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The moon was nearly full outside his window, high up in the loft; the moon shone over the trees of Beacon Hills like a gloating face in the dark. The night was clear, but somehow starless, an illusion created by the moon, which was brighter than normal tonight. Derek swallowed the urge to roll his eyes at the moon, too smug and too bright for his liking.
Derek can feel it in his chest, right under that spot where he can feel his wolf stirring, restless, prowling, agitated, and undeniably aroused! God, how he hates when his wolf is keyed up like this, a stark and vocal reminder that he is un-mated, unclaimed, and for the most unloved. He thinks this must be akin to how human women feel when they speak of their biological clocks, the urge to couple up and build a family with each cycle, like a ticking clock for them.
He laughs, dry and humorless.
Of course, he can sympathise with human women, those cycles, the moon, the heightened emotions, and the hunger, their ability to withstand pain month after month. To bleed and then heal and do it all over again, and for no one to ever bat an eye about it. Female humans were little wolves in their own way and loathsome to any man who should cross them during their cycle.
Derek turns from the window and soundlessly crosses the floor, and then up the spiral stairs to his room on the second floor. He strips down, peeling off his dark sweater and folding it on the chair in the corner, then his jeans, and finally his socks. Never one to wear any underwear, as he hates the feeling of constriction, he crawls into his bed naked with a lead-heavy sigh.
Derek's bed is a mess of sheets, blankets, and pillows all made of various lush materials, such as silk, high thread-count cotton, satin, sherpa, and even some furs and pelts. It's a nest, the werewolf version of a wolf's den or burrow, and it's his. Layered in his musk and personal scent, it's his safe place, soothing to every sense, even when they are impossibly heightened by the moon.
The room is dark, with long black-out curtains covering all the windows, save for the top third to allow in the moonlight, but only when it's high in the sky like it is tonight. The room now is cast in cool silvery hues, yet to Derek's senses it may as well have been midday, his wolf-sensitive eyes taking in light like a vacuum from the room. He settles in, letting all the fabrics and textures sing across his naked skin, pleasure arcing over his entire body.
He finds himself hard before he even drags his fingers over his chest, before he can card his fingers through the dark curls of hair that carpet it. He looks down to see himself unfurl, sucking in a hiss as his foreskin is pulled tight, exposing the glistening purple head of his cock that rests throbbing and heated on his abs. He's ignored the pull all night, busying himself to keep from acknowledging the ache in his pants, but now, naked and relaxed, it's surged up like a weed breaking through concrete.
“Fuck,” He hisses, thumbing over his nipples, feeling them erect at the slightest touch of his fingers, pads that feel rough on the tender buds. He twists them gently, sending a jolt of pure heat to his groin, causing his cock to jump and scrape its sensitive crown along the coarse hairs that dust his abs. He leans back, letting his brain go fuzzy with want and lets his hands slide down, past the swell of his pecs and along his obliques, tracing his abs and reaching for...
**brrt brrt
His cell phone goes off on the nightstand, rumbling noisily against the wood.
'Shit, not now,' Derek curses to himself, ignoring it as he wraps his fingers around himself, warm and firm and...
**brrt brrt
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Derek growls low and frustrated, the sound bouncing off the stone walls, somehow sounding more menacing as they bounce off each surface. He winces as he squeezes himself too hard in frustration, causing his cock head to swell and dribble heavy beads of precum briefly, before he releases himself and grabs for the phone, fighting the urge to crush the damned thing to silence it so he can return to...himself.
He unlocks it and snorts a hot breath through his nose as he reads it, withholding a smirk.
Stiles: Hey, Sourwolf
Stiles: You busy?
Stiles: Oh, I guess I should have asked if you were awake first?
Derek watches in utter disbelief as another message bubbled (…) before his eyes, dots dancing briefly before...
Stiles: You awake, Wolfman?
Derek's nostrils flare as he clenches his jaw and types out a response, his neglected self still throbbing as the screen lights up his tense face in the darkened room.
Derek: Awake, but sorry, I'm busy!
'Screw the typo,' Derek thinks as he throws the phone down beside him and spits into his right hand and reaches back down to coat himself in the warm mess. He starts to stroke himself slowly, aided by the saliva and his own slickness, now so hard and ignored that he actually hurts even as he pays himself the attention his body craves like food...
**brrt brrt
**brrt brrt
**brrt brrt
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“Fuck!” Derek curses again, giving himself a few aggravated pumps with a snarl before he reaches for the phone, nearly popping his claws as he does, desperate to shut it the hell up.
Stiles: Good, you're awake!
Stiles: Man, this moon has me wired, but somehow Scotty is out cold
Stiles: What about you?
Stiles: Oh. Bsy must be BUSY. Whatcha' so busy with then...wolf stuff?
Derek feels his blood pressure spike, causing his cock to feel as if it might burst off his body entirely if he so much as moves the wrong way. He keeps a firm hand on it and dictates his message back this time, the tension inside him tight and unyielding like an overdrawn bow.
Derek: Like I said, busy and not with wolf stuff
Derek blows out a long breath, in an attempt to calm himself and ease the tension in himself before he snaps in two. He has to admit that some of this is his own fault. Since Stiles has been away at university, they have become somewhat like phone pals over the last two years. Stiles often has trouble sleeping, and Derek is a night owl by design; they have spent many nights typing out messages back and forth for hours on end. They even video chat every once in a while when texting feels cumbersome.
At first, it had been almost annoying. Stiles' hyper-fixations changed weekly and sometimes day to day, so Derek had trouble keeping up; but then he realised on the days they wouldn't talk that he missed it, missed knowing what the younger man was thinking. Then he realised he missed Stiles in general, not just when he didn't hear from him. He had added a special dose of chaos to the Pack dynamic, and once Derek had the time to adjust to not having it, he wanted it back. It just took a while.
It was also no help at all that Derek's wolf had developed an unhealthy obsession with Stiles in the two years he had been away; it had always been curious about him, but now it bordered on obsession. It would pace restlessly when they learned Stiles had a date or planned to go out with friends. The boy was practically defenseless after all. When he was worried about an exam or a big test, Derek's wolf would whine at the back of his neck all day until they heard from him, learned how he had fared. When Stiles showed up on a video call looking too thin or showed any signs of struggling financially, the wolf surged as if he could burst through the LCD screen and comfort him.
Derek, without any extra encouragement from his wolf, would Instacart him groceries, ensuring that he had his favourite junk foods when he saw he was looking thin, and have Lydia use his black card to buy Stiles clothes when he showed up with holes in his pants or a snagged t-shirt, he also had been making regular deposits into Stiles' and the Sheriff's bank accounts without receiving much fuss from either since Stiles had been gone (because they both ended up spending it on each other).
He excused it all away as being the Alpha of the pack, and that was it. So he really only had himself to blame that Stiles wasn't leaving him alone tonight, too curious for his own good, and worse, he did want to talk to Stiles, he just really, really, really needed to get off first!
Derek pumps himself firmly and with purpose, trying to speed this up before the next inevitable message comes through the phone, disturbing him yet again. He lets his head tilt back into a plush pillow, his eyes rolling back on a groan that feels bone deep and satisfying. His stomach goes taut and flexes as he feels the low pressure start to build, coiling tight behind his...
**brrt brrt
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'God dammit!'
Stiles: Oh.
Stiles: Well, what are you busy with? Anything fun?
Derek feels his eyes sting, the unwanted warning of tears, of pure frustration threatening to spill out at any second, like he desperately wished other parts of him were able to. His rhythm falters as he gives up slamming his fist into the brick wall behind the bed, crushing the face of several bricks to dust.
He manages to calm himself enough to dictate another brief message, dusting off his forearm.
Derek: You could say that
**brrt brrt
Stiles: Well, what is it? You're being weird, Wolfman. Why so avoidy tonight?
Derek: Stiles! 5 minutes, please, and I will give you my full attention I promise.
Stiles: Whoa, whoa! You never beg me. EVER!
Stiles: Are you OK? Are you in trouble?
Derek: Please, Stiles. I'm OK. No trouble. Just please
Stiles: Then just tell me what you're doing. You're making me anxious, dude.
Derek feels a twinge, and his wolf whines at unintentionally causing Stiles stress; his cock softens slightly, easing with the guilt and concern his wolf is radiating. 'Just tell him, he'll understand. Better yet, SHOW him. He'll need time to respond after seeing us.'
Derek hesitates briefly, feeling his wolf preen inside of his chest; it wants Stiles to see them, and coupled with the pull of the moon...he caves. Derek takes a ragged breath and flicks his thumb over the camera icon, pulling up the viewfinder grid. He doesn't bother trying to center himself in the frame, but he does pull his cock up so he can capture the thick veins along its length, and pulls up his foreskin so the glistening folds catch the ambient light in the room.
He chews his bottom lip, thumb hovering for a second before he presses send—his heart thudding just a little harder, like a hammer against a cement floor. His ears ring as he gives a breathless smile to himself.
[image is alcohol marker on cardstock and colored pencil]
Derek: See. Busy. And don't call me dude.
Derek's cock twitches impatiently as he waits for a response to come, phone in his left hand, as his right adjusts its grip. He lazily strokes himself, licking his lips that suddenly feel dry and chapped, feeling a tense kind of excitement grow. (…) He watches the three dots bubble then stop—bubble-stop. He can't help but smile wolfishly, imagining Stiles flustered and blushing down to his shirt collar.
He strokes himself firmer, waiting, holding his breath, the only sound in the empty room is the wet **squelch of his foreskin sliding back and forth over his cock head. He takes in a lungful of air, head swimming like he's on a carnival ride, yet lying still.
**brrt brrt
**brrt brrt
Stiles: I see
A thrill runs down Derek's spine, ending right under his balls, making his hips jolt upward as if shocked, should he be this excited, letting his friend see him like this? 'Yes, let him see us,' his wolf whispers as a dull ache grows in his peaked nipples to match the need for release in his cock as his skin warms like asphalt in the Dog Days of summer.
The phone screen goes black, not dots, no response, just stillness and Derek's hitched breath.
Derek frowns briefly as the thrill and the chase of it all end abruptly, but his right hand doesn't stop moving as he drops the phone and traces his fingertips up his side to tweak his nipples, gently teasing himself. He grunts, lips parted to let out his heated breath like a fog of desire into the night air. Derek lets his eyes flutter shut and is met with vivid imagined images of Stiles. His pointed nose, the sharp points of his cupid's bow...the rosy color of his lips that Derek imagines match his...tip and his?
God, are we going there?
Yep, too late now.
Derek sighs, sinking into his nest further, picturing the possible shape of Stiles. He imagines him having a long, lengthy member, to match his lithe, lanky body; he envisions a surprising thickness or weight to it. Thin guys always seemed to store their bulk “elsewhere”. He had more than once seen Isaac's endowment on a full moon run, and although it was on the smaller side of average in length, it was blunt and thick like a soda can, impressively thick paired with his trimmed frame.
Derek shakes his head, clearing any image of Isaac so he can return to...
**brrt brrt
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Stiles: Sorry I bothered you.
Stiles: Probably killed the mood.
Derek grabs the phone, dragging his tongue hungrily along his upper teeth with a crooked smile.
Derek: Actually, you didn't.
Derek presses send, another thrill sparking over his skin that has his cock pulsing in his fist as he waits.
Stiles: Oh.
Stiles: Are you still busy with it?
There is a brief pause.
Stiles: You don't have to answer that. I don't even know why I asked you.
Derek chuckles darkly, the beginnings of a satisfied purr rumbling at his core.
Derek: What if I told you I was? What would you say then?
Derek's balls tingle, swelling and drawing up with excitement as he chews his inner cheek, restraining himself from speeding up his hand, no longer wishing to end this quickly after all.
Stiles: God, Der. Are you on wolfsbane or something?
Derek smiles, eyes darkening with lust as he looks down at himself, then at the message.
Derek: You think I would be rock hard and texting you while I jerk off if I were poisoned?
Stiles: No, but I mean like a designer wolfsbane or something, are you high?
Stiles: Do wolves even get high? Or is there like a “werewolf catnip” I don't know about?
Stiles: You've never been this...idk...horned up. You know it's me still, right? Stiles?
Derek feels a thrill as Stiles starts to ramble; he has the younger man flustered, and he's enjoying it, wishing he could see it for himself.
Derek: Yes, wolves can get high. No, I'm not, and Damiana flowers make wolves "frisky" if that's what you're asking.
Derek: Is werewolf herbalism really what you wanna know about right now, though?
Stiles: What do you mean?
Derek: Ask me what you really want to know, Stiles...I'll answer 'anything'.
There's another pause, the thickness of that silence as those dots (…) bubble again, making Derek's cock dribble over his hairy knuckles as he thumbs the head, his breath thick and humid as it puffs out into the cool night air.
Stiles: Are you still...you know?
Derek: Yes
Stiles: Shit. This whole time?
Derek: Yes
Stiles: And I'm not killing your mood?
Derek: Nope, not at all.
Derek: Are you OK with that?
Derek feels his heart hammering into his ribs, a touch of anxiety zinging through his veins as he waits for a response to come. Has he pushed too hard? Is he crossing a line that Stiles would rather remain a boundary? 'Damned wolf,' he thinks to himself, 'fucking moon'.
Stiles: I'm not really sure.
Stiles: I'm not uncomfortable, though.
Derek: Good.
Derek's hand slides slick and slow over his cock, a low purr rumbling in his chest as his irises rim red, glowing faintly in the darkened room. Any trace of anxiety instantly lost at Stiles easy acceptance of the scenario. Now it was a game; the chase continues. His wolf urges him on, not that he needs it.
Stiles: Can I really ask you anything?
Derek: Yes
Stiles: And you'll be honest?
Derek: Yes
Stiles: Are all werewolf dicks big, like yours is?
Stiles: Is it part of it, like a wolf gene?
Stiles: Scott, he's big too, not like you, but big.
Derek holds back a snarl that rises violently in his throat. When had Stiles seen Scott's cock? Why was he so familiar with its size in particular? His wolf paces, aggravated and possessive, much more possessive than it should be over a man that wasn't his in any way.
Derek: You're that familiar with Scott's dick?
Stiles: No, I mean, I've seen it a lot. We played lacrosse together
, and we've been friends since we were kids. I definitely
don't think it used to be big, though, that's what I'm saying, why I'm asking.
The tension constricting Derek's shoulders eases as he lets out what might have been a laugh, but it's breathier and softer than it should be. Of course, he's seen his friend's dick, seen him naked...duh. God, he feels like a teenager again, horny, excitable, barely contained, with his hand slightly trembling as his thumbs fly over the keyboard of his phone screen.
Derek: Bitten wolves might see an “enhancement” there. The bite helps make humans stronger and more successful animals. That includes attracting a mate and breeding. So yes, his dick is likely bigger from the bite. Wolf dicks are bigger, more "perfected".
Stiles: Ha, I fucking knew it.
Derek: Have you ever touched it, Scott's cock?
Derek's not sure why he asks; he doesn't particularly want to picture Scott at this moment. Or Stiles with Scott.
Stiles: No.
He needs to know now...
Derek: You guys never messed around with each other?
Stiles: Not like that, no.
Derek's cock twitches in interest 'Get him to tell us more' his wolf coos in his ear. He wants to know more...
Derek: But you've done...what?
Stiles: You're gonna think it's weird.
'No. I'm gonna think it's hot,' Derek thinks.
Derek: Tell me.
Derek: Please.
There is a pause, Derek feels like he's pressed too hard, and he's not entirely sure why. Sure, he's curious, but he also has no desire to picture Stiles with Scott. He just likes the idea of picturing Stiles (Naked? Open? Soft? Moaning?) like that, though. They were close, much closer than he and Stiles; he couldn't compete with that.
Compete?
Was Derek competing for Stiles' attention? Is that what he wanted at the end of all this? What motivated him? He already thought in some ways they might be that close already, but it also felt a little different, too. Maybe that's it? He wants more, more of Stiles, more of just Stiles.
Stiles: We've kissed.
Stiles: We used to practice making out with each other, or on each other.
Derek: Oh.
Derek laughs, almost hysterical, his hard cock slapping his stomach with each rock of his torso as he does. Out of all the things he expected, it wasn't this, not the least bit sordid or taboo. Kissing, how tame, and when he thinks it over, kind of sweet in a way.
He can picture Stiles nervous, sitting on the bed with Scott, knees touching, his bouncing and restless. Stiles licks his lips and leans forward slowly with an odd jerk of his chest towards Scott, who's smiling crookedly as his clumsy best friend leans in. They slot together at the mouth softly, unsure what to do next, soft wet lips mashing with no finesse. Then hands go into each other's hair, hot breath blows out noses, noses brush cheeks, tongues tease at the tips, much too unsure to cross the threshold of each other's mouths yet. One of them makes a little moan, but they can't tell who, and they break apart laughing and wiping their mouths on the back of their hands.
Stiles: Oh, as in bad or?
Derek: No, not bad. I actually think it's kind of sweet.
Stiles: Really? You think it's sweet?
Derek: Yeah, and maybe a little naughty. Is that all you guys did?
Stiles: Yeah, I chickened out of the other thing.
Derek: Other thing?
Stiles: Yeah. OK if I tell you this, you can't repeat it, OK?
Derek: But it didn't even happen?
Derek chuckles.
Derek: I won't say a word.
Stiles: When Scott had started seeing Allison, and things were getting
Kind of heavy, he wanted to start practicing “other stuff” to make sure
He was prepared for it, you know, so she would enjoy it.
Derek: He wanted to fuck you?
Suddenly, the tender rush of imagining them kissing is gone, replaced by a bitter green fire that ignites in his gut. This time, Derek doesn't bother to hold back the snarl that rips from his chest as he types out the response just before his claws pop, hooking from each of his ten finger tips.
Stiles: No. No, nothing that far.
Another pause finds Derek holding onto his breath, his cock unwavering in its hardness, throbbing in time with his nervous heartbeat.
Stiles: He wanted to finger me and maybe eat me out, but I was...
Stiles: I was too nervous.
Stiles: I hadn't come out yet, I knew I liked guys and girls,
But not really what that meant, and that scared me, so I freaked out.
A calm settles back into Derek's core, soothing that jealous blaze as he reads.
Derek: Do you like those things now?
Stiles: I don't know.
Derek: ? But you've had sex???
Stiles: Yeah, but none of those guys really took their time or, you know?
Stiles: No one has ever eaten me out, not even close
Stiles: And I've only gotten fingered to get prepped, never really to get off
Stiles: I finger myself, though. And I like that, but I think it would feel better
If it were someone else's hand or fingers and not my own.
Derek: You deserve better. Better sexual partners.
Stiles: They weren't all so bad.
Derek: Still, they should have asked about your desires, made sure that
they knew how to wring every drop of pleasure from you. Made sure no one could ever pleasure you better.
There's a pause. Derek watches the dots (…) bubble up then disappear a few times. Stiles is flustered, trying to find a response. He smiles.
Stiles: Are you still touching yourself?
Derek: Yes.
Derek wraps his hand around himself firmly, holding up his cock in the moonlight streaming through the window as if Stiles could somehow see it where he was. Derek wishes he could, just to see his reaction, smell his arousal spike in response.
Stiles: Are you...
Pause.
(…) dots.
Pause.
(…) dots.
Pause.
Stiles: Are you thinking about me?
Derek sucks in a breath. Fuck!
Derek: I am. Is that OK with you?
Derek's heart hammers once again, threatening to burst out of his ribs. He pumps himself more out of nervousness than any real need at the moment. Is Stiles thinking of him? Has he been? He can feel his racing pulse in his cock as his heart beat thunders in his ears.
Stiles: I'm thinking about you, too.
Stiles: That picture.
Stiles: It's all I can think about now.
Derek's eyes bleed red as he throws back his head, and with a deep satisfaction racing through his chest. His inner wolf hops excitedly, and he howls. High and long.
'Mate!' Derek's wolf says immediately, 'Ours'.
Derek cuts off his howl, panting as he tries to regain his composure. He knows now that he's been waiting for this moment as these last few years have dragged on, and they have grown closer. The money, the food, the gifts, the endless messages, calls, and talks. Without even knowing why, he had been courting Stiles, seeking out a response, a confirmation, that maybe there was something that could be returned one day. This is what had been missing.
Derek hadn't felt the need to date or pursue anyone since Stiles had left Beacon Hills. He had told himself it was because he had been busy keeping in contact with the pack, making sure they were all safe, now that half of them had scattered. Even when he lay awake thinking of being mated, he had no real desire to pursue anyone, could never picture what type of mate he would have, even if it was male or female. He wouldn't care either way. As with most wolves, he was pansexual. When you can multiply through bites, there's no biological imperative for impregnation. Just need to find a compatible mate.
Well.
That hadn't really been true, now had it. It was Stiles. He had been pursuing him for how long? Derek doted on all the pack. Emailed, called, and texted them all regularly, helped financially, but none as much as Stiles. Stiles was different. Different in every way that mattered to Derek, lanky, freckled, messy-haired, fearless in an endearing way, vulnerable, talkative, annoying, sarcastic, mouthy, haunted by his past (which Derek understood better than anyone), yeah, Stiles was different, Stiles was...
His?!
Maybe he could be?
There's a sudden sureness rising in Derek now, as things click into place like a mosaic. A mosaic he can finally see clearly...Stiles.
Derek: Are you hard?
Stiles: Duh, have you seen you, Sourwolf? Your nudes could probably be an ED cure.
Derek sucks his teeth as they elongate, lengthening into dangerous points meant to tear, rend, and slaughter as his arousal burns deeper into his core. He feels it, the desire, it's hotter now, searing so hot he can feel it in his bones, molten, blistering, but most of all, HUNGRY!
Derek: Good.
Stiles: Is this real?
Stiles: I might actually die of embarrassment if this is some kind of joke.
Stiles: I need this to be real, Derek. Please!
Derek takes another quick shot of himself, the entirety of his length slick and glistening with his precum, his hairy knuckles wrapped around the base, causing his already impressive head to expand and darken to a deep purple. He presses send excitedly, dragging his lower lip with sharp teeth, his mouth now flooded with saliva that trickles from the corners of his lips.
Stiles: Fuck, that's even better than the first one.
Stiles: I've never seen so many veins.
Stiles: It looks...challenging, but in a good way!
Derek: Would you show me you, Stiles?
Derek: Can I see you? If you're comfortable, only if you're comfortable.
Derek's wolf paces, 'See! Let us see.
Stiles: Like a dick pic?
'Yes. Or literally anything. Even a toe?' Derek thinks.
Derek: Whatever you would like me to see.
Derek: No pressure, I can just imagine you.
Derek is proud of the restraint he's managing in his current state. He's just this side of wrecked, just this side of being in control of his wolf and his cock and his hand that's still lazily stroking. If Stiles had been here, still been in Beacon Hills, Derek may have already been running through the darkened streets and woods, naked, clothes be damned.
He'd stride up that tree outside of the Stilinski house like he had so many times, perch on its branches before rolling in silently through the window and scaring the younger man, as he always had, and enjoyed it. Maybe he had always wanted a reason to be close to him, to raise his heart rate, just so he could smell the heat of his skin and the peppery notes that dusted his scent. He knew now, though, that he would run all night to see him naked in person...if only he hadn't been on the other side of the country.
Derek is rewarded for his modicum of control, with not one but four photos that load one by one. The first is of Stiles' face and the top of his bare chest. He's in his bed, the room dark around him. His pale face is flushed and splotchy, pupils blown wide, brown eyes nearly swallowed black. His lashes are thick and heavy, his pink lips softly glistening and parted. He looks debauched.
Photo two is a dick pic. Derek licks his lips as he turns his head to the side, taking in the image with hungry eyes that burn the slightest bit brighter. Stiles is holding himself at the base, wrist resting on a small thatch of wiry brown hair. His cock is long and smooth, hooked over and drooping towards his balls. He's cut, with a thin ribbon of precum stretching towards the bed in the photo from the tip. It's impressive!
Photo three is a simple picture of his butt from the side. It shows off Stiles' tight waist and swell of his impressive ass, and fuck! Stiles' ass is much more substantial than Derek could have ever imagined, not that he had imagined it much before tonight, but to think this was buried under all those layers of cotton, loose denim, and gingham or flannel. It's honestly mesmerising, Derek throbs, his cock feeling tight and swollen at the welcome sight.
Holy Shit!
The last image is Stiles leaning forward on his bed from behind, long fingers dug into his cheeks, spreading himself wide to reveal a tight furl of muscle, nearly perfectly round and a soft, fleshy, brownish pink. Derek drools over his chin, mouth watering at the sight, desperate to know how it tastes, how it would feel under his tongue, and pressed to his face tightly. Anxious to drag through the sparse hair in the cleft of that pale ass and nip at the small dark mole on the left cheek.
Deciding it's too tedious and hazardous to the life of his phone to continue texting with popped claws in this state, Derek gingerly presses the green icon to call out, with the pad of his index finger. The line rings twice as Derek sets it to speaker...
“Hello?” Stiles' voice is thick and gravely with desire. The one simple word is more than enough to make Derek's balls draw up as he purrs with need into the line. “Whoa was that...” Stiles gulps, “...a purr?” There's a hint of teasing to the question, but mostly heated, with an undercurrent of wonder.
“I didn't expect you to send me so many,” Derek says roughly, giving himself a firm tug as he grunts into the phone lying next to his head on the pillow.
Stiles gives out a breathy laugh in response, “I wasn't sure what you were into, so I covered all my bases. Were those OK? I can send more if you tell me what you like,” Stiles says eagerly, the last few words dripping with needy desperation that makes Derek's nipples pucker. Derek can hear him lick his lips through the phone, hear the pattering of his raised heartbeat, and his pulse.
“They were fucking perfect. Do you have any idea how incredible you are? Your body, your fucking ass, the way your cock hooks forward. I'm barely holding back a full shift, Stiles.”
“Really?” Stiles makes a soft, satisfied grunt that makes Derek want to sink his teeth into something NOW, “I haven't really changed since high school, I've always kinda looked like this, maybe a little more hair. It's nothing compared to you,” Stiles answers, his voice tinted with excitement and perhaps embarrassment or disbelief. It makes Derek's balls burn as they expand, full and warm, in his already heavy sack.
“But you kept it hidden under all those clothes, I had no idea. And I don't need you to look like me; what I need is for Lydia to get you all new clothes. No more hiding that body, not from me, OK?”
There's a nervous kind of gulp from Stiles' side of the line, “But I'm all lanky and clumsy, just arms and legs, and I look like...”
“Prey,” Derek growls, fisting along his length, “like something I want to pin down and put my mouth on, mark with my teeth. Would you like that, Stiles, to wear my mark, to look claimed?
Stiles makes a strangled noise in response, a wet sound **squelching into the line, flesh being pressed open by...?
“God, the sounds you make. I wish I were there to devour them, to devour you. Would you like that?” Derek asks darkly, audibly struggling to swallow around his fangs as he drools down his chin onto his chest again.
“Fuck yes,” Stiles moans back into the line. Derek can hear the sound of flesh on flesh, the wet slide of a no doubt lube-covered hand on that long, hooked cock.
“Would you like to watch me struggle to fit all of you in my mouth, force you down my throat? Or would you like me to flip you over and eat you out, see how loose I can make that tight little hole with just my tongue? I bet you taste like candy and sunshine,” Derek growls softly, thumbing over the head of his cock.
Stiles whimpers in response, not bothering to speak as he pleasures himself over the line. Derek's more than happy to hear just that, knowing that he's pushing him, arousing him, taking him quicker and quicker to the edge.
“Are you jacking off, Stiles?” Derek asks playfully, “I can hear your hands on yourself, where are they? I am. I'm stroking my thick, heavy cock, imagining what it would look like with both of your hands wrapped around it, how you'd look at me, watch me writhe and pant for you while you sat on my thighs stroking me.”
“I was,” Stiles gasps out, “Now I'm f-fingering myself,” He groans low and soft, followed by more wet, slick sounds, “what you said earlier about opening me u-up. Made me so feel hot and needy there, had to touch it. It aches, all of me does right now, I'm so...so turned on. Wish it was you, h-here with me, wanna feel your tongue on me i-in me.”
“I could fly you out here, have you sitting on my face by tomorrow. I'd spend the night pawing at you, marking you, filling you up if you like? Then send you back with an ass full of me...would you like that, Stiles? I would do that for you, bring you home. Fill you up?”
Stiles chokes on a sob on the other side of the line, “Are you serious, Derek?”
“Deadly,” Derek hums with a pleased smirk as he squeezes himself.
“Fuck, why weren't you interested when I was within driving distance?” Stiles asks, a pout evident in the change of his tone.
“I didn't realise until you left that I was...attached. That, I miss you. That I...”
“...You miss me?!?” Stiles barks, panting into the line, exertion evident in his voice as the wet sounds grow louder. He sounds strained, exertion clear in his tone.
“Yes,” Derek strokes himself quicker now, as his guard slips, “And I-I crave you.” Derek slurs around his fangs.
“Crave?” Stiles repeats in a hoarse whisper.
Derek grunts, his wolf rising in his voice, “Your scent, it's faded here. The sound of you, I miss how annoying you were...a-are.”
“Annoying?” Stiles whines, sounding weak and pitiful.
Derek's heart clenches, “No. Don't sound sad. Not bad, annoying...I-I want to be annoyed by you, need to be!”
Stiles sighs, a moan melting into a laugh on the other end of the line, the sound of slick skin meeting skin now almost as loud as Stiles' voice, his breath fast and quick and his heartbeat growing more erratic with each downstroke.
“Ughh, I can hear you, fingering that pretty hole, imagine it's me, Stiles. I'd tease you, slowly, make you shake with need until your body is covered in sweat for me. Then I'd find your prostate, trace its shape with the pads of my fingers, feather-light until you begged for more. Then I'd press into it, and make sure to milk out that sweet, musky prostate fluid...and then I'd take out my fingers and finish you with my mouth, because I need to taste you!”
“Oh fuck I'm so close, Der!” Stiles moans, the slick sounds quick and steady with his heartbeat on the other side. It's melodic, possibly Derek's new favourite song. He wishes he were recording this and not forced to try to remember it for every night after this.
Derek growls hungrily now, his wolf rising further, pressing against his skin as he grips his length tightly and pushes himself towards a matching orgasm. “Slow down, I want you to come with me...can you do that for me? Do you want to cum with me, Stiles?”
“Yes!! As long as you don't growl again,” Stiles warns, his tone tight and thready with need, “It's so...I mean you know...it's just that it...goes straight to my dick when I hear that, always has when it's you. No other wolf, just you, Der. I've been hot for you since that day I had to burn out the wolfsbane in your arm, when I thought you were gonna die in my jeep before I got to kiss you, save you. I've wanted you so long, but I've hidden it, hidden it all. Fuck, I want you, Derek.”
“Not well,” Derek laughs, “You always smelled...needy...I just figured it was you being a horny teenager, a virgin for most of those years, never knew it was for me. You just always smelled so hot and ready.”
Stiles laughs sweet and breathless, “Some of it was that, maybe, most of it was you...and maybe the danger too. Something about every semester feeling like the end of the world made me horny as fuck all the damn time.”
“I never would have pursued you, though, not while you were still underage like that, Stiles. I couldn't repeat what happened to me... no matter how much you would have tried to convince me it was okay, that you were different. I need a full consent, enthusiastic consent, I need...”
Stiles cuts him off, “I consent!!! I so fucking consent, Der! As an of-age, consenting adult, I so consent!!!”
Derek purrs in approval, rumbling like a small earthquake, and Stiles whines high and tight through the speaker.
“Fuck! I'm gonna come, that sound...god...you're killing me, Big Bad.”
“Then let go, Stiles, let go, I'm right behind you!” Derek grits out as he moves his hand faster now.
Through the phone, Derek hears skin on skin, fast and hard, then breath catching as Stiles undoubtedly climaxes with his fingers curled inside himself. Stiles sounds wounded, his moans deep and low, drawing out into long stretched vowels until he whines Derek's name like a death rattle.
“Duu-uh-erek...”
Derek wishes he could see him, smell his warm mess, taste his damp skin, cut off his own whispered name with a kiss, and claim him forever! He growls in approval, resonant and clear, but suddenly cuts himself off, the sounds tapering in an instant as something wet lands across his face, stunning him into silence...
come...
His come?!!?
Derek chokes, sputtering as the next rope of come lands into his open mouth, and the next across his nose. His right eye is then glued shut, as his orgasm crashes into him and his brain finally catches up to his body. He roars again, back arching off the bed as the next shot splatters on the wall above his head and drips down thick and sticky onto his pillow. The rest of his load splatters across his abs until the final bit oozes thick and warm over his knuckles.
“Stiles,” Derek says his name like a benediction, lost in the aftershocks of his orgasm as his hips and cock jerk and spasm at random now, fucking the night air. He finally drops back to the bed, fully human again, his wolf curled warm and tired in his core now, content and satisfied. He lets his toes unfurl as he feels his muscle go lax, and he lets himself melt, down, down, down into the bed, inside of the warm afterglow of it all.
His head feels like it's underwater, his senses dulled momentarily, each working just a bit harder to feed him the information he needs, “Wish you were here,” Derek says uncharacteristically soft but still sure as he pants for breath, clutching his cum stained sternum.
Stiles' breath catches when he finally hears him speak again, “I could be. I would be...I want to be.”
And Derek knows it's true, feels it in his core like a magnetic force aligning finally, “I'm not so good at the after,” Derek admits, curling into his nest with a defeated kind of sigh, as if he's ruined the moment.
“I love the after,” Stiles replies, and Derek hears the smile curling into his voice, “I like quiet after, the smells of it, holding each other until our hearts calm down, I like to hold onto my person. I'd hold my wolf.”
“You've been with another wolf?!?” Derek asks, his eyes widening suddenly as his senses snap back, sharp and clear, his fuzzy puddle of a brain sobering in a second.
“No. I was just imagining. Imagining you...I'd like to be holding you right now,” Stiles' voice is soft and slow, he sounds content and tired like he's just gone on a long run.
“I think I might like that, with you.” There's a short pause, quiet air on the line, “You getting tired?”
“Mmhmm,” Derek hears the rustling of sheets as Stiles settles, his heart beat already slowing, calm and even.
“You didn't even clean up,” Derek chides playfully, earning him soft, breathy sounds that he thinks may have been intended as a laugh.
“Don' wanna,” Stiles murmurs, “wanna pretend it's yours. Your mark,” He sighs out with a long breath.
Derek's heart kicks, skipping in an unsteady rhythm at the soft admission, “I'd like that. You to wear my scent, to smell like...mine.”
There's no answer, only deep even breath, and a calm heart beat along with the knowledge that Stiles drifted off sated and thinking of him, wanting him with his last conscious thought. Derek sighs and buries his face in his nest wiping off his cold spend on the soft collection of sheets and bedding, adding to the layers of scent and musk that live there. He knows that what had happened tonight is a turning point towards something. Possibly something new, but also old and familiar. The ability to have, to claim.
'Mine'
Stiles wakes up in the morning his sheets stiff and stuck to his chest and a slick grimy feeling between his cheeks. With morning awareness comes last night's memory, the realisation of what exactly had happened last night as he peels the bedding from his skin like a strip of plaster.
Ahhhh...Derek.
He smiles remembering how soft and vulnerable Derek had sounded at the end of it all, how he wanted to wrap the wolf up in his arms and nuzzle him to sleep. He feels the flutter, old and familiar in his chest, it's butterflies scraping at the inside of his rib cage with paper-thin wings anxious to escape to be free, but they turn to lead as he throws his legs over the side of the bed.
'It was just the moon,' stiles Thinks to himself.
Derek didn't really want him despite what he may have said or admitted to in the heat of it all. It was just the pull of the moon, the Super Moon, on Derek's wolf and his sex drive. Wolves are driven to endlessly possess, territory, mates, pack...that weird thing they do with their beds where they add all their soft things. It's primal, and if he's honest kind of hot, at least when he thinks of Derek in that way, but it's also tempered in the light of day and by the human side of their minds.
Whatever may have happened, and however right it may have felt, it was just a night, one amazing, fantasy fulfilling, Stiles-will-be-jerking-off-to-this-for-years nights. Stiles sighs and digs under the covers for his phone and opens the screen with a flick of his thumb.
2 notifications
9 new messages
He presses the screen again.
6:30 am Account Balance alert! Deposit received $3,064.00 USD
6:45 am Please confirm your flight with American Airlines, and check in promptly
“What the fuck?” Stiles whispers thumbing his messages open next his eyes already wide and disbeliveing.
6:10 am Derek: Good-morning
6:12 am Derek: I told you I'm not good at the after. That includes the morning after.
7:05 am Derek: Hi, it's Derek again. You said you were open to being flown out. It's first class, is this too weird? I sent some money, for food an a uber, and if you're in a hurry and need to buy some things.
7:15 am Derek: I really hope you take the flight. I don't really know how to do this, I suck at it really I'm usually the one pursued, but I'd like to repeat last night but in person with you.
7:17 Derek: If that's OK? This feels really forward and presumptuous now when I reread that message. Did I mess this up?
[message failed to delete for both parties]
7:30 am Derek: If you don't want this I understand. I'm not good at relationships and I have a bunch of unresolved trauma and the wolf stuff and...I know I'm not easy to 'love', so I'm giving you an out. No harm no foul, no mention of last night ever again.
7:35 am Derek: Can we still be friends, even if...I don't know how to word this.
8:01 Stiles: That was a lot.
8:02 am Derek: Sorry
That was quick.
8:04 am Stiles: have you been waiting by the phone for me to respond?
8:05 am Derek: Yes.
Stiles can feel Derek's nerves despite his one word answers, no doubt walking grooves into the floor of the loft or rereading the same page in some worn leather bound book for the 100th time as he taps his booted foot checking his phone over and over.
8:07 am Stiles: I hate to be the bearer of bad new, but sorry I'm bsy.
8:08 am Derek: I understand.
8:10 am Stiles: Yeah, I um, have to pack and quick. I'm going on a trip.
8:11 amDerek: Oh.
'He's such a dumb jock at his core,' Stiles thinks laughing to himself.
8:12 am Stiles: Yeah, I'm going to see this wolf I've been crazy about since High School, wanna get there before moonrise.
8:13 am Derek: Wait, you what?
8:15 am Stiles: He's a little slow sometimes, think it's cause
he used be a big dumb basketball jock or it's all the trauma
maybe but yeah I'm crazy for him.
8:16 am Stiles: Been waiting about 6 years to kiss him
so I hope he's on time to pick me up
Time passes with no response.
8:20 am Stiles: Derek, you there?
8:21 am Stiles: Der??
8:21 am Derek: Sorry I'm bsy, can't talk right now. Gotta get to the airport in time.