twentysomething

Title: I Wanna Take You To A-

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Boyd/Too Good For This Shit

Summary: "He doesn't like to think he's following orders, but he does slink away to the bar, where he thinks it's marginally quieter. At least it sounds like Ale-ale-jandro isn't right in his ear, anyway. Stiles sighs. He'd already texted Scott from the car and gotten back srry w allison bro derek gve me nite off. "

Length: 5100 wordsish

Warnings: gay bar jealousy, fucking.

Notes: I KNOW WHERE HAVE I BEEN (Answers: graduating grad school, hating my life, writing long fics that aren't done, etcettyra) But here, have this thing built entirely off of the fact that the cast has super said the bar they were filming at for s2 is a gay bar. Blame/credit/blame due to moonklutz and thehoyden, who are totally pack, brah.




Stiles glances around.

"I feel like I'm a little out of place," he shouts over the music. He plucks at his plaid shirt and hoodie.

Erica rolls her eyes. "Go stand by the bar and wait for someone to buy you a drink. When they do, pound it back as fast as you can and then get another. After you pound that back, you'll feel fine." she says before immediately abandoning him to go dance in the middle of a bunch of guys who, for people purportedly not into boobs, are all up on her.

"I still have no idea what we're doing here," Stiles says to himself. Derek had shown up like Regina George and told him to get in the car, not offering any information on where they were going or why. When they'd gotten to the frankly disreputable looking gay club, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica had melted out of the shadows and followed Derek in.

Stiles couldn't exactly shout, "HEY ARE WE HERE ON SUPER SECRET WEREWOLF BUSINESS," over the throbbing Lady Gaga dance mix. If he could even find Derek.

He doesn't like to think he's following orders, but he does slink away to the bar, where he thinks it's marginally quieter. At least it sounds like Ale-ale-jandro isn't right in his ear, anyway. Stiles sighs. He'd already texted Scott from the car and gotten back srry w allison bro derek gve me nite off. It's not even like they're on the other thing- kanima, Reptar, whatever- hunting duty. Unless it turns back into a human. Oh god, maybe it's Mr. Harris.

Stiles glances back into the crowd. He can faintly see the mass of wild blond curls that means Erica is still dancing. Scanning the room, he sees Isaac and Boyd talking to someone- not Derek, who has completely disappeared.

He's sort of thinking about just sneaking back out into the parking lot and waiting for Derek to decide to take him home. Stiles also can't seem to get the bartender's attention- for a water, he promises to the voice in his head that sounds like his dad- and he rubs a hand over his face, frustrated. Ever since Derek became alpha, it's been a lot harder to get him to explain himself. Well, not like the man was ever exactly a font of explanations to begin with, but now he'll just smirk or hit on the nearest available woman, whereas Stiles used to be able to get something out of him.

"Hi," a voice calls smoothly behind him, tapping his shoulder. Stiles turns around to find a guy smiling at him- a little taller than him, superficial resemblance to Peter freaking Hale, which makes him spazz for a second before he looks more closely. "Anyone sitting here?" The guy points to the stool next to Stiles'.

"Um, no?" Stiles manages. Oh god, what is the etiquette in this situation?

"Good," the guy shouts. "I'm Paul. Can I get your next drink and your name?"

Stiles feels phenomenally underage at this exact moment. "Uh, sure?" Stiles guesses. He's pretty sure to decline blows his cover, right? No one turns down free alcohol. "Um, Stiles. Uh, oh, a beer?"

Paul smiles widely and- using some trick they probably teach you when you're actually of legal drinking age and not just dicking around in the woods with your bff with a bottle of Jack- gets the bartender on the first try. "Two Heinekens. That okay with you, Stiles?" he says, directing the last part to Stiles, who can only nod and wonder why he didn't use a fake name.

When the drinks arrive, Paul passes him a beer and takes the opportunity to lean in close to talk in Stiles' ear. Which is probably more sensible than shouting, but uh, a little weird. For Stiles.

"I don't normally try the whole buy you a drink thing, but I wanted to beat the competition," Paul says. "But I'm sure you saw the way everyone's watching you."

Well, this definitively answers whether or not he's attractive to gay guys, at least.

"I uh, hadn't. Noticed." Stiles squeaks.

Paul must think it's coy or cute or something else god knows what, because he just tips his head back in an honest to god movie-star-I'm-so-amused laugh. "Don't be modest. You must have seen that mouth in a mirror," he says, staring at Stiles like he's something he wants to eat. Stiles has really had enough of guys who look like that giving him that look.

"I can't say I gave it a lot of thought," Stiles grouses. It figures, the only person to show an iota of interest in the whole Stiles package is this guy.

"I have," Paul says, leaning in close, like he's going to- wait- whoa-

Instead of Paul trying to plant one on him, Stiles is suddenly halfway across the bar, in a firm grip that's just shy of a caveman hold.

"Oh my god, are you insane?" Stiles demands, because Derek is blowing past the bouncer and into the parking lot. Luckily, the Camaro is mostly around a corner from the door, so the empty lot is the only one to witness Stiles' mortification as Derek slings him around, setting him on embarrassingly unsteady legs, pinned between Derek and the car. "Look, okay, I know I wasn't following the mission, whatever, but that's because no one told me what it was-"

"He touched you," Derek breathes out, eyes glaring red, his hands just a little sharp-tipped where they're clutching at Stiles' arms. "I can smell it."

"Um, it was for verisimilitude?" Stiles tries, because now is really not a good time for Derek to be sniffing at him. He just has this silly little involuntary response to Derek being up in his face. It's Derek's fault really, with the stubble and eyes and cheekbones and face, really. Really. Stiles is just an impartial observer and appreciator of attractive people. That's- he's an aesthete.

Derek growls low in his throat. "He wanted you. Your mouth," Derek is practically snarling, crowding Stiles impossibly closer against the side of the car.

"You, uh, heard that?" Stiles gulps. "I mean, I wasn't- I was trying to keep my cover? Oh god, is this like- a pack is territory thing? Did- um, what is going on here?"

He'd be more embarrassed about how breathy and high his voice sounds right now, but it's really not his fault, because Derek is breathing hotly against Stiles' neck, before his- thankfully, human-feeling- teeth scrape over his pulse and Derek's tongue traces the tense muscle there.

"Is this just like... a thing? Hale men, can't resist getting all up in this grill?" Stiles demands.

Derek makes this noise that sounds ripped out of his throat. "No one else is touching you but me," he grits out, grinding his hips against Stiles' and holy shit, Derek is hard. This isn't just like, some crazy werewolf thing- this is Derek jealous. Arousal smacks Stiles in the gut like a fist.

"Okay, yes, you," Stiles groans, because he's been parked alone for a long time and this is shifting straight to sixth gear with an accomplice, and he can feel the ache to touche, to be touched, in his skin.

Derek just tips Stiles' head back and somehow finds and latches on to some point on his neck- that Stiles hadn't even known existed- that makes him want to beg.

"Oh, fuck," Stiles full on moans, as Derek grabs Stiles' knee, pulling his leg up to hitch around Derek's waist. Derek seems to have distributed all of Stiles' weight between himself and the car, his other foot barely scraping the ground, forcing Stiles to lock his leg around Derek for support.

Derek grunts something that Stiles suspects is satisfaction, leaving one tender hickey to- oh, god, start another right beneath it.

"Derek," Stiles whines. "Seriously?"

Derek's only response is to suck harder.

Stiles prays that he doesn't come in his pants.

Derek trails stinging, painfully sexy nips up Stiles' neck, only to bite at Stiles' lower lip instead, kissing him until his mouth feels like it's buzzing and almost too sensitive. He hadn't really guessed "getting sexed up against a Camaro" was in the cards for tonight, but if he had, he would have tried to skip the rest of the agenda. Stiles is gasping between kisses, each one leaving him lightheaded and woozy, like Derek's kissing the air right out of him

"You- you," Stiles sighs as Derek noses beneath Stiles' jaw, lays wet, open kisses there.

"Me," Derek agrees, rumbling along Stiles' skin.

"Did- why?" Stiles is really losing his ability to sentence.

Derek glances up at Stiles, finally giving him enough distance to get a breath in. "Why what?" he asks, irritatingly composed.

"Why now?" Stiles tries, because "why me" sounds like fishing for compliments, even though it is baffling.

"I was being so good, Stiles," Derek whispers, right under the shell of Stiles' ear and it's not like Paul at all, it's like every atom in him is straining to be closer. "I wasn't going to touch you. I was going to let you come to me. But that- he was going to try to take you. Right in front of me."

"Oh," Stiles says dumbly. "You know, he- I wouldn't have. With him." He can feel his face heat under Derek's sudden intense stare.

"No," Derek says, not a question at all. "You're pack. You're mine."

"Okay, hey, possessive, I didn't say-" Stiles starts, faltering at the look on Derek's face- like someone's stabbed him in the back. "You didn't let me say. I didn't say I was yours, but I didn't say I wasn't."

"Okay," Derek echoes, wary. "You don't- you can say no." It sounds like it's costing him everything to say it.

"I'm not saying no," Stiles says. He's not crazy. "But if you want this- and I'm resisting the urge to gesture to my face right now- we've got to- to work up. To that."

Derek gives him a look that makes his toes curl in anticipation. "Whatever it takes."

Oh boy.

"It's like I'm watching my parents make out," Erica says loudly from over Derek's shoulder. "Except I'm weirdly invested in my dad getting it."

"This isn't a really great sales pitch," Danny says and wait, what is Danny doing here- wait.

"We were here to recruit Danny?" Stiles groans. "I didn't mean that like it sounded, Danny, sorry. Just... we had to come out to a club and I had to get hit on by a creep for something I could have done in Chemistry class?" Stiles abruptly realizes he's having this conversation with Derek still plastered all down his front.

Derek growls.

"Yeah, no offense, but this is getting weird for me. I'm driving my ass home. Anyone who wants to come with can," Boyd says, doing an about face.

"Oh, lets go get pancakes," Erica chirps, tugging on Boyd's sleeve. "Isaac, Scott's not here so you're the oldest, make Boyd take us to get pancakes. Danny, come with us."

The four of them walk over to the other side of the lot and Stiles will never know if Danny went with them to get pancakes, because Derek's putting him in the Camaro and driving out at warp speed.

"Jesus, Derek," Stiles squeaks as Derek takes a turn with prejudice. "What's the rush?"

Derek just shoots him a look that makes him squirm. "You said I had to work my way up."

Oh boy.

"When I said 'work up to that,' you assumed I meant...?" Stiles asks, honestly curious.

"You can decide. When we get to my apartment." Derek's eyes are fixed on the road, glaring at it like it owes him money.

Oh man.

"Just- anything. Anything I want," Stiles pushes, because seriously, what is even happening.

"Within reason," Derek agrees, the hint of a smile lurking in the tiniest corner of his mouth.

"What," Stiles mutters to himself. This is a guy who wanted Stiles to cut his arm off. Does reason even mean anything to him?

Derek's apartment is basically four walls, a couch, a bed and a toilet, but compared to living in the burned out shell of a house where his entire family died, the place should be on Cribs.

"So, are we going to talk or are you just going to seduce me?" Stiles asks, because he lost track of right and wrong around when Scott got bitten, but he feels like someone has to lay their cards on the table. Or something.

"Do you want me to seduce you?" Derek asks in return.

Stiles is starting to suspect that Derek's new "mysterious powerful alpha allure" is mostly repeating what people say back to them in the form of a question.

"Or I should say, do I have to seduce you?" Derek gives him a long, lingering once-over, the thoroughness of which makes Stiles' cheeks flush.

"Hey, hey, no using- that face- the smolder... thing," Stiles points accusingly at him. "This is the only time I'm ever going to have the upper hand and I am getting some answers tonight."

Derek cocks his head to the side. "You think you don't have any power here?" he asks. Derek comes close, tucking his hands into the pockets of Stiles' hoodie, tugging Stiles against him.

"Um," Stiles hums, because Derek is really fucking distracting to start with, and this close, Stiles finds himself staring at the creases at the corners of Derek's eyes as he grins.

"You get under my skin, Stiles," Derek whispers, the same intoxicating thread in his voice, just low enough that Stiles has to be so still to hear him. "You make me want to put my mouth all over you, so everyone who looks at you knows who you belong to. Touch you all over so you smell like you belong to me, with me, too."

An involuntary noise of assent falls out of Stiles' mouth.

"That's what I want. All of you," Derek finishes, brushing an almost chaste kiss to Stiles' neck.

"And what do I get- what do I get if you get me?" Stiles manages to make himself say.

"You get me," Derek says and it sounds like a promise, like something unbreakable and Stiles just can't resist.

He pulls Derek up to kiss him, hard, demanding. Derek is so hot under Stiles' hands, stumbling to the bed backwards, dragging Stiles by his pockets.

"You don't get to take this back," Stiles pants, harsh and breathless. "Okay? You don't get to say that and not mean it."

"Let me show you," Derek's hands slip out of the pockets to tuck into the waist of Stiles' jeans. "Exactly how much I mean it."

"Yeah, yes, fuck," Stiles groans, scrambling to pull off his hoodie, then his shirt- then his other shirt and why the fuck is he wearing so many goddamn shirts?

"Stop," Derek growls, grabbing Stiles' wrist, arms tangled in layers. "Let me."

Derek strips off each layer slowly, like it's a present he's really savoring, and yes, it's sexy, it's unbearably sexy, being the sole focus of Derek Hale's attention, but Stiles is also 17 and gagging for it.

"Derek," Stiles doesn't like to say he moans, per se, but even if he did, he can be forgiven, because Derek's broad, hot palms are skating over the sensitive skin of his stomach, like Stiles is some kind of god, which is ridiculous- he's seen Derek with his shirt off. "Come on."

"Are you in that much of a hurry? You want to come right now?" Derek asks, that same filthy whisper that makes Stiles completely unhinged.

Stiles isn't proud of the sound he makes, but jesus. You can't just say shit like that.

"Maybe that's a good idea. Get you off now, take my time with you after." Derek says, like he's just thinking aloud and not making Stiles feel like his blood's boiling under his skin. He's not even naked! Derek's still wearing a jacket! This should not be this sexy! There should be rules about this!

"Do whatever you want, just do it," Stiles gasps.

Derek grins.

Stiles is stripped out of his clothes before he even registers Derek moving. In fact, Derek is suddenly naked too and it's a really overwhelming experience, frankly. Stiles tries to focus on the little divot between Derek's collarbones that he wants to taste, but he's immediately distracted by Derek practically tackling him to the bed. He could be upset, but the tackle is immediately followed by Derek's hand circling around Stiles' cock, Derek's thumb pressing carefully at the base.

Stiles discovers that it's really hard to be annoyed with someone who has their hand on your dick.

"I've thought about this so much," Derek tells him, mouth firmly pressing against Stiles' neck again. "About the way you'd smell, the noises you'd make."

Stiles obliges him with a truly embarrassing whimper.

"I have to tell you, though," Derek noses at him; a deep inhale, a self-satisfied sounding grunt. "I wasn't even close."

"Is that- is that a good thing?" Stiles stutters out, because god, Derek thinks about having sex with him. Derek's hand is just tight enough, slick with Stiles' precome, just- confident and seriously, he's way too good at this.

"I prefer reality. Don't you?" Derek says, smug, as he- oh god, does this thing with his wrist that leaves Stiles seeing stars. "Thinking about it can't compare. Although, in future, I'll know exactly what you look like when you come."

Seriously, who even is this guy? Stiles is gasping for breath like he's been running for his life and great, now he's probably going to have a boner every time he's running for his life, which- this is Beacon Hills, it's what they do. Derek scrapes his teeth over a bruise he definitely also put there and Stiles is clawing at the sheets to keep from coming.

"Give it up," Derek whispers it sweetly in Stiles' ear. "I want you to come. I want to taste you."

And that- that- does it, Stiles is shaking and swearing his way through his orgasm, which feels like it's pulled out of him, starting in his fingers and toes and slipping through his whole body. When he feels like he could maybe be a little in the world of the living, he glances over to find Derek- jesusfuckingchrist, licking his own hand, his hand that's covered in Stiles' come. Stiles didn't know he thought that was hot until right now, but apparently he does and his dick is violently protesting trying to be this aroused again so soon.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Stiles groans.

Derek snorts. "That would be the opposite of what I want. I finally have you where I want you, I'm not planning on letting you go without a... struggle."

"Is that code for sex?" Stiles asks, stupidly.

"Among so many other things," Derek agrees.

Stiles can feel Derek, hard against his hip. "Is- can I-" Stiles tries to think of an unweird way to ask "can I touch your dick?" Upon further thought, there doesn't seem to be, so he's just about to say it when Derek distracts him by- well, being Derek.

Derek essentially manhandles Stiles up and into his lap. Despite being visibly... interested in proceeding, Derek seems to be content to just kiss Stiles- the same heavy, thorough way he had in the parking lot, like he has all the time in the world to prove his point. His point being god knows what, that he's the best kisser, ever, which, sure. Yes. Stiles will testify to Guinness.

"Don't you want-" Stiles isn't sure how he wants to finish that sentence. To come? Is Stiles ready to put anything- anywhere else on the table, so to speak?

"Just let me," Derek mutters, his hands restlessly stroking at Stiles' skin, one wrapped around the nape of his neck, the other just beneath Stiles' ribcage.

Derek seems to be content just to keep kissing Stiles, his fingers rubbing against the grain of his hair, the thumb on his other hand tracing small circles against the sensitive skin of Stiles' stomach. Stiles doesn't know what to do with himself. Derek's teeth catch on his lower lip; his tongue slides against Stiles', slow, coaxing. He can feel himself getting hard again, but Derek doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

"Derek," Stiles moans, when Derek finally comes up for air and a change of pace, switching to Stiles' jawline and neck. "Derek, please."

"You said anything I wanted," Derek murmurs, stubbornly kissing Stiles, cutting off what he was about to say.

"Derek," Stiles tries again, and this time it's more of a whine. If they weren't naked and Stiles wasn't convinced there was some of his own come on Derek's hand still, it would almost be sweet. As it is, Stiles is feeling like his body is too hot, his lips sore and almost too tender.

"Do you want something from me?" Derek teases, his nose brushing against Stiles'.

"I can't, you need, I need you to touch me," Stiles stammers out.

Derek leans back, brushing his thumb over Stiles' slick, open mouth. Stiles lets out an involuntary gasp, which means Derek's thumb slips into his mouth. His mouth is raw, but it instinctively closes around Derek's finger, which is salty and oh, god- he's tasting himself on Derek's thumb. He can't help but moan and Derek's lids lower over distinctly red eyes.

"Do you like it?" Derek fairly growls. "Like tasting yourself on me? I did."

Stiles whimpers, nodding a little, which is when Derek pushes in another finger and now all Stiles can think about is other things Derek could put into his mouth.

"If there's something you don't want, you should say so," Derek strokes his fingers over Stiles' tongue, slipping them out of his mouth.

"What do you- what do you want?" Stiles pants out.

Derek gives him a look that would melt metal, leaning in to kiss Stiles. He's rumbling like an idling engine, making Stiles feel like his skin is vibrating where it's pressed up against Derek's. "Well, I don't want to put my fingers in your mouth."

It takes Stiles a second to figure out what Derek is asking to do, but when he gets it, it's a full body reaction, an involuntary jerk. "Okay," Stiles agrees, because everything they've done has been really good for him. And if Stiles knows Derek, Derek doesn't go halfway on anything.

"Yeah?" Derek double checks, going impossibly still.

Stiles laughs, a little manic. "Yeah, okay. Go for it."

Derek unleashes a fresh onslaught of messy, biting kisses. "Fuck, I've been waiting, Stiles. You're going to have to be patient with me."

Stiles bites his lips, concentrating on the sting in place of pressing a palm to his dick. "I don't know how patient I can be," Stiles groans.

"Maybe I can be patient for both of us," Derek practically croons, pressing Stiles back into the bed, rolling him over. The cool sheets are a shock against his overheated skin, resulting in a muffled moan. "But not if you sound like that."

"Mmnot sorry," Stiles slurs. Derek's hands are faintly tracing all over him, like they're moving in some arcane pattern from freckle to freckle, and well, it's not like Derek lacks for options there. It'd be soothing if Stiles wasn't so hyperaware of Derek's hands sliding lower. His body has just decided it's going to be embarrassing, because he can't seem to stop making noise now- little humming affirmations of the way Derek touches him, hitching 'ah's when Derek follows his hands with his mouth, biting, kissing, sucking.

"You're doing that on purpose," Derek growls.

"Wish I was," Stiles sighs. "You're all cool and collected. Me, I'm like a speak and spell here. You keep pushing the 'yes' button." Well, that's an unfortunate simile.

"I wouldn't call myself collected," Derek says, biting carefully at the curve of Stiles' ass. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you." It's not really a question, but even if Stiles wanted to respond, he can't, because he can hear Derek reaching into the nightstand and the click of what has to be lube.

He knows it's coming, but the slick press of Derek's finger, just pressing against his hole makes him twitch, spine shuddering.

"Do you want me to stop?" Derek asks, pausing, just that pressure, promising and teasing.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Stiles demands. "You haven't even-" He breaks off into a garbled whine as Derek slips in a single finger- the stretch isn't unpleasant, just strange and barely uncomfortable. But it feels like Derek is turning his brain inside out, that finger slowly pushing in, sliding out.

"Yes?" Derek shifts so that he's kneeling, his knees slipping under Stiles' thighs, propping his hips up, forcing his ass up in the air, spreading him open.

"Oh my goooood," Stiles's cock isn't safely trapped against the bed anymore, it's pressed into the valley between Derek's knees and holy shit, he's never wanted to come so badly in his entire life.

"That's it," Derek says, almost to himself and when Stiles is busy thinking about his cock, the finger is his ass slides completely out, only to be replaced with two. "Just let me take everything."

Stiles has his face mostly buried in the mattress so he has no idea if Derek can hear all the tangled and indistinct half-words coming out of his mouth, but then again, he's a werewolf, so he probably can- frantic agreements and desperate promises. Anything Derek wants.

"Fuck, I'm going to take it so slow today, but later, when you're ready, when you're begging for it, I'm going to pound you into the bed. I'm going to fuck you until you come all over yourself," Derek hisses, his fingers crooking, like they're looking for something and oh holy fucking god, that's it. Derek and his fucking dirty mouth have ruined Stiles for anything- anyone else. Stiles is always going to define arousal as Derek muttering fantasies and fingering him open, putting all of his overblown, melodramatic intensity into making Stiles come.

"Derek, please, Derek." Stiles is getting hoarse, scratchy and thirsty and he has no idea how much longer he can hang on.

"I'm not done," Derek snarls, his free hand clutching around Stiles' hipbone like Stiles might move- like he could move.

"I don't care, just, fuck me now, or I swear, I'll kick your ass, I swear, I'll-" Stiles breaks off, because Derek has pulled out his fingers, but there's nothing replacing them and he's so frustrated he might die.

"You'll what?" Derek demands, and he's flipping Stiles over and- Stiles doesn't think he's ever seen Derek's eyes so red before, even if he's otherwise normal. Derek takes Stiles' left leg and hooks it up over his shoulder. The stretch burns in the best way and Derek already has a condom on and- "Tell me how badly you want it."

"I don't want it," Stiles groans out, and Derek looks like someone's slapped him- "I want you, not- not just sex- I want you."

Stiles can't even describe, imagine what's going on behind the face Derek makes, but it doesn't matter because Derek is pushing into him and fuck, Derek feels huge. His heart is going to beat right out of his chest, he's going to come, he's going to lose his fucking mind, because Derek just keeps pushing in so slowly that it's killing Stiles.

"Derek," Stiles begs. "Please, come on." He doesn't want it to ever end but Derek needs to move or Stiles is going to explode or die or both and he feels like his entire body is in overload.

At least it looks like Derek's having to fight for it- his arms are shaking, his eyes screwed shut. The pace Derek sets is grueling- not fast, but thorough, like they're underwater- slow and like all the oxygen's left the room. Stiles' dick is screaming for attention, but he can't get a hand on it, because Derek is leaning over- Stiles' leg slipping to the side- and covering Stiles in tender, painfully good hickies- one above his right nipple, one on the left side of his ribs. Derek is mapping Stiles' body with his mouth and not even breaking stride, the movement of his hips precise and sinuous.

Stiles' cock brushes against Derek's stomach and he nearly shouts. "Derek, I have to- you need to touch me," Stiles moans, his voice catching and breaking.

Derek glances up at Stiles. "I think I can push you just a little further," Derek says, his hand tracing around Stiles' balls to stroke the skin just underneath. "Want to make you come again and again."

Stiles lets out a strangled yelp as Derek's thumb slips over the slick rim of skin around his own cock. "Derek!" Stiles shouts.

"Are you mine?" Derek asks, insistent even as Stiles is practically mewling under him. "You have to- I need to hear it."

"I'm yours, only yours, just yours, Derek, please!" Stiles feels like the words are being torn from his throat as he babbles them out, but the second he says them, Derek's hand is on him, jacking him fast and perfect and it takes less than a minute for him to come.

Before he's come back down to earth, before he can breathe, Derek is pulling out, ripping the condom off and finishing himself off, his hand already slick. Stiles stares down at his stomach in something approaching disbelief as he reforms the ability to think- there's just- a lot of come on him.

Man, sex is messy.

"Hooooooly shit," Stiles breathes out, even as Derek is collapsing half on top of him, limbs holding Stiles down, even though he still feels feather-light and totally weightless.

"Hrmgh," Derek seems to agree, idly nosing against Stiles' neck, sniffing at him. Derek's hand- the one covered in spunk- is rubbing circles into Stiles' skin.

Stiles stares at Derek who seems- nope- totally content to be plastered up against Stiles, smelling sweat, sex and himself, strong enough that even Stiles can smell it too. "Seriously? Seriously."

Derek doesn't answer, just presses his teeth into a livid red hickey on Stiles' jugular until Stiles stops moving or talking in lieu of whimpering as his dick flat out refuses to get hard again.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles mutters when Derek finally stops and goes back to smelling him.

"Good boy," Derek murmurs and Stiles can feel the smile pressed against his throat as he sputters in indignation.