Chapter Text
Ever since he helped little Stiles Stilinski shed his inhibitions in the most interesting ways back at that cabin in the woods, the boy has been changed. Really, all it took was a dick in his mouth and the encouragement to take another one up the ass, and it’s like the dull little caterpillar has broken out of its plaid chrysalis and transformed into a magical slutty butterfly.
Peter couldn’t be more proud.
He really couldn’t.
Stiles is happy, which means that Derek should be happy, so why then is Derek still shooting him death stares? Habit?
Peter ponders it during a pack meeting in late January.
It’s been a little over a month since the cabin, and Peter’s been a perfect gentleman. He bowed out of the situation as soon as it became apparent that Stiles and Derek only had eyes for each other. Peter’s not bitter about it. In fact, he’d known when he’d orchestrated the entire thing—well, not the entire thing. Even Peter can’t manipulate someone into getting hypothermia—that he’d have to hightail it out of there as soon as they were done, before Derek got all possessive and murdery. Which is exactly what he’d done, so why the death stares from Derek now?
And why is Stiles looking at him thoughtfully and chewing his lip, as though Peter just might be the solution to some difficult problem he’s been wrestling with?
Peter can safely say that he’s never been the solution to anyone’s problems.
Cause, yes.
Solution, no.
Peter leans back in his chair and taps his fingers on his knee. He tunes out the histrionic teenagers—really, Derek should consider upgrading the pack to actual adults—and ponders.
Peter has always been very good at reading people, and at navigating the shifting sands of duplicity and changing alliances. Really, co-ordinating a threesome involving himself, his as-yet-undiagnosed-with-anger-issues nephew, and the awkward virginal teenage boy his nephew was head over heels in love with had been child’s play to someone like Peter Hale.
Except he’s missing something.
Frankly, Stiles should blush as bright as a fire hydrant whenever Peter’s stare lingers on his mouth.
And frankly, Derek should be much more relaxed now he’s getting laid regularly, and this time not by a homicidal bitch from hell. The poor boy has a type, and he should be thankful Peter steered him away from it with Stiles.
Except Stiles isn’t blushing, and Derek isn’t relaxed.
So what is Peter missing?
It occurs to him when he’s watching Scott McCall try and lace his sneakers at the end of the night. One of the laces is knotted, and won’t pull through.
Stiles glares at Scott’s laces like they’re personally offending him, and that’s when Peter realizes. Oh, he appears as bored and unaffected as always, but on the inside he’s suddenly dying with laughter.
It’s all so suddenly clear.
And it’s hilarious.
***
Peter stays to help with the dishes.
Derek is naturally suspicious. Well, he’s suspicious of Peter at the best of times, but when Peter actually volunteers to help with something? That just cranks the dial from baseline suspicion all the way up to legitimate, healthy paranoia.
Peter hums a little as he scrubs the dishes, an irritatingly jaunty tune that makes Derek want to punch him in the head.
The list of things that make Derek want to punch Peter is the head is ever-expanding, actually. Derek’s been updating it since he was about five. It could fill the Library of Congress by now.
Stiles is hanging around out by the couch. Derek can hear him flicking through his frankly scant DVD collection.
Peter scrubs intently at a speck on a plate, and smirks. It’s that smirk that finally breaks Derek’s composure.
“What?” he growls.
Peter looks innocent. “Excuse me?”
“What are you doing?” Derek demands in a low voice.
“Well, it’s cheese, Derek. If you don’t get it off right away, it’ll set.”
Derek rolls his eyes.
“Actually,” Peter says, “I stayed behind because I hoped we could have a little talk.”
“A little talk about what?”
Peter’s gaze is too knowing. Derek hates that. “A little talk about your little problem with Stiles.”
Derek turns his head sharply, suddenly afraid that Stiles can hear them. He can’t though. He’s still flicking through the DVDs. His heartbeat’s still as steady as it’s been all night, even though his scent is tinged with a little anxiety. Derek hates that as well. He knows he’s the reason for Stiles’s anxiety. He knows Stiles is afraid he’s done something wrong, just because Derek can’t...
It’s Peter’s damn fault for telling him about knotting in the first place.
Peter sets the plate in the drying rack and then leans back against the counter. He folds his arms over his chest. “You can either growl at me and threaten to rip my throat out, or you can actually let me give you the benefit of my experience here. Your choice.”
Derek really, really wants to pick the first option. Instead, he deflates a little. “I really don’t want to talk about this with you.”
“I understand,” Peter says, and he actually sounds sincere. Derek doesn’t trust it for a second. “But you don’t have many other options when it comes to asking advice from older wolves who’ve probably been exactly where you are and struggled with exactly the same... issues.”
Derek bristles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.
Peter sighs. “Really? How about this? You want to knot Stiles, and he wants you to do it, but you’re terrified you’re going to hurt him. Is that about the sum of it?”
Oh god.
It’s worse than Derek’s ever imagined.
Not only is Peter a lying, manipulative sociopathic asshole of the highest order, he’s also a mindreader.
Deny! Deny everything!
Except Derek opens his mouth and the words don’t come. A growl comes, but it’s not mean and threatening. It’s kind of pathetic.
Peter sighs again. “Oh dear.”
Derek wants to crawl away and die now, please, and preserve any remaining dignity he’s got. Which is none, obviously.
“Well,” Peter says. “if you’re ever ready to discuss this, you know where to find me.”
Then, pausing only to give Derek a gentle pat on the shoulder and a condescending smile, he leaves the kitchen.
***
Peter’s almost at the door when Stiles realises he’s leaving.
“Hey,” he says, trying for a casual tone.
Hey? Jesus. Except how are you supposed to greet the guy you lost your virginity to in an unexpected but totally hot as fuck threesome? Stiles is pretty sure there’s no etiquette guide in the world that can help him with this.
Peter turns, and smiles. “Stiles.”
It’s so unfair that Peter’s smile goes straight to his dick the way it does.
Stiles clears his throat. “Are you taking off?”
“Mmm.” Peter’s smile inches up a few degrees. “I tried to have a man to man talk with Derek, and I think I made him uncomfortable.”
“Oh,” says Stiles. He chews his lip for a second. He really shouldn’t ask, but he just can’t help himself. Cat, meet curiosity. “A man to man talk about what?”
Peter makes some sort of vague gesture. “Oh, you know. Things.”
Jesus. It’s ridiculous. He knows Peter’s just reeling him in, and the only way to avoid being caught is to ignore the obvious capital-B Bait, but for all that he’s smart, sometimes Stiles is dumb as shit. Because pretty much the whole world knows the best way to engage Stiles is to hint that something is none of his business.
“Is it about me?” Stiles demands.
Peter looks just as vague. “Well, I suppose, in a manner of speaking...”
“Cut the crap, Peter,” Stiles says, folding his arms over his chest. “If it’s about me, then I deserve to know.”
“You do,” Peter says, far too agreeably. “Although it’s not about you, per se. It’s more about Derek and his issues with certain aspects of intimacy.”
Stiles’s breath catches.
That can only mean one thing.
Knotting.
They were talking about knotting?
Because ever since Peter mentioned it, Stiles hasn’t been able to get it out of his head. He’s gotten kind of obsessed about it, like little-kid levels of obsession, which is kind of a weird comparison, but hey. It’s just like when he was five and his mom bought candy at the grocery store, and then put it out of his reach when they got home.
“No, sweetheart, that’s for later.”
Later? Fuck later. It was right there, and he wanted it, and obviously his mom knew he was going to take it anyway, or otherwise she wouldn’t have let him see the packet. Right?
Stiles’s first trip to the hospital was when he’d crashed to the floor after climbing to get that candy, and hit the corner of the kitchen counter on the way down. He counted it as a win. He got his candy. He also got four stitches and a concussion, but hey, candy. Stiles learned at a very early age that stubbornness and a reckless disregard for his own safety get him all the treats.
He takes the bait.
Of course he does.
“Was it about why won’t Derek knot me?”
Stiles gets the faintest flash of satisfaction from seeing the look on Peter’s face that he just jumped right on in, before the sudden crash of pots and pans from inside the kitchen makes him realize that Peter’s not the only one surprised by the question.
Werewolf hearing.
Oh shit.
***
Peter folds his arms over his chest as Derek comes tearing out of the kitchen like a dervish.
“No!” Derek says, jabbing a finger in Peter’s direction. Then he turns around to Stiles. “And no!”
Stiles huffs. “I was just asking!”
“He was just asking,” Peter agrees, trying, and failing, to contain his smirk.
“I am not having this discussion with you, Peter!” Derek snarls.
“Have it with me then,” Stiles says, jutting out his chin.
Oh, Peter likes Stiles. The boy never backs down from a challenge, even when he should. Humans are so fragile and squishy. Stiles has all the attitude of a much hardier creature. It’s either ambitious or deluded. Whatever it is, Peter approves.
Derek glowers.
“Look,” Stiles says. “Peter knows what he’s talking about, right? Right?”
“Right.” Derek grunts, and Peter almost laughs at what that must have cost him to admit out loud.
“Okay.” Stiles stands up from the couch and crosses to Derek. Twines their fingers together and then lifts Derek’s hand so he can brush his mouth against their knuckles. “So, so let’s just listen to him. What harm can listening do?”
Peter’s reminded of a story about a woman and a talkative snake, but he decides not to mention it.
Derek looks like he’s seriously considering flinging himself out a window. “Fine,” he says at last. “We’ll listen.”
Stiles looks at Peter expectantly.
“Well,” Peter says. “It’s really quite simple. If knotting is something you both want to experience, then it would be helpful to have someone there who understands the process and can talk you through it.”
“Like, like a mentor?” Stiles asks, his teeth worrying his bottom lip.
“Yes,” Peter says. “Someone to be there with a clearer head, to make sure it’s done right. To make sure it’s good for both of you.”
Derek doesn’t say anything, but Peter knows he’s nailed it. Derek’s greatest fear is that he’ll hurt Stiles too, just like he’s hurt everyone he ever cared about. Really, it’s a broad target. Peter could hit it with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back.
Stiles frowns a little. “That, um, that sounds...reasonable? Derek?”
When Derek doesn’t answer straight away, Peter knows he’s won.
“Well,” he says with what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “Shall we take this discussion somewhere more comfortable?”
Really, Peter thinks as he follows them toward the spiral staircase that leads up toward Derek’s room, they’re no challenge at all.
***
Derek would never admit it, not even to himself, but there’s something strangely empowering about watching another man undress Stiles. Maybe it’s the way that Stiles pinks up with a blush, and keeps glancing over at Derek looking for silent assurance that this is okay. He’s suddenly shy, his scent sharp with anxiety, and it’s Derek his gaze is seeking. Peter might be the one touching him, but Derek knows that Stiles is totally focussed on him.
Derek sits on the edge of his bed and tugs his t-shirt off. His dick is already hard, pressing up painfully against the seam in his jeans.
Peter unwraps Stiles like he’s a Christmas present. His flannel shirt goes first, sliding off his shoulders and landing in a pool of red plaid behind him. Stiles swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Derek can hear his heartbeat quicken.
Peter smiles at Stiles, reaching down to take the hem of his t-shirt in his fingers. Stiles looks to Derek again, and Derek nods. Stiles draws a shaking breath—loud in the laden silence of the bedroom—and lifts his arms so Peter can draw his shirt over his head.
Peter moves around behind him.
Derek fights the urge to growl as Peter puts his hands on Stiles’s hips. Then Peter turns him slightly so he’s facing Derek, and Derek can’t help think of a beta presenting a gift to his alpha. Some fresh kill, warm and sweet. He can see Stiles’s chest rising and falling rapidly. Can see Stiles’s erection pushing against his jeans.
Peter leans in behind him. “Shoes, princess.”
Stiles blinks, as though he doesn’t quite know what Peter means. Then he seems to jerk awake, toeing off his old Converse. He’s wearing the Batman socks Derek bought him. When he leans down to tug them off, his hands are shaking.
Peter runs a hand down his bare spine, and Derek swallows down a growl.
Stiles straightens up again. His wide gaze catches Derek’s.
Derek nods at him slightly, and Stiles’s scent loses some of its sour sharpness. He closes his eyes briefly as Peter pops the button on his jeans, but opens them again and holds Derek’s gaze.
The zip rasps as Peter tugs it slowly open. Then Stiles’s jeans and boxer briefs are in a tangle around his ankles. Stiles moves his hands to cover himself, but Peter catches his wrists.
“No need for modesty, sweetheart,” he purrs low in Stiles’s ear. “Show Derek what a lucky man he is.”
Stiles flushes, and he looks so shy and beautiful that Derek’s breath catches.
Derek stands, quickly divesting himself of his own jeans and underwear. Then he climbs onto the bed, shifting up so that he’s sitting with his back against the headboard.
“Stiles,” he says. “Come here.”
Stiles tugs free of Peter, and then he’s in Derek’s arms. They’re kissing, bodies pressed together, and Stiles is warm and shivering and so very, very ready for this. Derek can’t wait to get his dick in him. Can’t wait to hear him moan and writhe as he’s spread with his knot. There’s a part of Derek that wants to make him scream.
***
Stiles hasn’t been doing this with Derek enough that he’s totally relaxed about all this nudity and erections and whatnot. He’s new at this, okay? He’s an enthusiastic beginner rather than an expert, for sure. But he’s had sex with Derek enough to know that this time already feels different, and it’s not just Peter being here that’s throwing the dynamic off. Derek’s kisses are a little rougher than usual. His fingers, when they dig into Stiles’s hips, are tipped with claws. And when they kiss, he’s sure there’s a hint of fangs. Derek’s not in his shift, but it’s like it’s waiting right there under the surface of his skin. He seems more like a wolf now than he has any other time they’ve done this.
“Der?” he whispers as he leans in for another kiss.
Derek’s eyes are alpha red.
Stiles gasps.
***
Peter smirks as Stiles has his Little Red moment. Oh my, what big teeth you have, Derek. Seriously, the boy’s been running for wolves for years now, and fucking one for weeks, and now he’s suddenly remembered he’s prey? How cute.
“It’s all right,” Peter says, his tone calm. “Derek?”
Derek shakes his head as though to clear it, his eyes returning to their usual color.
Peter doesn’t regret his nephew’s little lapse at all. Not when it will so helpfully sell his case for him. Peter Hale, friendly knotting mentor. He should get that on business cards.
He undresses, collects the lube from Derek’s bedside drawer, then kneels on the end of the bed.
Stiles makes a pretty picture for him, his pale skin dotted with moles. He’s clinging to Derek still, and a shiver runs through him as Peter curls his fingers gently around his ankle.
“Have to get you ready, princess,” Peter says, keeping his voice low.
Stiles nods and swallows, his throat clicking. The scent of his nervousness is as sharp as citrus. He turns in Derek’s embrace, hiding his face in the crook of Derek’s neck. Derek rubs small circles on his back.
Peter encourages Stiles to get his knees under himself, to raise himself up so that Peter can reach that delectable ass.
Jesus. That ass. Peter wants to spank it, just to watch the muscles jump. And then he wants to bite it, just to hear Stiles moan. He wants to wreck it. He settles for sliding his palms gently over the smooth, warm flesh, and slipping a finger into the crease. Stiles shivers and gasps.
“Derek,” Peter says. “This may be an awkward time to bring it up, but I really want to put my dick in your boyfriend.”
“Wh-what!” Stiles squeaks.
Derek growls and hauls him closer.
Peter shows him his palms. “I’m just being honest. And, really, fingers, dick, what’s the difference?”
“He’s mine,” Derek growls.
“Actually,” Peter says mildly, “he’s his. If you can’t get control of that possessive side of the beast then, trust me, this evening will not go well.”
Stiles squirms, twisting so that he can glare at Peter. “What do you mean?”
“A knot isn’t a fun little plaything, Stiles,” Peter tells him. “The purpose of it in dogs is to literally keep a bitch from escaping. It’s, well, it’s really quite brutal. You need to be totally relaxed, and Derek needs to be gentle and not rut into you like some crazed animal. Otherwise, this is only going to end in tears. Tears, and possibly bloodshed.”
“Oh, shit,” Stiles whispers, his heart rate ratcheting up. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” Peter says.
Derek doesn’t contradict him. He remembers that much from The Talk with his parents then. Knotting is a wolf thing, sure, but even then it needs to be done with a little care. And Stiles does not have the constitution of a wolf. Derek can’t afford to be as rough with him as his more bestial side might want. And, when the knot comes out, that’ll be the side of him in charge. So it’s absolutely the truth when Peter says that Derek needs to tone down the possessive bullshit. The hint that he overcome his jealousy by letting Peter fuck Stiles too? Well, it’s a little unorthodox, but Peter has always been a creative thinker.
“I can control the wolf!” Derek snarls. The accompanying growl does him no favors.
“Are you sure, Derek?” Peter asks mildly. “More to the point, are you, sure. Stiles?”
The doubt in Stiles’s eyes is a beautiful, beautiful thing. “I don’t...” He swallows and lifts his gaze to Derek. “Der?”
“I would never hurt you,” Derek says, and cups Stiles’s cheek.
“Intentionally,” Peter says. “You would never hurt him intentionally.”
He lets the weight of that word sink in.
And waits.
***
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek whispers, cradling Stiles’s head in his hands. Maybe they should just put a stop to this right now. If Stiles isn’t comfortable, then they’ll stop. They’ll pretend it never happened.
“You won’t,” Stiles whispers. “You won’t.”
Derek loves that Stiles is so trusting, even though he knows that trust is misplaced. “Stiles...”
Stiles swallows. “If Peter says... I mean, if it’s okay, he could, we could... If this is the way we have to.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I am yours though.”
“I know.” Derek kisses him. “I know you are.”
“Okay.” Stiles’s face hardens in determination. He keeps his gaze on Derek. “Do it, Peter.”
***
Last time they did this, Peter stayed away from Stiles’s ass. This time, he slides a lubed finger into that tight heat, twisting it and crooking it until Stiles moans and shudders. Jesus. If Peter had known the boy was this tight, maybe he wouldn’t have so generously pushed him toward his nephew. Still, that’s a hollow fantasy. Stiles probably likes to cuddle or something after sex. Or, worse, talk. Peter doesn’t need that kind of hassle. He likes to fuck and leave, and he happens to be an expert at both.
“That’s it, princess,” he says, withdrawing his finger and then pushing two back in. “Making you ready for your alpha’s knot. You’re going to love it.”
He’s careful to couch everything in terms of knotting, and of Derek. Fucking Stiles won’t ever be something he brags about, not even in this room. Especially not in this room. The last thing Peter wants is for Derek to rip his throat out. He’s done it before, and it’s not one of Peter’s most fond memories. So today he’ll play the helpful beta, just getting Stiles ready for the main event. Peter’s sense of self-preservation far outweighs his ego.
Stiles shivers and writhes as Peter pegs his prostate again, and Peter suppresses a groan. Jesus, he needs to get his dick inside him.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, taking his dick in his hand and rubbing it against Stiles’s wet hole. “Let’s get you properly stretched out for Derek’s knot.”
Stiles shudders.
***
Fingers, dick, what’s the difference?
Stiles gasps when Peter replaces three of his fingers with the huge, hot head of his dick and slowly pushes in. The difference is fucking seismic, and for a second Stiles is terrified this is a horrible mistake, and what if Derek will hate him for it? What if he’ll hate himself? It just feels so fucking good though, as Peter slides slowly inside him.
Stiles grips Derek’s shoulders tightly. “Derek?”
Derek’s not looking at Peter. His gaze is fixed on Stiles’s face, and there is something so incredibly fucking tender about his expression that Stiles feels all his fears shatter like glass.
“Der,” Stiles whispers, shuddering as the head of Peter’s dick brushes his prostate.
“I’m opening him for you, Derek,” Peter groans from somewhere behind him. “He’s too tight to take a knot right now, but he’ll be ready soon.”
Derek kisses him gently. “So beautiful.”
Stiles clenches around Peter’s dick. “God, Derek!”
Peter curls his fingers around his hips and begins to thrust. His rhythm is slow and smooth at first, and Stiles arches his back and pushes back to meet each thrust. His dick is hard, bobbing heavily between his spread legs, and his balls are already drawn up tight. God, it’s so good. It’s different to Derek. Derek’s never fucked him like this, except for the time in the cabin. Derek likes Stiles on his back underneath him, or riding him so they can kiss. Now, his knees are getting a little sore from taking his weight, and Peter’s. Doesn’t mean it’s not blowing his goddamn mind though.
Derek kisses him, and Stiles almost wants to laugh.
Derek’s kiss is rougher than usual, a little more desperate, and Stiles shivers as Derek nips and then tugs at his bottom lip. He moans and gives himself to the kiss, to Derek, to every bit of pleasure that’s shooting through his body, setting his nerves on fire and coiling tight in his belly. He feels so good. So exposed, and at the same time so loved. This might be weird and this might be filthy, and okay, sure, so he’s fucking himself back onto Peter’s dick while he’s kissing Derek, but it’s good. This isn’t even about Peter. Peter who? All Stiles can see is Derek. Derek is everything in this moment, and Stiles knows that he’s everything to Derek as well.
It’s like Peter—Peter fucking Hale, the guy with his dick in Stiles’s ass—isn’t even in the same universe.
So weird.
And so fucking hot.
“Stiles,” Derek whispers. His breath is hot against Stiles’s face. His eyes are alpha red again, but this time Stiles doesn’t flinch back. “You’re incredible.”
Stiles shivers as Peter’s dick hits his prostate again. “Derek. Der.”
Peter grunts, and grips Stiles’s hips tightly as he comes.
Stiles doesn’t even break Derek’s gaze.
***
Derek has never seen anyone as beautiful as Stiles, and it has nothing to do with his looks. It’s the way his gaze never leaves Derek’s face. It’s the way his eyes are so full of trust. It’s the way he gives Derek everything, without even knowing. His shyness, his nakedness, his total vulnerability, and trusts Derek with all of those things. He’s so different here than he is in other parts of his life, where he’s loud and sarcastic and full of pointed edges. Here, he’s not afraid to show his weaknesses. Derek has never been with anyone like that before. There is nothing in Stiles that is not a revelation.
Nothing.
Stiles shivers as Peter comes, riding his own pleasure but not quite there. A small moan escapes him as Peter pulls out. Stiles is warm, his blood running hot underneath his damp skin. His pupils are big, almost swallowing up his amber irises. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, leaving it shining.
And then he’s moving, Peter manipulating his shaking limbs so that he’s straddling Derek. His knees come to rest on either side of Derek’s hips.
“Ready, princess?” Peter asks in a gravelly voice.
“Mmm.” Stiles shudders as Peter helps him lower himself.
He’s so hot, so ready. He clenches around Derek’s dick as he settles himself. Peter keeps one hand on his back. Derek holds his hips and rocks into him. Stiles arches like a cat.
“Derek.” His breath hitches. “Derek. Der.”
Derek thrusts into him gently. This position isn’t suited for anything faster, but this is enough. Stiles is open and warm and pliant, and this is going to take a while.
Derek feels his knot begin to swell.
His wolf howls in triumph.
***
Stiles is almost drifting, weak and boneless with pleasure. It’s coiling tightly in his belly. He hasn’t come yet, but for some reason he’s not desperate to. He feels like he’s riding a wave that’s never going to crest. The rhythm is gentle but powerful. Stiles lets it lull him. It takes him a moment to realize that Derek’s growing bigger inside him as his knot swells. At first he hardly notices. Then Derek’s knot catches on his rim, and sparks of pleasure rush through him.
Derek thrusts a few more times, and suddenly the knot is huge, and it’s inside him, and it’s going to stay inside him until they’re done.
“Oh my god,” he whispers, fear flashing through him.
Peter’s hand on his back is big and warm. “It’s okay. It’s okay, princess. You can take it.”
Stiles rests his trembling hands on Derek’s shoulders. “Is it going to get bigger?”
“Hmm.” Peter rubs the back of his neck soothingly. “A little, yes. But you can take it. You can make yourself come on your alpha’s knot. Show him that you can. Show him how much you like it.”
Stiles doesn’t even need to clench. Derek is huge. Stiles raises himself up a fraction, feeling the knot tug at his rim, and then he’s coming, arching his back as he shoots all over Derek’s abdomen and chest.
All at once the knot seems too big for his over-sensitized body. He whimpers, and tries to pull away. Derek’s eyes flash alpha red and he growls.
Peter rubs his back. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t try and fight it. Just relax.”
Stiles shivers, feeling suddenly cold. “It’s still getting bigger!” His voice hitches.
Derek growls again, more questioning than angry. He rubs his hands up Stiles’s sides, leaving warmth behind.
“What a good boy you are, princess,” Peter says, his voice soothing. “Tell him. Derek.”
Stiles blinks through his tears.
“Good,” Derek growls out through a mouthful of fangs.
“That’s it,” Peter says. “He won’t hurt you, Stiles. Just relax for him.”
Stiles draws a deep breath and then releases it slowly. Okay, it’s not, it’s not bad. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s more full than he’s ever felt before, and the pressure is still growing. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s suddenly terrified that it will, and he won’t be able to do anything to stop it. He digs his trembling fingers into Derek’s shoulders.
“Good,” Derek growls again, and then he’s coming.
“Oh, god!” Stiles feels heat, and it’s not stopping. He slips one hand down to his dick, and jerks it. When he comes again, he clenches so hard around Derek’s knot that for a bright, burning second he can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain. They both coil tight inside him, cresting, and finally breaking.
Stiles slumps forward into Derek’s embrace.
He’s vaguely aware that somehow, impossibly, Derek’s still coming.
***
Stiles really is an impossible little human. Peter feels his mouth curl into a smile as he watches Stiles’s fingers twitch against Derek’s sheets. Seeing him basically fucked into unconsciousness—his eyes are open as his cheek rests on Derek’s shoulder, but he’s staring somewhere into the middle distance like a stoner—almost makes Peter wish he had a little human of his own to fuck exclusively.
Almost.
Peter slides a hand down Stiles’s spine, then meets Derek’s gaze. “You’ll be knotted for anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes. You can probably get him to come at least once more before you’re done.”
Stiles moans slightly.
“Or maybe you should just give him a break,” Peter says.
Derek’s eyes are still red.
“You did well,” Peter tells him, and actually means it. “Your wolf took him without injuring him. You should be proud of that.”
Derek hugs Stiles closer, jostling him a little. Stiles is limp, tiny aftershocks sending tremors through him.
“Knotting is just like anything else,” Peter says. “Care and practice. I’m sure you’ll have him screaming and riding you like a champ the next time you try it. The boy’s a natural, and your wolf isn’t the feral beast I thought it might be.”
Derek nods slightly, and his eyes very slowly close.
“I’ll see myself out,” Peter says softly.
He dresses quickly, and takes one more look at them before he leaves the room.
Stiles is a delight of loose limbs and slack muscles, still spread on Derek’s knot. Derek’s eyes are closed, but he’s smoothing his hands gently up and down Stiles’s back. His usually tight mouth is open slightly, his lips curved with the ghost of a smile.
It’s almost heart warming.
Well, it would be if Peter had a heart.
He whistles as he heads back down the stairs.
He doesn’t have to be there to know exactly what’s going to happen next.
He’s grinning by the time he leaves the loft.
***
“I love you,” Derek whispers in the quiet.
Stiles closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Derek’s heart. “I love you too.”
They drift off to sleep, still joined together.
It feels like the start of forever.