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For once, Stiles’ weekend passes without incident. They train and work out, Stiles does his homework and makes spaghetti and brings a big Tupperware of it over for Derek since all he ever eats is take-out. They make out a lot and he practices diligently to suppress his gag reflex when nobody’s looking, and sometimes while Derek is. He comes home on Saturday morning to find a box of condoms on the counter in his bathroom. Clearly his father has decided he wants to be extra sure that Stiles is being safe. Stiles gives the box to Scott. No point in wasting them.
Meanwhile, he has dived headfirst into the terrifying world of online pornography. It takes some practice and research to find places were the quality is decent but still free, and avoid the more kinky stuff – not that he doesn’t find some of it interesting, he’s just pretty sure that they’re not ready for it yet. After a week of exhaustive research, he picks his four favorite videos (four different positions, for variety’s sake) and burns them to a DVD so they can watch them on Derek’s television instead of having to watch on his laptop. He labels the DVD ‘Important Research’ and throws it into his bag.
He shows up Friday night at seven thirty and says, “I come bearing porn!”
Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m ordering pizza. You want some?”
“Ooh, yeah,” Stiles says. “I hardly ever eat it at home. My dad can’t eat that shit. Peppers and mushrooms and sausage for me.”
Derek just nods and places their order without another word.
“You’d be amazed how many pornos start with some delivery guy showing up at the house,” Stiles says cheerfully, putting in the DVD. “I mean, like, he shows up to deliver pizza or sell vacuums or advertise a gym and then suddenly bam! Sex! Which really makes me wonder, do the people who make porn think that we actually care about the set-up? They could just start with two – or three, or eight – people in a room who turn to the camera and say, ‘hi. We’re porn stars, and we have made porn for you’ and then they get to it and everyone goes home happy.”
“You’ve put an amazing amount of thought into this,” Derek says. He frowns a little and says, “Why don’t we wait until after dinner.”
“Okay, sure,” Stiles says agreeably. He’s nervous, and it’s making him talk a little too much, maybe. And Derek’s suggestion isn’t really a suggestion. In fact, it’s very rare that Derek’s suggestions are suggestions.
So they eat pizza and Derek actually talks voluntarily, telling him amusing stories about numerous people who really don’t understand how money works. Stiles, who has been brought up to fiscal responsibility by way of a small town cop salary, is stunned by how many people don’t seem to realize that credit cards are only a temporary loan, not a gift.
In return, he tells funny stories about people his father has arrested over the years, his particular favorite being a stage actor whose real name was Magic Bim-Bam the Third (arrested for public nudity and intoxication). The entire thing is far more comfortable than he would have expected it to be.
After dinner, he puts on the first video. “So, you wanna . . . watch the whole thing, or just skip to the part we haven’t figured out yet?”
Derek’s eyebrows knit together and he says, “Skip ahead.”
“Okey dokey.” Stiles his fast-forward until the two guys on screen are actually naked and getting into position. They watch for a few minutes in silence. “It just doesn’t look physically possible,” he finally concludes. “And I’ve been watching it all week.”
“I’ll just bet you have,” Derek says, amused, one hand rubbing at Stiles’ knee.
“Figured you wouldn’t like this one,” Stiles says, gesturing to the television, where one man is on his hands and knees while his partner fucks him from behind. “You and your fetish for watching me. You wouldn’t be able to see my face.”
Derek gives a little nod and says, “Yeah. Well. I have to admit it would be my preference. To see your face.”
Stiles skips to the next video. While the people on screen are warming up, he says thoughtfully, “Do you think other couples do this?”
“Watch porn together?”
“Well, I mean, watch porn for the express purpose of figuring out how sex works.”
“We know how sex works. We’re just trying to . . . okay, that really doesn’t look physically possible.”
“I know, right? How does he bend like that?”
By the end of the second video, Derek is ready to stop watching, but Stiles is a particular fan of the third one, so he cajoles Derek into letting him put it on. Derek’s gaze is glued to the screen. Stiles is more watching him than the video, which at this point he’s watched enough times to have memorized. He likes seeing the faint frown of concentration on Derek’s face, the way he bites at his lower lip almost nervously when things start to get good. Stiles sprawls out over his lap, still watching him, and Derek’s hands stroke absently at his stomach and face. Stiles shivers and leans into it.
“Okay,” Derek says, when that video is over. “That one was, uhm.”
“Yep,” Stiles says. “You wanna give it a try?”
“I think . . . I would really like to, yes.”
Not just that he would like to, but that he would really like to. Stiles tries not to betray how excited he is at the inclusion of that modifier. “I hope you have a spare table, though, because if we do that in the kitchen, the pack will never forgive us.”
“The bed would work, I would just have to be on my knees instead of standing.”
“Oh, I guess so,” Stiles says, and wonders again if this sort of conversation is normal. He also feels a stab of anxiety because they’re actually going to do this. He hopes it’s not visible on his face. Not that he doesn’t want to. He does, absolutely, one hundred percent. But he’s afraid he won’t be any good at it. He comforts himself with the fact that Derek has never done this either. Hopefully if he’s bad at it, Derek won’t know.
They take their time undressing each other, but not too much time, because the video has gotten them pretty worked up, and if they indulge in too much foreplay, they’ll never get to the actual sex. Stiles thinks he might be all right with that, really, but it’s just his nerves talking, and before long he’s on his back on the bed with Derek between his legs.
“I feel like I’m about to deliver a child,” he says, laughing. Derek gives him one of his epic eyerolls but then just leans down to kiss his stomach, drag his tongue over Stiles’ hips until he’s moaning and squirming and has forgotten all about being nervous.
Stiles brought lube, because internet research has been very firm on its necessity, even though he finds it incredibly unsexy. He also showered about eight times because he was terrified of the idea of his ass not being incredibly clean if Derek was going to be having sex with him. He’s definitely wondering if other people do this sort of stuff.
He can’t help but squirm a little uncomfortably when he feels Derek’s finger press into him. It doesn’t hurt; it just feels . . . weird. He’s aware of why anal sex is pleasurable, technically, but he hopes they can get to that part quickly, because until then he’s just feeling incredibly awkward about everything. He concentrates on his breathing and tilts his head up towards the ceiling. Derek might like to watch, but he doesn’t. It just makes him feel more self-conscious. He wriggles a little, shifting and adjusting as Derek stretches him out and spreads the lube. He keeps his mouth busy, leaning over Stiles and licking at the skin of his chest and abdomen, which helps keep him distracted.
“You . . . you ready?” Derek asks, his breath a little fast.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m ready,” Stiles says. Derek readjusts him again, getting hands underneath his hips and his ass to cant him upwards slightly, hooking one of Stiles’ legs over his shoulder, which is sexier than it should be. Then Derek is pushing into him and Stiles lets out a strangled noise between his teeth because it hurts. Derek’s cock is a lot bigger than a couple of his fingers. Stiles reminds himself to relax, and his eyes flutter shut, one hand gripping frantically at the sheets.
“Okay?” Derek asks.
Stiles has to exhale carefully to keep his voice from cracking. “Yeah,” he says. “Just . . . settling into it. Keep going.”
Derek’s fingers dig into his hips a little and he continues to ease himself forward.
Stiles can’t help it. He just blurts out, “Ow, ow, motherfucker ow.”
Derek pauses again. He’s breathing hard, fingers flexing and relaxing against Stiles’ skin. “Do you want to stop?” he asks.
“No,” Stiles says hastily. “No, I just . . . just give me a minute, I’m okay.” He breathes for a minute, all too aware that there’s still a lot of Derek to go, and if it hurts this bad after the first three inches, it’s probably not going to get any better. But to stop now would just be humiliating; he can’t even imagine what Derek would say or think. He squirms a bit, trying to readjust himself. “Okay,” he says, and Derek pushes in another inch and Stiles bites down on his lip so hard that it bleeds and then gasps out, “No, okay, stop. Stop.”
Derek not only stops, but he pulls back out. Stiles rolls onto his side, his body trembling with a mixture of leftover pain and overwhelming embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, into the sheets. He can’t even look at Derek.
He’s a little surprised when Derek leans over him, one hand rubbing small, comforting circles into his back. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, his mouth close to Stiles’ ear, lips brushing against it. “Don’t apologize, okay? You don’t have to apologize. You can always say no. Even after we’ve gotten started. You don’t ever have to apologize for that.”
“I want to,” Stiles says, voice muffled by the mattress. “Have sex, I mean. I want to. I just . . .”
“We don’t have to today,” Derek says. “Okay? You don’t need to be sorry about that.”
Stiles finally recovers enough to roll back over and press his face into Derek’s shoulder, hugging him tightly. He has to swallow several times before he can talk again. “You’re always so nice to me about this stuff,” he says. It somehow comes out as a question, even though he didn’t mean it that way. He is curious about that, definitely. Derek’s pretty overbearing most of the time. It’s not just the alpha in him; it’s him. ‘Show up at seven.’ ‘We’re doing upper body work today.’ ‘I’m ordering pizza.’ Almost everything in his life is a statement that other people can either go along with, or fuck off about. It’s so different from the way he is with Stiles when sex becomes part of the equation. It’s this whole other side to him that Stiles had had no idea existed.
Derek is quiet for a long minute before he says, “The first person I was with . . . wasn’t.” It’s all he says about it. All he needs to say. Stiles isn’t about to push for answers. Stiles isn’t about to push for anything. “We just need to work up to it, that’s all. It’ll take some time. Okay?”
Stiles nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says, wiping a hand over his eyes because he is not crying. He’s heard sex can make people crazy emotional, but there are limits.
“Besides, we’re missing an obvious solution,” Derek says, frowning again. “Why don’t you try being on top? I think it’d be easier that way.”
Stiles blinks at him, then blurts out, “Are you saying my dick is smaller than yours?”
Derek’s frown deepens. “Your dick is smaller than mine. It’s not an insult. It’s just a fact.”
“Yeah, well . . . you’re the bigger asshole, so maybe that’ll work out,” Stiles snipes right back, though the words are without heat.
Derek folds his arms over his chest and says, “Did you miss the part where I offered to let you fuck me?”
Stiles blinks again, his jaw partially ajar. “Uh . . . yeah, actually, I sort of did. Shit. Really? You . . . you want to?”
A little smile touches Derek’s face. It makes him even more beautiful. “Yeah, I want to,” he says. “I want you to. And I wasn’t trying to imply anything about your dick, you know. Your dick is a perfectly normal size and I like it just the way it is. It’s just that I’m a werewolf, remember? I don’t think it’d hurt the same way even if you were hung like a – ”
“Stop right there,” Stiles says. “My ego can only take so much. I don’t want to hear what you think I’m not hung like.”
“You’re just not going to get over the fact that I like your body just as it is, are you,” Derek says, giving him a thoughtful look. Stiles flushes pink and studies his fingernails. Derek sighs. “Look at me,” he says, and Stiles’ gaze darts upwards. “Do you think I would have any trouble driving down to San Francisco, going to a bar, and finding some well-muscled guy with a big dick to have sex with? Do you?”
“No,” Stiles admits.
“No. But I don’t do that. Because that’s not what I want.” Derek’s hand caresses Stiles’ arm. “You’re here, in my home, in my bed, because I want you here. I want you here. Not some other guy with steel abs or whatever your brain is trying to tell you that you should have if you want to sleep with me. Can you at least try to accept that?”
“I don’t get it,” Stiles admits, “but I guess we all have our little quirks.”
Derek rolls his eyes at him. It’s familiar and therefore comforting. Stiles laughs a little, and then Derek reaches out and starts tickling him, and he flails his way off the bed, nearly concussing himself on the floor. It takes them a few minutes to get themselves sorted out again. “Same position?” he asks, and Derek nods.
“I want to be able to see you,” he says.
“God, that’s sexy, you fucking kill me, you know that, right?” Stiles is starting to feel better about everything. Much better now that Derek is on his back and Stiles is cozying up between his legs. It takes a lot of self-control not to just lean over and start sucking him and say to hell with everything else. “Where’d the lube end up?”
As predicted, Derek has a lot less trouble than Stiles does. Whether that’s because of the size difference, werewolf healing, or general level of experience, Stiles has no idea and he doesn’t particularly want to know. But Derek gives only a little hiss of discomfort when Stiles thrusts into him, slow, steady, all the way in on the first try. Then they stop moving and just breathe into it for a few moments. “Fuckin’ Christ,” Stiles says, trying to keep his voice even. “Y’okay?”
“Mm,” Derek says, reaching up with one hand, craning up a little so he can caress Stiles’ face before flopping back onto the bed.
Stiles rolls his hips a little, not really withdrawing, just trying to get some easy motion going. “Let me know when . . . I’ve got the angle right,” he says, shifting a little, adjusting his hands underneath Derek’s ass. “I read . . . that angle is . . . very important.”
“Mm,” Derek agrees again, one hand restlessly kneading at the sheets. He lets out another hiss as Stiles lifts him up a bit. “That’s good.” He huffs out a breath. “Really good.”
“Needs to be better than that,” Stiles says, voice cracking. “That’s what the internet says.”
“Do you trust everything you read on the internnng!” Derek’s back arches a little, head tilting back, cords in his neck showing. “Oh,” he says, breathless. “Oh . . . okay.”
“Told you,” Stiles says, unable to help himself, voice wobbling. He lets his head fall forward again, wishing for some sort of physical flexibility that would let him get his mouth on Derek’s cock while he does this. It isn’t going to happen, which is really a shame. He can’t even get his hands on it, because he’s got to keep one on Derek’s hips to keep the angle and another on the edge of the bed to support himself. He contemplates this for a few minute as he rocks back and forth, building up the friction slow and easy.
“Stiles,” Derek says, dragging the word out over his tongue like it’s some sort of creative profanity. Stiles has to stop for a minute just to make sure he doesn’t lose control. Derek opens one eye and looks cranky. “Not the desired response,” he grates out.
“Just . . . just thinking. Want to . . .” Stiles takes his hand off the bed and wraps it around Derek’s cock, giving him one long, slow, stroke. Derek swears and his entire body flexes and tightens around Stiles, who lets out a whimper. “Oh my God. If I come first, I will kill myself for disappointing you.”
“Think about math,” Derek pants.
“Math,” Stiles says. “I’m currently fucking the hottest guy I’ve ever met, and you think that concentrating on math is gonna help? Dude. No.”
Derek chuckles despite himself. “Hah. Okay. No.” One hand is still fisting at the sheets, but he untangles the other and wraps it around his own erection. Stiles wants to protest, but it’s a good solution, and totally worth it for the choked little noise Derek makes as Stiles thrusts back into him, matching the rhythm he’s settling into with his hand. They keep up like that for several minutes, Stiles’ entire body trembling with the effort of holding himself back. Derek doesn’t even seem to know what to do with his other hand, it clutches at the sheets reflexively and then reaches out for Stiles, who’s a little too far away to touch. “Fuck, I, you,” Derek stammers, and Stiles feels ridiculously proud of that, that he’s making Derek lose his words.
He lets himself slump forward a little, adjusting Derek’s hips to match, so he support himself with his elbow and his other hand grabs Derek’s, lacing their fingers together. Derek makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, and apparently this angle is just as good if not better because then he gasps out, “Oh, come on, Stiles, I want – I need you, give me all of you – ”
“Oh my God,” Stiles manages, and there’s nothing in him that can argue with a plea like that. He stops worrying about who’s going to come first because there isn’t enough room in his brain to handle that along with everything else. One hand clutches at Derek’s and he just drives forward as hard as he can, Derek straining to push back against him despite his lack of leverage. He loses track of everything and just moves, his breath coming just as fast as the rhythm, the rest of the world dissolving into some faraway place that doesn’t matter.
He’s still in that place of utter, complete focus when Derek’s body suddenly tightens around him again and the other man tilts his head back and lets out a breathless groan, his hand gripping Stiles’ so tightly that it hurts. Stiles doesn’t mind; he doesn’t even notice because he’s cascading right over the edge with Derek, dragged over by the way Derek’s muscles are flexing around him. He says Derek’s name over and over again, gasping it out as his body spasms against him until he’s completely, totally spent.
He withdraws carefully, shakily, and slumps over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t even have enough energy to climb up onto it so they can cuddle. Derek doesn’t seem to, either. He’s still on his back, panting for breath. He does manage to reach out and rub his hand over Stiles’ hair, but that’s about all he can muster.
Almost ten minutes of silence pass before Stiles manages to drag himself onto the bed and collapse next to him. His knees ache a little and he’s pretty sure his hand is going to bruise, but none of that matters. He’s in a state of completely exhausted euphoria. “That . . . was awesome,” he finally says.
“Mm,” Derek agrees. He leans over and they share a lazy kiss, one hand coming up to cup Stiles’ face, thumb rubbing over his cheek. “Yeah,” he adds, seeming to sense that Stiles is waiting for Derek to reaffirm his opinion about this, and not wanting Stiles’ insecurities to start creeping back in. He can’t manage much after that, though. Which is okay. Derek has never really been a talker.
They cuddle in silence for a while.
Finally, Derek stirs a little and says, “So . . . what’s the position on the fourth video?”
Stiles smirks. “Let’s go watch it and find out.”
~ ~ ~ ~