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Derek Hale glares hard at his adversary. Never in his whole life has he been faced with something so full of evil, something so conflicting; he can smell his own fear in the air and it’s almost enough to paralyse him.
There are just so many of them, a sea of blood-like red in front of his eyes.
He reaches out and he runs his finger over them and they feel cold and flat to the touch. He shudders because he knows he’s got a very hard choice to make, one that could end life as he knows it.
“Yo guy, you done?” A voice startles him out of his thoughts.
Derek turns and he mouths wordlessly at the intruder, a young guy in a baseball cap.
“You look like you’re about to kill someone bro... seriously, just pick one. It’s not supposed to be that hard,” the guy shrugs and leans around Derek, making his selection and walking away, leaving Derek to his doom.
Derek turns back to face the stand in the store and he scrubs a hand over his face, steeling himself.
It’s not supposed to be that hard, Derek repeats in his head.
He grabs the one that first caught his eye, glancing shiftily down the aisle. The last thing on the planet he would want right now is to be caught here, doing this.
It’s the first Valentine’s Day card he’s ever bought.
It’s truly amazing he’s made it to twenty eight and not had to buy one before. A little bit amazing and a lot sad, he thinks.
He opens the card up to check what it says inside and he realises with horror that choosing it was actually the easiest part.
Now he has to decide what he wants to write inside.
He has to decide what he wants to say to Stiles.
—————————
Derek and Stiles’ foray into tentative friendship had led Derek down a road he’d never expected to go down.
A year previous, after Derek returned to Beacon Hills for good, Stiles had arrived at his loft with a six pack of beer and his laptop tucked under his arm.
“Hey man!” Stiles had turned up about a week into his return, ducking under Derek’s arm which was holding the door open.
He’d toed his sneakers off and he was up on the couch before Derek had even really realised what was happening.
Derek had put on his best scowl and stood in front of him, arms crossed.
“What are you doing here? Is Scott busy?” Derek had asked him, totally perplexed.
They’d kept in touch loosely while Derek had been away but they weren’t exactly best buds.
Stiles had waved a hand at him distractedly and started pulling bags of sweets out of his hoody pockets, putting them on Derek’s coffee table.
“No, why?” Stiles had said not looking at him, loading up his laptop.
Derek had uncrossed his arms and stood in front of him glaring until Stiles finally focused his eyes on him.
“Why are you here then?” Derek asked him again.
“Oh! Well, Dad said he’d seen you down at the garage and you said you were staying for a bit and remember that time you said you’d never watched Game of thrones like five years ago? Well, ta dah! Consider me your welcome home party!” Stiles had pulled open a pack of red vines with his teeth and Derek had tried not to stare at his mouth as he shoved one between his lips and chewed on it.
It had been easy enough to ignore his stupid crush on Stiles when Stiles was a spazzy, skinny teenager of seventeen. Now, at twenty four, Stiles was actually fairly disarming to Derek.
Derek had eyed him that night, sitting there on his couch like he belonged and that had been the first moment he’d realised that his crush was actually going to be a problem... because it wasn’t really just a crush any longer.
Derek had drank in just how much Stiles had changed in the time he’d known him, checking out everything about him. It was like all of a sudden he was captivating to Derek and he couldn’t take his eyes off him, from his long legs stretched on the couch, to his lithe toned muscle on his shoulders.
Stiles’ dark hair was a little longer than when he’d seen him last and Derek was met with a ridiculous thought that he could probably get a hand in it at this length. How he could probably tug on it.
Derek had actually groaned when Stiles had pulled off his hoody, stretching his arms high above his head. His t-shirt had ridden up revealing a patch of dark coarse hair under his navel, leading into his jeans.
Derek had stared and stared some more until Stiles had cleared his throat, red vine hanging limply from the corner of his mouth.
Derek had dragged his gaze guiltily from Stiles’ torso to look him in the eyes.
Stiles’ eyes, like chocolate and caramel, stared up at Derek from under dark lashes and Derek remembers thinking that Stiles had changed a lot, yes, but not the eyes.
“Are you going to sit down or what?” Stiles had cocked his head and Derek had felt like it was a challenge.
Derek didn’t answer him but he’d known he was already screwed anyway, the comforting smell of Stiles, like home and honey was already lodged in his nostrils, all over his couch.
He liked it. He liked it a lot.
Derek wanted to bury his head in his neck and rub his stubble all over him, until they smelt like each other.
Instead, Derek had compromised, flopped down on the couch next to Stiles and reached over and stole a red vine from the open packet.
Stiles’ huge pleased grin had been worth it and Derek hadn’t been able to fight the small smile he’d flashed him in return.
Stiles had fallen asleep around midnight, Derek to his own surprise, shortly after him. Their shoulders were squashed together, Stiles clutching a throw cushion to his chest. Derek’s traitorous, unconscious arm had wound it’s way around his shoulders.
When Stiles had woken up a few hours later with a start, Derek had dropped his arm. Stiles had headed home looking all sleep mussed and Derek had seen him to the door.
Stiles, ever so tactile Stiles, had given him a quick sleepy hug, patted him on the back and had announced he’d see him on the weekend for the next few episodes because he didn’t want to leave him with a cliffhanger.
Derek didn’t tell him he’d binge watched every season of Game of Thrones with Cora the previous summer.
Derek had shut the door and returned to the couch wondering what the ever loving hell had just happened.
Before he could even process what he was doing he’d wrapped a hand around his aching dick and he’d jerked himself so hard he’d come on his own chin, Stiles’ name on his lips.
Yep. That was the night he’d first really known he was totally, completely and utterly fucked because he wanted Stiles Stilinski.
—————————
Derek smuggles his card, along with a cheesy plastic rose the cashier had guilted him into at the register, safely back to the loft. He does it without seeing anyone en route that he knows.
He’d tucked the bag into his work jacket, protecting it from the light rain like it was something precious. He damn well wasn’t going back to get another card if this one got ruined.
He ducks inside his building just as Mrs. Dupree from next door steps outside of hers, back to him. She doesn’t see him.
Since he’s started working as a Deputy with Stiles’ Dad a few months back, it seems like the world and his wife try to talk to him every time he sets foot outside his loft.
He’s gone from being the town pariah when he lived here years ago to being the most interesting thing since sliced bread.
He can’t go two feet outside the door anymore without an old lady cornering him to ask him who he’s dating, how many speeding tickets he’s given this week or being handed a pot pie or casserole of some sort.
It amazes him daily how a badge and a uniform could have so drastically changed his town standing.
The Sheriff is amused by it more than anyone. Derek catches him laughing quietly every time a Beacon Hills resident drops him off a new batch of muffins or gift of some sort at the station desk, seemingly amused by Derek being so bemused at the attention.
Stiles often ribs him for it, joking that half the town is in love with him. Derek dies a little inside every time Stiles pokes fun at him for that because the one member of Beacon Hills he actually wouldn’t mind being in love with him, doesn’t seem to be at all interested.
Derek has been agonising for weeks now about how to tell Stiles that he wants something more than friendship from him.
They hang out a lot. TV binge night had quickly turned into takeaway Tuesdays, following onto Friday night Fajitas (where Stiles religiously insists on wearing a gigantic sombrero that bashes Derek constantly as they cook together, crammed in the small kitchen at Stiles’ apartment) and they even occasionally go out in public, seeing a movie or bowling.
Derek learns that Stiles is impatient about a lot of things and more importantly he’s demanding about what he wants.
Derek waits for Stiles’ patience to run out when it comes to them, for him to stop dancing around all the tension between them and just make his move, but it never comes.
Derek waits, thinking it will only be a matter of when, not if. But nothing ever happens.
Stiles doesn’t jump him when they’re pressed close watching films on the couch, he doesn’t clumsily kiss him while wearing his stupid sombrero and he doesn’t grab Derek’s hand when they’re at the movies.
He doesn’t do any of the things that Derek had predicted he’d do.
In fact, he doesn’t do anything at all when it comes to Derek.
Derek’s not used to having to make the first move and it terrifies him; even with his limited romantic experience with a few homicidal women, they usually just took what they wanted from him.
Derek’s never wanted anyone like he wants Stiles and every time he sees him lately, it’s like it gets a tiny bit worse.
Derek’s positively obsessed with the way he laughs, how he throws his whole body into it, arms flailing and neck stretched back invitingly.
Derek thinks way too much about the way Stiles chews on his lower lip when he’s nervous about a tense part in a movie or show they’re watching and how he cuddles into him when there’s a scary part.
Derek literally lost nearly an hour at work just this morning, daydreaming about how Stiles had blushed so prettily when Derek had embarrassed him accidentally.
—————————
Stiles had come barrelling into the station a few hours after Derek had started his shift that morning and marched up to his desk.
Derek had heard him before he’d seen him and he looked up from his paperwork as Stiles plopped down a Tupperware full of chicken, rice and vegetables. It smelled delicious.
“Made you lunch,” Stiles had said with a mega watt grin.
Derek had returned his smile, taking the dish and Stiles had looked up as the Sheriff has approached.
‘Stiles. I thought you were at work today?” John Stilinski clapped Derek on the back and addressed his wayward son.
“Nah, my kids are on a drivers ed today, so I get the day off. Someone else can deal with the little bastards for a change. I’m covering Saturday detention tomorrow for Greenberg though, he’s the worst,” Stiles had shrugged but Derek knew he was fronting.
More than a few of their late night talks had been filled with hours of Stiles pouring out stories about his class and how much he loved teaching.
“Did you bring me lunch? It looks kind of healthy...” The Sheriff eyed the Tupperware suspiciously.
Stiles slapped his Dad’s hand away as he reaches for the dish.
“No. Don’t fake pretend you’d eat it. Parrish already text me to say you’d snuck out for a burger at Bart’s Burger van...” Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, “No Pizza for you tomorrow night with the game.”
“Oh for heavens... Parrish!” The Sheriff yelled angrily, retreating, looking for Stiles’ snitch.
“He brought this on himself,” Stiles nodded solemnly at Derek.
Derek had laughed softly and Stiles beamed at him. Derek wanted to kiss him so badly he had dug his nails into his palms, just to stop himself from making a grab for him.
“So... what are you doing tonight?” Stiles asked him, fake casually.
“I don’t know. I usually come over on Fridays, it’s Fajita night?” Derek reminded him, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yeah but you know, I thought you might have plans maybe,” Stiles looked kind of happy that Derek apparently didn’t.
“Why would I have other plans?” Derek had said confused.
“It’s Valentine’s Day! You know, a day for loving and lusting and all that jazz. I just thought I’d give you an out if you wanted to entertain a lady friend or something,” Stiles had told him, tone nonchalant but his body language screaming that he’s nervous.
Derek had sniffed the air lightly, eyes darkening. He didn’t like that smell on him.
“The only friend I want to see tonight is you,” Derek had told him honestly, staring him down.
“Oh,” Stiles’ mouth had dropped open in a pretty little O and he’d licked his lips. Derek’s eyes followed the movement, captivated.
Stiles had flushed and Derek watched as it crept down his neck. Derek had been hit with a burning urge to follow it with his tongue to explore exactly how far down it went.
Derek had made a decision in that moment because he’d felt like he literally was going to combust or bend Stiles over his desk; he wanted something to happen between them and yesterday wouldn’t have been soon enough, he was going out of his mind.
“Come to mine instead tonight. Please. I get off at six, so say seven thirty?” Derek wasn’t proud of how breathy he sounded.
“Sure. I can do that,” Stiles’ voice had been lower than usual and Derek had felt his dick twitch in his pants.
They make plans all the time but Derek knew this was different.
Stiles had walked away with a shy backward glance and Derek had watched him all the way to the door. Deputy Jordan Parrish had entered the building coming back from lunch, as Stiles reached the exit. They’d laughed together and joked for a bit, Stiles giving him a quick hug before he’d headed out.
Derek hadn’t realised he was growling at them until Parrish had given him a curious look from across the room, releasing Stiles. Derek had quickly retracted the claws he hadn’t realised he’d popped and he’d nodded at Parrish apologetically.
As Derek watched Parrish, Parrish watched Stiles’ ass leave; Parrish’s eyes followed him as he walked out of the station.
Derek knew in that moment he was going to have to nut up and say something to Stiles and fast.
Derek had been in agony not having him when Stiles wasn’t seeing anyone. Just the thought of seeing him with someone else, the mere idea of smelling him if he’s been with someone else, it nearly sent Derek into a rage.
Parrish had clapped him on the shoulder as he’d brushed past Derek to get to his desk.
“Oh man, you’ve got it bad. Can’t say I blame you, he grew up really pretty,” Parrish had laughed and Derek had known it was a joke, he knew Parrish was just trying to tease him.
It hadn’t stopped the guttural snarl that came out of his mouth though. Parrish had looked at him in alarm.
“Well shit,” Parrish had said, hands up as if in surrender.
Derek shook off the change before anyone else had seen him and he’d looked down at his paperwork again, slightly ashamed.
When Parrish muttered, “I wasn’t being serious, he’s all yours,” Derek couldn’t stop the feeling of satisfaction creeping in.
He wanted Stiles to be his and he was going to make sure there’s was no doubt about whether he was or he wasn’t after tonight, one way or another.
———————
Derek shuts his loft door and he puts the card and flower safely on his coffee table. He decides he’ll write it after he’s cleaned up, to give him a chance to think about what he wants to say.
Derek tidies his loft quickly and he showers, stripping his rain damp clothes off and throwing them into the wash basket.
He changes into clean jeans and a grey Henley that Stiles had borrowed a few times when he was too tired to drive home and he’d slept on Derek’s couch. The scent of both of them combined causes an issue because his dicks at semi chub every time he wears it.
He glares at the rose and decides it’s too ridiculous and he goes to his bed in the corner of the open plan living area and shoves it under his pillow. The bed is about the only place Stiles won’t sit, some unspoken rule between them.
He hides it there because knows Stiles won’t go there tonight either, he’s probably going to laugh himself out of the loft when Derek tells him how he feels.
But he has to try.
Derek potters about and checks the time. Seven twenty five.
He fidgets nervously and grabs a pen. He picks up the card, reading the front again.
In the store, it had seemed like something Stiles might like.
Now, at home, in the dim light of the moon coming through his windows he thinks it might be a bit silly.
It has a picture of Hogwarts on the front and it says “I A-dumble-dore-you” written underneath.
Derek doesn’t really get it but he knows Stiles loves Harry Potter, so he probably will.
Derek opens it up and it’s blank inside, the white card daring him to put pen to paper.
He must zone out because he hears Stiles’ heartbeat just before he knocks and Derek looks down in panic, card still blank.
“Coming,” he yells, scribbling the first thing that comes to mind in the card, trying not to overthink it. He shoves it in the envelope and holds it behind his back before going to the door as the knocking repeats.
When he opens it, Stiles doesn’t come barrelling in as usual, he just waits in the door way, nervously shifting from foot to foot.
“You look really nice,” Derek blurts out and he cringes because he didn’t mean for it to come out so surprised sounding.
“Oh well thanks a bunch,’ Stiles says sarcastically back but he doesn’t sound too mad.
Stiles always looks good to him, it’s just tonight, he looks extra good.
Derek helplessly rakes his gaze over him and he notices Stiles is wearing tight black skinny jeans that he’s never seen him wear before and a deep red short sleeved shirt that does ridiculous things to his arms, stretched tight across his biceps.
Derek only realises he’s staring when Stiles coughs exaggeratedly.
Stiles sneaks under his arm, brushing against him. Derek sniffs as he goes past, trying not to be too obvious.
Stiles puts the beer he’s brought in the fridge, totally at home and he jumps up onto the counter and sits kicking his feet gently against the lower kitchen cabinets.
Derek follows him into the kitchen.
Stiles just stares at him, unusually quiet and the tap, tap, tap as the heels of his sneakers connect with Derek’s cupboards is driving him slowly insane.
“So...” Stiles says.
“So...?” Derek replies, gravitating closer despite himself.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Stiles says, swallowing audibly as Derek inches closer.
He stops kicking the cupboards.
“No.” Derek says and this he can do. He can answer him.
“Do you want to order some food in?” Stiles cocks his head, as if trying to figure him out.
“No...” Derek breathes and he’s close enough that Stiles’ knees are brushing his hips.
Derek stops his advance.
“Well...” Stiles says quietly, eyes pleading “tell me Der. Tell me what you want?”
Derek can’t bring himself to speak, he’s not sure if he’d even have the words to make him understand even if he could.
Instead he thrusts the card at Stiles before he can chicken out and he takes a step back, not missing the flash of disappointment on Stiles’ face.
“Just... open it,” Derek says looking down at his feet, not wanting to see pity or rejection when Stiles realises just what Derek wants from him.
He hears the soft tear of paper as Stiles gets open the envelope.
Stiles gasps when he sees its a Valentine’s card and Derek can’t look at him as he opens it to read what Derek’s written inside.
“Holy fuck, are you for real?” Stiles says and Derek chances a glance at him.
“It’s ok if you don’t want... I just wanted to tell... fuck, this was so stupid,” Derek grits his teeth, looking at him.
Stiles jumps down off the counter, card clutched in a white knuckled grip.
“Holy fucking fuck!” Stiles says again.
“You said that already,” Derek frowns.
Stiles waves the card at him, as if Derek didn’t write it, as if he doesn’t know what the words inside say.
Stiles holds it up and right there, in Derek’s neat handwriting, it says “You’re everything to me. Be mine?”
Stiles is right there in his face, grin bright but Derek still doesn’t dare to hope, not until he talks.
“You have to know I’m totally in love with you right? I think I have been since I laid eyes on you when I was sixteen,” Stiles says softly, awe in his voice and he’s so close that Derek can feel his breath on his lips.
Derek answers by closing the gap between them, taking Stiles’ face in his large hands and sealing his lips demandingly to Stiles’.
The way Stiles moans, opens his mouth and rubs his body against him sets Derek alight and he knew it would be good, but his fantasies had nothing on the real thing. He’d imagined what kissing Stiles would be like so many times but it’s like everything he’d imagined plus a thousand times more intense.
The kiss becomes frantic as Derek tries to hold him still, tongue fucking into his mouth. He walks Stiles backwards, pressing him into the fridge and it rocks precariously when Derek rolls his hips into him, rubbing his hard cock against Stiles‘ leg, desperate for friction.
Stiles groans into his mouth and he gets his hands between them and fumbles with Derek’s belt. Derek pulls off his mouth to attack his neck, licking and biting the skin while Stiles fumbles his zipper down.
Derek gets a handful of Stiles’ perfect ass and pulls him against his body which elicits a breathless laugh from Stiles.
“I can’t... fuck... I can’t do this when you’re doing that!” Stiles laughs and he finally manages to shove Derek’s jeans down just enough to get a hand inside.
“Fuck,” Derek pants, when Stiles’ long fingers wrap around his uncut, thick leaking dick, grip firm.
Derek whines and tugs Stiles’ jeans open frantically, shoving them down his legs along with his boxers.
Derek’s torn because he so desperately wants Stiles naked but he also doesn’t want Stiles to stop playing with his cock.
He settles for using his knee to shove Stiles’ jeans further down his legs and he steps on them when they pool at his ankles, trapping him in place.
Derek presses against him again, feeling his own cock slide against Stiles’ and Derek pulls back to watch. Stiles’ dick is long and cut, head flushed pink, inviting.
Stiles’ head thumps back against the fridge as Derek kisses him deep and Derek grunts when he feels Stiles grip both their cocks in his hand.
Derek’s leaking pre-come all over them both and it’s so wet and perfect he has to bite down on Stiles’ shoulder to ground himself because this is going to be over embarrassingly fast.
Stiles seems to sense his agony and with a feral grin he lets them both go and kicks his jeans and boxers away. He peels his shirt over his head, not bothering to unbutton it and he gives a leisurely tug on his own dick, eyes never leaving Derek’s.
Derek actually growls and he grips him by the thighs, lifting him easily and pressing him back against the hard surface.
“Oh hell yes,” Stiles groans, gripping tight to Derek’s shoulders.
Derek feels his dick slide against Stiles’ crack and when catches on his tight, dry hole, Stiles punches out a noise like he’s dying.
Derek’s not faring much better.
“Please... just, Stiles. Please,” Derek’s not even sure what he’s asking him.
“Anything, Derek do anything to me,” he begs and Derek’s eyes flash red.
Derek carries him to his bed and he throws him face down, taking a second to stare at him laid out, flushed and waiting.
Stiles goes to get up on his knees but Derek strips quickly and covers him with his body, pressing him down into the mattress.
He kisses and nips every inch of Stiles’ back, marking him up before sitting back between his legs.
Stiles just presses his face further into Derek’s pillow, shoving his arms underneath and...
“Erm, something you want to share big guy,” Stiles says, brandishing the plastic rose.
Derek flushes.
“It was a dollar,” Derek grumbles embarrassed.
“Don’t stop touching me,” Stiles demands, face pressed into the bed, “and don’t front, you’re clearly a secret romantic.”
“Maybe,” Derek allows, “maybe it’s just you that brings it out in me.”
Derek palms each of Stiles’ cheeks in each large hand and he spreads him wide, fingers pressing hard into his flesh.
Stiles’ hole twitches and he lets out a guttural moan at being so exposed.
“Der....” his voice is wrecked.
Derek grabs the rose and pushes Stiles right leg up and out with his knee, pinning him so he’s wide open for him.
Derek doesn’t take his hand off his other cheek.
Derek runs the rose lightly down Stiles’ spine, revelling in the way he presses his body down into Derek’s bed, dick trapped against his sheets.
Derek nearly comes just thinking about how amazing it’s going to smell when Stiles comes all over it and he vows to make that happen as many times as he can tonight.
Derek holds him firm as he lets his mouth fill with saliva. Stiles is squirming, so Derek times a brush of the cold plastic rose head over his tight ass hole, just as he lets his spit trickle down Stiles’ crack.
“Fuck!” Stiles cries out.
Derek waits, sitting on the backs of his thighs, wanting to see how he’s reacting.
“More,” Stiles demands, fingers gripping the sheets.
Derek’s eyes flash red again and he’s barely holding himself together. He throws the rose to the floor, needing both hands and he licks him broadly, tasting him as he holds him open.
He tongue fucks into him like he’s starving and he eats him messily, spit running down Stiles’ balls. Derek presses spit slicked fingers in alongside his tongue and it feels like both seconds and an eternity before Stiles is rocking back greedily onto three of Derek’s fingers, pressing his ass back desperately into Derek’s face.
Derek pulls off with a feral snarl and he needs to fuck him, like he needs to breathe. He nearly pulls his drawer in his bedside table off it’s runners while getting lube when Stiles turns over, cock hard and begging, standing against his stomach.
It’s leaking all over that patch of dark hair at his naval, the one that mesmerises Derek.
Derek leans down into him and he licks him from belly button to the base of his dick. Stiles gets a hand in his hair and he tugs hard until Derek looks at him.
“Put your dick in me,” Stiles says, frowning.
Derek laughs and he headbutts Stiles’ stomach affectionately, rubbing his stubble back and forth.
“You’re killing me. Do you want me to beg?” Stiles whines.
His eyes go wide when Derek growls at his words.
“Oh... you do... Derek...” he says, voice dropping lower than Derek’s ever heard him.
“Derek please, I want you to fuck me so bad. I need it,” Stiles pleads, eyes wide in fake innocence.
Derek bites the top of the lube bottle clean off, fangs present and he hikes Stiles’ legs around his hips.
“Oh please Derek, I need your thick cock inside me, splitting me open, breeding me,” Stiles says, voice like pure sex.
Derek fumbles the lube all over his hand where he’s holding back his claws and he makes a mess between them as he drops the bottle, but he just about manages to slick his dick.
He shoves his wet fingers back into him for good measure and Stiles grunts, throwing his head back, exposing the long line of his neck.
“Der, I need you,” he says this time and the joking edge of his voice is gone, he just sounds dangerous, “ruin me for everyone else. Fuck me so hard I’ll have to take the day off work tomorrow.”
Stiles clenches down on Derek’s hand which is fucking steadily into him.
Derek pulls his fingers free, holds his dick and presses the head against Stiles’ hole.
He rubs it back and forth just to watch his hole clench around his tip, also begging to be filled.
“Fuck, knew you’d be perfect,” Stiles says, eyes burning into him.
“I love you,” Derek tells him honestly, floored by the absolute truth of it as he inches inside.
Stiles presses down, biting his lip, trying to accommodate Derek’s girth. His fingers dig into Derek’s forearms.
When his balls are seated against Stiles’ ass, Derek gives an experimental roll of his hips but he has to close his eyes when he feels how tight he is.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he tells him desperately, sniffing the air to make sure he’s not in pain.
“Move,” Stiles demands breathlessly, reaching for his own cock.
Derek grips his wrist in midair and holds it as he pulls out and presses back into him slowly.
“I can’t,” Derek pants, “I think I’m going to fucking come.”
The look Stiles gives him is a mixture between mischievous and pleased.
Derek closes his eyes again, as if it will help, but the reality is Stiles’ ass is like a hot, perfect vice around his dick.
Derek blames the fact that he’s so close to coming that he doesn’t see it coming when Stiles flips them over.
Derek finds himself on his back and Stiles doesn’t take mercy.
He begins to ride Derek like he’s dying for his dick, ass dragging up and down so fast that Derek barely has time to get with the program.
He plants his feet and fucks up into Stiles, meeting his every frantic thrust. Stiles grabs for his own dick again and Derek has a front row view this time, so he lets him.
Derek leans up as much as he can and opens his mouth, inviting him, wanting him to come.
Stiles just stares at him, eyes blazing as he keeps fucking him and Derek can’t help but reach between them and feel where Stiles is stretched on his dick. On his next downstroke, Derek pushes his finger against his hole, alongside his dick, stretching him impossibly.
Stiles grunts and grinds down until his hole takes Derek’s finger too and he cries out, the scent of pain in the air. It’s subtle but there and when Derek pushes deep into him, it’s drowned out completely by the scent of Stiles’ arousal. The noise he makes will feature in Derek’s masturbation fantasies forever.
Stiles jerks himself just once more and he comes so hard it covers Derek’s chest, white thick ropes catching on Derek’s lower lip.
Derek licks it up and grabs Stiles’ hand, pulling him flush against his body.
He licks Stiles’ hand clean while he still fucks into him.
“Come for me Der,” Stiles mumbles into his neck.
Derek manhandles him onto his knees, turning him around. He needs to come so bad.
He fucks him hard, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing obscenely in the space of the loft and Stiles reaches around to hold his ass wide open for Derek. He can hear Stiles jerking himself again and when Stiles comes for the second time in as many minutes, ass milking Derek’s dick for all he’s worth, it’s what finishes it for Derek.
Derek feels his orgasm rip through him, the same time he feels the shift hit. He’s always been in control as a born wolf, he’s definitely never wolfed out during sex, but Stiles... there’s just something about Stiles.
He pulls out and comes right on Stiles’ fucked open hole, shoving his dick back inside him for good measure, just to get him as covered in his come and as messy as possible.
Derek collapses on top of him and Stiles grunts happily, pressed into the mattress.
Derek rolls off him but slings a heavy arm and a leg over him as Stiles turns to face him. He looks fucked out and happy, hair a total mess.
Stiles kisses him softly, stroking Derek’s stubble and running a tongue over his fangs. Derek grumbles happily at the attention, face slipping back to human.
Derek reaches around and feels where his come is leaking out of him and he rubs it into the back of Stiles’ thighs, making small pleased sounds into his neck.
Stiles looks at him in disbelief.
“You’re going to kill me with your freaky werewolf sex aren’t you?” Stiles tells him, smoothing Derek’s eyebrows with his thumbs.
“I’d never even had freaky werewolf sex until you came along...” Derek complains.
Stiles shimmy’s down so he’s facing Derek’s dick and he runs his hands down Derek’s hairy, muscular thighs.
He licks his lips, Derek’s hardening dick in his face and Derek’s captivated.
“Well Happy Valentine’s Day to you,” Stiles grins and promptly licks him down, blowing him so enthusiastically that Derek shoots right down his throat.
“And Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to me,” Stiles grins as he pulls off, licking his lips.
—————————
Stiles does have to get someone else to cover detention the next day but Derek makes it up to him by sitting on his face.