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The organic chemistry textbook was a blur of carbon chains and reaction mechanisms, each line seeming to mock Stiles’s sleep-deprived brain. He was about to give up and sacrifice his GPA to the gods of caffeine when his phone vibrated, skittering across the desk. The name on the screen sent a jolt straight to his groin: Derek Hale.
A grin spread across his face. This was better than coffee.
“Hey there, stranger,” Stiles answered, leaning back in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Miss the sound of my voice?”
There was a low, rough sound on the other end, more growl than greeting. “Stiles.”
The way Derek said his name, all gravel and heat, made Stiles’s dick twitch in his jeans. “That’s me. What’s up? You okay?”
“I need to come over.” Derek’s voice was tight, strained. “I need you to fuck me. Right now.”
Stiles’s mouth went dry. They’d been doing this casual thing for months—hot, frantic hookups whenever Derek’s control got a little too thin—but Derek was never this blunt, this desperate over the phone.
“Whoa, okay. Direct. I like it,” Stiles managed, his own voice dropping an octave. “Bad day at the office, big guy?”
“You could say that,” Derek grunted. “I’ve been thinking about your huge cock all afternoon. How it feels stretching me open. I need to feel it again. I need to ride it until I can’t think about anything else.”
“Jesus, Derek,” Stiles breathed, his hand instinctively palming himself through his jeans. He was already half-hard. “Are you trying to make me blow my load before you even get here?”
“Would you?” Derek’s tone was a challenge, dark and hungry.
“Maybe. If you keep talking like that. Get your big, hairy ass over here. Now.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Derek said, and the line went dead.
Stiles stared at his phone for a second before scrambling into action. He swept textbooks and empty chip bags onto the floor, straightening the chaotic nest of his apartment with werewolf-speed efficiency. He’d just finished smoothing the fresh sheets on his bed—Derek had a thing for their mingled scents—when a sharp, impatient knock echoed from the door.
He yanked it open, and there Derek was, a vision of pent-up fury and desire. His leather jacket was shrugged over broad shoulders, and his jeans were sinfully tight. His eyes glowed a faint, hungry blue in the dim hallway light.
Derek didn’t wait for an invitation. He shoved Stiles back into the apartment, kicking the door shut with a deafening bang before slamming him against the nearest wall. The air left Stiles’s lungs in a whoosh as Derek’s mouth crashed against his.
This wasn’t a kiss; it was a claiming. Derek’s tongue plunged into his mouth, hot and demanding, tasting of coffee and pure, undiluted want. Stiles groaned, his hands flying to Derek’s hair, tangling in the dark strands as he kissed back just as fiercely. He could feel the hard line of Derek’s erection grinding against his hip, and it made him dizzy with lust.
“Fuck, you’re eager,” Stiles gasped when they broke for air.
“Told you I needed it,” Derek growled against his lips, his hands already tearing at the hem of Stiles’s t-shirt. He yanked it up and over his head, tossing it aside without a glance. His mouth went to Stiles’s neck, sucking a dark mark into the skin there, his teeth scraping lightly. “Need you inside me. Now.”
“Patience, you animal,” Stiles chuckled, though his own patience was wearing dangerously thin. His fingers made quick work of Derek’s belt buckle, the rasp of the leather loud in the quiet room. “Gonna let me get you naked first? Or are we just gonna rip these off you?”
In answer, Derek pushed Stiles’s hands away and undid his own jeans, shoving them and his boxer-briefs down his powerful thighs in one fluid motion. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, leaking pre-come against his stomach. The sight was enough to make Stiles’s knees weak.
“Bed. Now,” Derek commanded, his voice a low rumble.
Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. He let Derek manhandle him backward through the apartment until his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he fell onto it. Derek followed him down, a predator finally cornering his prey, but Stiles knew better. In this dynamic, he was the weapon Derek wanted to wield.
Derek straddled his hips, his weight a delicious pressure. He leaned down, capturing Stiles’s mouth in another searing kiss as his hand fumbled between them, wrapping around Stiles’s cock. The touch was electric, and Stiles arched off the bed with a choked cry.
“Look at you,” Derek murmured, his breath hot against Stiles’s ear. “So hard for me already. You've been thinking about this, too? Thinking about my tight ass milking your cock dry?”
“God, yes,” Stiles hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily. “Always thinking about it. About how you look when you come untouched because of my cock filling your guts, all tense and beautiful.”
A smug, wicked smile touched Derek’s lips. He reached over to his pants and, with a familiar clatter, produced a bottle of lube from the pockets. Stiles laughed breathlessly.
“You know I have my own stash, right? You don’t have to bring your own.”
“I know,” Derek said, popping the cap and slicking his fingers. “I like mine better. Now shut up and watch.”
And Stiles did. He was utterly captivated as Derek reached behind himself, his face a mask of intense concentration that slowly melted into pure bliss. His head fell back, exposing the long line of his throat, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he worked himself open. Stiles could see the muscles in Derek’s arm flexing, could imagine those thick fingers stretching that tight, hot channel, preparing it for him.
“You gonna let me do that next time?” Stiles asked, his voice rough. “Let me open you up with my tongue until you’re begging to come?”
Derek’s eyes snapped open, the green blazing with need. “Maybe. If you’re good.” He withdrew his fingers, now glistening with lube, and wrapped them around Stiles’s cock again, stroking him firmly from root to tip, spreading the cool slickness. “But right now, I need this.”
He lifted himself up on his knees, his other hand guiding Stiles’s length to his entrance. He held the head there, pressing it just against the tight ring of muscle, teasing them both. Stiles bit his lip hard, his knuckles white where he gripped the sheets.
“Derek, please…”
With a groan of pure relief, Derek sank down.
It was an excruciatingly slow, perfect slide. Stiles watched, mesmerized, as his cock disappeared into Derek’s body, inch by incredible inch. Derek’s face was a portrait of ecstasy—eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent cry, every muscle in his torso taut and trembling. He was so hot, so impossibly tight, and Stiles saw stars.
“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” Stiles gasped, his hands flying to Derek’s hips, holding on for dear life. “So fucking tight for me. You take me so good.”
Derek bottomed out, his ass flush against Stiles’s thighs, and they both paused, panting, reveling in the feeling of being completely joined. Then Derek began to move.
It started as a slow, rolling grind, a deep, internal massage that had Stiles seeing stars. Derek’s hands were on Stiles’s chest, pinching and rolling his nipples until he was a writhing, moaning mess beneath him.
“That’s it,” Derek purred, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just lie there and take it. Let me use you and your amazing cock. This is what you’re for.”
The dirty talk went straight to Stiles’s already overwhelmed system. He could only nod, his words stolen by the sensation of Derek’s muscles clenching and fluttering around him.
Derek’s pace began to quicken, his movements becoming less about savoring and more about chasing his own release. He rose up until only the tip remained inside him, then slammed back down, over and over, setting a brutal, perfect rhythm. The slapping sound of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by their ragged breaths and guttural moans.
Stiles knew he wouldn’t last. The sight of Derek Hale, powerful and feral, bouncing on his cock, using him for his own pleasure, was the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed. His orgasm coiled tight in his gut, a live wire about to snap.
“Derek, I’m close… shit, I’m gonna come,” he warned, his body tensing.
“Do it,” Derek commanded, never breaking his rhythm. “Come inside me. Fill me up.”
The permission, growled in that deep, wrecked voice, was Stiles’s undoing. He cried out, a raw, broken sound, as his climax ripped through him. His hips stuttered off the bed, driving up into Derek as he emptied himself in pulsing waves, his vision whiting out at the edges.
He collapsed back onto the mattress, boneless and spent, expecting Derek to stop. But the werewolf’s stamina was inhuman. Derek didn’t even pause. He kept riding Stiles’s oversensitive cock, his own movements becoming more frantic, more desperate.
“Oh god, Derek, wait… sensitive…” Stiles whimpered, but the protest died in his throat. Because the burning, overwhelming sensation was already shifting, transforming into something else. The pleasure-pain was reigniting, building again from the embers of his first orgasm into a new, even more intense inferno. He was still hard. He was still buried deep inside Derek, and his body was responding like it hadn’t just peaked.
“That’s it,” Derek moaned, watching the stunned pleasure on Stiles’s face. “Come again for me. I’m not done with you yet.”
Stiles’s second orgasm didn’t build; it ambushed him. It wasn’t a wave; it was a tsunami. It tore through his entire body, wracking him with convulsions so powerful he thought he might break. He screamed, his back arching off the bed as he came again, his release somehow even more intense than the first, spurred on by Derek’s relentless rhythm and the overwhelming overstimulation.
The violent clenching of Stiles’s body must have been the final trigger for Derek. With a guttural roar that was pure wolf, Derek’s own orgasm hit him. His hand flew to his own cock, stroking himself roughly once, twice, before he came in thick, white stripes across Stiles’s stomach and chest. His inner muscles clamped down on Stiles’s cock like a vise, milking him through the last pulses of his own exhausting release.
Finally, spent, Derek collapsed forward. He carefully pulled off, eliciting a oversensitive shudder from them both, before slumping down on top of Stiles, a sweaty, heavy, satisfied weight. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck, his breath ghosting over the skin there.
Stiles, who could barely move, managed to lift a trembling arm and wrap it around Derek’s back, holding him close. The room smelled of sex, sweat, and them.
After a long moment of silence, broken only by their slowing heartbeats, Stiles found his voice, hoarse and wrecked. “So… did you… work out all that aggression?”
Derek let out a low, contented hum that vibrated through Stiles’s whole body. He pressed a soft, surprisingly tender kiss to Stiles’s pulse point.
“Most of it.”
Stiles grinned, his eyes already drifting shut. “Anytime, man. My dick is at your service. Seriously. Call me.”
He felt Derek’s lips curve into a smile against his skin.
“I will.”