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He’d heard the rattle of Stiles’ deathtrap of a Jeep from three blocks away, so the knock on his door is entirely expected.
What Derek finds when he opens the door is not. It’s Stiles, of course, but-
On his knees. Shirtless. In a- fuck. In a collar.
Stiles has filled out, over the years; lankiness turned into lean arms and broad, solid shoulders. An expanse of muscle and pale skin that makes Derek want to bite, makes his fingers twitch. He gives in to the movement, stepping forward to cup Stiles’ chin.
It’s obvious how Stiles wants this to go down, and Derek’s okay with that; more than okay with it, really, adrenaline already racing down his veins. He wants to break Stiles, cover him in filth and piece him back together.
Soft red marks bloom as he digs his fingers into Stiles’ jaw, tipping his face up to meet Derek’s gaze. There’s a glint in his eyes before Stiles tries to school his face into submission. It doesn’t quite fit, the lines all wrong, and frankly, Derek’s glad for it.
It’ll be all the sweeter when Stiles falls apart, when he can’t help but give himself up.
“What’s your safeword?”
“Hyacinth.”
He tugs on Stiles’ jaw, one hand on his bicep as Stiles scrambles to his feet. It brings them flush together, the press of Stiles’ cock already noticeable through his jeans.
Stiles’ eyes flutter shut at the contact.
“Limits?”
Eyes still closed, Stiles takes a deep breath, air hissing over Derek’s fingers.
“Permanent marks, bodily fluids other than saliva and come, penetration without lube, and humiliation.”
Christ, the things he’s going to do to his boy.
“Any preferences I should know about, hmm, baby?”
A blush flares hot along Stiles’ cheekbones, jaw working against the clench of Derek’s hand.
“Oh. Ah.”
“Stiles.” He lets his voice drop, pushes a little Alpha into his tone, tightens his fingers until nails prick against skin.
“Breath- um, breathplay. Spanking. Bondage. That’s all that I’ve tried, so far.”
Stiles’ heartbeat lurches, knocking into a rabbit-fast beat; he’s leaving something out. Something big, something that paints his skin with arousal and... shame?
That’s alright- they don’t have to get to everything tonight. He intends to get Stiles in his bed and keep him there.
Starting now.
“Kneel.”
Stiles sinks to his knees with a surprising amount of grace, and there it is, the one thing Derek’s never been able to keep himself from picturing. Fuck, the mouth on Stiles; plush and obscene and already wet. He catches Derek looking, slips that pink little tongue out to trace his lower lip.
Oh, someone wants to play, doesn’t he?
“Put your hands behind your back.”
It stretches out his torso, pulls the skin taut across his collarbone.
Derek wants to see his come pooling in the hollow under Stiles’ throat.
He goes slow, in smooth, steady gestures that have Stiles tracking the movement of his hands. Unbuckles his belt with a click, pops the button on his jeans, drags the zipper down tooth by tooth. He doesn’t even slide them off, just reaches in and tugs out his dick.
Derek pushes his thumb in between those lips, jerking Stiles’ mouth open. He steps forward and rubs the head of his cock against that silky, spit-slick skin. He’s not fully hard, not yet, but he knows how to fix that.
“Suck me, baby boy, and make it good.”
A flare of scent on the air, pungent arousal and the salt tang of pre-come. Oh.
And then Stiles’ lips close around the head of his cock, tongue dipping under the foreskin, head bobbing on a tight, slick suck.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Stiles has learned how to put his mouth to good use, that much is apparent quickly. Almost too quickly for Derek’s composure, a flash of possession snaking up his spine as he thinks about who might have taught Stiles to do this.
It settles in his nape, curls his mouth into a snarl.
Stiles sees it, of course he does, smirking around Derek’s dick and working his tongue in a nasty little flutter.
Derek bites his tongue before the word mine can rip its way between his teeth. Instead he slides his hand, clenched in Stiles’ hair, down to the base of that pale neck. He can feel the pulse throbbing against his thumb, fast and faster as his grip tightens.
Flex and release, flex and release, in time with the dip of Stiles’ head and the sweet, filthy pull of his mouth. He pushes his cock deep, loving the convulsive twist as Stiles swallows around him. He stays there, rutting his hips in short, sharp thrusts as he watches amber eyes go hazy. Stiles doesn’t even fight, melts into it with tiny, breathless gasps and a twitch of hips against the air.
He takes Derek’s cock like he was born for it, sloppy and soaking wet, smooth dips and bobs that roll down his whole body. Flicks his tongue against the slit of Derek’s dick on each upstroke, a wicked little spark of sensation that builds on itself, laying a fire at the base of Derek’s spine.
Stiles shakes under his hands and Derek needs; needs more skin, needs the taste of blood and sweat and skin in his mouth. Needs to hear a fucked-out, ruined voice begging for what Derek can give him.
He digs his thumb into the base of Stiles’s neck and pulls him off Derek’s cock, trying not to groan as Stiles’ tongue stretches, curling out to chase over the head of his dick. His knees are a little wobbly, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching down and lifting Stiles right off the floor.
Long legs wrap around his hips, long fingers clutching his shoulders.
“Still with me, baby?”
He gets a slow nod and a handful of blinks in response.
“Can you tell me your safeword?”
Derek’s not taking any chances, not with this. Not with Stiles. He knows how easy it is, to give up control and not know how to get it back.
“It’s hyacinth.” The thick, wrecked tone of his voice sends sharp spikes through Derek, wolf-sharp nails suddenly pricking against Stiles’ thighs. Stiles jumps at the sensation, a sharp upward jerk that slides their cocks together.
The moan that Stiles lets out is positively delicious.
“Fuck me, please. Please.”
Derek lets his teeth scrape down a bare stretch of neck, catching at the top of the collar. Soft skin gives, and it makes his mouth itch, makes him want to bite in an entirely different way. He pulls back, lets the craving- warm blood, meat- dissipate. Instead he sets Stiles back on his feet, drops a stinging slap on his ass.
“You know where the bed is- I want to see you on it, now.”
Hips loose and swaying, muscles flexing up his back; the way Stiles walks is hypnotic. Derek figures he can be forgiven for crowding Stiles up against a wall and licking up the length of his spine, tracing over every bump and notch.
He laps and nuzzles and tastes until Stiles is squirming, then pins him more firmly in place, fingers tight against the curve of Stiles’ hips, and does it some more. Sucks the sweat from the hollow above his ass, lets his tongue just dip into the crease. Sneaks one hand up and around, pinches a nipple hard just to hear the curse it earns him.
“Derek, Derek, please, more, fuck, god, please!”
Derek rolls to his feet, sliding up Stiles’ body as he goes. He’s still fully dressed, only his cock bare, and it thrills him, the contrast between Stiles’ fragile, naked torso and his own covered skin. He drags his chin across Stiles’ shoulders, admiring the flush his stubble brings to the surface.
He can actually see the tendons in Stiles’ neck go taut at the prickly sensation. It’s practically an invitation, and he takes it, catching one between his teeth and bearing down hard. Stiles’ head lolls to the side, stretching out the entire expanse of his neck, and Derek wonders if he understands what he’s signalling to a wolf.
Of course he does; it’s Stiles, after all. His arms come up off the wall, twisting backwards to clutch frantically at Derek.
His whisper echoes over-loud in the quiet apartment.
“Put your mark on me.”
There’s not a hope in hell of keeping his instincts contained after that.
Derek doesn’t really differentiate between his wolf and human halves. They’ve both always been there; how would he even tell? Sometimes he thinks that his more... animal... urges come from the wolf, but he watches the humans around him- Gerard, Kate, even Stiles himself- and he’s not so convinced.
This, this urge to mark, to claim, surely humans want this? Want to scream their ownership to the world?
He doesn’t even try to stop his fangs from dropping. Stiles- god- Stiles pushes into it, drives himself up on his toes until his skin gives way, until blood wells in Derek’s mouth, hot and potent. It’s not much more than a scratch, really, but it sets him alight.
He draws back, watches blood bead across the surface, laves them off with a slow, sucking kiss.
“Bed. Now.”
The words are a growl, rumbling in his chest, galvanizing. He herds them both towards the bed, eyes fixed on the place where a drop of blood has slipped down, painting a fine line across Stiles’ scapula.
He pushes Stiles down, face-first, lapping at the scarlet splashes. It’s only when the skin is purple, suckled and bruised and welted, that he takes his mouth away. Stiles sobs, desperate, twisting over his shoulder to stare at Derek.
“I need to come, Derek, I need to come, I can’t take it anymore, I can’t, I can’t, please-”
“Oh, baby boy, you’ll come when I say you can come. You’ll be good for me, won’t you? You can be a good boy?”
Stiles goes rigid underneath him, and Derek thinks, for a second, that he’s lost it, come right there in his jeans. His cock must be drenched, pre-come and edgy frustration filling Derek’s nostrils, but mostly, overwhelmingly, that same scent of mortified arousal.
He rears back, rolls Stiles over, and gets a hand in his boy’s hair. Stiles’ eyes are blown wide, gaze darting everywhere, skipping past Derek’s face to land on his shoulders, his abs, the thick weight of his cock where it juts out from his jeans.
“Stiles. You going to be a good boy for daddy?”
There it is. His eyes snap back to Derek’s as his hips jerk violently, dick twitching.
Derek bites back a smirk; he doesn’t want Stiles to misinterpret it or think he’s laughing at him.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s alright, just say it.”
“Yes,” Stiles whines.
“Yes what?” He tries to be gentle, coaxing, but his voice is coated in blood and sex.
“Yes- fuck, yes, daddy.”
He leans down and drops the words right into the hot, sweat-damp shell of Stiles’ ear.
“Good. Good boy.”
The shiver seems to come from deep down in his bones, working its way outwards to reverberate against Derek’s skin. Oh, yeah. Damn, but this is going to be good.
He rolls the taste of Stiles’ submission in his mouth like candy, lets it coat his tongue and drip down his throat, pool in his stomach and slide into his fingertips.
“Put your hands above your head.”
The soft, pale underside of Stiles’ bicep calls for his tongue; he bites down in the crease of an elbow just to see his mark blossom there.
“Stay.”
In his closet there’s a length of soft, black rope. They’d bought it in bulk, and each member of the pack has some stashed away, tucked into the trunks of their cars- that’s just the sort of life they lead. But Derek would be lying to himself if he said he’d never considered how it might look twisted around the fine bones of Stiles’ wrists. Never held it between his fingers and imagined how that body might look splayed out and held open, on display and his to take.
He pulls it off the shelf, letting the soft cotton slide across his palms, holding it up for Stiles’ approval.
The enthusiastic nod he receives has his dick twitching a little. Delicate skin grates across the metal zipper, so he strips his jeans and underwear off, slow, just to watch the way long fingers spasm around the rails of the headboard.
Derek pushes himself up onto the bed, sliding a thigh across Stiles’ lap, just a brush, a tease that makes his boy gasp, but he holds still, stays in place like he was told.
“Fuck, Stiles, you’re so sweet for me, you know that?”
The rope looks even better than he imagined, more, looped and curled around Stiles’ wrists, knotted into the headboard. He’s bent over, leaning to tug everything into place, when a warm, wet mouth latches onto his nipple.
For a moment, he’s lost in the feel of it, the hot, bright sting as teeth tug at sensitive flesh. Then he realizes what’s happening and the reprimand is a whip crack off his tongue.
“Oh, baby. You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that. I was going to let you come soon, but now I think you need another lesson in being good for daddy.”
“Daddy? Daddy, please, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, I’m sorry-”
The words trail off, Stiles’ mouth moving silently against Derek’s palm.
“What do naughty boys deserve, Stiles?”
He doesn’t lift his hand, lets Stiles shape the word against his skin.
Punishment.
There’s just enough slack in the rope to roll Stiles over, adding a twist that pulls his wrists completely taut. Pants and boxers come off in a series of short, rough jerks, dragging against Stiles’ cock; Derek can hear him suck in a breath to complain, but he bites it back, keeps himself quiet.
“I’m going to touch you, and I’m going to take my time. You do not have permission to move, or to speak, or to come, do you understand me? Tell me that you understand.”
A soft, sad whimper of agreement escapes Stiles.
“Baby, tell me that you understand. Use your words.”
“Yes, daddy.”
Derek gets Stiles spread beneath him the way he’d tried not to fantasize about for years- ass high in the air, one sleek, elongated line from hips to shoulders to wrists. Thighs crooked far apart, cock hard and balls tight between Stiles’ legs. There’s a shiny, delicate trail where a drop of precome has traced its way across untouched skin; Derek follows it with his tongue, entirely expecting the way Stiles jolts in surprise.
“What did I say?”
“Fuck, Derek... not to move. I’m sorry.”
This time, it’s the weight of Derek’s slap that rocks Stiles forward, twice- once for moving, and again for speaking out of turn. He rubs his teeth over the bright, pink mark it leaves, nipping at puffy, welted flesh.
He settles his palms over the round weight of Stiles’ ass, tracing his thumbs over the crack in long sweeps. It’s soothing, in its way, and he watches the tension seep out of Stiles’ body, only to ratchet back up as he begins to dip his thumbs in, brushing against the pucker of Stiles’ asshole. Derek digs his fingers into rounded flesh, pulling until everything is bare and open.
“Has anyone touched you here? Taken you like this before? Answer me, baby.”
There’s a long pause before Stiles answers, quiet and a little defensive, “...’m not a virgin.”
“Was it good? You liked it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
A nasty, smug sense of possession rips through him. It doesn’t matter who Stiles chose to be first; Derek’s going to paint over the memory with come-slick strokes until Stiles is wrung-out and filthy, until the only thing he remembers is Derek.
“Then you’ll know how much better this is, how much more your body will do for me. Just for me, just because I tell you.”
Stiles is gasping into the pillows, open-mouthed and wet, even the suggestion driving another drop of pre-come from the head of his dick. Derek’s own cock is fat and heavy, starved for attention, and he lets it slip between Stiles’ thighs as he stretches to grab the lube from the nightstand.
The moan he lets out almost covers up Stiles’ tiny, muttered curse. Almost.
“Every time you disobey, you get another smack added.”
Christ, Stiles’ whines sound sweet in his ears.
Three solid, stinging slaps, and on the third he drops his hand low, catches his fingers across Stiles’ balls and listens to his boy scream. Derek doesn’t give him time to catch his breath, pulls apart his ass and drives his tongue inside while Stiles is still sobbing.
Sharp, hard pulses broken by slow, soft laps, curling his tongue to catch on the rim, opening Stiles just enough that he can slip his thumbs inside and tug. He slicks up his fingers, aching at the way Stiles’ hole clutches as he works one inside, clenching around him.
And Stiles... Stiles falls apart in Derek’s hands. He sobs and whispers, moans until his throat goes to gravel.
It makes Derek goes even more slowly. He slips in a second finger, but just to the knuckle, just enough for Stiles to feel the stretch. Snakes his tongue over and around, suckling at whatever skin he can reach, until Stiles bears down hard, a tense flutter that draws Derek’s fingers in even further. So he twists and spreads them, pulls them out fast and then pushes them back in one infinitesimal nudge at a time.
“Do you want more, baby? Can you take another one for me?”
Stiles’ head tosses frantically, sweat pasting his hair to the back of his neck in fine tendrils. He mumbles something so garbled that even Derek can’t distinguish the words.
It brings him curling up over Stiles’ shoulder, peering into his face.
“Stiles?”
“One- one more- trying-” Stiles sucks in a breath, grinding the words out, “trying to be good for you, but I’m so close, Daddy, I can’t, can’t-”
“Shh, you can, I know you can. Just hold on a little bit longer.”
Three fingers is a snug fit, Stiles whimpering through it even though his hole is butter-soft under Derek’s touch. One day Derek’s going to spend hours doing this, working Stiles open until he can slip his entire fist inside, until he can feel that perfect little hole clutching his wrist.
He watches Stiles take his fingers and has to snake a hand down, clamp it tight around his own cock to keep this from ending too soon. They’re close, now; Stiles’ heartbeat pounds through the room, hitching every time Derek flexs the pads of his fingers over Stiles’ prostate.
Derek matches the tempo of it, working Stiles fast and hard in tight thrusts of his fingers.
“I want to hear you when you come for me, baby boy,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the sweat-slick hollow of Stiles’ back. Derek slips the reins on his control a tiny bit, just enough to lengthen the nails on his free hand, and trails one knife-sharp claw up Stiles’ cock, tapping the fine point against the slit.
“Daddy-” Stiles chokes, before he comes with a wail, muscles so tight they could snap, bone-deep shudders that shake the mattress. He clenches down on Derek’s fingers, driving himself back onto them mindlessly as come splashes against the sheets, the scent of it welling sharp in Derek’s nose.
Derek reaches around, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ twitching cock and dragging his orgasm out even further, jerking until Stiles is pleading that it’s too much, he can’t, please.
Finally Stiles is sprawled, boneless and limp, beneath him, and Derek needs to come, he needs to come now.
He tugs Stiles flat beneath him, spilling a puddle of lube into the small of his back with sticky fingers. Pushes himself in close, tucking his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck, inhaling the salt-tang of sweat and tears on soft boy-skin.
Derek fucks himself against the perfect arch of Stiles’ back, and Christ, fuck, the feel of it licks through him, burns Stiles into his nerves, imprints him on Derek’s bones. Sticky hot and close, murmurs of encouragement growled low in Stiles’ demolished voice, and Derek wants to make it last, but he can’t, he needs to put his mark, his scent and come, himself, on Stiles the way that Stiles has marked him.
Derek drives one hand into Stiles’ hair and the other curls around the edge of the collar, yanking his head up, using the extra leverage to thrust frantically once, again, until he’s digging teeth into Stiles’ shoulder and coming so hard that the edges of room wash red.
It feels like eternity, but it’s only a few minutes before he’s blinking back to himself, Stiles still trembling underneath him. Derek reaches up with shaky fingers to untie him, dropping to the side of the mattress and pulling Stiles into his chest. Breath comes back in fits and starts, Stiles’ head propped on his shoulders, fingers dipping idly into Derek’s belly button.
“That was... damn, Derek, that was... I honestly don’t even have words for how fucking amazing that was.”
Derek doesn’t even try to stop the smirk that spreads across his face as he presses a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head.
“Oh, baby boy. That was just the beginning.”