sound in the room is their steady breathing.

“If you want to,” Derek replies. His hands run across Stiles back, and the younger man relaxes a bit.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, I do.” Stiles pauses, draws in a breath, and finally lets it all out in a rush. “I, um, wanted to try, um, exhibitionism. Like, at a club, you know? They – they have one in the city like that, and the guy who owns it owns the Jungle, too, so, um....” Stiles trails off, squirming fitfully.

Derek is very quiet for a very long time. Stiles holds his tongue, despite how badly he wants to continue with his rambling. He knows that this is a big thing, and he isn't quite sure how Derek is going to take it.

“You want people to watch us?” Derek says. “In a scene?”

Stiles nods slowly. Derek grunts. His fingers run idly across Stiles' back, and he's quiet. Stiles is, too, although it isn't easy.

“That's....” Derek clears his throat. “That's not what I was expecting.”

“You can say no, I mean, I get it if you do, I just – we're supposed to talk about this stuff, so... I thought I'd bring it up.”

“I'm glad you did. I'm glad you told me. I... need to think about this, okay? If you really want this, Stiles, I'm willing to give it some serious consideration. Just give me some time.”

Stiles lets out the breath he didn't realize that he was holding. “Thank you,” he murmurs at last. He leans up for a kiss that Derek gladly gives him.

Stiles settles down, Derek's chest serving as his pillow. Derek shuts off the TV and settles as well. Stiles is soon snoring softly, but Derek finds that sleep is alluding him.

He isn't sure how he feels about sharing even the sight, the sounds of Stiles while they're together like that. That's something that should only be for Derek and no one else.

Then again... Derek thinks that having an audience would be a great test for Stiles to be on his best behavior. He's vastly improved since they started this, and while he still has a few shows of indiscretion, they're few and far between anymore.

What's more, Stiles is attractive, despite what he says about himself. Derek imagines having Stiles naked and stretched out in front of a crowd and knowing that it's all just for him. He imagines the jealousy, the envy that people will feel when Derek gets to touch Stiles and fuck him and make him come; the jealousy of knowing that only Derek is the one who can touch him that way.

In short order, Derek has made up his mind. Now, they'll just need to plan it all out.

They pick a weekend where Stiles doesn't have work and Derek doesn't have too many papers to grade. Derek has no idea how Stiles is going to react after a public scene, and he wants to make sure they have plenty of uninterrupted time together just in case the drop after this sort of scene is more intense than usual.

Fetish clubs, as it turns out, have a dress code. No street clothes allowed – no denim or cotton anything; costumes, leather, plastic, and PVC are all okay. Derek and Stiles don't have any sort of clothes like that. So, to Derek's chagrin and Stiles' delight, a shopping trip is in order.

“I like these,” Stiles snickers, holding up a pair of ass-less chaps. “You'd look sexy with your ass out.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “The only one who's going to have their ass out is you,” he retorts. He takes the pants and puts them back on the rack.

“So what, you're going to parade me around naked?” Stiles asks.

“No. You'll wear something.” Derek pauses in front of another rack. “Come here.”

Stiles crosses to Derek. He pulls a face as soon as he sees what it is Derek's interested in. “Those?” he groans. “Does it have to be those?”

“I like them.” Derek grabs a pair in Stiles' size and holds them up to Stiles' hips. Instantly, he smirks. “A lot. We're getting these.”

He thrusts the garment at Stiles and heads to another rack, looking for something for himself. Stiles grumbles the entire time they continue to shop, and the whole way home for good measure.

“Stop complaining,” Derek snaps at last. “I'm sure you won't be the most indecent one there, not by a long shot.”

Stiles pouts. “You're going to be covered more than me!” he whines. “And your body is, like, a million times hotter than mine, with your abs and your arms and–”

Derek rolls his eyes and tunes out.

The club is a half hour's drive away. Neither of them are looking forward to a long drive in their club clothes, and the place has changing rooms for discrepancy, anyways. The only piece Derek puts on Stiles before they go is a plain leather collar.

It isn't something they usually do, the collar. Derek knows that Stiles is a bit keyed up about tonight still, and he wants to ground him before they get to the club. The collar is tight just a bit beyond comfortable, not enough to do any serious damage, just enough to reel Stiles in.

Barely halfway through their drive, Stiles is all warm bedroom eyes and half hard. He's quiet, though, with his hands lying on his thighs as Derek instructed. The collar is working better than Derek had anticipated.

“You're being so good for me already,” Derek praises. “I wasn't planning on it, but maybe I should make you wear the collar all night.”

Stiles blinks. It seems to take him a minute to process what Derek has said. Finally, he turns to the other man.

“Yeah,” he says thickly. Derek raises an eyebrow, but doesn't take his eyes off the road.

“What was that?” he says. His voice isn't harsh, but there is definitely an undertone of warning there.

Stiles chokes on a whimper. “Yes, please,” he corrects himself.

“That's better,” Derek murmurs. He takes one hand from the wheel and puts it on Stiles' knee. “I want you on your best behavior tonight, Stiles. I wouldn't punish you at the club, but you'd get it later at home. You understand?”

Stiles nods, and then catches himself. “Yes,” he says. “I understand.”

“I know you do,” Derek says lowly. “You're my good boy.”

Stiles whimpers again. He's definitely hard now, and squirms in his seat. Derek takes his hand back and returns his attention to the road.

They're both silent for the rest of the ride. The club is a nondescript building, drab and gray and sort of rundown on the outside. A solitary neon sign labels it as “The Scene.” The only thing that shows its difference from surrounding buildings is the small group of people outside dressed in leather and PVC.

Derek parks just down the street. He shuts off the car, gets out, and takes the bag out of the back seat. He then goes around to open Stiles' door. When Stiles doesn't move, Derek leans in and hooks two fingers under Stiles' collar. He whines, but obediently unfolds his gangly limbs from the car. Derek drops his hand, but Stiles doesn't need the prompting any more. He trails obediently after Derek, his head bowed and hands at his sides.

The door leads into a dark sort of lobby. Inside is a bouncer and a bored looking woman dressed head to toe in leather. Derek hands her the cover charge, and she points them to the changing room door on the left side of the room.

Derek is glad to find that the room is empty. He pulls Stiles into one of the wide changing stalls and drops the bag on the small bench there.

“Strip,” he orders. “Fold everything neatly for me.”

Stiles does as he's told. He makes quick work of his clothes, and folds them on the ground as Derek has instructed. When he's naked, aside from the collar, of course, Derek take a moment to appraise him. It's hard for Stiles not to squirm under Derek's gaze.

Finally, Derek turns and fishes Stiles' outfit – if it can really be called that – from the bag. He hands the small leather shorts to Stiles.

Stiles still scowls somewhat when he takes the shorts, but Derek doesn't say anything about the look. He watches silently as Stiles pulls the shorts on and struggles a bit to get his half hard cock into the leather.

Finally, Stiles is ready. In just the collar and the shorts, he feels more exposed than ever knowing that people besides Derek are about to see them like this. Derek must sense how his sub is feeling. He puts his hand under Stiles chin and lifts his head up.

“We can leave right now if you want,” he murmurs.

Stiles meets Derek's gaze and draws in a long breath. “Green,” is all he says. He smiles softly at Derek, who returns the look. He kisses Stiles chastely, and when they pull apart, Derek is clearly back into his Dom head space.

“Wait for me out there,” he says, nodding towards the stall door. “I want you kneeling and silent.”

Stiles very nearly protests at the prospect of not being able to watch Derek change, but catches himself. He leave silently. Just as he's kneeling, right across from Derek's stall, he hears the latch click back into place.

He settles, resting his ass on his heels and his hands on his thighs. He can just hear Derek shuffling around as he changes. The door opens, but Stiles doesn't look up. He sees the feet of two men passing in front of him as they head for an open stall. It startles him when he hears a timid voice.

“He's pretty, Sir.”

“He is,” agrees the man's Dom. “His Sir must be very proud of him, waiting like that. He's being so good. Are you going to be good for me tonight, pet?”

The other man whimpers as Stiles' cheeks flame. “Yes, Sir.”

Finally, mercifully, their stall door clicks shut. A short moment later, Derek steps out of his stall. His outfit, to Stiles' chagrin, has much more fabric than Stiles'. He can't help but sneak a peak up at it.

Laced up leather boots, snug leather pants, and a leather vest hanging open across his chest (and damn should that vest look ridiculous, but it so, so definitely does not). Derek crosses to Stiles. He puts a firm hand on Stiles' head and tilts it back down so his gaze is back on the floor.

Stiles doesn't dare move after that. He listens to Derek walk away, towards the lockers at the other end of the room. There's the clinking of Derek dropping quarters in, the clang of the metal door opening and closing, and then Derek is crossing back to Stiles.

“Up,” he says. Stiles stands and wisely keeps his gaze down. Derek considers him for a moment, and then says, “Let's go.”

He hooks two fingers under the already tight hem of Stiles' shorts and pulls. Stiles stumbles but doesn't fall. They go through the lobby and then into the club itself. Stiles wants desperately to look around, but has already been corrected for that mistake once. He keeps his head down.

They go through one large room thrumming with music, like any other club, but this isn't their destination. Derek leads them down a flight of stairs and through a red velvet curtain. This room is quieter, although Stiles can still hear the bass of the music from upstairs.

Derek finds them an empty table with just the one chair. He puts his hands on Stiles shoulders until he sinks back to his knees. His ass meets his heels again, his hands go to his thighs. Derek runs his fingers through Stiles hair.

“You look so good like this,” he murmurs. “You look around and see if anything catches your interest. I'm going to get a drink.”

Stiles raises his head eagerly. This is sensory overload; he doesn't know where to look first. There's a couple in the center of the room, a naked man bent over a bench and another paddling his already red ass. A small crowd is gathered around them, murmuring appreciatively. A man across the room is bound to a Saint Andrew's Cross. Another man kneels right at his feet, and a third is sitting at the table beside the two, his eyes flickering around the room. He meets Stiles' gaze and winks. Stiles quickly looks away.

Overall, he notices two things. Firstly, Derek has them in a position a lot of other couples are in. There's more Doms and kneeling subs at tables (and even some subs acting as tables for their Doms) than there seems to be couples actually doing things. Secondly, Derek was right – Stiles is by no means the most indecent one there.

Derek returns with a glass of water and what looks like a rum and Coke. Stiles expects that the alcohol is for Derek, but he's surprised when Derek raises the alcohol to Stiles' lips. Derek, as always, can tell.

“I want a clear head for this,” he says. “But you still need to relax a bit.”

Stiles can't argue with that. This is still what he wants... he thinks. One drink, especially diluted with some Coke, isn't going to kill him. He takes a sip, and Derek pulls the glass away.

Derek sits at the table, setting both glasses down. He puts a hand on Stiles' head and slowly strokes his hair.

“See anything interesting?” he asks.

“Yes,” Stiles says at once. His eyes dart to the crowd around the sub being paddled. Derek follows his gaze.

“Do you want to watch?” he asks. “Or are you more interested in being watched?”

Stiles' throat suddenly feels very dry. He's not sure what he wants; everything sounds good to him. He knows that they're here with Stiles' request to be watched, but....

“Can we watch them?” he asks.

“We can,” Derek answers. He takes another sip of his water, gives Stiles another drink, and then stands. Derek puts a hand on Stiles' collar and tugs once.

Stiles stands and trails after Derek. He hasn't been told to keep his head down, so he greedily drinks in the sight of the couple at the bench. When they reach the crowd, Derek puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder, and he once more sinks to his knees.

The sub on the bench is lithe and slim. He's taking his paddling well, and though Stiles can see tears in his eyes, it's obvious he's enjoying it. His Dom, dressed similarly to Derek in leather pants and boots, looks almost impassive as he brings the paddle down again against the back of his sub's thighs.

Derek puts a hand on Stiles' head and strokes his hair.

“What do you think?” he says quietly. “Do you want this?”

Stiles considers it. Usually, paddling is something Derek reserves for punishment. Spanking is something he enjoys, and Derek knows that, but paddling is strictly for punishment. Stiles shakes his head.

“Not this,” he says, just as quietly as Derek. Derek nods thoughtfully, but stays put. They watch the scene until it's over, when the Dom is letting his sub up and leading him away to a quiet table in the corner.

Derek guides Stiles back to their own table. Stiles kneels once more, and Derek tugs him closer. He guides Stiles to rest his head against Derek's knee and strokes through Stiles' hair again.

“So no paddling,” Derek says. “I didn't think you'd go for that. Did you have something else in mind?”

Stiles is quiet, contemplative. It takes him a minute to find his voice.

“I – I wanted you to spank me,” he says at last, “and I wanted to suck you off. And if I was good... I would ask you to fuck me. If I was good, you might let me come.”

Derek considers Stiles' fantasy. They're here for Stiles, this is what he wants. All he ever has to do is ask Derek for something, and Derek is usually willing to appease him. Usually.

“Ask me,” Derek says quietly. “One at a time. Forget about coming for now, we'll have to wait and see about that.”

Stiles whimpers. “Please, Derek, will you spank me?”

“Not at first,” Derek replies. Stiles almost whimpers again, but manages to hold it in.

“Please, Derek,” he repeats, his voice shaking, “can I suck your cock?”

“Yes, you can,” Derek answers. He opens his pants just enough to take out his cock. He's only half-hard, and as he strokes himself, he says, “You had one more request, Stiles.”

Stiles is watching Derek stroke himself; it takes him a moment to remember the last thing he wanted, besides permission to come.

“Please, Derek,” he says, “will you fuck me?”

“If you're good,” Derek says. He holds the base of his cock and brushes the tip against Stiles' lips; his mouth falls open obediently. “Right now, I want you to suck me.”

Stiles doesn't waste any time. He strains forward to get Derek into his mouth, but his only able to latch onto the head. Derek holds him still, unable to get the rest of Derek's cock into his mouth.

“I think you'll be good for me, Stiles,” Derek says, voice low and heady. He rocks gently into Stiles' mouth, slowly feeding him more of Derek's cock. “You usually manage to be good for me, don't you? I think you'll be even better having an audience. That's what you want, isn't it? To put on a show?”

Stiles shakes his head as best he can around Derek's cock.

“No?” he says. He pulls Stiles back, ignoring his sub's whimper. “Then what is it you want from this, Stiles?”

“I – I,” Stiles stutters, his voice raspy from Derek's cock in his mouth. He clears his throat and tries again. “I want people to see that I belong to you. I want to be watched, but as – I want people watching how good I can be for you. Only for you.”

Derek nods slowly. “I think I like the sound of that,” he murmurs, and with that, he presses his dick back into Stiles' mouth.

Stiles is too excited, too eager to suck Derek with as much finesse as he usually does. He bobs quickly and swallows on every other one. Spit runs down his cheeks, and his lips are quickly turning cherry red. Derek is not going to last very long.

He manages a few shallow thrusts up into Stiles' mouth before he's coming, spilling down his sub's throat. Stiles doesn't need the hand in his hair to hold him still; he knows better by now. He stays still, swallowing everything Derek is willing to give him. When Derek is finally soft in Stiles' mouth, he pulls away.

“So good for me,” Derek murmurs. He tucks himself back into his pants and takes a long drink from his glass. Then, he takes Stiles' drink and presses the rim to his lips.

The combination of Coke, rum, and jizz is definitely not something that Stiles would order again. But the ice cold liquid soothes his throat and feels good, so he obediently drinks until Derek pulls away the glass.

“Give me a few minutes and we'll see about that spanking,” he promises. Stiles whimpers.

Derek continues to sip on his water and chew on chunks of ice. The few people that had watched Stiles work were now back to their own business, but the thrill of even a few people watching him please his Dom is more than enough to make him squirm with pleasure.

“Getting anxious?” Derek murmurs. He sets his glass down. “Are you ready for more, Stiles?”

“Been ready,” Stiles replies, his voice bordering on a whine. Derek chuckles.

“That's no way to answer me,” Derek chastises. “Let's try that again: are you ready for more, Stiles?”

“Green,” Stiles says promptly. “Please, Derek, please spank me. I want it so bad.”

Derek says nothing. He stands up, adjusts himself in his leather pants, and casts a glance down at Stiles.

“Stay,” he orders. Stiles does whine this time, and Derek throws him a warning look over his shoulder as he walks away.

Stiles watches his Dom with bated breath. Derek crosses to an empty spanking bench near the far wall. He bends over to inspect it. Apparently pleased with whatever he was looking for, Derek returns to Stiles.

He silently tilts Stiles' head down until his gaze is on the floor. With the unnecessary order to “Stay put,” Derek walks away.

Stiles fights the rising panic that always bubbles up when Derek leaves. He knows that Derek always comes back. Whether it's ten minutes later or an hour, Derek always comes back. Stiles takes in a deep breath and waits.

He does his best not to fidget. He's not sure whether or not it's paranoia, but it feels like every eye in the place is on him. So he holds still; he has to show everyone just how good he can be for Derek.

It feels like hours pass before Derek comes back, although Stiles rationally knows that it's been maybe five minutes. Derek puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder, tilts his head down a bit more, and hooks two fingers under the hem of Stiles' shorts. Stiles stumbles, but follows Derek.

The bench is like something straight out of a porno. In the middle is a wide, long cushion. On each side of the bench is two padded rests, tilted down slightly. Derek helps guide Stiles onto it.

Just the feel of the leather against his skin makes Stiles shiver. He's grateful that Derek lets him take his time adjusting. His knees fall off the edge of the rests at first, but Derek grips his ankles and pulls them back on. Stiles gets his arms in just the right position. He grips the tethers at the end of the arm rests, takes a deep breath, and says, “Green.”

Derek doesn't reply. Suddenly, he's right in front of Stiles, crouching down until they're eye level.

“Open,” he says. Stiles opens his mouth. To his surprise, Derek holds up their only gag, a simple red ball one. He didn't know that Derek would be bringing any toys with him.

Derek presses the gag into Stiles mouth. He carefully does the strap around the back of Stiles' head, and slips a finger under it to make sure that it isn't too tight or too loose.

“I don't want to hear any noises,” Derek says. “Those are just for me.”

Derek has made Stiles stay completely silent during a scene only a few times before, but never with a gag. He's usually allowed to make noises through the gags, but evidently, that won't be happening tonight. As always, it seems like Derek can read his mind.

“We're trying something new tonight,” he says. “I know this is a different scene than we usually do. The gag is just to make sure you remember yourself.”

Stiles nods. He flashes Derek one finger, their sign for “green” (they have to use hand signals when Stiles is gagged; green is one finger, yellow is two, and red is three). Derek smiles just a bit, brushes his hand through Stiles' hair, and stands.

Stiles rest his cheek against the leather so his head is turned to the right. Not far, there's a three young men seated around a fourth, who's acting as their table. They look quite interested in what Derek and Stiles are doing. Stiles closes his eyes.

Derek pulls Stiles' shorts down to mid-thigh, but doesn't take them off all the way. Stiles can feel his erection curving against his stomach, feels a drop of pre-cum beading at the head. They haven't even started, but he's been hard since he sucked Derek's cock.

The first slap always comes as a surprise. Stiles jumps, not from pain but from shock. He's never expecting it. Derek hadn't said anything about staying still, so he wriggles a bit, but is stays silent.

Stiles is able to brace himself for the next blow. Derek his alternating between the left cheek and right, spacing them out evenly. Stiles knows all too well that that will change quickly.

Derek rears his hand back and smacks the back of Stiles' thigh. Stiles jump again and barely holds in a whimper. The slaps start getting harder, but Stiles knows that Derek still isn't using anywhere near his full strength. He usually reserves that for punishments. This, though, this is perfect.

Suddenly, the spanking stops. Stiles chokes on a whimper and hopes that Derek doesn't hear it.

“Open your eyes, Stiles.”

It takes Stiles a moment to process the request. He blinks his eyes open; the first thing he sees is the group of four right across from him. They're all still watching, raptly interested, and one is even fondling himself through his tight PVC pants.

Face flaming, Stiles turns to look the other way. Most of the group that was watching the paddling is now standing around Derek and Stiles. Everyone seems interested and even excited, as if they're watching some sort of sporting event rather than a spanking. Stiles feels a rush of – of something, and he grips the tethers more tightly. This is exactly his motivation; he wants to be good for Derek, wants people to see that. He holds still and braces for the next blow.

It comes across the back of his thigh, in the same spot as the previous hit. Stiles is sure to hold completely still. Derek pauses. Then, the next slap comes in the same spot yet again.

It's very hard not to squirm. Derek is targeting the back of Stiles' right thigh, purposely trying to goad Stiles into a reaction. If anything, it just makes Stiles more resolute to be on his very best behavior.

Spank after spank lands on Stiles' right thigh. Derek is pacing them well, but each smack threatens to teeter across the wrong side of pain. Wet trails glide down Stiles' face, and he starts when he realizes that he's crying. He has no idea how long he's been doing that for.

Just when Stiles is thinking about flashing his sign for “yellow,” Derek switches thighs. Stiles' left thigh gets the same treatment, and he dimly wonders how long it will be before he's able to sit without feeling the blows.

The last hit to his thigh is what does Stiles in. The sting of Derek's palm hitting his skin, the bite of the collar around his neck, the club – it all contributes to it. Stiles feels free from his own body, as if he's floating. He doesn't get this way often, but when he does, everything just seems... unreal.

Derek goes back to spanking his ass. The hits feel like nothing compared to the blows on his thighs – or maybe it's just his head space right now. Either way, he doesn't really care. He feels amazing.

It takes Stiles a minute to realize that the spanking has stopped. Derek's face is swimming in front of him, and it takes a few blinks for it to come into focus.

“How are you doing, Stiles?” he murmurs.

Stiles blinks. He realizes that he's been asked a question, and then manages to process it. He lets go of his white-knuckle grip on the tether and holds up one finger.

Derek nods. He curls his hand around Stiles' and puts it back against the rest.

“I did bring a condom and some lube,” he says, “but do you think you can take that right now?”

Stiles nods. Deep down, if he wasn't floating the way he is, he would realize that the decision is more Derek's than his. It's his Dom's job to take care of him, to make sure that Stiles isn't pushed to far when he gets like this. Derek is still in front of him, silently assessing his sub. If Derek thought that Stiles couldn't handle it, he would tell Stiles “no” and the scene would be over, end of story.

Apparently, though, Derek thinks that Stiles can handle it. He nods, presses a kiss to Stiles' temple, and moves to stand behind Stiles again. A finger slips into Stiles' hole, followed in short order by two more.

The next thing Stiles feels his hands on his hips, and the head of Derek's cock pushing against his hole. He pushes his hips back, trying to get more. Derek puts a hand on the small of Stiles' back and stills him; Stiles doesn't move anymore.

Derek fucks him fast and steady. Vaguely, Stiles thinks that he might tear the tethers off with how tight his grip is. Thinking soon proves to be too hard. Instead, he tilts his ass up and takes whatever Derek is willing to give him.

Derek's thrusts slows. A heady groan reaches Stiles' ears, and with one final smack, Derek's hips come to rest against Stiles' ass.

After a moment, Derek pulls out. Stiles feels open and empty, and he lets out a whimper. He's still hard, has been for so long, and all he wants is to come and fall asleep.

Derek comes back after a minute and takes Stiles hands off the tethers. He pulls the gag out and wipes away Stiles' tears.

“How are you doing?” he murmurs.

It takes Stiles a moment to find his voice. “Wanna come.”

Derek's lips twitch into a brief smile. “I meant your color, Stiles.”

Oh. “Oh. Green.”

Derek nods. He pushes sweat dampened hair from Stiles' forehead and gives him a chaste kiss. Carefully, he helps Stiles off of the bench. Then, though, he gently guides Stiles down onto his knees.

“Touch yourself,” Derek orders. “I want you to come on my boots.”

Stiles whines. He had been hoping that Derek would touch him, but beggars can't be choosers. He wraps his fist around his cock and looks up at Derek, eyes wide and mouth slack. Derek brings his hand down and cups Stiles' face.

“Stroke yourself,” he says quietly. “You can come whenever you need to.”

Stiles hand flies over his cock. It doesn't take long before he's coming in thick spurts over Derek's new boots. When he's done and completely spent, he has to resist the urge to just curl up on the floor and pass out.

“You made a mess, Stiles,” Derek chastises, as if coming on his boots was Stiles' mistake and not an order. “You'll need to clean that up, won't you?”

Stiles whimpers. Arms shaking, he lowers himself down. His tongue licks broad stripes over Derek's boots. He isn't fond of his own taste, and he's exhausted, so he makes quick work of cleaning Derek's boots.

“Such a good boy,” Derek murmurs. Once his boots are clean, he helps Stiles to his feet and pulls up the leather shorts. They're sticky and even more uncomfortable now, but Stiles knows that he won't be in them for much longer.

Derek takes them back to the table. He sits Stiles down and makes him drink the rest of the water. Once the cup is empty, they stand again. Derek wraps an arm around Stiles and helps his stumble back upstairs, back through the club, and back to the changing room.

Derek sets Stiles in a changing room before going to get their bag. Derek dresses himself and then Stiles, stuffing their leather wear back in the bag when they're done. Still not quite solid on his own legs, Stiles leans heavily against Derek on their way to the car.

He passes out on the ride home. One minute he's being buckled in, and the next, Derek is shaking him awake.

Stiles isn't sure how they get upstairs or in the apartment. He lets Derek strip him, but when he reaches for the collar, Stiles pulls away.

“Leave it,” he begs.

“I don't want you sleeping in it,” Derek argues. “If you want to wear it in the morning, you can.”

Stiles is too tired to argue; he just nods. Derek sits him on the bed and disappears into the bathroom. He comes back and wash Stiles' thighs, ass, and cock with a warm cloth, and then puts him in bed.

Stiles wants to just pass out, but he can't take his eyes off of Derek. His Dom is quick to strip and pull on some sweats, and then cross to the bed. He climbs in, and Stiles wraps around him like a boa.

“How was it?” Derek asks quietly.

“Perfect,” Stiles sighs. “You always know jus' what I need.”

Derek chuckles. “It's sort of my job,” he says. Stiles grunts.

“I need to sleep for a year,” he mumbles, ending the sentence with a wide yawn. Derek drops a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep,” he murmurs.

It's another order that Stiles is all too happy to follow. After all, nothing makes him happier than pleasing Derek. Curled safely in his Dom's arms, Stiles falls asleep.