Chapter Text
For the first time in months, Derek’s wolf wasn’t pacing back and forth in his mind. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time since his family’s death that he’d felt so… good. At peace. Warm. Content. And he wasn’t even awake yet, not really. There was something holding him back from full consciousness, something that begged to stay in this halfway land of sleepy bliss and contentment.
He was warm, so warm. It felt nice. Something moved in his arms, squirmed and twisted until it settled down, Derek growling a gentle warning for it to be still. He like having it there. It was something he was supposed to protect. Something precious that he couldn’t let get damaged. Something that smelled divine, with a quick heartbeat and soft hair that he was nuzzling his face into as his own chest continued to resonate with a wolfy grumble.
His lips found their way to soft skin. An ear. Then down, down the column of the throat. Blood pulsing under the thin skin there. Divine scent. Bite. He needed to bite his mate there. Claim him. Claim Stiles.
Derek jerked fully awake.
Stiles moaned beneath him, caught halfway underneath Derek’s body, a hard length pressed into his thigh. Derek blinked down at the reddening spot on Stiles’ throat that he had been sucking on just seconds before.
All of his joints locked up, unsure of whether he wanted to advance or flee, and he stayed on top of Stiles, pressing him down into the mounds of blankets… Wait. This was a nest. He’d made a fucking den for his mate. Oh god. Oh god.
He looked down at Stiles, the honey-brown eyes blinking open to look at him. His lips still parted around sharp breaths. “Don’t stop,” Stiles complained, arching his neck back as far as he could while maintaining eye contact with Derek. When Derek still didn’t move, Stiles slid a persistent thigh between his legs, his warm skin shocking Derek into realizing that they were both still naked.
He looked at the marks again. There were older ones underneath the fresh, red blotch. Ones he’d left last night. Mouth shaped. Teeth shaped.
He was a monster. After just a few months of struggling to hold himself back, he’d succumbed. He’d taken what he’d wanted. It was a miracle he hadn’t bitten Stiles, hadn’t claimed him against his will. And here he was, about to do it all over again. Without so much as a conversation with his m-... with Stiles.
The feeling of desperate need that had been building in Derek since he’d first caught Stiles’ scent wasn’t really soothed. Last night had been like a single sip of water to a man dying of thirst. Derek wanted, needed, more. The smell of them mingled together - their sweat and spit and come, their skin and breath and heat - had Derek shivering and grinding down, burying his face in the crook of Stiles’ throat. Stiles gasped out, “Yes!” and rolled his hips underneath him.
For a horrible moment, Derek wondered if he could stop himself if Stiles didn’t want this, if Stiles tried to fight him off instead. Now that he’d partially claimed him, the wolf wanted its mate. It didn’t understand about consent or about boundaries, didn’t care about discussions of feelings and intentions. It just wanted Stiles. It thought that it owned Stiles.
Mine, the wolf seemed to growl in the back of Derek’s skull. My mate. Mine.
Derek whined, the sound muffled against the straining tendon of Stiles’ throat. His body moved to cover Stiles, instinctively protecting him while also holding him in place, one hand scrabbling up to Stiles’ hair, brushing forcefully over his scalp and then making its way up Stiles’ arm to his long-fingered hand, pinning it in place.
Stiles gasped and rolled more frantically below him, a smear of wetness dragging through the hair on Derek’s stomach. “Uh!” Stiles said, and “Derek,” straining up with his hips and his mouth, marking Derek with precome and searching for his lips. Derek was straining back to watch the man below him, horrified by himself but in awe of the lithe form taking its pleasure in Derek’s heavy weight.
“Derek, please,” Stiles pleaded, all of him arching up, pressing close, greedy and persistent. Demanding. With a groan, Derek relaxed forward the few inches required, and kissed him.
Stiles’ scent almost had a taste. Derek imagined that he caught it on his tongue when he was near. Not quite sweet… not quite like clove or cinnamon… not exactly like lemongrass or lavender. It was as maddening now as it had been that first day. Derek had no name for it other than Stiles and home and mate.
He tasted like he smelled. He tasted good. More than good. Derek chased it, delving into Stiles hot mouth, tongue searching, tasting, licking, getting deeper, catching heady hits of taste and scent.
Stiles jerked frantically beneath him, his moaning gasps devolving into a continuous sound in his throat and chest, words made impossible by Derek’s swirling tongue in his mouth. Stiles sobbed, Derek feeling his chest hitch, hearing the quick intake of breath through his nose. Then the boy was vocalizing loudly, Derek’s mouth still sealed possessively over his his, as he bucked wildly and then froze, shuddering. Derek smelled the release as he felt it wet the head of his own cock, the swollen head catching now and then at Stiles’ navel, sliding through his slick happy trail.
A few more thrusts against the slim body, and Derek’s knot swelled, hot and heavy, before bursting all over Stiles’ hip and stomach. He chased the rolling orgasm, slipping in his own release, pressing down to trap his knot as tightly as possible against Stiles’ body. He shivered into the short, pulsing thrusts that would have encouraged further pleasure from his mate if he were properly knotted, and ensuring his own steady flow of seed into their pliant body. Derek knew he couldn’t impregnate Stiles, but his biology didn’t, and it was working hard to try and insure a successful mating.
“There’s so much,” Stiles said, sounding dazed. He reached down, almost delicately, and ran a forefinger over the edge of Derek’s knot where it was exposed near Stiles’ hip. Derek groaned and instinctively bit down on Stiles’ shoulder, managing to hold back and avoid breaking the skin. “Holy shit,” was Stiles’ comment as Derek came on him again. “How many can you have?”
Derek unclenched his jaw, letting Stiles’ flesh go reluctantly. “Don’t know,” he panted. “Last night was-,” he grunted and rolled against Stiles again, licking at his throat a few times, hiding there. “It was the first time it’s happened like this.”
“This isn’t normal?” Stiles asked, eyes wide and seemingly innocent, except that he fingered Derek’s knot again as he rolled his hips up at the same time. “Oh god,” he said when Derek pulsed again, a smaller amount than before, though he squeezed his eyes closed with the same pleasure.
“Stiles,” Derek pleaded. He shook his head slightly and pulled back enough to look at Stiles’ face. “No, this isn’t normal for me. It’s only supposed to happen with-”
“With what?”
“With certain people,” Derek hedged, dropping is eyes.
“Like… with humans?”
“Not specifically.”
“Oh, uh, men? Like, same sex?”
“That really doesn’t have anything to do with it. Stiles, please, I’m not sure I’m up for having this conversation right now-”
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Trying to hold your breath!” Stiles said, looking torn between feeling hurt and getting pissed off. He started to struggle and Derek’s wolf woke up instantly at that, pinning him down and holding him tight, a threatening growl escaping Derek’s throat. Stiles froze. “Fuck dude!” he exclaimed. “That should not be so goddamn hot.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Derek panted, inhaling against Stiles’ neck, deep hard breaths. “I just-” inhale “get lost.” He needed to taste him again, mark him again. His scent was wrapped around his brain. A permanent brand.
“Wait, you like the way I smell?” Derek moaned and rolled his hips against him, chasing a fourth orgasm. He stretched up to get his nose in Stiles’ hair, huffing him in.
“Mm,” Derek agreed. “Makes me crazy. Can’t think. Your scent. It’s everywhere.”
“You’ve been holding your breath and opening windows when I’m around because… because you think I smell nice?”
“Better than nice,” Derek said. God he felt so drunk. Stiles took pity on him and reached between them again, tips of his fingers just brushing his fever-hot knot before Derek shuddered through another release.
Stiles gazed up at him, fascinated. Derek decided that he loved that look: Stiles one-hundred-percent focused on him, with his mouth slightly open and his lashes a bit wet, eyes alive and curious. Before he could stop himself, he was angling down to kiss him again, gentle and slow. He lingered and Stiles let him and it was so good. So perfect.
A cell phone went off and Stiles sat up, bumping Derek’s mouth with his teeth and catching the thin skin of his lip. “Sorry!” Stiles said, covering his own mouth and then reaching out to Derek’s, his hand hesitant and jerky as his phone continued to play the old batman theme obnoxiously from the other room. “Sorry,” he said again, kicking his way out of the improvised nest. “I always answer, just in case… my dad, you know, sherif, guns, bad guys…” he called over his shoulder as he pranced naked down the hallway toward the front door where they had left most of their clothes.
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na Na-na-na-na-na-na-na BATMAN! Na-na-na-na-na-na-na Na-na-na-na-na-na-na BATMAN! Na-na-na-na-na-na-na Na-na-na-na-na-na-na BATMAN!
Derek heard the ring finally stop as Stiles fished his cell out of his pants’ pocket. He listened, waiting for Stiles to greet the caller. Instead, there was silence and then a bit more fumbling and the sound of fabric. Probably Stiles getting dressed. Then silence again. Maybe Stiles was texting, not wanting Derek to overhear his conversation.
He looked around himself, taking in his surroundings for the first time in what must have been hours. It was late morning when Stiles had shown up, and the sun was just now starting to set. They had slept away the afternoon. Derek, for one, had desperately needed the reprieve. He had spent almost every night since Stiles broke the coffee mug awake and miserable. He thought about that mug now, realizing that Stiles had stayed away because he was trying to figure out how to make up for breaking it, though that had been the farthest thing from Derek’s mind.
That day - a little less than a week ago - Stiles had come looking for him when he was vulnerable, mourning his family after Laura had emailed him files of some of the saved family photos. More than that, Stiles had spread his scent, his claim, into the last part of Derek’s apartment that he’d managed to keep for himself.
In that highly emotional state, Stiles had been a balm over his ragged grief, calming and soothing him. But Derek knew it couldn’t stay so peaceful, had sensed it as he tracked through the apartment after Stiles, knowing that Stiles was emotional as well, that Stiles was… afraid. Of what he wasn’t sure, but he could scent the fear, along with the roiling heat of the Spark, of magic.
It was a dangerous moment. He was actually glad Stiles had dropped the mug. It had cleared his mind for a second and allowed him to get out of the apartment and away from Stiles before instinct took over and he- well, did what he’d done this morning.
He looked around at the soft wall of pillows and blankets encircling his mattress, a broken hole where Stiles had wiggled free and fled the nest. He looked at the gaping spot in the little fortress, hating the way his chest hurt like he’d been kicked in the sternum.
Adrenaline, he told himself, it’s just chemicals. Breathe. The old mantra from when he’d lost his family coming back to him… Breathe, don’t think, don’t let that dark pit open up. Stay calm. Stay in reality. Breathe…
He mentally kicked himself. Stiles had merely left the room to answer his phone. Stiles wasn’t angry, wasn’t hurt. He was just out there, safe, fine. No need to panic.
Derek’s eyes went back to the gap in the nest. He swallowed hard, feeling strangled. Choking, quietly, desperately.
Breathe… just breathe…
Stiles waltzed back into the bedroom, boxers pulled crookedly over one hipbone, an arm flailing into his shirt sleeve as it settled into place over his head.
“That was just Scott,” Stiles said, tossing his phone onto Derek’s desk chair and stumbling over the blankets and pillows he’d kicked to the floor in his haste to get off the bed earlier. He bent and began picking them up, stacking them back on the bed while he talked. “I sent him a text asking if he was dying, and he said, no, he was just hungry, and now I’m ignoring him, because I really think I’ve earned the right, you know?”
He clambered back onto the mattress, all long limbs and flexing tendons, while Derek looked on helplessly. Stiles’ elegant hands spread out in front of him as he shifted his weight, scooching forward until he was more or less back in the circle of blankets. He pulled the pillows and covers after him, doing a shoddy job of putting them back in place, though he was clearly making an effort. Still talking, he turned back to face Derek as he settled down, cross-legged and half-dressed.
“But, of course, him saying he was hungry made me realize that I’m hungry and, well, now we gotta do something about that. What about you, big guy? You must like, what? Burn tons of extra calories, right? Am I right? We need to feed you, stat, before you like, wolf out and go hunting for cats on the fire escape.”
Stiles looked up from his fussing with the impromptu nest, his long fingers plucking at his t-shirt, and his golden-brown eyes caught the last of the daylight as he smiled. Whatever was showing in Derek’s face made that smile go wobbly and then drop away.
“Hey, you, um, don’t have to eat with me, if you have stuff to do,” he said, obviously trying to give Derek an out. “I should probably head back home anyway… I have to, uh, study and stuff, so- oh, okay, no, this is good too,” Stiles squeaked, as Derek leaned forward and more or less fell into his lap, grabbing him around the waist with both arms and burying his face in the hollow beneath his ribs.
Stiles let him stay there, even held him back as much as he could, though the angle was awkward and Derek didn’t make it any easier, his grip on Stiles tight and possessive.
Stiles had come back, had gotten back in bed with him, had repaired the nest, their temporary den, and he wanted to care for Derek, to make sure he ate and… it was so much so fast. He was having trouble processing it.
“Okay… it’s okay,” Stiles murmured, caressing Derek’s head with his big hand. Derek was mortified to hear himself whimpering, unable to stop. He pushed his face tighter into Stiles’ stomach, smelling the both of them mixed together. The whines turned into moans, and he pushed Stiles over, nuzzling down into the crook of his throat and shoulder.
“Stiles,” he whispered, his voice wrecked and rasping. The graceful hand petted him, firm and insistent.
“I’m here, buddy. I’m here. It’s okay.” There was a bewildered quality to Stiles’ voice, though he seemed to instinctively know that Derek needed comfort and reassurance. Maybe it was Stiles’ natural insight. Maybe it was his magic. Derek wasn’t sure, but he was so grateful in that moment, squirming impossibly closer and blanketing the willing body beneath him.
“Stiles,” he said again, more desperate. He licked the salty-sweet skin he was rasping with his five o’clock shadow. “Mmm, so good.” His breath had no room against Stiles’ wet throat, getting lost in his warm flesh. “Stay. Please. Don’t…”
Don’t go.
“It’s okay,” Stiles groaned, his hips beginning to move helplessly under Derek’s weight. “It’s okay, Derek. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m here… oh god…”
It was another hour before they were able to order food. Stiles sat in an armchair in the living room while they ate, one thumb reaching up to stroke the mark Derek had left on his throat. Derek tried to concentrate on using his chopsticks, managing to eat a few mouthfuls before staring at Stiles again.
It was awkwardly quiet now that they weren’t touching. Derek didn’t know what to do. The food was gone too fast, and they were left looking at one another over empty take-out cartons. Stiles tried for an amused chuckle, but Derek didn’t respond, and the tension between them grew thicker. Stiles gathered up the trash and Derek helped by rinsing out the two bottles of beer they had consumed with dinner, the alcohol doing nothing to loosen him up, of course.
He came back out into the living room as Stiles was pulling on his shoes, already redressed and wearing his jacket. He handed Derek the Superman mug that had been sitting on the floor near the door since that morning.
“Don’t drop it,” Stiles tried to joke, his smile tight. Derek gripped the mug carefully in both hands and just stared at Stiles.
Now that Stiles was dressed, standing by the door, Derek couldn’t find the courage to ask him to stay. He was no less desperate to keep him, but now that Stiles wasn’t writhing beneath him, he couldn’t say the words.
“Um,” Stiles said, dropping his eyes from Derek’s to look at his feet, shuffling in place nervously. “I guess I’ll see you at the office?”
Silence. Derek was frozen, choked. Stiles wasn’t a wolf, he didn’t have the same instincts that Derek did. He didn’t know that he couldn’t leave Derek like this. Not after the connection they’d shared.
Stiles reeked of Derek. It was delicious. But the human had no idea, couldn’t scent it the way Derek could. Stiles’ magic must have been aware of the bond and Stiles had some degree of sensitivity to Derek’s scent, but it wouldn’t infect his brain the same way it did Derek’s.
He reached out to Stiles, letting the tips of his fingers brush down one arm, the padding of the jacket keeping him from feeling Stiles’ warmth. Stiles’ face softened, losing some of its nervousness. He leaned into Derek, his mouth coming closer, glancing soft and warm across Derek’s lips in a barely-there kiss before he retreated again.
“I’ll see you later,” Stiles said softly, giving Derek one, real smile before slipping out the door. He listened to Stiles’ footsteps walking down the hall, then thumping down the stairs. He heard the sound of the Jeep’s engine turning over and idling in the parking lot for a few minutes, before Stiles put it in gear and drove off down the street, the engine noise blending into the rest of the cities’ drone.
He couldn’t sleep, no matter how tight he wrapped himself up in the blankets that smelled the most like Stiles and buried his face in the boy’s pillow. He’ wasn’t proud of the fact that he was reduced to tears, trembling and alone.
It was grief, the way wolves commonly reacted to being rejected by their mates. But Stiles was human. He didn’t know. It wouldn’t be fair to ask of a human what would be instinct to a werewolf. In the human world, Stiles’ world, people don’t move in together the first night they had sex. Not like wolves. If it were up to Derek, Stiles would have spent the night, and in the morning, he would have driven him over to the apartment he shared with Scott and helped him pack up all his stuff, bringing it home. Because Stiles belonged here. Stiles had claimed this space with his scent. He had claimed Derek and allowed Derek to claim him.
But that was the wolf’s way of looking at it. The human way was much more complicated, less straightforward. Stiles would want to date first. That is, if he wanted to pursue a relationship at all. This may have been a one time thing for Stiles. Derek knew that he would be lucky if Stiles wanted as much as a friends-with-benefits arrangement. Derek hadn’t laid much of the groundwork for a relationship by human standards. Allowing someone into your home didn’t hold the same weight for non-wolves. Building a nest just seemed crazy. Scenting just looked like cuddling. Protection looked like possessiveness.
Somehow he made it through the long night without driving over to Stiles’ apartment and kidnapping him from his bed. It was a close thing, though. He just had to keep reminding himself that if he wanted a chance, even the slightest chance, of a real relationship with Stiles, then he would have to do this the human way, not the wolf way.
He wasn’t able to truly drop off to sleep, though he was able to doze a little towards dawn by gathering all the Stiles-scented pillows underneath him in a pile and hunkering down over the top of them, like he was holding Stiles in a smothering grip. It wasn’t enough to fool the wolf, but it was enough to calm him for an hour or so.
By the time the sun was coming up, Derek was just stepping out of the shower, after admitting to himself that he had to wash Stiles’ scent off, had to get ready for work, when his phone vibrated on the bathroom counter with a text.
Stiles: ok so you know that book your uncle has on NAT behavior?
Derek swallowed painfully. He knew exactly which book Stiles was referring to. Goddammit, had Peter really given that to him?
Derek: Yes.
Stiles: well i read the section about wolves and what it means when you guys… make a nest
Derek started to hyperventilate.
Stiles: we need to talk
He could feel his heart beating frantically. The icy feeling of too much adrenaline flooded his system.
Stiles: i have to run an errand and i’ll be late to clean, but can we talk tonight at the office around 9?
Derek’s stomach churned.
Derek: Okay. See you then.
Stiles: k
Derek didn’t even feel the phone fall from his numb fingers and land on the bathmat at his feet.
“You what?!”
“Laura, I didn’t mean to!” Derek paced in their uncle’s guest bedroom, his own apartment smelling too much like Stiles for him to think clearly. He’d come over after calling into work and taking half the day off, claiming he had an appointment and would be in after lunch.
“Did you bite him?”
“Not hard enough to break the skin.”
“Derek!”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly, okay? He just… his scent… god!”
“And he knows?”
“Well, he does now. That goddamned book. Fuck Peter. I could have pretended I wasn’t bonded, could have tried to date him like a human would, but if he knows, then I have no chance. None.” He stopped his pacing to sit on the bed, head in his hands. He wanted to throw himself onto it and scream, but he didn’t want to come across as even more melodramatic than he already was, so he didn’t.
Laura was sighing and rubbing her forehead. “Well, we know he likes you, that much is obvious. If you just, I don’t know, stay cool, maybe you can salvage this.”
Derek groaned, shaking his head while his face stayed covered by his hands. “The stupid book says that werewolves bite their mates. On the fucking throat. And that we don’t like other people touching them or talking to them or looking at them. God, that book makes us sound like such possessive assholes.”
“Well-”
“Shut up, Laura, I don’t care if it’s true, I just don’t see that Stiles needs to know that. I could hide it.”
Laura sorted. “Sure, ‘cause you’ve done such a good job at hiding your feelings…”
“More than you know, actually,” Derek groaned. “He… he thought that I don’t like the way he smells.”
“What?! You practically salvate everytime you so much as get a whiff of him.”
“I know that. Other wolves know that. But he’s a Spark. One whose magic isn’t harnessed yet. He has no training. He… he thought I was germaphobic and that I hated his scent…”
“Oh my god.” Laura stood in front of him, eyes wide, before doubling over with laughter. “Oh. My. God!”
“Shut up! It’s not funny.” Derek growled as his sister landed on the bed next to him, tears in her eyes and holding her ribs in pain.
“He thought you were a germaphobic shut-in! No wonder he was always trying so hard to keep your place clean. Oh my god. Derek! How did you manage that?”
“He…” Derek dropped his head. “He noticed me holding my breath-” Laura interrupted with a giggle, “-and opening windows a lot when he was around…”
“Oh, baby bro,” she gasped. “This whole time he was worried that you thought you’d get cooties when you really just wanted to jump him and plug him full of-”
“Laura!”
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, finally winding down from her fit of hysterics. She took a deep breath and then rested her head on his shoulder. He leaned his ear against her warm hair and sighed, grateful for the comfort despite her teasing. “He said he wanted to talk?” Laura asked after a moment.
“Yeah.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Laura said, draping her arm around him and patting his back. “He read that chapter on werewolf mating habits and he’s still willing to talk to you face to face, alone. He must like you a lot. And trust you a lot, damn. Not many humans would be willing to hang around a wolf after reading that chapter. It’s traumatizing even to other wolves. I can’t believe Peter allowed us to read it when we were teenagers.”
“It’s educational.” Derek could feel himself blushing, recalling some of the diagrams in the book.
Laura snorted, standing back up and hunting through her purse. “Well, he obviously was somewhat educated going into your, uh, hookup.” She ignored Derek’s growl as she fished out her lip balm. “I mean, did he freak out about the whole, uh, surprise orange at the base of your banana?”
“Seriously?” Derek felt his blush grow a deeper shade of crimson.
“Hey, you think this is easy for me to talk about? I know how your anatomy works, okay, it doesn’t mean I wanna say the k-word to my baby brother.”
“God, fine. He wasn’t shocked, alright? In fact he…” Derek stopped speaking and shifted uncomfortably on the bed.
“Was way into your citrus?” Laura asked, one eyebrow raising.
“Oh my god.”
“You impressed him with your fruit cocktail?”
“Please stop.”
“Does he take his banana split with an extra scoop of vanilla ice cream?” She ducked out of the way as Derek swung a pillow at her and ran around the other side of the bed shrieking. He got her with a throw pillow, lobbing it at her head, and she pretend-snarled at him and flashed her eyes, pouncing at him and getting him in a headlock. They rough-housed for a few minutes, until he started to tickle one of her flailing feet and she yielded, choking because she was laughing so hard.
Derek lay in the floor while Laura had the bed, and every now and then a giggle would come from his sister, like she hadn’t quite wound down yet. “I missed you,” he said, surprising himself. Laura’s flushed face appeared from over the side of the mattress.
“I missed you too, you idiot,” she smiled.
Stiles didn’t show up at nine o’clock. Or nine fifteen. Or nine twenty. By the time the elevator doors opened at nine-twenty-three and revealed the quick patter of Stiles’ heart, Derek had just enough time to extract his claws from the padded armrests of a lounge chair were he was forcing himself to sit still, and make it back behind his desk, pretending to work.
The office door opened and Stiles rushed in, messenger bag slung around his slim body and already talking full-speed.
“I’m sorry I’m late. They didn’t have the thing I needed at the first store I went to and the second one doesn’t even exist anymore, so that was a waste of time. And then the guy at the place I finally found was creepy as fuck, and probably a NAT, by the way. Keep an eye out for a guy with a mullet named Randy. Trust me, you do not want to see the special collector’s items he has in the back of his shop.”
Stiles made it to Derek’s desk, slumping down in one of the guest chairs and digging through his bag. Derek’s throat felt tight when a red book landed on the desktop between them. Stiles leaned forward and seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
“You were growling,” he said. Derek looked at him, not understanding. “Several times, I’ve picked up this feeling - this tingling sensation - with my magic,” Stiles explained, gesturing along with his words, his fingertips seeming to flash with electricity for a brief second. “I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but it was always when someone else was about to touch me. You were warning them off. And because of my spark, I was starting to pick up on it. It sort of tickles,” Stiles said, smiling.
Derek just stared at him, remembering all the times that he had, in fact, warned other wolves - mainly Peter - away from Stiles. He hadn’t intended for him to find out, however.
“Growling,” Stiles said, reaching out and tapping the book’s cover with an insistent finger. “Scent marking. Nest building.” A tap for each phrase. “Derek,” Stiles’ hand went flat on top of the red leather of the book, “do you think I’m your mate?”
Derek’s eyes flashed reflexively, his throat tightening up in panic. He’d expected to get the ‘sorry, this isn’t going to work, I’m not into possessive occult monsters,’ but he hadn’t thought that Stiles would be so blunt about it. Talking about mates… that was a serious thing. It was like humans talking about their soulmate. It’s not something to be mocked or laughed at, as silly and old-fashioned as it might seem.
“Wow, uh,” Stiles said, swallowing thickly. “Those were your eyes just now. Uh, they turned gold. Yeah. That wasn’t like, super hot. Hot like burning. Or anything. Not at all. Oh god, I’m talking out loud. Fuck. Okay. We were talking about mates stuff. Right. So like, am I? Your mate, I mean.”
Fuck.
“Yes.” His voice was deep, verging on the shift, every muscle tensed. Stiles wet his lips, his eyes wide.
“How, uh,” Stiles cleared his throat. “How long have you known?”
“The first night.”
“Wait, the first night I…? Here? Right here? The first night I saw you?”
“Yes,” Derek forced out, his voice like gravel.
“Holy shit,” Stiles hushed out in awe. “But, you didn’t- I mean the the book says that you guys claim your mates right away and-”
“That’s not the way humans do it,” Derek managed. He could do this. He could have a conversation about this. No problem. He resisted wiping the anxious sweat from his forehead.
“Yeah, but the book says that the urge is pretty strong, so-”
“You’re human,” Derek said again, trying to get Stiles to understand. “You don’t work like that. With another wolf, they would know. But to you, it would just seem like I was attacking you. You wouldn’t be able to sense that we were, that we are...”
“Mates?”
“Yes.” Derek let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It was a relief in a way, to finally be admitting this to Stiles. He may not get to keep Stiles, but maybe the other man would understand. That was the most he could hope for.
Stiles’ eyes dropped to Derek’s chest, trailing back up. He bit his bottom lip. “And you held back? Was it easier because I’m human… or I’m not very appealing to you-”
Derek growled at that. Loud. Stiles flushed, his eyes going bright. “I held back,” Derek managed around the sudden fangs in his mouth, “because I’m not a rapist. Not because I find you unattractive.”
Stiles was staring at his mouth. Not in fear, as Derek would have assumed before this very interesting conversation, but with what looked an awful lot like lust.
“Fuck,” Stiles murmured. “Wow, I really wanna-” he shook his head, trying to refocus. “Derek,” he said, and Derek looked at him, holding as still as he could, though his cock was filling and lengthening at the look in Stiles’ eyes, at the smell of him, and it was all he could do not rock his hips for a bit of friction. “Derek,” Stiles said again, losing the train of his thought and then regathering it. “Do you? Want me as your mate?”
Derek wanted to answer that question with a logical, well thought-out argument. Something about taking things at Stiles’ pace, if Stiles was willing to give dating him a chance. Something eloquent and persuasive. What he managed was to flash his eyes again and whimper pitifully while muling, “Yes, Stiles, yes.”
Rather than running away screaming, Stiles eyes dilated impossibly further. “Right. Right, okay then. So uh. The book-” he tore his eyes away from Derek’s no doubt terrifyingly needy face to stare at the red book on the desk between them “- the book says that you will want to, uh, claim me properly.” Derek whined and dropped his head on his arms, holding his elbows with clawed fingers. “Meaning that you will bite me and, uh, knot me.” Derek’s whine turned into a guttural moan, not even bothering to hide the fact that his hips were rolling in his chair, trying to find some relief.
“Stiles,” he rasped. “Please.”
“So… you… really want this? Because I do.”
Derek’s head popped up, his eyes burning with tears and their werewolf glow. “Yes, Stiles,” he managed to get out clearly. “I want you.”
Stiles sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay,” he said, “I was hoping you would say that. That’s why I had to run an errand before we talked.” He rummaged around in his messenger bag, hefting out a black plastic bag from its depths. Upending the bag over the desk, a rather large, rectangular box fell out. On the side was a picture of an enormous dildo, a knot placed more or less in the same position Derek’s was. Howl with pleasure, the swirling text proclaimed. Realistic werewolf dildo for his or her SUPERNATURAL fantasy play.
Derek looked up at Stiles for an explanation, puzzled and worried. Did Stiles not want him for some reason? Was this a substitute? He didn’t understand.
“You’re huge,” Stiles said, his cheeks burning. “Really, really huge. And I’ve never… never done anything, really. With someone else. So I thought that I’d, you know, start smaller,” he grabbed a second bag and dropped a smaller box next to the first one, this time containing a normal-sized human dildo, “and work up to it. Cause I want it, Derek, I really really want it… But if I don’t warm up to it, you are going to split me in half.”
Derek’s mouth was hanging open. He kept looking from Stiles’ new dildo collection up to his face and back again, all sorts of thoughts firing in his brain.
“Derek?’
“Yeah?”
“Did I break you?”
“Yeah.”
Stiles smiled fondly at him, stuffing the bewildering boxes back in his bag. Once they were out of sight, he set the messenger bag on the guest chair and walked around to Derek’s side of the desk, smirking playfully at him.
“I can help,” Derek said, not realizing what was going to come out of his mouth until he gave voice to it. “With that,” he gestured to the bag. “I’ll be gentle.”
“God, I’m so fucking lucky,” Stiles murmured, and kissed him.
Derek stood up and pulled Stiles to him, trying not to crush him, trying to reveal just how desperate he was to have Stiles close, to taste him again. His taste, his scent, were consuming him, crashing into him and through him. He briefly pulled back from the kiss, Stiles sitting on his desk with his legs spread, and Derek in between them, to look in Stiles’ eyes for a moment. To make sure.
Stiles looked back at him, open and longing, reaching to pull Derek back in, and Derek finally accepted that this was really happening. Smiling briefly, Derek ran his palms over Stiles head then down his arms, obliterating any lingering scents from outside, claiming him as his own. Licking more than kissing, he attacked Stiles’ mouth and then worked down his neck, worrying the spot on his throat where all his instincts told him to bite. But not yet. Not yet. They would need to talk about that part first. There would be blood. And pain. True, Stiles magic might mean that he found pleasure in the bite, in their magic melding together through their blood. There was time though. They could date a little first. Make sure that Stiles really wanted this. That he really wanted to be bonded to a werewolf. Had he thought this through? Derek needed to make sure. He didn’t want Stiles to have regrets. He wanted to protect him, from himself if necessary.
As if sensing that Derek was thinking too much, Stiles wiggled forward off the desk and stood up in front of Derek. He reached for Derek’s top shirt button and Derek’s mind suddenly went quiet, focused on Stiles.
“Tell me, what do your wolf ears hear?” Stiles smirked, as he tugged at Derek’s shirt, fumbling the buttons open one by one. “Is there anyone else in the office?”
Derek listened for a moment, just to double check, though he knew for a fact that the last employee had left hours ago.
“We’re alone,” Derek confirmed, shivering when Stiles pulled his shirt down his arms, briefly trapping his hands before pulling the garment free.
“Good,” Stiles said, that smirk still on his face as he greedily took in Derek’s body, dressed now in just his undershirt and slacks. He pulled at Derek’s cotton shirt, getting it up and over his head, before tossing it to the side and immediately going for Derek’s chest with his hands spread wide, as though trying to touch all of him at once. “I am so fucking lucky,” he murmured again to himself, eyes and hands all over Derek’s upper body, before reaching for his belt.
Derek let Stiles work at his clothes, trying to let him set the pace. He needed to keep himself under control. As Stiles himself had pointed out, he would need a lot of careful prep before they attempted knotting for the first time. The first time. Oh god, Stiles was a virgin. Derek had known that, but had never allowed himself to dwell on it. But if Stiles was actually his, actually gave himself to Derek, it would be his first. His only, the wolf growled menacingly.
He felt his pants slips down his hips, followed by Stiles’ hands under his briefs, a palm on each asscheek, before his underwear was pushed down too, joining his pants on the floor. Derek stepped on the heel of one shoe, then the other, working them off before kicking his pants away.
Stiles was staring over his shoulder, out the window, and at first Derek was a little disappointed that Stiles wasn’t looking at him, until he realized that Stiles was gazing at the reflection of him in the window.
“Sweet mother of god,” Stiles breathed. “Look at that ass.” He moved into Derek, sliding his arms down his back, watching raptly in the mirror-like reflection of the glass behind them. He grasped Derek’s asscheeks, one in each hand, and after rolling them and squeezing them in his palms, Stiles pulled them apart so that he could see Derek’s hole. The movement surprised Derek as much as it turned him on. He had fingered himself before and liked it, but serious ass play had never been a part of his sex life, whether with others or alone. Being a male wolf, he had always been expected to top, and so no one had been particularly interested in that part of him before, beyond liking the way his ass looked in jeans.
But Stiles was moaning from the sight alone, turning to kiss Derek fervently, only to tear himself away and stare back at Derek’s reflection again. “Can I?” Stiles asked, breathing hard as Derek gave into the temptation to suck at his neck again.
“Yes,” he said. Of course, he thought. Anything. Anything Stiles wanted he could have. He felt one of Stiles’ long fingers slipping down his crack, while the other hand splayed over an asscheek, keeping Derek splayed open. When his dry finger gently brushed Derek’s entrance, they both moaned. Stiles stroked gently, reverently, not trying to push in, just feeling him, just watching him.
“You’re so hot,” Stiles murmured, watching their reflections intently as he rutted forward slightly, his clothed body rubbing against Derek’s naked one. Derek found himself liking it. A lot. He instinctively trusted Stiles and where he was taking this. Although he had never really found the appeal of overt power dynamics in sex, there was something about being naked and vulnerable while Stiles was fully dressed and in control.
He turned his face and whimpered into Stiles’ neck as the stroking became more insistent, wishing Stiles would breach him, even with dry fingers, just to feel him closer.
“Derek, I…” Stiles blushed, his skin going even warmer where it was pressed against Derek. His finger continued to stroke, getting more desperate, petting the entire length of Derek’s crack, searching behind his balls before returning to his hole. “There’s… there’s something I’ve really wanted to try. Please?”
“Of course,” Derek agreed immediately. “Anything.”
Stiles groaned and kissed him deeply before pulling away completely. Derek watched him as Stiles moved to circle around him. Those firm hands were on his back, pushing him forward until he was bracing himself on his desk, legs spreading winder as Stiles’ foot gently prompted his ankles.
Those hands traced a hot line down each side of his spine, ending up clutching his asscheeks again, kneading forcfully as Stiles’ mouth trailed down his back. Derek heard Stiles’ knees hit the floor and there was a puff of hot, moist breath on his hole as Stiles spread him. Stiles paused, Derek’s sensitive hearing picking up several soft curse words before Stiles leaned in a proceeded to eat him out within an inch of his life.
Derek was glad that he kept the surface of his desk cleared of knick knacks and ornaments, because they all would have gone crashing to the floor as his arms scrambled across the polished surface, his startled moan turning deep and desperate in within seconds. How? How could a tongue in his ass feel like that? It was lighting up all his nerve endings, spreading a slow, sweet burn throughout his lower body. Stiles’ lapping tongue somehow felt connected to his dick, his knot slowly swelling at the base, not fully popped, but throbbing steadily in time to his heart beat.
“Uhh . Stiles. That feels so good.”
Stiles hummed against him, not pulling away, his tongue continuing to push into him, then suck back out, languidly, like Stiles couldn’t get enough. Like he was planning on doing this to him all night. Derek’s legs began to tremble.
Stiles trailed a hand up one shaking thigh, moaning into him, before pulling him farther apart with both thumbs and continuing the pulsing administrations to Derek’s swelling flesh. He imagined Stiles’ lips getting puffy, looking like he had been kissed deeply as he ate Derek out. His hole felt like that too- swollen like a French-kissed mouth.
“Stiles!” Derek gasped helplessly, the desk taking most of his weight now as his legs shook uncontrollably. He was embarrassed about being reduced to a desperate mess so easily. It was beyond anything he had felt before, and it had everything to do with the fact that this was Stiles, his mate, and he was worshiping Derek’s body happily, lovingly.
Derek sobbed and jerked forward, Stiles getting impossibly deeper, moaning almost as loud as Derek was. He was so close. So close. But the edge remained elusive, toyed with. The pleasure cresting but never falling over edge. He heard himself begging for Stiles, asking him please, please, over and over again. For what he didn’t know. But he couldn’t stay like this for much longer without losing his mind. The sweet burn was consuming him, spreading through the tight, virginal cluster of nerves inside, up his shaft to the weeping tip of his dick, down his thighs, up his spine. All of him melting, boiling, buring.
Suddenly Stiles was gone, leaving Derek slumped forward on the desk, naked and shaking. “It’s okay,” he heard from a few feet away. “It’s okay baby, I’m right here. I’m just getting lube.” Derek heard the sound of crinkling plastic, of packaging being shredded. “I bought some to go with my new toys. Thank god.”
Then he was back, stroking down Derek’s flanks, warm and present. Derek sobbed and turned his head against the hard surface of the desk. “Please.”
“Yes,” Stiles agreed, seeming to know what Derek was asking for, even if he himself didn’t. He was draped over Derek now, blanketing him. Good mate, Derek thought hazily. He had chosen well.
Those long fingers were back at his entrance. Wet this time. Slippery, breaching him slowly. Yes. Yes. That’s what he wanted. They delved deeper than his tongue had, as good as that had been. The fingers searched, making questing movements, and then- “Ah! Stiles!”
“Shh, shh baby, I got you,” Stiles soothed, petting his flank to gentle him. A few minutes passed in a haze, Stiles working more fingers in as they curled in unison, melting Derek into a shuddering puddle on the hard surface of the desk. He managed to get his forearms under him, propping himself up, trying to gain a small amount of control over the rising pleasure he was feeling. The slow burn of being brought to the edge while Stiles had rimmed him began flooding back, until he found himself in that same desperate place again, so close to fully popping his knot, from climaxing. Yet it was also torturously aloof.
“Mmm,” Derek said, “Stiles, please.”
“Do we need a condom,” Stiles asked. He sounded like he already knew the answer, but was just checking with Derek to make sure.
“No,” Derek gasped. “Safe with me. Can’t get anything, can’t give anything. Safe,” he repeated, wanting Stiles to know that, whatever happened, even with this, Stiles was safe with him.
He heard Stiles push is pants down, his fingers disappearing while he wet his cock, the noise his fist made clear and distinct in the quiet room. Then Stiles was holding him open again, one hand slick and cool where in gripped him, the other warm and dry.
“Oh fuck,” Stiles said, talking to himself. “This is going to feel so good.” Then he was pushing in and they were both moaning with the sensation of it. “God, oh god,” Stiles muttered. “I’m not going to last, baby. I’m sorry.” He began to thrust almost immediately, Derek pushing back on his elbows to meet him.
“S’okay, Stiles,” Derek managed. “S’okay. Just. Touch me. When you are going to. We’ll… together…”
“Yeah. yeah, okay,” Stiles agreed, speeding up.
Stiles hadn’t been exaggerating. It was scarcely a minute before he was moaning like he was dying, muttering and swearing to himself.
“Oh god! Can’t! Uh! Derek!”
A hand reached around, the lubed one, and grabbed Derek around his knot squeezing as he pounded against his prostate.
“Fuck,” Derek whispered and came all over the desk.
Stiles bit him first.
It was right after he moved into Derek’s apartment, after exactly one official date. When Derek reassured him they could take it slow, Stiles just shrugged and said, “Wolf rules for sex, speed of relationship, and bonding stuff. Human rules for possessiveness and growling at Scott.”
“But, he grabbed you.”
“He was hugging me goodbye.”
“It lasted too long.”
“We've been best friends since kindergarten.”
“But-”
“Human rules with Scott!”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Afterwords, they’d gotten in bed, Derek working Stiles with his fingers, then the human-sized dildo. Then the human-sized dildo and some of Derek’s fingers. He skipped the large dildo, and did the final step himself, Stiles riding him so he could control the pace. He bit Derek on the throat has they orgasmed, and Derek shook and cried, overwhelmed with the emotion of finally being claimed. Of being wanted. Of belonging to Stiles.
He returned the bite, later, when he was rocking into Stiles in the middle of the night, murmuring to him from above where he was stretched out over Stiles’ back protective and possessive. He sunk his fangs in slowly, gently, feeling the sweet skin parting around his sharp teeth the way Stiles’ body was parting at its core for Derek’s knot.
Afterwards, he licked at the stinging flesh and whispered praise to his mate.
His mate.
“I’m keeping Peter’s magic sex book,” Stiles insisted, cradled in Derek’s arms. “There are some very educational diagrams.’
“Sure thing, Sparky.”
“No. That will, under no circumstance, become a nickname.” Stiles bopped Derek’s nose. “Bad.”
Derek made an affronted face. “The cleaning staff is getting uppity.”
“Uppity!? Are you a hundred?”
Derek just nuzzled into him.
“See if I buy you any more collector’s mugs, buddy.”
“You need one,” Derek murmured, pulling him closer, collecting him half underneath him. Safe.
“Nightwing!? Can I have Nightwing?”
“I dunno. I think there’s a character named Sparky.”
“Spark, Derek, her name is Spark.”
“Close enough,” Derek said nuzzling in even closer. “Go to sleep. School tomorrow. Cleaning tomorrow. We left my desk pretty messy.”
“I am not a maid.”
“Would you wear the costume, though?”
He was not expecting the squeak Stiles made at that, his blood thundering in his chest. Derek made a mental note to look into a French maid costume for Stiles.
And a feather duster.
With real feathers.
He smiled into Stiles’ warm skin, preparing to sleep.