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On Christmas Eve, Derek sits behind the wheel of his Camaro with Stiles in the passenger seat. They’re on their way to a snowy cabin in the mountains. Stiles is under the impression that it’s just to celebrate the holiday, but Derek knows the real reason. It’s all part of the plan he thought up with Lydia’s assistance. Currently, the car is silent, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. After seven years together, things are almost never uncomfortable between them, which Derek is thankful for every day.
Stiles’ voice brings him out of his reverie: “Are you okay?”
He glances sideways. “Yeah, of course. Why?”
“You’re white-knuckling the wheel.”
Derek checks, and sure enough, he’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles have lost all colour. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his hands, chiding himself for letting his nerves get the better of him. He’s being ridiculous. Stiles won’t say no. Stiles is already his mate, has been since he turned eighteen six years ago and Derek finally staked his claim with a bite, tying them together in the most permanent way possible. If he looks closely, Derek can see the edge of the scar peeking out from beneath the collar of Stiles’ maroon sweater.
“Seriously, what’s got you so worked up, Sourwolf?” Stiles presses, putting a hand on Derek’s thigh.
“It’s nothing, I promise.” Derek tries his best not to let his mind linger on the velvet box that’s in his luggage in the trunk. “I was just hoping the betas don’t create too much mess while we’re gone.”
If Stiles catches the lie, he doesn’t show it. “Well, if they do, we can punish them when we get back. Make them clean up after themselves and deprive them of baked goods.”
“And I can push them extra hard in training.”
“Now you’re talking!” Stiles squeezes Derek’s leg and leaves his hand there for the rest of the drive, which goes a long way to allaying Derek’s nerves.
Half an hour later, they arrive.
Stiles gasps. “Wow! I know you said it’d be like a winter wonderland, but wow.”
Derek relates to this reaction. He’d seen pictures when he chose the place, but he’s still impressed by how perfect everything is in person. He switches off the engine of his Camaro and hops out to better inspect it, his breath misting the air.
The little cabin stands in front of him with a porch, walls made of horizontal logs and a roof covered in pure white snow. There’s snow everywhere. It blankets the ground beneath his feet, hangs from the branches of the dense trees which surround the clearing in which the cabin was built. In jeans, a white T-shirt and his signature leather jacket, even Derek, with the high body heat of a werewolf, feels the cold. He shivers as he imagines how amazing it will be once they get inside and have the fire going. That had been one of the things he most anticipated once he committed to the idea of bringing Stiles somewhere like this—getting some thick blankets and cuddling together in front of a roaring fire, mugs of steaming hot chocolate clutched in their hands.
“Come on,” Derek says, noticing that Stiles is shivering as well. They have proper winter clothing in their luggage, but neither of them had the forethought that morning to dress in any of it. “Let’s go inside.”
Stiles walks with him to the trunk of the car. “Do you know if we’ll get reception up here?”
“The couple who rented to us said yes, but it’s spotty. Why?”
“I wanna let my dad know we got here safely. I don’t want him to worry.”
“How about this: we’ll get our stuff inside, then you can call him while I take care of the generator. Sound like a plan?”
Stiles pecks him on his bristly cheek. “Thanks, Sourwolf.”
“Don’t mention it.”
* * *
The next morning, Derek wakes up feeling warm and content, buried beneath a mountain of blankets. He lies on his side and spoons Stiles from behind, both of them just wearing underwear. He wraps his arms tighter around his bedmate, presses his nose to the back of his neck and relishes both his intoxicating scent and the intimate sensation of skin on skin.
Sometimes, Derek still can’t believe that he gets to have this. It would’ve been beyond his comprehension eight years ago, when he returned to Beacon Hills in search of Laura, his missing sister, and met Scott and Stiles that fateful day in the preserve. He recalls how he and Stiles would constantly bicker and disagree with each other, yet they would always save and protect each other when it really counted. Looking back, the signs were there right from the start. The line between love and hate is a thin one, as the saying goes, and that was especially true in their case.
Derek can’t pinpoint when things changed. He supposes it wasn’t one big thing, like flipping a switch. It was a series of little things, so gradual that he didn’t notice what was happening until Erica pointed out that he and Stiles were acting like an old married couple. She’d gone on to suggest that they just fuck already because the sexual tension was killing her.
The revelation had terrified Derek. How could it not, when he’d been taught again and again that relationships led only to pain and death? But it was Stiles. Stiles never hurt him like that, and Derek trusted him with his life. So he decided to trust him with his heart too, and he hasn’t regretted it.
All of that led them to where they are now, and it’s Derek sincerest wish that they really will be an old married couple in a few decades, once Derek has given Stiles the most important Christmas present he’s ever given anyone. God, he hopes it goes well, that he doesn’t fumble his words or chicken out entirely. The latter can’t happen, no matter what. Lydia would never let him hear the end of it.
Derek holds a slumbering Stiles for a few more minutes before his bladder has him reluctantly getting out of bed. Thanks to the generator, it’s warm enough that he doesn’t have to bother putting on more clothes after his detour to the bathroom. He walks back out into the bedroom and considers climbing back into bed next to Stiles. It’s incredibly tempting—his mate is so soft and snuggly—but his stomach chooses then to rumble loudly, making his mind up for him. Stiles will also be hungry when he wakes up, so Derek’ll make them both some breakfast using the groceries the couple who own the cabin had kindly stocked the cupboards and fridge with for them. Then they can eat together in bed. A lazy morning sounds perfect.
Heading out into the cabin’s open-plan living-room/kitchen, Derek’s gaze is drawn to the tall tree standing in one corner, near the fireplace. The lights are off, but he appreciates the look of it nevertheless. His pack had an early Christmas celebration a couple days ago, in which Derek and Stiles had received gifts from all the others and gave them theirs in return. Because of this, all that’s beneath the tree here are the few presents that he and Stiles got each other this year. All except for one—the most important one, which remains hidden at the very bottom of Derek’s suitcase. His heart beats just a bit faster with the thought that the moment of truth is so damn close now.
After he’s got breakfast going, the smell of bacon and pancakes dashes Derek’s plans for breakfast in bed. Stiles appears as he’s plating everything up, also just wearing underwear. Derek gets lost in all that pale, mole-dotted skin before he shakes his head and turns off the burner beneath the frying pan. He subtly adjusts himself in hopes that Stiles won’t notice, but it’s a lost cause because his boxer-briefs are so tight that there’s no chance of him hiding his growing bulge.
“Someone’s horny,” Stiles sniggers.
“Shut up.”
Stiles steps up behind him and hugs him. “Smells great. You’re so good to me.”
“I try.”
“And I appreciate it. Merry Christmas, Sourwolf.”
“Merry Christmas,” Derek echoes.
Being the cheeky shit that he is, Stiles slides one of his hands down Derek’s hair-dusted abs and gives his cock a squeeze before releasing him entirely. He takes a seat at the round kitchen table with an impish grin.
“You’re evil,” Derek tells him, his boxers now tented obscenely.
“I know, but it’s just too fun.” Like Derek had checked him out before, Stiles sweeps his eyes up and down Derek’s body and hums his approval. “Besides, I’m enjoying the view.”
“Keep it up and the food’ll go cold,” Derek warns him.
Stiles flutters his eyelashes. “Why? You won’t be able to stop from jumping my bones here and now?”
“Exactly.”
“What a shame that would be. How would I cope?”
Derek huffs and transfers their plates to the table with cutlery and syrup. “Shut up and eat the breakfast I painstakingly cooked for you.”
Stiles salutes him and winks. “Yes, Sir!”
* * *
Once they’ve devoured their food and given each other the presents beneath the tree, Derek looks up from his seat on the sofa when Stiles emerges from the bedroom. He’s all covered up now, wearing his full winter gear—hat, gloves, scarf, the whole nine yards. Derek would never say it aloud, at least not in the company of anyone but Stiles himself, but he thinks his mate looks very cute.
“C’mon, Der. It’s time!” Stiles says excitedly.
“Time for what?”
Rolling his eyes, Stiles stalks forward, grabs Derek’s hand and pulls him up off of the sofa. His blanket falls to the floor, exposing his mostly naked body. “Snow, Derek. Snow.”
Derek acts dumb. “What about it?”
“Seriously? How often do we get to see snow? Here’s a spoiler: pretty much never!” Stiles tells him, gesticulating wildly. “We’ve gotta make the most of it while we’re here. We could make like Anna and Elsa from Frozen and build that damn snowman Anna was always singing about.”
Stiles’ enthusiasm is infectious. Derek can’t help himself. “Fine. Just never remind me of that movie again.”
“Oh c’mon, it’s a classic!”
“It’s annoying, is what it is…”
“Grumpy bastard. You’re lucky I love you.”
Derek heads into the bedroom to dress in his own winter gear. He considers dragging the time out just to annoy Stiles some more, but he doesn’t have it in him. Despite how he acted out in the living room, he too is excited about being somewhere cold enough for snow for a change. He enjoys living in California, but the near-constant sun and warmth does become occasionally tiring, especially this time of year. He had a couple Christmases that were close to white when he was in New York, but they were nothing like this. And even if they were, he wasn’t in a festive mood back then.
Derek grabs his gloves out of his suitcase, the final thing, and reenters the living room, where Stiles practically vibrates with excitement by the front door. “Calm down,” Derek tells him amusedly. “We’ve got plenty of time. The snow’s not gonna melt.”
“It will if you take any longer!”
Stiles isn’t acting like his twenty-five years at all, and Derek lets him. Such pure excitement can be hard to find in their lives, so why not indulge in it when it comes?
“Alright, I’m coming,” Derek relents, putting on his gloves. He opens the door and steps out into the snow, Stiles hot on his heels.
“God, I forgot how stunning it is!” Stiles exclaims, turning in a circle to take everything in.
Derek scoffs. “Are we building this stupid snowman or what?”
“Oh, right! Yeah, let’s do it!”
For the next few minutes, Stiles and Derek work together to construct their ephemeral masterpiece. Derek takes care of making the largest ball of snow for the base, while Stiles creates the ones for the middle and the head, then Stiles tasks him with finding stuff for the snowman’s face while he searches for the two best twigs to turn into arms.
Derek doesn’t offer one genuine complaint. He gripes, sure, but feeling like a little kid again is nice, and he can tell from how Stiles smiles at him that Stiles knows he’s just putting on an act.
Derek finds a carrot from the fridge and some coal that’s in an old grill next to the logs of firewood piled up against the side of the cabin. The coal stains his gloves, but it’s worth it to see the way Stiles’ face lights up when he returns to him with the items in hand.
Once Derek assumes it’s complete, he requests Stiles’ opinion: “So, does it live up to your expectations?”
“Almost. There’s just one thing missing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Gimme your scarf, Sourwolf.”
Derek unwinds it from around his neck, and Stiles snatches it. He puts it on the snowman instead. “There. Now it’s perfect.”
In Derek’s opinion, the smile is crooked and one arm is quite a bit smaller than the other, but he doesn’t rain on Stiles’ parade. He turns to suggest they head back inside the cabin now that the fun’s over, and that’s when something cold hits him square in the face. Sputtering, Derek stumbles back a few steps and wipes the snow out of his eyes. He blinks and surveys the surrounding area for Stiles, but he can’t track him down. Not right away.
When he hears something behind him, he ducks just in time to avoid being hit by another snowball.
“Hey!” Derek yells, spinning around with a feigned glare.
“What’s the matter, Sourwolf?” Stiles taunts, already holding another frosty weapon. “Afraid you’ll lose?”
Derek huffs. “Rules?”
“First one to get hit five times loses,” Stiles says. “And you’ve already been hit once. Sucks to be you.”
“I can make a comeback.”
“Prove it.”
Suddenly, Stiles throws his snowball. Derek darts off to the side and doesn’t stop until he’s around the other side of the cabin, out of Stiles’ sight. He debates whether or not he should use his enhanced senses to gain the upper hand and swiftly comes to the conclusion that yes, he should. Stiles hadn’t said anything about not using them, after all, and if he ends up having a problem with it, he should’ve spoken up when he had the chance.
Derek scoops up some snow and moulds it into a ball with his hands. He listens closely and hears Stiles creeping around the side of the cabin after him. He can’t make it that easy, so he heads for the tree line. Once he’s safely hidden, he expertly climbs one of the trees and makes some more snowballs using the snow that’s collected on the branches closest to him. By this point, Stiles has appeared from around the corner of the cabin, and Derek observes like the predator he is as his prey uses the footprints Derek left in the snow to track him. It’s smart, but not smart enough.
As soon as Stiles is within range, Derek lobs his first snowball. It’s a direct hit, getting Stiles on the shoulder.
“Hey!” Stiles squawks, obviously not expecting such an attack.
“Something wrong?” Derek calls. He folds up the bottom of his coat and uses it to hold his four remaining snowballs as he transfers silently to a different branch.
Stiles mumbles, “Cheater…” just loudly enough for Derek to catch. Stifling a laugh, Derek picks up his second snowball and waits to see what Stiles will do next.
He doesn’t have to wait long for Stiles to follow the rest of his footprints, moving into the trees as well and taking away Derek’s line of sight. He still has his ears to help him out, so he isn’t concerned. He’s relieved when Stiles doesn’t attempt to scale a tree as well, because with how clumsy Stiles can be, he doesn’t want their romantic winter getaway to be ruined by a broken arm.
He can sense Stiles close by. And then…
“Gotcha!” Stiles cries, throwing a snowball up at where he believes Derek is hiding. It’s not even close.
“Nice try.” Derek is getting cocky. Stiles is directly beneath him now, so he releases his hold on the bottom of his coat and lets all four snowballs drop. He knows at least one of them hits its target from the way Stiles curses up a storm.
Stiles makes a hasty retreat now that the score is no longer in his favour. Derek can see him again, but he’s out of projectiles to throw. Feeling charitable, he jumps down from the concealment of the trees and races after Stiles, bending down to scoop up some fresh snow as he goes. Stiles is on to him this time, and it devolves into a messy war as snowballs go flying everywhere. Derek hits Stiles another two times with little trouble, his aim and coordination unparalleled as always, but Stiles also gets three lucky shots in by the time Derek is readying his final snowball. Then they face each other, motionless in a standoff.
Stiles breaks the silence. “Whatcha gonna do?”
Derek juggles his snowball from hand to hand. “I dunno. That’s up to you.”
They stare at each other for a long time, each waiting to see what the other will do. It goes on for so long that Stiles shivers again, like he did when they first arrived. This brings out Derek’s protective instincts. He has to end their game before Stiles freezes. Doesn’t mean he’s going to lose, though.
Decision made, Derek runs forward, surprising Stiles into dropping his snowball. With his own still in hand, Derek closes the distance between them so fast that Stiles can’t even think about running away. He tackles Stiles to the ground and straddles his waist, one hand in the snow next to Stiles’ head. He drops his last snowball so that it hits Stiles’ shoulder and rolls off to sink into the snow.
“I win,” he says smugly.
Stiles pouts. “You’re still a dirty cheater.”
“Nah, you’re just a sore loser,” Derek refutes, countenance softening. He can’t resist leaning down and kissing Stiles, a growl emanating from his chest when he feels Stiles’ long fingers in his hair.
When the kiss ends, Derek gets up and holds out a hand for Stiles to take. “C’mon, let’s go get you warmed up, make use of that fireplace.”
“Sounds like a great idea.”
Stiles takes the proffered hand and doesn’t release it even when he’s firmly on his feet again. He follows Derek back inside the cabin, letting go only so they can strip out of their wet clothes, then Derek moves the coffee table out of the way and orders Stiles to sit on the middle of the rug in front of the sofa, where the heat from the fireplace will seep into his bones faster.
Derek stokes the blaze with a fire poker, picks the blanket up from where it fell when Stiles coaxed him to go outside, and sits down behind his mate, cradling him between his legs. The final touches are to wrap the blanket around them both and then wrap Stiles up in his arms, using the blanket, his body heat, and the fire to warm him up.
“Thanks for this,” Stiles says sleepily, tired from their fun. He sinks back into Derek’s body and leans his head on Derek’s broad shoulder. “Best mate ever.”
Derek kisses the top of Stiles’ head. “I aim to please.”
* * *
That evening, Stiles and Derek are again down by the fire after having dinner, sitting in the exact same positions as before. For the past while, Derek has just sat with his eyes closed and enjoyed the simple domesticity, but he’s gradually becoming aware that time is ticking on, and if he wants to give Stiles this year’s final present, he’d better get on with it. He nudges Stiles so that he can get up and retrieve the velvet box from his luggage in the bedroom.
“But you’re so comfy!” Stiles grumbles.
“I’ve got one last present to give you,” Derek tells him. “Unless you don’t want it…”
This gets the reaction Derek expected. Stiles immediately moves out of the way, and Derek chuckles as he heads into the bedroom. When he has the box, he hides it behind his back, reenters the living room and comes to sit in front of Stiles instead of behind him. He’s awed by how the warm glow of the flames in the fireplace is reflected in Stiles’ eyes, turning their whiskey colour into something almost otherworldly.
“So where’s this present?” Stiles enquires. He doesn’t sound as childishly excited as he had when Derek gave him his other gifts that morning. He must be able to tell that this is different.
Serious.
“First, I need to say something. It’s gonna be hard for me to get through, so…don’t interrupt me, okay?” Derek entreats.
Stiles touches his knee. “I promise.”
“Before I met you,” Derek starts, giving his mate the speech he’d painstakingly prepared weeks ago, “I had no family at all. I was completely alone. I didn’t know what to do with myself or if I’d even keep living once I found the person who killed Laura and got justice for her murder. And then you came along, this smart-mouthed teenager who was too curious and determined for his own good, who wouldn’t leave me alone no matter how many times I shoved him around or was rude to him. We weren’t fans of each other back then, to state the obvious, but we saved each other’s lives on more than one occasion, until things just sort of…clicked.”
Understanding dawns on Stiles’ face as Derek speaks, but as promised, he doesn’t interrupt.
“I can still remember the day I realised that what I felt for you wasn’t hatred, or even dislike,” Derek continues. “You still annoyed the hell out of me from time to time, but I was also falling in love with you. It terrified me, and I tried to deny it for months, but when the Nogitsune happened and I almost lost you…I couldn’t deny my feelings anymore. It wasn’t easy for me—I mean, you were there, so you know it wasn’t—but I got my shit together and ever since then, you’ve done nothing but make me the happiest I’ve been in I don’t even know how long. And I never want it to stop. I want you to keep making me happy. I want to keep making you happy too, to give you everything I am for the rest of my life, in all ways possible. And so…”
Derek brings his arm around from behind his back, opens the velvet box, and presents the ring inside to Stiles.
“Stiles Stilinski, will you marry me?”
Stiles is crying by this point, silent tears trailing down his cheeks and his lower lip wobbling. He nods before sobbing out a, “Yes!” and throwing his arms around Derek’s neck. He holds him tightly and sniffles as he fights to regain control of himself. Derek embraces him back with just as much feeling, then Stiles pulls away and holds out his hand.
The ring isn’t fancy. Derek hadn’t thought something elaborate would suit Stiles, and so, going against Lydia’s advice, he went with a silver band with a single red gem set into it—the colour of his true eyes, so that Stiles will always be reminded of him, even when they’re apart. He slides it onto Stiles’ finger.
It’s a perfect fit.
“It’s beautiful,” Stiles whispers. “I love it.”
“Lydia thought it was too simple. It made her mad, but I stuck to my guns.”
“I’d love it no matter what it looked like because it came from you, but you did good, Sourwolf.”
Derek bashfully ducks his head, glad for the way things have gone. As he told himself yesterday, he was sure Stiles would say yes, but there were still those niggling doubts in the back of his mind, insecurities that festered no matter how much logic he used. They’re gone now.
After a few more moments spent admiring the ring, Stiles gives Derek an unmistakably salacious smirk. “You wanna…?”
Derek doesn’t respond verbally but pushes Stiles to lie on his back so he can get on top of him and kiss him senseless. He insinuates himself between Stiles’ thighs and slides his tongue past Stiles’ lips when he parts them willingly, deepening the kiss. Stiles tugs at his clothes and, agreeing that they both need to be naked as soon as possible, Derek breaks the kiss just long enough to rip off his henley and Stiles’ sweater. Their sweatpants are next, then he gets right back to devouring Stiles’ mouth, grinding their cocks together with filthy rolls of his hips.
When he runs out of oxygen, Derek sits back and peers down at his mate, his cock throbbing and heavy between his muscular legs as he admires the leanness of Stiles’ body. Stiles throws his arms above his head and stretches out, showing himself off for his new fiancé. Derek knows his eyes are glowing red now and doesn’t do a thing to stop them. From the beginning of their relationship, Stiles has been very vocal about how much Derek’s alpha eyes turn him on, and sure enough, Derek can detect a spike in the arousal permeating the air. It practically fills the whole cabin.
Stiles tips his head back, drawing Derek’s attention to his long neck. “Like what you see?”
“Stiles…” Derek growls, nostrils flaring.
“Yeah, Sourwolf?”
Unable to say no to the veritable feast in front of him, Derek leans down and latches his mouth onto the side of Stiles’ neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin to leave his mark. Stiles arches up beneath him, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders and holding on. Derek doesn’t cease his act of renewed claiming until Stiles’ neck is a mosaic of hickeys and faint teeth marks, appeasing the possessive animal side of him.
Then he moves south. He sucks on Stiles’ nipples so they’re swollen and raw, dips his tongue into Stiles’ belly button and, finally, swallows his cock whole, the head hitting the back of his throat. It almost triggers his gag reflex, but Derek suppresses it and bobs his head slowly up and down, not wanting to make Stiles come but keeping him aroused enough that it hurts. His eyelids flutter as the taste of Stiles’ pre-come bursts across his tastebuds, bitter and yet so delicious.
“Derek, please!” Stiles begs, close to pulling out his own hair. “Need you inside me.”
How can Derek deny such a pretty request?
He releases Stiles’ cock with a pop and pushes Stiles’ legs back to gain access to his hole. After the day they’ve had, the scent of him here is slightly musky, but Derek loves it all the same.
He licks once, twice over Stiles’ most intimate place, then seals his lips around it as he prods at it with his tongue, seeking entrance. Stiles keens, his hands around the backs of his knees to keep his legs out of the way as Derek all but makes out with his hole, sliding his tongue inside as deep as he can when it finally relaxes enough for him to do so. Stiles’ inner walls are so hot around him that it he moans, the sound enhanced by another growl that vibrates up his throat and into Stiles’ body.
By the time he’s done, they’re both a mess. Stiles is practically incoherent and Derek has managed to get saliva all over his beard. He wipes it off on the back of his hand before sucking a couple fingers into his mouth to get them wet. He brought lube with him to the cabin, but he left it in the bedroom and there’s no way he’s leaving Stiles for even a second to get it. Spit will have to do. They’ve used it before, when the mood has struck them with no warning, and as long as they’re careful, they’ve found with experience that it can be a decent substitute.
His fingers slicked up, Derek inserts them both into Stiles’ hole and seeks out his prostate right away. He knows he’s found it when Stiles cries out and his whole body goes rigid atop the rug. He’s gorgeous in the throes of pleasure, and Derek drinks in the sight of him as he scissors his fingers apart, preparing him for his thick cock.
Stiles’ normally pale skin is made warm by the fire still burning away to Derek’s right. It casts shadows that bring the dips and planes of Stiles’ lithe muscles into stark relief, highlighting just how much he’s grown into his body over the years they’ve been together.
With third and fourth fingers, Derek deems Stiles prepared enough for him. He isn’t capable of waiting any longer anyway. “You ready?” he asks, just in case.
“God, yes…” Stiles rasps, dropping his legs and curling them around Derek’s waist. It’s an invitation if Derek’s ever seen one.
“Gonna make love to you all night,” Derek promises. He spits in his palm and uses his own saliva to slick up his cock. With that done, he aims the head at Stiles’ hole. He leans over him and rests their foreheads together as he pushes inside. At nine inches long, it’s a long process, inch by torturous inch surrounded by tight heat that’s like nothing else.
When he’s fully sheathed, both lovers are breathing heavily, sharing the same air.
Stiles places a hand on the back of Derek’s neck and clenches even tighter around the thick intrusion of his cock. “You feel…”
Derek is just as affected. “I know.”
It’s good every time, but there’s just something about being inside of Stiles tonight that makes it extra special. He knows what it is—their emotions have been stirred up by his proposal, and after the little speech he gave, Derek feels particularly vulnerable. He opens his eyes to find that Stiles has already done the same, and it’s like Stiles is seeing into his very core, like he can see everything Derek is. The love and desire that’s in Stiles’ gaze makes him okay with baring his soul like this. Stiles is the only one he would trust to see all of him because there’s not a doubt in his mind that Stiles would never use what he sees to hurt him.
“Move, Sourwolf,” Stiles murmurs, running his fingers through Derek’s hair.
Derek complies. He withdraws until just the head of his cock remains inside Stiles’ body, then thrusts back inside syrupy slow. It’s unhurried, their eye contact never breaking.
They share sweet kisses as it goes on, as Derek maintains the current pace with no intention of speeding it up. That’s not what this is about. Quick and dirty sex definitely has its place in their sex life, but tonight, Derek wants it to be soft and romantic, showing a side of himself he thought Kate Argent viciously killed all those years ago. But Stiles revived it, and now Derek brings it out in private occasions like these.
He endures the teasing from Erica, the jibes from Peter, the fake gagging from Jackson and Scott. It’s all worth it just to see the way Stiles gets that lovesick expression on his face.
“So good,” Stiles says, kissing Derek affectionately as he’s filled up again.
The pleasure builds so slowly that it almost sneaks up on Derek. He hits Stiles’ prostate with one of his thrusts, causing Stiles to finally break their connection by tipping his head back, his bottom lip held between his teeth. Derek buries his nose in Stiles’ neck and greedily inhales his scent. It’s so well mixed with his own by this point that he can barely distinguish between them, like they’re one. Derek doesn’t think it’s possible to feel closer to another person than he feels right now.
Sweat slicks his skin by the time he feels his orgasm approaching. The base of his cock throbs as his knot begins to swell, making it more difficult to sheathe himself to the hilt inside of Stiles’ body. Stiles obviously notices it too, his whimpers getting louder and pitching higher every time Derek forces his knot past his rim, stretching it wider and wider. Derek wanted to keep it slow, but when he thrusts all the way inside for the final time, he has to snap his hips fast to do it, popping his knot past the feeble resistance Stiles’ hole offers up. Then he stays there, hips flush to Stiles’ ass cheeks as his knot swells the rest of the way, tying them together.
His orgasm impending, Derek scrunches his eyes shut tight and bites down on Stiles’ neck with blunt human teeth as it overtakes him. His cock jerks wildly, painting his fiancé’s insides with thick come.
Stiles holds him through it, praising him, telling him how much he loves him. Derek shudders, coming undone completely as he finishes pouring the physical proof his love into his mate.
When it’s over, Derek stays where he is for a few minutes more, enjoying Stiles’ arms around him, his hands stroking up and down his back, then he picks himself up and looks between their bodies. He feels bad when he notices that Stiles’ cock is still hard, pre-come leaking copiously from the flushed head. He wraps his hand around it and uses the viscous fluid to stroke him gently but steadily, undulating his hips at the same time to make his knot press against Stiles’ prostate. Stiles quickly shoots off like a rocket, covering himself with his own come. Derek is satisfied when some of it hits his chest too, marking him.
Both sated now, Derek rolls them over so that he’s on his back and Stiles is draped on top of him, not caring about the fluids drying between them. The fire keeps them warm now that the passion is over.
At least for now.
“Tired,” Stiles says into his neck, thoroughly worn out.
“Sleep,” Derek tells him, kissing his temple. “We can go for round two after a nap.”
Stiles’ smile is audible in his voice as he slurs, “Sounds like a plan.”
A few seconds later, Derek hears a quiet snore and allows himself to drift off too. Before he goes under, he has the thought that this was the best Christmas he’s ever had.
Here’s to many more.