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When he returns home for break, the first thing Stiles does is seek Derek out. Scott always spends time with his mom for a few hours and his dad is at work, so there really is nothing else for Stiles to be doing. They’re just a little stiff when they meet, but Stiles sits in Derek’s house for three hours and talks about everything and nothing before Scott texts him and he leaves.
Later, when everyone is home, Lydia sends a mass text about a movie and nobody else has plans so they all agree to go. Derek shows up at Stiles’ window and they go in his Camaro to the theater. Its summer and hot in Beacon Hills and Stiles is down to a single tee that sticks miserably to his skin. Derek and the rest of the betas, remain unaffected.
The movie theater is nice and cool and Derek’s hand rests near back of his neck the whole time. Stiles barely even glances at Scarlett Johansson’s ass for all of The Avengers, which is a new thing for him because he’s seen the movie about 30 times now and never misses a ScarJo ass shot. Until now.
When they reach their cars, Boyd and Erica speed off with promises to meet the next day, Lydia and Jackson do the same in a considerably haughtier fashion. Scott drives Isaac home, clapping Stiles on the back and nodding manfully at Derek before they, too, are gone.
In the silence of the parking lot, Derek looks at Stiles with eyebrows raised, as if to say “well?”
Stiles shrugs, the picture of nonchalance; there are about 7 feet between them, just enough that Derek has to work at scenting him, just enough that restraint is still a thing that can enter either of their minds.
“Where.” Derek asks flatly, and Stiles takes a deep breath, excitement making his hands twitch against his will.
“Yours,” he says, and his calm is slipping, desperation seeping through the cracks.
Derek’s voice sounds like gravel and bass when he says, “come here,” and Stiles can almost feel the hunger, knows he’s not alone in it.
He steps closer.
Derek’s apartment is modern and sparsely furnished, utterly unremarkable aside from the fact that it exists and its Derek’s. Besides, Stiles has been in it many (many) times since Derek moved in, there is nothing new to him there. Instead, he focuses his energies on restraint, something that has come dangerously close to nonexistence, especially in the tense car ride back in the Camaro.
“Bed,” Derek growls, removing his boots with slightly too much force. Stiles gives himself the slightest moment of triumph because Derek’s control is slipping fast. Then he’s removing his converse, sliding out of his jeans, and laying on the bed.
A hum and a miraculous whisper of cool air against his fevered skin tells Stiles that Derek has turned on the AC and he has this to feel grateful about before Derek appears in the doorway, naked and hard, eyes screaming intent.
And as slowly as his restraint has been ebbing the entire night, suddenly it’s destroyed.
“Derek” he groans, legs spreading, “come here”
Derek looms over him, body heat curling around Stiles despite the persistent chill of artificial cooling. They move together with the efficiency of practice, desperation making things slightly rougher, more urgent. Stiles has dropped all pretense of nonchalance, he’s been without for too long.
“Three months,” he gasps, hands rubbing all along Derek’s taut skin, loving the feel of his hard muscles quivering beneath his fingertips. Derek lowers himself onto Stiles, groans at the intense heat rising from between Stiles’ legs.
“I’ve been waiting, I’ve been good” Stiles pants, and he has been good. He hasn’t even looked at anyone else, hasn’t had any comfort aside from his own hand since he and Derek last met. Now, though, now the sharp need that has built in him will finally be fulfilled.
“Good,” Derek murmurs, his lips pressed against Stiles’ neck “good.”
Derek’s hands are large and hot as they ruck up Stiles’ tee, callused fingertips seeking out his sensitive nipples. Stiles can feel him, huge and familiar, erect against his hip. Thinking of that sends desire spiraling tight through Stiles and his thighs clench, the familiar achy brilliant shards of desire pooling low in his abdomen.
“Quickly, quickly, I can’t…I want…” Stiles gasps, as Derek’s mouth does the devil’s work against his sharply jutting hipbone. He knows he sounds lewd, but three months have stirred him to peak frustration too soon. Next time they can go slow, next time, but now…
“Eager I see,” Derek says, and he’s meant to be being teasing, but he’s breathing too heavily for it, his gaze is too heavy on Stiles for it. By the way his nostrils are flaring, Stiles knows what he can smell, knows that the slick heat between his thighs has been evident from the moment they met earlier that day before the movie.
“Yes,” Stiles moans. Derek’s eyes change, flash red, and for a moment he’s more wolf than man,
“such a little slut,” he growls, and tears off Stiles’ shirt.
When Derek’s restraint is gone, it is well and truly gone and his usual taciturn nature goes with it. He presses loud, wet kisses up Stiles’ leg, stubble lightly scratching at the soft skin of his inner thigh as he moves up. Stiles dissolves into babbling and shaking, thighs quivering as Derek’s mouth reaches the place he wants to be touched most.
“You’re so fucking wet here,” Derek rumbles, and his thumb comes up to rub sweet ecstasy against Stiles’ entrance. He’d worn panties specially today, Derek always goes crazy at the sight. His cock is trapped, bulging against the black lace of the garment. Derek had bought them for him, along with many many more that Stiles has to keep in a secret drawer. A locked secret drawer.
“You even wore these, such a good girl,” Derek’s voice is dangerous and it sends a flush rising to Stiles’ cheeks. He should be embarrassed, he should be…but he’s not. He only nods and squirms against the slight pressure of that thumb rubbing him through the underwear.
“These are soaked though,” Derek drawls, “completely ruined,”
His thumb presses harder, and Stiles is dripping.
“Please,” he says weakly.
Derek’s answering laugh is low and dark. He tears the panties off and throws them aside.
“Tell me,” he says silkily, big hands going around Stiles’ hips, “what does my good girl want?”
For a minute Stiles is overcome, unable to speak. He’s missed this so fucking much.
Derek nuzzles Stiles’ neck, inhales the scent there, licks at his fluttering pulse point,
“tell me,” he rasps coaxingly. His cock is dangerously close to where Stiles is slick and ready; Stiles knows from the tenseness of his shoulders that Derek is impatient too, ready to claim what’s his.
“I want you to fuck me,” Stiles says, though he knows those are the wrong words. Derek sinks his teeth into the flesh of Stiles’ shoulder, hands gripping bruises at Stiles hips. He knows Stiles is playing games.
“Tell me,” Derek says, an order behind his words, and Stiles wants to laugh but he can’t. Derek’s hips are moving against him, the tiniest thrusts as if they are almost against his will.
“Tell me what you want me to do to you, what you’ve been gagging for all night,” Derek’s teeth draw blood and he licks the mark with the flat of his tongue,
“tell me now” he growls, and slides one long finger purposely against Stiles’ pucker.
Stiles cries out and arches, trying to feel more,
“Fuck me Derek!” he cries “I want your big, hard, cock in my pussy!”
And with those words, Derek springs into action, pushing Stiles’ knees to his chest, eyes on the flushed pink rosette of Stiles’ slick hole.
“Finally,” Derek mutters.
When he enters Stiles, its in one long stroke that has them both crying out. They don’t spend time going slow, Derek pulls back almost immediately and snaps back inside. Their rhythm is punishing, quick, and perfect, drawing high-pitched moans from Stiles’ lips.
“Fuck you’re so tight,” Derek groans, fingers flexing where they hold Stiles’ legs pressed up,
“I’ve been waiting to fuck your cunt since I saw you walk through the fucking door,”
Stiles groans, rolls his hips harder.
He’d been thinking about Derek on the drive home from school, had gotten so wet that he’d had to stop on the side of the road and finger himself to completion.
“I wanted to bend you over my couch with everyone watching, I know your tight little pussy was wet when you walked in, you fucking tease”
And he had been aroused, so aroused, when he’d walked in and seen Derek for the first time in months. His response was so fast it had dazed him.
“Harder” Stiles moans,
Derek kisses him, pistons his cock into Stiles’ grasping entrance so hard that the bed shakes around them. The sound of skin on skin is obscenely accompanied by the slick noises of their joining, the lewd slide of Derek’s thick cock in and out of Stiles’ hole.
“You drive me insane,” Derek rasps, and Stiles’ moan is eager, his thrusts erratic
“but you’re mine, “
The red eyes gleam again and Stiles feels his orgasm building like a tidal wave inside him. Already his inner walls are clenching, tight and hot around Derek’s girth.
One large hand drops from Stiles’ legs and finds its way to his entrance, where the skin is stretched tight as he greedily sucks Derek inside. He strokes there, almost gently, and Stiles feels his world shatter; explode from inside him into millions of tiny shards as he comes spectacularly all over himself.
Above him, Derek keeps thrusting through the spasms of Stiles’ orgasm. Wave after wave of heady arousal, smelling of spice and salt and dark things, assault his senses, and it’s not too long before he lets go. Comes with a roar, spilling himself deep inside Stiles body.
When he pulls out, slowly, he can’t help but feel loss to watch his semen slide out of Stiles’ hole, the wolf in him rearing to go back, knot his mate to ensure the continuation of his line. But he stops himself, he always stops himself. No matter that he might fuck Stiles, no matter that Stiles is an omega, Derek doesn’t harbor hope. Stiles comes home from school and nestles warmly into Derek’s life, as f there is a Stiles-shaped hole there just waiting for him. They hang out with the pack, they hang out with each other, and Derek fucks him, and that is that.
Or so he thinks.