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“Goddamn, it is good to be home,” Stiles says, duffel dropping to the ground as he throws his arms out, nearly whacking Derek in the face as they step into the Hale pack house.
Derek, having long been accustomed to his husband’s flailing limbs, neatly ducks out of the way and shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up in the closet. “You were missed, sweetheart.”
“Really? Cause it doesn’t sound like it." Normally, when Stiles returns from a long FBI assignment, the pack absolutely swarms him, tugging him into a puppy pile so that they can get their scent on him.
But the entryway is bereft of needy wolves and Stiles finds himself frowning as he looks back at his husband. “Where are the puppies?”
Derek locks the door behind them. “They’re giving us privacy.”
That statement is immediately met with an incredulous scoff— and for good reason. Ever since the Hale house was built and the pack moved in, privacy has been a thing of the past. Stiles has lost count of the number of times he has walked into public spaces and seen far more than he wants to. He’d complain, but then again… the others have walked in on him and Derek too. There’s a reason why they all have their own spaces outside of the pack house, but for Stiles and Derek, this house is the only home they have, the loft having been given up to Peter. Privacy is not a thing they tend to have.
But when Derek looks at him with a knowing grin, and with the lack of werewolves piling upon him, Stiles is forced to face the wonderful conclusion of: “Oh my god, we have privacy.”
Derek chuckles softly, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. He pulls away before Stiles can deepen it, much to the human’s chagrin. “Yes, we do. They felt bad that we were the only couple who didn't get to spend Valentine's Day together, so they’ve cleared out for the weekend. I don't have any shifts scheduled for the next few days, and you are home for the next two weeks, so we are going to make the most of it.”
“Oh?” Stiles wraps his arms around Derek, pulling himself close to the werewolf. He doesn’t bother to hide the shudder that runs through his body at the feeling of all that muscle pressed against him. “Whatcha planning to do to me, Alpha?”
Three years of dating, one year of marriage, and (what feels like but isn't) a lifetime of knowing Stiles Stilinski, and yet Derek is unable to hide the way his eyes flash red when Stiles calls him that. It makes Stiles grin, leaning in to nuzzle at Derek's neck, at the mating bite sitting proudly there. “You love it when I call you that, don’t you?”
“A little too much,” Derek agrees, his hands like heated brands around Stiles' waist. They tighten on his hips for a second before Derek is suddenly pushing Stiles away, a move that makes the agent whine.
“Hey, no! We no likey, what the hell?”
Kissing his nose in appeasement, Derek helps Stiles shrug off his own jacket. “We are doing nothing until you eat and take a shower. I know you’ve been running on caffeine and fumes for the past few weeks so you’re going to eat what Isaac made for you, shower, and then you can have your present.”
Stiles nearly falls over, balancing as he is on one foot to undo his laces. He stops himself by virtue of the convenient wall behind him. “Present? You got me a present for Valentine's Day? But we said no presents! I didn’t get you anything! Also, we're like two weeks past Valentine's Day.”
“Don't care. And trust me, what you’ll give me is present enough,” Derek says but Stiles must not look convinced because the wolf swoops in to kiss him again, a quick chaste thing that shouldn't send sparks shooting down Stiles’ spine but does anyway. “It’ll be great, I promise. Now come on, let’s eat. Isaac made that bulgogi thing you like.”
Derek heads off into the kitchen, cutting through the living room, but Stiles waits by the doorway for a minute.
He takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of home. There’s the heady scent of burnt wood from the fireplace Isaac loves to sit in front of, the sweet smell of chocolate that tells Stiles that Boyd’s made his famous white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, the soft florals of Lydia, Jackson’s bougie as fuck cologne that Stiles has stolen once or twice, the gun metal that follows Erica and Kira, the anti-septic that never leaves Scott, and as always, the comforting scent of pine and leather from Derek.
It’s home.
Stiles has missed it.
He loves being an FBI agent, getting to work the field as part of their supernatural task force, but he also loves coming home to this: to pack. To Derek.
“Sweetheart? You okay?”
Derek’s sticking his head around one of the large brick pillars, looking concerned.
Stiles smiles at him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just happy to be home.”
Ooo
They eat dinner quickly and for all that he complained, Stiles manages to scarf down two platefuls of Isaac's bulgogi and fried rice, and three of the cookies. As much as he would like to just leave the dishes for tomorrow, he knows that both Derek and Erica hate coming to a dirty sink in the morning, so Stiles regales his husband with tales of his latest case as he and Derek wash and dry their dishes.
Once done, Derek grabs Stiles’ duffel and they make their way upstairs, the lower floor going dark beneath them as Stiles flicks off the lights. The master bedroom is all the way at the end of the long hallway, marked as Derek’s and Stiles’ by the cutest little wooden engraving of a wolf running next to a human. Kira had made it and presented it as a wedding gift. Stiles might have cried a little when they hung it up.
Pushing open the door, Stiles steps into their bedroom, the bedside lamp bathing the room in dim yellow light. He breathes in deep, smiling softly at the sight.
The Hale house belongs to the pack but this room is theirs: Stiles and Derek's. Their safe space.
It’s an organized, chaotic mish-mash of who they are. The elegant dark wood bookcases that take up one wall is Derek's handiwork, and the shelves filled with obscure titles in various languages are all his. But the tomes of runes, bestiaries and comics that lie in configurations no one understands is all Stiles. Their king sized bed was Stiles’ choice but the Egyptian silk sheets have Derek's name all over them. The fireplace that sits opposite their bed was made by Derek, every brick carefully placed. The runes that are engraved within the brick were done by Stiles’ meticulous hands, Derek sitting nearby to watch.
Walking into this room makes Stiles feel like he’s untouchable, like he's safe. No one and nothing can hurt him– them—here. It’s perfect.
Warm hands encircle his waist, a chin resting on his shoulder. “What’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?”
Resting his own hand over Derek's, Stiles smiles as he feels the cool metal of their wedding rings against his skin. “Nothing crazy for once. Just thinking about how much I love our room. I fucking missed our pillows. FBI safe houses have nothing on our memory foam pillows.”
Derek’s laugh is a sweet warm thing that sends butterflies through Stiles’ stomach. He’ll spend his entire life making sure Derek can always laugh like that. After everything the man’s been through, it’s what he deserves.
Turning carefully in the circle of Derek's arms, Stiles leans in to kiss his husband, tasting white chocolate and the wine from dinner against his tongue. Their kiss is a sweet molten thing, arousal curling low in Stiles’ gut, making his feet curl in his socks.
It’s over far too soon and the way Derek pants against him, his fingers flexing against Stiles’ neck tells Stiles that they both want more.
But first: a shower. Derek might be kissing him now but Stiles knows the scent of other people on him must be driving the wolf crazy. Which is why he sneaks in a quick chaste kiss to the corner of Derek's lips and then pulls back to ask, “Shower with me?”
Derek’s saying yes before Stiles is even done asking the question. Amid laughter and the whisper of fabric, they strip and head into the massive en suite. The hot water is delicious against his skin, and more so is the slick feeling of Derek's soapy hands over his shoulders, pressing into the knots there.
“God, you’re tight here,” Derek says. He’s immediately slapping a soapy palm over Stiles’ mouth, a move that makes Derek laugh when Stiles squawks in outrage.
Pushing the palm away, Stiles spits out his mouthful of soap. “What was that for?”
“Don't even try telling me you weren't going to make a that’s what she said joke there.”
Stiles pouts… because he was totally going to make that joke. Oh, come on! It was right there!
Still laughing, Derek rinses them off and then turns the water a little hotter, pushing Stiles underneath the spray. “Stay there for a few minutes and then come out.”
“You’re not staying with me?”
Derek shakes his head, reaching out to push back the wet curls over Stiles’ forehead. “I want to go prep your gift.”
Something in his husband’s tone makes Stiles raise an eyebrow and he smirks. “Should I be prepping something too?”
Derek smirks right back. “I think you should. I might be a little… tied up.”
He’s gone before Stiles can ask more questions, tugging a towel off their heated rack to wrap it around himself and pad barefoot back into their bedroom.
Part of Stiles kinda wants to hurry through the prep, intrigued as he is for whatever Derek has planned. But he makes himself take his time, grabbing the bottle of lube next to the body wash. What? Stiles pays far too much for their conditioner to use that as lube.
Bracing one arm against the tiles, he reaches back to press one slick finger to his puckered hole, groaning softly at the intrusion. Fuck, he’s missed this. His latest assignment hadn’t left him with much time to take time for himself - release came in the form of a quick rub in the shower.
One finger leads to two, the stretch making the brunette gasp as he fucks back on the digits in him, and then into the fist he’s curled around his cock. He goes for three but the angle is never quite right when he’s standing.
Deciding to take the edge off so he’s not on a hair-trigger, Stiles groans and strips his cock fast, his other hand leaving his ass to tug at his balls. He’s pent up enough that he comes quick, the tiles stained white with his release. His legs shake but his body’s now loose enough to slide three fingers in. But the angle still isn’t right and he can’t reach where he really wants to touch. He thumps his forehead against the tile, whimpering at the ache in his wrist. God, he wants more. He needs more. He needs…
“Derek,” Stiles gasps, wrist nearly cramping as he shoves his fingers in deeper.
But there’s no response. Not even the patter of feet to indicate Derek's return and, Stiles whines, calling out for Derek again, to no avail.
Pouting, he pulls his fingers free, letting the hot water wash his cum down the drain before turning off the water. Wadling out and grabbing the second towel, Stiles dries himself quickly, careful not to swipe his cock which still feels a little sensitive.
He does take a minute to rub moisturizer all over himself. Living with a pack that includes Lydia and Jackson means Stiles has been subject to more judgemental looks than he can count about his ashy elbows. Besides… Jackson brought him some really nice moisturizer back from London - it was just good manners to use it!
Once done and tucking the fluffy towel around his waist, Stiles shoves his damp hair away from his face, talking even as he heads for the door.
“Hale, you better damn well be ready with whatever it is you have because I’m one second away from rid– oh holy god.”
Derek eyes him with a grin, green eyes sparkling in the dim lights. “Sorry I couldn't come to you, baby. Like I said: I’d be a little tied up.”
A little tied up is a fucking understatement.
Because Derek Hale, Stiles' wonderful alpha werewolf deputy husband is literally tied up to their bed.
Oh - and Stiles really should have led with this - he’s naked.
Stiles thinks he might have died and gone to werewolf heaven. Or he's in werewolf hell. Either way he must be dead because oh my god his alpha werewolf sexy as fuck husband is naked on their bed. Naked and bound on their bed.
Somewhere, there’s a chorus of angels singing.
Barely blinking, Stiles steps further into the room, eyes cataloguing every aspect of this wondrous sight before him. Derek is spread out on their Egyptian silk sheets, powerful legs bound to each corner with black rope. His ever muscular arms are stretched above his head, familiar handcuffs locking them together. Derek’s fucking state-issued handcuffs, Stiles realizes with a hitch in his breath. His eyes continue downward, tongue snaking out to lick at his dry lips as he looks over the trail of dark hair on Derek's bare stomach, the muscles contracting gently, and further down to his bare uncut cock. It sits proudly in a neatly trimmed thatch of hair, the tip already glistening with pre cum. Stiles wants to put his mouth on it.
“Is it my birthday?” His voice sounds far too high pitched and breathy for even him.
Derek’s face sharpens into something amused as he lowers his arms in front of him, cuffs clinking. “No, your birthday is in April. We’re in February. This is your Valentine’s Day present.”
“Now I definitely feel bad about not getting you something.”
Crooking his fingers at Stiles, Derek beckons him closer. Stiles is helpless to do anything other than obey, stumbling forward and reaching out. He wants nothing more than to touch Derek, touch all of Derek, those hardened muscles and miles of hairy skin… but the wolf stops him with a soft growl.
“Oh, come on! You cannot expect me not to touch.” Stiles does not whine. He does not. He’s a grown ass man, with a grown ass job - he is not whining about not getting to touch his sexy hot naked alpha werewolf husband.
“Oh, you can touch. But I need you to listen because that’ll be part of my present from you,” Derek says with a smirk, eyes flashing red.
“Okay. I’m listening.” Is Stiles breathing? It doesn't feel like he’s breathing.
“You know how much I love your oral fixation,” Derek says conversationally, like he isn't buck naked and laid out like temptation in front of Stiles. “And I know you complain that you never get enough time to go down on me. So, my present to you is letting you go to town on my cock. And your present to me is the fact that I will just lie here and take it.”
Oh, holy Christ, he's definitely not breathing.
“Sourwolf, you realize you could snap those handcuffs in a second right?”
Derek smiles at him. “I know. The point is not to. I’m at your mercy, Stiles. I can’t touch you, can’t hold you down and fuck you the way I want to. What you say goes.”
His own cock is pressing against the towel, blood thrumming in his veins. Arousal pools in his gut, drying out his mouth and making him want.
Yet, Stiles doesn’t go closer. He curls his hand into a fist, his nails creating indents into his palm. The sting of it is enough to keep his voice steady as he asks, “And… that’s something you want? You sure?”
The amusement in Derek's eyes dims just a little but in its place is understanding. He sits up, holding out his cuffed hands, coaxing Stiles to sit on the bed. The cuffs clink together as he takes Stiles’ hands in his own, their wedding bands glinting in the lamp light.
“I want this. I especially want this with you. Because I trust you. And I know you’re worried but like you said, I could break the handcuffs if I feel uncomfortable at any point. The paperwork I’d have to fill out for that would definitely make your dad raise an eyebr–”
“Do not talk about my dad when I can feel your dick poking me in the hip,” Stiles grouses but he's smiling anyways, running his thumb over Derek's knuckles. “As long as you’re sure.”
Derek leans in to brush their lips together. “I am. I’m yours, Stiles.”
And oh, how those words make him shudder. The simplicity of them, the trust, and the knowledge that Derek is his as much as he is Derek’s… it never fails to make Stiles realize how fucking lucky he is to be married to this man.
Derek smiles softly and shifts back, laying himself out on the bed again, his arms above his head. He curls his fingers into the headboard behind him. “Well, Agent Stilinski. What are you waiting for?”
Ooo
Derek’s cock is a thing of beauty. Long, thick, ridged with dark veins and uncut, it is Stiles’ favorite thing about his husband.
…okay fine, one of his favorite things about his husband. Because let’s be honest, that list is a fucking mile long, and not all of it is about Derek’s physical attributes but also the things that make him a wonderful alpha and a good man… what was Stiles talking about?
Oh, yeah! Derek’s cock. Which now sits in front of Stiles’ face. Oh, mama.
The head leaks pre cum, beading at the top and sliding down the shaft. Derek’s balls sit right below, nestled in dark curls, the wrinkled skin just begging for Stiles’ mouth.
So he does just that.
Well… not immediately.
Because the entire point of this is for Stiles to enjoy himself, right? He fucking will.
“Are you planning to do anything down there or do you need a fucking manu– shit,” Derek swears, muscles contracting as Stiles leans in to blow warm air across the shaft.
Chuckling, the younger man presses in even closer, his face nestled in his husband’s groin to breathe in the clean musky scent of him there. It makes his mouth water, and Stiles blows out another breath, this time over the foreskin covered cock head. He turns his head then, nibbling on the inside of Derek’s thigh, sucking small bruises over the sensitive skin.
Above him, Derek groans. “Stiles– fuck, will you jus– oh fuuuuckk.” The curse is garbled out, Derek’s calves tensing where they rest by Stiles’ shoulders as Stiles finally deigns to snake his tongue out and lick the head.
Salty musk bursts across Stiles’ tongue and he moans softly. “Fuck, you taste good, Der.”
“Yeah? Then have more, darling. Suck me down,” is Derek’s demand, and Stiles sees no problem in obeying.
Of course, he’s not going to obey immediately.
No, he takes his time, his tongue doing little kitten licks over the skin, pressing warm open mouthed kisses to the shaft and then over Derek’s balls. He nuzzles the skin there before finally letting one heavy testicle into his mouth, rolling it over his tongue before doing the same for the second one.
Derek shifts over their sheets, handcuffs jangling. “Stiles, baby, please. Will you fucking–”
Dropping the ball from his mouth, Stiles blows over it and then peeks up at his wolf, mischief alight in his eyes. “Will I what, Der? Tell me what you want.”
With another kitten lick to the weeping head, he orders softly, “Beg me.”
And Derek, the great Alpha of the Hale pack, respected deputy of the Beacon Hill’s Sheriff Department, and beloved citizen of the county, does just that.
“Suck my cock, Stiles, please. Want your mouth on me, want to feel you choke on my dick. Let me come down your throat, on your face, just fucking let me come, please, fuck!”
Well, now, how is Stiles supposed to say no to that?
Before Derek can beg again, Stiles raises his head and without preamble, takes Derek’s cock into his mouth and sucks.
It results in Derek letting out a low snarl, his back bowing as his hips thrust up. Stiles doesn’t even stop, simply adjusting so that he doesn’t choke, and snaking a hand up to fondle the heavy balls.
His tongue digs into the foreskin, licking around the head, and the tangy taste of his wolf explodes over his taste buds, making Stiles whine and grind his own weeping cock into the silk below.
For how slow and careful he was before, Stiles is the exact opposite now, turning the blowjob into a sloppy mess, spit leaking out the corner of his lips as he stuffs himself full of Derek’s cock. He lets the cock head hit the back of his throat, gagging a bit before pulling off, mouth dropping open so that he can slap the cock across his tongue.
Spitting into his palm, Stiles wraps his hand around the base of Derek’s cock, pumping hard as he lets his mouth plunder the shaft, licking and sucking until spit runs down the skin, over his balls and down to the sheets, soaking them. He lets his teeth graze over the skin lightly, delighting in the way the headboard creaks as Derek curses out loud, hips thrusting up.
“Fuck, Stiles, so good, you’re so fucking good, your mouth– fuck your mouth, let me fuck your mouth, baby. Wanna see you choke.”
Rather than verbalizing his assent, Stiles simply shifts so that his mouth stays open over Derek’s cock and he slides his hands under Derek’s ass, gripping the cheeks and pushing up, encouraging Derek to fuck his throat.
That’s all Derek needs. Planting his feet as best as he can over the mattress, he arches up, groaning as Stiles gags but never pulls away.
“Fuck yeah, look at you, fucking made to choke on my cock, so good. So good for me, Stiles, keep going, just lik–ahh God– just like that, yes! Fuck, so good!”
The sounds in the room are beyond filthy, a mix of Derek’s growls and gasps, wet suction, and Stiles’ moans as he slobbers and lets his mouth be used and abused.
After so long together, Stiles can tell when Derek’s close. The muscles in his stomach begin to jump, his breathing deepens, he stutters his words, and his legs do that lovely thing where they twitch. All signs that Derek’s about to blow his load.
Which is why right before that can happen, Stiles pulls his mouth off and grips the base of Derek’s cock hard, ruining his impending orgasm.
The move makes Derek roar, his eyes bleeding crimson as his fingers curl into the headboard. Stiles thinks he might have heard something splinter.
“No! Fuck, Stiles, wha–”
In apology, Stiles presses a kiss to the inside of Derek’s thigh, to the bruises he’s put there. Pulling himself up, he hisses as the movement drags his own dripping hardness over the sheets, but Stiles makes himself ignore it for now. He’s not coming until there’s a cock stuffing him damnit.
“Sorry, baby,” Stiles rasps out, and he has to grin at the way Derek groans at the ruined quality of his voice. “I’d love nothing more for you to come down my throat but my ass is lonely. It wants your cock in there.” He drops soft kisses over Derek's quivering muscles, shifting until he’s on his knees, straddling his husband’s hips.
“I could have come down your throat and in your ass. I’ve done it before. More than once,” Derek growls, but he’s appeased by another kiss, this time to his neck. Right over the mating mark.
“I know. And we have a whole weekend of fucking to do just that. But for now, all I want is to feel your cum filling my hole and then maybe tomorrow, you can eat me out,” Stiles says, and Derek gives him a look.
“Seriously? You want me to eat out day-old cum from your ass?”
“Oh, please. Don’t be a snob. You once sucked my cock, used my cum as lube to fuck my ass, then proceeded to eat out my ass, and then kiss me. We are so beyond you and your delicate sensibilities,” Stiles scoffs and before Derek can sass him again, he reaches behind himself to grip Derek’s cock again.
Derek hisses, back arching as Stiles slides Derek’s cock between his own ass cheeks, the head pressing teasingly against his fluttering hole. “Fuck, this is gonna feel so good. I’ve missed your cock in me, Sourwolf. My fingers are never enough.” Derek’s growl vibrates through them both as Stiles presses back just a little, just enough for the cockhead to pop in and then out.
And then, without another word, he sinks down with a choked out whimper.
It’s too much and yet, not enough.
Stiles collapses against Derek’s chest, feeling the ragged breathing of the man under him, the twitches in his muscles as Stiles clenches just that little bit. “Holy shit, Derek, your cock. You’re gonna split me apart, yesssss.”
Grinding his own hard cock against quivering abs, Stiles breathes in and out for a moment, adjusting to how fucking full he feels. He and Derek have always enjoyed a healthy sex life but his latest assignment kept them apart for nearly three weeks and his body has missed Derek.
Adjusting his knees a little wider and groaning at the stretch, Stiles braces his palms against Derek’s chest, thumbing over a nipple as he raises himself up and back down in slow deliberate movements. He’s hard as a fucking rock and Derek’s no better, but Stiles wants to savor this, wants to really feel every ridge and vein as it brushes against his walls, pushing against his prostate, and coaxing little spurts of pre cum out of his own cock.
“God, Sourwolf, so good for me. Love your thick cock, love how full you make me. Can you see it, Der? Can you see how your cock presses into me? Can you feel it?” Stiles tightens as he grinds down in Derek’s lap and grins at the snarl Derek lets loose, the noise rumbling through him in the best way.
“Fuck, Stiles, c’mere. Let me kiss you, let me taste you, come on.” And that, Stiles can easily give him.
Derek’s mouth on his is unforgiving and wretched, his tongue snaking in the second Stiles gasps, desperate to taste himself on Stiles’ lips. Stiles can feel fangs pricking at his lips and his tongue, and it excites him, his heart going into overdrive at the knowledge that he’s affecting Derek enough to trigger a shift.
When he has to break away for a breath, Derek whines but redirects his attention elsewhere, namely, Stiles’ neck. He nips and sucks at the skin, leaving great big hickeys that Stiles will definitely smack him for tomorrow but for now, he simply arches up, enjoying the pleasure-pain of Derek’s teeth on him.
He knows Derek’s getting more desperate. Feet still planted on the bed, Derek’s hips work overtime, wanting to control the rhythm but unable to do much. He doesn’t have enough leverage to truly fuck Stiles the way he wants to, and it makes the great wolf beg, fangs delicately trailing over Stiles’ skin.
“Let me break these, baby,” Derek says, handcuffs clanking together, and Stiles looks up to see his husband’s claws out, the long nails gouging deep divots into the wood. “Let me touch you, let me hold you. I can fuck you so good, you know I can. Press you in half and fuck my cock into your greedy hole. I can feel you sucking me in, baby, let me fuck you, fuck my cock in so deep, fuck.”
Pushing himself back upright, Stiles pinches Derek’s nipples in reproach, grinning down at him when Derek growls. “I quite like you like this, Der. Begging for me. You want more?” he asks, running his nails down the wolf’s chest, tugging lightly at the hair.
Derek groans, fucking up again, swiveling his hips. “You know I do, come on let me cum, Stiles!”
“Hmmm… incentivise me.”
The dark look he gets from Derek makes Stiles cock twitch and he has to snake a hand over his own cock, gripping at the base.
“You let me cum in you and I’ll let you choke me with your cock. I know how much you love using my mouth. I’ll swallow you down, suck down your sweet balls, let you come all the way down my throat until I can taste nothing but you. Let me do that for you, baby, please.”
And ohh, Stiles does so love it when Derek uses his mouth on him. The scrape of that stubble on his sensitive skin never fails to drive him insane and fuck, he’s so fucking hard too, Stiles thinks he could hammer nails with his dick at this point.
And… if Stiles is being really honest… he’s getting a little tired. What? He’s not as young as he used to be and he just got back from assignment! His thighs are fucking burning too from being spread over Derek, which normally isn’t a problem because Derek holds him up and does half the work!
Derek seems to figure it out too because he smirks and when he brings his hands down over his head, it’s to cup Stiles’ cheek, claws carefully out of the way. “You’re tired, baby, aren’t you? Let me cum, sweetheart and then I’ll make you cum so good. I’ll do all the work, you just sit there and look pretty.”
Stiles sniffs, a smile twitching at his lips as he turns his head to kiss Derek’s palm. “I do look very pretty sitting on your face.”
“You do,” Derek says agreeably, shifting under him with a grin. “Clench for me now.”
Bracing his hands against Derek’s chest, Stiles does just that and raises himself before sinking back down. It’s not enough of an angle for him but it’s enough for Derek who snarls in relief and plants his feet firmly on the mattress and fucks up into Stiles as hard as he can.
It doesn’t take much, not with how Stiles has been teasing him. Within a few minutes, Stiles is moaning at the hot cum that floods his insides, and his own cock spurts at the sensation.
Below him, Derek shudders with a groan, hips still working through the aftershocks. “Fuck, yes, so good, Stiles. Lift up, let me see.”
Thighs still screaming, Stiles does as asked and both men groan at the squelch as Derek’s cock slides out, along with a glob of spunk that splashed into the dark curls at Derek’s groin.
“So fucking sexy, look at that cum. You liked that? Liked feeling me fill you up?”
Stiles whines, knee crawling forward until his thighs are bracketing Derek’s face. “Stop talking and fucking suck me. I wanna come!”
Derek’s laughter rumbles through Stiles’ balls and he very nearly shrieks at the sensation. Then he does actually shriek when Derek’s mouth drops open and he’s immediately tonguing at Stiles’ balls, laving them and leaving them spit slicked. “Fuck! Derek, yes! Yeah, keep doing that, fuck, yeah, let me feel that beard on my balls, take it, fucking hell!”
Derek stretches his neck and then moans as Stiles’ cock slides into wet warm heat. The shudder that leaves Stiles is visceral, back bowing as Derek puts his mouth to work, suckling at the cock head, digging his tongue into the slit and teasing out as much pre cum as possible.
Then Derek pulls back, a string of spit connecting his lips to Stiles’ cock, and says, “Fuck my throat, baby. Let me choke on your cock.”
Fuck, yeah, Stiles can do that.
It’s wet and messy and loud, Derek gagging on Stiles’ cock as Stiles thrusts in and out. At one point, Stiles takes Derek’s still cuffed hands and brings them to his own mouth, sucking the fingers in and recreating exactly what Derek is doing to his cock.
It’s filthy and the sight of it makes Derek groan, the rumble reverberating through Stiles and making him whimper.
He’s been hard since the moment this all started so it doesn’t take long for that coil in Stiles’ gut to pull tighter and tighter until the band snaps, and he’s coming with a loud cry. Derek swallows every single drop, tongue working overtime as he licks Stiles’ cock clean.
He only stops once Stiles pulls away, whimpering at the over-sensitivity. His thighs ache as he finally levers himself off Derek and collapses into the open spot next to his husband. Beside him, Derek coughs a little before pushing up onto his elbow, turning his body to Stiles.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby” he says, voice hoarse, and Stiles bursts out into laughter.
“My god, we are freaks.”
“You love it though.”
“I do. Now, lemme see your wrists, they must be fucked to hell.” They are, but even as Stiles unlocks the cuffs, the scrapes and red lines from Derek’s thrashing heal, leaving nothing but smooth skin. The silk ropes around his ankles were kinder, and once the knots are undone, Derek rolls them both into the one dry spot of the bed, keeping Stiles close.
Stiles protests for all of a minute before he settles, their legs tangled together. In a bit, they’ll probably get up and shower again, because they are a mess of bodily fluids and Stiles can already feel the cum and sweat growing tacky on his body. But Derek’s warm and their room smells like sex and them, and if the way Derek’s nostrils are flaring, he’s enjoying the scent of them too.
“Thanks for my present, Sourwolf,” Stiles says around a yawn.
Derek chuckles and leans down to nuzzle at his temple, pressing a kiss there. “I’m glad you liked it. But that’s the last time I’ll be doing that.”
Stiles is immediately alert, pushing back so he can look at his husband with concern and a little bit of accusation. “You promised me you’d break the cuffs if anything was wro–”
Derek cuts him off with a sweet kiss. Stiles feels his cock twitch a little at the taste of himself on those lips but he orders his dick to stand down. They’ll revisit the idea in the morning. “No, Stiles, it wasn’t that. I wasn’t uncomfortable.”
“Then what?”
“I love touching you when we fuck. Getting to put my hands all over you, hold you the way I want, pull you close, I love that. And not getting to do it today, yeah, it was sexy, but also, I hated it. I want to always have my hands on you. You’re the love of my life, Stiles, why would I ever want not to touch you?”
…Stiles was going to cry. He was a grown ass adult with a grown ass job who still had cum leaking out of his ass, and he was about to cry because of his sexy sappy alpha werewolf husband.
Because crying would ruin a perfectly awesome night, Stiles instead pushes Derek onto his back and then curls in close, muttering under his breath as he shoves his face into Derek’s neck, “Stupid sappy loving werewolf, making me all emotional and being all adorable when I have cum dribbling out of my ass.”
Around him, Derek simply laughs and wraps his arms around Stiles. “You want a plug for all that cum?”
Stiles nips him right over the mating bite, before kissing it. “No. You’re gonna cuddle me now and then take us back into the bathroom so we can get clean, and then tomorrow morning you can wake me up by fucking me and holding me close. Deal?”
He can’t see Derek smile but he sure as fuck knows it’s happening, can feel it as his wolf rumbles in approval. “Deal. I love you, Stiles.”
“Yeah, yeah, love you too, Sourwolf. Now make with the cuddles.”
“You realize we’re going to stick together and it’s gonna be a bitch to get apart, right?”
“All I’m hearing are excuses of you not wanting me as close as possible and that, Mr. Hale-Stilinski is grounds for divorc– ach! Derek!”
Something definitely crashes to the floor and the bed’s an even bigger mess than before but Stiles finds that he simply does not care, laughing as he and Derek grapple over the sheets and well into the night.
Ooo