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“Here,” Derek said, shoving a large, fabric sack at Stiles like it had a live snake in it.
“What the hell kind of Christmas spirit is that, dude? Is this your dirty laundry?”
Derek rolled his eyes. “Just open it.”
“I didn’t get you anything yet.”
“I’ll unwrap you after this. Just open the bag.”
“I like it when you unwrap me,” Stiles said, grinning. “Grinch.” He pulled the drawstring open and looked inside. “Ha ha, very funny. Just because I broke the last one staking that vampire--”
“Pull it out,” Derek said.
Stiles let the fabric bag fall to the floor. His fingers wrapped around the grip solidly. Then, “Whoa.”
Derek smiled. “Yeah? Deaton knew someone who could make it.”
“What... It’s not cursed, is it?” Stiles rocked back on his heels for a moment. He hefted the bat to his shoulder with a gasp. “Holy crap.”
“It’s from the nematon.”
Stiles froze. “The nematon. As in the big bad cellar o’ doom stump in the woods.”
“It owed you a bat,” Derek shrugged.
“Is it safe?” Stiles took a slow swing. The bat felt like it was humming. Three feet of deeply colored wood, oiled to a soft glow with who knows what kind of magical mystery mixture. It was warm in Stiles’ hands, alive maybe.
“Does it feel safe?” Derek took a step closer. “I wasn’t supposed to touch it before you did.”
“It feels like… yeah, not safe exactly. Powerful, and... mine.”
Derek smiled at the floor.
“Oh no. You don’t get to do the shy thing around me after last Friday. There’s no more shy here,” Stiles gestured between them.
“Powerful and mine,” Derek said, meeting Stiles’ eyes.
Stiles’ face softened and then turned into a pout, shoving his lower lip outward until it was comical. “You are a sap, and I love you. I love this bat and your stupid hairy face and you better unwrap me right now because I need to fuck some appreciation all over you.”
Derek laughed. He did that now, laughing. Beacon Hills still had to deal with interlopers, and Derek still had to deal with the ache of losing his family, but they had stability for once. They were pack now, all of them. And Derek was in love with someone good and powerful and ridiculous and protective and insatiable. Someone who was as connected to this place as strongly as he was. Someone who was in love with him too.
Stiles dragged Derek into a kiss with his free hand yanking on the front of Derek’s shirt. “I,” Stiles said between kisses, “cannot believe,” and tongue, “that you are,” and a nip with his teeth, “a real thing that I get to have.”
Derek pulled Stiles’ shirt up and off one arm and over his head, waiting for Stiles to switch hands with the bat to get the other arm off. Stiles’ reluctance to put down the bat made Derek sure it had been the right gift.
“I’m glad you want me.”
Stiles tried to undo Derek’s jeans with one hand. “Your fucked up-ness gives you flavor.”
Derek snorted and unzipped Stiles. “No one else in the world could put those words together in a sentence with a straight face.”
“I don’t have a straight face. I have a bisexual face. And you are about to fuck it.”
Stiles had the bat in both hands now, and he used it to shove Derek back until he sat down on the couch, pants around his ankles. Stiles held him there like that, with his bat firmly across Derek’s chest, as he swallowed him down.
No one gave head like Stiles Stilinski gave head. At least no one Derek had ever experienced. He sucked Derek off like a man possessed (a term that Derek cautiously used, considering their history), or like a scientist out for systematic discovery, or a tease, or so sloppily that Derek’s balls would drip with saliva while Stiles spasmed against the bed, moaning around Derek’s cock. It was different every time.
This time Derek truly felt pinned to the couch by Stiles’ power. His hips were free though, and Stiles had asked for Derek to fuck him. He pushed up slowly at first, sliding back out as Stiles groaned, “Oh yeah, do it.” The rasping push of Stiles’ tongue against the underside of his dick was going to make this quick.
Derek sped up, watching for Stiles to pull back because it was too deep or too rough. But he never did. Stiles wanted the challenge, he wanted to beat it and prove he could. It was what got Stiles off: pushing limits. Derek’s cock hit the back of Stiles’ throat. Below him, Derek watched Stiles’ hips thrust against air where he knelt.
The bat was warm against Derek’s chest. Where Stiles’ fingers wrapped around it, it almost seemed to spark in the light of the lamp.
He thrust up again and again, the wet slap of it taking Derek over the edge with a deep grunt.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Stiles said, pushing Derek down on the couch. He straddled him, cock in one hand and bat in the other, pulling hard and fast. He turned and wiped his chin off on his shoulder. It left a shiny streak of spit on his skin.
Derek clasped his hands around Stiles’ hips, helping him thrust into his fist. The scent of him, of the man Derek wanted in his life forever, pushed Derek’s fangs out.
“God,” Stiles moaned as he came across Derek’s chest.
He fell forward, one hand landing squarely in the come on Derek’s skin. Derek nestled Stiles to him and licked his hand clean as they let their heart rates calm.
“So,” Stiles said, face plastered to a fairly clean part of Derek’s chest. His tongue flicked out to clean up a drop. Christ, Derek loved him. “What big ol’ baddie should we take out first with my new present?”