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Most people didn't notice it. Or maybe they noticed and refused to acknowledge it. Either way, Stiles Stilinski knew something had changed. The air in Beacon Hills felt heavier than usual, thick with a tension that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It wasn't full-moon anxiety or the warning scent of an approaching storm. It was something sharper, more focused. Something hunting. And from everything he'd managed to piece together, the thing stalking Beacon Hills had one very specific type of victim: virgins.
And Stiles, in all his frantic, caffeine fueled, neurotic glory, was currently at the top of the to be eaten list.
"It's a pattern, Scott! A pattern!" Stiles gestured emphatically, nearly smacking Scott in the face. "These aren't random murders. This thing has criteria. Standards. It's basically out there conducting the world's creepiest background check and deciding that virgins are the preferred target demographic. Do you understand how insane that is?"
Scott sighed, leaning back against the passenger seat. "Stiles, maybe you're just overthinking it."
"Overthinking?" Stiles stopped dead, staring out the windshield with wide, panicked eyes. "Scott, look at me! I am a walking, talking, sarcasm spewing beacon of innocence! My dating life is a graveyard! If this thing shows up, I'm not just a victim; I'm a buffet!"
The realization that his lack of romantic success was now a legitimate survival hazard sent Stiles into a tailspin. He couldn't just sit around waiting for a monster to sniff out his lack of sexual history. He needed answers. He needed someone who knew the dark, weird, gritty underbelly of the supernatural world. He needed someone who didn't care about social graces or the fact that Stiles was currently vibrating with anxiety.
He needed Derek Hale.
Later that night, he drove to the Hale house. The old, burnt out remains of the mansion that served as a grim reminder of everything the Hale family had lost was a blur of nervous energy. The moon was high, casting long, skeletal shadows across the forest floor. As Stiles approached the looming, charred structure, the silence of the woods felt predatory.
He didn't knock; he practically stumbled through the entrance, his breathing shallow. The interior was dark, smelling of old wood, rain, and that distinct, heavy scent of a predator.
"Derek!" Stiles called out, his voice cracking slightly. "Derek, tell me you're awake. Tell me you've seen the news. Tell me you've seen the... the demographic shift in the casualty reports!"
A shadow moved in the corner of the room. Derek stepped into the faint moonlight filtering through the broken roof, looking as brooding and intimidating as ever. His leather jacket caught the light, his jaw set in a hard line, and those intense eyes tracked Stiles’ frantic movements with a mix of exhaustion and mild annoyance.
"Stiles," Derek said, his voice a low, warning rumble. "It’s two in the morning. What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? Are you aware of what is happening to this town?" Stiles rushed toward him, gesturing wildly. "There's a killer, Derek. A supernatural killer. And it’s specifically picking off virgins. And in case you are not aware, the statistics are heavily skewed in my favor, I am basically a walking appetizer!"
Derek leaned back against a heavy wooden table, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He didn't look surprised. He just looked... tired. He watched Stiles spiral, the boy's frantic energy filling the cavernous, silent room.
"You came all the way out here because you're afraid of a monster?" Derek asked, his tone dry, bordering on sarcastic.
"I'm not just afraid, Derek, I'm strategically concerned!" Stiles countered, huffing a breath of frustration. "I need to know what we're dealing with. Is it a rogue Beta? A vengeful spirit? Something that feeds on... purity? Because if it is, I am in serious, serious trouble."
Derek remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Stiles. The silence stretched, becoming heavy and thick, much like the atmosphere in the room. Stiles felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck, his heart hammering against his ribs. He waited for a lecture, a warning, or even a sarcastic jab about his intelligence.
Instead, Derek’s expression shifted. It didn't soften Derek Hale didn't really do soft but the intensity of his gaze deepened. He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming, filling the space between them until Stiles could smell the scent of leather and something primal, something warm.
"So," Derek said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a quiet, steady vibration in the air. "Your main problem is that you're a virgin?"
Stiles blinked, momentarily stunned by the bluntness. "I mean... yeah. In the grand scheme of survival, it’s a significant variable!"
Derek stared at him, his face a mask of stoic calm, though his eyes seemed to burn a little brighter in the dark. He didn't laugh. He didn't even smirk. He just looked at Stiles with a terrifyingly direct focus.
"If that's the problem," Derek said, his voice devoid of judgment, purely pragmatic, "then you the solution should not be that hard."
He took one more step, closing the distance until Stiles had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact.
"If you want to get rid of the problem," Derek continued, his gaze dropping momentarily to Stiles' mouth before snapping back to his eyes, "I can help you with that."
For the first time in his entire life, Stiles Stilinski’s brain the hyperactive, non stop, caffeine fueled engine that usually never shut up simply stalled. He stood there, mouth slightly agape, staring at Derek like the Alpha had just suggested they go out and hunt a Wendigo for breakfast. The silence in the burnt out mansion wasn't just heavy; it was suffocating.
Derek, seemingly unfazed by the stunned silence he’d just induced, let out a long, weary sigh. It was the sound of a man who was tired of explaining the obvious. Without a word, he reached out, his large, warm hand wrapping around Stiles’ wrist. The contact sent a jolt through Stiles that had nothing to do with supernatural dread and everything to do with the sheer, unadulterated heat of Derek’s skin.
"Come on," Derek muttered, tugging him toward the loft.
Stiles stumbled along, his legs feeling like they were made of unbaked dough. "Wait, wait, wait. Help? Just like that? You’re just... offering a sex service? Or am I just assuming shit?" His voice was an octave higher than usual, the frantic sarcasm acting as a shield for the sheer panic rising in his chest.
Derek didn't answer. He led him into the makeshift bedroom, a space that was sparse, dimly lit, and smelled intensely of Derek musk, rain, and something deep and earthy. The air in the room felt thicker, charged with an unspoken tension that made the hair on Stiles' arms stand up.
Derek turned, his movements efficient and unhurried. He began to shrug out of his heavy leather jacket, the material creaking in the quiet room. Then, he reached down to unlace his boots.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold the phone! Stop the presses!" Stiles suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Derek’s forearms to halt the progression. His heart was drumming a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "What are you doing? Are we... are we really doing this right now?"
Derek paused, one boot halfway off, and looked up at him. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "What's the issue?"
"The issue is everything!" Stiles hissed, his hands still trembling where they gripped Derek's arms. "The timing, the location, the sheer... the audacity of the suddenness!"
Derek let go of his boot and stood up to his full, intimidating height, looming over Stiles. "Are you not into guys, Stiles?" he asked, his voice flat, as if he were asking if it was going to rain.
"That's not the point!" Stiles shot back, waving a hand vaguely in the air. "The point is that this is a huge deal! This is a life altering, soul shaking, 'oh my god everything is changing kind of event, and you're acting like you're offering to lend me a jump lead for my Jeep!"
Derek huffed, a sharp sound of annoyance escaping his nose. He stepped into Stiles' personal space, forcing the smaller man to back up until his calves hit the edge of the bed. "Well, maybe for you but not for me. Well, do you not find me attractive?" Derek challenged, his eyes narrowing, a hint of something darker, hungrier, flickering in those blue depths.
Stiles felt the heat climb up his neck, turning his face a bright, embarrassed red. He rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked its usual bite. "Do you have eyes, Derek? Seriously? Do you need a freaking glasses to realize you're... you're..." He trailed off, unable to actually say the words.
"Then what is your problem?" Derek demanded, his voice dropping to a low, impatient growl. He was close enough now that Stiles could feel the heat radiating off his chest.
"My problem," Stiles said, trying to regain some semblance of his usual bravado, "is that you're being too normal about this! Most people, when they suggest a spontaneous sexual encounter to save someone from a virgin killing monster, they at least... they at least act a little bit weird! They blush! They stutter! They don't just stand there looking like they're about to go do their laundry!"
Derek stared at him for a long beat, his expression unreadable, before he let out a short, dry breath that might have been a laugh if he were a more expressive man. He stepped even closer, his thighs brushing against Stiles', a contact so solid and warm it made Stiles' breath hitch.
"It's just sex, Stiles," Derek said simply, his gaze locking onto Stiles' eyes with an intensity that made the world outside the loft disappear. "Nothing more. It's just a way to solve the problem."
Derek didn't wait for Stiles to finish his frantic mental processing. He simply turned back to the task at hand, moving with a calm, predatory efficiency that was infuriatingly steady. He finished unlacing his boots, kicking them aside with a dull thud against the floorboards, and then his hands moved to the hem of his shirt.
Stiles' breath hitched in his throat, caught somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. As Derek pulled the fabric up and over his head, the dim light of the loft seemed to cling to the hard, sculpted lines of his body. It wasn't just fit it was something else entirely. Stiles stared, his mouth slightly agape, as Derek’s torso was revealed. The light caught the ridges of a perfect eight pack, the muscles shifting like smooth stones under tanned skin. And then there was the hair a dark, masculine dusting that trailed down the center of his chest, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
Holy shit, Stiles thought, his brain momentarily short circuiting. This is like a Magic Mike audition gone rogue in a haunted house.
The heat was building in Stiles’ lower belly, a heavy, pulsing ache that was impossible to ignore. He was, quite frankly, fucking hard uncomfortably so. The friction of his jeans felt suddenly too tight, the denim pressing against him as his pulse throbbed in time with the heavy beat of his own heart. He tried to look away, to find some shred of his usual sarcasm to deflect the overwhelming masculinity radiating off the man in front of him, but his eyes kept snapping back to the curve of Derek's waist and the sheer breadth of his shoulders.
Derek seemed entirely oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking on Stiles’ nervous system. He reached for his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room. He unbuttoned his pants with a slow, deliberate motion, sliding the heavy denim down his muscular thighs. Even though Derek wasn't fully erect yet, the sheer scale of him was staggering. As his pants pooled at his ankles, Stiles caught a glimpse of the heavy, thick length of him, resting against his thigh. It was intimidating. It was massive. It was... a lot to take in.
Before Stiles could even formulate a coherent thought or a witty remark to hide his terror Derek moved. He stepped into Stiles' space, his large hands landing on Stiles' shoulders. With a gentle but firm pressure, he guided him backward. Stiles’ knees hit the mattress, and he tumbled back onto the bed, the sheets feeling cool against his skin compared to the heat radiating from Derek.
Derek hovered over him, a dark, looming silhouette that made Stiles feel small, vulnerable, and desperately alive all at once. The Alpha leaned down, his face inches from Stiles’s, his scent that intoxicating mix of woodsmoke and warm skin filling Stiles' lungs.
"Stiles," Derek murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to settle right in Stiles' bones. He didn't look like he was joking anymore. There was a weight to his gaze, a focused intent that made the air in the room feel electric. He braced his weight on his forearms, pinning Stiles in place with his presence. "What do you prefer?"
Stiles swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry as sandpaper. He looked up at Derek, seeing the intensity in those hazel eyes, and for the first time in his life, the sarcasm failed him completely. "I... uh..." he managed, his voice a mere thread of sound. "I think... whatever you're doing... is working."
A low, dry sound vibrated in Derek’s chest a chuckle. It wasn't a loud, boisterous laugh, but a soft, raspy thing that seemed to catch Stiles completely off guard. It was the first time Stiles had ever heard him sound... well, human. Not a brooding monument of muscle, but a man.
"Don't be nervous," Derek murmured, his gaze softening just a fraction, though that intense, predatory focus never really left Stiles' eyes. He shifted his weight, his knees settling on either side of Stiles’ hips, the heat of his skin seeping through Stiles' clothes. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his chest heaving slightly. "Right. Yeah. No hurting. That's... that's a solid baseline for a successful hookup. Very important. Five stars on Yelp." He tried to force a grin, but his lips were trembling.
Derek leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping an octave, becoming something thick and intimate. "When I asked what you prefer..." He paused, letting the weight of the question hang in the air between them. "I meant what do you want to do. Do you want to be on top, or do you want to be on the bottom?"
Stiles froze. He knew the terms. He wasn't that much of a virgin well, he was, but he wasn't a completely, clueless virgin. He knew exactly what the mechanics of the question were. But hearing it come out of Derek Hale’s mouth, in that low, gravelly tone, made the concept feel suddenly, terrifyingly real. The sheer implication of the choice especially the idea of Derek, this massive, powerful, Alpha force of nature, actually bottoming sent a dizzying rush of heat straight to Stiles' groin.
"You..." Stiles swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully. He stared up at Derek, searching for any sign of a joke, a prank, a hint of sarcasm. But Derek’s face was dead serious. "You're actually giving me the choice? Like, you're actually offering to... to let me...?" He couldn't even finish the sentence. The words felt too heavy, too scandalous to even think aloud. "You'd let me fuck you?"
Derek didn't even blink. He just gave a casual, almost bored shrug, as if Stiles had just asked if he wanted a glass of water. "If that's what you want."
"Why?" Stiles blurted out, the question escaping before his brain could filter it. He sat up slightly, his hands coming up to rest tentatively on Derek's hard, hairy chest. "Why would you do that? You're the Alpha, Derek! You're the one who leads, the one who... who commands and everything! You're the big, scary werewolf guy! The Alpha doesn't just... bottom!"
Derek actually laughed this time a real, genuine sound that crinkled the corners of his hazel eyes. He reached down, his large, warm fingers finding the buckle of Stiles’ belt. The metallic click sounded incredibly loud in the quiet loft.
"Stiles," Derek said, his eyes locking onto Stiles' with a sudden, fierce clarity as he began to undo the leather strap. "My position in the pack has absolutely nothing to do with my position in this bed."
He leaned down, his lips brushing against Stiles' ear, his breath hot and smelling faintly of mint and something wild. "Don't overthink it," he whispered, his hand sliding under the fabric of Stiles' shirt, his palm rough and warm against his skin. "Just feel it."
Derek didn't give Stiles a chance to descend back into his usual spiral of overthinking. His hands were moving with a purpose now, his fingers working the buttons of Stiles’ pants with a practiced, steady rhythm. When the zipper finally gave way, the harsh zzzzzt sound seemed to vibrate right through Stiles' skin.
As Derek peeled the denim back, his hand wandered lower, sliding beneath the waistband of Stiles' boxers. Stiles felt a jolt of pure electricity shoot up his spine when Derek’s large, warm palm cupped him. He was wearing these ridiculous Baby Yoda print boxers the kind of thing he’d worn for years because they were comfortable and the fabric was stretched dangerously thin over the massive, pulsing bulge that had been straining against them all night.
Derek’s fingers didn't just touch; they gripped, grovelling the heavy length of him through the cotton. Stiles let out a sound that was half gasp, half broken moan, his head falling back against the pillow as his hips instinctively bucked upward.
"God, Stiles," Derek rumbled, his voice sounding thick, almost hungry. He began to stroke him, his thumb sweeping over the head of Stiles' cock through the fabric, applying just enough pressure to make Stiles’ toes curl. Derek leaned down, his lips hovering just above the sensitive skin of Stiles' neck. "You're so fucking ready. I bet you'd break my virgin hole deliciously."
Stiles’ eyes snapped open, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. His what?
The words echoed in his brain, making him stumble. Virgin hole? He stared at the side of Derek’s intense, beautiful face, trying to reconcile the image of the legendary, terrifying Alpha werewolf with the idea of a man who had apparently never been taken like this. It didn't make sense. Why was he letting a loser like him who tripped over his own feet and talked too much to have his beautiful like this?
Before the question could even form a coherent thought, Derek shifted. He didn't pull away; instead, he repositioned himself, straddling Stiles' thighs and turning his back just enough to grind his ass directly against Stiles' hardening length.
The sensation was overwhelming. The heavy, muscular weight of Derek’s backside pressing down, the friction of his skin sliding against the bulge in Stiles' boxers, it was too much. Stiles’ mouth opened, but no words came out just a frantic, shallow panting. His brain had officially left the building, replaced by a singular, driving need to just touch him, to sink into him.
Derek leaned back, his weight settling heavily, making Stiles groan into the crook of his shoulder. He tilted his head, looking back at Stiles over his shoulder, his hazel green eyes dark with a mixture of heat and a rare, vulnerable kind of anticipation.
"Don't just lie there looking like you've seen a ghost," Derek whispered, his voice a low, commanding rasp that demanded an answer. He ground his hips again, a slow, torturous roll that made Stiles' vision blur. "Tell me. What do you want, Stiles? Tell me exactly how you want to take me."
Stiles felt like his brain was a browser with fifty tabs open, and all of them were crashing at once. He was staring at the broad, muscular expanse of Derek’s tattoed back, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm against his sternum.
"I..." Stiles started, his voice cracking painfully. He cleared his throat, trying to find even a shred of the bravado he usually reserved for arguing with Argents. "I want you to... you know. Ride me. Instead of you being under me. I want to feel you... taking it. Taking my cock in your hole." He paused, the sheer audacity of the words making his ears burn. He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the curve of Derek’s hips. "But, uh... before that. Before we get to the main event... I really, really want to eat your ass."
It was a ridiculous thing to say, and he knew it, but he said it with a sort of desperate, fake courage. To prove he wasn't just talking, he reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed the heavy, firm muscle of Derek's ass. It was warm, solid, and incredibly inviting.
Derek let out a low, vibrating chuckle that seemed to rumble right through Stiles' palms. "Bold," Derek murmured. He shifted, moving with a fluid, predatory grace that Stiles could only watch in a daze. He repositioned himself, sliding up until he was hovering directly over Stiles, his heavy thighs framing Stiles' hips.
Stiles’ breath hitched. He was staring right at the epicenter of the tension. He dared to part his asscheeks, his eyes widening as he looked up at the view. There it was the tight, puckered, pink perfection of Derek’s entrance. It looked so small, so incredibly untouched, a stark contrast to the powerful, intimidating man it belonged to. It was just... sitting there, practically begging to be breached.
He didn't wait for an invitation. Stiles leaned forward, his tongue darting out to lick the sensitive skin.
A sharp, choked moan escaped Derek’s throat. He didn't pull away; instead, he leaned into the sensation, smashing his ass down against Stiles' face. He was careful, controlling the weight so he didn't actually suffocate the smaller man, but the pressure was intense, a heavy, hot weight that sent Stiles into a frenzy.
Stiles was gone. He was lost to instinct. He kissed the soft skin, his tongue swirling around the opening, licked hungrily, tasting the salt and the heat of him. He teased the rim, circling it with agonizing slowness until the muscle finally began to relax, yielding to his touch. He pushed his tongue inside, just a little bit, feeling the tight, rhythmic pulsing of Derek's internal muscles. He teased it, flicking and swirling, driving Derek to a point of near delirium.
Above him, Derek was breathing in ragged, heavy gasps. He reached down, his hands shaking just a little as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Stiles' Baby Yoda boxers and pulled them down, freeing Stiles' cock.
As the heavy, thick length finally popped free, Derek let out a sharp, audible gasp of pure disbelief. He stared down, his eyes blown wide, his jaw practically dropping.
"Jesus, Stiles," Derek breathed, his voice a wrecked whisper as he stared at the sheer, monstrous scale of him. It was fucking huge a thick, pulsing vein mapped beast of a cock that looked almost impossible to handle. "How the hell are you even...?" He trailed off, his gaze fixed on the heavy weight of Stiles' manhood, his expression a mix of awe and primal hunger.
Derek stared at it for a second longer, his eyes tracing the heavy, pulsing length of Stiles’ cock like he was trying to memorize the sheer scale of it. Then, without a word, he leaned down.
The first touch of Derek’s tongue was a revelation. He didn't just lick; he swiped his tongue right over the bead of precum glistening at the tip, tasting the salt and the heat of Stiles' arousal. Stiles’ entire body jolted, a strangled, high pitched sound tearing from his throat as he nearly came right then and there. The sensation was too much, too concentrated.
"Whoa, whoa! Derek, wait slow down!" Stiles gasped, his hands flying to Derek’s hair, his fingers tangling in the dark locks to keep himself from bucking off the bed. "You’re gonna... you're gonna make me finish before we even start!"
But Derek wasn't listening. Not really. He was in the zone, his wolf instincts taking over, driven by a sudden, ravenous need to consume. Instead of slowing down, he intensified the contact, his tongue darting in quick, frantic kitten licks. Tiny, sharp, teasing strokes that drove Stiles absolutely insane. He was relentless, lapping at the head, swirling around the rim, until finally, he opened his mouth wide and truly swallowed the heat, taking a significant portion of the massive shaft into the wet, tight heat of his throat.
Stiles let out a long, low moan that sounded more like a growl. His brain was short circuiting. To keep himself from losing control and painting Derek's face with his seed, he realized he had to give back. He had to distract himself by being just as aggressive.
He leaned forward, burying his face back into the warmth of Derek's ass. He ate him harder, his tongue working with a desperate, hungry rhythm, sucking at the puckered skin until Derek was trembling above him.
Stiles needed more. He needed to feel the internal pressure to balance out the overwhelming sensation in his groin. He brought his own finger to his mouth, sucking on it for a second to coat it in his own saliva, and then, with a shaky breath, he reached down and gently pressed it into Derek's tight, virgin opening.
Derek let out a choked, startled sound a half gasp, half sob as the sudden internal pressure hit him. His hips bucked instinctively, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into the sensation, his focus shifting back to the task at hand. He redoubled his efforts, his mouth working over Stiles' cock with a feverish intensity. He took a few inches deep, his throat squeezing around the thick girth, while his hands reached up to stroke the rest of the length that he couldn't fit inside, his palms slick and hot as he worked in tandem with his mouth.
The room was filled with the wet, rhythmic sounds of their friction, the heavy breathing of two people pushed to their absolute limits, and the sheer, unadulterated heat of a connection that felt less like sex and more like a collision of souls.
The air in the room felt thick enough to swallow, heavy with the scent of musk, sweat, and the undeniable, electric charge of what was happening between them. Stiles was hovering on a knife's edge, his vision swimming every time Derek’s mouth slid up and down his length.
Without breaking the rhythm of his licking, Derek reached a hand blindly beneath the tangled sheets. He fumbled for a moment before pulling out a bottle of lube, pressing it into Stiles’ hand with a silent, urgent command.
Stiles didn't need to be told twice. His hands were shaking as he unscrewed the cap, the cool, slick liquid spilling over his fingertips. He didn't hesitate, coating his fingers thoroughly before sliding them back down to Derek's heat. This time, he didn't just tease the entrance; he pushed two digits inside, the lubricated skin sliding smoothly against Derek's tight, velvet walls.
Derek’s reaction was immediate. A long, low moan vibrated through his entire body, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that made Stiles feel like a god. As Stiles worked his fingers, Derek shifted his focus, leaning down to lap at Stiles' heavy, aching balls. The sensation of Derek's warm, wet tongue swirling around his sac while his fingers were buried deep inside Derek was almost too much to bear. It was a sensory overload that made Stiles' hips twitch uncontrollably.
Stiles wasn't just poking around blindly, though. He might not have had much experience with another person, but he knew a man's body better than anyone. He’d spent plenty of late nights alone, exploring himself, learning exactly how much pressure to apply and where to press to make his own head spin. He knew the map of his own pleasure, and he was using that knowledge now, guiding his fingers with a purposeful, rhythmic motion.
He felt the internal tension in Derek's muscles, the way they pulsed and gripped around his fingers, and then there it was. He hit it. He found that specific, sensitive spot, the sweet spot that made Derek’s entire back arch and his voice break into a high, needy whimper.
"Oh... god, Stiles," Derek gasped, his fingers digging into the mattress as Stiles pressed a little harder, circling that internal knot of nerves.
Stiles grinned, a feral, triumphant look in his eyes despite the sweat dripping down his forehead. "Found it," he whispered, his voice a gravelly mess of lust. He didn't slow down; instead, he leaned into the rhythm, his fingers working with a practiced, intuitive grace that was driving Derek absolutely wild.
The friction and the heat were reaching a breaking point. Stiles was practically vibrating, his breath coming in short, jagged hitches that sounded more like whimpers. Derek, sensing the impending explosion, leaned back in, his mouth finding Stiles' cock once more.
At first, it was the same frantic, teasing rhythm, but as Derek’s mouth adjusted to the sheer, massive girth of him, he grew bolder. He began to deep throat it, taking the head and the thickest part of the shaft deep into his throat with a rhythmic, swallowing motion. The sensation of Derek’s tight, warm throat clamping down on him was so intense that Stiles felt his toes curl into the sheets.
"Derek wait, seriously," Stiles choked out, his head tossing back against the pillow. "If you keep doing that... if you keep going like that... I’m gonna fucking come. Like, for real this time. It's happening!"
Derek pulled back just enough to look up at him, his eyes dark, blown wide with a predatory kind of hunger. A stray smear of precum glistened on his bottom lip. "Then do it," Derek rasped, his voice a low, commanding rumble that sent a fresh wave of heat straight to Stiles' gut. "Cum. Cum as many times as you want. I'm not stopping."
Derek's gaze locked onto Stiles'. "I'll make sure you're hard again in no time," he promised, a challenge dancing in his eyes. "I'll make you crave it."
And he meant it. Derek went back to work, his suction becoming more intense, more deliberate, as if he were trying to draw the very soul out of Stiles. To counter the overwhelming sensation in his groin, Stiles reached down, his hand slick with lube, and introduced a third finger into Derek's heat.
The sight was fucking incredible. Derek’s entrance, already flushed and swollen from the attention, stretched beautifully around the three digits, the skin taut and glistening. It looked so vulnerable yet so incredibly powerful all at once. Stiles watched, mesmerized, as Derek’s body accommodated him, the muscles rippling with every thrust of his fingers.
Then, Derek did something that nearly sent Stiles over the edge instantly. He brought his own finger to his mouth, and sucked on it, coating it in his own saliva before sliding it inside Stiles' hole.
The dual assault the relentless, deep suction of the blowjob combined with the heavy, rhythmic pressure of the fingering was too much. Stiles’ vision went white at the edges. His hips bucked violently, his entire body tensing as a massive, shuddering orgasm tore through him.
"Oh god! Derek!" Stiles screamed, his voice cracking as he came, a heavy, hot torrent of seed pulsing out into Derek's mouth.
Derek's eyes went wide, and he let out a muffled, choked sound as the sheer volume of it hit the back of his throat. He gagged slightly, the sheer force of the release catching him off guard, but he didn't pull away. He stayed right there, swallowing every single drop, taking all of Stiles with a primal, desperate hunger.
As he swallowed the last of it, Derek let out a long, shaky breath. He’d always wondered what it would be like, always had this tiny, irrational fear that it would taste... well, weird. But as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he realized he was wrong. It didn't taste disgusting at all. It tasted like Stiles intense, salty, and overwhelmingly, beautifully human.
The room was quiet for a moment, save for the ragged, uneven breathing of two men who had just survived a storm. Stiles lay there, his chest heaving, his cock still twitching and semi hard, slick with the remnants of his release. He felt heavy, drained, but his heart was still hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Derek didn't give him long to recover. He moved with a quiet, predatory grace, leaning back in to find Stiles’ length once more. He wasn't rushing this time; he was patient, his tongue swirling with a slow, deliberate heat that seemed designed to coax the blood back into the tissue. Stiles closed his eyes, a soft groan escaping him as he felt the familiar, intense pull of Derek’s mouth working to bring him back to full attention.
As the arousal began to build, Stiles felt a strange, comforting warmth spreading through his nerves. It was subtle, but he knew it Derek was using his supernatural ability to soothe Stiles' oversensitivity that usually came after a massive climax. It was like a numbing, soothing balm that allowed the pleasure to build without the stinging ache of too much sensation.
Once Stiles felt himself thickening, becoming rock hard once again, Derek pulled back. His eyes were dark, hooded, and filled with a terrifyingly beautiful intent.
"It's about time," Derek rasped, his voice sounding like gravel being crushed.
Stiles understood the unspoken command. He reached down, slowly pulling his fingers out of Derek’s heat. The sudden absence made Derek let out a low, wounded moan, his hips twitching as if he were mourning the loss of the internal pressure. Before the ache could settle, Derek grabbed the lube bottle, his hands steadying as he coated Stiles’ massive, pulsing cock in a thick, glistening layer of slick.
"Can you f-face me?" Stiles whispered, his voice thick with a mix of reverence and sheer, unadulterated lust. "I want to see you when you take it."
Derek didn't argue. He repositioned himself, moving with a focused intensity. He climbed on top of Stiles, straddling his hips, but instead of lying flat, he planted his feet firmly on the mattress, his legs spread wide to create a stable, powerful base. He leaned back, bracing himself with one hand on the bed behind him, his back arching backward.
Then, he reached down. He gripped Stiles' cock, his hand barely able to wrap around the circumference, and Stiles felt his breath hitch. In the dim light of the room, the sight was fucking breathtaking the sheer scale of him, the way the skin stretched and glistened under the lube, looking like something carved from marble and heat.
Stiles watched, paralyzed by awe, as Derek began to lower himself. He guided the broad, blunt head of Stiles' cock to his entrance, positioning himself so the tip caught right on the tight, puckered rim of his hole.
Derek took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he braced himself. And then, he pushed.
Stiles' heart nearly stopped. He didn't know where his eyes were supposed to go. He was caught in a frantic, dizzying loop of observation: should he watch the way Derek’s face contorting due to a complex, messy mask of shock, overwhelming pleasure, and the raw, primal strain of being breached for the first time? Or should he stare down at the impossible sight of his own cock disappearing into that small, virgin opening, stretching the skin of Derek's heat until it looked like it might break?
The Alpha was taking him, inch by agonizing, beautiful inch, and the sheer gravity of the moment felt like it might pull the whole world apart.
A low, breathless chuckle escaped Derek’s throat, a sound that was half laugh and half groan as he felt the blunt head of Stiles’ cock alone stretching him to his absolute limit. He shook his head slightly, his dark hair damp and clinging to his forehead.
"Unbelievable," Derek managed to grit out, his voice strained as he fought to accommodate the sheer mass of him. "Of all the people... and of all the things... my first cock has to be this fucking huge."
Stiles, watching the way Derek’s muscles rippled and bunched with the effort, felt a surge of desperate, unbridled hunger. He wanted to help. He wanted to grab Derek’s hips and shove himself home, to feel that tight, velvet heat swallow him whole in one violent, beautiful motion. He started to lunge upward, his hips twitching instinctively, but Derek caught him with a sharp, warning glare.
"Don't you dare," Derek warned, his eyes flashing a momentary crimson. "Let me... let me take it at my own way."
Stiles swallowed hard, sinking back into the pillows, his heart thudding against his ribs. He stayed still, watching in rapt, almost religious awe as Derek took control. Derek began a slow, torturous rhythm pulling himself almost all the way up the shaft until he was nearly off, and then, with a heavy, controlled exhale, pushing back down. He was taking more and more with every descent, testing the limits of his own body, trying to see if he could actually take the entire length in one go.
Once he felt he had enough of him inside, Derek shifted his weight. He leaned back on his hands, bracing his muscular arms to stabilize himself, and began to ride.
The sight was enough to make Stiles' brain short circuit. Seeing this powerful, intimidating Alpha the man who usually carried the weight of the world on his shoulders reduced to this rhythmic, primal motion was driving Stiles insane. Derek’s own cock was bobbing with the movement, leaking beads of pre cum that glistened in the low light, a testament to how much he was enjoying the friction.
Derek looked fucking incredible. The light caught the sweat glistening on his well defined, hairy chest, tracing the hard lines of his torso and the deep grooves of his abs. Every time he descended, the muscles in his thighs and glutes bunched and flexed, a display of pure, raw strength.
Stiles couldn't help himself anymore. The visual was too much, the scent of Derek’s arousal too thick. He let out a low, needy sound and began to thrust his hips upward, meeting Derek halfway, desperate to close the gap and feel that crushing pressure again.
This time, Derek didn't threaten him. He didn't glare. Instead, a dark, hungry smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned into the contact, his hips tilting to catch Stiles’ upward momentum, letting their movements meld into one frantic, driving pace. The friction was intense, the heat between them almost blinding, as they lost themselves in the sheer, unadulterated chaos of each other.
The rhythm was relentless. For a solid five minutes, the room had been filled with nothing but the wet, slapping sound of skin hitting skin and the heavy, synchronized gasps of two men losing their minds. But Stiles was starting to feel the cracks in his composure. The friction was becoming too much, the sensation of Derek’s tight, pulsing walls clamping around him becoming an overwhelming sensory overload.
He was close. Way too close.
"Derek," Stiles gasped, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed red that had nothing to do with the heat in the room and everything to do with how much he was about to lose it. "God, Derek... wait. I'm I'm almost there. I'm right on the edge."
Derek’s hips stuttered for a fraction of a second, his eyes snapping open, wide and genuinely startled. "That fast?" he asked, his voice a low, incredulous rasp.
Stiles let out a frustrated, breathless snort, his head tossing back against the mattress. "Yeah, that fast! Don't act like you don't know! It's my first time actually fucking someone, okay? And you... you're fucking tight, Derek! It's like you're trying to squeeze the life out of me!"
A dark, cocky smirk tugged at the corner of Derek's mouth. Instead of slowing down, the Alpha seemed to take the challenge personally. "Is that so?" he murmured, and then he drove his hips down with a sudden, punishing force that made Stiles’ vision swim.
"Jesus!" Stiles yelled, his fingers digging into the mattress. "If you don't slow the hell down, I am actually going to cum in your ass right this second! I mean it!"
Derek didn't back off. Instead, he shifted his weight, sliding forward until he was practically sitting in Stiles' lap, his pelvis grinding heavily against Stiles' pubic bone. He began to ride him with a new, frantic intensity, his movements shorter, harder, and much more desperate.
"Listen," Derek groaned, his head dropping forward so his sweaty hair brushed against Stiles' forehead. His voice was a vulnerable, raw whisper. "I don't... I don't know if it's okay. To let you... to let you cum inside me. But it's driving me crazy, Stiles. It feels so good, and I want it. I want all of it."
That was the breaking point for Stiles. The sheer honesty of the confession, combined with the primal way Derek was begging for it, sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through his veins. Stiles reached up, his hands finding the heavy, muscular weight of Derek's ass feeling the coarse, masculine hair and the firm, meaty strength of him and he gripped tight. He stopped being a passenger and started driving, thrusting his hips upward with an equal, desperate intensity.
Derek let out a long, broken moan that sounded almost like a howl. Stiles was ravaging him, his cock hitting Derek's prostate with every heavy, rhythmic lunge. The internal friction was so intense that Derek felt his entire world narrowing down to that single point of contact.
Then, he felt it. Stiles’ cock seemed to swell even larger inside him, pulsing with a sudden, violent heat.
"Here! Here it comes!" Stiles choked out.
A massive, hot torrent of semen began to spurt deep inside Derek. Because of his werewolf senses, the experience was magnified a thousand times over. Derek didn't just feel the liquid; he felt every single, rhythmic throb of Stiles' cock as it deposited the heavy load deep within his core. He felt the warmth spreading, the sensation of being filled, of being marked from the inside out. It was a level of intimacy and intensity that was almost too much for his heightened nervous system to process.
The sheer, overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely sent Derek over the cliff. His back arched, his eyes rolled back, and he let out a strangled cry as his own orgasm tore through him, his release spilling out between their pressed together bodies, slicking their skin in the heat of the moment. They collapsed into each other, trembling and spent, the silence of the room feeling heavy and sacred.
The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of sweat, musk, and the unmistakable, salty aroma of their shared release. As Stiles slowly, reluctantly, began to pull himself out of Derek, the sound was a wet, visceral schlick that seemed to echo in the quiet space.
Derek let out a sound that was almost a whine a low, needy, animalistic protest at the sudden emptiness. As Stiles retreated, Derek’s entrance was left wide and vulnerable, his hole gaping open for a second before the muscles began to twitch, oozing a messy, thick mixture of semen and lube that glistened under the dim light.
Stiles was still catching his breath, his muscles trembling from the exertion, but he didn't get a moment of peace. Before he could even think about rolling onto his side or finding some semblance of rest, Derek was moving. With a sudden, predatory burst of energy, the Alpha scrambled back on top of him, straddling his hips once more.
Without waiting for a formal invitation, Derek guided the semi hard length of Stiles back to his opening and pushed his hips down, taking the thick shaft back into his heat with a heavy, purposeful groan.
Stiles hissed, his eyes snapping wide. "God, Derek... you're like a fucking horny animal. Can you give a guy a second to breathe?"
Derek didn't bother arguing. Instead, he leaned in, his eyes darkening as he tapped into one of his Alpha abilities. Stiles felt it again before he understood it the strange, humming warmth that seemed to radiate from Derek’s skin and seep directly into his own. The sharp, oversensitive ache that had been throbbing in his dick suddenly dimmed, replaced by a soothing, almost numb calm. The werewolf trick Alpha used to take away the pain.
"There," Derek murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Better?"
Stiles blinked, feeling his blood begin to flow back into his member, the hardness returning with a vengeance. "You... you can't just do that! You can't just take over my nervous system!"
"I can do whatever I want," Derek replied, a trace of a smirk playing on his lips. "And right now, I want this." He pushed down again, seating himself firmly on Stiles' length, his eyes flashing a vibrant, dangerous Alpha red. "Don't worry about the pain. I've got you. But don't think you're getting away that easily. You aren't going anywhere not until I'm finished with you."
Stiles huffed, a mix of annoyance and sheer arousal swirling in his gut. "Oh, fuck this."
With a burst of energy he didn't know he had left, Stiles grabbed Derek by the shoulders and rolled them over. He caught Derek by surprise, the larger man making a strangled sound of shock as he found himself pinned against the mattress, legs splayed and vulnerable.
Stiles sat back on his heels, his chest heaving, looking down at the Alpha. "My turn," he breathed. "I'm taking the lead this time."
Derek started to growl, his instincts bristling at the sudden loss of control, but Stiles didn't give him a chance to complain. He leaned down and crashed his lips against Derek's in a kiss that was desperate and clumsy. It was sloppy; Stiles didn't really know where to put his tongue or how to angle his head, and he bumped Derek’s nose twice. But it was fierce, and it was honest. And Derek surprisingly let him.
When he finally pulled back, Derek looked dazed, his breath coming in short, ragged puffs. "You're a terrible kisser," Derek managed to say, though his voice lacked any real heat.
Stiles just smirked, his own heart hammering against his ribs. He shifted, gripping Derek’s thighs and shoving them even wider, forcing him open. "Shut up."
Derek let out a small, broken whine as Stiles pulled out of him. He felt the cool air hit his interior, and the sudden absence of bulk made him feel empty and exposed. He watched Stiles watching the way he looked down at him, at the sight of his own entrance twitching and gaping, slick with a heavy sheen of cum and lube.
Derek’s face burned with a deep, hot blush. He tried to pull his knees together, a reflex of shame, but Stiles caught his ankles and held them firmly in place.
"Look at you," Stiles murmured, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a mix of pride and hunger. "You're literally begging for it."
"I'm not," Derek protested weakly, though his body told a different story.
Stiles leaned closer, his voice low and steady. "Listen to me. You said it yourself, bottoming has nothing to do with your position in the pack. Giving up control is the same thing. Just because you're letting me do this... just because you're lying here open and taking it... that doesn't change anything. You're still the Alpha. You're still the big bad wolf that everyone is terrified of." He paused, his eyes searching Derek's. "But here? In this bed? You don't have to be the leader. You can just be. You can submit to me, Derek, and it doesn't take away a single thing about who you are. You're still the strongest person I know."
Derek stared up at him, his expression a mixture of surprise and a raw, aching vulnerability. The tension in his shoulders finally seemed to bleed away. He let out a shaky breath, his hips giving a small, involuntary tilt upward. "Okay," he whispered, his eyes searching Stiles' face for any sign of judgment. "Okay."
The moment Stiles surged back into him, Derek’s head hit the pillow with a heavy thud, a long, uninhibited moan tearing from his throat. It wasn't a controlled sound; it was raw, the kind of noise an Alpha only makes when he’s completely lost to his instincts.
Stiles didn't hesitate. He grabbed Derek’s thighs, his fingers digging into the muscle, and hoisted his legs up, pinning them high above his shoulders. The position forced Derek to bend almost in half, his hips tilted up and his entire front exposed to the dim light of the room.
Derek felt a flash of something not quite shame, but a strange, dizzying vulnerability. He’d been with men before but everyone saw him as the predator, the one who took, the one who dominated. He’d never really minded that reputation. In fact, he'd leaned into it. But this? This was different.
The truth was, he'd only let Stiles take the lead because he knew the kid was a virgin. Derek knew he wasn't exactly known for being gentle; his movements tended to be heavy, driven by a sort of restless, lupine hunger that could be overwhelming. He’d figured he’d let Stiles have his moment, let him feel the power of being the one in control.
But he hadn't expected this.
"God, Stiles..." Derek gasped, his fingers clawing at the bedsheets as Stiles began to thrust.
It wasn't the polished, practiced rhythm of an expert. Stiles was clumsy, his movements a little too frantic at times, driven by a desperate, unbridled enthusiasm that was almost overwhelming. But there was a care in it, too a tentative, almost reverent way he moved, as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of Derek beneath him.
And then there was the sheer size of him. Stiles was... a lot. Every time he drove forward, that massive, thick cock hit Derek's sweet spot with a blunt, heavy force that sent white hot sparks through his nerves. It wasn't just hitting the spot; it was burying itself deep, stretching him open in a way that felt both agonizing and incredibly, impossibly good.
Derek’s eyes drifted shut, his breath hitching in a series of ragged, broken sounds. He was being fucked hard, his body jolting with every heavy, purposeful lunge, and for the first time in a long time, the Alpha wasn't thinking about the pack, or the hunters, or the ghosts of his family. He was only thinking about the heat, the friction, and the way Stiles was making him feel completely, utterly undone.
Watching the way Derek’s eyes rolled back, seeing that fierce, untouchable Alpha crumble under the weight of his own pleasure, gave Stiles a rush of triumph that had nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the soul. He’d actually done it. He’d cracked the shell. He felt a genuine, soaring sense of victory, knowing that the man who carried the weight of the whole supernatural world on his shoulders was finally letting go of the reins.
Driven by a sudden, hungry impulse, Stiles leaned down, his chest brushing against Derek’s as he moved. He caught one of Derek’s dark, stiff nipples between his lips, sucking on it with a sudden, feverish intensity. At the same time, his hand wandered, his thumb rolling and teasing the other nipple, trying to coax every possible ounce of sensation out of the man beneath him.
Derek let out a choked, broken sound, his hands flying up to catch Stiles’ face. His grip was firm, almost bruising, but there was a desperate kind of affection in it.
"Stiles," Derek rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. His eyes were blown wide, the green nearly swallowed by his pupils. "I'm... god, I'm gonna cum. I can't "
"Don't you dare hold back," Stiles countered, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye, a lopsided, challenging grin tugging at his lips despite how hard he was breathing. "Don't you fucking dare hold back for me. Just let it happen."
Derek didn't need to be told twice. He gave a sharp, frantic nod and pulled Stiles down into a kiss that tasted like salt and desperation.
The buildup was intense, a frantic, heavy friction that pushed them both toward the edge of a cliff. Derek’s hips began to buck with a sudden, violent urgency, his entire body tensing like a bowstring about to snap. With a loud, guttural groan that sounded more like a howl, Derek came first. He just shuddered violently, his internal muscles clamping down on Stiles with a crushing, rhythmic force that felt like a vice. The heat of his release flooded between their bodies, a thick, hot slickness that made the friction even more intense.
But the sensation of Derek’s walls pulsing around him, the sheer tightness of the Alpha's orgasm, was the final straw for Stiles.
"Derek !" Stiles choked out, his head snapping back as his own climax hit him like a freight train.
He buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, his entire frame shuddering as he followed Derek into the abyss. He felt the heavy, rhythmic pulses of his own seed flooding Derek, filling him up, the sheer volume of it making them both feel heavy and drenched. They collapsed into each other, a mess of tangled limbs and labored breathing, the only sound in the room the frantic, synchronized thudding of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again.
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and the lingering, ozone like hum of the full moon. For a few minutes, neither of them moved, just lying there in the wreckage of the sheets, listening to the frantic thudding of their hearts slowly settle into a more human rhythm.
Eventually, Stiles shifted, the skin on skin friction making him hiss slightly as he pulled out of Derek. He sat back on his heels, blinking through the haze of exhaustion, and then he cursed under his breath. "Holy shit," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.
He couldn't help but stare. Derek’s entrance looked... well, it looked completely debauched. The skin was flushed a deep, angry red, stretched and gaping, slicked with a messy, glistening mixture of cum and lube that caught the moonlight filtering through the window. It was a sight that felt far too intimate, too raw to just look at and pretend it hadn't happened.
Derek, for his part, didn't seem to care about the mess or the vulnerability. He just rolled onto his side, facing away from Stiles, his muscles twitching with the aftershocks of the orgasm. His voice came out low and muffled by the pillow, a tired, gravelly mumble.
"You can stop worrying about the virgin killer now," Derek said, his words slurred with sleepiness. "You are officially off his hit list."
Stiles felt a sudden, hot prickle of a blush creep up his neck. "Right," he stammered, feeling a little ridiculous for how quickly his brain had drifted from the looming threat to the sheer physical reality of the man in front of him. He knew he should probably get up, find his clothes, and leave, but his limbs felt like lead.
Instead of doing what his brain was telling him, Stiles moved closer. He slid in behind Derek, settling his body against the broad, warm expanse of the Alpha's back. He spooned him, his arm draping over Derek’s waist, pulling him in as close as he could without actually crushing him.
Derek flinched a sharp, instinctive jerk of his shoulders, his old habits reacting to the sudden contact but he didn't pull away. He didn't growl, and he didn't tell Stiles to get lost. Instead, in a move that caught Stiles completely off guard, Derek actually leaned back, pressing his spine and his heat firmly against Stiles' chest.
"So..." Stiles whispered into the nape of Derek’s neck, his voice barely audible. "Would you mind if I stay the night?"
Derek didn't offer a witty comeback or a sarcastic retort. He just let out a long, low hum a sound that vibrated through both of them and closed his eyes.
In the quiet of the room, the chaos of Beacon Hills felt miles away. The gnawing fear of the new supernatural threat seemed to fade into the shadows. For the first time in what felt like forever, the tension in their bodies finally broke, and they both drifted off into a deep, dreamless, and remarkably peaceful sleep.