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Derek never fucks her around the full moon.
Not like they aren't practically surgically attached every other day of the month, but it's definitely a thing. It's not like she doesn't notice. It's hard not to, when eighty percent of the people she knows turn into wild animals during the full moon. Keeping track of lunar cycles is kind of her thing now.
Even way before they started this, he avoided her. Even when he was just crawling through her window and crashing in her bedroom almost every night, when they were both trying to pretending like he didn't care about her. Like they didn't care about each other. Like he wasn't sleeping in her bed and holding her safe in his arms while she slept every night like like he might die if he didn't. When the moon was full, he'd be gone until the hours right before dawn, and then he'd slip into her room and into her bed, and she'd lie there feigning sleep while he'd curl around her back and hold her so tightly her ribs felt like they might crack. Always shaking like a leaf, but never ever saying a word. On those nights, he never touched her outside of pressing his mouth against her throat. But her sheets would be drenched from his skin that was covered in cold sweat, and she'd always wake up damp and alone in her empty bed. But when she looked into the mirror, saw those pinkish-white indents of his teeth on her neck, she'd know it was real. Irrefutable evidence that he'd been there, that it had happened. That he'd actually put his hands on her and it hadn't all been in her head, hadn't just been some dream.
Once he'd claimed her, she'd thought it might change, once he was more comfortable around her, with them, not so worried about breaking her in that way he always was afraid he might. Once they trusted each other. But it didn't, not really. Those were the few nights a month that he felt far, far away from her, even now, even still. Despite everything. Despite his mark always lingering on her skin and his ring sitting pretty on her finger. And maybe it shouldn't bother her. Maybe if she was somebody else, it wouldn't, she'd just accept it. Live with it. But she isn't. She's Stiles, and like always, she has questions.
This isn't her first rodeo, though. She's smart enough not to immediately go to Derek. She's nothing if not thorough in her research. Scott is a bust, of course. Any mention at all of her sex life, regardless of whether or not it pertained to wolf problems, sent him into a tailspin of mortification and disgust, because “Stiles, I can't imagine my sister having sex with anyone, okay? Let alone Derek.” Really, there's a very small sub-sect of people she can ask, because obviously having a werewolf for a sex partner is a pretty specific situation. So, it's not her idea of a good time, going shopping for graduation dresses with Lydia and Allison, because god, boring, but she'll deal, you know, for science. At least she's getting a decent sugar rush slash caffeine buzz from the fancy blended coffee drinks that Allison'd made them stop for. Derek'll be probably annoyed later when she's bouncing off the walls, but he'll just have to deal with it. Who knows, she thinks, maybe he'll come up with some kind of extra creative way to wear her out.
God, she can only hope.
She's having a good time in her own head just imagining it, when something snaps her out of it, literally.
“Earth to Stiles.” Lydia's waving her hand in front of Stiles's face, snapping her fingers irritably. “Come in, Stiles.”
When Stiles's eyes focus again, she sees that haughty, put-upon look that somehow Lydia seems to have trademarked. “I'm awake, okay, jeez. What?”
Lydia got two dresses in her hand, some sparkly blue thing, and a less sparkly green option, and she's holding them out in front of her. “Which one do you think?”
“For you?” Stiles asks.
Lydia narrows her eyes. “No. For you, you idiot.”
“I'm not wearing a dress. Especially not one with sparkles.” It's kinda funny, she muses, that Lydia seems to have that exact same little vein above her eyebrow that Derek does that throbs whenever Stiles pisses him off.
“Well, what are you wearing, then?” Allison asks, peeking out from behind the dressing room curtain.
“I don't know,” Stiles says, exasperated. “And I don't care. Why would I waste money on something when it's just going to get ripped off me later?”
It goes so quiet that Stiles is pretty sure that even the Muzak has stopped playing. Both Lydia and Allison are both looking at her like she's suddenly started speaking in tongues.
“Uh, does Derek do that a lot?” Allison asks hesitantly. “Tear your clothes off?”
Stiles eyes go wide. “Uh, no...” Lie. “Not really.” Such a big, fat lie. In fact, Derek got so bad about it that after while, Stiles just started wearing his clothes instead, because if somebody's wardrobe was gonna to get shredded, it sure as fuck wasn't going to be hers. Case in point, she's wearing one of Derek's old shirts, the red one with the thumb-holes that she likes because she doesn't have to roll up the sleeves just in order to use her hands. She's pretty sure that's why he did it in the first place, because he likes seeing her in them as much as Stiles likes wearing them. The fact that it somehow makes her feel safe, smells like him, reminds her of his skin against hers when they're apart is just an added benefit. “But, I mean, I'm sure Scott and Jackson do stuff like that sometimes, right? Get a little rough, like around the full moon?” She adds, trying her best to sound casual, even though she knows she is definitely, one thousand percent failing at it.
“Not really. Scott doesn't like to, you know, wolf out during. He gets all weird and apologetic if he accidentally leaves a mark, you know?” Allison blushes. “Besides, my dad would definitely kill both of us if he ever saw anything like that, so...” She shrugs and immediately starts flipping through one of the clothes racks with renewed and exaggerated interest.
Accidentally leave a mark? Accidentally? Stiles can feel her own cheeks flame red, thinking about the not-small line of bruises Derek had spent a not-insignificant amount of time leaving on the inside of her thigh last night. Very, very much on purpose and not at all accidentally.
So yeah, no, she definitely doesn't know.
Stiles turns to Lydia, who's watching her with a skeptically raised eyebrow. “You think I would let Jackson mess any of this up? “ Lydia asks, like the very idea is absurdly ridiculous. “Plus,” she adds offhandedly, “I'm not really into pain. Receiving,that is.”
Stiles isn't surprised by this, eyeing Lydia's finely manicured, razor-sharp nails. Well, at least Jackson has the whole instantaneous healing thing going for him. What she is surprised about, however, is that she, of all people, seems to be the only one here having kinky werewolf sex on a regular basis. Considering before all this wolf business, she'd been the one typecast as the spazzy, mostly friendless virgin, it's unexpected, to say the least.
“I mean, Derek doesn't – “ Allison starts. She's looking at Stiles all suspiciously, and it's unsettling. “He doesn't hurt you or anything, right?”
Stiles lets out an frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose because yep, stress headache . “Oh my god, never mind. Just hand me the green one and let's get the fuck out of here.”
At Derek's that night, she's sprawled on the floor in the loft with her feet slung up over the couch, and she's definitely supposed to be studying because finals are a thing happening this week, but Stiles just can't stop thinking about it. She's been reading the same sentence in her physics textbook over and over for the last five minute and she still couldn't tell you what it said. It doesn't help either that Derek is doing his stupid half-yoga-half-meditating-half endless amount of push-ups workout thing he does, and he's not wearing a shirt. How is she supposed to get anything done when he's not wearing a shirt? There's a light sheen of sweat making his golden skin look all glittery and perfect, and okay yeah, her mouth might be watering just a little when she watches the way the muscles of his back ripple and flex.
“Stiles,” Derek finally says, sounding slightly pained. “Is it possible for you to not think about whatever you're thinking about for like...twenty more minutes?”
“No,” Stiles answers, throwing her book to the side and crawling up into a sitting position. “But now that you're done, I have a question.”
Derek sighs. “Of course you do.”
Stiles takes a deep breath and just bites the bullet. “How come you won't fuck me around the full moon?”
…
All Derek can do is blink at her for what feels like an eternity. Because she's done that thing where she's asked him something that knocks his entire brain offline and he has to reboot it before he can possibly even consider answering her.
“Why are you like this?” he finally asks with a disbelieving shake of his head. Can't she ever ask him something normal? Talk about stuff other couples talked about? Like maybe how his day was or what they should eat for dinner. God, he'd even take another interrogation from the sheriff at this point. Literally anything but this.
Stiles snorts. “What, you want the full list? Quit stalling. Answer the question, wolf.”
Derek groans. “Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because,” Derek says again, taking a deep, steadying breath and dragging his palms across his face in an agonized show of frustration.
“That tactic didn't work when I was five, Derek, I don't think it's gonna work now.” Stiles crosses her arms stubbornly and frowns.
Derek should have known she'd ask about this at some point, because she's Stiles and she's annoyingly aware of the smallest details, the most random patterns, so very little if anything, seems to escape her notice. And he doesn't even begin to know how to explain it in words to her, the answer to her question. Because it's one of those answers he doesn't fully understand himself. Part of him just feels it in his gut, instinct, that it's just not a good idea. But it's also because of her, and how is he supposed to explain that in words?
So this is what Derek does instead. He's had his back to her this whole time, so he cracks his neck and feels his fangs break through, letting out a purely savage snarl as he turns and snaps his jaw mere inches from her face. Stiles barely even flinches, and then, of all things, that damn mouth of hers curves upward into a smile. Yeah, her heart is racing, but it's not fear because Derek can smell it, because he can always smell it. Her arousal, that constant, low-level flame that seemed to burn in her all the time sparking and catching into an inferno.
And Stiles, Stiles is just watching him with those yawning pupils, that pink tongue that reminds him of bubblegum coming out to wet her lips. “I think we've established by now that you don't scare me.”
“That's why,” Derek hisses.
“You won't hurt me,” Stiles says firmly. “You haven't, and you won't.”
He doesn't think she'd say that if she really knew how he felt, if she could experience it herself. Scott and the others, they might be able to separate the two, wolf and human, but he can't. He was born this way, not human at all, even if he might pretend to be one. The wolf is woven into him, tangled like a knot into the fabric of his skin, as part of him as the blood pumping hotly through his veins. If she only knew how sometimes the wolf in him just howled, craved. How sometimes that part of him hungered for her so much it was like it was beating itself to death against the walls of his body, desperate to chew its way out of its flesh prison. To pin her to the ground, mount her, breed her, and just take, take, take. And it's always so much worse, before.
The full moon is two days away, and she brings this to him now?
Stiles cocks her head in confusion, that expression on her face the same one she wears when she's trying to solve a difficult puzzle. It's unsettling, like being x-rayed, when she stares at him like that, and he doesn't want to meet her eyes but it's like hers are magnets and he can't not look at her.
“Oh,” Stiles suddenly says, her face softening into something resembling sympathy. “But you're worried you'll want to. You're worried you'll want to, and you'll like it.”
How the fuck does she do that?
“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” Derek says finally, and he doesn't give her a chance to argue because he just gets up and heads toward the bathroom, feeling desperate for a shower. A very, very cold shower.
He can feel the weight of her eyes on him, but thankfully, this time she's smart enough to leave him be. At least for now.
…
Derek is surly with her for the rest of the evening, cagey and distant, and she doesn't blame him, not really. She did sort of ambush him. Still, she doesn't sleep much that night, lying in Derek's arms and watching that little wrinkle between his eyebrows smoothed out for once while he dreams. He looks peaceful in a way he almost never does when he's awake. God, sometimes she wishes she could just grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he got it through his stupid, thick head.
There's nothing he can do that will scare her away. She's not going anywhere.
She's not afraid of him, not even of the parts of himself that he's afraid of.
She just needs to figure out a way to get him to believe it.
The day of the full moon, Stiles cuts out as soon as she's done with her tests, and drives straight out to the preserve. She knows he'll be there because he's always there on days like today. He spends hours just running the Hale territory lines, trying to burn off all that restless, pre-moon energy. He'll hear her coming, because the Jeep isn't exactly quiet, and if he doesn't hear that, he's definitely going to hear her heart pounding frantically in her chest. From nerves or excitement or both, she's not sure.
It's not the most elegant plan she's ever had, but a blunt blade still gets the job done most of the time, she thinks. Because she's sure as fuck not going to win any points here for subtlety. Her hair's loose and wild the way he likes it, and she's isn't wearing anything but a pair of ratty cut-offs and one of his t-shirts. It's so big on her it falls all the way to her thighs, slipping off her shoulder, revealing a twin pair of bruises he'd sucked on her collarbones only a few nights ago.
She pulls over right next to Derek's Camaro, gravel spraying out from underneath her squealing tires. By the time she kills the engine and hops out of the front seat, she can see him in the distance, a shadow coming out of the treeline. The way he carries himself, he looks so strong, so powerful, almost regal –like some kind of forest god. He could be a god, he could be a lot of things, Stiles thinks, her breath hitching in her throat the same way it always does when he's near her. Every time is like the first time, seeing him. She can't help it, the way her eyes follow a bead of sweat that drips down his throat and onto his chest. God, she wants to lick him like a Popsicle, she thinks, and how ridiculous is that.
“Don't you ever go to school?” Derek asks, arms crossed irritably.
Stiles shrugs. “I graduate in five days. What are they gonna do, kick me out?” Fat chance, she thinks. The faculty would riot. Her teachers have been looking to get rid of her since her first day of freshman year.
Derek's scowling, but that's nothing new. There is something in his face though when his eyes finally rake their way down her body, that flicker of animal, the wolf, that she knows he tries to hide from her but on days like today, he can't. It's not just the claws or the fangs. Those are almost commonplace to her now. It's more...feral. Hungry. It sends a shiver straight down her spine, makes her feel dirty, makes her cunt throb and ache for him.
“Go home, Stiles,” he says quietly, and his nostrils are flaring and she knows he can smell her now, because she can feel herself already getting wet. Not like it takes much from him to get her there.
“No,” Stiles says breathlessly, and maybe she sounds a little bit infantile, but she's an only child, okay. She's spoiled. She's used to getting what she wants. “I won't. Because you're being stupid.” Besides, she didn't listen to him the first time he'd told her to go home that night in his loft. Why the hell does he think that's suddenly going to work? “You need to just get over yourself and quit trying to push me away. Because I'm not going anywhere.”
Derek growls. “Why are you even here?”
“I know you like to hunt on the full moon.” He'd made a point to stand far enough away that he couldn't touch her, but Stiles has no problem getting in his face,inching closer and closer until she's gazing up at him, close enough to press her lips to his if she wanted to. “So, do it. Hunt me.”
…
He'd heard her coming, even deep in the forest and lost in the body of the wolf, he sensed her. He's been running for hours now, trying to lose himself in it, the sun beating down on him, the screech of birds overhead, the way the ground feels as it gives underneath his paws. He finds himself heading toward the old Hale house, automatically chasing her scent without realizing it until he's right there. With a loud cracking sound, he shudders, letting his spine straighten back into place as he shifts from animal to man. Although, even wearing his human skin right now, he feels like anything but human.
The minute he sees her, he knows Stiles is gonna be trouble. The way she's playing off every one of his fantasies, it can't be anything but on purpose. The way she's wearing her hair, loose and long, wearing his clothes, brazenly showing off the marks he's left all over her, the imprint of his teeth at her throat, those bruises on her inner thighs. To anyone else it'd be vulgar, but to him, she may as well have rolled over and shown him her metaphorical belly because everything about her right now is screaming take me.
“Are you insane?”Really, he shouldn't be so shocked when she says it. Hunt me. But Derek's brain might as well have just gotten popped like a balloon. That's how empty-headed and dazed he feels right now.
“Remember when you asked me what I wanted as a graduation present?” Stiles asks innocently which is absurd because she's anything but. She is, Derek thinks viciously, the literal devil, and she's this close to dragging him to hell along with her.
“You want me to chase you down and fuck you...as a graduation present?” Derek repeats, like he can't possibly have heard her right. “You really are insane. I'm marrying an insane person.”
“You're the one who put a ring on it, Sourwolf.” Stiles is looking up at him with such adoration it's honestly alarming. “No take-backs,” she adds quickly and with a sly wink.
“This is a terrible idea. We are not doing this,” Derek grits out, desperately trying to ignore how badly he wants to just throw her to the ground right here and fuck her. “I am not doing this.”
“Don't worry,” she says, like she hasn't just asked him to literally hunt her down like prey. “In case something goes wrong, I brought mace.” Stiles pulls out the aforementioned weapon and waves it the air like he should be proud of her for thinking of it. “And I'm like ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure I'm not going to have to use it.”
Derek just stares at her, completely stunned stupid. “So either I chase you down and we successfully have hot, freaky werewolf sex, or I end up getting maced.”
“Correct.”
“Why are those my only options?” Derek asks, and he knows he's sounding borderline hysterical at this point, because goddammit, he is. He's this fucking close to just losing his goddamn mind.
“Because,” she says.
“Because why?”
“Because.” Stiles says, shrugging. “Frustrating, isn't it?” she adds, offering him a cheeky smile that makes him want to sink his teeth right into her bottom lip.
“This is the worst idea you've ever had,” Derek says, but he's moving toward her, like his body's made the choice for him already (does he ever really have a choice when it comes to her?). There's a growl rumbling in the back of his throat and he can feel that familiar twinge in his jaw and the way Stiles is looking at him, so smug, like she already knows she's won, it's maddening. He's close enough now that he can nose at her throat and Stiles goes stock still as he just stands there, breathing her in.
“Tag,” Stiles whispers, though he can hear it, that slight tremble in her voice. “You're it.”
…
Stiles had demanded a head start, and she's not wasting it, so she shoots off into the forest before he can change his mind. It's practically summer now, and the cool air is a welcome respite from the heat, though she'll be sweating soon (for more reasons than one, her brain supplies unhelpfully). There's no particular path she follows, hoping to offer at least some semblance of a challenge for him. Even though she's spent most of her lacrosse career riding the bench, she's spent enough time running away from monsters, hunters, and werewolves, that she's in pretty good shape. Her long legs and slim frame don't hurt either, and she slips easily between the trees, darting over rocks and decaying stumps, occasionally backtracking and zigzagging a different trail just to try and throw him off.
Just the knowledge that he's somewhere behind her, chasing her, hungry for her. It's enough to make her feel it, how wet she is just from this, just from the anticipation. Vaguely, she has an idea, and it's dirty to a point that she blushes even though there's nobody but her and him for miles and miles. I have truly lost control of my life, she thinks, but the stray thought doesn't stop her from dipping her fingers in her own slick and wiping them on the occasional leaf or random tree trunk she passes.
Not longer after that, she hears it, a howl that echoes through the trees and it's like the forest around her goes totally silent. Her breathing is suddenly so loud, along with the frenzied pounding of her heart, that she almost doesn't hear the twigs snapping behind her. She thinks she sees something out of the corner of her eye, a black blur of movement, but there's nothing.
Then she turns around and he's right there. God, she forgot how huge his wolf form really is. Like a massive boulder covered in black fur, almost as tall as a horse, his blood-red eyes boring straight into her, baring his teeth in a fearsome grimace. But by the time she meets his gaze, he's already gone, another whoosh of air as he breezes past her, faster than her eyes can follow.
Behind her there's the sound of twigs snapping again, followed by something that she can only describe as a sonic boom. There's that crackle in the air again, like static electricity, and then suddenly strong arms, familiar arms, are grabbing her by the waist and his breath is so hot on her ear that she shivers when she feels it against brush against her skin.
“Are you trying to drive me fucking crazy?” Derek asks, the words coming out like a hiss, and she moans automatically when he reaches for her hand and roughly sucks at the fingers she'd had inside herself only minutes before. The tips of his fangs scrape over her palms, and she shivers again as goose-flesh breaks out all up and down her arms.
“Yes,” Stiles gasps, now trying her hardest to wriggle out of his grasp, even if it's just an exercise in futility.
“Brat,” Derek whispers, and then he's palming her through her shorts and the friction against her clit is just not-enough to drive her crazy right along with him. She feels his cock, hard and pulsing against her ass, and she keens needily.
“Not yet,” Derek says, and her eyes widen, because his voice is so deep and rough she almost doesn't recognize it. He licks a long stripe up the side of her neck, groaning like he's savoring the taste of her, and then to Stiles's eternal surprise, Derek releases her. She turns to look at him, confused, but he's already gone.
He's toying with her.
So she just keeps running.
…
This is a terrible idea. All the rational parts of Derek know this. He's been dangling off the razor's edge of control these last couple days as it was, and now the sight of her bounding off into the trees, the sweet-and-spicy scent of lust and nerves and desperation swirling around him like a cloud of dust, it's enough to send him hurtling straight off the cliff of reason and into the sea of insanity. And all the irrational, selfish, animalistic parts of him do not give a single shit. Because it's too easy to give in to her, but the wolf wants what it wants. It's a paradox, he thinks, his body shaking and shuddering again as his bones crack and creak, rearranging until he's on four legs and running so fast the the world blurs around him. Stiles somehow became his anchor and his undoing all at once. This is the last coherent thought he has before giving himself over to the beast.
Stiles is quick, but he's faster obviously. It doesn't take him long to find her first, especially when he catches that familiar honey-sweet scent of her cum. It smells like it's everywhere, making him feel rabid and feral, and it takes him a moment to realize what she's done, that she's torturing him with it. By the time he finds her, his hunger feels like a fever that's clawing at his brain, all consuming. But he's the predator here, so he acts like one, shifting wolf to human to wolf again, and using his speed to disorient her the same way he would when taking down prey.
When he grabs her, she struggles, and the wolf in him relishes the challenge, the fight. The way she whines for him, the way she tastes, all of it is too much. But he's not done with her, he realizes. Derek wants more. He wants to chase, because something in him howls with pleasure at the idea, makes him zero in on the pulse pounding in her neck like a drum. He lets her go, watches as she stumbles away from where he'd grabbed her, and he waits and just listens to her heavy breathing, her jack-rabbiting heart until it starts to fade as she disappears deeper into the preserve.
He's never that far behind her, and he knows how to be quiet, slip through the trees without making a single sound. The only noise he makes is when he wants to, breaking branches and smashing rocks around her. She probably realizes it by now, that he's playing with her. But not just that, he's leading her, herding her right where he wants her. There's a clearing just ahead, so he cuts her off, leaping in front of her with a roar that shakes the ground, sends the roosting birds fleeing from the trees with indignant shrieks.
Stiles startles and gasps, her footsteps faltering, and Derek doesn't hesitate, bounding forward and pinning her to the ground with his paws. She's trembling underneath him, but she doesn't smell like fear. Because of course she doesn't. Pinned to the ground by a wild animal, and she still smells like she's about to open her mouth and beg him to fuck her.
“I guess you win,” Stiles whispers, her eyes wide with shock and her chest still heaving from exertion.
…
She runs and runs, runs farther than she think she ever has in her life. She's past the point of tired now, and she thinks she finally gets the whole endorphin thing that runners always bragged about. It's a strange, disorienting high, makes everything look kind of soft and shimmery, especially in the fading light of the afternoon. Derek isn't far behind her, she knows that.
Because he's toying with her, running her ragged the same way real wolves took down their prey. Every time she thinks she's gotten away from him, pulled ahead, she hears it – the sound of his paws hitting the earth, of his body crashing through the underbrush. He's doing it on purpose, egging her on, and it makes her heart beat so fast she has a fleeting thought that it might actually stop.
When she reaches the clearing, she thinks about resting, just for a second, because she's starting to get dizzy, but Derek doesn't give her the chance when he appears so suddenly, like a ghost, in front of her, and before she can even think, she's flat on her back, gazing up into the eyes of her wolf. The betas still looked like themselves, kind of, when they turned. But not Derek, not anymore. It's still weird to see, only his eyes staring back at her with a face and a body that's all animal. He still smells like the Derek she knows though, all woodsy pine and the air after a storm. They just stare at each other for a second, Derek cocking his huge canine head like he's trying to figure her out. But then she feels it, hears it too, a hum in the air that vibrates like a plucked string, and he twists and writhes above her until the paws on her chest become the hands she loves to feel on her, pinning her wrists to the ground.
“That is still so gross, and so awesome,” Stiles breathes out. Derek doesn't say anything, but she swears she sees his mouth twitch almost like a smile. She wants to kiss him, needs to taste him, so she arches her neck and tries to catch his lips with hers. It doesn't happen though. Derek pulls away, growls and bares his teeth like he's warning her to stay back, and she yips, startled.
He lets go of her wrists and she tries to grab for him, his hair, his shoulders, to find purchase on some part of him, but he just growls at her again, and before she can do anything else, he grabs her roughly by the hips and flips her. She's trembling again, and for the first time, she feels a prickle of something that's not quite fear, but close. She just doesn't know what he's going to do next.
And it's exhilarating.
She tries to lift her head so she can turn to look at him, but Derek slams her face down with an annoyed snarl, and she shudders when she feels her cheek pressed hard against the cold grass. Cool air hits her back suddenly when the shirt she's wearing is torn right off her, and she whimpers when he drags the tips of his fingers, now claws, all the way from her shoulders to the small of her back, not hard enough to break skin, but god, it's close. There's another harsh, ripping sound and the rest of her clothes join the tattered remains of her shirt.
He's rough, rougher than he's ever been with her when he grabs her by the hips with a bruising grip until she's ass up in front of him, naked and shivering like she's cold, even though her skin feels like it's on literal fire.
“Derek – “ is all she manages to get out before he's burying his face in her pussy, licking a long, filthy strip up her slit and all the way up her ass. “Holy fuck – “ She starts to say, but doesn't finish, because Derek is snarling again and using his big hand to push her somehow harder into the ground. He's not the least bit gentle as he eats her out, his tongue somehow reaching so far inside her that she feels like her brain turns to mush in her skull. His beard is scratching her thighs, and he hasn't bitten her thankfully, but he's not being that cautious with his fangs when he scrapes the points over her legs, the swell of her backside. He's licking her everywhere but right where she needs him, and she's trying so hard to grind back against his mouth, but he's holding her so firmly that she can't do anything. Can't move. Powerless.
She whimpers helplessly but Derek ignores her. Keeps feasting on her like he's enjoying the finest meal he's ever had. From the way he's growling, low and constant, to him it probably really is. Fuck, the vibration alone is killing her. She can't move her head, but he doesn't have her hands pinned. It's probably too bold of her, but need blinds her, so she slides one down, hoping to get some kind of friction against her swollen clit because god, she's so fucking close.
…
Derek's lost in her, the way she tastes, how she's moaning and writhing just from the force of his hands holding her down. He sees her move though, like she thinks she's being sneaky with that hand, and he growls, pulling away from her cunt and licking a path up her spine instead, her flesh rippling under his tongue in protest. Stiles cries out at the sudden loss, but he straightens up, looming over her, and fists her hair and yanks back on it. The cry becomes a hiss, but her back arches, a perfect bow, and Derek nuzzles her neck appreciatively.
She's breathing heavily, grinding back desperately on his cock that's pressed up against her. He's so hard, aching for her, but he just slides teasingly through all that wet heat, not pressing in, and Stiles thrashes so violently he grabs her by the throat just to get her to stop moving.
They both go still, and Derek shudders, feeling her blood pulsing through the veins in her neck like he's holding her heart in his hand. He doesn't squeeze, but the thought that he could, that she'd let him, is enough to almost push him right to the edge.
“Do it,” Stiles says brokenly. He's not exactly sure what she's referring to, so he does both, tightening his hold on her neck, just barely, at the same time he drives his cock into her. The sound she lets out is unearthly, a scream that rips through the quiet around them like the crack of a whip. There's no pause, no moment to let her adjust. He just mounts her, pounding into her with relentless, unending need. Derek's aware enough to keep track of her breathing, of her heart, but that's it. Everything else is just blood and sweat and the sound of their flesh meeting, the snap of his hips as they drive endlessly into hers.
Derek feels her come, feels the fresh wave of slick as it falls down her legs and onto his cock as he pistons in and out of her ruthlessly. She's fucking drenched, wetter than he thinks she's ever been, if that's possible. She shakes and sobs and shakes again, but he doesn't stop, chasing his own release.
Time ceases to mean anything, and he only knows this – the heat of her cunt, how tight she is around him. How she sounds whimpering almost nonstop while he continues to ride her like a wild, possessed thing. “Don't---don't stop,” Stiles says, slurring, even though now she's gone limp and pliant in his grasp, from sheer exhaustion, he thinks.
Stop?
Like he even could.
…
It feels like he might keep fucking her forever. There's a point where she feels like she just floats away, living only between the moments of his cock burying itself inside her, over and over. Any pain she might of felt at first, it's gone now, melted away until all that's left is something deeper, something more than just pleasure. Something darker, something sweeter. Something that's all her and all Derek's.
With a sharp and sudden whine, Derek pulls her up, sits back on his heels and presses her flush against him. It forces him somehow deeper, like that was even possible, and she rocks back frantically, chasing another high she's not even sure she can feel at this point. He's been mouthing at her neck, sucking ravenously at her throat, but for the first time she feels the tips of his fangs settling right over her shoulder.
She mewls softly. “Don't bite me with those.” Derek hums agreeably, so she thinks he must have heard her, because he doesn't bite down at all, just presses the tips of his canines into her skin just enough to leave a mark. Holding her shoulder so strangely careful between his teeth.
The snarling has faded into a rough and constant growl that scrapes heavy against her skin. He must be close, has to be from the way his movements have started to falter, his rhythm stuttering every few thrusts. She feels so raw and sensitive, used, but in the best way. It doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't, but she knows that she loves it.
Loves him.
For the first time in what feels like forever, he actually speaks. It's all wolf, rough and gravelly, but it hits her straight in her core like he's burned her with it, his voice. “Going to breed you. Fill you up. Cover you in it,” is what he whispers against her throat, pressing wet, dirty kisses into the skin there.
Holy fuck. The words are so filthy, so purely animal, they should shock her. But they don't. Some primal instinct long forgotten inside of her comes to life and suddenly she's a wild, wanton thing, crying as she rubs desperately against him. “Please, Derek. Please.”
And the he finally comes, howling as thrusts into her one last time, jerking his hips and doing just as he'd promised, and jesus christ, there's so much of it that she whines when she feels it gush out of her, dripping down her legs. She has no sense of time anymore, so who knows how long Derek is there just lying on top of her. After he pulls out, he spends an inordinate amount of time rubbing his release all over her, but non-wolfy Derek does that too, so it's not that jarring. In fact, it's kind of zen, familiar, she thinks, shivering when she feels his tongue lick up the cum drying on her lower back.
“Happy graduation, me,” she mumbles, and then she's smiling because she feels Derek huff a laugh into the the cradle of her thighs When Derek finally does speak again, his voice is almost back to normal, though raspy, probably from all the growling.
“You're bruised all over,” he says quietly, running gentle hands over her hips and thighs.”Your dad's going to kill me.”
Stiles would roll her eyes, but she's not sure she can open them. “My dad has a pathological fear of accidentally seeing my naked body. He'll never see them. It's fine.” Besides, she doesn't even feel sore. All she feels is that warm, post-coital afterglow.
“I was too rough with you.”
Stiles groans and halfheartedly attempts to swat him. “You're ruining my buzz, Sourwolf. No brooding allowed.”
She finally musters the strength to roll over to look at him. There's that damn wrinkle between his eyebrows again, and she reaches up, poking at it with her finger. “Shut up and bask with me, okay. Because that...that was awesome. Ten out of ten stars, would definitely recommend.”
Derek just stares at her for a long moment before shaking his head, chuckling in what sounds like pure and utter disbelief. “Baby, you are the strangest human I have ever met in my entire life.”
“You're just figuring that out now?” Stiles snorts. “I knew you were an idiot.”