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“Daddy?” Soft, hesitant.
Derek sets his book on the coffee table, spreading his legs wide so Stiles can settle on the couch between them.
“What is it, baby?”
Instead of clambering into Derek’s lap, Stiles goes to his knees, hand curled around Derek’s bare ankle like a lifeline.
Ah.
They don’t always negotiate a scene like this. Most often, it’s across the breakfast bar, spoon hanging out of Stiles’ mouth, Derek on his third cup of coffee. Occasionally, they’re in bed, loose and sprawling, hair rumpled and skin still sticky with sweat.
Sometimes, it’s just easier for Stiles to ask for what he wants in this particular way, with the pressure off and Derek in control. Stiles is usually the more upfront of the pair of them, doesn’t have trouble spouting off about stuff he’s thinking, how he’s feeling, things he likes and what he doesn’t want to try.
Every so often, though, he gets stuck in his head, worries himself into a state about how Derek will interpret a request, that Derek won’t like it or will judge him for it. Which is ridiculous, of course, but that’s how Stiles is, so sometimes, they do it like this.
Derek doesn’t care, as long as they’re talking about things at all. He’s watched scenes go wrong because partners didn’t negotiate them beforehand, or went in with different expectations.
He reaches out, tapping a finger on Stiles’ chin to bring his gaze up.
“Did you want to ask me a question?”
Stiles nods.
“Go ahead, then.”
There’s a blush spreading, furiously red, up Stiles’ neck and across his cheeks. Good god, what is he about to ask for?
“I want - uh, I’ve been thinking about -” Stiles hems and haws for a minute before breaking off, the sleeve of his shirt twisted between the fingers of his free hand. Derek can’t remember a time when Stiles has been quite this nervous about asking for something in bed.
“Stiles - be a good boy and tell Daddy what you want.”
A shiver starts at Stiles’ head and runs all the way down his spine, a fine tremble that sparks Derek’s blood. Fuck, Stiles is so wound up, anxious and turned on at the same time, waves of fear and lust churning in Derek’s nose, on the back of his tongue.
Stiles’ mouth works before he spits the words out, all at once. “Iwantyoutoknotme.”
“What.”
Great. Great job, Derek, he tells himself. Absolutely the right response. Shit. Stiles’ eyes are huge, hurt bleeding in around the edges.
“I’m...” Goddamn it, just say it. “I’m sorry. I was surprised. I didn’t realize that was something you would want.”
He didn’t realize that was something Stiles knew about. He’s going to be having a long talk with his pack, apparently.
Derek reaches to pull Stiles up, carefully tugging until Stiles’ thighs are stretched across Derek’s lap and their faces are close together. He presses a kiss against unresponsive lips.
“I’m really sorry, Stiles. I’d like to talk about this. Can you tell me why you want to do that?”
“I don’t know, are you going to actually talk about it, or keep gaping at me like a douche?”
Ouch. He opens his mouth, but Stiles beats him to the punch.
“Look. It’s... you’ve had every part of me, right? You’ve had my blood in your mouth.” Warm palms come to rest on Derek’s chest, fingers dipping into the collar of his shirt. He lets his own hands wander to the small of Stiles’ back, stroking along the dips and curves of it.
“I want to have every part of you, too, Derek. I don’t understand why I had to find out from Scott, asking me if we’d done it yet. That was not a super-fun conversation for me, by the way, I think
you owe me for the trauma.”
That wide-eyed gaze is flitting everywhere, refusing to land on Derek’s face.
“Don’t you... Do you not want to knot me?”
Derek hasn’t really let himself consider it. After the scenting and the bloodplay, after every other wolf-aspect that Stiles has accepted without comment, with enjoyment, even... It seemed like too much to ask. Like the thing that might finally push Stiles over the edge into remembering that he’s in bed with an animal. And Derek’s never knotted a human before - what if he does it wrong, somehow? What if he breaks Stiles?
He tries to set the fear aside for a moment and picture what it would be like, knotting Stiles. Having his boy underneath him - or no, maybe on top of him, in his lap, head tipped back, mouth hanging open, stuffed so full of Derek’s cock that he can barely even move, rocking against each other, drenched in sweat, Stiles’ dick rubbing wet and sloppy against his belly.
Derek’s hips jerk involuntarily, Stiles letting out a squeak of surprise as his fingers dig into Derek’s shoulders.
“Fuck, Stiles. Yes, I want to - I want to a lot.”
Suddenly, they’re kissing, messy and urgent. Stiles is yanking at Derek’s hair, hands flying everywhere, the unexpected sting making Derek bite. He works a purple mark into the side of Stiles’ neck, sucking until there’s practically a welt.
Clever fingers reach for the hem of Derek’s shirt. Wait, wait, they were - what were they doing?
“No -” he gasps as Stiles gets his shirt up far enough to latch his mouth around Derek’s nipple.
“No?” A pink, pointed little tongue curls around his nipple, giving sweet little flicks that make Derek jolt. He wraps his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, digs his fingers in and just moves him into place, watching avidly as Stiles’ pupils blow wide at the blatant show of strength.
“We are not done talking about this. Keep distracting me and you won’t be coming for a week, understand me?”
Stiles pouts out his lower lip in a ridiculous, blatant move that shouldn’t be anywhere near as sexy as it is, damn it.
“What was that?”
“Yes, Daddy. Sorry.” Stiles smirks, entirely unrepentant. Derek lets it go for now; punishing Stiles would only derail the conversation even further. Besides, it’s so much sweeter when Stiles thinks he’s gotten away with something for a little while.
“You know it’s going to take a lot of preparation, right? Did Scott, did he actually show you his knot?”
“Dude. No. I do not want to see Scott’s junk any more than I already have, okay? But I did some research online. It’s big, right?”
Stiles waggles his eyebrows. The urge to smack him upside the head is nearly overwhelming.
Or - Derek grins to himself a little. He lets his voice go dark, claws tracing needle-fine lines up Stiles’ back.
“Yeah, Stiles, it’s big. Bigger than anything you’ve ever had inside you. And it won’t be a plug, you can’t pull it out.” He leans it close, whispering the words against bitten lips. “You won’t be able to move; you’ll have to take it, hole all stretched out, so full it burns and you’re begging but it just - doesn’t - stop.” Derek punctuates each word with a sharp nip to the fragile skin underneath Stiles’ jaw.
“I can take it.” Stiles’ voice may be firm, but they both know Derek heard his heart start to pound.
“I need you to be sure, Stiles. If we do this, it’s going to mean a lot of prep. You’ll have to be a good boy for me. Do you think you can stay relaxed and patient for as long as this is going to take? If you get too tense, the knot could really hurt you.”
“That’s kind of the idea, isn’t it?”
“Stiles.” If Stiles can’t be serious about this Derek’s going to have to say no, and he hadn’t realized until right now how much he craves the chance to watch Stiles take his knot.
The tiny, rocking movement of Stiles’ pelvis stops, bottom lip half-caught between his teeth as Stiles mulls it over for a moment.
“Okay, for reals, how big is it? I mean, are we talking some kind of massive whale dick here?”
“Jesus, Stiles, it’s not like I measured it.”
One of Stiles’ eyebrows lifts mockingly. “Don’t front with me, dude, we all measure it at some point. Come on.”
It’s no good trying to fight the blush burning across the tops of his cheeks - Stiles knows him too well.
“It’s bigger than my fist.”
“Holy...”
They’re both staring at Derek’s hands where they rest on Stiles’ thighs. Stiles’ heartbeat is going crazy, tripping and jumping all over itself, absolutely insane, and Derek was right, this is it, this is going to be the thing that ruins them.
“Are you - you know we don’t have to, right? It’s okay if you want to change your mind.”
“Don’t try to back out now. We are doing this. I can’t even - we are so doing this.”
It’s as easy and flippant as Stiles ever is, but his fingers against Derek’s jaw are gentle, eyes bright and steady.
: : :
Derek stares down at the squirming, sweaty mess of a boy chained to the bed. He kneels on the mattress, tucked between Stiles’ pinned open thighs so that he can feel every twitch, every shiver that runs through his boy. They’ve been at this for what feels like hours, stretching Stiles open as slow as Derek could make it.
Not even a finger, at first, nothing but slick, slippery passes of his tongue, that sweet little hole clenching down on nothing, trying to trap Derek inside.
That was when he had to slip the cock ring on, Stiles’ cock leaking, trying to be a good boy but so, so close already. Please, daddy, he’d begged. Please, I want to wait.
Then finger after finger, one knuckle at a time, sopping wet and sticky with lube, eyes fixed on the way that tight, furled flesh gives, surrendering to Derek’s insistent pressure. And now, four fingers deep, thumb nudging at pink, puffy skin; it may be the most gorgeous thing Derek’s ever seen.
Sometimes, Derek can’t believe it, how fucking pretty Stiles is, trembling underneath him. Stiles is always attractive, of course, but like this, spread out and slutty and so willing... it drives Derek crazy, gets his mouth watering, his dick leaking. He wants to rut and take and have, body and brain full of mindless, frantic urges.
Stiles has gone quiet, over-sensitized, muscles wound tight as springs. Derek sinks his teeth into a bare expanse of thigh just to hear the noise it gets him. Loud, long, desperate.
“You need to ask for what you want, Stiles.”
An angry whine is the only response. Stiles’ hips roll, but with ankles and wrists chained to the bed posts, he doesn’t have enough leverage to do more than hump the air frantically.
“You won’t get anything if you don’t ask, baby.”
There’s a sharp, unhappy moan when Derek slips his fingers free. He leans down, pressing their skin together in a sleek, full-body rub that ends with his mouth on the shell of Stiles’ ear.
“What are the rules today?”
“Derek, come on, fuck-”
His heartbeat thrums against Derek’s fingers, throat bobbing under the hard press of Derek’s palm.
“What are the rules, Stiles?” Derek keeps his voice crisp, unswayed by the panicked flutter of dark lashes against smooth cheeks.
The soft, wet sounds of shallow gasps are loud in the room. HIs grip tightens in increments, a
red flush spreading across Stiles’ face.
“Tell me the rules.”
“Ask,” Stiles finally whispers. “I have to ask.”
Derek’s grasp turns into a caress, smoothing across a collarbone, stroking down to the tight bud of Stiles’ nipple.
“Good boy.”
Idle fingers twist, pinching hard, fingernails digging in until Stiles keens.
“Knot me, damn it, let me take your knot, please, Derek!”
Oh, god. The way the words slide from between those pretty pink lips is obscene. Derek rakes his nails across the ridges and hollows of ribs, raising flushed marks to match.
“I think you can ask more nicely than that, don’t you?”
“Please? I want it, you know I do, need to have you fill me up, Daddy, please, please, Daddy, I need your cock in me, I need you.”
Derek slides his cock home in one solid push, Stiles so open that there’s no resistance at all, only the sudden slap as hips meet ass. He gets his arms under Stiles, digging claws into the width of his shoulders, slamming him down onto each thrust of Derek’s dick.
Stiles is letting out these little screwed-up noises of pleasure-pain, slipping past clenched teeth, and it’s not the first time Derek’s heard that sound - it’s not even the hundredth, maybe. It always gets under his skin, makes him want to take Stiles apart, strip off his skin and see the pieces underneath.
His knot is growing, tugging and stretching at Stiles’ rim with every thrust, air full of salt - bloodtearssex - and that tiny, shivery sound like a rabbit, like prey, like the things he hunts in the dark of the moon. The body underneath his is squirming, flinching, panting in desperate gasps, the mouth-watering, terrified sound of one last breath before jaws snap closed around a soft throat.
The hot burst of blood in his mouth.
“Hyacinth. Hyacinth.”
The words wash over Derek, faint and far away, and it doesn’t feel like they came from his own throat, but they did. They did.
“Derek? Derek. Are you okay?”
“I. Stiles, I need - we need to stop.”
“Alright. Okay. That’s okay. Can you unchain me?”
He moves slowly, carefully, not trusting his body. For a moment he had been sure - completely convinced - that he’d torn Stiles’ throat out.
The last lock clicks, Stiles already up and moving as it falls away. At the last minute, he holds himself back, arms stretched halfway, eying Derek carefully.
“Do you mind if I touch you?”
“Are you sure you want to?” Stiles still doesn’t understand what nearly happened, Derek can tell, and the minute he figures it out, he’ll run, and that’ll be it. Derek won’t say anything to try to stop him.
“I always want to touch you.”
Long arms wrap around his shoulders, cradling Derek’s head against the curve of Stiles’ neck. Derek tries to file away the scent that hides in the sharp hollows of his collarbone.
“Derek... you know you didn’t hurt me, right?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Stiles, I could have killed you!” Voice climbing up and up until he’s screaming, standing at the foot of the bed without remembering the movement.
“But you didn’t. You didn’t even come close.”
How is Stiles so calm? He should be the one yelling, the one furious about the way his life was risked.
Derek swings around, staring at the wall, trying not to picture the realization that must be breaking over Stiles’ oh-so-expressive face.
“But I wanted to. I wanted to, don’t you fucking get it?”
“If you didn’t enjoy hurting me, why would we be doing this in the first place? I love it when you hurt me, you know I do.”
“This is different.”
“No. No, it’s not. Come on, come - just -” Stiles snarls, frustrated, pushing and shoving at Derek until he’s crowded them out of the bedroom, down the hall, and onto the living room sofa. He spills himself into Derek’s lap, glaring at him from inches away.
“When I said I wanted all of you, Derek, I meant it. All of you. You think I didn’t do a shit-ton of research before we started this? If I ever ask Scott another question about his wolfy urges, I swear he’s gonna hurl. And I’ve known you for years, do you really believe that I don’t get what’s going on in your head when we do this? I know that part of you thinks of me as prey, Derek, and I like it, it gets me... fuck, it blows my fucking mind.”
Nails dig into the side of his face when Derek tries to shake his head.
“Listen to me, Derek - I mean it, fucking listen to my body, am I lying to you? I love it, and I love you. I trust you not to let it go too far. The fact that you have fangs and claws instead of a whip or a knife doesn’t make you any more dangerous than any other dom out there. And it’s not as if you’re the first dom who ever worried about taking a scene too far, seriously. This one girl I was with, she-”
His snarl is entirely instinctive.
“Yeah, there you are,” Stiles says, grinning.
God, this boy, what did Derek do to deserve him?
“You make it easier,” Derek tries to explain, haltingly. “I don’t have to... hide anything.” He remembers humans who couldn’t be exposed to the wolf, and shifters who didn’t want anything but the animal. “But today, when I was knotting you, it felt,” he tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, “unbelievable. I couldn’t - I didn’t want to stop.”
The air between them is thick, trembling under the weight of words he can’t take back.
A barely-there brush of lips smooths across his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks.
“But you did. And if I ever, ever actually felt unsafe, you know I’d safeword so fast your head would spin, right?”
Derek does know that; he’s always trusted that Stiles would use his safeword if necessary. Derek’s just afraid; afraid of what he might do, of the damage he could inflict so quickly that Stiles wouldn’t even get the chance to open his mouth.
He loves Stiles. He trusts Stiles. If Stiles says that it’s alright, that they can do this - that Derek can do this... God, he wants it.
Derek counts the pulse throbbing at Stiles’ throat until he can find his voice.
“I’d like to try it again.”
Stiles’ face is blinding.
“Yeah. Yes. Please, yes.”
: : :
Derek stares up along the curve of a still-boyish ass, tracing hands along the faint dip of his waist, the knobs of his spine. From this angle, head on the pillow, Stiles kneeling over him, all Derek can see is acres of touchable skin.
He slips his thumbs between Stiles’ cheeks and spreads them wide, huffing a warm breath over Stiles’ hole.
“Mmm, yeah. Love it when you eat me out.”
Stiles has express permission, just this once, to say every thought that comes into his head. Derek wants to hear it, hopes that the words might help keep his more instinctive urges tethered.
He licks a line along shadowed flesh, starting just shy of Stiles’ balls and stopping teasingly short
of his hole. Stiles’ hips twitch against Derek’s grip, trying to shove back, get Derek’s tongue where he wants it.
“Christ, Derek, your tongue is fucking amazing - lick me, please, get me all sloppy and open for you.”
Damn, the sound of his boy’s voice is doing things to his dick that should be illegal. He drags Stiles closer, burying his face against hot, damp skin.
“Derek, I want to touch you. Please let me touch you? Wanna taste you, need you in my mouth.”
“If I let you, are you going to be a good boy for me? Going to follow the rules?”
Stiles whines a little. “I’m always a good boy.”
A lie like that entirely deserves the bite Derek delivers to Stiles’ rear, deep and solid enough to bruise, to get Stiles struggling against the pull of Derek’s teeth.
“Ahh, fuck, yes, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I promise!”
“Keep your mouth open and take it, then. No hands, and I better not feel your teeth, or this evening’s going to go a whole different way.”
Lips slide down over his dick, all hot, little mouth and slippery, curling tongue.
“Yeah, baby, just like that. I’m going to fuck your mouth, and you’re going to take it, aren’t you? Going to hold still like a good boy while I give it to you?”
The moan that reverberates around his cock makes Derek’s hips jerk. The head of his dick nudges against the back of Stiles’ throat, and Stiles just opens, swallows him down even further, hands clenching around Derek’s thighs.
He lets the roll of his hips set the tempo, shoving Stiles down onto his cock, pulling him back onto Derek’s tongue. It’s driving Derek crazy, filling both of Stiles’ holes at once, using his body like a toy.
A drop of pre-come spills onto Derek’s chest, the scent sharp against the musk already in his nose.
“Don’t you dare come, Stiles. You know what’ll happen if you come without permission.”
His cock slips from Stiles’ mouth, lips brushing the head as he talks, every breath a maddening tease.
“Won’t, Daddy, I won’t. But you could come - I know you like to come in my mouth, on my face, and I want it, Daddy, please? Come all over my face and then knot me, until there’s not an inch of me that’s not covered in you, I’ve been good, Daddy, please?”
“Fuck, Stiles, fuck. Do it, make Daddy come. I want to see you covered in it.”
Derek’s head drops back, surrendering entirely to the sensations Stiles is dragging out of him. He reaches out, stretching until he can get his hands on Stiles’ head and hold him in place, fucking up into that wet, ready mouth until Stiles gags, getting off on the nasty, filthy, choking sound of it as much as the way that Stiles’ throat flutters around him.
“Just the head now, baby, use your tongue. Yeah, just like that. Fuck, that mouth - should I knot your mouth sometime? Keep my cock locked in your mouth until you couldn’t even breath around it.”
Stiles moans his agreement, suckling frantically at the head of Derek’s dick, tongue working in flickers and circles that drive Derek straight to the edge. The orgasm starts hot and glittery in his spine, draws up his knees and arches his spine, flashing through him quick and messy. He doesn’t hold back, doesn’t give Stiles any warning; his boy looks better when he’s wearing Derek’s come like decoration.
“Get up here,” he growls, chest heaving. Stiles scrambles around, and it’s a good thing that Derek’s a werewolf, or he might have ended up with a broken rib or two. “Carefully.”
Swollen lips and come-sticky cheeks smooth over the sore spots.
“Can I kiss you, Daddy?”
He eats the taste of sex and come out of Stiles’ mouth with nips of teeth and a hard, probing tongue. It makes Stiles’ bones go loose, soft and pliant, sprawled across Derek’s chest. Derek kisses and kisses, sending them both mindless from the simple, skin-tingling pleasure of it. The
air changes, shifts, lush and humid and close.
Moans go languid, whimpers easing into dreamy sighs.
Touches turn golden and honey-sweet. Derek draws it out, sweeps his hands across ridges and curves, up and back, until finally it’s Stiles that’s pleading for more, lapping at the corner of Derek’s mouth, cock twitching against the jut of Derek’s hip.
“More, please, Daddy, I need more, I need it, want your cock in me, please -”
“I don’t know, Stiles, do you deserve it? I can feel you, dick all wet like a naughty little boy.”
Stiles freezes, eyes going wide and wary.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying, Daddy, but you feel so good.”
Derek pushes Stiles up, reaching around to dip slick fingers into his hole.
“You know how you could show me how good you are, Stiles? I’m going to keep my fingers right here, and you’re going to work yourself open on them. Let me see how much you want it.”
It’s exquisite, watching Stiles fuck himself down onto Derek’s fingers. He takes more than Derek should let him get away with, dropping down hard onto two fingers, keening from the burn, but his face - it’s too good for Derek to tell him to stop.
Stiles rides Derek’s hand until his thighs are trembling, until the hair is plastered against his forehead and sweat is dripping along his collarbone, until his hole is sloppy and soft against the webbing of Derek’s thumb.
Derek’s hips roll in time with the twist of his knuckles. Each thrust drags Stiles’ balls against the wet head of his dick, catching at his foreskin, everything hot and close, making him crave the tight clutch of Stiles’ ass. Lube and sweat is thick on their skin, the scent hanging heavy in the air.
The sweet, metallic scent of blood hits his nose and Derek’s cock jerks; he can taste frustration in the back of his mouth, Stiles’ need making his own greater. Face twisted up, nails digging furrows into his own thighs, Stiles bites his lip, keening in desperation.
“You need more, don’t you, sweetheart? Need my cock filling you up just right.”
“Yes,” Stiles hisses, falling forward against Derek’s chest. His face is buried against Derek’s sternum, but Derek can hear the sound Stiles is hiding as his fingers slide free.
It’s delicious, burns straight through to the back of his brain and rockets down his spine. He has to fuck Stiles now, now; Derek’s balls already feel tight and full, the base of his dick starting to swell. Usually, he doesn’t have trouble suppressing the knot, barely even thinks about it, but tonight his instincts are screaming takefuckknotmineMINE.
Carefully, he reminds himself. Carefully.
He cradles Stiles in one arm and pushes them upright with the other, leaning back against the headboard. They’re the same height like this, heads tipped together, lips glancing together with every breath, tongues and limbs tangling.
“Take my cock, Stiles. I want you to fuck yourself on my dick until you can’t anymore, until I’ve knotted you so hard that you can’t even move.”
“Fuck, Derek, I can’t.”
“You will, or you won’t be getting it.”
Stiles levers himself to his knees, muscles quivering. Derek’s fingers, of their own accord, find their way into Stiles’ open mouth, each panting breath hot against his palm.
“Come on, baby boy, ride my cock. Want to fill you up inside and suck my come out afterward. Gonna get you all filthy wet and messy, make you taste it, make you lick it off my dick. Knot you, listen to you scream my name until everyone in this fucking town knows you belong to me.”
“As if - oh, oh fuck - they don’t already.”
“It’s not enough,” Derek snarls, and then his claws are digging into narrow hips, slamming Stiles down onto his cock, fangs worrying at the thin skin of Stiles’ shoulder.
“Christ, Derek, yes, fuck me, fuck me, come on, gimme more-”
Arms wrap around Derek, nails drawing shivers up his back, fingers twisting into his hair. He
bites a column of marks into the pale underside of Stiles’ arm, trapping his gasps against skin as Stiles clenches down around him.
The knot gets bigger, huge, it’s been so long since he’s done this, he’s already losing his mind with it, hotwethard, forcing his way into his mate’s body, taking and marking and owning, his, his, always his-
“Yours,” Stiles gasps out in response. Derek hadn’t even realized the words had fallen from his own mouth. “Always yours, Daddy, your boy, and you’re mine, you know that, mine, you belong to me,” hips circling, pulling up against the tug of the knot and forcing moans out of two sets of lips.
Derek shuts his eyes against the onslaught, everything hazy-edged and whirling, Stiles dripping a stream of obscenities in his ear, grinding down, rippling around his knot, frantic hands leaving quickly-fading bruises.
“Daddy, Daddy, gonna come, I can’t, can’t, please, say I can come, please, please -”
“Do it, Stiles, come for me, get your come all over me. I’m yours, aren’t I?”
He wants Stiles’ mark on him. Deep. Indelible.
One hand fits itself to the dripping length of Stiles’ cock, the other reaching, fingertips nudging against where they’re joined together, rubbing against Stiles’ hole, testing, pressing, slipping in against his own knot, stretching Stiles until his boy is screaming, fucking Derek’s fist and coming, coming, streaking across Derek’s wrist, his belly, jerking against the pressure of the knot and then, then, then he tips forward, puts his teeth to the soft flesh under Derek’s jaw and bites.
And bites, pulling and gnawing, blood welling to the surface, dragging Derek’s orgasm out in a rush that burns, molten, scorching from his core outward, and maybe he screams, too, but the world goes white and sharp, everything Stilesbloodmate.
Mate.
: : :
The room is soft and dark when Derek’s eyes open, Stiles sprawled against him, half-collapsed against the mattress. Tiny, fluttery kisses tickle against the tip of his nose.
“Hey there, sleepy,” Stiles says, smug satisfaction huge in his voice. “How you doing?”
Derek’s eyeroll is as blatant and overstated as he can make it. Stiles is still laughing when Derek brings their lips together, the sound caught between them as Derek presses all the words he can’t say into the dark, pliant hollows of Stiles’ mouth. Thank you. I love you. Stay. He knows that Stiles will feel them, the weight of them folded safely away inside their bodies.
Stiles doesn’t disappoint. He takes the words, shifts them, passes them back. You’re welcome. Love you.
Always.