
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/506446.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Lydia_Martin
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, First_Kiss, Cuddling_&_Snuggling, Sharing_a_Bed, Hand_Jobs,
      Blow_Jobs, Anal_Sex, Angst, Underage_Sex, Loss_of_Virginity, Marking,
      Scent_Kink, Possessive_Behavior, Blanket_Permission, Podfic_Welcome
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-05 Words: 5237
****** Terrified of These Four Walls ******
by mithrel
Summary
     Derek and Stiles are transported to a house in the middle of nowhere.
They don’t know how it happens. One minute he’s floating in a pool with Derek a
dead weight around his neck and a Psychotic Lizard of Death stalking him, the
next the water is hot, Derek’s supporting himself, and they seem to be
somewhere else entirely.
Predictably, he loses his footing and goes under until Derek hauls him up
again, sputtering. “Shh!” he hisses at him.
He shoves him down with a growled “Stay here!” and gets out of the hot tub.
Stiles debates that for approximately three-tenths of a second before following
him.
Derek glares, but in the end just puts a finger to his lips with raised
eyebrows, as if to say Can you actually be quiet? Stiles nods indignantly,
though he’s not sure himself. Certainly he’s not as quiet as Mr. Ninja
Werewolf.
Derek eases open the sliding glass door to the house nearby and slips inside.
Stiles trails after him.
The room they emerge into is thickly carpeted, with a fireplace and several
loveseats. There’s a kitchen directly next to it, but Derek ignores that in
favor of the hallway.
There are several rooms leading off the hallway. Derek spares a glance into
each before entering the one at the end of the hall.
“No one’s here,” Derek says when Stiles comes in behind him, but Stiles barely
hears him.
It’s a bedroom, but not just a bedroom. There’s only one bed, but it looks like
it’s big enough for four people. There’s an old-style wooden dresser with a
mirror on one side of the room and not much else.
It’s just then that he becomes aware that he’s cold and dripping wet. He
glances in the closet, because any port in a storm, but there are no clothes in
it. He heads to the bathroom, thinking maybe he can at least shower.
But there’s no shower in the bathroom. Instead there’s a sunken bathtub almost
as big as the Jacuzzi outside. Stiles blinks, but then notices that there’s
robes hanging on the back of the door. He strips off his sodden clothes, puts
the green one on and snags the other for Derek.
Derek looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well, you’ve certainly made yourself
at home.”
Stiles flushes, but counters, “Like you said, there’s no one here. And maybe
werewolves don’t mind sitting around in their wet clothes until they dry, but I
do!”
Derek rolls his eyes, but takes the other bathrobe and disappears into the
bathroom.
Stiles’ cell phone is on the edge of the Beacon Hills High School Pool, unless
the lizard-thing ate it. He’s not putting anything past it. And Derek’s is
probably dead of chlorine poisoning, assuming he had it on him.
He goes through the house to see if there’s a land line, but phones are
conspicuous only in their absence. Of course there’s no computers either. That
lets out emailing his dad to let him know where he is. Not that he, you know,
knows where he is.
He turns around when Derek comes back out of the bathroom, dressed in a royal
blue bathrobe and nothing else. He looks like some combination of Tarzan and
that guy who does the Dos Equis commercials. Stiles knows he probably looks
like a combination of Gumby and Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Yet another way his
life is not fair.
“There’s no phones. No computer either.”
“You’re kidding.”
Stiles motions sarcastically to the rest of the house. Derek performs his own
inspection, stops in the last room and says, “Well, crap.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Derek finds the front door and goes outside. Stiles trails him, and stops in
his tracks for the second time that evening.
There’s nothing outside the house. Literally nothing but dirt as far as the eye
can see.
“Shit.”
Derek turns to him, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “My thoughts exactly.”
Stiles glares at him and stomps back inside.
It’s then he almost falls over with exhaustion. The adrenaline’s wearing off,
finally, and not even his ADHD is enough to keep him going.
Derek sees him slump, darts a look at the loveseats, then asks, “Where are we
going to sleep?”
Stiles blinks, then realizes what he means. The loveseats aren’t long enough
for either of them to sleep on, and he’s seen for himself there’s only one bed.
“I guess one of us will have to sleep on the floor.” No way is he suggesting
they sleep in the same bed. That’s wrong for so many reasons.
Derek nods, finds some blankets in a closet and dumps them on the bedroom
floor, then tosses a pillow from the bed after it.
Stiles would protest his arrangement of the bedding, but he’s too tired.
Instead he falls onto it and just as quickly falls asleep.
***
The next day, Derek insists on going out “exploring.”
“Explore what?” Stiles demands, waving an arm at the empty landscape. “You can
see all the nothing from here!”
Derek ignores him and leaves Stiles alone in the creepily empty house, with
nothing to distract him from his ever-growing paranoia and worry about his dad.
Derek doesn’t get back until sunset. By then, Stiles has remade the bed on the
floor, spent time in the hot tub, investigated the fridge (mostly finger foods,
some bread and cheese and a lot of booze) and all the cabinets and drawers
(soup, chili and instant noodles in the kitchen, and he’s not even thinking
about what he found in the bottom dresser drawer in the bedroom) and almost
worn a hole in the floor with his pacing.
“Well?” he asks sarcastically as Derek enters, “Did you magically find a means
of escape?”
Derek just scowls at him and goes to rummage in the fridge. “There’s no meat,”
he complains.
Stiles rolls his eyes.
***
Derek doesn’t go out until early afternoon the next day, and then only because
glares and snarling didn’t stop Stiles’ litany of “So who do you think brought
us here?” and “Where do you think we are?” and “They must be worried about us.”
He thinks it’s that last that bugged him the most, but, fire or not, Derek does
have people who care about him. Isaac, Erica and Boyd are probably worried
about him, if only because they don’t know how to handle full moons yet.
He knows his dad is probably going crazy, and Scott too. It makes him feel
guilty–they both have enough to deal with with the giant lizard running around
killing people.
So when he gets back Stiles doesn’t comment.
***
By the third day, they’ve settled into a routine. They switch off between the
floor and the bed and at some point during the day Derek goes out, probably
more for something to do than because he expects to find something.
But Stiles has been thinking about this house. The hot tub and huge bathtub.
The finger foods and single bed. The lube, condoms and…other things he found in
the drawers. No one has communicated with them since they got here, but he
can’t help thinking that what they’re supposed to do is pretty clear.
When Derek returns in late afternoon Stiles decides to bring it up.
Not that he knows how to broach the subject. And because he’s who he is, he
ends up flat-out blurting it out.
“So I can’t help but notice there’s a certain…theme to this place,” he says
hesitantly.
Derek raises his eyebrow at him as if to say What the hell are you talking
about?
Which starts the babbling. “I mean, the huge bed and the hot tub and stuff, it
just seems like we’re supposed to…I mean it doesn’t seem like we’ll be getting
out of here any time soon…”
Now the eyebrow says Get on with it!
“Ithinkweshouldhavesex,” Stiles says in a rush, then wants to bang his head
against the wall.
And Derek stares at him. Not an “I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that” stare, or
even an “Are-you-crazy?!” stare, but an “I-understand-all-the-words-you-said-
but-it-still-makes-no-sense” stare.
He keeps staring until Stiles slinks off.
***
He figures that’s the end of that conversation, so to say he’s confused when
the bed dips in the middle of the night, waking him up, is an understatement.
And when Derek pulls his underwear down the confusion turns to shock.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What you suggested,” Derek says, like he doesn’t see why Stiles is freaking
out.
Just like that? Stiles thinks, his brain-to-mouth filter thankfully working for
once.
Of course, then Derek takes hold of his cock and any attempt at control flies
out the window.
Part of him is embarrassed at the noises he starts making, but the rest is too
busy going Ohmygod.
It doesn’t help that Stiles is…not exactly experienced in the sex department.
Most girls don’t want anything to do with a geeky spazz.
So it’s kind of pathetic, the way he reacts, arching up into Derek’s hand and
whimpering.
He can’t see in the dim light, but he just knows the bastard is smirking.
Stiles finally just closes his eyes and fists his hands in the bedding,
pressing his lips together to try to keep quiet. That doesn’t last long though;
he has to open his mouth or asphyxiate.
He doesn’t last long either–just a couple minutes before he’s gasping and
coming all over Derek’s hand.
It takes him a few moments to recover, but then he rolls over and returns the
favor.
And it’s not fair, since Derek doesn’t lose his composure at all. His breath
hitches a little, but that’s all.
It would be a huge blow to his ego, except when he comes Derek slams his head
into the pillow and groans out “Ohhh fuck!” low and long, and now Stiles is
going to have that replaying in his head. Shit.
But they’re still there. It didn’t work. Double shit.
“So, uh…” Stiles starts.
Derek just snorts and goes back to the floor.
***
Derek doesn’t go out the next day. Or rather, he starts to, but comes right
back in and drags Stiles outside.
There’s a road in front of the house. No cars on it, just a road stretching
from horizon to horizon.
“Well this is a big help,” Derek says sarcastically. He stays in the house that
day.
***
That night it’s Derek’s turn to take the bed, but he lies down, then bolts
upright again. “You take the bed,” he tells Stiles.
“What? I thought we were switching off? It’s your turn,” Stiles protests.
“You. Take. The bed,” Derek repeats, and okay, Stiles never argues with anyone
with fangs.
But he can’t sleep that night. He refrains from tossing and turning, because
Derek will hear, but he can’t help remembering last night. And it was a stupid
idea, it didn’t work, but now he’s obsessing, obsessing about how Derek sounded
when he came, the way he touched him, and this is not good, not good at all.
But sometime during the night it comes to him. It can’t be a coincidence that
the street appeared the day after they…well, he’s not sure what they did. But
that wasn’t sex, at least not technically, so maybe it wasn’t enough.
He huffs an exasperated breath at the ceiling and rolls over.
***
Derek shouldn’t have done it. He knows he shouldn’t have done it. Stiles is
just a kid and it was a stupid idea and exactly what the hell did he think he
was doing?
He’s on the floor, for the second night in a row, because as soon as he lay
down in the bed he was assaulted by the scents of sweat and come, Stiles’ sweat
and come, mingled with his own, and he can’t deal with that.
It must have been because he can’t do anything, stuck in this house for five
days now with no idea why they’re here or how to get out and his pack’s first
full moon only a couple weeks away.
It was desperation.
Nothing else.
***
He doesn’t want to bring up sex again–for several reasons–but it’s not likely
the road appearing was a coincidence, so what they did was obviously a step in
the right direction.
So he bites the bullet.
“It seems like we changed something when we…you know.”
So much for biting the bullet.
Derek gives him a long hard look, then nods.
“So maybe we should…go further?” Dammit, that wasn’t supposed to be a question!
Derek considers a moment, then says, “Blowjobs?”
Stiles coughs, then nods. “Yeah, OK.”
***
Stiles is nervous this time. He hadn’t had time to be, before, but this time he
knows what’s coming (no pun intended). Plus it’s a step up from last time.
Derek must be able to smell it on him, because he says, “Relax.”
“I haven’t exactly…done this before.” Stiles confesses.
Derek huffs a laugh. “I’d be surprised if you had. Don’t worry about it.”
“So who’s going first?” Stiles asks, sure he’s never had a more awkward
conversation in his life, including when he was four and had to tell his cousin
Emma he ate the last cookie, the one her mom promised her.
Derek shrugs, but then scoots down the bed and pulls Stiles’ briefs off. And,
OK, he thought he’d prepared himself for this, but Derek’s mouth is a very
different thing from Derek’s hand.
He tries to keep his hips still and can’t. Derek doesn’t seem to mind though,
riding out his motions, doing things with his tongue that Stiles isn’t sure are
physically possible.
His hands drop to tug at Derek’s hair and Derek growls warningly. Stiles gasps,
partly from fear and partly from the vibrations the growl causes, and fists his
hands in the sheets instead.
After a moment, though, he puts his hands back, more gently, and kind of cards
them through Derek’s hair. Derek growls again, but it’s softer and has a
pleased sound to it.
So Stiles ends up stroking the hair above Derek’s ears while he sucks him off,
which is beyond bizarre, but he’s too busy writhing and gasping to care.
When Derek pulls back suddenly and licks him, Stiles groans and comes, and he
probably pulls Derek’s hair again, he doesn’t know.
Derek pulls off, licks his lips, and, because he’s Derek, smirks.
Suddenly Stiles' nerves seize him again, as Derek eases down his boxers.
“Relax,” Derek says.”It’s not that different from going down on a girl.”
Which might be of some help if Stiles had, you know, actually done that before
either.
So he takes a deep breath and puts Derek’s cock in his mouth.
It’s weird. Not bad weird, more whoa-so-this-is-a-thing weird. He almost gags a
couple of times before he figures it out but then he starts breathing through
his nose and gets into a rhythm.
Derek hadn’t been very responsive before but he is being now. It might be that
Stiles is better at giving head than handjobs (which he frankly doubts), or
maybe Derek is being considerate of his nervousness (which he also doubts). But
Derek’s breath is hitching and he’s making these little whiny noises that are
totally out of character for him and it’s a pretty damn good boost to his ego.
And then Derek grabs hold of his shoulder and yanks him off and to the side
right before he comes.
They just lie there for awhile before Stiles ventures “So…was I any good?”
Derek’s eyes widen and he coughs, rolls his eyes, and, when Stiles glares at
him, sighs and says, “Yeah, you were fine.”
Derek gets up and Stiles assumes he’s going to go to the bed on the floor, even
though it’s not his turn, but he disappears and when he comes back his stomach
is clean.
So Stiles moves to get up, but Derek yanks him down with an arm around his
waist. He makes an undignified noise like “Eep!” or “Ack!” or something. Derek
pulls him up against him, says, “No point in switching off now,” and seems to
go immediately to sleep.
***
Derek wakes up in the middle of the night with an octopus clinging to him. He
opens his eyes and realizes that it’s Stiles, who’s turned over and glommed
onto him like one of those suction cup stuffed animals people put on their car
windows.
He tries to get loose, but Stiles makes a dissatisfied noise and clings
tighter, so he just rolls his eyes and endures it.
Not that it’s really that bad. Comparatively speaking that is. It’s better than
when he got shot in the arm, and better than getting attacked by his uncle. But
it’s not like he’s enjoying it.
Stiles’ smell is really strong like this, and Derek closes his eyes and
breathes it in, sweat and shampoo and nervous energy. He falls asleep with it
in his nose.
***
Their surroundings have changed again the next morning. There are houses
around, to either side and across the street. It’s strangely quiet, though.
“It’s Saturday, shouldn’t there be people around?” Stiles asks.
Derek shrugs. “Stay here.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, because he’s getting tired of the overprotectiveness.
Derek leaps the fence to the house next door and a moment later he’s on the
porch roof and opening an upstairs window.
“What is it with werewolves and their lack of a sense of privacy?” he mutters.
Does it have something to do with being raised in a pack? Or does it come along
with the lycanthropy: fangs, claws and a disregard for personal boundaries?
A few minutes later Derek’s back. “House is empty.”
“Couldn’t you just have, I don’t know, knocked on the door?”
“They might have been hostile,” Derek replies, and Stiles gives up.
Apparently all the houses are empty, as they find after checking them. This
just gets weirder and weirder.
***
Derek’s surprised–and kinda worried–how quickly he gets used to sleeping next
to Stiles. He hasn’t had much human contact–well, positive human contact–since
his family died, and it’s only now that he realizes he’s missed it.
He always makes sure that he’s out of bed before Stiles wakes up, registering
the change in his pulse and respiration, since this is already awkward enough.
One night, when he’s sure Stiles is deeply asleep, he buries his head in the
crook of Stiles’ shoulder, where his scent is stronger, and inhales. Stiles
stirs and Derek freezes, but after a minute he starts breathing evenly again
and Derek relaxes.
He waits a few minutes and then dares to press a kiss to Stiles’ neck.
He smiles in his sleep, and Derek almost smiles too, but then he breathes
Lydia.
Derek’s reaction is as instinctive as it is unfortunate. He jerks back,
violently, shoving Stiles away from him.
So they both end up on the floor.
“Dude, what the hell is your problem?!” Stiles demands as he picks himself up.
“Nothing!” Derek snarls.
“Yeah whatever, come back to bed.”
Derek doesn’t. He picks up the discarded pile of bedding on the floor and heads
for the living room, ignoring Stiles’ continued questions.
***
Derek’s gone when Stiles gets out of the bedroom. To say he’s confused is an
understatement. Things had been going well, especially considering that they
were stuck here, but then Derek suddenly shut down on him.
He sighs and goes back to bed. It feels colder than usual.
When Derek’s not back when he gets up the next morning, he really starts to
worry.
***
Derek intended to sleep in the living room, but his wolf was restless, so he
ended up wandering around the empty houses all night, Stiles’ whisper of Lydia
echoing in his head. He knew Stiles had a crush on her, it shouldn’t be
affecting him like this. It’s not like any of this would even be happening if
they weren’t stuck in this bizarre situation.
At dawn he climbs in a window and falls asleep in an empty bed.
***
Derek doesn’t get back until sunset.
“Are you–?”
“I’m fine!” Derek snaps and Stiles doesn’t say anything else.
When he heads for bed Derek doesn’t follow him.
***
Derek starts wandering around the neighborhood again. Since he’s out so much he
notices it changing. First the fences and windows disappear, then the doors and
the sidewalks leading up to them. After that the houses themselves vanish,
leaving just the sidewalk and the street, then just the dirt they started with.
He doesn’t care, except with the houses gone it leaves him less to explore and
less excuse to stay out.
***
He’s dreaming. He doesn’t know how he knows it–it might have something to do
with Lydia sitting on the next loveseat over.
“Well, you’ve made a mess of this, haven’t you?”
“Hey, I’ve been doing my best!” Arguing with himself. That’s healthy, right?
Lydia rolls her eyes. “You have everything you need to figure it out.”
“What, what’s wrong with Derek?” he blurts without thinking.
“And how to get out of here. You figured it out weeks ago, so why are you still
here?”
“I–wait, what?”
But she just snorts and disappears. Great. She’s a superior bitch even in his
dreams.
***
When he wakes up though, he starts thinking. He’s always had a crush on Lydia,
and if he had one dream about her he could have had more than one.
Scott’s complained to him that he talks in his sleep, and God knows what he
might have said…if he did it would certainly explain Derek’s reaction…and if he
didn’t, well…they need to make up anyway.
Derek’s asleep on the floor, and if he’d thought about it, maybe he’d have
realized it’s not the smartest idea to sneak up on a paranoid werewolf, but
he’s focused on fixing this.
So he hauls Derek up and kisses him.
And Derek throws him across the room.
Again.
Only this time he hits the edge of a coffee table.
“OW, fu-uck!”
Before he can move, Derek’s next to him. “Shit, sorry, are you OK?”
Stiles glares at him. “That would be a ‘no.’”
“Can you move your fingers?”
“Uh, yeah, I didn’t hit them.”
“Shut up, I’m trying to see if there’s any spinal damage. How about your toes?”
After about five minutes of moving various parts of his body, Derek finally
lets him sit up.
“Take off your shirt.”
“Dude, what?”
“Take. Off. Your. Shirt. Or I’ll do it for you.”
Stiles gulps at that, ignoring the flare of arousal, and takes off his shirt.
Derek runs his hands over his back and Stiles bites his lip to keep from
whimpering. From, you know, the pain.
“You’re gonna have a huge bruise, but you’re fine,” Derek says, getting up and
hauling him to his feet.
Ow! Yeah, sure, fine.
***
Derek never brings up the kiss, which is weird, but on the other hand things
are back to…well, not normal. Nothing about his life in the past six months can
be called “normal,” least of all this.
But Derek’s sleeping in the same room as him, not using the bed because “Your
back’s fucked up, you need it,” never mind that he’d certified him “fine” a few
days ago, and never mind that the bed’s more than big enough for both of them.
Still, he supposes that’s something.
When he can move without gritting his teeth, though, it gets annoying, so one
night he hauls Derek down into bed with him, and he actually goes, which Stiles
guesses means he doesn’t mind.
***
When Stiles wakes up, he’s wrapped around Derek.
And he’s hard.
So of course he scrambles away, and of course Derek wakes up.
He must smell it on him or something, because he smirks, then sighs. “Relax.
You got some morning wood, it’s not a big thing.”
“Is that a sizeist comment?”
Derek snorts. “No. Calm down, it’ll go away.”
He hesitates, uncharacteristically, then adds, “Unless you don’t want it to.”
Stiles may have done a fish-impression, because what?
“Or I could help you make it go away.” This said with a smirk, but still with
that odd vulnerability underneath it.
“If–” Stiles’ voice cracks, and he coughs, swallows. “If you want to.”
The smirk is a full-on predatory grin now. “Oh, I want to.”
But then Derek kisses him, and, dude, he didn’t get to appreciate it before,
what with the whole flying-into-a-coffee-table thing, but he’s an awesome
kisser. Like, awesome.
Stiles moans into his mouth and kisses him back, grabbing Derek’s shoulders and
pulling him closer.
Derek’s hands go down to grab his ass and Stiles breaks the kiss to squeak.
Derek chuckles, low and dirty, and buries his face in Stiles’ shoulder, taking
a deep breath.
“Oh, that is not fair,” Stiles complains as he goes into a full-body shiver.
“You smell good,” Derek mumbles into his shoulder, then licks him, and hello,
new kink.
Stiles dares to sneak his hands around Derek’s waist, suddenly bashful despite
what they’ve done before. This is different.
Derek makes an approving noise and dips his fingers into Stiles’ ass-crack.
Stiles flinches away and ends up grinding up against Derek, who groans.
And he could deal with that, could totally just do this until they end up
getting off, but he wants more.
So when Derek grabs his ass again he doesn’t flinch away.
And when he runs a finger across him he gasps and pushes back.
“What do you want?” He’s thankful to hear that Derek’s breathless.
“Fuck me.”
Derek closes his eyes and breathes in sharp through his nose, then asks, “You
sure?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, grinding into him for emphasis. “Yeah, I’m sure!”
“You ever done this before?”
Stiles hesitates. “No. Like, not ever.”
Derek actually looks surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, blushing. He’s only sixteen, it’s not that unusual, is
it?
But then Derek’s eyes flash red and he’s giving him a bruising kiss, so maybe
being a virgin isn’t such a bad thing.
He pulls away after a few moments, and when Stiles clutches at him he chuckles
and says, “Just a sec.”
Apparently Derek found the condoms and lube in the dresser at some point, since
he opens the bottom drawer and grabs them, then comes back to bed.
“Relax,” he says, like that’s even physically possible with Derek Hale looming
over you and pouring lube into his hand.
He doesn’t push into him right away like Stiles expected, just circles a finger
around until Stiles is wriggling in sexual frustration.
“OhmyGod, just do it already!”
Derek smirks, adds more lube and slides his finger in up to the second knuckle.
Stiles groans, pulls away, shifts forward, then just sits there and pants.
Derek waits a second, pulls out, adds more lube and pushes his finger in all
the way.
Stiles makes a sound like, “Nngh,” or “Gnnuh,” prompting Derek to ask, “You
OK?”
“Fine, God, can’t you tell I’m OK?”
“Just making sure.”
Derek crooks his finger a couple of times, making Stiles twitch, then he hits
something that makes him go “aaaah!”
Derek grins again, and Stiles is really glad that he’s so sour normally,
because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see that expression again
without getting turned on.
Two fingers is more uncomfortable, but Derek takes his time (Stiles is
surprised he’s being so patient) and when he makes a small noise he licks
behind his ear and whispers “Relax,” then starts rubbing over that spot until
Stiles figures he’s about to lose it.
And then Derek bites his earlobe gently and he does, arching his back and
coming all over Derek’s hand and arm.
As soon as he’s finished the babbling kicks in. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean–”
Derek pulls his fingers out and kisses him softly. “It’s OK.
“You still want me to fuck you?”
Stiles closes his eyes at the words, and if he hadn’t just come that’d get him
hard again. “Yeah.”
“OK.”
By the time Derek has stretched him enough to actually do it (and Stiles feels
a brief stab of terror at the thought) he’s hard again.
The good thing about being with a werewolf is he doesn’t have to tell him if it
hurts. He’s not sure if Derek’s reading pheromones or pulse or muscle tension
or something else completely, but every time it’s too much he stops before
Stiles even opens his mouth, sucking and licking at his neck until he relaxes.
When he’s flush against Stiles and they’re breathing the same air though, he
asks again “You OK?”
Stiles breathes deep, smelling Derek’s sweat. “Yeah, I’m…just give me a sec.”
Derek nods and waits until Stiles runs his fingers over his back before pulling
out and slowly thrusting in again.
It’s good, more than good, but he doesn’t need to see Derek’s lip between his
teeth to know he’s holding back.
“Harder.”
Derek stops mid-thrust. “You sure?”
“Yes, dammit, I’ll tell you if it’s too much!”
So Derek starts fucking him harder, and Stiles can tell he’s still holding
back, but his eyes are closed and little spasms are twitching across his face.
Then Derek hits that spot again and Stiles closes his own eyes, scratching over
Derek’s back, which makes him growl and thrust in even harder.
And Stiles comes again, splattering all over Derek’s stomach.
Derek’s eyes go red again and he growls louder, biting at Stiles’ shoulder, and
he can’t even care because Derek’s coming inside him.
Derek doesn’t fall on top of him, thankfully, since he doesn’t want his epitaph
to read “Squashed by a Werewolf,” but he does pull out of him, which sucks.
The endorphins are wearing off now and his shoulder is starting to hurt. He
pokes at it frantically, but Derek didn’t break the skin, so he relaxes. Some.
“Dude. What the fuck?"
Derek opens his eyes, looks at his shoulder, shrugs and says simply, “Mine!”
And Stiles realizes he’s cool with that.
***
Stiles wakes up when Derek moves away from him.
“What?” he mumbles into his pillow.
“Traffic.”
“Oh,” Stiles says and rolls over.
Derek shakes him. “Stiles. There’s traffic outside. Which means people.”
That wakes him up. “You sure?”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Werewolf, remember? Enhanced hearing.”
Stiles scrambles out of bed and gets dressed.
When they go outside, sure enough, there’s traffic on the road, and a few
people walking by.
“Hey, I think I recognize this street,” Stiles says.
Derek gives him a Look. “You couldn’t have told me that a week ago?”
“It looked different with no people!” Stiles says defensively. “It’s only a
couple miles from Beacon Hills High.”
***
“Hi, ma’am,” Stiles says a half-hour later after he’s come up with a story to
tell his dad. “My car broke down, can I use your phone?”
The elderly lady at the door smiles at him. “Why, of course you can!” she says
and lets him in, as Stiles thanks his luck that he got a nice old lady and
someone not likely to ask about cell phones.
He comes out after the extremely long phone call to find Derek waiting for him.
Stiles fidgets, then finally says, “So, uh…we gonna just go back to you shoving
me into walls now?”
Derek snorts and runs a hand over his shoulder. “I said you were mine and I
meant it.”
Stiles grins.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
