
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/983234.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Awkward_Sexual_Situations, Dildos,
      Embarrassed_Stiles, Derek_is_a_Good_Alpha, A_very_good_one_indeed
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-28 Words: 4903
****** a very hands-on situation ******
by PrincezzShell101
Summary
     Last time Derek checked, this wasn't listed as one of an alpha's
     priorities.
     Or: The one where Stiles somehow gets a dildo stuck up his ass and
     Derek is there to the rescue.
Notes
     The story is a canon divergence. It takes place in a universe where
     the alpha pack and darach never happened but Cora still did, Jackson
     never left, Erica and Boyd are still alive, and Derek never left
     Beacon Hills. Also Derek is still the alpha and his pack consists of
     Scott, Isaac, Jackson, Boyd, Erica, Cora, Danny, Lydia, Allison and
     Stiles.
     I spent nearly all last night writing this and then today making a
     few final touches. I've hogged the computer for longer than it should
     be. By now, I believe my mum thinks I've gone bonkers. But that
     aside, I am very happy with how this turned out :)
See the end of the work for more notes
Being an alpha isn't an easy job, it takes leadership and a lot of
responsibility. You need to know how to communicate with your pack, and not
just communicate with the betas as a whole—as a group—but you also need to
communicate with them individually. Alphas aren't just there to order around
their betas, they're there to be their friend as well. An alpha holds a certain
amount of trust, someone who the betas can entrust their life with if a
situation takes a deadly turn of events. For that—for a beta to trust their
alpha—the alpha needs to get to know each one of their betas personally.
Connect with them. Only then, can a strong bond be formed. If the bond between
alpha and beta is strong, it then travels throughout the pack and begins
strengthening the other betas as well. It changes the whole meaning of pack.
Not just a pack anymore, but a family.
As an alpha, one of Derek's highest priorities is to have the pack—his
family—feel safe and comfortable around him. He wants them to feel like they
can tell him everything and anything. Whether it be about a new person in town
that they think could turn out to be an eventual threat to Beacon Hills or just
trivial problems where they need relationship advice or require help with
homework, Derek there's for moral support. He's there to be a mature adult
figure that they can rely on whenever they need him. Not just for the
werewolves in his pack, but also for the humans as well.
Stiles.
Stiles is one of four humans in his pack. Lydia, Danny and Allison are too. But
Stiles? Stiles is the only human in his pack that seems to take Derek's 'alpha
priorities' seriously. Maybe a little too seriously.
He can never forget the time Stiles had text him for help. It is literally
branded in his mind, a corner of his brain so deep that no amount of trying to
forget would erase it…
Not that he ever wants to erase it, though.
                                      ***
Derek is lounging on the couch of his loft, reading a book with the lamp's soft
light filling the room, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. With a sigh, he
thumbs the page's edge for a bookmark, slipping the book shut and placing it on
the coffee table with its spine up. He slips his phone out of his back pocket,
opening the text.
sourwolf need ur help – S
Stiles needs his help. Shit. What could the kid have done this time?
Stiles? What is it? What's wrong? – D
i'm stuck and i mean like seriously stuck so i need u 2 come help me – S
"He's stuck," Derek snorts, shaking his head.
Stuck? Stiles, stuck how? Where are you? – D
doesn't matter and i'm at home now please hurry dude – S
Okay, that has got his attention. Stiles's texts are rushed. Also, he never
says please unless it is absolutely necessary, futile if you will. So, whatever
this is, it is important.
Derek doesn't think, doesn't care that it is well past nine o'clock at night,
just drives over to the Stilinski residence in a hurry, speeding at least half
of the way. He ends up parking a street down, sprinting up to the premises and
vaulting the side of the house. When he gets up to the ledge of Stiles's
window, he finds that the window is closed and locked.
"Stiles!"
He bangs his fist on the window, and then waits for something. Anything. A sign
that Stiles is in there, that Stiles can hear him.
No answer.
He tries again.
"STILES!"
Still no answer.
Derek growls, feeling the wolf in him coursing through his veins. His wolf is a
rumbling force in his chest, a magnetic pull in his mind, and a tugging
sensation in his stomach. It's panicking. He is panicking. One of his pack is
in trouble and he can't even get in to help them.
Derek does not have the time to wait any longer. Stiles may seriously be hurt.
He says that he is stuck, but that can also mean something else, something bad.
Stiles is one of the most cryptic people he knows.
So, with one foot he kicks the window open, boot smashing completely through
the glass. He wastes no time in climbing inside, too riled up in his worry that
Stiles might be hurt to care about the pain when a glass shard slashes into his
arm. It'll heal in seconds, anyway.
The room is dark and empty, Stiles's bed unmade with the covers halfway shucked
over the sides. Stiles's laptop is also on, dimmed glare of the Captain America
desktop screen the only light in the room. Derek notices the bedroom door is
closed, and when he tries to open it he finds that it is locked.
"Damn it," Derek mutters, rattling the doorknob, and then when that doesn't
work, twisting and pulling at the doorknob with both hands. "Stiles!"
"Over here."
Derek's hand clenches around the doorknob, wolf rumbling in his chest when he
hears the soft voice coming from somewhere behind him. It is at that moment
when he realises that he hasn't, not once, tried to scent the room when he'd
arrived.
He closes his eyes, inhaling through his nose.
Immediately, he catches the scent of Stiles that had eluded him moments before.
It is stronger than usual, musky and traced with a hint of sweat.
He turns around, hand loosening and falling away from the doorknob. He takes a
glance around the room, letting his irises bleed red. The darkness that sweeps
over the room is no match for his heightened eyesight. Everything around him
soon becomes visible, illuminated like he is looking through a tinted camera
lens.
It is only when he trains his eyes to the furthest corner of the room, does he
find Stiles huddled up against the wall with a pillow over his… crotch.
"Stiles."
The boy looks up, eyes wide and lips parted. Derek sees—even with his red
highlighted vision—that Stiles has a blush flushing over his cheeks.
"Stiles, what's going on?" he asks, cautious edge to his voice. When Stiles
doesn't reply, just stares at him bug-eyed, Derek slowly takes a step forward.
"Stiles, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on. You said you
were—"
"Stuck." Stiles's voice wavers when he speaks. "Yeah, I'm… I am."
Derek sighs, not sure what to think. 'Stuck' can mean many things, though not
many fit under the category of: sitting on the floor of your bedroom in the
dark with a pillow over your crotch.
Unless…  
Oh.
The smell of musk and sweat that Derek had smelt earlier which—when he checks,
is still permeating the air—is probably the first thing that should have clued
him in to what he is dealing with.
What Stiles's 'stuck' situation is.
"Please. Tell me you didn't." Stiles bites his lip, worrying it between his
teeth as his eyes flicker down to the ground in embarrassment, his fingers that
are clutching the pillow curling around the edges of the material. "Stiles."
"I was just trying it out! It was fine until—" He lifts the pillow hesitantly,
closing his eyes and turning his head away. "Until it got stuck…"
Derek can only stare, feeling strong sympathy for the kid as his mouth goes
dry.
Of course Stiles would get a dildo stuck in his ass.
"How long—" He stops himself before his voice can crack, clearing his throat
quietly as he kneels down beside Stiles. "How long has it…?"
"Nearly two hours," Stiles sighs, wincing when he shifts his knees. "I tried
to, y'know, take it out. But, uh… I kind of, um, just ended up pushing it
further in?"
"And you want me to—" Derek coughs, winces. "Help?"
Stiles's nose scrunches up like what he is about to say physically pains him.
Well, unless it's the dildo stuck in his ass. Probably is. "Trust me, dude, if
I could get anyone else to help me, I would. But, um, if you haven't realised."
He waves his hand in the general area of his crotch. "Dildo. In the ass. Don't
think anyone would want to get up close and personal to that."
"So you thought you'd just text me, get me to come over, and have me help you
take it out," Derek deadpans.
"Uh, ha, well when you put it like that." Derek arches an eyebrow and Stiles
sighs, shoulders slumping. "Yes. Yes, I did." When Derek just huffs, he frowns.
"Hey! Don't think that this isn't as awkward for me as it is for you. Because
it is! You have no idea."
"Believe me, I have a pretty good idea," he groans. Stiles makes a surprised
noise in the back of his throat, lips quirking up in a small smirk.
"Did you—"
"Shut up," Derek growls. "I'm not here to talk about me. I'm here to… help
you." He tilts his head to the side, looking down at Stiles's ass at a
different angle. "I still have no idea how you got that stuck up there. It's
pretty big."
Stiles snaps his mouth shut to hold back his undignified squawk. "Hey! But
yeah, I guess it is." The flush on his cheeks grows redder than pink. "Um, I've
found that small ones don't really… do the trick?"
"Okay." Derek nods. He understands. When he was younger, he'd found out the
same thing. He hadn't got the thing stuck up his ass though… Well, not
for this long. (Werewolf, and all.) "Have you tried bearing down?"
"What? Like a pregnant woman?" At Derek's scowl, he sighs. "Yes. Yes, I tried.
It didn't work."
"Jumping up and down?"
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
"Uh… no?"
"Try it."
Stiles blanches. "No way, dude. I am not doing that."
Derek shrugs. "Fine, if you want it stuck up there forever…"
Stiles's blanch turns more into a look of pure horror, blush sinking away as
his face pales. "I don't want this stuck up here forever. Oh, my God."
"Then try jumping up and down. If it comes out, I won't have to stick my hand
up your ass."
This time Stiles does squawk. "Y-You what!?"
Derek huffs. "Just try it, Stiles."
"Okay, all right. I'll jump up and down like a fuckin' rabbit in heat if it
helps this thing come out." He gets himself up, hissing and hiding a small
wince—not that Derek doesn't see it—as he steadies his shaky hands on the
closet behind him as he stands up straight.
Derek watches Stiles with a blank face, even though truthfully, all he really
wants to do is help the kid out and save him the pain by just removing it for
him.
"Okay, I'm not jumping up and down with you staring at me." Stiles looks down
at Derek sitting on the floor in front of him, expression emotionless and
staring back up at him. The guy's face is in eye level of his genitals, and
Derek can really just sneak a close-up peek at them very easily if he decides
to drift his eyes downward a little bit further. Yep, he does. Fuck everything.
"Or, well, staring at my dick. Anyway! Get out." Stiles points to the door.
Derek remains sitting, not moving. "Stiles, you're being ridiculous."
"I'm being ridic—no. No, I'm not! Seriously, dude, this is a no-go. Me not
jumping, if you not leaving." Stiles glares at Derek even despite the childish
attitude that he is showing, hoping the guy will just take a bloody hint and
leave already so he can get this show on the road.
The sooner this thing is out of his ass, the sooner he can crawl under his bed
covers and hide away from the world in embarrassment for the rest of his life.
"I'm not leaving. If that thing doesn't come out, I'm going to have to go in.
Also, watching you jumping up and down wouldn't be as humiliating as what I've
seen of you already," Derek states flatly.
It takes a few seconds, but eventually Stiles deflates, the riled-up look in
his eyes slowly growing weaker and weaker until it's nothing but a sad look of
defeat.
"You're right. Fuck. You're totally right," Stiles groans. He looks down at the
ground, seeing the pillow and bending down to pick it up, placing it over his
crotch. "I'm still using this. I am not letting you see my bouncin' balls."
Derek snorts. "It wouldn't be the scariest thing I've seen." Before Stiles can
squeak a response, he holds his hand up. "Just go. Jump."
"But, but you—you just said…"
"Jump."
"Okay, okay. Yeesh." Stiles secures the pillow over his crotch, holding it
there tightly, before taking a deep breath and jumping up, then down again, up
then down again, up then—" Ow, ow, ow. Okay, I can't—I can't do this," he
yelps.
Derek clenches his jaw, holding himself back from wrestling the kid down onto
the bed and driving his hand in there and taking it out. "What is it?"
"It hurts, is what is it," Stiles whines. "I can't, Derek, okay? Whenever I
jump it feels like someone is literally kicking me up the ass."
Derek actually winces. He knows the feeling all too well. "All right, I didn't
want to do this," he oh-so-totally does, "but I'm going to have to take it out.
Lie down on the bed."
Stiles makes an absolutely pitiful noise in the back of his throat. 
Not as pitiful as the sounds he's going to be making when I've got my hand
shoved up his ass, Derek thinks as Stiles waves his arms about like he's having
a mini freak-out episode.
"Lie down on the—oh no. No. No I am not letting you put that," he points at
Derek's large hand, "up my butt. Nope, nah-uh. Not happening, buddy."
Sometimes Derek wishes that Stiles was like any other normal human being, but
no. He has to overreact with everything.
"Stiles, this is the final option. It's either I take it out, or it stays in
there." He leaves a pause for dramatic effect. "Forever." Another pause, plus a
small smirk that he can't keep buried down anymore. "You know, I've heard that
forever is a long time. And Stiles, I really don't think you'd be able to put
up with that thing nestled in there for–"
"Ugh, just shut up! Shut up!" Stiles puts both hands over his ears, mouth
screwed up in a horrible grimace. "Oh my God. I hate you, Derek. I. HATE. YOU."
"Oh, so you hate me. Okay. Well, I guess that means you don't really want me to
help you then, huh?"
Stiles unblocks his ears and his mouth falls open in an O that is a mix between
shock and stupor. Derek chuckles.
"Don't worry, I understand. It's perfectly fine." He shrugs, flashing a wicked
grin. "Have a nice night, Stiles." He stands up and starts walking toward the
window, is just about to step over the wrecked glass and put one foot onto the
roof, when Stiles cries out, "Wait! Derek, wait! Please don't go!"
Derek turns around, observing Stiles's face that is now flushed pink like
earlier. "Yes, Stiles? Anything I can do for you?" He smiles nicely—maybe a
little bit too sarcastic-nicely—and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting
for a reply.
Stiles mutters a curse. "Just do it."
Derek can hear the boy's heart beating a mile a minute.
"Just do what, Stiles?" he teases. He can't help but play with the kid a bit.
It's always priceless.
Derek doesn't think Stiles will actually say it—and not like that—but
nevertheless, he does manage to, even if it is said with the trace of a shy
quiver in his voice. 
"Please, take the dildo out of my ass," Stiles murmurs, pink flush not pink
anymore, but scarlet.
Derek catches the choking cough in his throat before it manages to leap out of
him. He nods once, slowly, walking over to sit on the bed and patting the spot
in front of him. "Lie down," he says. He watches Stiles hesitantly walk over,
pillow still held over his genitals as he lies down where Derek has indicated,
crossing his legs underneath him.
"No. Don't do that." Derek points to Stiles's legs. "Spread them out."
"Why?" Stiles asks shakily, shy with embarrassment.
Derek sighs. "Because I can't get to it with you lying like that. Now spread
them. And take that damn pillow away."
Stiles groans, spreads his legs out and takes the pillow away slowly,
hesitantly. When it's gone, he closes his eyes, turning his head away and
burying it into the mattress shamefully. "There. No pillow. Legs spread," he
says, voice muffled by the mattress. "Now hurry up and take it out before I
literally die of humiliation."
Derek resists the urge to run his hand through Stiles's hair soothingly, to pet
the shame right out of him, instead taking a look down at what he needs to deal
with.
Stiles's hole is stretched, stretched wide enough that Derek can see right up
the kid's ass like a tunnel. The dildo is wedged there deep, and Derek can just
make out the end of it.
It's red.
"Red for Little Red. Should have guessed," he muses, chuckling when Stiles
buries his head further into the mattress and whines. "All right. Stiles, I'm
going to try and take it out now. Is that okay?" he asks. Stiles just nods, and
he takes that as a good enough answer as any.
Derek very slowly wriggles in his index finger, and Stiles whimpers when it
enters him straight away. Derek almost lets out a small whimper himself when he
adds the second finger, finding out that just like the first, it slips in
without any need of necessary pressing or pushing. Stiles's ass is stretched
out wide enough and slicked with enough lube that his fingers slide inside
easily.
By the time Derek is up to his fourth finger, Stiles's ass is clenching around
all four, his muscles fluttering and pulsing around the girth of them. Derek
just can't resist, pulling them all out before pushing them back in with one
slick slide.
Stiles's small and quiet moan is muffled by the mattress, but Derek can still
hear his heavily shaken breathing as he does it again and again, wet sound of
his fingers entering and existing Stiles's hole driving him and his wolf crazy.
What drives him even more crazy, is when he sees a white glob of pre-come spurt
out of the slit of Stiles's cock. He inhales sharply, heady smell of salt and
arousal filling his nostrils.
"God, fuck, Stiles. You're so stretched. So, so open for me," he groans before
he can stop himself, pushes and presses his fingers in deeper, sliding them in
and out in fast, non-rhythmic movements.
Stiles starts moaning unabashedly now, not caring to be quiet. His face isn't
smothered in the mattress anymore so the noises of pleasure are loud and clear,
not muffled and incoherent. Derek can feel his own dick hardening in his jeans,
can feel the blood boiling beneath his skin as his wolf rumbles deeply in his
chest.
Derek is so entranced, indulging in the silky, wet heat of Stiles's ass and the
constant little drawn out ah's and oh's leaving the kid's mouth, that the
motive of why he's doing this completely eludes him. It is only when the tips
of his fingers make contact with something hard and plastic does Stiles make a
high-sounding keen, and Derek remembers what he is meant to be doing in the
first place.
"Shit," he mutters, feeling like a complete idiot. He presses his fingers in
further, further enough so he can feel how the dildo lengthens out into a thick
base. He won't be able to grab it like this, though. He has to go deeper.
"Stiles, I need to get deeper so I can get this out. Okay?"
Stiles groans, a low-pitched noise that sounds almost wrecked. "Fuck. O-Okay.
Dig deeper, sure."
Derek withholds a snort, instead pushes his fingers in deeper, fanning them out
into a high-four, his thumb that is pressing against Stiles's rim the only
finger missing from it being a high-five. He needs to have his whole hand in
Stiles to do that, and he doesn't think Stiles, let alone him, will be able to
deal with fisting right now.
Especially him.
He'd definitely lose control of the wolf if he saw Stiles's hole taking his
entire hand, rim stretched to the extreme to accommodate his large fist,
muscles gripping tight and sucking it whole into that moist cavern of slick,
wet heat and—he has to stop thinking about fisting Stiles and get on with what
he's meant to be doing before he goes insane.
"I can feel the base. I'm going to wrap my fingers around it and take it out
now, okay?" he says. Stiles makes a small, choked noise in the back of his
throat, but Derek still manages to catch the nod the kid sends his way. With
Stiles's affirmation of further actions, he carefully curls his fingers around
the base of the dildo, before very slowly drawing it out an inch, stopping to
look up at Stiles's face to make sure what he's doing isn't hurting him.
Oh, it most certainly does not look like it is hurting him.
Not one bit.
Stiles's eyes are closed, his lips parted on a silent gasp. The moon outside is
now positioned so that the moonlight is shining directly through the open
window, casting its illuminated glow over the bed. It is because of this that
Derek can see the flush on Stiles's cheeks without the darkness of the room
hiding it. Derek can now actually trace the scarlet pattern that dots the boy's
skin, streaking over his pale cheeks like red velvet. It's a beautiful sight,
captivating, and when he draws the dildo out another two inches Stiles's eyes
snap open on a sharp hitch of a cry. Instantly, Derek is met with two whiskey-
coloured eyes, the light of the moon shading the orbs into a shimmering, golden
hue of amber.
He feels the wolf inside of him stirring and becoming restless.
"Oh my God, Derek," Stiles whines, his chest a rise and fall that matches his
heavy breathing. "D-Don't take it out. Fuck. Please don't take it out."
Derek raises an eyebrow. "I thought that was the point," he says, drawing it
out another inch, but automatically stopping when Stiles's breath hitches on a
bitten-out gasp that sounds almost like a mewl. "Wasn't it?"
"Y-Y-Yes, but change of plans," he groans, rolling his hips in a small forward
grind. "I want—I want you to fuck me with it."
Yep, Derek's wolf isn't going to be contained for much longer.
"You want me to…" Derek's words trail off before they even finish, and he's
pushing the dildo back in, deeper than it'd been before he'd got his fingers
around it.
All of Stiles's breath rushes out of him in a loud shout, back arching up and
hips bucking, three dollops of pre-come leaking from the slit of his cock and
spilling down the shaft. Derek catches a whiff of his scent with a sharp
inhale, closing his eyes as the scent of sweet arousal and bitter, salty pre-
come overpowers him and soaks into his senses.
"Fuck, yes, keep going," Stiles moans, and how can Derek say no to that? He
pulls the dildo back, thrusting it forward again before setting a hard and fast
in-and-out rhythm, watching the way Stiles's hands grip the bed sheet in
clenched fists, head thrown back, breathing out in little whimpered huffs.
"You like that?" Derek growls huskily, twisting the dildo on an inward thrust,
pulling it out all of the way until only the tip remains in Stiles's hole, and
doing it again. Stiles nods jerkily, panting heavily. "What does it feel like,
Stiles? Tell me."
"B-Big, so big," he gasps, a high, choked grunt punched out of him when Derek
presses the head of the dildo against his prostate on a thrust. "Ah, o-oh my
God. There, there, there. Right there, fuck."
Derek starts to rub the head of the dildo against Stiles's prostate, pressing
into it firmly and massaging the small gland, cursing softly and trying not to
lose his self-control as Stiles's hole clenches to the stimulation. Stiles's
body suddenly turns all akimbo, legs twisting in the sheets and spine arching,
head rolling back and forth against the mattress as his hips thrust forward.
Derek wonders if he can take more, can't help but wriggle his index finger in
alongside the dildo, thrusting it in and out in time with each press of the
dildo on Stiles's prostate.
The reaction is instant.
"Derek, oh, oh my God, don't stop. Close, close, close. I'm so close," he
whines, breaths hitching out in sharp bursts.
"Mmhmm. You going to come for me, Stiles?" Derek fits a second finger, pumping
both in and out, watching Stiles's face go from slack pleasure to extreme
bliss, mouth parted into an O. His eyes catch sight of Stiles's dick, the
length of it throbbing, leaking a generous amount of pre-come that is pooling
on his stomach.
Derek smirks as he suddenly has an idea. He leans forward until his head is
positioned right over Stiles's dick, the head in close range of his mouth. "I
know that before you said you didn't want me to look at your dick," he muses,
glancing up to see Stiles's bewildered, owlish eyes staring back, "but I'm
going to do something even better."
With that, he bends his head, taking Stiles's entire cock into his mouth and
sucking it right down to the back of his throat.
"Oh my Go—oh my—" Derek hears Stiles's words shatter themselves into garbled
moans as he starts to swallow around the boy's cock, moans soon dissipating
into shrill whines, tempo of his ah's and oh's rising. Derek knows it'll all be
over soon. He swallows one more time, pressing the dildo in, right up against
Stiles's prostate.
Just like that, Stiles is done.
When it happens, it takes all of Derek's strength and willpower not to let the
wolf off the leash, to not allow it to howl in triumph that they've done this.
Stiles's whole body freezes, stiff for a split second. Then he starts
quivering, his whines coming out faster and faster until he surrenders to a
loud, high-pitched keen. Derek feels the pulse of Stiles's cock all the way
down to the back of his throat, and he swallows eagerly when hot spurts of come
flood his mouth. He keeps swallowing, sucking on Stiles's cock until the last
feeble drop is milked out, Stiles's choked sob a sign that he's too sensitive.
Derek backs off of Stiles's cock, giving it one last lick as he removes his
fingers from Stiles's ass, along with the dildo, the boy's hole fluttering at
the sensation. He places the dildo on the bed beside him, before looking up at
Stiles's face.
That is when he loses it.
Stiles's face is so open and unguarded—his full, plump lips red from being
bitten, his cheeks flushed, layered with a light sheen of sweat. It has Derek's
dick throbbing, painfully hard in his boxer briefs, balls tingling. He shifts
on the bed and winces, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose slowly.
No. No, he is not going to come in his pants like a teenager just because he'd
got to make Stiles come, got to see what he looks like when he loses control,
how his body trembles in orgasm and—
"D-Derek, are you okay?" Stiles asks, his voice hoarse and breathy.
Derek opens his eyes and spares another glance down at him.
And yeah, that is what does it.
He grunts, gritting his teeth together to block the sound he knows he'll make,
yet it comes out anyway—as a small, shaky whimper that he wishes he could take
back.
But it's too late.
"Oh. My. God." Derek squirms at the uncomfortable, warm and sticky wetness in
his jeans, bracing himself for the oncoming shame, looking up to see Stiles
staring at him, eyes wide like he can't believe what he'd just witnessed. "Did
you just…?"
"Yeah," he sighs. There's no point in lying. Lying is childish.
"Wow. Ha-ha, okay then." Stiles chuckles giddily before letting out a short
laugh. "So, like, that was your orgasm noise?"
Derek glares. "No."
"Oh, what, so that little whimper wasn't a 'oh my God, I'm coming' sound?"
"No."
Stiles smirks, sitting up slowly so he can place a hand on the werewolf's
shoulder. "Don't worry about it, buddy. I wasn't so crash-hot with mine
either."
Derek clenches his jaw, keeping his own opinions to himself. The kid doesn't
need any more self-confidence or else he'll be bloody radiating it. So instead,
he rolls his eyes and tells the boy to shut up. 
Because no, being immature isn't childish at all. 
End Notes
     If you enjoyed reading the story, please leave kudos <3
     P.S - This WILL have a sequel ;)
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