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Being a werewolf and an alpha sucks sometimes, if Derek is being honest.
It's the morning after the full moon and he aches all over. But it's the added bonus of his morning wood that makes him want to just turn over and ignore life. He doesn't even remember the dreams he'd had that had made him wake up panting. But the smell coming from the crust already on his lower belly tells him that this wasn’t the first time he’d gotten excited without being fully aware of it. Gross.
He gets up and stumbles to the bathroom before his mother or sisters can burst in. It's a relief when he jumps into the shower and the hot water rushes over his skin. He also can finally deal with the problem at hand. It takes an embarrassingly short time to reach release as a flash of pale, mole-dotted skin crosses his mind. He tiredly watches it swirl down the drain between his feet, and shakes his head. Thoughts like that aren’t helpful.
He still feels a bit fuzzy after he exits the shower and towel dries his hair, but sometimes the moon does that to him the day after. He looks at himself in the mirror and grimaces. He looks as strung out as he feels, dark hollows under his eyes and a slight flush to his cheeks.
His sister, however, seems to have avoided any ill effects because when he trudges into the kitchen for breakfast, he finds Laura acting annoyingly chipper. She smirks at him but he just grunts and let's his mother run a hand across his cheek and over his slightly damp hair before he falls into a seat.
"Rough night, Derbear?" Laura crunches noisily on her cereal, still managing a smile.
"Bite me," Derek replies automatically.
"Language," his mother murmurs as she plops a plate full of bacon in front of him.
Derek merely grunts and digs in, feeling like he's still moving through molasses.
"You alright?"
He can feel Laura and his mother's eyes on him. Derek stops chewing and rubs a hand over his face. "Didn't get enough sleep."
Cora enters the kitchen then, her make up already in place. She sits beside Derek and scrunches her nose. "You smell weird."
"Thanks," Derek grunts sarcastically.
"What does he smell like?" Laura asks, clearly too far away to get a good whiff herself.
"Like...he's sick?" Cora shrugs and then looks at their mother for confirmation.
His mother frowns. "Have you been taking your suppressants, Derek?"
"Mom!" Derek yelps, his face heating. He tries not to look at his sisters, but he can tell Laura is smirking across the table.
His mom just raises an eyebrow and he sinks into his seat.
"Yes."
"Hm..." she hums but she doesn't say anything else. "Maybe you should stay home today."
"I'm fine," he retorts, embarrassed. He remembers taking his alpha suppressants before they'd all gone out to 'frolick in the moonlight' as Laura prefers to describe it. "Just moonsick. Not...not the other thing."
He looks up to find them all staring at him.
"What."
"Your eyes are flashing, lil bro." Laura squints at him.
Derek closes his eyes and opens them again. He hadn't even realized how close the wolf had been to the surface until then.
"Better." She nods, but her brows are knitted. "But maybe you should stay home."
"I'm fine." Derek looks to his mom, who has been watching him closely. "I'll control it."
She frowns, but then she acquiesces. "Alright. But come home early if it gets worse."
He promises he will before he gets in Laura's car. But the closer he gets to school, the worse he feels.
Luckily, Laura is driving so he doesn't have to concentrate much. But the moment he exits the camaro and steps onto the black top of the parking lot, his instincts go haywire. The sounds and smells of the students all around him feel like a battering ram between his ears and he stumbles forward. Laura grabs him by the backpack and pulls him back up beside her. He closes his eyes as the world spins around him.
When he opens them, Laura is bent in front of him so that they are eye level, her expression concerned. "You sure you don't want to stay home?"
He nods and takes a shaky breath, something in the air settling him. He breathes in again, slower, and catches a scent, something warm and sweet like cinnamon. He doesn’t recognize it but his instincts tell him he should, which is baffling. But it completely calms him. He opens his eyes and feels centered for the first time that morning. Even his sickness is gone, like the scent burned it out of him. When he looks back at Laura, she seems to see the change as well.
"Ok..." She sounds uncertain, but she pats him on the shoulder and steps back. "Well...have a good day. Call me if you need me to pick you up."
Derek grunts in assent and makes his way into the school. He tries not to show how rattled he is even as he breathes that scent deeper into his lungs, like it's the only thing keeping him in control. The problem is that he can also feel a familiar heat pooling in his belly. And his jeans start to feel tighter than they should. He tries to think of dead puppies, zombies eating brains, his late grandmother’s funeral. But nothing seems to change the fact there is a growing situation that is getting worse the more the scent envelopes him.
He stops at his locker and tremblingly attempts to unlock it as a familiar laugh echoes across the corridor. His heart beat quickens and his whole body flushes when he realizes it's Stiles Stilinski, and the omega is getting closer. Derek's claws sprout where his fingernails used to be. Horrified, he plunges his hands into his pockets just as Stiles passes. The enticing scent follows him as he gesticulates wildly to his floppy-haired friend, Scott. Derek growls and has to bang his head against his locker door to keep from glaring at Scott. Luckily, Scott seems to have been too far away to notice, but it's obvious that Derek can't stay at school today. Crap.
He walks right back out the front doors, every step away from Stiles feeling more and more painful, and he pulls out his phone. His sister is gonna have a field day.
"Laura. It's me.”
Being an Omega sucks.
"You stink, Stilinski," Jackson growls and bumps Stiles's shoulder unnecessarily hard as he walks past.
But Stiles can see that his pupils are blown, his nostrils flaring to catch Stiles's scent, and it makes him feel dirtier than even the sudden onset of heat and sweat do. "Keep it in your pants, Jackson."
Jackson stiffens, but thankfully, he doesn't take the bait. Danny grabs the back of his neck and guides him back to the field, leaving Stiles to breathe harshly and stew in his own juices. Even he can smell himself, the sticky-sweet of the slick currently, and unexpectedly, running down his thighs.
"Don't listen to him, dude." Scott stops beside him but he doesn't squeeze his shoulder in reassurance like he normally would. He doesn't touch him at all.
Stiles understands the restraint even when he hates it. His best friend can't even get close to him for fear that his alpha hormones will take over and he'll lose control. It should be ludicrous to even think. Scott is like a brother to him. But even Stiles knows it's too much of a risk to test that theory. Thank you, Alpha-Omega Dynamics 101. Stiles's pheromones are just too potent right now. And since he's the only Omega within a hundred yards, he's like an evolutionary beacon to horny teenaged alphas everywhere.
He hadn't been expecting to get so hot and bothered from playing lacrosse, but it's not like he hadn't been warned that this might happen at some point. Sometimes exercise just gets an Omega ready, and it isn't really understood why. Maybe it's all the rough contact with alphas. Which, if true, he personally hates. Yet another reason sexist douchebags would be able to use to argue against co-ed school sports programs. Plus, it makes him a bit sick to his stomach to think that Jackson or Scott could possibly flip that particular switch. He shudders.
"I'm gonna...shower," Stiles mutters, not really sure what else to do. Maybe it'll help if he just...washes most of it away. At least enough so that he can get home unmolested.
"Right...okay," Scott agrees, his puppy eyes wide with concern.
“Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll be fine.” Stiles shoots him a shaky smile that's probably more of a grimace and trudges back to the locker room, his shorts sticking unpleasantly to his thighs.
When he peels off his clothes in the safety of the empty shower room, his skin is annoyingly flushed and sensitive. And the feeling of the slick running down his thighs is both gross and distracting. It's more than he's used to.
He runs his hand up the back of his thigh, sliding it through the slick mess until he presses his middle finger against the source, as if he could just plug it. But the pressure alone makes him shudder, and heat crashes through his body in waves.
Out of breath, he leans against the tile wall of the shower stall and crooks his forefinger experimentally. His rim is puffy and wet, the slick dripping down the digit almost immediately. Oh God. He's never felt so ready this fast before.
He has to wash it away.
He palms the shower knob until it turns just enough to release a cold spray of water onto his head and neck. It makes him shiver and he realizes dazedly that he's still pressing his finger against his hole, which already feels like its gaping. The need to have it filled is strong and sudden. Stiles whimpers and leans back a bit, arching his spine enough to push his middle finger into his slick velvet heat right up to the knuckle.
He groans. It feels too good. Pleasure shoots up his spine and his cock grows heavy between his legs, but it isn't enough. Of course it isn’t. It can’t be.
He fumbles the knob some more with his free hand and the cold spray turns into a waterfall of freezing water. He gasps and shivers violently, his teeth chattering. Goosebumps rise as the water pounds over his sensitive skin and he finally pulls his finger out, frantically wiping at the slick between his thighs until it's diluted enough that he doesn't feel like he's choking on the scent of it anymore.
He thinks about the nastiest, least attractive things, like dead babies or Ebola victims with blood dripping out of their orifices, and works as hard as he can to just cycle those images in his head on a loop. Which is a struggle because he never has been good at maintaining focus.
He doesn't know how long he stays under the spray, his heart beat pounding unnaturally loud in his ears. But eventually, he feels normal enough that he can think clearly again. And he turns it off, his limbs feeling as uncoordinated as a baby deer's.
He towels off and gets dressed in a daze. He honestly doesn't know how he gets home until he's there, standing in front of his front door.
He's already feeling sweaty again when the door opens without him even needing to touch it. And then his heart stops, because Derek Hale is standing there staring back at him.
"Derek?" Stiles slurs, and he makes the mistake of breathing in. Derek's scent hits him like a freight train. His head goes fuzzy and his knees go weak. And he has the sense to panic because Derek isn’t supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be at his own house in the Preserve, with his family. Far, far away from Stiles and his humiliating state.
Derek's nostrils flair and Stiles sees the moment his pupils expand, almost encompassing his glowing irises. His voice is more a growl than real syllables. "Stiles."
Stiles whines. His thighs are slick again. He can feel it. He can feel himself dripping. And Derek is just standing there, staring at him with taut muscles, panting open mouthed. Stiles groans and closes his eyes against the image, hoping that'll keep him in control with his last shred of dignity intact. "What're you doing here?"
When he opens his eyes again, Derek looks confused and flushed. "Stiles. This is my house."
"Wha-?" Stiles questions but he finally looks around and notices Laura's potted plant on the porch with the little smiling frog on a wire that bobs in the breeze, and shit. This is Derek's house. What is he doing at Derek's house?
He shudders in a breath and it only makes things worse. Derek's scent is so strong here and he can't control himself. He looks back up at Derek, who's eyes are almost all black now, his cheeks ruddy beneath the slight stubble. He's in a tight t-shirt and BHHS basketball shorts, like he’d just come home from practice. But his hair is sleep mussed like he’d just rolled out of bed instead and Stiles feels another pulse of slick run down his thighs.
He's so embarrassed but the feeling is muted like he isn’t even in his own body anymore. "Derek."
Derek breathes in sharply. "You're in heat."
"No shit," Stiles spits out, panicking. God, this is so mortifying.
Derek looks pained. His voice is a mess, gravelly and broken. "And you came here."
"I didn't mean to," Stiles insists slowly, his tongue heavy in his mouth. "I didn't even know I was coming here."
Derek is still frowning. But he knows Derek knows what that means. They both know what it means, and it's humiliating. Stiles is standing in a puddle of his own slick, betrayed by his own body giving away a secret he would have rather taken to his grave. And Derek is just standing there, breathing in his hormone cocktail that pretty much screams 'I'm into you', and doing nothing about it. A part of Stiles that isn't currently drowning in the hormonal soup that has become his mind is trying to curl up in a hole and die.
That is, until Derek moves forward almost tentatively and reaches out to press his fingers along Stiles's jaw. Stiles jolts and whines at the contact. He leans into the cool touch.
"Do you really want...?" Derek asks, his voice hoarse and eyes wide, but then he pauses and drops into a whisper, sounding vulnerable for the first time Stiles has ever known. "I could take care of you."
Stiles shudders with the shock of the offer, his entire body tensing up at the earnestness in Derek's voice. "You...really?"
"Yes." Derek stares at him, his chest rising and falling like he's just run a marathon.
Stiles releases a sound that is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Ok. Ok. Yes...Please..."
Derek barely hears the words over the roar of blood in his ears. Stiles's amber eyes are glazed. And he’s rosy cheeked and pink lipped like he's already been claimed. The heat that had been simmering under his skin all day settles low in Derek's belly and his cock swells again in his loose boxers.
He can't believe Stiles had come to him in this state. It's like a dream, but Derek knows he isn't going to wake up sweaty and wrapped in soiled sheets alone this time. This is real. Stiles has chosen him.
He's so glad he's the only one home right now.
Derek leans forward carefully and finally does what he's wanted to do for years. He presses his lips to Stiles’s own, tentatively. But Stiles's plush mouth instantly goes pliant, opening for him. And Derek groans, dizzy with Stiles's scent and taste. He licks into his hot mouth and Stiles releases a broken whimper. Stiles grips him by the shoulders like he’s a drowning man and Derek is a life raft, slotting his body as close to Derek’s as possible. Their erections brush against each other and Derek groans.
Derek can't help pistoning his hips as a rumble builds in his chest. And he turns so that he’s pressing Stiles against the wall by the door.
“Derek...shit...” Stiles gasps and Derek moves his lips down the column of his long throat. Stiles whines. “Yes...right there.”
Derek rumbles in approval. He’s wanted this for so long that when Stiles's cinnamon-sweet scent had filled the doorway, signaling his readiness to be mated, he'd been blindsided.
Because this is Stiles. Stiles who is smart and beautiful, and an Omega. Derek has been practicing control around Stiles for years at school.
Sophomore year, something had changed in Stiles's scent. And Derek had to learn how to control his breathing so that Stiles scent in the halls and shared classes didn't overwhelm him. One time he'd sat too close when Stiles had first gone on suppressants, and he'd almost popped his knot right there in class. He'd learned to keep his distance since then, wary of his inability to control himself if Stiles showed up unannounced, sweating and obliviously sucking on a lollipop, or lounging by the pool in their shared PE class.
But now, Stiles is melting against him, whimpering and gasping for his touch. It's more than Derek thought he could ever have, but he knows now that Stiles wants him, needs him to take care of him. He feels a surge of protectiveness and his instincts are insisting that he keep this private, just between them. He crouches and pulls Stiles up by the thighs until Stiles's long legs are wrapped around him.
Stiles yelps but adapts to the new position, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck and hanging on as Derek carries him back inside, kicking the door closed behind them.
"So hot..." Stiles mutters against his lips. "Just kick that door into submission."
Derek chuckles, pleased.
"I love it when you laugh," Stiles slurs, kissing the corner of his mouth, clearly drunk on hormones. "Please do that always."
"Ok." Derek smiles, a bit flustered, and he hauls Stiles up the stairs, two at a time. “Say something funny.”
“I’ll have you know that I am incredibly...witty,” Stiles huffs, but then he shudders and Derek nearly stumbles from the smell of new slick dripping down Stiles's inner thighs. "Derek...I'm sorry...I need..."
Derek kisses him when they get to the top of the stairs. "Shhh...it’s alright. I'm going to take care of you."
Stiles releases a quick breath. "Wait. I don't want..."
Derek stiffens and stops moving, sudden dread twisting in his stomach that this is all a misunderstanding.
"I don't want you to do this just because I want you," Stiles continues, his expression crumpling. “I know I’m in heat and my scent must be...I don’t want you to do this because I need help, or -“
Derek releases a breath of relief and something warm settles in his chest. "Stiles. I want to."
"Really?" Stiles looks skeptical, even with his pupils blown and his bruised lips parted.
Derek presses Stiles against the wall in the hallway and nuzzles his throat, finding his pulse point. He can feel his dick getting harder in his shorts the more he breathes Stiles in. His slick omega arousal sharp and heady in his nose. "I've always wanted you."
"Shit..." Stiles shudders and he rolls his head back so that his throat is exposed. A clear invitation. "Same. Me, too. For so long. Please..."
Derek finds a tendon and sucks at it, groaning as he tastes the salt on Stiles's skin for the first time.
"Please...knot me, Derek," Stiles moans.
"Yes," Derek gasps. He rolls his hips against him so Stiles can feel how aroused he is. He can feel the hard length of Stiles's erection as well, barely held in by his gym shorts. The shorts that are now soaked through with slick.
Stiles mewls. And Derek has never heard such an incredible sound come out of his mouth until Stiles follows it up with a breathy, "Alpha."
Derek is gutted. And he can feel his eyes flash red. He never knew that word on Stiles's lips would affect him this way, but Stiles makes it sound like a plea and a promise. He wants to bury himself in that feeling and wash himself in Stiles's scent.
He plunders Stiles's mouth with his tongue, bruising his plush lips with sucks and nips meant to mark. And he carries him to his room. His den, his alpha hindbrain supplies, where his mate will be safe and sated.
He presses Stiles down onto the mattress of his bed, and rips his own shirt off before helping Stiles get rid of his. Stiles rolls his skinny hips up so that Derek could pull his shorts off, and Derek growls at the lack of underwear as Stiles's swollen cock springs free, trailing precome across the soft skin of his belly.
Stiles whines, apparently non-verbal now. But Derek knows what he wants, like a sixth sense, an itch at the back of his head that says nothing is right until they're both naked. Derek divests himself of his shorts and boxers until his cock bounces heavy between his thighs and his balls feel tight in the cooler air of his dark room.
Stiles licks his lips, gaze clearly caught on Derek's crotch, and even in this state, he makes grabby hands for him. Derek chuckles and steps forward until Stiles pulls him to stand between Stiles's legs.
Derek smirks and falls onto his knees until he's eye level with Stiles's long, pretty cock. Stiles watches him helplessly, licking his already wet lips. But Derek rolls Stiles's legs forward until he can see Stiles's plush, pink hole, slick glistening all around it and coating his inner thighs.
Derek wastes no time and licks a stripe up the sensitive skin of Stiles’s frenulum.
Stiles jolts off of the mattress. "Fuck!"
Derek smiles, savoring the sweet musky taste on his tongue, and leans forward to taste the puckered hole itself, licking along its edge with the tip of his tongue. Stiles shakes on a gasp and a groan, the heels of his feet digging into Derek's shoulder blades.
"Derek..." Stiles chokes, voice rough.
Derek hums, pressing his lips to Stiles's rim and sucking at it. It tastes amazing, like Stiles and mate and musk, and Derek can feel the base of his dick swelling already, preparing to knot. He plunges his tongue into Stiles's slick hole, thinking about how he’s the one who’s going to do this for Stiles. Fill him up and satisfy him the way a good alpha should.
Stiles cries out and bucks his hips, but Derek doesn't stop plundering until his lips are numb and wet with Stiles's slick and his jaw aches.
"Derek...shit...please...!"
Derek grips Stiles’s cock and gives it one deliberate tug. Stiles cries out and comes.
When Stiles is done shuddering through his orgasm, Derek gives his hole one last suck and he breathes against Stiles's thigh as he looks at his handiwork. Stiles’s chest and belly are now covered in his own slick, which is a hotter image than Derek was prepared for. It’s hard for him to maintain control and his eyes flash.
Stiles trembles and Derek bites the pale flesh of his inner thigh lightly then murmurs, "I'm going to fill you up so good."
"Yes," Stiles breathes and closes his eyes like he's praying. "God. Please, just do it."
Derek smiles at the demand and stands up on shaky legs. Then he tugs Stiles down to the end of the mattress by the thighs until his bottom is hanging off.
Derek leans forward until Stiles's knees are draped over his shoulders and his hole is right in front of Derek's swollen cock. Derek looks down and watches as the tip of his cock breaches the tight ring of muscle and presses inside, aided by the slick.
Stiles keens and bites his lip. His cheeks flushed. And Derek presses further, slowly, until he's balls deep in Stiles's perfect, velvet heat.
He stays like that, overwhelmed, both favoring the sensation and afraid to move.
He waits, suspended in that moment, until Stiles rolls his hips impatiently. "Move, Derek."
"Shit.." Derek breathes, in awe at how perfect Stiles is, and he rolls his hips, finding a rhythm that keeps him deep inside.
Stiles is already moaning, incredibly responsive to the deep, abortive thrusts, and Derek leans over him to capture his hot mouth in a bruising kiss.
Stiles tongues into his mouth, filthy, as Derek fucks into him harder.
Derek growls, pulls out all the way and slams back in, making Stiles scream.
"Yes...like that...fuck...oh my god..."
Derek's chest rumbles with a deeper growl this time. He can feel the base of his cock start to swell. "Stiles...I'm going to..."
"Yes...Derek. Shit...please, knot me. Fill me up,” Stiles babbles. He looks blissed out already, his cock swollen again and leaking precome across his belly. His lips open on a silent oh and the amber of his eyes are nearly taken over by the black of his pupils.
This is what Derek has dreamed of. In fact, it's better. Stiles is impossibly wet and hot and there right beneath him, taking his cock like he was born to it. The tension in Derek's gut coils until he snaps his hips one last time and comes, pumping his release into Stiles. Into his mate, marking him deep inside where his instinct tells him only he belongs. His knot swells until he doesn't think it can fit anymore and Stiles cries out, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
Derek nuzzles his temple, worried that he's hurt him, but Stiles pats at Derek's cheek, and slurs. He sounds drunk. "I'm fine...it's good. You fill me up so good. Better than good. I feel a little high.”
Derek chuckles and nuzzles his mole-speckled cheek and throat, still coming into his slick heat. He notices that Stiles's cock is still swollen and he fists it in one hand.
“Oh.” Stiles tenses beneath him.
Derek pumps Stiles’s sensitive cock from base to tip, carefully this time, and watches Stiles gasp and groan.
It isn’t long before he feels Stiles stiffen, his stomach muscles twitching, and his head lolled back so that the long column of his throat is on display. Derek stares and can’t help but murmur, "Your so beautiful like this."
Stiles’s eyes fly open with a gasp and he falls over the edge, his cock softening in Derek's hand as more slick paints Stiles's pale chest and belly.
Stiles closes his eyes with a sigh and Derek leans over him to lick the mess from his skin. Stiles smiles faintly even as he bites his lip when Derek finds his nipple and worries at it with his teeth.
"I can still feel you coming," Stiles croaks.
Derek leans back and feels his cheeks heat. "Yeah...I've never done this before. I'm not sure how long it'll last."
Stiles smiles and runs his fingers through Derek's hair. "I thought for sure you'd been knotting someone else."
Derek frowns. "Why?"
"Why not?" Stiles questions. "You're..." his ears grow pink and he looks away. "Well, you should know how you look. I bet people have been throwing themselves at you everywhere you go."
Derek shakes his head. He had had his share of propositions, and he had taken them up a fair amount of times, but it had only ever been casual when a part of him had always been stuck on Stiles. "Doesn't mean I'd do this with them."
"Oh..." Stiles looks gobsmacked, but his lips twitch up into a small smile that he can't seem to repress.
"How do you feel?" Derek asks.
Stiles seems to give the question some serious thought. "It should feel gross and weird, but I find it oddly nice, you know? Like...like you're marking me and..." Stiles goes even redder, his cheeks turning blotchy. "And it'll take a really long time for your scent to go away."
"Good," Derek replies on impulse, feeling a sudden surge of possessiveness that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the hormones still fueling his knot.
Stiles's eyes soften and Derek rolls over until they're both tangled together on their sides. Derek runs his hands over Stiles's side compulsively as his dick softens incrementally inside of him.
Stiles sighs. "So does this mean...?"
Derek looks down at his profile, questioning.
Stiles bites his lip and Derek feels the ridiculous urge to bite it himself. Stiles looks vulnerable now, and more alert than he should look after a thorough knotting. "Does this mean you want to be...my mate?"
Derek smiles, and ducks his head. "I've always wanted to be your mate."
"Oh..." Stiles smiles too, his eyes bright with it. "Okay...me too. If that wasn't um...obvious already."
Derek kisses Stiles at the corner of his mouth, murmuring against his skin. "I'm glad you came to me."
He can feel Stiles's lips stretch into a grin. "Me too."
Derek's knot finally goes down enough to disconnect ten minutes later and he cleans them both with some wet wash cloths from the bathroom, taking extra care to wipe at the come that leaks out of Stiles's hole. But he can't help rolling Stiles over onto his stomach and licking the taste of himself out of a squirming Stiles again, which only serves to kickstart another round.
By the time they're done, it's dark outside, and Derek's pretty sure his family is in the house. But he's still sex-drunk enough not to worry about it and Stiles is half on top of him, asleep. So he doesn't make a move to disturb him by trying to get out of bed. No doubt they can all smell what’s happened and they’re giving him and Stiles some space until they can explain themselves.
He's pretty sure that particular conversation with his mom can wait. Goodness knows he's waited for this long enough.
With that thought, he drifts off to sleep, content.