
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8813944.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Fluff_and_Smut, Sexual_Humor, Not_compliant_with_anything_canon_anymore,
      sterek
  Series:
      Part 2 of Stiles_And_Derek_Do_The_Thing
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-11 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 7451
****** The Switch ******
by DandyboyDaniel
Summary
     There was a spot behind Stiles’ knee that worked like an on-switch.
     When Derek would stroke it gently, kiss it, or even so much as
     breathe hard on it, Stiles would go all boneless. Now that Derek and
     Stiles had progressed to an actual relationship, however secret and
     somewhat undefined that relationship was, Derek had been free to
     explore that once mythical magic button behind Stiles’ knees. Stiles
     and Derek had fondly termed that dip behind the knee, The Switch.
     Sequel to "The Message".
Notes
     I began writing this at least 3 years ago, soon after writing The
     Message. I thought I could never do better than The Message, so I had
     let The Switch just fall to the wayside. Finally posted it, 3 years
     later.
     It should be noted that this had been written after watching only 2
     seasons of Teen Wolf. I haven't watched much beyond season 4.
     Special thanks to A, always my Sterek-loving buddy and good friend.
     You know who you are.
  This work was inspired by
      The_Message by DandyboyDaniel
***** Prologue and Chapter 1 *****
There was a spot behind Stiles’ knee that worked like an on-switch. When Derek
would stroke it gently, kiss it, or even so much as breathe hard on it, Stiles
would go all boneless. Well, boneless, except for his boner.
 
Derek had known about Stiles’ behind-the-knee thing since the days when sexting
was all they would allow themselves to do. Back then, it had been something
Derek would obsess over – every hint of knee that Stiles had shown would make
Derek wonder what would happen if he dared to reach out and touch that secret
place.
 
Now that Derek and Stiles had progressed to an actual relationship, however
secret and somewhat undefined that relationship was, Derek had been free to
explore that once mythical magic button behind Stiles’ knees.
 
Stimulating that spot had become such an easy way to completely unravel Stiles,
who was already rather easy to undo, that Derek wondered if Stiles’ reaction to
being touched behind the knees had evolved into a conditioned response. Just
like Pavlov’s dogs had salivated from the sound of a ringing bell which they’d
learned to associate with the presentation of food, so had Stiles’ body learned
that a touch behind the knee meant that orgasm was imminent. But instead of
salivating, though Stiles had probably done a lot of that anyway in the course
of making out with Derek, Stiles’ cock would get hard and his muscles would
relax in anticipation.
 
Stiles and Derek had fondly termed that dip behind the knee, The Switch.
 
                           -1: The Popliteal Fossa-
 
“I wonder if my knee thing is a fetish with a weird name, like Acrotomophilia,”
Stiles pondered, still somewhat breathless, “which, by the way, is a sexual
fixation on amputees.” He quickly added, as if to absolve himself of any sin,
“Don’t ask me how I know that.”
 
Derek pierced Stiles with an expression that was devoid of all amusement.
 
Rather than give pause, Stiles continued, because it would take so much more
than a look to shut him up nowadays. He rationalized, “It’s got to be, right? I
mean, if intercrural sex is a thing, then behind-the-knee sex must also be a
thing.”
 
Of course, Stiles had been wondering about this at the most inopportune time.
He and Derek were lying naked in bed, recovering from some truly mind-blowing
orgasms that had been detonated by mutual masturbation and some behind-the-knee
petting. Stiles’ head was resting on Derek’s heaving chest, cradled under
Derek’s arm. Derek was content to stay in this position, but knowing Stiles,
the guy just had to know right fucking now.
 
“Let me just… I’ll only be a few…” Stiles weakly attempted to sit up, uselessly
attempting to break free from Derek’s death-grip-cuddle to get to the laptop on
the desk.
 
“God,” Derek huffed exasperatedly, “don’t you ever stop? At least let the spunk
cool before you get up.”
 
“If you don’t let me go, I’ll tell everybody that Derek Sourwolf Hale likes to
snuggle,” Stiles threatened.
 
Derek was unfazed, but relented because this was Stiles – hisStiles - and he
couldn’t help but give the kid anything he wanted. He heaved a resigned sigh
and reached for his iPhone on the bedside table.
 
“Here, use this.” He handed the device to Stiles.
 
Stiles let out a small, pleased gasp like a child who had been given a
lollypop. “Ooh can I use Siri?” he asked.
 
Derek sighed again, wearily, rolling his eyes, “Yes, Stiles.”
 
Stiles poised the phone near his mouth and said, “Hey Siri,” with the
inquisitive cadence of someone having a conversation with a real person. The
mobile device chimed pleasantly, signaling that it was ready for voice
commands. “What is it called when people get off on having the back of their
knee touched?”
 
The phone chimed again and processed Stiles’ words. It returned with a stiff,
emotionless, computerized woman’s voice, “I’m sorry. Derek. I’m not quite sure
what you mean.”
 
“Too many words,” Derek reprimanded.
 
“So I’ve been told many times before.” Stiles tried again, clearing his throat
first, and over-annunciated, “What is the name for a behind-the-knee fetish?”
 
“Let me check on that... Maps cannot find the neighborhood Blind Burmese
Catfish. Would you like me to search the Web for the neighborhood Blind Burmese
Catfish?”
 
Stiles seemed entirely too amused by this as he shook with laughter in Derek’s
arms. Derek snatched his phone back and spoke succinctly into it, “Search Web.
Knee Fetish.” He shoved the phone towards Stiles after Safari opened with a
list of websites about fetishism.
 
Stiles found that a knee fetish was an actual thing, but no name seemed to have
existed for it. It could be filed under Partialism, which was sexual arousal by
specific non-genital body parts. Wikipedia also revealed that the medical term
for that part of the body was the popliteal fossa.
 
Stiles repeated the words popliteal fossaseveral times, each with a different
pronunciation, trying them on for size.
 
Derek wanted to drop-kick Stiles in the popliteal fossa right about then and
had begun to think that the more Stiles talked about it in an academic way, the
less Derek would’ve been inclined to indulge Stiles’ fetish ever again.
 
But doing that would have killed Derek’s sex-high even further and he was
already barely hanging on to those wispy threads of afterglow.   “Alright, you
found your answer. Now put the phone down and go to sleep,” Derek commanded
gruffly.
 
“Wait, one more thing,” said Stiles, unwilling to relinquish the phone just
yet. “Siri, Search Web. Neighborhood Blind Burmese Catfish.”
 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
                    -2: Having an Affair with the Milkman-
 
On the night that Derek made Stiles come solely by stimulating The Switch, all
the other firsts that had occurred were completely overshadowed by this one
strange but wonderful act.
 
At that point in their sexual exploration, Stiles was still a virgin in the
sense that he’d never had full-on sex. It was ridiculous to call Stiles a
virgin though, since he and Derek had done so much to each other short of
penetration over the last two months. So many dirty, delicious, devious things.
 
Stiles had preferred to make out in his own house while his dad was at work
rather than doing it at Derek’s house. At Derek’s, there had always seemed to
be at least one other werewolf present with superhuman senses who could have
unwittingly heard their shenanigans. Derek didn’t often agree, since the
thought of getting caught screwing around with the underage son of Beacon
County’s sheriff by Sheriff Stilinski himself was apparently much more of a
turnoff.
 
But that night, Stiles had convinced Derek to come over by telling him that his
dad had never, in his long career history, come home early unexpectedly from
his overnight shift at the station. Stiles would not have been so well versed
in masturbation and online porn had his dad ever done otherwise. Derek had even
agreed to spend the night and Stiles hadn’t known if it’d been a testament to
Derek’s trust in him, or to the fact that Stiles’ masturbatory expertise was so
damn obvious. It had likely been the latter.
 
Stiles was fresh from the shower, wrapped in a towel from the waist down, when
Derek arrived at his house, knocking on the back door. Stiles inwardly swore at
Derek’s punctuality and flit between his drawers and the door of his room
several times, wavering on whether to let Derek in first or to put on clothes.
 
The knocking on the aluminum screen covering the back door became insistent. So
Stiles decided to forego the clothes and rush downstairs, cursing at the cold
tile of the kitchen floor as he tiptoed swiftly to the back door.
 
“Back door, huh? Way to make me feel like a housewife in the 1950’s having an
affair with the milk man,” Stiles jibed.
 
Derek didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. He just stared intently into Stiles’
eyes, letting his glance fall once to glimpse Stiles’ state of undress. “Your
dad still not home?” Derek asked.
 
“Nope,” Stiles replied, letting the end of the word pop with his lips. “Won’t
be until seven AM.”
 
“Good,” said Derek, never altering his completely unaffected expression.
 
Before Stiles could step aside to let Derek in, Derek’s body hit Stiles’ like a
charging quarterback, lifting him off his feet as their lips collide. The towel
dropped upon impact. Stiles hooked his arms and legs around Derek, who was
already doing a sufficient job of carrying a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound
teenage boy by his bare ass. And, oh my god, had it been a fan-fucking-tastic
idea to answer the door in nothing but a towel.
 
As Derek hauled Stiles up to his room, Stiles was amazed at Derek’s agility as
he navigated through the house and up the stairs while never letting their lips
part except for the occasional desperate gasp for air. Derek deposited Stiles a
bit too carelessly on his bed and Stiles had to bite back a pained groan when
he landed on his wrist in an awkward way. Derek didn’t miss anything, though.
 
“You okay? Did I hurt you?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned.
 
Stiles forced a smile, not wanting to stop the momentum. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just,
uhm, take your clothes off, okay? I feel too naked. Not that you being naked
would make me less, uh…” Stiles paused to ogle Derek’s muscles rippling as he
wrenched off his t-shirt, “…naked.”
 
No matter how many times Stiles had seen Derek’s unclothed body in all its
firm, glistening glory, he always stopped to marvel at it, to relish the fact
that Derek was naked for him to touch and to kiss and to explore.
 
Stiles moaned in appreciation as Derek’s ten-and-a-half inch dick sprang forth
from the confines of deliciously too-tight clothing when his jeans and boxer-
briefs finally came off.
 
“God, that’s a lot of cock,” Stiles breathed out, both reverently and panicked
as his eyes gravitated away from Derek’s other beautiful body parts, down to
his gorgeous erection. He hadn’t been sure how far they would go that night,
but doing anything to Derek’s monster cock had always been a feat, a feat he’d
still been learning to deal with.
 
Derek dropped to the bed on his knees to straddle Stiles at the waist and to
rub the length of his thick cock with his palm. He purred, as if the dirty
picture he made above Stiles wasn’t hot enough to melt metal, “I’ve been hard
all day thinking about this… About you.”
 
It was still all so unbelievable that Derek Hale wanted him. Stiles still
thought that he would blink one day and Derek would disappear, having been a
figment of his over-active teenage imagination. So he had always made a point
of never closing his eyes when he could help it. Right then, Stiles could
definitely help it. Watching Derek was like watching porn. It hadn’t fully
registered in his brain that he was slowly stroking his own cock until Derek
snapped him out of his reverie.
 
“Yeah, touch your dick,” Derek whispered breathily, hot, and filthy, “Shit, if
you could only see yourself. So fucking beautiful.”
 
Only Derek could induce Stiles’ full-body blush. “Oh my god, stop looking at me
like that,” Stiles groaned, feeling everything going warm up to the tips of his
ears. He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, as if it
would really hide the pink flush spreading over every vascular surface of skin.
He would bet that even his ass cheeks were blushing.
 
Derek bent down over Stiles, not quite letting their bodies touch. Stiles felt
Derek’s warm breath behind his ear. “Looking at you like what?”
 
Stiles mumbled into the pillow, “Like you want to eat me.”
 
Derek was swiftly upon him and suddenly Stiles was completely enveloped in hot
skin and tight muscle and warm breath. He could feel the length of Derek’s cock
pressed against his inner thigh, and his instinct was to tense-up all over to
keep out the monster. Never mind that Stiles was actually okay with letting in
the monster. It was probably too soon in their relationship for that.
 
Stiles gripped his pillow and twisted his neck to look over his shoulder and
quirk a brow at Derek. “Shit, are you going to eat me now?” he teased.
 
“If you want me to,” Derek answered before licking between Stiles’ shoulder
blades, causing Stiles to shudder with pleasure.
 
“I didn’t mean…nnyuh,” Stiles began to attempt an explanation, but became
distracted by Derek’s mouth making a wet trail of biting kisses down his spine,
forcing out moans that punctuated his words. “I wasn’t asking you to, uhm… do
that. I was just kidding, but… fuck, Derek… but if you’re thinking about… oh,
shit…what I’m thinking about, you can totally… oh fuck, yes.”
 
There was no need for Stiles to clear up the inadvertent innuendo because he
was fucking loving the way Derek was interpreting it. Stiles didn’t have time
to feel self-conscious about this first foray into rimming because it was
happening. It was really happening right fucking now, and Stiles couldn’t help
but reach back and grab at his ass cheeks as Derek’s tongue lapped teasingly at
the furrow of his ass.
 
“You filthy little thing. Yeah, spread yourself open for me,” Derek encouraged
with a low, sultry voice. Stiles loved when Derek spoke to him like this – all
dirty and commanding, as if they were starring in some bad porn. But it wasn’t
necessarily a bad thing. Bad porn was still fucking awesome even when there was
cheesy dialogue. And Stiles had always known that he really liked the filthy
dialogue he shared with Derek, as cheesy as it may have been.
 
Stiles could feel the wet, warm, fleshy tip of Derek’s tongue swirling and
proding at his puckered entrance. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before,
a sensation he had never been able to achieve while masturbating, even with a
lubed-up finger. Though it felt absolutely divine, Stiles’ body was still rigid
with instinctive apprehension. Anything new had made his body taut, so strong
was Stiles’ anxiety over not screwing up and potentially embarrassing himself
in front of the hottest guy he could ever hope to have.
 
Derek likely sensed Stiles’ tension, as confirmed by his words of reassurance
and a hand caressing along the curve of Stiles’ back, “Try to relax, Stiles. No
pressure. I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
 
Stiles responded weakly, in an almost desperate whimper, “I’m sorry. I can’t
help it. I really like it, though. Like… really, really like it.”
 
“Okay, well, let me loosen you up,” Derek suggested tenderly as his wet lips
migrated from the swell of Stiles’ ass to the back of his thigh, all the way
down to…
 
“Holy hell dear mother of god!” Stiles cried out, voice cracking
embarrassingly, as Derek licked behind his right knee.
 
The Switch was flipped.
 
White sparks flashed behind Stiles’ heavy eyelids and he fleetingly wondered
why he hadn’t let Derek try this before. All the tension immediately left
Stiles’ body and mind. Derek continued to swathe the back of Stiles’ knees with
his tongue, alternating between the left and right knee after blessing each
with due attention. Derek turned Stiles into a fleshy mass of stimulated nerve
endings with very little, if any, cognitive function. Like a jellyfish. An
over-sexed jellyfish. Stiles fleetingly wondered if jellyfish even had sex. He
rut against the bed, desperate for friction, as his spot was lavished with slow
swipes and quick jabs of Derek’s talented tongue. Even Derek’s hot breath on
the delicate skin drove Stiles crazy.
 
Soon Stiles was saying barely coherent things, like don’t stop and moreand
please, though the words sound more like the bleating of a goat than human
speech. His body started to go rigid again, this time with mounting pleasure
and impending release.
 
He moaned, urging with anxious desperation, “Your cock, Derek, give me your
cock.”
 
Derek halted abruptly, clearly shocked and not willing to comply. “But you’re
not even prepared for it.”
 
Stiles vaguely realized that Derek thought he wanted to fuck.   Stiles, too far
gone to clarify and reduced to cave-man language, demanded, “Dick. On the spot.
Fuck my switch.”
 
It sounded so ludicrous while simultaneously deliciously dirty – fuck my
switch. At another time and another place, they would have laughed – a time and
place in which they weren’t so wrapped up in the kind of filthy, hardcore
passion that Stiles had thought was only faked for porn.
 
Derek hesitantly shifted his position, trying to figure out exactly how to do
the awkward thing that Stiles wanted.
 
“God, fuck, just do it,” Stiles pleaded agonizingly, literally so turned on
that it hurt to be this aroused and this desperate to come. The back of Stiles’
right knee was still slick with Derek’s saliva when Derek’s cock slipped
awkwardly into the dip. Derek, thankfully very nimble, managed to grind his
dick against the spot as Stiles simultaneously fucked the mattress like the
anxious teenager that he was. And though it was so very awkward, it felt so un-
fucking-believably good.
 
Overwhelmed by the complete and utter filthiness of what he and Derek were
doing, drunk on the fact that this was actually something Derek had never done
before with anyone but him, Stiles buried his face into the pillow and swore
incoherently. The sensation of Derek’s cock against the wet crook of his knee
was akin to being tickled to the point of having to piss himself – it was too
much of a good thing.
 
But it was not Stiles’ bladder that had given in to the pressure of too much
stimulation. Stiles felt a sudden tightness in his abdomen and a surge of
warmth in his groin before coming hard, his whole body twitching with each
spasm of his cock. He grunted inelegantly through his orgasm as the world went
too-bright-white before his eyes and as all sound became a muffled ringing in
his ears.
 
When the world started to come into focus again, Stiles rolled over to check
that he hasn’t completely freaked out Derek before collapsing onto the bed. He
gazed up at Derek with a stupid, sated smile on his face. Derek returned the
grin, looking all too pleased with himself.
 
“Did you seriously come? Just from my cock touching your switch?” Derek asked,
much too amused for Stiles’ liking.
 
Of course Derek knew Stiles had come. Stiles knew Derek had detected it in his
racing heartbeat and had smelled it as his semen had shot out of his dick and
ruined the duvet.
 
“Shut up,” Stiles managed weakly with a bashful grin.
 
“You didn’t even have to touch yourself,” Derek pointed out, incredulous.
 
Stiles rolled his eyes, being flippant to hide his utter humiliation. “Yeah,
yeah. Whatever.”
 
“Do you know what this means?” Derek asked with a glimmer of mischief and
dangerous delight shining in his eyes.
 
Stiles knew what Derek was thinking - that a whole new kinky world had just
opened up for them.
***** Chapter 3 *****
                             -3:Virgin Sacrifice-
                                        
“Only you would sprain your arm having sex,” Derek mused as Stiles rubbed his
afflicted wrist.
 
Stiles’ bottom lip turned down in a slight pout. “Shut up. We weren’t having
sex,” he insisted, “And you threw me on the bed.”
 
Derek corrected him calmly, “I didn’t throw you. I dropped you. Believe me, if
I threw you, you’d have more than a sprained wrist.” He carefully took Stiles’
wrist in his broad hand. “Let me see it.” He brought the underside of Stiles’
wrist to his lips, kissed it, and felt a surge of heat and blood through
Stiles’ pulse point.
 
“You’re going to kiss it and make it better?” Stiles teased.
 
“Shut up,” Derek muttered. He closed his eyes and sniffed Stiles’ wrists to
take his scent deeply into his nostrils, diagnostically identifying every
nuance of the way the boy smelled. He smelled most conspicuously of semen,
having just come profusely, and also of sweat and soap. There was a faint odor
of blood cells and physiological chemicals that indicated Stiles’ body was
healing – not in the supernatural way, but in the way that the average human
does when it is hurt.   “Nothing’s broken,” Derek determined. “You just injured
a tendon or a ligament or something. No fractured bones. You’ll be fine.”
 
Stiles’ brow furrowed skeptically. “Thank you, Doctor Hale. You can tell just
from smelling me?”
 
Derek shrugged. “If you don’t believe me, you can go to the ER and tell them
you think you broke your wrist trying to have sex with your boyfriend. They can
X-ray it for you. Or, you can avoid embarrassment and trust me that you just
pulled a muscle.”
 
The two of them examined Stiles’ wrist, still in Derek’s hand. Derek gently
caressed it with his thumb and willed his body to absorb Stiles’ pain. Then
Derek felt it. He felt the dull ache seeping into his veins and absorbing into
his nerves before it dissipated and vanished. Stiles still had not known that
Derek could do this. He was going to tell him one day. For now, Derek was happy
to take the sting out of everyday bumps and bruises while Stiles was none the
wiser and unable to stubbornly refuse.
 
Stiles smiled softly as Derek massaged his wrist gently. “Feels better,” he
admitted with a quiet sigh. “You’ve got the magic touch or something.”
 
Derek shrugged. He was content to enjoy the tender moment without needing to
take credit for it. Moments like these had once been rare, when being intimate
meant kissing hard and dry humping until they were bruised. Their attraction
had been so volatile that Derek and Stiles hadn’t known how to be gentle with
each other back then.
 
Stiles muttered, “Boyfriend, huh?” The kid missed nothing and let nothing
slide.
 
Derek could have done the silent shrugging thing again, but he knew Stiles
would never let it rest. The word had just slipped out. They’d never explicitly
called each other boyfriend. If circumstances had been a bit more favorable, if
Stiles had been eighteen and not the son of a sheriff, and if Derek hadn’t once
been a murder suspect, they’d likely have little problem regarding one another
as boyfriends. But the reality of it was that their relationship was so secret
and so illegal that their closest friends weren’t even allowed to acknowledge
it. There had been awkward conversations about it. Scott had been furious at
first. Derek’s pack had accepted it, but didn’t like it. It was just there. The
elephant in the room that nobody wanted to talk about.
 
“Saying my lover sounds so dirty. Saying partner sounds like we’re married,”
Derek tried to explain, feeling an odd sense of deja vu.
 
“Yeah, and we can’t call each other fuck buddies because you won’t fuck me,
so,” Stiles pointed out, not trying very hard to veil his bitterness.
 
Derek’s brow creased. “What makes you think I won’t fuck you?”
 
Had Stiles really not been paying attention? Was he that self-deprecating that
he couldn’t tell that Derek wanted him? Maybe Derek was just too proficient at
hiding just how much he wanted Stiles. Because the way that Derek wanted him
was frightening. It was a deep, dark, carnal desire that came from his human
soul, and a vicious, hungry lust that came from his wolf.
 
Stiles sighed and leaned back on the headboard of his bed, pulling the sheets
over his still-naked body. “Every time I bring it up, you change the subject.
When we’re making out and I tell you I want it, you make an excuse for why we
can’t. I get it. You don’t want to have full-on sex with a sixteen-year-old…
Which is kind of ridiculous, because your dick has already been on so many
places around my body. Hell, parts of your body have been inside parts of my
body. If I were on a pagan altar as a virgin sacrifice, the gods would be like,
seriously? Are you freaking kidding?”
 
Derek pursed his lips and exhaled slowly through his nose. He reclined on his
side next to Stiles on the narrow bed, propped up on an elbow. “It would be
selfish and irresponsible if I let you do something you’ll very likely regret.”
 
“You can’t make that decision for me. You don’t know what I’ll regret.” Stiles
was becoming defensive and argumentative, and Derek didn’t know how to do
anything but exacerbate it.
 
Derek tried his best not to sound patronizing or condescending with his
response. “I hate to pull the age card, but, I’m older, I’ve been through a lot
more, and I just know you’ll regret it. I regret all the sex I had as a
teenager. I regret losing my virginity to the people I lost it to. It would be
cruel, knowing what I know, to let you make those same mistakes.”
 
“I understand that,” said Stiles, not sounding very empathetic, “Kate and
Martin – those were some bad decisions that had some really shitty
consequences. But what the Hell do we have to lose here, huh? You’re not going
to jail for fucking me. We already talked about this extensively. I’m not
saving myself for marriage, waiting for The One, or any of that fairy tale
bullshit. I want to have sex with you. You’re not taking advantage of me. And
sex is what boyfriends do. Boyfriends have sex, Derek. It’s not a big deal.”
 
“But it should be, Stiles,” Derek argued firmly, “It’s your first, and it
should be a big deal. You’re worth more than throwing your virginity at the
first guy that’s attracted to you.”
 
Stiles fell silent and seemed to contemplate that fact. He lowered himself to
meet Derek face-to-face. His expression softened and the argumentative edge to
his voice began to disappear. “I could go to that lame gay club and probably
find somebody who’s attracted to me enough to have sex with me. I’d probably
have to lower my standards, but I could probably get laid. If it were just
about getting laid, shit, I wouldn’t be a virgin anymore. But it’s not just
about getting laid. It’s about being in love and wanting to give you
everything.”
 
The look of adoration in Stiles’ eyes could have swallowed up Derek.
 
They didn’t often talk about love. Hell, Derek never talked about it. But right
then, Derek knew that Stiles was sincere and that it was real for him. Derek
felt a swooping sensation in his chest, like somebody had sucked his heart out
through his mouth. He felt his stomach flip like he had just dropped twenty
stories too fast in an elevator. God, the things a spastic sixteen-year-old kid
could do to him. It was embarrassing.
 
Nothing else mattered except the two of them. But Derek wouldn’t admit it. He
would never say it. For if the words ever left his mouth, fate would tear
Stiles from his arms. But every part of Derek’s body and soul were saying it.
His eyes said, I love you, Stiles. The sudden rush of blood in his veins said,
I love you, Stiles. The breath caught in Derek’s throat wanted to say, I love
you Stiles. He was paralyzed and his eyebrows practically knitted together with
the effort of his silent internal struggle.
 
Stiles inched closer and raked his fingers through Derek’s hair. His leg hooked
around Derek’s body to bring them into more intimate alignment. They were still
naked and sweaty, and he could feel Stiles’ cock twitching back to life against
his lap. “I don’t want you to fuck me. I never want it to be just about sex.”
Stiles’ lips pressed against Derek’s so softly that it could barely be called a
kiss. He whispered against Derek’s mouth and Derek couldn’t help but drink in
his words, “Make love to me, Derek. It doesn’t have to be now. It doesn’t have
to be soon. But when we do, I want you to make love to me.”
 
Derek’s lips parted and closed briefly upon Stiles’ before he succumbed in a
whisper, “Okay.” His palm cradled the back of Stiles’ head as they kissed
properly this time, and deeply so.
 
Stiles broke the kiss to mumble, a triumphant grin quirking his sly mouth, “But
you can still say you’re fucking me, because that’s so much hotter.”
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
                        -4: Little Red Running Shorts-
 
Derek was beginning to wonder if he’d been developing a fetish of his own. But
could something really be called a fetish if Derek only got a rise out of
Stiles’ knees rather than knees in general? Derek had never been attracted to
Stiles’ knees before, but now he found them sexy. It was probably linked to his
awareness of what he could do to Stiles just by touching that spot behind them.
In fact, Derek had found it so damn sexy that he would get hard when Stiles
wore shorts that ended above the knee. And then suddenly Stiles’ lacrosse socks
had become sexy too because of the way they had draw attention to his knees.
Hopefully nobody had noticed the creeper in the hooded sweatshirt that had been
regularly watching lacrosse practice from behind the bleachers.
 
Of course, Scott and Isaac could always sense Derek was there, even if they
didn’t always see him. Derek had insisted that he was just looking out for his
pack in case the Alphas were inclined to pick them off on the wide, open
lacrosse field like sitting ducks. It could happen. But he was not fooling
anyone. Apparently, not even Stiles.
 
To everyone else, Stiles came off as the least seductive person on the planet.
He acted like a clumsy virgin. But Derek had been on to Stiles’ game since the
kid had first dared to play it by showing up at his house in track shorts after
jogging through the woods six months ago.
 
It was game-on at lacrosse practice.
 
Derek knew that Stiles was aware of his eyes. The little shit glanced in
Derek’s direction and made surreptitiously lewd gestures with his hand sliding
along the lacrosse stick. He turned his body strategically to sweep up the ball
from the ground so that Derek could get a nice view of the backs of his knees
and his ass.
 
Practice ended, and as always, Derek slipped away quietly, never acknowledging
Stiles, Scott, or Isaac. He got into his car to drive away as the team hit the
showers. But today was different. Derek had smelled sweaty teenage boy trailing
behind him in the parking lot about a hundred feet back. He had heard the
familiar jack rabbit heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He sat in his car with
the keys in the ignition, waiting. Sure enough, the passenger door opened and
Stiles bent down to peek in, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.
 
“Hey, can you give me a ride? Jeep is in the shop.”
 
Stiles had changed into a pair of red running shorts and a t-shirt. Before
answering, Derek’s eyes slowly appraised what Stiles was wearing and quirked a
brow. “You’re kidding me,” he said wryly.
 
Stiles blinked, clearly taken aback. “Uhm, no?” He scratched the back of his
neck and averted his eyes – one of Stiles’ many nervous ticks that Derek had
become infuriatingly fond of lately. “If you have somewhere to go, that’s cool.
I can ask Danny or something.”
 
“Stiles,” Derek reprimanded, “get your ass in the car. I wasn’t talking about
driving you. I was talking about what you’re wearing.”
 
Stiles looked slightly alarmed. His eyes flit around himself as he pats his
clothes, searching for something in disarray. “What? Is my shirt inside out? My
shorts on backwards? I was kind of in a rush to get changed.”
 
Derek glanced down at the garment in question before he met Stiles’ eyes,
biting back a smirk, “Those shorts.”
 
Stiles tried to act completely clueless, but Derek knew that Stiles was aware.
“What?” Stiles asked defensively, though with a hint of amusement in the corner
of his mouth, “What’s wrong with my shorts?”
 
Unlike Stiles, Derek hadn’t even bothered to hide his amusement. “Are you
trying out for the cheerleading squad?”
 
Stiles pretended to be defensive. “Are you saying my shorts are girly? I’ll
have you know that these are genuine vintage track shorts from the 1980’s.” His
fingers smoothed over the satiny fabric. “They were my dad’s. Found them in the
attic.”
 
“They’re short,” Derek stated pointedly, cracking a small smile.
 
“Uh, yeah, that’s why they’re called shorts, Derek,” Stiled says slowly and
patronizingly, emoting with his hands like a teacher trying to get a very
complex concept across, “They’re supposed to be short.”
 
Derek grinned knowingly. “No, Stiles, they’re short,” he emphasized, putting
extra weight on the T at the end. Six months ago, Derek would have worried that
he sounded like a pervert. These days, perversion is was as ubiquitous in their
relationship as love notes and pet names were to conventional couples. Derek
and Stiles were anything but conventional.
 
The bottom of the shorts hit Stiles’ leg around the upper thighs. He self-
consciously tugged on them. “I guess so. But they’re not, like, slutty-short.
They don’t say, hey look at my ass. They say, look at me, I’m kind of a hipster
and wearing 1980’s running shorts ironically.”
 
Derek snorted a laugh. “Okay, number one? You are the farthest thing from a
hipster. Number two? Those shorts pretty much say fuck me.”
 
Stiles made an odd, strangled, startled sound in his throat. “Fuck me?” He
repeated with indignant disbelief, “Excuse me, but just because a girl wears a
mini-skirt, doesn’t mean she’s inviting perverts to grab her ass. The shortness
of a garment does not intrinsically correlate with the willingness of the
wearer of said garment to have sex. But even following that logic,” Stiles
gestured emphatically to the hemline of his apparel, “these are not fuck-me-
shorts. They’re about two inches longer than gay-club-go-go-boy shorts and an
inch shy of bent-like-Beckham-soccer shorts.”
 
“You’re right, but” Derek rationalized as he rested his wrist on the steering
wheel and casually gazed out the windshield, “that doesn’t change the fact that
those shorts make me want to fuck you.” He said it so matter-of-factly that
Stiles could have potentially interpreted it as a joke, which Derek had hoped
was the case if Stiles did indeed find it offensive.
 
“Derek Hale!” Stiles gasped, scandalized enough to use his full name. But Derek
could tell from the skip in Stiles’ heartbeat that this had been the response
from Derek he had been going for when he’d chose to put on those shorts.
 
“Get in the car,” Derek said flatly, still staring straight ahead, unable to
look Stiles in the eye after admitting how easily he’d been won by a stupid
pair of shorts.
 
Stiles tossed his bag in the back and flopped into the passenger seat. He had
such a smug grin that Derek reconsidered for a split second.
 
“If I knew all it took was for me to show a little leg, I would’ve worn these a
long time ago,” said Stiles.
 
“Your switch is showing.” Derek teased as he started the Camaro.   It rumbled
out of the parking lot while Derek listed everything, other than a little leg,
that Stiles had been showing. “And you kept dropping the ball just so you could
bend down to wiggle your ass at me. And you practically jerked off your
lacrosse stick. And you didn’t shower.”
 
The corner of Derek’s eye caught Stiles still smirking.  “You smell my
pheromones, huh? Guess I am a slut.” He wasn’t being sarcastic. The little tart
was actually proud of himself.
 
It was that unmistakable scent of sex, sweat, and teenage boy essence that
drove Derek up the wall.

Nobody was at Stile’s house of course. It had been another overnight shift for
Sheriff Stilinski. Derek was sure that Stiles had planned this strategically.
 
Stiles went up the stairs ahead of Derek. Derek kept a few stairs back so he
could watch the way those shorts rode up every time Stiles brought his leg up
to the next step. From Stiles’ slow ascent, Derek was also sure that this was
deliberate.
 
When Stiles arrived at the top step, Derek reached up and placed a hand on the
back of his extended knee. He caressed it as Stiles looked back at Derek over
his shoulder. Stiles bit the corner of his bottom lip – it was a little bit
coy, a little bit seductive – and it made Derek want to do things to those
lips; made him want Stiles to do things with his teeth. Derek tackled Stiles on
the stairs. It didn’t take much effort. He simply covered Stiles’ body with his
and kept a hand on that magic spot, and Stiles went down, kneeling on a step
with his forearms on the top landing, and moaned, “Oh god…”
 
Derek whispered hotly behind Stiles’ ear, “Fuck, I could eat you up in those
little red running shorts.” He took a handful of Stiles’ ass and squeezed it.
 
Stiles made a low, closed-lipped groaning sound and tipped his head back. He
pressed his ass against Derek’s lap and said, “Grandma, what a big bulge you
have in your pants.”
 
Derek gave a small chuckle and nuzzled Stiles’ neck. “You’re sick.”
 
“Come on, you’re supposed to say, the better to fuck you with, my dearie.”
 
Derek just repeated, “Sick,” and grinded gently against him, splaying his
fingers inside the curve of Stiles’ knees.
 
“Alright. You won’t indulge my Little Red Riding Hood fantasy,” Stiles
shrugged, resigned. “The whole Big Bad Wolf thing is too predictable, I guess.”
***** Chapter 5 *****
                          -5: Squeeze the Reservoir-
                                        
“Oh my god, you’re so big,” said Stiles breathlessly.
 
And in the same breath, Derek remarked, “Oh my god, you’re so tight.”
 
Derek could barely cram three fingers inside of Stiles’ slicked hole. He
wondered how he would fit all ten-and-a-half inches of his cock.
 
“Have you considered going back to being a bottom?” Stiles wheezed as he held
his knee to his chest with one hand and stroked Derek’s hardened length with
the other.
 
“We don’t have to do this at all, you know,” said Derek, kneeling between
Stiles’ spread legs.
 
“Are you threatening me?” Stiles asked, panting, “You don’t get to tell me
you’re gonna fuck me and then pull out. Both literally and figuratively.”
 
“I’m just saying. If you can’t handle it, we can do something else.” Derek
didn’t pull away, but adjusted his position on Stiles’ bed to keep his arm from
cramping.
 
“No, you’re going to fuck me,” Stiles insisted, determinedly, completely absent
of romance or seduction, practically scolding Derek, “You’re going to fuck me
and you’re going to like it.”
 
Derek smirked and hooks his fingertips slightly. “Oh, I know I’m going to like
it. The question is, will you like it.”
 
Stiles made an odd, keen noise in response to Derek’s little gesture, sort of
like a bleating goat in heat. “Fuuuck… Prostate. Wow.” His eyes were screwed
shut, seemingly in an intense sort of ecstasy. His cheeks were flushed pink
with warmth.
 
Derek noted how hot Stiles felt from the inside and could not hold back a
pleased moan of his own. “Yeah, you like that.” It was more of a smug statement
than a question.
 
“Oh god yes.” Stiles nodded emphatically. “Fuck me. Fuck me now. Right now.”
 
There was very little doubt left that Stiles would in fact enjoy it. Derek
slowly and carefully retracted his fingers from Stiles’ body, feeling the
clenching muscles expel him. Stiles released Derek’s cock and let his legs fall
to the bed. Derek could feel Stiles watching him as he rolled on the condom.
 
“Don’t forget to, um, squeeze the air out of the reservoir tip,” Stiles
advised, nervously gesturing with his hands.
 
Derek wordlessly glanced from his lap to Stiles’ face with a look of disbelief.
 
“What?” Stiles muttered meekly, if a bit defensively, “That’s what they teach
us in Sex Ed. If you don’t squeeze the air out of the tip--”
 
“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, “I know. It’s your first time. Not mine.” He
immediately regret how condescending it had sounded.
 
Stiles shook his head, held his palms up in a halting gesture, and sat up. “You
know what? Forget it. Let’s stop right here. You’re absolutely right. It is my
first time. And you’re supposed to be making love to me. Not reminding me what
a pathetic virgin I am.”
 
Derek had managed to ruin things with words yet again, so he shut up. He pursed
his lips, held Stiles’ gaze with a pointed look, grabbed him by the thighs, and
pulled Stiles towards him. The swift movement caught Stiles by surprise,
causing him to fall back on the bed. Derek took Stiles’ ankle and rested it on
his broad shoulder. He stared at Stiles unblinkingly. Stiles looked up at Derek
with eyes that shone with excitement and fear. He could see the vein in Stiles’
neck throbbing rapidly and could smell his anxiousness.
 
“What are you going to do to me?” Stiles asked breathily. Derek knew it was
more of a provocation than a question.
 
He didn’t answer. He turned his mouth to the ankle on his shoulder without ever
letting his eyes leave Stiles’. He gently grazed the knobby bone of Stiles’
ankle with his teeth. As his tongue rasped over the skin and he tasted the salt
of Stiles’ flesh.
 
Stiles repeated, trepidation making his whisper shaky, “Derek, what are you
going to do?”
 
Derek leaned forward, draped himself over Stiles’ body, and folded his leg back
towards his chest. Stiles hooked his other leg around Derek’s lower back,
effectively keeping him in place. They were both still hard, evident by the
insistent press of Stiles’ swollen cock against his own erection.
 
Derek pressed a teasingly chaste kiss upon Stiles lips.
 
Stiles groaned, low and soft and deep, “What are you doing?”
 
Derek answered with a soft brush of his lips, and then felt Stiles’ tongue
seeking entrance. Derek’s lips parted easily, allowing Stiles to kiss him hard
and wet. He could taste the teenage longing on Stiles’ mouth.
 
The leg on Derek’s shoulder afforded him perfect access to Stiles’ secret spot.
He caressed it, mapping the curve reverently with his thumb, making Stiles’
back arch in ecstasy.
 
Stiles gasped softly, blissfully. With anxiousness straining his voice, he
keened, “Tell me what you’re going to do.”
 
“I don’t know,” Derek feigned coy ignorance, “What do you want me to do?”
 
But he already knew what Stiles wanted. He could tell from the way Stiles’ leg
entrapped his body, from the desperation of Stiles’ kiss, and from the way his
fingers claimed the back of Derek’s neck, that Stiles wanted him – all of him.
He could even smell the want emanating from Stiles’ pores, flavoring his skin
with briny, carnal desire.
 
“You’re going to make love to me,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s mouth,
domineeringly seductive, before kissing him wetly. “Tell me. I want to hear you
say it.”
 
Derek didn’t want to ruin the momentum with talk. Talk had always side-tracked
them. So he conveyed his intentions wordlessly with his lips.
 
He broke the kiss abruptly to sit back on his haunches and smirked down upon
Stiles, who gazed at him ravenously. He slicked his cock with more lube before
swirling the slippery head against Stiles’ entrance, circling the puckered ring
of muscle, making Stiles quiver with want.
 
Stiles’ breath hitched as he pleaded quietly, “Derek, please. Tell me.” It was
evident from the way that Stiles was holding back his legs and eagerly moving
along with Derek’s motions that he knew exactly what was happening. Stiles had
been orchestrating it as much as Derek.
 
Derek closed his eyes and shuddered as he slowly let out a breath. When he
opened his eyes, the sentiment that had been lingering hesitantly on the tip of
his tongue escaped softly. “I love you.”
 
Stiles was speechless for a moment, blinking up at Derek. “Well, fuck,” he
muttered.  
 
They stared at each other silently. Derek was frozen, inwardly panicking.   He
wanted to cut out his own tongue for admitting this to Stiles. It had felt like
the right thing to say at the time. Stiles had been egging Derek on, it seemed.
Had he misinterpreted Stiles? Did he really just want verbal role-play?
 
Suddenly, Stiles reached up to pull Derek down for a swift, firm kiss. He
mumbled against Derek’s mouth, “I love you too.”
 
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