[ everything is just - stars, and heat, and derek's dizzy from the force of it. every kiss stiles gives him makes him feel fucking alive, like all his senses heightened by the moon are spiking to full capacity, every touch runs up every nerve, overwhelming in his oversensitivity. through the guttural noises, the hard, physical reactions to everything that's ruining him, stiles' voice cuts past it and manages to keep him steady. he's encouraging and loving and it's exactly what he needs. it's exactly why he's derek's anchor.
stiles turns away, like the genius he is, and there's a part of derek that sees his submission, an easy offering of prey to a predator, and wants to rip and tear and maul and take, to hurt and kill and have. the rest of him - the parts that matter, the parts that carry weight beyond instinct - is just fucking awed by how beautiful he is. how fucking perfect.
for the first time, derek sees the scar on stiles' back. a burst of sunlight, left behind by hard, shredding teeth, made with the intent of taking his life. derek's too out of it to really understand what it is, how it got there, but he knows that it looks painful, and he knows that this has to have come from a chapter of stiles' life he hasn't yet told derek about, and simultaneously, he feels two things. a strong, swooping sadness in his stomach, laced with the overprotective need to hurt whoever hurt stiles - his stiles, his stiles, his mate, the man he loves, the man he'll always love, the love of his life, the one he wants to die with, the one he wants to die for -
and an unbelievable, cascading wave of pride and affection. stiles is still beautiful, even with his scars. stiles trusted him enough to show him this, when he was red-eyed and full of teeth, when he was as dangerous as he'll ever be. stiles loves him, and derek's heart honestly hurts from how big that feels. he touches his hand to his chest, feels how hard his heart is beating, and he genuinely feels afraid for a second that he's going to throw up, or pass out, or-- or something, too overworked and too full of adrenaline and chemicals and the fucking moon to stay stable.
he doesn't throw up. doesn't pass out. he bends forward, resting his forehead on the gap between stiles' shoulderblades, nose against his skin. he breathes in and out, drowns in him, in his scent, in his presence, in everything that he is. his teeth itch and get bigger, his claws feel sharper, more serrated. his eyes hurt from how brightly they're burning.
he kisses the mole on stiles' opposite shoulder, beautiful and characteristic and so intrinsically stiles. he kisses along stiles' shoulderblades, up to a square of skin just besides his scar, clean and untainted and undamaged. he kisses more, kisses further, kisses the painful, ragged edges of what donovan did to him, because no matter how this happened, no matter who did this, it's still stiles, and it's still beautiful, and derek doesn't love him any less for it.
and then - derek drops to his knees.
his claws are out. he needs to be careful, when he squeezes his palms tight against stiles' ass. he doesn't waste any more time - doesn't have it in him to wait. he sets the flat, pads of his thumbs besides stiles' hole and stretches him open, just enough, and he darts forward, lapping a long, long line with his tongue from the base of stiles' balls, all the way up. he gets stiles completely, completely wet, breathing out against the soft, pink hole he so, so desperately wants to fuck.
he fucks stiles with his tongue in long, slow thrusts, as deep as he can get it. there's drool running down stiles' taint, dripping to the floor and down his thighs, and the water from the showerhead is spraying too far behind them to get him clean. while he eats him out, derek slides one of his hands around to stiles' cock, slowly circling his fist around the head and keeping his claws way the fuck away. when he jerks him off, it's - a little too rough, a little too hard, his grip too strong and his strokes too irregular, but all his neediness, all his want, all his desperation to just touch stiles and make him feel good - it's all so obviously there.
derek only stands up when his knees start to hurt. he moves closer, slaps his bare cock against stiles' ass, still hard. he leans forward to kiss his neck, an imitation of the way stiles was kissing him when he came. each kiss comes harder than the last, more frantic, and every so often, the razor-sharp edge of his teeth will brush against stiles too closely for derek to feel comfortable, and he'll freeze, set his lips back over his fangs, and he's kiss slower, steadily building back up in intensity until he forces himself to stop again. ]
Stiles.
[ it's all he's got in him to say. he drags stiles' name out like just saying it is the most sexually intense experience he can have, like-- like he's so unbelievably, critically turned on by who stiles is. his voice is deep and quivering and desperate, and derek moves his hands to rest on stiles' hips. he's less careful this time, the lightest, papercut of a scratch drawing a line across pale, perfect skin. not deep enough to draw blood, but maybe deep enough to smart.
he says his name again, helplessly grinding his cock forward, like he's waiting for permission. like he's begging for it. again, he says his name, almost like he's close to tears. ]
[ stiles stares down at his feet with half-lidded eyes, his vision slightly blurred by the water collecting on his eyelashes. he strokes his cock with slowly, lazy pulls, wanting to get himself off but also wanting to wait in anticipation of - being fucked. he assumes that's why derek commanded him to turn around and face the wall, but for a little while - it feels like it anyway - the only hands that touch him are his own, edging himself toward a desperate neediness to feel derek touching him, close to him, anything.
he's soothed when derek leans his forehead between his shoulderblades, only slightly, but it's enough to keep the quiet, frustrated whine that was building up, safe in his throat. he breathes out a sigh and lifts his head up, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes. he doesn't know why, but he imagines the broad expanse of derek's back, strong and solid and very lightly tanned, triskele spiraling out in three directions from the space between his shoulders. he imagines, for a moment, his own shoulders, marked with the same three swirls of dark ink in the same place derek's pressed his forehead, but stiles doesn't have anything like that, he just has—
he remembers his scar. it's not as if he's ever forgotten about the permanent mark donovan left behind after ripping the flesh from his shoulder with razor-sharp, needle-like teeth as if the psychological and mental trauma of having to kill him later wouldn't be enough of a lasting punishment - but he's been able to think about it gradually less and less with each passing day, even if it's now a very small part of the many reasons stiles doesn't lounge around on lazy days without a shirt on, or take it off during sex.
stiles remembers it now though, and his eyes fly open, stinging a little as the shower mists into them gently. derek is right there, and there's no way he hasn't seen it, there's no way he's going to be able to look at that and - not want to recoil. stiles can't even look at it without feeling some mild form of disgust, though a lot of that could probably be attributed to the memories and the emotional damage attached to it. his anxiety starts to climb. he tilts his head forward and he stares at the slick tiles in front of him with slightly-widened, unblinking eyes, his fingers curling against the wall in a loose fist.
he wants his shirt. stiles wants that security blanket back so badly that the thought of pushing derek back and getting out of the shower just to go and get dressed and maybe make up an excuse to be somewhere else briefly crosses his mind. he takes his hand off of his cock, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed and off balance, because derek thinks he's beautiful and he's caring and he's perfect— derek thinks he's all these wonderful things, but he doesn't know—
stiles shivers over the first kiss derek presses to his shoulder, and it's only then that he realizes he's been holding his breath. he breathes out in one big rush, head dropping forward again, his fingers uncurling to lay flat against the wall. his stomach still feels uncomfortably tight with uncertainty, but tension feels less and less the more and more derek keeps peppering his skin with kisses, following the edges of his shoulderblades, covering his skin. derek kisses the skin around stiles' scar and - stiles thinks that's going to be it, that he's going to drift back, but derek kisses that damaged, textured skin too with the same kind of gentleness, like it isn't any different, like he doesn't like it any less and - stiles isn't going to cry, but the immense relief he feels makes his eyes water slightly, makes his nose burn. he breathes out again, bringing his free hand up to brace his forearm back against the wall so he can lean a little more of his weight into it.
it's a good move. stiles doesn't expect what follows, doesn't even notice that derek's lowered himself to his knees. his thighs tighten up reflexively when he feels derek's hands on his ass, spreading him apart, and there's a part of him that starts to panic a little because - because he hasn't been prepped at all and sure, they're in the shower, there's water, it's not like derek would be pushing in completely dry, but stiles isn't naive enough to think it's not going to hurt like a bitch. ]
Derek—
[ he starts, but he doesn't finish, because the rest of whatever he was intending to say twists itself in a sharp but soft, surprised little cry when derek drags the flat of his tongue over him. he arches away at first, startled by the unexpected, foreign feeling, pushing up onto his toes and arching his back, but— fuck that felt good. stiles' legs shake a little as he sinks back down onto his heels, sinks back down toward derek's mouth, and the next sound out of him is a drawn out, throaty moan, muffled against his bicep when he turns his head.
derek eats stiles out like he's never been eaten out before — and he hasn't. it's a first for him, like many things with derek have been so far, and like many of those firsts, it's not unpleasant in the slightest. stiles - kind of loves it, if he's honest. his cock aches and throbs between his legs, begging to be touched, but derek beats him to it. stiles chokes out a small, whiny sob of a sound, squeezing his eyes shut as derek thrusts his tongue into him over and over, slow and deep and white-hot. he wants to come so badly, and the hand on his dick feels really, really good, but it's just the wrong side of too rough to get stiles off, keeping him right at edge, keeping him desperate for more, for something else, his cock red and positively weeping precome.
stiles sucks in a unsteady breath when derek finally relents and lets up, his thighs shaking and his knees a little weak. he hums a low note of approval without really meaning to when derek slaps his cock against his ass, hard and thick and hot, and stiles impulsively pushes his hips back an inch, leaning his head to the side and baring his neck to derek, silently pleading for more kisses. the more aggressive derek gets, the harder stiles breathes, quick and breathy and horny as fuck, but the first scrape of fangs makes him nervous, makes his skin flash hot, not necessarily in a good way, makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle with the forewarning of danger.
stiles knows derek wouldn't bite him. stiles knows he wouldn't use his vulnerability and his desperation to be close to derek, and take advantage of him by biting him. he desperately hopes that derek wouldn't do that to him - but derek backs off and slows down as soon as he seems to realize how thin the line is that he's walking and that's — that's good, that makes stiles feel better, makes him - harder and hornier, actually, even though he couldn't even begin to explain why if anyone asked.
the way derek says his name is - almost too much. it sounds like - liquefied sex and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. his entire body blooms with this hot, desperate need to have derek - everywhere, to feel him everywhere, on him around him, inside of him. derek puts his hands on his hips. stiles can feel the prick of his claws and he immediately drops one of his hands down to put it over derek's but it's not to stop him. he slides his hand back, rests it over derek's wrist, lets his head fall forward between his shoulders as he grinds his ass back against derek's cock incredibly, incredibly slowly.
he feels like he could almost come right here, right this moment when derek says his name again, he pushes up onto his toes a little, pushes back, braces the rest of his weight against the wall. he just - he needs derek to fuck him. there's a fleeting moment where he thinks about - protection, and how they've never really talked about the possibility of - not using it, but. to stiles' knowledge, as a werewolf, derek can't carry infection or disease, and stiles hasn't ever slept with anyone unprotected, and they're - exclusive, derek said there exclusive and stiles just wants this so badly, he trusts and he loves derek so much. ]
Please.
[ stiles sort of gasps the word. he takes his hand off of derek's wrist and he reaches back blindly, finding derek's elbow at first, which he pulls at kind of uselessly, but then his fingers slap against his flank and he digs his fingertips in, fingernails a little too short to bite into derek's skin. he grips and he pulls and he lifts his head and turns it a little. it's not enough that he can see derek, but it's enough so his plea isn't lost or muffled, even if it's rushed and breathy and unquestionably begging. ]
[ scars don't scare derek. lord only knows how riddled with them his own body would be if he were human; how cut up his hands would be from digging a grave for laura without a shovel, how burnt he'd be from electricity burned through his veins by kate. running through the woods from hunters never came easy - there were always nights when he'd catch himself on a branch and have to split up from the rest of his pack, in case the argents found his blood and tracked him to his death.
as it is, all his scars are internal. if stiles can love him despite being hardened and calloused and burnt, then derek can love him despite the burst of sunlight faded on his skin.
that being said - there's no word to describe the way it hurts, when stiles reacts like he's afraid of him. derek's teeth scrape a little too close to stiles' veins, hovering so intimately over them like one wrong move could break whatever willpower derek has, and he can taste the fear on stiles' skin, the heat prickling at the top of his spine. stiles rejects him, and it's this hard-hitting, core-rocking pain that...
that honestly doesn't hurt that much at all. it's funny - derek feels a lump of sad, shallow rejection in his chest, and he knows that it should hurt, but it just... doesn't. instead, there's just - a confident, loving security that wraps around his ribs and helps him see things through. helps him realize stiles isn't scared of him, isn't rejecting him. never in derek's life has he been more confident that stiles loves him, werewolf or not, and that his attachment to his humanity detracts absolutely nothing from that.
there's millions of years of instinct at play here. there's an evolutionary fear of predators hardwired into stiles, and that's the only reason he's afraid of him. they're - connected, in spite of that. in love. mates. stiles trusts him. stiles is the only human who would ever, ever trust him like this. deep in derek's core, he knows that. stiles is his last one.
derek cautiously sets his teeth back against stiles' neck, sharp pin-pricks that don't breach skin but easily, easily could. he needs to prep him more - to stretch him open on his fingers, to make sure this won't hurt. he can't, though, and stiles doesn't want him to, either; they're both shattered and desperate and they need to connect, they need to have this. stiles' fingertips indent his side, he looks at him from over his shoulder as best as he can, and derek bites a little harder. just a little.
he untightens his jaw, laps soft, soothing kisses against the marks he's left on stiles, then - presses forward. derek leans his weight against stiles and pushes his torso up against the cold tiles of the shower, his chest flush to his shoulderblades, and he reaches down to angle the base of his cock down. he drags his head over stiles' ass until it's pressing tight against his hole, and he's desperate to make him take him, desperate to feel him yield and welcome him in. by merit of how they're standing, with derek's entire weight weighing down on stiles' back, his breath is ghosting over the shell of stiles' ear, hot and staggered. he kisses him there, behind his ear, back down his neck. he can't wait any longer. ]
Love you. Love you so fucking much.
[ he rocks his hips back, tilts his waist so that he can make this work, then slowly, slowly, slowly fucks into stiles. he very, very shallowly breaches him and has to stop, just half of his crown prying stiles apart. it's-- harder, tighter than it's ever been, a mix of the lack of lube and what the full moon's doing to him, but it feels so much fucking closer, doing this without protection. the heat around him, the tight, pulling grip of stiles' body, it's just so intrinsically stiles, raw and together. derek's seeing stars, and he needs to shut his eyes, drag his nose against stiles' shoulder, breathe him in, relax.
derek curls one arm beneath stiles' stomach, squeezing him tight and holding him in place. his other hand grips stiles' ass, his claws lightly pressing in against him while he pulls him apart, trying to make him more-- more open, more accessible, more easy. derek opens his eyes and rests his mouth against stiles' shoulder, looking at him from over the curve of it, lips apart and breath still coming hot and sharp against him. he pushes in further, fucks stiles more, and it's-- it's a struggle, barely made easier by the long, heavy flow of precum running from his cock, but he sinks in, up to an inch.
he tries to say it again. stiles. he tries to find the word, but his voice just cracks, everything feels-- too much. he stares at stiles from over his shoulder, eyes red and unfocused and uncannily wolfish, more than they've ever been. ]
[ that initial flash of uncertainty isn't there anymore when derek sets his teeth back against stiles' neck again, the trust and the love and the desire stiles feels for him overpowering any hardwired instinct. he can feel the pressure resting behind derek's jaw, in the sharp points of his teeth, testing the give of his flesh but careful not to break it. stiles swallows hard, gripping a little more at derek's side, fingertips slipping through a little bit of soap that the spray from the showerhead hasn't quite manages to wash away.
derek bites harder. stiles hisses quietly - it doesn't hurt, but he takes one of his hands off the wall and reaches back quickly, clumsily pushing his fingers into derek's wet hair and gripping gently, not to stop him - but to just hold him there for a second. he doesn't want derek to bite him. he just wants him to stay. he wants every point of connection he can get from him, and he's taking too fucking long to just fuck him already. stiles breathes out, shaky and shuddered, and pushes his hips back a little more, grinding his ass against the thick line of derek's cock.
he goes easily when derek pushes up against him, pressing him into the wall. stiles lets go of derek's hair, slides the hand that's already braced against the wall out a little so his arm isn't crushed between his chest and the tile, moving both of his arms so they rest slightly above his head, wrists overlapping. the tile is cold in comparison to the encompassing heat spread out across his back, and the start contrast is enough to send a hard shiver rattling down stiles' spine just in time for derek to slide the head of his cock down the cleft of his ass until it catches. stiles tenses, but it's not even close to being negative reaction, just - anticipatory.
there hasn't been that much prep. stiles was absolutely, definitely into derek's mouth on him just a minute or so ago, but he's pretty sure that's nowhere near enough preparation - and yet most of him doesn't care in the slightest. there's a tiny corner of his brain left yet that hasn't been overridden by love and lust and the desperate need to fuck, but stiles, for once, doesn't listen to the rational part of himself.
he whines. derek adds a little pressure behind the press of his cock and the sound that comes out of stiles is thin and a little tense, and it surprises him because it's not a sound he intended to make, but it's out and it's there and stiles swallows around the rest of it. he feels - pinned, with derek's weight pressing into his back, holding him flush to the shower wall, his breath hot against his ear, lips trailing down his neck. it feels like the first time, back in his old apartment, when derek had held him down with a fist to his chest. stiles hadn't felt scared then, and he doesn't feel scared now, either. he feels safe and protected and wanted, and it makes his knees weak.
derek tells him that he loves him. stiles fingers curl into loose fists above his head. his heart hurts, but it's the good kind of hurt, the kind where he's just filled with so much love that there just simply isn't enough room for it inside of him. stiles' eyes close and he leans his forehead against the wall, taking one of his arms down with the intention of reaching back to pull derek closer at the same time that he tilts himself way to make room.
stiles' fingers don't make contact with any part of derek, stilled by rock of his hips, the slow push of just the very tip of his cock against his hole, spreading him open with a thickness stiles - honestly isn't ready for. it... hurts. not a lot, not by any amount stiles can't handle right now, but it's more than the mild discomfort he's grown used to by now, eased by the push and the spread of derek's fingers. stiles tenses up, clenches his teeth a little, arches his back just slightly like he means to get away, but it's just instinct, and he fights it. he holds himself still, blowing out a thin breath against the tiles, thighs tense.
already, it feels - different. it's a different kind of heat without the thin layer of latex, a different kind of closeness, and derek's barely even inside of him yet. stiles decides immediately that they're done with protection from this point forward - as long as derek's okay with it, then they're done with it, because he doesn't want to give up this kind of connection now that he has it, now that he knows what it feels like, and he barely knows.
stiles makes a soft, strangled sound in the back of his throat, like he wants to say something, tell derek everything he's thinking, everything he's feeling, but it just comes out as this quiet, desperate note, his hovering hand moving to slide over the back of derek's wrist as he loops his arm over his stomach, fingers spreading out over his knuckles. he can feel derek spreading him apart, hand on his ass, claws resting against his flesh - and all he wants to do is push back. derek pushes forward, rocks his hips a little more - and it hurts. the stretch is - a lot, more than stiles is used to without being worked up to it. his grips tightly at the back of derek's wrist, unable to hold back the thin, strained whine that slips through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. ]
Ah— don't— [ he sounds a little rushed, slightly out of breath even though he hasn't really done anything, but he doesn't want derek to stop. he doesn't want him to pull out. ] Don't take it, please don't take it.
[ the pain, he means. he's not even sure if it would cross derek's mind to take it away from him, but he desperately, desperately doesn't want him to, and it comes through in his voice. stiles opens his eyes, and he breathes, in and out and in and out, his grip on derek's wrist easing gradually, every muscle in his body easing gradually. he just needs a minute, just needs a second.
stiles tilts his head slightly, forehead still resting against the wall, but he can see derek at his shoulder out of the corner of his eye. he can see the glow of his eyes, feels drawn to it enough that he turns his head properly to look at him, which puts him close enough to kiss him, even if it's just the corner of his mouth. ]
I love you. [ he kisses the edge of his mouth again, presses another one to his chin, and very, very carefully, he starts to ease his hips back in tiny, tiny pulses, fucking himself on derek's cock millimeter by millimeter. his voice sounds a little thin, words murmured and slightly too close together, but he doesn't care. he knows derek will hear him, he knows derek will understand. ] C'mon, it's okay. M'fine, it's okay, just - slowly. I love you.
[ stiles wants him to stay. derek's teeth, razor-sharp and serrated, scratch subtle, white lines down the thin, easily tearable skin of his neck, and stiles still just wants him to stay. derek breathes out in heavy, hard pants, crooning little moans and grunts against him as stiles' fingers tangle in his hair, and his whole body feels like an exposed nerve ending. he's heightened and sensitive and alive. the full moon itches at his skin, even from here, hidden inside and out of its reach. he's not coherent enough to wonder how much worse this could be if they were under the full burst of its light.
the noise stiles makes when he's forced up against the wall is almost enough to make derek come. that little noise, tense and thin, like he's fucking submissive, like strong-willed, independent stiles is helpless and horny, all for him - it's almost too much for derek to bear. it's breathtaking. derek wants more. he pins him to the wall even tighter.
stiles makes another noise as derek enters more of him, and then another, and another, and the tiles shudder beneath derek's feet as his leg trembles, bouncing his heel against them, thudding a repetitive echo through the shower. he curls his toes and his fingertips and makes himself calm down, pressing his cheek against stiles shoulder for support and scratching him with sharp, wet stubble. stiles' hand pressed over his makes derek feel like he's melting.
derek pushes in more, and more, and more, one millimetre, then another, and stiles suddenly whines out in pain, making derek go completely stock still with an alarmed start. his mind is telling him, distantly, with whatever capability it has for coherent thought left, that he needs to pull out before stiles hurts - but stiles says don't take it, stiles tells him to stay, stiles tells him he wants to feel the pain, and derek almost loses his fucking mind.
he nods. he nods, even though stiles can't really see him, and he kisses up his back again, over his scar, up to his shoulder. stiles reaches back and gives him a lopsided, incomplete kiss, and when he tells him he loves him, derek just - whines.
stiles fucks himself on derek.
it's a lot. it's too much, when derek's so hypersensitive already, so desperate for touch. derek's heaving breaths against stiles' ear, and it's hard to say if he sounds like he's drowning, desperately trying to stay above the water, or if he's been hunting like an animal, running on all fours through the woods until his body gave out from exertion. he rests against stiles' shoulder and looks like he's the one getting fucked, with half-lidded eyes glossed over with lust. stiles eases back on derek's cock and derek looks like he's having a fucking religious experience. ]
More. Stiles.
[ he's done his best to make this easy for stiles, but - he - can't, not anymore. he needs to fuck stiles, needs him now. derek stands up, stretching out his spine. derek takes the arm he has wrapped around stiles' stomach and splays it out on his lower back, instead, pushing him down and silently urging him to arch his back. his other hand reaches up to stiles' hair, grabbing a fistful of it, and lightly, very lightly, he pulls, arching stiles' neck back. he pushes forward with his hips, fucking stiles into the wall with one hard, brutal jolt, and as he fucks a full inch and a half of his cock past the rim of his entrance, Derek's eyes roll into the back of his head.
he's swearing. maybe. he can't tell, he might have blacked out for a second. derek's chest hurts. roughly, derek starts to find a rhythm, dragging the head of his cock back through the tight passage of stiles' hole, pulling out to the ring. he grunts, pushes his hand forward, pressing stiles' face against the wall. ]
Stiles--
[ he's starting to swell. he can feel it - not just at the base of his cock, but all of him. he's getting bigger, thicker, inside stiles. derek's hips are moving on their own accord, getting faster, pressing deeper, stretching out stiles well past his body's limit, and the more he does, the more of him that fills stiles up, the bigger, more difficult it gets. derek hunches forward again, heaving those same heavy, almost violent breaths, and he tugs stiles' hair again to have better access to his throat from the side. he kisses him, just once, violent but tender. he's barely half inside of stiles, and he feels like he's too much for him.
but - ]
Stiles, there's-- more of me.
[ and - and he doesn't know if stiles is going to be able to handle it, he doesn't know if it's going to hurt too much. being knotted. derek keeps fucking him, because he can't fucking help it, he doesn't think he can stop, not now, but maybe-- maybe it's already too much. ]
[ derek asks him for more. derek tells him he wants more and all stiles can do is tell him he knows - because he does. because he wants more too. the words spill out of him on the end of a shuddery sigh, breathy and a little desperate as stiles continues to roll his hips back in tiny thrusts, driving himself just a little further back onto derek's cock each time, centimeter by deliciously agonizing centimeter. all he wants to do is sink all the way down, take as much of derek's cock as his body will physically allow, but the stretch is already tight, painful but - tolerable.
derek straightens up, and though he's no even half inside yet, it changes the angle of his cock just enough that stile' breath catches for a moment, muscles tensing not with pain, but with pleasure. he makes a soft sound, tilting his head forward against to lean it against the tiles and curling his toes. derek takes his arm away, slides it out from between his stomach and the wall, sets it against his lower back instead, keeping him pinned. stiles - kind of hates it, only because it means he can't keep fucking himself on derek's cock, not while he's being held in place. he whines quietly, though it's a frustrated sound more than anything else, but it melts into a soft moan as derek's fingers sink into his hair.
he's not expecting him to pull - but there's no resistance. stiles arches his neck, shoulder blades inching together, his lower spine bending subtly over the solid line of derek's forearm holding him down. and derek fucks him. he pushes into stiles, hips snapping forward hard and sudden and unforgiving, and it's only and inch, maybe two, but it's more than stiles expects all at once, and it hurts. he bites his teeth together hard, biting back and tense groan, the tendons in his neck flexing with the tension that snaps through his shoulders. and then the pain starts to ease. derek keeps fucking into him, sliding just those few inches in and out, forward and back, and stiles' jaw relaxes just as derek guides his head forward and pushes his cheek into the wall.
stiles opens his mouth, but all that comes out of him is a soft, sighed oh, one of his hands dropping to down to circle around his own cock, fingers closed tight over the tip. derek says his name, and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. he can feel himself getting tighter around derek he more derek fucks into him - but that's not it. he's not getting tighter, derek's just getting bigger, thicker and harder and the stretch as derek sinks deeper—
for a moment, stiles feels like he can't breathe. he feels overwhelmed, but it's not the kind of overwhelmed that makes him feel panicky or scared or out of control. it's just - a lot, but stiles has never wanted anything or anyone so fucking badly in his entire life. stiles draws in a quiet gasp of a breath, and even though the slide of derek's cock is starting to hurt again, stiles just keeps meeting his hips with small, measured backwards pushes of his own.
stiles pumps his cock with long, solid strokes, nodding his head as best as he can with derek still holding his cheek to the wall. there's water in his eyes, dropping down from his hair, collecting in his eyelashes, running down the side of his nose to the corner of his mouth, down his chin, his throat.
he's done his research. after scott was bitten in the woods and started exhibiting strange behavior, stiles dedicated his time to figuring out what it was that was affecting his friend, and once he'd figured it out, he'd only researched further. myths and legends and lore - anything he could get his hands on, regardless of credibility. he researched wolves, too, their behavior, habits, their biology, all of it just in case. all of it, just because he knew if he didn't, nobody else would.
stiles has - some idea of what might be happening now, what is about to happen if he doesn't stop derek now — but he doesn't want to stop. the very last thing stiles wants to do right now is end this before it's even really started. this - is part of derek, part of who he is, influenced by the full moon or now - and stiles loves him. stiles loves every part of him, wants every part of him, ever side, man and wolf and everything in between.
stiles squeezes his fist around the base of his cock, pushes his hips back with a brief clench of his teeth. he reaches back, pawing at derek's flank again as he fucks into him, hand shaking, words a little slurred. ]
It's okay. It's okay, I want it, I want this. I want you. Derek—
[ he wants everything derek is, everything derek wants to give him, he'll withstand and work through whatever pain to get to that sweet, warm, bone-melting pleasure derek has never failed to deliver. ]
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stiles turns away, like the genius he is, and there's a part of derek that sees his submission, an easy offering of prey to a predator, and wants to rip and tear and maul and take, to hurt and kill and have. the rest of him - the parts that matter, the parts that carry weight beyond instinct - is just fucking awed by how beautiful he is. how fucking perfect.
for the first time, derek sees the scar on stiles' back. a burst of sunlight, left behind by hard, shredding teeth, made with the intent of taking his life. derek's too out of it to really understand what it is, how it got there, but he knows that it looks painful, and he knows that this has to have come from a chapter of stiles' life he hasn't yet told derek about, and simultaneously, he feels two things. a strong, swooping sadness in his stomach, laced with the overprotective need to hurt whoever hurt stiles - his stiles, his stiles, his mate, the man he loves, the man he'll always love, the love of his life, the one he wants to die with, the one he wants to die for -
and an unbelievable, cascading wave of pride and affection. stiles is still beautiful, even with his scars. stiles trusted him enough to show him this, when he was red-eyed and full of teeth, when he was as dangerous as he'll ever be. stiles loves him, and derek's heart honestly hurts from how big that feels. he touches his hand to his chest, feels how hard his heart is beating, and he genuinely feels afraid for a second that he's going to throw up, or pass out, or-- or something, too overworked and too full of adrenaline and chemicals and the fucking moon to stay stable.
he doesn't throw up. doesn't pass out. he bends forward, resting his forehead on the gap between stiles' shoulderblades, nose against his skin. he breathes in and out, drowns in him, in his scent, in his presence, in everything that he is. his teeth itch and get bigger, his claws feel sharper, more serrated. his eyes hurt from how brightly they're burning.
he kisses the mole on stiles' opposite shoulder, beautiful and characteristic and so intrinsically stiles. he kisses along stiles' shoulderblades, up to a square of skin just besides his scar, clean and untainted and undamaged. he kisses more, kisses further, kisses the painful, ragged edges of what donovan did to him, because no matter how this happened, no matter who did this, it's still stiles, and it's still beautiful, and derek doesn't love him any less for it.
and then - derek drops to his knees.
his claws are out. he needs to be careful, when he squeezes his palms tight against stiles' ass. he doesn't waste any more time - doesn't have it in him to wait. he sets the flat, pads of his thumbs besides stiles' hole and stretches him open, just enough, and he darts forward, lapping a long, long line with his tongue from the base of stiles' balls, all the way up. he gets stiles completely, completely wet, breathing out against the soft, pink hole he so, so desperately wants to fuck.
he fucks stiles with his tongue in long, slow thrusts, as deep as he can get it. there's drool running down stiles' taint, dripping to the floor and down his thighs, and the water from the showerhead is spraying too far behind them to get him clean. while he eats him out, derek slides one of his hands around to stiles' cock, slowly circling his fist around the head and keeping his claws way the fuck away. when he jerks him off, it's - a little too rough, a little too hard, his grip too strong and his strokes too irregular, but all his neediness, all his want, all his desperation to just touch stiles and make him feel good - it's all so obviously there.
derek only stands up when his knees start to hurt. he moves closer, slaps his bare cock against stiles' ass, still hard. he leans forward to kiss his neck, an imitation of the way stiles was kissing him when he came. each kiss comes harder than the last, more frantic, and every so often, the razor-sharp edge of his teeth will brush against stiles too closely for derek to feel comfortable, and he'll freeze, set his lips back over his fangs, and he's kiss slower, steadily building back up in intensity until he forces himself to stop again. ]
Stiles.
[ it's all he's got in him to say. he drags stiles' name out like just saying it is the most sexually intense experience he can have, like-- like he's so unbelievably, critically turned on by who stiles is. his voice is deep and quivering and desperate, and derek moves his hands to rest on stiles' hips. he's less careful this time, the lightest, papercut of a scratch drawing a line across pale, perfect skin. not deep enough to draw blood, but maybe deep enough to smart.
he says his name again, helplessly grinding his cock forward, like he's waiting for permission. like he's begging for it. again, he says his name, almost like he's close to tears. ]
Stiles.
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he's soothed when derek leans his forehead between his shoulderblades, only slightly, but it's enough to keep the quiet, frustrated whine that was building up, safe in his throat. he breathes out a sigh and lifts his head up, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes. he doesn't know why, but he imagines the broad expanse of derek's back, strong and solid and very lightly tanned, triskele spiraling out in three directions from the space between his shoulders. he imagines, for a moment, his own shoulders, marked with the same three swirls of dark ink in the same place derek's pressed his forehead, but stiles doesn't have anything like that, he just has—
he remembers his scar. it's not as if he's ever forgotten about the permanent mark donovan left behind after ripping the flesh from his shoulder with razor-sharp, needle-like teeth as if the psychological and mental trauma of having to kill him later wouldn't be enough of a lasting punishment - but he's been able to think about it gradually less and less with each passing day, even if it's now a very small part of the many reasons stiles doesn't lounge around on lazy days without a shirt on, or take it off during sex.
stiles remembers it now though, and his eyes fly open, stinging a little as the shower mists into them gently. derek is right there, and there's no way he hasn't seen it, there's no way he's going to be able to look at that and - not want to recoil. stiles can't even look at it without feeling some mild form of disgust, though a lot of that could probably be attributed to the memories and the emotional damage attached to it. his anxiety starts to climb. he tilts his head forward and he stares at the slick tiles in front of him with slightly-widened, unblinking eyes, his fingers curling against the wall in a loose fist.
he wants his shirt. stiles wants that security blanket back so badly that the thought of pushing derek back and getting out of the shower just to go and get dressed and maybe make up an excuse to be somewhere else briefly crosses his mind. he takes his hand off of his cock, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed and off balance, because derek thinks he's beautiful and he's caring and he's perfect— derek thinks he's all these wonderful things, but he doesn't know—
stiles shivers over the first kiss derek presses to his shoulder, and it's only then that he realizes he's been holding his breath. he breathes out in one big rush, head dropping forward again, his fingers uncurling to lay flat against the wall. his stomach still feels uncomfortably tight with uncertainty, but tension feels less and less the more and more derek keeps peppering his skin with kisses, following the edges of his shoulderblades, covering his skin. derek kisses the skin around stiles' scar and - stiles thinks that's going to be it, that he's going to drift back, but derek kisses that damaged, textured skin too with the same kind of gentleness, like it isn't any different, like he doesn't like it any less and - stiles isn't going to cry, but the immense relief he feels makes his eyes water slightly, makes his nose burn. he breathes out again, bringing his free hand up to brace his forearm back against the wall so he can lean a little more of his weight into it.
it's a good move. stiles doesn't expect what follows, doesn't even notice that derek's lowered himself to his knees. his thighs tighten up reflexively when he feels derek's hands on his ass, spreading him apart, and there's a part of him that starts to panic a little because - because he hasn't been prepped at all and sure, they're in the shower, there's water, it's not like derek would be pushing in completely dry, but stiles isn't naive enough to think it's not going to hurt like a bitch. ]
Derek—
[ he starts, but he doesn't finish, because the rest of whatever he was intending to say twists itself in a sharp but soft, surprised little cry when derek drags the flat of his tongue over him. he arches away at first, startled by the unexpected, foreign feeling, pushing up onto his toes and arching his back, but— fuck that felt good. stiles' legs shake a little as he sinks back down onto his heels, sinks back down toward derek's mouth, and the next sound out of him is a drawn out, throaty moan, muffled against his bicep when he turns his head.
derek eats stiles out like he's never been eaten out before — and he hasn't. it's a first for him, like many things with derek have been so far, and like many of those firsts, it's not unpleasant in the slightest. stiles - kind of loves it, if he's honest. his cock aches and throbs between his legs, begging to be touched, but derek beats him to it. stiles chokes out a small, whiny sob of a sound, squeezing his eyes shut as derek thrusts his tongue into him over and over, slow and deep and white-hot. he wants to come so badly, and the hand on his dick feels really, really good, but it's just the wrong side of too rough to get stiles off, keeping him right at edge, keeping him desperate for more, for something else, his cock red and positively weeping precome.
stiles sucks in a unsteady breath when derek finally relents and lets up, his thighs shaking and his knees a little weak. he hums a low note of approval without really meaning to when derek slaps his cock against his ass, hard and thick and hot, and stiles impulsively pushes his hips back an inch, leaning his head to the side and baring his neck to derek, silently pleading for more kisses. the more aggressive derek gets, the harder stiles breathes, quick and breathy and horny as fuck, but the first scrape of fangs makes him nervous, makes his skin flash hot, not necessarily in a good way, makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle with the forewarning of danger.
stiles knows derek wouldn't bite him. stiles knows he wouldn't use his vulnerability and his desperation to be close to derek, and take advantage of him by biting him. he desperately hopes that derek wouldn't do that to him - but derek backs off and slows down as soon as he seems to realize how thin the line is that he's walking and that's — that's good, that makes stiles feel better, makes him - harder and hornier, actually, even though he couldn't even begin to explain why if anyone asked.
the way derek says his name is - almost too much. it sounds like - liquefied sex and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. his entire body blooms with this hot, desperate need to have derek - everywhere, to feel him everywhere, on him around him, inside of him. derek puts his hands on his hips. stiles can feel the prick of his claws and he immediately drops one of his hands down to put it over derek's but it's not to stop him. he slides his hand back, rests it over derek's wrist, lets his head fall forward between his shoulders as he grinds his ass back against derek's cock incredibly, incredibly slowly.
he feels like he could almost come right here, right this moment when derek says his name again, he pushes up onto his toes a little, pushes back, braces the rest of his weight against the wall. he just - he needs derek to fuck him. there's a fleeting moment where he thinks about - protection, and how they've never really talked about the possibility of - not using it, but. to stiles' knowledge, as a werewolf, derek can't carry infection or disease, and stiles hasn't ever slept with anyone unprotected, and they're - exclusive, derek said there exclusive and stiles just wants this so badly, he trusts and he loves derek so much. ]
Please.
[ stiles sort of gasps the word. he takes his hand off of derek's wrist and he reaches back blindly, finding derek's elbow at first, which he pulls at kind of uselessly, but then his fingers slap against his flank and he digs his fingertips in, fingernails a little too short to bite into derek's skin. he grips and he pulls and he lifts his head and turns it a little. it's not enough that he can see derek, but it's enough so his plea isn't lost or muffled, even if it's rushed and breathy and unquestionably begging. ]
Please, can you just - I need you to just -
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as it is, all his scars are internal. if stiles can love him despite being hardened and calloused and burnt, then derek can love him despite the burst of sunlight faded on his skin.
that being said - there's no word to describe the way it hurts, when stiles reacts like he's afraid of him. derek's teeth scrape a little too close to stiles' veins, hovering so intimately over them like one wrong move could break whatever willpower derek has, and he can taste the fear on stiles' skin, the heat prickling at the top of his spine. stiles rejects him, and it's this hard-hitting, core-rocking pain that...
that honestly doesn't hurt that much at all. it's funny - derek feels a lump of sad, shallow rejection in his chest, and he knows that it should hurt, but it just... doesn't. instead, there's just - a confident, loving security that wraps around his ribs and helps him see things through. helps him realize stiles isn't scared of him, isn't rejecting him. never in derek's life has he been more confident that stiles loves him, werewolf or not, and that his attachment to his humanity detracts absolutely nothing from that.
there's millions of years of instinct at play here. there's an evolutionary fear of predators hardwired into stiles, and that's the only reason he's afraid of him. they're - connected, in spite of that. in love. mates. stiles trusts him. stiles is the only human who would ever, ever trust him like this. deep in derek's core, he knows that. stiles is his last one.
derek cautiously sets his teeth back against stiles' neck, sharp pin-pricks that don't breach skin but easily, easily could. he needs to prep him more - to stretch him open on his fingers, to make sure this won't hurt. he can't, though, and stiles doesn't want him to, either; they're both shattered and desperate and they need to connect, they need to have this. stiles' fingertips indent his side, he looks at him from over his shoulder as best as he can, and derek bites a little harder. just a little.
he untightens his jaw, laps soft, soothing kisses against the marks he's left on stiles, then - presses forward. derek leans his weight against stiles and pushes his torso up against the cold tiles of the shower, his chest flush to his shoulderblades, and he reaches down to angle the base of his cock down. he drags his head over stiles' ass until it's pressing tight against his hole, and he's desperate to make him take him, desperate to feel him yield and welcome him in. by merit of how they're standing, with derek's entire weight weighing down on stiles' back, his breath is ghosting over the shell of stiles' ear, hot and staggered. he kisses him there, behind his ear, back down his neck. he can't wait any longer. ]
Love you. Love you so fucking much.
[ he rocks his hips back, tilts his waist so that he can make this work, then slowly, slowly, slowly fucks into stiles. he very, very shallowly breaches him and has to stop, just half of his crown prying stiles apart. it's-- harder, tighter than it's ever been, a mix of the lack of lube and what the full moon's doing to him, but it feels so much fucking closer, doing this without protection. the heat around him, the tight, pulling grip of stiles' body, it's just so intrinsically stiles, raw and together. derek's seeing stars, and he needs to shut his eyes, drag his nose against stiles' shoulder, breathe him in, relax.
derek curls one arm beneath stiles' stomach, squeezing him tight and holding him in place. his other hand grips stiles' ass, his claws lightly pressing in against him while he pulls him apart, trying to make him more-- more open, more accessible, more easy. derek opens his eyes and rests his mouth against stiles' shoulder, looking at him from over the curve of it, lips apart and breath still coming hot and sharp against him. he pushes in further, fucks stiles more, and it's-- it's a struggle, barely made easier by the long, heavy flow of precum running from his cock, but he sinks in, up to an inch.
he tries to say it again. stiles. he tries to find the word, but his voice just cracks, everything feels-- too much. he stares at stiles from over his shoulder, eyes red and unfocused and uncannily wolfish, more than they've ever been. ]
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derek bites harder. stiles hisses quietly - it doesn't hurt, but he takes one of his hands off the wall and reaches back quickly, clumsily pushing his fingers into derek's wet hair and gripping gently, not to stop him - but to just hold him there for a second. he doesn't want derek to bite him. he just wants him to stay. he wants every point of connection he can get from him, and he's taking too fucking long to just fuck him already. stiles breathes out, shaky and shuddered, and pushes his hips back a little more, grinding his ass against the thick line of derek's cock.
he goes easily when derek pushes up against him, pressing him into the wall. stiles lets go of derek's hair, slides the hand that's already braced against the wall out a little so his arm isn't crushed between his chest and the tile, moving both of his arms so they rest slightly above his head, wrists overlapping. the tile is cold in comparison to the encompassing heat spread out across his back, and the start contrast is enough to send a hard shiver rattling down stiles' spine just in time for derek to slide the head of his cock down the cleft of his ass until it catches. stiles tenses, but it's not even close to being negative reaction, just - anticipatory.
there hasn't been that much prep. stiles was absolutely, definitely into derek's mouth on him just a minute or so ago, but he's pretty sure that's nowhere near enough preparation - and yet most of him doesn't care in the slightest. there's a tiny corner of his brain left yet that hasn't been overridden by love and lust and the desperate need to fuck, but stiles, for once, doesn't listen to the rational part of himself.
he whines. derek adds a little pressure behind the press of his cock and the sound that comes out of stiles is thin and a little tense, and it surprises him because it's not a sound he intended to make, but it's out and it's there and stiles swallows around the rest of it. he feels - pinned, with derek's weight pressing into his back, holding him flush to the shower wall, his breath hot against his ear, lips trailing down his neck. it feels like the first time, back in his old apartment, when derek had held him down with a fist to his chest. stiles hadn't felt scared then, and he doesn't feel scared now, either. he feels safe and protected and wanted, and it makes his knees weak.
derek tells him that he loves him. stiles fingers curl into loose fists above his head. his heart hurts, but it's the good kind of hurt, the kind where he's just filled with so much love that there just simply isn't enough room for it inside of him. stiles' eyes close and he leans his forehead against the wall, taking one of his arms down with the intention of reaching back to pull derek closer at the same time that he tilts himself way to make room.
stiles' fingers don't make contact with any part of derek, stilled by rock of his hips, the slow push of just the very tip of his cock against his hole, spreading him open with a thickness stiles - honestly isn't ready for. it... hurts. not a lot, not by any amount stiles can't handle right now, but it's more than the mild discomfort he's grown used to by now, eased by the push and the spread of derek's fingers. stiles tenses up, clenches his teeth a little, arches his back just slightly like he means to get away, but it's just instinct, and he fights it. he holds himself still, blowing out a thin breath against the tiles, thighs tense.
already, it feels - different. it's a different kind of heat without the thin layer of latex, a different kind of closeness, and derek's barely even inside of him yet. stiles decides immediately that they're done with protection from this point forward - as long as derek's okay with it, then they're done with it, because he doesn't want to give up this kind of connection now that he has it, now that he knows what it feels like, and he barely knows.
stiles makes a soft, strangled sound in the back of his throat, like he wants to say something, tell derek everything he's thinking, everything he's feeling, but it just comes out as this quiet, desperate note, his hovering hand moving to slide over the back of derek's wrist as he loops his arm over his stomach, fingers spreading out over his knuckles. he can feel derek spreading him apart, hand on his ass, claws resting against his flesh - and all he wants to do is push back. derek pushes forward, rocks his hips a little more - and it hurts. the stretch is - a lot, more than stiles is used to without being worked up to it. his grips tightly at the back of derek's wrist, unable to hold back the thin, strained whine that slips through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. ]
Ah— don't— [ he sounds a little rushed, slightly out of breath even though he hasn't really done anything, but he doesn't want derek to stop. he doesn't want him to pull out. ] Don't take it, please don't take it.
[ the pain, he means. he's not even sure if it would cross derek's mind to take it away from him, but he desperately, desperately doesn't want him to, and it comes through in his voice. stiles opens his eyes, and he breathes, in and out and in and out, his grip on derek's wrist easing gradually, every muscle in his body easing gradually. he just needs a minute, just needs a second.
stiles tilts his head slightly, forehead still resting against the wall, but he can see derek at his shoulder out of the corner of his eye. he can see the glow of his eyes, feels drawn to it enough that he turns his head properly to look at him, which puts him close enough to kiss him, even if it's just the corner of his mouth. ]
I love you. [ he kisses the edge of his mouth again, presses another one to his chin, and very, very carefully, he starts to ease his hips back in tiny, tiny pulses, fucking himself on derek's cock millimeter by millimeter. his voice sounds a little thin, words murmured and slightly too close together, but he doesn't care. he knows derek will hear him, he knows derek will understand. ] C'mon, it's okay. M'fine, it's okay, just - slowly. I love you.
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the noise stiles makes when he's forced up against the wall is almost enough to make derek come. that little noise, tense and thin, like he's fucking submissive, like strong-willed, independent stiles is helpless and horny, all for him - it's almost too much for derek to bear. it's breathtaking. derek wants more. he pins him to the wall even tighter.
stiles makes another noise as derek enters more of him, and then another, and another, and the tiles shudder beneath derek's feet as his leg trembles, bouncing his heel against them, thudding a repetitive echo through the shower. he curls his toes and his fingertips and makes himself calm down, pressing his cheek against stiles shoulder for support and scratching him with sharp, wet stubble. stiles' hand pressed over his makes derek feel like he's melting.
derek pushes in more, and more, and more, one millimetre, then another, and stiles suddenly whines out in pain, making derek go completely stock still with an alarmed start. his mind is telling him, distantly, with whatever capability it has for coherent thought left, that he needs to pull out before stiles hurts - but stiles says don't take it, stiles tells him to stay, stiles tells him he wants to feel the pain, and derek almost loses his fucking mind.
he nods. he nods, even though stiles can't really see him, and he kisses up his back again, over his scar, up to his shoulder. stiles reaches back and gives him a lopsided, incomplete kiss, and when he tells him he loves him, derek just - whines.
stiles fucks himself on derek.
it's a lot. it's too much, when derek's so hypersensitive already, so desperate for touch. derek's heaving breaths against stiles' ear, and it's hard to say if he sounds like he's drowning, desperately trying to stay above the water, or if he's been hunting like an animal, running on all fours through the woods until his body gave out from exertion. he rests against stiles' shoulder and looks like he's the one getting fucked, with half-lidded eyes glossed over with lust. stiles eases back on derek's cock and derek looks like he's having a fucking religious experience. ]
More. Stiles.
[ he's done his best to make this easy for stiles, but - he - can't, not anymore. he needs to fuck stiles, needs him now. derek stands up, stretching out his spine. derek takes the arm he has wrapped around stiles' stomach and splays it out on his lower back, instead, pushing him down and silently urging him to arch his back. his other hand reaches up to stiles' hair, grabbing a fistful of it, and lightly, very lightly, he pulls, arching stiles' neck back. he pushes forward with his hips, fucking stiles into the wall with one hard, brutal jolt, and as he fucks a full inch and a half of his cock past the rim of his entrance, Derek's eyes roll into the back of his head.
he's swearing. maybe. he can't tell, he might have blacked out for a second. derek's chest hurts. roughly, derek starts to find a rhythm, dragging the head of his cock back through the tight passage of stiles' hole, pulling out to the ring. he grunts, pushes his hand forward, pressing stiles' face against the wall. ]
Stiles--
[ he's starting to swell. he can feel it - not just at the base of his cock, but all of him. he's getting bigger, thicker, inside stiles. derek's hips are moving on their own accord, getting faster, pressing deeper, stretching out stiles well past his body's limit, and the more he does, the more of him that fills stiles up, the bigger, more difficult it gets. derek hunches forward again, heaving those same heavy, almost violent breaths, and he tugs stiles' hair again to have better access to his throat from the side. he kisses him, just once, violent but tender. he's barely half inside of stiles, and he feels like he's too much for him.
but - ]
Stiles, there's-- more of me.
[ and - and he doesn't know if stiles is going to be able to handle it, he doesn't know if it's going to hurt too much. being knotted. derek keeps fucking him, because he can't fucking help it, he doesn't think he can stop, not now, but maybe-- maybe it's already too much. ]
no subject
[ derek asks him for more. derek tells him he wants more and all stiles can do is tell him he knows - because he does. because he wants more too. the words spill out of him on the end of a shuddery sigh, breathy and a little desperate as stiles continues to roll his hips back in tiny thrusts, driving himself just a little further back onto derek's cock each time, centimeter by deliciously agonizing centimeter. all he wants to do is sink all the way down, take as much of derek's cock as his body will physically allow, but the stretch is already tight, painful but - tolerable.
derek straightens up, and though he's no even half inside yet, it changes the angle of his cock just enough that stile' breath catches for a moment, muscles tensing not with pain, but with pleasure. he makes a soft sound, tilting his head forward against to lean it against the tiles and curling his toes. derek takes his arm away, slides it out from between his stomach and the wall, sets it against his lower back instead, keeping him pinned. stiles - kind of hates it, only because it means he can't keep fucking himself on derek's cock, not while he's being held in place. he whines quietly, though it's a frustrated sound more than anything else, but it melts into a soft moan as derek's fingers sink into his hair.
he's not expecting him to pull - but there's no resistance. stiles arches his neck, shoulder blades inching together, his lower spine bending subtly over the solid line of derek's forearm holding him down. and derek fucks him. he pushes into stiles, hips snapping forward hard and sudden and unforgiving, and it's only and inch, maybe two, but it's more than stiles expects all at once, and it hurts. he bites his teeth together hard, biting back and tense groan, the tendons in his neck flexing with the tension that snaps through his shoulders. and then the pain starts to ease. derek keeps fucking into him, sliding just those few inches in and out, forward and back, and stiles' jaw relaxes just as derek guides his head forward and pushes his cheek into the wall.
stiles opens his mouth, but all that comes out of him is a soft, sighed oh, one of his hands dropping to down to circle around his own cock, fingers closed tight over the tip. derek says his name, and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. he can feel himself getting tighter around derek he more derek fucks into him - but that's not it. he's not getting tighter, derek's just getting bigger, thicker and harder and the stretch as derek sinks deeper—
for a moment, stiles feels like he can't breathe. he feels overwhelmed, but it's not the kind of overwhelmed that makes him feel panicky or scared or out of control. it's just - a lot, but stiles has never wanted anything or anyone so fucking badly in his entire life. stiles draws in a quiet gasp of a breath, and even though the slide of derek's cock is starting to hurt again, stiles just keeps meeting his hips with small, measured backwards pushes of his own.
stiles pumps his cock with long, solid strokes, nodding his head as best as he can with derek still holding his cheek to the wall. there's water in his eyes, dropping down from his hair, collecting in his eyelashes, running down the side of his nose to the corner of his mouth, down his chin, his throat.
he's done his research. after scott was bitten in the woods and started exhibiting strange behavior, stiles dedicated his time to figuring out what it was that was affecting his friend, and once he'd figured it out, he'd only researched further. myths and legends and lore - anything he could get his hands on, regardless of credibility. he researched wolves, too, their behavior, habits, their biology, all of it just in case. all of it, just because he knew if he didn't, nobody else would.
stiles has - some idea of what might be happening now, what is about to happen if he doesn't stop derek now — but he doesn't want to stop. the very last thing stiles wants to do right now is end this before it's even really started. this - is part of derek, part of who he is, influenced by the full moon or now - and stiles loves him. stiles loves every part of him, wants every part of him, ever side, man and wolf and everything in between.
stiles squeezes his fist around the base of his cock, pushes his hips back with a brief clench of his teeth. he reaches back, pawing at derek's flank again as he fucks into him, hand shaking, words a little slurred. ]
It's okay. It's okay, I want it, I want this. I want you. Derek—
[ he wants everything derek is, everything derek wants to give him, he'll withstand and work through whatever pain to get to that sweet, warm, bone-melting pleasure derek has never failed to deliver. ]
Derek, please.