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Chapter Text

Stiles fumbles a bit before he finds the light switch of his bedside lamp. He squints at the sudden sharp light and lies back down again, eyes scrunched shut as he flattens both hands against the taught muscles of his lower abdomen.

   He groans softly when another cramp twists through his insides, his knees hitching up against the bed linen. He breathes in through his nose and out his mouth, his thumbs rubbing over his thin treasure trail, eyebrows drawn together.

   At last the volley of cramps subside long enough for him to wipe across his damp brow. His head rolls to the side. Derek is still snoring softly, sleeping on his front as always, one arm tucked under his cushion, the other spread out across the King sized bed towards him. It makes the solid mound of his shoulder bunch up, while the lamp cast pools of soft shadow down the thick muscled bands that run down the valley of his spine, his skin glowing.

   Stiles has the sudden urge to lean over and stick his face into Derek’s pit where he can see the wiry bush of black hair fray out. He imagines inhaling the alpha’s wood-smoke musk, pungent with sleep-sweat, so much more overpowering than his own omega scent. At that thought, another cramp lances through his stomach.

   Stiles' face twists from the pain. He zeros in on the small wet spot of drool on Derek’s cushion where his mouth puckers open while he snores away. He’s gone back to shaving his beard, though an impressive shadow of day-old stubble already covers his face like it does every morning.

   Stiles sits up suddenly, grabs his pillow, and swing it at Derek as hard as he can, smacking him right across the head.

   Derek’s whole body jerks, bouncing the mattress. He blinks slowly, his whole face pulled into a scowl. He looks around the bed, then up, eyes flicking between Stiles and the pillow. “Huh?”

   Stiles smacks him again.

   Derek easily grabs the cushion and pulls it from his grip. His scowl morphs into shock, eyes wide. “What’re you doing?”

   “Ugh, leave me alone,” Stiles grumbles and slides out of bed, pulling his pyjama pants up.

   Derek watches – pillow still clutched in one hand – as Stiles stomps out of their bedroom. He can hear the crinkling of plastic sheets lining the hallway outside when Stiles walks past them, the contractors scheduled to chase them out of their bedroom to finish up with their work on the upper floor.

   He is about to slide off the bed as well when the scent hits him: faint, but unmistakable.

   Derek holds Stiles’ cushion to his nose. His eyes flutter as he inhales. “Fuck,” he whispers. He drops the cushion and crawls over the bed to plaster his face against the mattress, the linen still warm from Stiles’ body. “Fuck,” he draws out. He swallows and palms his crotch where his dick is already beginning to stretch the fabric of his briefs.

   He is off the bed, scrambling for his sweats.

oOo

The newly sanded and polished wood floor is cool against his feet. Stiles wipes at the gathering sweat on his brow again as he takes the last few steps into the entrance foyer. The smell of thinners and saw dust is strongest here.

   He looks up at where the walls have been painted a deep aubergine, large black-and-white framed photographs stacked on the floor against the wall, waiting to be hanged.

   “Jesus,” he says, loud in the silence. “What the hell was I thinking?”

   “Stiles?” Derek calls from upstairs, the alpha’s heavy footsteps growing closer.

   Stiles looks up before he hurries on. In the kitchen he only bothers with the under-counter lights, the gleam of the reflection against the polished stone countertops enough light to go by.

   He swings the giant stainless steel fridge door open, a cloud of vapour spilling out. For a moment he just stands there, head tipped back as the frigid air soothes his skin. He’s just pulled out a tub of icecream when Derek bursts into the kitchen.

   Stiles’ gaze rake over his bare chest and down to where the seam of his sweats stretch tight over the width of his very obvious erection. “Seriously?” he asks and slam the fridge door close.

   “Stiles, baby, listen to me,” Derek holds his hands up, taking a step forward.

   Stiles rips open a drawer. “Will you please go and put some clothes on, for God’s sake,” he says before slamming the drawer shut again, a dessert spoon in hand.

   “Yes, I promise, but, first we need to talk.”

   Stiles leans back against the island, rips the lid off and flings it behind him. “About’ wha’?” he asks around a mouthful of ice cream, then suddenly flattens his palm against his temple. “Ahhhh! Brain freeze!”

   “Stiles,” Derek takes another step closer, “We need to talk, okay? Can you listen to me for one sec?”

   Stiles turns to him, one eye still clamped shut. “What?”

   Derek remains a few feet from the island, his hands still aloft. “You’re going into heat.”

   In the silence that follows even the low hum of the fridge can be heard.

   Derek ducks just in time as the tub of ice cream flies past his head to splatter against the cabinets behind him with a wet thud.

oOo

Derek leans around the corner. When Stiles threw the lamp at him the bulb somehow managed to survive, and now casts twisted shadows against the wall through the torn and dented shade. He hears a door slam shut upstairs, the litany of profanities cut off with it, and waits another few heartbeats before he steps out.

   He inspects the dent in the wall where the knife block hit, mindful of the bits of broken glass and plates that were also thrown at him as he was beating a hasty retreat from the kitchen.

   The doorbell rings. With a frown he checks the time on a wall clock before walking down the hallway to the foyer. The crisp night air flows in the moment he opens the door, and with it the distinctive scent of lycan.

   The two police officers standing on the landing look up at Derek, their eyes growing wide. The smaller of the two inch closer to his partner.

   Derek – still shirtless – fold his arms over his chest, feet planted wide. “Can I help you, officers?”

   “Ah, yes, good evening sir. We ah, got a noise complaint? Just checking if everything is-”

   “Peterson,” the smaller cop whispers through clenched teeth.

   Peterson turns to him. His partner lifts his chin and quite deliberately sniffs the air. It takes Peterson a few blinks to do the same.

   Reality dawns as his frown smooths over. He looks back at Derek.  “Oh. Oh! You ah, you have, ah-”

   “Yes?” Derek cocks an eyebrow, enough to skewer both policemen.

   “Sorry, sir, we didn’t… We understand, now.”

   “Anything else?”

   “Ah, no, no, all good,” Peterson touches his cap. “My apologies, sir. All of the best.”

   “Good luck,” the other cop touches his cap as well.

   Derek shuts the door behind them and turns around, looking up the stairs. “Yeah, I’m gonna need it.”

oOo

He leans his back against the wall, forehead creased in concentration. He can hear Stiles puttering around inside their bathroom. His scent permeates through the gaps of the locked door and he sighs, his hand wondering down to adjust the still present bulge.

   “Stiles? Is everything-”

   “Yes!”

   “Okay, okay.”

   “And get away from the door!”

   Derek retreats to the bed. He sits down on the edge, hands folded tightly in his lap. Before long he is grinding the heel of his palm against his crotch.

oOo

Stiles stares at himself in the mirror over his basin. The moles along his jaw and down his throat stand out a bit more, his skin flushed. The light sheen of sweat that spread across his brow and chest doesn’t help either.

   He looks over to Derek’s basin, to the small glass tumbler that holds his toothbrush and razor. He steps over and opens the cabinet above. At once his nose is filled with aftershave and deodorant, with the slight undertone of Derek’s musk that he can smell at the meeting place of his jaw and ear when he hugs him.

   Another cramp has him curl his fingers around the edge of the marble vanity. The moment it’s gone he slips off his pyjama pants, sets one foot on the edge of the bathtub and reach between his legs. Looking off into space, he runs two fingers along his perineum.

   The hairless skin is sensitive to the touch. Even before he reaches his hole, even before the pads of his fingers reach the swollen folds - slightly wet to the touch - he knows.

   He lifts the two fingers up to the light. The clear, viscous fluid trail between his fingers. He drops his hand and sighs.

   “Well, shit.”

oOo

When the key turns and the bathroom door opens, Derek is already halfway up before he catches himself and sit down again.

   Stiles turns off the light before he steps out. He stops a few feet from Derek, arms folded. “So. I’m going into heat.”

   Derek tries to give him an encouraging smile.

   “It still doesn’t mean I’m letting you near me,” he points at Derek.

   “Of course. But we need to get you to a doctor.”

   “Why?”

   “Because we need to have you checked out, Stiles. And,” Derek looks down at his lap, “get you started on contraceptives.”

   “Ah, excuse me? Why the hell would we need to get me on the pill?” he folds his arms.

   “Stiles…

   “Because that fucking… battering ram between your legs is not coming near me!”

   “Okay, okay.”

   “God! Is that all you can think about?”

   Derek exhales and levels him with a look. “No. Sometimes I think about your health and wellbeing too.”

   Stiles opens his mouth but snaps it shut again. He tightens his folded arms.

   “Listen, let’s, let’s just go to bed, try to get some sleep, then we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

   Stiles hugs himself, but nods eventually.

   “Is it… Do you want me to go sleep in another room?”

   “No!” Stiles says at once, looking up. “But don’t get any ideas, buster.”

   “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Derek smiles tiredly.

oOo

   Derek stands the moment the door to the examination room opens. Stiles is followed by the gynaecologist, Dr Deaton, who smiles briefly at Derek.

   “Have a seat,” the doctor indicates.

   Stiles does, not looking at Derek, even though Derek’s eyes inspect every inch of him. He rests his hand on the back of Stiles’ chair.

   “Well, everything’s perfect,” the doctor says when he is seated behind his desk. “You are a 100% healthy young male omega about to enter estrus.”

   Stiles tries his best to look enthusiastic.

   “Now, these are your contraceptives,” he says, handing Stiles a little metal case. Inside, nestled in protective foam, Stiles finds a long and narrow metal cylinder – much like an epi-pen auto injector – and several glass ampules.

   “Seriously?”

   “It has been specifically developed for male omegas affiliated with a lycan alpha. You won’t find these at your local CVS. As you know, reproduction between different species is always troublesome. While this is a very potent contraceptive, it also neutralizes any side effects associated with a male/lycan coupling.”

   “Is it safe?” Derek asks.

   “Completely. In fact, you will find them quite agreeable,” he smiles at Stiles. “Each injection contains a natural calming agent.”

   “Good to know,” Stiles smiles brightly, the quickly turns back to scowling.

   “One ampule every morning, without fail. Know how to use those?”

   “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

   “It is very easy. Just hold to your skin and depress the button,” he indicates with his thumb.

   “Great. Can we go now?” he asks Derek.

   Deaton leans back in his chair. “I believe this will be your first heat together?”

   “It will,” Derek nods and runs his hand along Stiles’ shoulders to settle it around the base of his neck.

   “Stiles, I’m sure you are aware that your scent and mood swings will increase exponentially in the next forty-eight hours as your hormone levels rise. I don’t need to tell you how crucial it is that you do not leave your alpha’s sight.”

   Stiles sets his jaw. “I know that.”

   “Also, as you’ve been claimed by a lycan, your heat will affect Derek as much as it does you, much more so than a normal human couple.”

   Stiles glances at Derek, who gives the back of his neck a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

   Derek reaches over and takes his hand. “It’s okay,” he smiles and brings it to his lips, leaving a soft kiss across his knuckles. “You know I’ll take care of you.”

   “Good,” Deaton smiles brightly. “Then I think we’re done here.”  

oOo

Derek drops his keys on the kitchen island. Stiles is ahead of him, on his way to the French doors leading out onto the patio. He drags a forearm across his brow before he pushes at the doors and let them swing outward. A breeze ruffles his hair. A second later Derek groans low in his throat as it washes Stiles’ scent over him.

    Stiles steps out onto the patio, hands on his hips. The late afternoon sun throws the landscaped garden into shadow from the surrounding buildings, the sky that deep, clear indigo just before dusk settles in.

    Derek also steps out, but remain a few feet from him. “Are you hungry? Can I fix you something?”

   Stiles doesn’t answer.

   “How about that Morrocan place in Tribeca? They-”

   “I’m not hungry,” Stiles says. The way his voice wavers has Derek right up against him in the blink of an eye.

   “Stiles,” he curls his hand around Stiles’ upper arm.

   Stiles turns his head to look up at him. His eyes are shiny. “You know I can’t help it, right?”

   “Baby,” Derek pulls him in and tucks him under his chin. “Of course I know.”

   Stiles buries his face against Derek’s chest, his hands wedged up between them. “I hate this. I hate how I want you, but also want to run away from you. And how good you smell. I mean, you always smell good, but you smell really good now, and I hate that too.”

   “Everything’ll be okay, I promise,” Derek brushes his cheek through Stiles’ hair.

   Stiles pulls out from under his chin, craning his neck to look up at him. “You don’t know that. You can’t say that. It’s gonna get worse. I’m gonna get worse, and soon you’ll get sick of me, and leave me, because you’ll realize that I’m too much-”

   “Hey, hey,” Derek hugs him closer and plant a soft, slow kiss on his forehead. “How can I leave you when you are a part of me, hmm?” he says, one hand finding the claiming scar on his neck. “Might as well tear my own heart out.”

   Stiles stares up at him. His lashes are clumped together, a blush spread across his cheeks and down his throat. “You say that now.”

   “Baby, you threw half the kitchen at me. I’m still here.”

   Stiles’ lips quirk. “Didn’t think you could run that fast.”

   “Thank God for lycan reflexes.”

   Stiles huffs out a smile. He leans his forehead against Derek chest, who settles one hand over his nape.

   “Love you,” Derek says and lays a kiss on his crown.

   “Love you too,” Stiles says.

   Derek slides his hand around to hook his thumb under Stiles’ jaw. He tips his face up and lowers his head, his breath warm over Stiles’ mouth. He fits his lips over his’ and taste him a few times before he slips his tongue in. With the first slow lick into Stiles’ mouth Derek pulls him in tighter. His hand migrates down Stiles’ back to the swell of his ass, his crotch fitting nicely against his lower belly-

   Stiles goes rigid.

   “Fuck, sorry,” Derek snaps his hips back, holding Stiles away from him by his shoulders. “Sorry, baby, ‘m sorry.”

   Stiles shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I…” he steps out of Derek’s hold, “I’m ah, I think I’m going to take a shower.”

   “Of course. Do you need anything?”

   “No, no, I’m good,” he steps back further. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

   “Of course.”

   Stiles exhales, nods, then turns and walks away.    

oOo

“Hey sweetie!”

   “Hi, mom.”

   “Derek? Everything okay?”

   “Ah,” Derek leans his head back against the wall, his legs spread out across the floor, “Stiles is going into heat.”

   There’s a beat of silence. “Oh.”

   “Yeah,” Derek sighs. He turns his head. He can see tendrils of steam puffing out from beneath the bathroom door. “Any advice for your knothead of a son?”

   “Has he tried to kill you yet?”

   Derek snorts. “You can say that.”

   “That’s a good sign, then.”

   “I fail to see the good in that, mom.”

   “It means he wants you to prove your worth, Derek.”

   He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

   “You know how this works, darling. He’s already acknowledged you as the strongest alpha to breed with. Now you just have to convince him.”

   “Please don’t ever say breed again.”

   “Oh, don’t be so conservative. Believe me, that is all you’re going to think about for the next few days. And don’t hover! Your father used to drive me insane, breathing down my neck at every turn.”

   “You know I can’t help it.”

   “Try.”

   Derek smiles. “Sure. Any other pearls of wisdom?”

   “Well, it goes without saying that Stiles is your only concern now.”

   “He always is, mom. He always is.”

   “I know, sweetheart,” Talia says. Derek can hear her smiling. “Well, to start off with, I would suggest a change of scenery. It is summer after all. Why not go to the beach house?”

oOo

Through the passenger window, Stiles stares up the glass office tower to where blue sky reflection and real sky meld together, while the city forges on around them, one taxi horn at a time. “Did you forget something?”

   “Nope.”

   Stiles carries on with his questioning looks at Derek, who steers the Range Rover into the basement parking of his office. Once he’s parked he climbs out, first opening Stiles’ door for him before going to the trunk to retrieve their luggage.

   “We’re going up to the roof,” he explains at Stiles deepening frown, taking his hand, the two leather duffel bags clutched in the other.

   “The roof?”

   “Uh huh,” Derek smiles.

   Stiles keeps on stealing glances at Derek as they ride the elevator up to the top floor of the building, the alpha not once letting go of his hand, growling slightly and pulling Stiles half behind him whenever they stop at a floor for other passengers. He squeezes Derek’s hand each time without even realising it.

   The take a flight of stairs to the roof, where Derek opens a metal door, a gust of wind buffeting both as it swings open.

   Stiles turns to Derek, eyes bright. “No way!”

   Derek puffs out his chest. “After you.”

   They step out into the bright sunlight, the glorious day reflected in the glass towers of downtown Manhattan that rise around them and the sleek fuselage of the helicopter standing in the middle of the landing pad, the company’s insignia emblazoned across its side.

   A man with aviator sunglasses and huge headphones hooked around his neck jogs toward Derek.

   “Mister Hale, ready when you are.”

   Derek nods, and the man turns back to the chopper. They follow him, the wind grabbing at their clothes.

   Stiles does another double take when Derek slides the door to the helicopter open. A collection of four plush leather seats face each other, while polished burl wood panelling envelope the whole interior.

   Stiles looks back at Derek, his grin about to cut his face in half.

   “Times a wastin’,” Derek pats him on the ass.

   The sarcastic remark Stiles was about to throw at him dies on his tongue when warm hands fold around his waist and the alpha lifts him clear off his feet to deposit him softly in the cabin in one swift move.

   Derek follows him in while Stiles watches, stepping up and into the cabin without having to grab onto anything.

   Stiles is still watching him dumbly as Derek slides the door closed, then steer him to one of the seats, the leather enfolding around him when Derek sits him down. He secures the safety belt over Stiles’ lap and tugs on it a few times when he happens to look up, the half-smile on Stiles’ face making his own face pink up.

   “Sorry.”

   Stiles cups his cheek. “I don’t mind. And don’t you ever stop doing it.”

   Derek covers his hand, rubbing his thumb along the back. “Don’t think I could, even I tried.”

   The pilot speaks into his microphone, flicking switches and turning dials. The roar of the engine increases and Stiles’ stomach give a little flip as the chopper lifts off. He reaches for Derek’s hand. 

   As the helicopter rises into the air and banks over the city, the sun sparkles off the Hudson. 

oOo

His handshake is firm, his skin dry and calloused. Stiles catches his spicy lycan musk in whiffs while the rotor blades buffet them from all sides.

   “Pleased to meet ya!” the man named Hutchinson Call me Hutch! yell to be heard above the noise of the helicopter. His smile adds another dozen or so wrinkles to his face, his icy blue eyes clear and sharp.

   “You too!” Stiles yells back, eyes crinkled against the midday glare and heat that radiates up from the concrete apron.

   Hutch and Derek give each other a tight hug and a few back slaps. “Good to see you again, son!”  

   “You too, Hutch!”

   “Lemme take that,” he says and grabs the duffel bags from Derek. “This way, kids!”

   Derek takes Stiles hand. They follow Hutch to an old pickup parked next to the closest hanger. Stiles looks up at his alpha, and Derek smiles down at him before he pecks him on his lips.

oOo

“… close to thirty years now, I reckon’.”

   “Wow,” Stiles utters as the truck judders along the country lane. “So, you were what,” Stiles glances around at Derek, “like, five years old?”

   “Yep,” Hutch chuckles, “Just a scrawny little pup running around on the beach, as naked as the day he was born.”

   “Scrawny, huh?” Stiles grins, Derek’s bicep a thick, warm mound against the back of his head where he’s stretched his arm out.

   “I was a late bloomer, okay?” Derek says, the wind through the open window toying with his hair.

   “And look at him now,” Hutch down-shifts, the engine revving as he steers the truck around a hairpin bend.

   “Yeah,” Stiles lays a hand on Derek’s thigh where it’s pressed up against him. “Look at him now.”

   oOo

Tree-lined country lanes flow into little villages and vice-versa, with each little hamlet a picture postcard of begonia-filled flower boxes and white shutter trim. Tourists line the sidewalks and cafes while big, shiny SUV’s growl for parking space.

   The road curves toward the coast. Through the low shrubs Stiles gapes at the monstrous Mcmansions that squat along the grassy sand dunes.

   “Here we go,” Hutch announce after another few miles.

   Stiles just catches the little post box with ‘Hale’ painted on the side before the truck turns off the road and onto another dirt road that snake its way between shrubs and gnarled red oaks.

   He looks up to see Derek leaning forward slightly, his gaze intent as he follows every twist and turn in the dirt road with a soft smile.

   “There,” he points.

   Stiles looks back out the windscreen.

   Surrounded by flowering dogwood and huckleberry, the weathered grey shingles of the two-storey beach house shimmer in the afternoon sun. The wrap-around porch is trimmed in crisp white, the upper story dormer windows framed by white shutters. A narrow boardwalk – silvered like the house - leads from the side through flowing beach grass that rustle in the soft breeze as it disappears over the dunes.

   “So this is where you spent your summers growing up,” Stiles says.

   “Yup.”

   The truck crunches over gravel. Hutch parks it right by the front steps. The moment he switches off the engine, the rush and rumble of the ocean floats in through the open window.

   “You kids go on ‘head, I’ll bring yer stuff.”

   While Hutch retrieves their luggage, Derek takes Stiles’ hand and together they walk up to the wide front steps.

   The porch is littered with wicker chairs and other mismatched furniture, driftwood and small seashells forgotten on window sills.

   Next to the front door a rusted bucket holds a scattering of pebbles and more shells. Derek turns a sun bleached conch around and pulls out a key.

   They walk into a short but wide entrance hall. Stiles peeks up through the narrow double story volume where the stairs lead up to the first floor. The wall across from the stairs is hung with framed photographs, a low bench underneath. Stiles looks closer. He recognizes Derek and his family through the years, his dad in most of them.

   “These are beautiful,” he glances around at Derek.

   “Yeah,” Derek says, hands in his pockets.

   The entrance hall leads into a bright open space, with evenly spaced French doors that lead out onto the porch facing the ocean. The grass-covered dunes and endless blue waters stretching out beyond is a continuous vista from left to right.

   Every available spot on each wall seems to be covered in more photographs, mixed in with paintings and sketches. A painted brick fireplace looks out over deep couches and arm chairs. The open-plan kitchen to the right is a collection of white painted cabinetry and polished wooden counter tops, more driftwood and beach knickknacks cluttering the space.

   Even with no windows open, the briny scent of ocean is strong.

   “Pantry’s stocked. If there’s anythin’ else you two need, village’s five minutes away,” Hutch says from behind them. He sets their bags down next to the stairs in the hallway.

   “Thanks, Hutch.”

   Hutch nods and turns his smiling eyes on Stiles. “Waddya think?”

   Stiles is still staring out the windows, a hand on the back of one of the couches. He looks back over his shoulder. “I think we should leave the city and stay here from now on.”

   “Just say the word,” Derek smiles.

   “But first, I need to pee.”

   “Upstairs, second on your left.”

   Once Stiles is gone, Hutch hands Derek a set of car keys.

   “You got her running?”

   “What do I look like?” Hutch lifts an eyebrow. He gives Derek a once-over. “So,” he starts, “he tried to kill you yet?”

   Derek’s lips part. He folds his arms. “Have you and mom been comparing notes?”

   Hutch taps his nose. “I may be an old dog, but I’ve still got blood in my veins. Amazin’ how humans can’t smell it. He’s got heat scent trailin’ him like the wake of a barge.”

   “Don’t I know it,” Derek sighs.

   “Stop shavin’.”

   “Huh?”

   “Grow your beard. And don’t shower too often. Let your scent ripen a bit.”

   “Uh, okay?”

   “Walk around without your shirt, show off ‘em guns. Maybe pounce on him every now and then.”

   “Pounce on him? I almost lost my head for just breathing too hard. What do you think he’s going to do if I suddenly pounce.”

   “I didn’t say scare to poor rabbit. Just, show him you’re the alpha. He’s gonna need a firm hand.”

   “Firm hand? Jesus, Hutch, you sound like a nineteen fifties commercial. I’m not a caveman.”

   “Oh, but he wants you to be, he just doesn’t know it yet,” Hutch winks.

   “He does?”

   “Oh yeah. And I know you want it too, stud.”

   Derek looks away at the view through the windows, a slight blush to his ears.

   “I need to skedaddle,” he slaps Derek on the shoulder. “Tell Stiles goodbye for me, will ya?”

   Tires crunch over gravel by the time Stiles comes downstairs again. He looks around, one hand flattened against his lower stomach. Derek’s nostrils flare.

   “You okay?” he asks, clearing his throat.

   Stiles shrugs. “The usual.”

   Derek leans against a wall. “Unpack, or beach?”

   “Beach,” Stiles smiles.

oOo

Slanted beams of sunlight spill over the dunes to light up the briny mist that flows up from the water’s edge in streaks of dull gold. The fields of dune grass give the stretched shadows across the beach spiky edges, while the rows and rows of wavy sand-fencing rattle now and then in a breeze that blast sand against their calves.

   Stiles shivers a bit and Derek tightens his arms around him. He rests his chin on top of his head, both staring out over the crashing waves. With a low groan in the back of his throat – just a slight vibration that Stiles can feel – he angles his hips back from the top curve of Stiles’ ass. 

   “Everything okay back there?” Stiles asks.

   “I’m the one that should be asking you that.”

   “Hmm. My feet are getting cold. Hey!”

   Derek has Stiles in his arms, grinning down at him. “Your wish is my command.”

   “Oh my God,” Stiles groans. Derek lifts him closer and attack his neck with his stubble. Stiles squirms, hands pushing at his head. Derek inhales deeply as he drags his lips and chin across the pale, tender skin. He pulls back to see how it immediately turns pink, then dive right back again.

   Stiles’ pleas become distant. His scent fills his mind. He nips at Stiles throat, rub his cheek up to one ear, completely oblivious to the low growl that vibrates from his chest…

   A cuff across the head brings him back.

   “Stop it!”

   Derek blinks down at Stiles – who is writhing about and trying to pry his fingers open.

   “Shit,” Derek lets go at once, and Stiles tumbles to the sand.  Finger marks bloom on the pale skin of his upper arm. Derek reaches out to help him up, but he just bats his hand away.

   He stands up, scowl turned towards Derek while he brushes off his knees and backside. “Seriously?”

   “I’m sorry, I got… carried away.”

   “Well let’s hope you don’t get carried away from the couch tonight, mister!” he spins around and stomps off, kicking sand up with each step on his way back to the narrow boardwalk.

oOo

Of course he doesn’t sleep on the couch.

   As a child it was the best place to fall asleep. Many a hot, lazy afternoon was spent here after a whole day on the beach, sunburned and tired, or at night when the family gathered, Derek falling asleep listening to his parents talk and squabble.

   But the couch has shrunk. He wouldn’t be able to straighten his legs at all, nor fit the width of his shoulders if he wanted to lie on his back.

   That is why he is staring up at the white painted rafters of the guestroom ceiling, Stiles’ heartbeat and deep breathing as clear from across the hall as if he was in bed next to Derek.

   That, and his preheat scent that now seems to fill the whole damn house…

   To make matter worse, his dick is so hard he’s sure he can poke through steel plating with it. At least the aching in his balls is a bit of a distraction from that.

   Staring up at the ceiling he runs a hand down his stomach, scratching through the wide pelt of hair. His fingertips reach the waistband of his briefs and he slips them underneath. He groans when he wraps his fingers around his girth, his thumb brushing over the wet folds of his foreskin. He gives it a few strokes, then raise his hips and shove his underwear down around his thighs.

   Even in the dark he can see the shiny tendril of precum that stretch from the wet patch on his hip to the head. He tugs upward and squeeze at the same time. A fat drop weeps out of his slit to ooze down the strand.

   With his other hand Derek takes hold of his sack, rolling it around against his palm. Stiles can never fit it in one hand, or get those long, slim fingers to wrap entirely around his girth, having to use both hands most of the time. The thought makes Derek speed up, makes him arch his back a little and let his eyes fall shut.

   The base of his cock starts to burn and he lets go of his balls to wrap his hand around his forming knot. He catches another whiff of heat scent, or maybe it’s just his mind. Regardless, he speeds up until the veins bulge across his forearm. He squeezes down on his knot and with a deep hmpff through pressed lips he shoots across his chest, his stomach muscles contracting.

   His fist remains tight around his knot as he milks himself, his whole frame shuddering with every contraction.

   After a minute or two Derek looks down over his heaving chest. Stripes of his seed glint in what little light there is, caught in the swathe of hair that covers his torso. He smears a finger through it and brings it to his lips. The salty musk floods his tongue and he shudders through another aftershock, his knot still firmly encased in his fist.

   He finally gets up, briefs back in position though he hasn’t tucked his cock back in, wet head sticking out above the waistband. He pads to the guest bathroom and shivers at the feel of his cooling seed. He quickly tears off some toilet paper. Recalling Hutch’s advice, he doesn’t bother to get it all out, instead dragging his fingers through his chest hair and wide happy trail, spreading it out more.

   He pulls his foreskin back and wipes around the head. His cock twitches. “Come on,” he grumbles, and squeeze the base.

   After washing his hands he ambles back to the bedroom and falls down on the bed. He shuts his eyes and concentrates on the restful pace of his mate’s heartbeat.

Chapter Text

Derek is up at dawn. Coffee in hand he stands on the porch to watch the sun melt the horizon. The surf is loud, and the salt-laden morning breeze crisp against his naked skin.

   He scratches his stomach. Stiles’ scent grew more an more potent through the night, the evidence clear in the bits of dried crust caked in the hair covering his torso. With a sigh, he throws out the rest of his coffee and walks back inside. He stares for a few seconds at the closed door to their bedroom. In the guestroom he slips into his shirt and sweats from the day before, groaning when the waistband scrapes over the head of his cock where it strains against his briefs. He tucks the traitorous log down his thigh as best he can, hoping the baggy sweats will hide it for the most part. One step and the friction it causes has him tucking it along his hip instead, letting the elastic of his briefs hold it steady.

   In the kitchen he strains his ears for Stiles’ heartbeat – still at rest - while he grabs an armful of ingredients from the pantry and the fridge. Halved strawberries join the blobs of pancake batter in the pan, while bacon sizzles away in another.

   He has just set a plate of scrambled eggs and golden hashbrowns on a tray when Stiles’ heartbeat speeds up. He stops what he is doing and tilt his head. He listens as Stiles gets out of bed and pad over to the bathroom. He quickly finishes up, slicing some fruit, spooning yoghurt in a bowl and pouring some orange juice into a large tumbler. Soon the toilet flushes, there’s the short burst of running water, and Stiles is back in bed.

   Derek picks up the tray and heads for the stairs.

oOo

Stiles’ eyes flutter open, the high ceiling and rafters coming into focus, all softly aglow with early morning light.

   He stretches, one hand reaching out to Derek.

   Memory floods back, and with it a cramp that has him sit up in bed. Hands flattened over his belly he scowls at the still made-up side of the bed. He breathes through the cramps, then slides out from underneath the covers. In the bathroom he urinates, flushes, then strips out of his pyjama pants. He lifts one foot onto the edge of the tub. He traces the tender seam of his balls and further over his hairless perineum. It’s much more swollen, tender and hot. He wrinkles his nose when he encounters flaky bits of dried slick. His fingers slide further until they reach the origin of the slick and trace over the puffy, furled edges of his hole. It’s still only a few drops, though, but his stomach twists at the thought that it will soon be a flood.  

   A warm, moist facecloth takes care of it for the time being.

   Still naked from the waist down, he walks over to the vanity where their shared toiletry bag sits. He pulls the little metal case out, flips it open and lift out the injector. He rolls it around his fingers before setting it back in its case.

   He pulls his pants back on, washes his hands and goes back to bed.  

oOo

“Stiles?” Derek knocks on the door. “I made you breakfast.”

   He waits. The scent of omega heat permeates through the cracks and Derek has to balance the tray in one hand to adjust his thickening cock.

   He’s barely pulled his hand away when the door is unlocked and opened just an inch.

   The glass of OJ rattles against the plates. Derek’s mouth goes dry. He tries to breathe through his mouth.

   “Hey,” Stiles’ scowl greats him, his hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed.

   “Morning,” Derek smiles as best he can. “You hungry?”

   Stiles eyes the food. He nods.

   “May I come in?”

   Stiles swallows, then stands to the side. He climbs back into bed and Derek helps tuck the covers over him before he sets the tray over his lap. He walks to the French doors that lead out onto a balcony and swing them wide open. The gauzy curtains flap in the ocean breeze and clear his head a bit.

   When he turns Stiles’ mouth is stuffed full. “Good?”

   Stiles nods, cheeks like a chipmunk. “You eaten already?”

   “I’m fine.”

   Stiles pats the space next to him. “You made enough for three.”

   Derek approaches the bed in a wide circle. He sets a knee down, turned half to the side, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt in the hope that Stiles won’t get an eyeful of his battering ram and dump the whole breakfast tray in his lap.

   Stiles watches him the whole time, crunching away on a stick of bacon. He holds on to the trey when Derek settles on the bed - who cross his ankles and fold his hands tightly in his lap.

   Stiles holds out the plate of bacon. Derek takes a strip and crunch the whole thing into his mouth.  Stiles also takes one, and once finishes sucks off his fingers. Derek eyes those plump, grease-shiny lips. He pulls up one knee.

   They share the pancakes while Stiles has all the fruit and yoghurt. Finally he sets the empty glass of OJ down. “That was really good, thank you.”

   “My pleasure,” Derek rubs Stiles’ thigh through the covers. 

   Stiles reaches out to run his knuckles down Derek’s cheek. “You growing a beard again?”

   “Thinking about it,” Derek takes his wrist and kisses his palm. He trails more kisses down to his wrist where he stops to press his nose against the tender skin. He inhales deeply, the rush of Stiles’ blood loud in his ears.

   “Derek,” Stiles begins to pull away.

   Derek doesn’t have to put any effort into holding on. A frown overtakes his features. “You haven’t taken your contraceptives yet.”

   Stiles’ eyes widen before he can school his features. He pulls his hand free. “You gonna start checking up on my now? Are you the Pill Police?”

   Derek sets his jaw. “You know you have to take them.”

   “Why?” Stiles set the tray down between them, rattling the crockery. “Think you’re gonna get lucky?”

   Derek shakes his head, mouth set, and slides off the bed. He walks over to the bathroom where he zeros in on the toiletry bag. He lifts the injector out of its case and slips in an ampule. He heads back until he looms over Stiles and makes a roll over motion with his finger.

   Stiles folds his arms.

   Derek sighs. “You know I will make you.”

   Stiles mouth falls open. A blush creep up his throat and his eyes narrow. “I’d like to see you try.”

   Raised eyebrows are the only warning Stiles gets before he is flipped over onto his stomach. “Hey!” his arms fly out, the breakfast dishes clattering. He tries to roll back, but a heavy forearm across his back holds him still. The sudden cool air across his rump makes him clench his butt seconds before the sudden sting of injector makes him hiss.

   Derek smacks a kiss to the spot. “There. All done,” he massages the firm flesh.

   Stiles rolls back around and pulls up his pants, face flushed.

   Derek just smiles sweetly. He stretches over Stiles to plant one hand on the headboard above his head, his armpit mere inches from his face, and lifts the breakfast tray with the other. When he straightens up again he catches Stiles’ gaze linger on his crotch. He runs his fingers through the omega’s wayward hair, making sure to jut his hips out a little. “It’s such a beautiful day. I think we should go for a walk on the beach, don’t you?”      

   Stiles tears his gaze away to look up at him with big, whiskey-coloured eyes. “Knock yourself out.”  

oOo

 “Wait.”

   Derek halts at the edge of the porch. The artificially sweet smell of coconut fills his nose even before he turns around at Stiles’ request, the ocean breeze not enough to disperse the sharp smell of sunblock cream. It dampens the ever-present heat scent that hangs like a cloud around Stiles, but only just.

   “Changed your mind?”

   “Something like that,” Stiles says. He holds a bottle of sunscreen out at Derek.

   “You know I don’t need that.”

   “Humour me,” Stiles answers, squirting a dollop in his hand. The skin of his arms and neck already sport a collection of white streaks, while his face is a few shades paler, a baseball cap stuck squarely to his head. He motions for Derek to turn, sets the bottle down on the railing, then flatten his hands over the mounds of Derek’s shoulders. “Uhm…” he nudges Derek until he catches on. He takes two steps down the front stairs. “Thank you, kind sir,” Stiles says, the top of their heads now level. His hands glide down Derek’s arms and back up again, massaging the cream into the thick muscle of his triceps, then back up again over the width of his shoulders and down the wide expanse of his lats. He squirts more in his hand and rubs it down to where the dimples stick out just above the waistband of his shorts.

   “Turn around, please.”

   Derek does, a small smile curled around his lips. “I can reach this part myself, you know.”

   “I know,” Stiles looks at him through his lashes. He takes one look at Derek’s torso and add more cream to his hands. He starts rubbing in, massaging Derek’s fleshy pecs. “So much hair,” he says under his breath.

   “Would you like me to wax?”

   Stiles runs his hands over Derek’s side and back up his stomach, his thumbs bumping over the solid, thick ridges. “No.”

   Derek grins.

   With a last look, Stiles wipes his hands over his own arms. “All done.”

   Derek stays where he is but pull Stiles closer by his hips, who steadies himself on his shoulders. He gives him a soft kiss on the lips. “Ready?”

   Stiles nods. Derek takes his hand and is about to turn when Stiles tugs him back.

   “I’m… I’m getting close. My ah… I’m starting to slick.”

   Derek’s nostrils flare, his chest expanding. “Then we’ll stay home.”

   “No, no I want to go to the beach. What I mean is… It’s probably gonna get really bad today, and I know I’m pissing you off, but just… please, bear with me?”

   “Stiles,” Derek cups his face. “You’re not pissing me off. I love you more than you can ever comprehend, and I will take care of you, no matter what. Okay?”

   Stiles inspects the floorboards before he nods.

   “C’mere,” Derek pulls him off his feet and into his arms. He nuzzles his neck, inhaling deeply.

   Stiles circles his arms over Derek’s shoulders, his feet dangling in the air. “Love you too.”

oOo

“I fucking hate you!” Stiles swings the piece of driftwood at Derek again.

   Again Derek just gives a small jump back. The surf crashes behind him and wash around his feet. “Stiles, baby,” he holds up both hands. “Put it down, okay?”

   “No!” Stiles brandishes it at him. “I’ve had enough of your macho alpha bullshit!”

   Derek’s eyes flick to the one spectator on the otherwise deserted beach – a rail-thin man with a floppy beach hat and oversize sunglasses standing about fifty yards away, an ice cream in one hand, his little wire-haired dog straining on its leash, yapping non-stop.

   “Why don’t we go home and talk about this.”

   “I am done talking! You always do this! I am the big strong alpha, so I will decide what is best for you! Woohoo!”

   “You know that is not true.”

   “It is!” he pokes the stick at him.

   The man takes a big bite of his ice cream. His arm jerk as the yapper tries to pull away.

   “Baby, I know you’re upset, but this is your-”

   “Don’t. Don’t you dare say it.”

   Derek’s nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. “This is your heat-“

   “IT’S NOT MY FUCKING HEAT TALKING!” Stiles bellows, throat and cheeks red. He shifts his feet and swings at Derek, his entire upper body twisting.

   Derek’s hand shoots out and stops it dead. It jumps in Stiles’ grip. “Ow! Fuck!” he lets go of the piece of wood, clutching his hand.

   Derek flings the wood away and practically teleports to Stiles’ side at the same time. He grabs Stiles hand by the wrist. The dog launches into a new volley of barks.

   “Let… Go…” Stiles tries to wrench free. Derek barely has to resist, brow furrowed while inspects Stiles’ hand.

   “You have a splinter.”

   Yap. Yap.

   “Get your hands-”

   Yap. Yap. Yap-Yap. Ya-

   The roar the explodes from Derek’s chest echo across the beach. A flock of sandpipers take to the sky. The spectator rears back and drops the remains of his ice cream. His dog turns tail with a yelp. His leash gets tangled around his owner’s legs and the guy falls flat on his ass. He stumbles up again, and hand on his hat makes a run for it, his dog already miles ahead.

   Derek comes up out of his crouch, his fangs retracting. He rolls his neck and turns to Stiles -

   - who doesn’t even try to close his mouth.

   Derek takes his hand again and brings it closer. “There,” he says, and close his mouth over the fleshy bump of Stiles’ palm, just below his thumb.

   Stiles remains completely silent through the prod of Derek’s tongue. The alpha’s teeth scrape over the splinter, gently latches on and pulls it free.

   Derek picks it off his tongue, giving it a cursory glance before flicking it way. He suckles at the pinprick of blood on Stiles hand, giving it a last lick before releasing it.

   Stiles rubs over the spot with his thumb. He looks up at Derek, the shadow of the baseball cap’s visor slanted across his face. The hair in his nape and around the edges of the cap cling in wet curls to his scalp. His forehead crease and he flattens his other hand over his stomach.

   “Are you okay?”

   “No I’m not okay. It’s never been this bad.”

   “You heard what the doctor said.”

   Stiles groans, one hand still pressed to his belly. He meets Derek’s gaze with a watery smile. “So it is all your fault, then.”

   Derek matches his watery smile and shrugs. He holds out his hand. “Let’s get you home before you find a bigger stick.”

oOo

Stiles wakes to the sound of breaking waves. Dusk has taken over the bedroom, shadows thrown across the ceiling. The gauzy curtains billow lazily next to the open French doors.

   The tray with the remnants of his lunch that Derek brought up, stand on the bedside table. He turns onto his back and grimace at the way the normally soft sheets now rub against his skin like sandpaper. He holds the back of his hand against his forehead.

   “Dammit,” he sighs. He wipes at his damp hair, kick off the rest of the covers and lie staring up at the ceiling. He can hear the television downstairs, imagines Derek on the couch, shirtless, feet crossed on the coffee table and arms spread out across the backrest, probably nursing a beer. 

   He covers his face with his hands. I hit my alpha with a piece of wood.

   His groin contracts at once and he curls up against the pain. He rubs at the spot, but it doesn’t quite go away. Instead the pain morphs into something warm, a twist in his gut that pools heat straight to his cock.

   Stiles groans. His heart goes off on a gallop. He cups his junk and presses down. At once a glob of warm, sticky wetness spill from his hole.

   “Shit,” Stiles squeeze his buttocks together, but the slick has already leaked through his boxers and into his shorts. His cock twitches and adds to the wetness by creating a damp patch of precum on the front. “Fuck,” Stiles lifts his hips off the mattress.

   Heavy feet race up the stairs.

   “Of course he listens in,” Stiles grumbles and slides out of bed.

   The door bursts open. “Stiles? Are you okay?”

   Stiles is halfway to the bathroom. “A little privacy would be great, you know!” and slams the bathroom door shut. He moves to the basin to splash some cold water on his face and the back of his neck. He pulls his shirt over his head, lines drawn across his face as the fabric scrapes against his back and light up every nerve across his skin.

   He strips his shorts off, the skin of his backside even worse. He wrinkles his nose when he peels his soggy boxers off and drop them right there on the floor.

   Any other day the water beating down from the shower would have had him a shivering mess in a few seconds. Now, anything warmer burns his skin. He uses his hands only, the loofa like a pot scour.

   He pats himself dry, and towel around his waist, open the door just a sliver. Derek is gone, yet he can still smell him. It makes his cock stir and his hole clench.

   “Oh no you don’t,” he breathes through his mouth and walks into the room. He has just pulled on some fresh underwear and soft shorts when he spots Derek’s wifebeater that he had on the previous day, thrown carelessly across a chair.

   Stiles finds himself next to the chair with the piece of clothing in his hands. He brings it up to his nose and inhales deeply.

   Sweat. Pungent male sweat, mixed with that heavy wood-smoke alpha musk that is all Derek.

   Slick and precum dampen his fresh shorts. “Seriously,” he groans. He thumbs at the waistband and wiggles it down around his thighs. He takes one look at Derek’s wifebeater still clutched in his hand.

   He sighs when the fabric soothes his heated skin as he drags it over his wet hole and swollen perineum. He chalks it up to the fabric being drenched in Derek’s natural scent. He gently wipes the head of his cock before he drops it back on the chair. His soiled shorts end up on top of it, but not before he uses it to wipe under his arms and mop up the sweat from his nape and brow.

   Dressed in yet another pair of fresh shorts, and a loose tank hanging from his shoulders, he plods downstairs.

   At the bottom, he pauses with one foot poised on the last step. Just a few lamps are on, the doors thrown wide open to let in the cool ocean air and the constant rush-n-scrape of breaking surf. Derek is exactly as he pictured him – big feet at rest on the coffee table, his shorts straining around his hairy thighs, arms stretched out, beer in hand. If it wasn’t for the rapid rise-and-fall of his naked chest, Stiles could have been fooled.

   “Oh, hey, didn’t see you there,” Derek smiles and leans his head back, “Had a good nap?”

   “Fine.”

   “Are you hungry? Want me to fix you something?”

   “No, thanks.”

   “Okay,” Derek goes back to the television. He takes a sip of his beer, then drags a thumb across his forehead.

   Stiles doesn't miss the slight tremble in his hand. He walks behind him to the kitchen. He opens the fridge door and just let the frigid air wash over him for a few seconds. He takes out a bottle of water, twist the cap and takes a long chug.

   Derek shifts around on the couch.

   Stiles wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shut the fridge door. He looks over to where Derek is still watching tv, arms still stretched out. He walks into the pantry and begins to rummage around. After a minute or two he walks out again.

   Derek takes another swig of his beer.

   Stiles huffs. He walks up to the island, the expanse of polished wood between him and the living room. A bowl of apples stand next to an earthenware jug filled with utensils.

   With his back to him, Derek takes another long, slow swig of his beer, the muscles along his arm bunching.

   Stiles’ hole clench. He can feel the beginnings of moisture well up from deep within. He grabs one of the apples and fling it at Derek. It flies right past him and bounces off the coffee table. Derek jerks his feet off. He sits up and slowly turns around.

   Stiles drums his fingers on the counter top. He wipes at his nape where the hair is back to sticking to his skin. “At least now we know why I always got the bench during lacrosse games.”

   “Guess I should be glad it’s not a knife,” Derek says.

   With narrowed eyes, Stiles grabs another apple and fling it at his head with all his might.

   Derek catches it out of the air without taking his eyes off him.

   Stiles sets his jaw and grabs another apple.

   “Stiles,” Derek drops the first apple.

   The apple goes flying.

   Derek catches it too. He stands, hand held out to the side, and slowly crush the fruit, pulp and juice oozing from between his fingers.

   Stiles’ open-mouthed gaze flick between Derek’s hand and his face. A dribble of slick rolls down his perineum. He stands back from the island.  

   Derek walks around the couch, wiping his hand on his shorts, the other hand held in the air. “Easy.” 

   Stiles watch him approach. As quick as lightning he darts for the porch, his feet slipping on the floor.

   Rooted to the spot Derek just stands and watch as he shoots through the open double doors and into the night. “Stiles!” he yells, claws popping, a strip of upholstery torn from the couch as it is shoved to the side. Light flashes across the ceiling when it topples a lamp.

   Stiles hits the sand, arms and legs pumping. He clears the first dune when he hears Derek’s feet thunder over the porch, then the muffled, much heavier thump as he too jumps off the porch. “Stiles!” he roars behind him. It echoes across the dark dune. A wave of slick bubble from his hole and his knees almost buckle. He struggles up the loose sand, patches of cord grass breaking his speed. The wet patch in his shorts chafe against the inside of his thighs.

   “Stiles, wait!”

   Stiles’ hand shoot out in a stumble, lungs burning. The wet patch grows bigger with every stride he takes, sand spraying up behind him. He clears the next dune and almost barrels into a row of sand fencing in the dark. He twists to change direction when a wall of alpha fills his vision before thick arms clamp around his waist and he is swung off his feet. He yells, legs flying out from the momentum before he is pulled back against the solid broadness of Derek’s chest.

   “Lemme go!” he flails.

   Derek clamp his arms around his chest. “Stiles, Stiles, shhh, it’s okay.”

   Stiles tries to twist in his grip. He gulps in air and at once gets a lungful of wood smoke and sweat. His legs buckle and he grabs hold of the thick, hairy forearms crossed over his torso as another gush of slick wets through his crotch.

   “I got you, I got you,” Derek holds him up like he weighs nothing. “You’re safe, okay? You’re safe.”

   “No,” Stiles whines.

   “Yes, you are. I promise.”

   “No, I…” Stiles wriggles back against Derek, his skin burning hot. The alpha’s heart thunders against his back. “I want…”

   Derek curls half over him. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he scrapes his beard down the side of Stiles head. “Anything.”

   “I… I want…”

   A breeze ruffle both their hair and with it, a loon’s cry that float across the dark beach. Stiles shivers when it hits his fevered skin. Derek holds him tighter.

   “I want…” Stiles fingers tightens around his forearms. The rise and fall of Derek’s chest press and release across his back almost in sync with his own racing breath. He rubs up against Derek but stills instantly when the rising curve of his ass press against the solid bar of steel that’s trapped just below Derek’s waistband.

   The alpha’s hot breath blows across his cheek on an exhale. “Is that what you want? You want your alpha to take care of you?” Derek whispers right by his ear. One hand rubs across Stiles’ chest, pulling the loose fabric of his tank to the side.  “Just tell me, baby. Anything.”

   “I… I want…”

   Derek’s fingers find a nipple.

   “Aah… Derek…”

   “’m right here, sweetheart,” he rolls the hardened nub between his fingers

   “I want… I want my alpha. I want you… to take care of me.”

   Derek flatten his hand across his chest at the same time as he grinds his hips forward and press Stiles back against him. “And I will. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

   He picks Stiles up and tucks his face into his neck. Holding him close to his chest he walks back to the house through the rustling grass, the warm light from inside that spills over the porch turning the sand a dull gold.

oOo

His feet jostle as Derek carriers him up the stairs. One arm half pinned between him and the bulk of Derek’s chest, Stiles has his other hand splayed across the warm, hairy expanse of his pec, just below the rise of his clavicle. Nose pressed next to his Adam’s apple, he inhales that deep smokiness and traces of Derek’s cologne with every breath, his stubble scratching his lips and cheek.

   Sweat makes his tank cling to his back while every little bump in Derek’s arms has the gathered slick squelch around between his cheeks. His fingers grip at Derek's chest hair, his breath moist against his throat. “’m hot.”

   “I know, baby,” Derek says softly and lays a kiss to his head. “I’m gonna make it better, I promise.”

   “Hurry,” Stiles squirms a bit in his arms.

   They reach the landing. A few strides later and his head spins a bit from Derek turning around, then laying him down on the unmade bed, one knee on the mattress. He is about to turn away and Stiles tries to sit up, but a broad hand splay across his chest – cool through the layer of cloth – and he is gently pushed back down again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

   A reading lamp next to a chair is switched on. Soft, warm light throws shadows between the rafters, the night pitch black beyond the French doors.

   Stiles watch Derek walk back to the bed, watch as he opens his shorts and let them drop to his feet. His erection - foreskin pulled half over the glistening head - swing up and to the side as he steps out of the bundle, his hairy sack bumping between his thighs.

   Stiles’ mouth forms an ‘o’. A small sound escapes him and he rolls away from Derek, scrabbling across the bed.

   A warm hand wraps around his ankle and he is pulled back, Derek’s knee next to his hip denting the mattress, his other hand a warm weight between his shoulder blades. He tries to squirm. “Stiles,” is all Derek says, voice low. Stiles goes completely lax.

   Derek rolls him onto his back. His lips are a thin line, his jaw tight under the carpet of thick stubble. Wherever his chest is not covered by hair, a sheen of sweat catches the glint of the lamp. His erection angles to the side when he leans forward on his knee and tugs at the hem of Stiles’ shirt.

   Stiles lifts his arms. Derek pulls it off and flings it to the foot of the bed. At once goosebumps race up his exposed skin. Warm hands drag over his shivering ribcage, down to his waistband.

   Derek curls his fingers around the band of stiff fabric. He looks up at Stiles, pupils dilated, and flicks open the top button. He slowly drags the zipper down, tugs, and Stiles lifts his hips, both shorts and underwear pulled down his legs and over his feet to join the rest of his clothes somewhere on the floor.

   His erection swings back, freed from his clothes, the air cold where slick covers the inside of his thighs. Derek settles down next to him and close his hand around his cock.

   Stiles’ mouth falls open. His hands grip at the sheets, his back arching off the bed.

   “Easy,” Derek rubs his other hand from his stomach up to his sternum. His cock twitches in Derek’s hot grip, precum coating the head with every lazy flick of his wrist. His tongue dart over his lips and he swallows.

   “D-Derek,” he kneads the bedding.

   While he slowly pumps Stiles’ erection, Derek runs his hand over his ribcage again, down over sharp hipbones, his thumb skating the border where the light brown bush of pubic hair thins out over pale skin. A line of slick runs down from his hole to drip on the bedding.

   “Derek, p-please.”

   “God, you’re so beautiful,” Derek murmurs, his hand gliding over his thigh and in between his legs. Palm pressed up against his drawn-up sack, his fingers run through the slick that coats his perineum, until they reach his wet, puffy hole. He probes with two fingers, just the tips slipping in.

   Stiles whimpers, his thighs flexing. He grabs Derek’s thick wrist where it disappears between his legs, lips parted. “S-sensitive.”

   “I know, baby, I know. I’m going to take the edge off first, okay? Just relax for me.”

   Derek lets go of his cock and slip his hand under him. He shifts Stiles to the middle of the bed. “There we go,” he smiles, bunny teeth glinting, “More room to move around.” He settles between Stiles’ parted legs, and push one up and out to the side, his hand slick-smeared behind his knee. “Just relax for me,” he rubs around his hole before he gently sink his fingers in all the way to the webbing.

   “Hmmf,” Stiles moans, back arching. Derek leans down over him and  angles his erection off his stomach. His breath leaves him as Derek’s mouth close over the head and sinks down his length until all he can see is the inky black crown of his hair.

   “Oh… God…” Stiles eyes fall shut. Derek’s breath is hot against his pubes, exhaling from his nose. His tongue and mouth contract in a tight, warm, wet suction and he bobs back up, then down again, fingers pumping in and out, in and out…

   “Derek… fuck…” Stiles struggles onto his elbows, but Derek just pushes him back down again with a hand on his chest. He holds him there as he hums around his cock, fingers churning up his slick. Stiles grabs at his hair, his other hand fitting over the bulge of a shoulder. The rhythmic squelch of Derek’s fingers mix with the hum and slurp of his mouth, his fingers speeding up in counterpoint. Stiles tries to buck his hips but Derek holds him down. “Derek… I’m gonna…”

   Derek slips in a third finger, never breaking the pace, and buries his nose in Stiles’ pubes, tongue and cheeks a hot, wet sheath around him.

   Stiles comes with a broken cry, back and hips arched up, skin stretched across his Adam’s apple. He pulls at Derek’s hair, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulder and arm.

  Derek slows his fingers but doesn’t pull out, sucking and swallowing around his pulsing cock. Only when his moans turn to whimpers does he pull off and out. He sits up, wipes at his mouth, then circle Stiles' waist with both hands. “Better?” he asks, thumbs rubbing across pale skin.

   Stiles just nods, heavy lidded, chest heaving. He catches sight of where Derek’s erection rears up between his legs. It twitches continuously, veins popping along its girt.

   Derek follows his eyes. He takes hold of his cock and gives it a few lazy tugs, the foreskin stretching over the slick head. “We’ll get to that, baby, just catch your breath first.”

   Stiles shakes his head. “Won’t… fit.”

   “Of course it will. Don’t worry,” Derek rubs a thumb over the sharp crest of one hip.

   Again Stiles shakes his head, his eyes shiny. “Won’t…”

   “It always does, remember? You said it yourself, you’re just very sensitive down there right now. It’ll be fine. Perfect.”

   Stiles throws an arm over his eyes. His chin wobbles.

   “Hey, hey now, none of that,” Derek pulls his arm away. He brings Stiles hand to his mouth and leaves kisses on his palm. “I promise everything will be okay.”

   “I hit you with a stick,” Stiles whispers.

    The frown on Derek’s forehead dissolves as Stiles legs begin to shake from his silent chuckle. “Babe, you know I barely felt anything.” 

   “Doesn't matter.”

   Derek crawls over him. He lies down and digs his arms underneath Stiles, his weight caught on his elbows. “Forget about it, okay?” he says against the side of his head and holds him tight, his thighs bracketing his legs.

   Stiles turns his head and crane his neck to fit their mouths together. At the first swipe of Derek’s tongue into his mouth, the pungent saltiness of his own seed sends a shiver straight to his groin.

   Derek slides one hand up his back, cradle his nape and grinds down a bit, his erection hot and iron-heavy where it’s laid up along his hip and belly. In return, Stiles glides his hands over the solid breadth of Derek’s back, his skin smooth and warm.

   They get lost in each other for a while, the slick smacking of tongues and lips as they make out the only sound in the room, safe for the rise and fall of the ocean surf.

   Derek tilts Stiles’ head back and latches on to his throat with a hum while he drags tongue and stubble across the tender skin.

   “Derek,” Stiles moans, hand pushing at his shoulders.

   Derek sucks down on his pulse point.

   “Derek,” he pushes again, “’m hot.”

   Derek pulls away and lifts up on an elbow. He takes in the heavy-lidded state of his eyes, the flush that spreads across his face, neck and chest. He reaches down between them and his hand bumps Stiles’ erection – back with a vengeance - before his fingers slip between his legs. He has to shift down a bit, but quickly finds his wet hole. As Stiles bucks underneath him, he sinks two fingers into his plush heat, quickly adding a third at the little resistance he finds.

   Stiles mouth falls open and he grabs at Derek’s forearm with both hands. “Oh… Derek… I…”

   “It’s okay, it’s okay. Gonna take care of you now, alright?”

    After a few seconds Stiles nods, swallowing.

    Derek gently wrestles his legs out from under him and wrap them around his waist, then drags a pillow closer to wedge under his hips. Stiles keeps his arms tucked between them, hands flattened against the hairy planes of Derek’s chest.

   “Okay?” Derek asks with a soft smile.

   Stiles nods again, eyes trained on his face.

   Derek leaves a wet kiss along his lips. He takes hold of one pale thigh and swivel his hips back. His erection slips down and in between Stiles' cheeks. A few lazy slides through the slick and Derek nudges his erection with one hand until the head catches Stiles’ rim.

   Stiles’ fingers dig into muscled pecs. “Wait…”

   “Shhh, it’s okay,” Derek slides both arms back underneath him again, one cradling his waist, the other back to its place across his nape. He tightens his hold around Stiles and push his hips forward.

   “Ahh,” Stiles curls up against Derek, forehead stuck to his shoulder, his rim being stretched around the head of Derek’s cock, Derek’s breath hot over the top of his head…

   … and it pops through.

   Stiles whines at same time as Derek exhales, his heels digging into the small of Derek’s back as he keeps on pushing, sliding in inch after inch, slick bubbling out around Derek's girth, his breath moist against Stiles' ear until he can feel the wiry bush of pubes flatten up against his perineum.

   “There,” Derek breathes shakily and kiss the sweat-slicked hair on Stiles’ temple.

   Stiles slides his hands out and curl his arms around Derek’s back, only the tips of his fingers able to touch. He holds his mouth to Derek’s jaw, the salty sweat of his skin bleeding over his lips. Derek seeks his mouth out and fills him with his tongue just as he pulls his hips back to roll them forward again. Stiles groans into his mouth, and Derek does it again, sliding his erection out until the flared edge of his head catches on the rim, then all the way back in again.

   Slow on the out, deep and fast on the in. Again… and again… and again…

   Cradled in Derek’s hold, small, bitten-off moans start to puff from Stiles’ lips as Derek’s hips fall into a rhythm. Derek drops his head next to him, his stubble soft scratches against Stiles’ cheek in time with his rutting. He shifts his legs wider, bumping Stiles’ thighs up more.

   “Derek… please…”

   “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want.”

   “Want…” Stiles’ hands scrabble over Derek’s sweat-sheened skin. “Want harder…”

   “Yeah?” Derek shifts his knees, “Like this?” and slams forward with a grunt. He follows it with another deep roll and grind before he picks up the new pace, ramming over and over into Stiles.

   Mouth lax, Stiles’ fingers dig into the ropes of thick muscle that run down Derek’s spine, his whole body shuddering in Derek’s hold. He tries to adjust his feet, shaken loose from their place until the fight leaves his thighs and his legs slip from Derek’s back.

   Buried all the way inside Stiles, Derek stills only long enough to gather his legs and hook them over his shoulders. He leans forward until Stiles is almost bent double, his knees spread on either side of Stiles’ hips. Derek pulls out and slams back in, and again, the slap of skin-on-skin sounding up at the new pace. It punches short, high-pitched grunts from Stiles, who tries to hold on to Derek’s thighs, the straining muscle too thick for his grip.

   “Ah- I’m- cl- close-” Stiles manages to get out, his entire frame juddering with every hip-slam.

   Derek’s face hovers inches above him between the bulging, veined columns of his arms, his mouth open, his hair slick across his forehead. “Me too, baby… me too… gonna knot you so good… make you feel so much better… ah, fuck,” he throws his head back, his hips losing their rhythm for just a second.

   Stiles’ eyes grow wide when Derek’s girth begins to push at the walls of his channel.

   “Fuck… baby… ahhhhh…” his hips stutter and he falls to his elbows, beard all damp and hot sliding past Stiles’ cheek.

   Mouth open in a soundless plea, Stiles’ lower back curl off the bed as Derek’s knot grabs his rim, tugs it back and forth a couple of times, then punches through. A drawn-out wheeze bursts from his mouth as he comes at once, fingers digging into Derek’s solid muscle while spurts of watery cum shoot across his stomach. He contracts around Derek’s knot and the alpha’s hips shudder as he reaches his own climax. Searing heat starts to fill him in long contractions, Derek dropping his full weight on him, arms curled around his head. Stiles can feel the drag of his hairy sack across his skin with every deep pulse, the alpha grunting against the top of his head.

   Derek’s heavy breathing fights with Stiles’ short, breathy whimpers. Stiles tries to inhale, but with his knees against his shoulders and Derek’s bulk further pressing him into the mattress, it only allows for shallow breathing. “Getting… squashed,” he taps numb fingers at solid slabs of meat.

   “Sorry,” Derek exhales. He unhooks Stiles’ legs and fit his arms underneath him before he gently rolls them over.

   Stiles groans and contracts around Derek’s knot. Derek clamp hot hands around his waist. “Sorry. Let me just…” he shimmies around and plant his feet on top of the headboard, tilting his hips up and tight against Stiles.

   Stiles stretch his legs out one by one, toes on the pillows, and with a sigh, settle across the broadness of Derek’s torso, his head tucked under his chin.

   Derek rubs up and down his back. “Better?”

   “Hmm. Next time remember to turn me around before you knot.”

   “Already thinking about the next time. Sheesh.”

   “Watch it, alpha, there are a lot more apples in that bowl.” 

   Derek smirks.

   Stiles shifts a bit. “You’re knot’s definitely bigger.”

   “It only feels like it,” his knuckles graze over the bumps of Stiles’ vertebrae.

   Stiles reaches behind him to where they are tied together. His fingers trace the almost glass smooth skin around his rim where it is stretched around the rigid knot of muscle. He pulls his hand back. “Bigger.”

   Derek smiles tiredly. He runs his fingers through Stiles damp hair. “How’re you feeling?”

   Stiles takes a moment to enjoy the way he rises and falls on Derek’s chest, how his hair-covered torso tickles from where he has his cheek pressed to his throat, all the way down to where his junk is squashed up against the solid planes of his stomach. “Much better,” he finally answers, eyes falling shut. “Not gonna last long, though.”

   “I know,” Derek press his lips to his forehead. “At least your temperature’s down for now.”

   Stiles nods, eyes still closed. “At least.”  

oOo

   Stiles’ breathing is deep and constant when Derek’s knot slips free.

   He rolls Stiles off him as gently as he can - one hand behind his neck - then lower his feet from the headboard. He stands up from the bed and shake his legs out, eyes on where Stiles lies exactly as he placed him, ribcage pressing against his skin with each sleepy inhale.

   Derek walks to the bathroom where he gives himself a quick wipe-down with a warm, damp facecloth before walking back to the bed, two extra fresh washcloths in hand. Stiles has moved around with his head on the pillows. He mumbles when Derek dents the mattress with his bulk.

   “Gonna clean you up quick,” he glides a hand over his back. He starts by wiping the dried flecks of cum from his junk and his stomach. “Almost done,” he whispers when Stiles grumbles. He rolls him half onto his front and push one leg up. He proceeds to gently wipe between his thighs and up between his buttocks. He pulls them apart and palpate the skin around his hole and behind his balls. The swelling has gone down, but like Stiles said, it won’t last.

   Another muffled whine and Derek leaves a kiss on one cheek before he gives the firm muscle a quick squeeze. “Done. All done.”

   Once the floor lamp has been turned off and the French doors all closed, he climbs back into bed. The top cover is kicked to the foot of the bed before he rakes Stiles closer until his back is flush with his front. He hikes one thigh up tight, his arm curled around his stomach, his head tucked under his chin.

   Satisfied, Derek shuts his eyes and buries his nose in Stiles’ hair.

   “Derek?”

   “Hmm?” Derek hums against his crown.

   “Love you.”

   Derek hugs him tighter. “Love you too, baby, so much.”

Chapter Text

With a sharp inhale through his nose Derek comes awake. He blinks a few times before he leans up onto one elbow. He wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his thumb as he looks around the room. The floor lamp is still on, but a band of faded blues and greys can be seen just above the horizon, the ocean a featureless black expanse. His attention is pulled to where a sliver of light falls across the floor from the bathroom door, which stands slightly ajar, the constant rush of the surf muted by the sound of the shower.

   He stands up, a yawn stretching his jaw wide open. He scratches his junk as he walks to the bathroom. “Stiles?” he calls softly. The tiny whimper has barely registered before he rushes forward. The syrupy scent of omega sends warmth to pool in his gut and his cock to twitch against his thigh. Two strides and he pulls the shower curtain away.

   Stiles looks up slowly, eyelids fluttering against the water, eyes unfocused. He is sitting in the deep tub, one knee drawn up to his chest, his other foot set on the edge, hair plastered to his skull and forehead. Two fingers are pumping deep inside his hole while he strips his cock with his other hand. His lower lip is caught between his teeth as rivulets of water cascade over his face. A deep blush stretches from his neck all the way down to mid-chest.

   Derek sighs. “C’mon, let’s you get out.” He leans over him, the icy cold spray a shock when he reaches out to turn it off.

   “No… no,” Stiles shakes his head, hand and fingers never slowing down, “Too h-hot.”

   “I know, baby, but I’m here now,” he says as he cups Stiles under his arms, “gonna make you feel much better.”

   “No!” Stiles tries to pull away, his heels slipping across the tub surface even as Derek lifts him clear out of the tub. His legs buckle the moment his feet find the bath mat, but Derek quickly pulls him in tight, chest-to-chest, his wet skin fever hot, while he reaches for a towel at the same time.

   Slippery hands push at his chest where they’re caught between them, “Lemme go.”

   “Shh, it’s okay,” Derek drapes the towel over his head and start to rub vigorously.

   Stiles squeaks. He tries to throw the towel off with his head, “Let. Me. Go!”  

   Derek yanks him off his feet. “Stiles,” he growls into Stiles’ wet hair. Stiles stops struggling like a switch has been thrown, chest heaving, his toes brushing Derek’s shins. “You have to stop fighting me, baby, or I won’t be able to help you, okay?” Derek says into his damp, towel-rubbed wild hair.

   Stiles nods against his chest. Derek sets him down again, and carries on with drying him. He remains perfectly still as Derek rubs him all over, tucked tightly against his chest.

   “Derek…”

   “Almost done.”

   “Please, ‘m hot,” he paws at the thick mounds of chest muscle, his face pressed into Derek’s throat.

   “Gonna make it all better soon, I promise.”

   Stiles lifts up onto his toes, tries to grind his erection against Derek’s junk, small movements that only succeed to pull at Derek’s foreskin and leave smears of sticky precum in his pubes.

   “Okay, okay,” Derek smiles, his cock quickly starting to fill out. He drops the towel and picks Stiles up. Stiles wraps his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck, and starts grinding against him the moment he is settled.  Just before Derek walks out of the bathroom he spots the metal case of contraceptives. He quickly calculates the hours since he gave Stiles his last injection. He grabs the injector and a fresh ampule.

   In the bedroom he deposits Stiles on the bed - who blinks up at him, shake his head, then promptly turns to scramble away. Derek only needs to plant a knee on the mattress and a large hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades to stop him.

   “No… I h-have… I have to-“

   “Shhh,” Derek rubs the hand between his shoulder blades up to his neck and holds it there. He quickly loads the injector with his mouth and one hand, hold it to a plump buttock, and press down.

   “No!” Stiles starts thrashing, “No, don’t! You just… you only want-“

   “Stiles,” he says lowly and tightens his grip on the back of his neck. His protestations die away on a whimper.

   Derek drops the injector on a side table, then drape his whole body over Stiles. He shifts down to line his cock up with his crack, his thighs bracketing his legs, his feet tucked over his, before he drops most of his weight on top of the smaller frame. It earns him a groan from Stiles and he burrows his arms underneath him, his hands reaching all the way around to his ribs and beyond. “There we go,” he murmurs, his cheek brushing the top of his head.  

   Stiles shakes his head against the bedding, his hands clutching at the sheets. “Not… ready… I’m…”

   “Yes, you are, baby.”

   “No, no I’m…” he tries to buck against Derek but can only manage to clench his buttocks.

   Derek groans and bears down with his hips. “I promise you are. Feel,” he rolls them back to free his now fully erect cock, then drive it into his cleft until the head press up against his swollen pucker, slick welling up at once. “Feel that? Feel how wet you are?” he hugs him, cranes his neck down to kiss along his nape. “You’re perfect, so ready for your alpha.”

   Stiles whimpers and push back against Derek’s erection.

   “There we go.”

   “I… I n-need…”

   “I know what you need, baby, so let me help you, okay?” Derek grinds down, the blunt head of his cock massaging the puffy rim before it glances off.

   “No… I… I want…” Stiles tries to move his legs, but Derek just sets thick, hairy shins down over slim pale calves, ending his struggle at once, the upper bridges of his feet pressed to Stiles’ soles.

   “Let me help you, Stiles, I’m right here baby, c’mon, let me in,” Derek coos and punctuate with another lazy roll of his hips. This time when he catches the furled entrance he holds it there with constant little jabs that increase in pressure.

   Stiles bucks against Derek’s immovable weight, try to throw his legs off one more time until finally, he just exhales.

   The soft, slick ring of muscle expands and Derek drives forward, groaning as first the head, then inch by slow inch stretch the ring around his girth to slide into that hot, satin-soft channel. Stiles doesn’t stop moaning – little breathy whimpers that grow in pitch until Derek's hips are completely flush against his backside.

   “H-hold me... tighter... please,” Stiles begs, flexing his fingers.

   Breath hot against his nape, Derek tightens his arms. "Better?”

   Stiles nods and drops his head onto the sheets. He holds on to a forearm and a bicep, the muscle too thick to have him span less than halfway around. “Don’t… don’t let go, okay?”

  Derek cranes his neck around to seek out Stiles’ mouth for a sloppy, sideways kiss. “Never.” And with his mouth pressed to Stiles cheek, warm breath washing over him he pulls out and drives back in, starting up a slow, deep rhythm.

   Stiles’ fingers dig into the solid thickness of Derek’s arms, every roll of the alpha’s hips pulling soft moans from him and rubbing his own erection against the bed. Derek mouths along his neck and shoulders, his torso a hot hairy slab that tickles along his back in their gathering sweat. His hips speed up, Derek adjusting his grip around him. Stiles drops his head to the mattress.

   “Derek… Derek…”

   “Right here, baby… right here… I got you… ah, fuck…” he groans and picks up speed, driving into Stiles enough to bounce him off the mattress, his heavy sack slapping his perineum.

   Stiles’ fingers scrabble for purchase on Derek’s sweat slick arms, the damp heat where his solid hairy thighs weigh his own legs down starting to itch. Through the burn and stretch of the alpha’s girth filling him up, that familiar heat starts to build in his groin seconds before Derek’s hips fall out of rhythm, his hot breath puffing over his head. His nails dig into Derek’s arms when the stretch builds and builds and with a last, drawn-out ‘fuuuck’ Derek slams hard enough into him to rattle his teeth as his knot locks into him and liquid heat start to fill him in pulses.

   Stiles convulse against Derek as much as he can under all that solid weight. It’s only through the shudder of Derek’s hips pushing his own down that he can feel his cock drag through his own release. He desperately sucks in air and his eyes flutter close, sweat and cum and alpha filling his nose.

   Derek’s breath is hot and moist across his ear and shoulder where he has dropped his head down, his arms still a steel vice around him, hips still pumping lazily. He kisses his cheek and down over his shoulder. “You okay?” he asks breathlessly.

   “Hmm,” Stiles gets out.

   Some of Derek’s weight leaves him when he hoists up on one knee and an elbow before rolling them around, one arm held tight around Stiles waist to keep his hips cradled in his lap.

   The cool air pebbles his damp exposed front once they are settled. Derek shifts around and Stiles can feel the flex of his stomach and chest ripple against his back. “Put your legs over mine,” Derek instructs somewhere above his head and without waiting cup the back of his thighs and drape them over his own. The pressure in his groin eases at once.

   “Better?” Derek asks with a kiss to the top of his head, his thick arms once again draped over and around him.

   “Yeah,” Stiles answers after a few seconds. With Derek’s chin pressed to the top of his head, he shuts his eyes and ride the tide that is his heaving chest. 

oOo

It’s his stomach that wakes Derek next.

   He runs a hand down his front with his eyes still closed. He wrinkles his nose when his fingers comb through the bits of dried cum that crust in the hair of his treasure trail. When his knot finally went down Stiles slipped off him and both fell asleep almost immediately.

   Stiles is still soundly asleep, shoulder blades and vertebrae poking against his pale, mole-dotted skin. Arms and legs thrown out like he fell from a great height, his ribcage expand and contract in deep slumber. Through gaps in the sheer curtains Derek can see the grey expanse of the sky. The filtered light fills the whole bedroom in soft hues, and turns Stiles’ skin even more pale.

   Derek leans over him and ever so slightly lay a kiss across his nape, his skin salty and ripe with dried sweat. He holds his nose there for another few seconds and inhale his lingering heat musk, but also his own scent that Stiles is covered in. It makes his cock twitch against his thigh.

   With a scowl he adjusts his flesh before he ever so gently slides off the bed.

   He takes a quick shower. Stiles has rolled onto his side when he walks out with a towel around his waist. He gets dressed without once taking his eyes off of him. Before he leaves the bedroom he lays another gentle kiss on the crow’s nest that is Stiles’ bed-hair.

oOo

Stiles wakes with his cheek pressed to sticky sheets. He blinks a couple of times, then slide his hand out across the empty bed. He drags the pillow closer – a slight indent still visible from Derek’s head – and fold it to his nose. His eyes close on the first inhale. With the next his stomach grumbles when the smell of food mixes with the deep musk of his alpha.

   The soft patter against the windows has him lifting his head. He drops the pillow and climbs out of bed. He walks over to the row of French doors, grimacing as he scratches at the flaky patches of dried cum and slick between his thighs. He pulls the curtains aside, peering out.

   Through the rain-washed windows, the dark grey skies stretch from horizon to horizon, the ocean streaked with white across a steel grey, choppy surface. The drenched timber deck of the balcony has turned a dull charcoal colour.

   Stiles pulls all the curtains open. He turns back to the bed, gives it one look then begin to strip it.

   Once all the soiled linen lies in a heap on the floor, he scratches his inner thighs again and heads for the bathroom.

oOo

Derek looks up when he hears the shower going over the television, the knife poised above the chives he’s busy chopping up for some omelettes. He carries on after a few seconds, a soft smirk flitting across his mouth while he contemplates going upstairs to join Stiles, and then imagines what would happen if he was to rip the shower curtain aside and pounce. “Probably have my nuts ripped off,” he tells the chives.

   He gets lost in his task, the talk show host droning on about some or other celebrity while rain patter against the side of the house in wind-driven sheets, when he hears Stiles pad down the stairs.

   “Morning,” he says, looking up from the frying pan.

   “Hey,” Stiles adjust the balled up bed linen under his arm.

   Derek’s gaze linger on him when he walks into the living room, on the way the hem of his old Columbia Henley reaches down to mid-thigh on Stiles, lean legs bare and milky white underneath, covered in fine hair. How he had to roll up both sleeves to his elbows; how his arms are still lost inside the folds of the fabric when it stretches skin-tight over his own. “Ah, just, drop that in the laundry. I’ll take care of it later.”

   Stiles nods.

   Derek is focused on the omelettes when lithe arms curl around his waist and a slight body press up against his back, the sharp point of a nose stuck between his shoulder blades. He kills the flame and drags the pan to the side, then turns, arms raised to miss Stiles’ head before he envelopes him. “Well hello there, sleepy head,” he rests his chin on his crown.

   “Hmm.”

   “You look really good in that shirt by the way,” he says into his hair.

   “Smells like you,” Stiles says, his voice muffled against Derek’s chest.

   “Does it help?”

   “Every bit, right?”

   “Hmm. How’re you doing?”

   Stile sighs. He tips his head back to look up at Derek. “Enjoying the respite from Psycho Stiles.”

   Derek chuckles. “Well let’s eat before all hell break loose again.”

   “Hilarious,” Stiles pokes him in the ribs.

oOo

They sit at the corner of the island and eat while the rain shakes and bend the grass across the dunes.

   Stiles takes his last bite and set his fork down. “That was delicious,” he looks up and gives Derek a quick smile. He drags the heel of his palm across his brow, then turn to look at the view.

   Derek watches him closely. He downs his glass of juice and wipe his mouth with a napkin. “Perfect day for a movie marathon.”

   Stiles continues to stare out the windows.

   “I could make us some popcorn, some hot chocolate. I’m sure I asked Hutch to-“

   “Why don’t you want kids?” Stiles ask the view.

   “What?” Derek blinks at his turned-away face. “Who said I didn’t want kids?”

   Stiles turns back to him, wiping his brow, a blush evident from where the collar of the Henley yawns on his smaller frame, up to his throat. “That crap you insist on injecting me with.”

   It takes a few seconds for Derek to take in his whole state, for his intensified heat scent to reach his nose and melt the block of ice that had begun to grow in his stomach at Stiles’ words. He heaves a sigh. “Stiles, you know I want children as much as you do-“

   “No you don’t.”

   “-but we said we’re gonna wait, remember?”

   Stiles juts out his chin. “What’s really in that stuff?”

   “It’s just a contraceptive.”

   “So then why must I be the one that takes drugs? Why can’t you wear a fucking condom?”

   “Because you need my semen inside of you to trick your body, otherwise your heat will only get worse. No different from any other omega. You know that.”

   Jaw straining, Stiles looks away again, his arms folded on the countertop. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” he says, his voice breaking and pull at the collar of Derek’s shirt.

   With a last look at the damp hair in his nape, Derek clears their plates. He quickly loads the dishwasher, glancing over at Stiles the whole time.

   Stiles pushes back from the island.

   Derek stops what he’s doing. “Where’re you going?”

   “Upstairs, if that’s okay with you,” he shoots him with a scowl. The little bar chair gets shoved back before he stomps off.

   Derek watches him go. He waits for his footsteps to disappear up the stairs before he leans into the counter, the pressure on his crotch only a small relief. He stares at the empty kitchen, idly palming his semi. He looks down when his thumb graze over a wet spot in his sweats, right where the head of his cock strain against the fabric.

   He exhales through his nose, drop the dishcloth he’s been scrunching up in one hand, and head for the stairs.

oOo

   The stairs held on to Stiles’ heat scent, Derek ascending through a cloud of syrupy omega musk that causes his cock to thicken with every step until the throbbing match his pulse. By the time he reaches their bedroom door, the outline of his erection bulges all the way to his hip, where another larger wet spot is steadily growing.

   Hands fisted at his sides he opens the door, not bothering to knock, that heat scent trail like a hook that reels him in. He walks in and stops dead in his tracks.

   Stiles stands in front of the full length antique mirror in the corner of the room, staring at his reflection in profile. He has a hand on the bump of the pillow or scatter cushion he’s stuffed down the front, his other hand slowly rubbing over it. It pulls at Derek’s shirt so that it hugs his tiny waist and wrap around his tight ass perfectly.

   Their eyes lock in the mirror and Stiles turns to look at him. His face is flushed, hair stuck in wet curls around his temples now, dark patches under his arms. His gaze drops to Derek’s crotch, then back up to his face. “See something you like?”

   Derek’s Adam’s apple ride up and down under his thick stubble. He stalks around the bed, eyes flicking between Stiles’ face and his pseudo pregnant belly.

   “Oh! You like this?” Stiles asks, eyebrows raised, rubbing slowly over the bump.

   Derek stalks closer, his nose flaring. “You’re killing me.”

   Even though his jaw is still tight, the corner of Stiles’ mouth curls up. “So what are you waiting for? Alpha.”

   Derek’s eyes flash. He steps forward but has to duck when the belly pillow gets thrown at his face. Stiles is standing on the bed when he has regrouped, arms at his sides, poised to jump. Derek’s upper lip trembles with a soft growl, a flash of canines that has Stiles inch closer to the side of the bed.

   Derek charges and Stiles jumps. Derek tumbles over the bare mattress, Stiles already out the door. He growls in frustration and struggles off the bed. He speeds out the bedroom the moment his feet hit the floor, a loud crunch sounding out when he shoulder-checks the doorframe in his haste.

   He can hear Stiles’ feet hit the landing downstairs, and takes them two at a time, his cock bouncing off his thigh. His head swims from all the fresh heat scent that lingers. Claws gouge the walls when he reaches the bottom and slide around the corner.

   Stiles stands between the couch and kitchen island, the winds and rain whipping across the grassy dunes beyond the porch, the curtains billowing where one of the French doors have been flung open.  There’s a sheen across his face that stretch down to the drooping collar. “Too quick for you, alpha?” he asks, out of breath.

   “Stiles,” Derek sets one foot in front of the other, hands shaking with the effort to keep his claws retracted. “This isn’t helping.”

   “Good. You need to work for it from now on.”

   Derek’s heart knock against his sternum. He takes another step, the wet patch on his sweats chafing over where his foreskin has pulled back from the engorged head. “You want me to chase you?”

   Stiles takes a step back. “Isn’t that what all lycans want? To chase down an omega, knot ‘em up and breed ‘em good? Fill ‘em with your pups?”

   Derek’s cock visibly twitches in his pants. Stile’ eyes flick down and he smirks. “Guess that’s a yes.”

   Derek takes a deep breath, eyes closed for a second. “Stiles,” he says when he opens them again, his hands held out low. “Let’s just, sit down, and talk this through.”

   “How ‘bout I sit on your face?”

   Derek drops his chin and his hands, his lips a bloodless, thin line. He takes another step forward. “I am not playing this-“

   Stiles bolts, out the open door and off the porch, into the rain.

   “Sti- fuck!” Derek spits, feet already sliding on the floor as he takes off after him. He’s through the door and practically jumps across the porch. Cold rain hits heated skin and he holds a hand up against the steady, wind-driven spray. He looks around, but only Stiles’ footprints are visible, leading around the house. “You little...” he growls and takes off in that direction, arms pumping and wet sand thrown up behind his heels.

   He rounds the front of the house, sand and grass giving way to loose gravel that bite into his pounding feet. He is just in time to see the screen door swing shut. He grabs hold of the railing and hurdles over, running the moment his feet hit the porch. The screen door slams against the wall shingles and sags back on a torn hinge, the metal screech getting lost in Derek’s Stiles! that echo through the house.

   Only silence flows back after the boom of his voice, punctuated by the constant soft patter of rain and rush of the ocean. When he walks in the elevated drum of Stiles’ heartbeat joins in. He doesn’t need the breadcrumb-trail of sand and wet footprints, or the heady scent of omega heat that almost ripples the air, to find him. 

   At the foot of the stairs Derek looks up. His own heart beats wildly and he breaks out in a smile, the rush of adrenaline making his blood sing in his ears. He palms at his erection, his sweats damp from the rain in a dark swathe down each wide, solid thigh, the wet spot on his crotch a much darker colour.

   He takes the first step. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

   A sheet of rain rakes across the roof. Lightning flashes white off the walls.

   Another step. “You know I can your heartbeat, right?”

   A muted ‘shit’ drifts to his ears, followed by some shuffling.

   Derek grins. “Holding your breath’s not gonna help!”

   Just the far-off roll of thunder answers him.

   Reaching the top of the stairs he follows Stiles’ heat trail to the hall closet. The doorknob disappears in his large hand and he takes a moment, the steady rise and fall of his chest belied only by how the handle creaks in his grip.

   A thick cloud of slick and heat and omega wafts out when he opens the door. Stiles looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor, backed up against the far wall with his knees drawn up and hands on his ankles. His hair is stuck to his forehead, plump lips parted as he sucks in air. “Well, looks like I’m trapped by the big bad wolf,” he says, eyes hooded.

   Derek’s eyes flash. A drop of fluid soak right through the wet spot on his sweats. “Yeah. Looks like it.” In the second that his body leans forward, ready to shift its weight to the foot he has set down inside the closet, Stiles shoots past his legs. He glances off a solid calf and is out, scrabbling on his hands to get his footing.

   Derek bumps against the doorframe. He watches open-mouthed as Stiles runs for the stairs. With a growl he pushes off the frame, the wood cracking. He thunders towards the stairs, Stiles’ hurried feet already nearing the bottom. He runs straight for the balustrade that wrap around the landing and jumps clear over. Floorboards crack and splinter when his feet hits, the crash rattling through the house, shaking several of the framed photographs off the wall to shatter across the bench. Stiles cries out, slipping on the floor and smacking into the opposite wall, but quickly regains his footing and scrambles away.

  Derek chases him back into the kitchen and around the island where they stand on opposite ends, flushed, shoulders heaving, Stiles’ eyes shining and mouth hanging open on a breathy giggle. Another flash of lightning light up the room, sprays of rain floating in with the billowing of the curtains.

   “This is ridiculous,” Derek says, feet planted wide, hands out like he is ready for Stiles to bolt.

   “C'mon, I know you like chasing your prey,” Stiles says and rake his teeth over his bottom lip.

   A low growl vibrates through Derek’s chest. Stiles snatches an apple from the bowl.

   “Stiles…”

   The apple goes flying but Derek easily ducks out of the way.

   Stiles grabs the whole bowl.

   “Don’t you dare,” Derek points a finger at him.

   The bowl soars through the air. Derek smacks it away with a roar, the bowl exploding in bits of ceramic and apple pulp that shower across the room.

   Stiles pulls Derek’s shirt off and throws it at him too. The saturated fabric distracts him long enough for Stiles to run out from behind the island. Derek rips the shirt away and gives chase.

   Stiles manages to reach the stairs, but only makes it half a dozen steps before a large hand locks around one ankle. He goes down with an oomph. A heartbeat later Derek drops down on top of him, his chest sweaty, the line of his clothed erection a burning column along the back of Stiles’ thigh. Stiles tries to buck him off and Derek just pushes him down further. He grabs for the railing to which Derek grabs both his wrists and smack them down above his head. “Enough!”

   Stiles goes still, a little moan escaping his mouth. Derek’s breath ruffles the hair on top of his head, his chest a wide, solid, sweaty mat that scratches his back. Stiles’ shoulders strain from where his wrists are being held down above him. He turns his head, his face lined up with Derek’s armpit, and at once is hit with his pungent alpha musk. His hips roll up. Derek groans above him and grinds right back down, the edge of each stair digging into Stiles’ front. Derek shifts to bracket his tiny waist and slot his erection into the cleft of his ass.

   “Alpha…”

   “Right here, baby,” Derek murmurs. He drops his head and bite down on the back of his neck. He switches both wrists to one hand, the other fighting with the drawstrings of his sweats until he roughly shoves them down and kick them away. He pulls Stiles’ cheeks apart and press thick fingers against his wet hole. He sinks three into the wet heat. Stiles keens, his back bowing against him. Derek scoops his slick up and coat his erection.

   “Please, alpha…” Stiles tugs against Derek’s hold on his wrists.

   Derek drops back down, the tight roll of his hips churning the gathering slick. The head catches and he slams forward, enough to drive the air from Stiles’ lungs. He takes hold of the back of Stiles neck and start up with deep and powerful thrusts. His knees dig into the stairs and he lets go of Stiles wrists to take hold of his hip, his other hand still clamped securely around his neck. Stiles grabs on to the stair edge above him, his bitten-off moans lost amid the rhythmic wet squelch of their coupling.

   “Fuck,” Derek groans and adjust his grip on Stiles neck. He starts to pull him back to meet every thrust, his hairy thighs columns of straining muscle on either side of Stiles’ waist, his heavy sack thumping against his slick-soaked perineum.

   “Ah- ah- fu- fuck- Derek- ah-” Stiles’ knuckles go white.

   Derek’s hips speed up. His thrusts become shorter. He shifts one foot back and hauls Stiles up and against his chest, arms across his torso, his hips now driving upwards, lifting Stiles off his knees. 

   Hands scrabbling to hold on to a forearm or a thigh, Stiles’ head falls back against Derek’s shoulder, his own erection violently smacking his belly. “Oh- fuck- Derek- slow- slower-”

   Derek ignores him. He does grab his cock and start to jack him off in triple time to his own thrusts.

   Stiles mewls. His knees no longer touch the stairs. His knuckles turn white again – this time around the arm across his chest - his lower legs hooked around the back of Derek’s thighs. “Derek- Derek- I’m-” his stomach muscles contract and he shoots his first stream of cum across the stairs. The second falls short and the third spill over Derek’s fist.

   Derek groans at the first contraction of Stiles’ channel around his cock. His knot swells so quickly he completely loses his rhythm, grinding as deep as he can and holding it there, crushing Stiles to him at the same time. Wet warmth spill over his fist and he bites down on Stiles’ exposed throat with the first pulse of his knot. He grinds deeper into Stiles with every contraction, every deep groan a warm wash of breath from between his teeth.

   He finally sags forward with a hand propped against the stairs, then keel to the side, coming to rest with his back to the wall and Stiles securely in his lap, one foot set a few steps down. Flashes of light flicker over the ceiling, answered a few seconds later by far-off thunder that rolls across the heavens – the only sound apart from their heavy breathing.

   Derek rests his chin on top of Stiles’ head while his hips still rut up sporadically with small spasms. Stiles turns his head up to seek out his mouth and Derek at once lick past slack lips. He fills Stiles mouth over and over before he noses his chin up to suck a slow, out-of-breath kiss on the mark he left in his neck.

   “Okay,” Stiles pats his arm, eyes closed, “You can be my alpha.”

   Derek just grins and rub his beard across Stiles’ cheek.

oOo  

Stiles is half asleep by the time Derek’s knot slips out in a gush of slick and semen. He carries him upstairs to their bathroom where Stiles keeps his forehead to his chest while they take their second shower of the day.

   Derek has him wrapped up in a towel, tucked under his chin while he rubs him dry when Stiles start to fidget.

   “Almost done.”

   Stiles twist in his grip and push one of his hands away. Derek pauses in his ministrations. With a frown he sticks his nose to Stiles’ neck. Stiles wriggles his hands up to Derek’s chest and try to push away while Derek calmly carries on smelling his neck.

   “Let… go…” Stiles huffs, his arms shaking.

   Derek shushes him. He drops the towel and run a hand over Stiles’ ass to slip between his cleft. He hums when his fingers wipe through warm slick just starting to well up again.

   “Derek… I… stop… I don’t aaahhhh,” Stiles knees gives in as Derek sink three fingers into him, causing even more slick to dribble out.

   “It’s okay, baby, I got you, gonna take care of you now,” he says as he lazily pumps his fingers in and out of Stiles’ hole. By the time he picks Stiles up bridal-style and carries him out to the bedroom, his cock is halfway rising up against his thigh again.

   He lays down a towel on the bare mattress before he settles Stiles on top of it. Stiles kicks out and tries to roll away. Derek flips him over on his stomach and keeps a hand on his back. He plants one knee on the bed and with his other hand pull Stiles’ cheeks apart. His erection jerks up in the air, a bead of precum glistening across the slit. Stiles tries to push up and Derek sinks his fingers back into his hole. With a drawn-out moan Stiles goes still, he head plopping back on the mattress.

   “There we go,” Derek smiles. He scoops out some slick and, pulling the foreskin back, rub it over the head and down his shaft.

   “‘s hot… too hot…”

   “I know, baby,” Derek pulls up his hips and press his shoulders down. “Gonna make it all better now.” The mattress dips as he settles his knees on either side of him. The fat, slicked-up head of his cock leave glistening trails across the pert globes before it slips into his cleft to nudge up against Stiles’ puffy ring.

   Derek slowly pulls him back onto his cock, gaze hooked where he enters him until his bush of pubic hair fans out over the top of his ass, pitch black against his pale skin. With Stiles moaning softly, he pulls back just a few inches to stare slack-mouthed at the shiny rim stretched pink and tight around his girth before he pushes back in again.

   “There,” he glides one hand down Stiles’ back to his neck and gives it a squeeze. He begins to rut – slow and deep – hands on Stiles’ neck and hip, until he whimpers, turning his head to the side, one hand reaching out to Derek.

   Derek takes his hand and lays down over him on his knees and elbows, Stiles snug under his broad frame. He links their fingers next to his head and carries on with his thrusts.

   Soon Derek’s chest hair slide over Stiles’ sweat-slicked back, his small frame jostled back and forth, little whimpers moaned into the towel. He speeds up and Stiles turns his head again. Derek leans down for the kiss until his hips lose their rhythm and he groans in Stiles’ mouth as his knot catches.

   Stiles bows up against him and paint the towel with his seed – just a few watery spurts.

   Derek stays on his knees, each contraction of his own seed pumped into Stiles punctuated by the soft slap of skin-on-skin and Stiles’ own little grunts. He rains soft kisses over his shoulders and head through it all.

   Stiles knees eventually slide out from underneath him. He yelps when his hips dip and he literally hangs off Derek’s knot for a second or two. Derek quickly hooks an arm around his waist. “Easy, easy.” He lays down on his side, Stiles’ head on his bicep, skin slicked together from shoulder to thigh.

   “Better?” Derek asks, caressing down Stiles’ stomach.

   Stiles swallows. “Yeah.”

   “Good,” Derek kisses the top of his head, his breathing slowing down already.

oOo

   In the time that it has taken for his knot to go down, the rain has picked up again, and the soft drumming on the roof makes Derek pull Stiles’ dozing form tighter against him. Their skin sticks together though and he slides off after a few minutes to go fetch some washcloths.

   Both wiped down, he grabs a fitted sheet and light blanket from the closet (smiling when he remembers cornering Stiles inside - his dick also taking notice). He fits the sheet to the mattress, carefully rolling Stiles this way and that to finally drape the light blanket over him. He is about to leave the room when he notices the flush in Stiles’ neck, the hair at his nape damp once more. He lifts the blanket around his hips where he’s lying on his side - one leg drawn up - and immediately spot the glint of slick where inner thigh meets buttock. He pulls the blanket back over him and leaves a kiss on his head.

oOo

Stiles kicks off the blanket and groans when cool air wash over his heated skin. He turns onto his back and grimace at the slick slide where his thighs meet. He remembers the fresh sheet and quickly rolls back with an irritated huff, scooting to the edge of the bed to climb off.

   He walks over to the French doors and look out the rain-washed windows at the darkening sky. He runs the back of his hand across his forehead. A ripple moves down his groin to his hole. He clenches too late, the little glob of slick already running down the inside of his thigh.

   He sighs, eyes fluttering closed. He swallows away the tremble in his chin and marches to the door, grabbing the blanket on the way and roughly throwing it around his shoulders. He halts at the top of the stairs when he sees Derek, arms laden with food, gazing at the ruined floor and other debris littering the entrance hall.

   “Yeah, that’s more important, isn’t it?”

   Derek looks up at him. His eyes linger where the blanket has fallen from one shoulder, a pale clavicle and bony shoulder on display.

   “Hey, knothead! Over here!”

   A small smile tug at Derek’s lips.

   “Oh, it’s a joke, huh? All of this is just one big fucking joke to you? Go to hell!”

   “Stiles, wait.”

   Stiles doesn’t. He can hear the treads creak as Derek begins his ascend. He slams the bedroom door shut and fling the blanket across the bed. He squeezes his eyes shut, the burn in his throat tempting to spill tears while another wave of heat roils through his nethers, his hole fluttering. A single tear finally spills and he pulls the doors open.

   The curtains billow at once, a spray of rain icy cold against his heated skin. Stiles lifts his chin, eyes shut while he is slowly drenched. Warmth trickle down the inside of his thighs while the cold rain pelts the rest of his body.

   A thick, warm arm around his waist pull him back. “You’ll catch a cold.”

   He manages to twist free only because of his wet skin. But the alpha pulls him in again and clutches him too his chest. Stiles’ knees tremble when he gets a nose full of Derek’s musk. He shakes his head and tries to push away while Derek shuts the doors, ignoring him like he’s holding a naughty child. He lifts his feet and drops his weight, but again Derek barely has to tighten his arm to hold him up.

   “Let me go! You- you don’t care! You just aaaah!” Derek swings him off his feet and into his arms. He kicks out, fists banging against solid, hairy pectorals, nails scratching across a bearded cheek.

   The world tilts again and he is back on the bed, Derek looming over him. He tries to sit up but one of those broad palms settle over his chest and suddenly he can’t move an inch. Derek reaches to the side to drag a few pillows closer and Stiles kicks out, his heel glancing off the alpha’s ribcage.

   In the blink of an eye the pressure is gone from his chest and replace by large, thick fingers completely circling his upper arms, Derek’s face right above his.

   “Settle. Down.”

   Stiles’ mouth falls open on a whimper, every muscle in his body going lax, the tiny bursts of red in his alpha’s eyes loud enough but for the gentleness in his voice. Sweat beads on his forehead and the slick that now bubbles from his hole feel like it’s searing his skin.

   “I know, baby, gonna make it all better,” a large hand covers his face from chin to top, and he realizes he spoke out loud. His knees are lifted to his chest, hips in the air as Derek slides two pillows beneath him. Satisfied, he settles between his spread legs with a hand behind each knee.

   Stiles can feel his slick rolling down the back of his ass and onto the pillows, sweat trickling from under his arms. He cranes his neck and sees Derek’s erection bob around, its shadow falling over his drawn up little sack before Derek lets go of one knee to angle it down with a thumb.

   Stiles holds his breath at the feel of the fat, wet head sliding down his perineum. His lips part when it reaches his slick hole. “Derek,” he breathes as the pressure increases and a second later he is breached, the rest of his sentence stolen away. He clutches at Derek’s wrist as his inner walls stretch and part around the slow glide of his alpha, until Derek’s hips are flush with his ass and he is so full he can hardly fill his lungs.

   Derek folds his legs around his waist and lean down over him.  “This one hit you fast,” he says, fingers combing through his hair.

   Stiles swallows. He tries to clench around Derek’s girth, but there is no room left. “P-please.”

   Derek brush his nose over his forehead, down his cheek until he drops whisper-soft kisses against his lips. With the first probe of his tongue Derek gently rolls his hips. Stiles’ mouth falls open and Derek fills him there too, slow and deep like the drag of his cock, pushing at his insides, stretching him deeper and deeper. He again tries to link his fingers around Derek back but can only touch the tips, the muscles of his back ripples of power as he thrusts into him over and over and over again.

   When Derek’ knot start to push at his rim, a wave breaks inside of him and he clenches down with each short punch of his climax. Derek’s hips stutter, speed up, stutter again and drive into him for a final time with a chest-deep groan that vibrates right through him.

   As Derek’s seed fills him in drawn-out pulses, the heat that was eating its way from his insides out simmer and die, until all that is left is the warm, heavy bulk pinning him to the bed, tied up in thick arms and quivering hips and a hairy chest.

   On a long exhale, Stiles smiles dreamily. He nuzzles against Derek’s Adam’s apple while the alpha softly rumbles above him.

oOo

Derek’s spilled seed is still tacky between his legs when Stiles jerks awake against Derek, his body a wall of warm, solid muscle at his side. He turns to the alpha, who is sleeping in his normal position – on his stomach, arms thrown out – and Stiles contemplates grabbing one of the cushions to smother him with, knowing Derek would just chuck him off like he is a kitten. He thinks about throttling him instead, but his hands won’t fit around the oaf’s thick neck.

   Sweat beads down his back in a swathe of sudden heat. It runs down his spine and trickle in between the cleft of his ass. His hole pucker as a gush of slick wets it while his cock fills out against his belly.

   “No,” he whimpers and rolls over and away from Derek. He reaches behind him, face planted in his pillow, and sink his fingers between his plump cheeks. He has three fingers in his hole, rutting against the bed at the same time when the mattress dip and he slides back. A second later his wrist is swallowed up by thick fingers and pulled away from his hole.

   “Easy,” Derek grumbles behind him, his voice sleep-rough. He tries to push away but a hairy thigh slide over his legs. He has just enough time to lift up on his elbows when the rest of Derek’s bulk follows and he is forced back against the bed. His cock his half hard already, the thick heat of it coming to rest at the top of his cleft.

   “Get… off…” Stiles blindly smacks at the solid mass above him.

   His hands are easily caught and held to the bed, Derek’s grip light but as solid as iron shackles. “Easy,” he repeats again. Stiles grunts when he shifts above him, his cock – now fully erect and burning hot – parting his cheeks when he drops his hips.

   Stiles mouths at the sheet, eyes wide. “N-no… please, Derek… ‘s too big… it’s-“

   “Shhh, not gonna hurt you,” Derek wraps him him up in his arms and press soft and lingering kisses down his neck and over his shoulders.

   Stiles opens his mouth just as his hole is breached. His breath leaves him in time with every inch that he is stretched around Derek’s girth. The heat that was burning across his skin evaporates, Derek’s alpha musk and pungent male sweat taking its place.

   As he starts to rut, Stiles turns his head and crane his neck as much as he can. Derek at once leans closer to catch his mouth in a sloppy kiss, trailing the rest over his cheek and down to his jaw while he drives long and deep into him.

   When his knot eventually catches and Stiles has made a mess of the sheets below him, Derek rolls them over, settling Stiles in his lap. He reaches for a bottle of water and spreads a large hand across Stiles ribcage while he offer it to him. Stiles sucks the bottle empty, both hands gripped around Derek’s thick wrist.

   Next he is fed cut-up pieces of fruit, Stiles licking the juices off Derek’s fingers, the salt of his skin mixing with the fructose-sweetness of the pulp. Derek would rumble behind him every time he wrapped his tongue around a digit, his knot giving a short pulse against his inner walls.

   Stiles nods when he’s done. Derek wipes his hand on the sheets and carefully arranges them on their sides, Stiles back at using a thick bicep as pillow, Derek curled tightly around him.

   They’re asleep within seconds.

oOo

  Stiles sneaks off the bed, grateful that he is half Derek’s size and doesn’t dent the mattress like the alpha when he moves around. He pads out the bedroom, a single rivulet of slick adding to the crusted mess already between his thighs. He keeps a hand on the wall as he stumbles to the stairs. The house is dark, the waves on the beach loud after the rain. He rubs his nose, the briny scent of ocean not enough to get rid of the alpha stink that now clings to his skin.

   His foot lands on the first tread and he realizes he is naked, but the thought of going back to get some clothes is too much. He has to escape. There’s an alpha in his bed, a brute of a man that chased him down and-

   He doubles over as a wave of heat rolls around in his belly. “Derek,” he chokes out. He leans against the wall, the darkened hall growing even darker around the edges of his vision. His knees buckle and hit the floor. He’s about to topple further when warm, thick arms lift him up and his face is tucked against a solid, hairy chest. A full-body shiver rattles him at the smell of all that familiar musk. He looks up to the underside of Derek’s bearded chin and jaw – so far above him, out of reach…

   He is lowered onto the bed. The sheets smell rank. He tries to grab onto it to pull them off, but large hands fold around his waist and he is rolled onto his stomach. He tries to roll back but the mattress sag deeply as the alpha sets his knees on either side of him and he is weighed down by warm, hairy solidness.

   Safe. You’re safe.

   The though is so sudden and clear in his head Stiles gasps, followed at once by a throaty moan pulled from deep inside as his insides are pushed and stretched, Derek mounting him in one practised thrust.

   "I’ve got you- I’ve got you- you’re safe-” Derek chants with every roll of his hips, warm and broad and completely immovable above him.

oOo

“Derek. Derek.”

   Derek cracks an eye. Stiles has pushed himself off his chest, his palms just inside each nipple, his face shrouded in darkness but for the tiny glints of light off his nose and brow.

  “I think I’m done,” he whispers.

  Derek rubs a hand across his face. He leans forward and tilt Stiles head to the side with a breaded cheek, nose held to his throat. Stiles rides his torso on the inhale.

   “Not quite.”

   “No, really, I can feel it!”

   “It’s calmer, but not quite over yet.”

   “No! No, please,” he sags back against Derek’s chest.

   Derek rubs a broad hand down the knobbly line of vertebrae. “Maybe one more time, okay? Then we take it from there.”

   “No!” Stiles bangs a fist against his chest, breath moist in the deep cleft between his pectorals. “You- you just want to fuck me again.”

   “I’ve been fucking you for ten hours straight, baby,” Derek says, eyes closed again, dragging his hand back up to rest on his nape, “I’m just as tired as you are.”

   “No,” Stiles whimpers.

   “Shh, it’s okay,” Derek whispers against the side of his head, grip steady on his nape while his other hand seeks out his hole. His knuckles bump against his wakening erection and he wraps it up in his grip. He flinches a bit when his raw foreskin drags back over his swollen glans. “Lift your hips for me. Just one more time, I promise baby… yeah, just like that… almost… there we go.”

   Stiles mewls as he sinks down on Derek’s length, forehead at rest against his chest.

   Derek takes hold of Stiles’ hips and move him in slow, tight circles while he mouths at his hair. He speeds up, which earns him a whimper and fingers that pull on his chest hair. “Shhh,” he rubs his thumbs up and down Stiles’ belly.

   “Derek… Derek…” is all the warning he gets before Stiles clenches around him and he can feel the first small drops of wet heat splatter across his stomach.

   Stiles burrows deeper against him and Derek spreads a hand across his back, “Shh, I got you, shh,” as he drives up another few times through Stiles’ clenched walls, his knot tugging at his swollen rim.

   He comes on an exhale, hands tightening around Stiles’ waist, breathy, closed-mouth grunts that ruffle Stiles’ hair. He sags back against the cushions, fingers trailing over Stiles’ stretched rim, his other arm holding onto Stiles as the small body rides every deep rise and fall of his chest.

oOo

Derek watches Stiles come awake. He squints at the bright light flooding the bedroom.

   “Hey, sleepy head,” Derek smiles.

   Stiles yawns and stretch his arms above his head, “Ow,” and quickly drop them again. He blinks up at Derek. He shifts under the covers. “Is it…?”

   Derek nods. He runs his fingers through Stiles’ crow-nest. “Wanna go home?”

oOo

Three weeks later.

Derek shuts the fridge door a little harder than necessary. He waits for the contractor to squeeze past him before he turns to the half of the island not covered in plastic and tools and bits of wood. He rescues his toast before yet another contractor sets his toolbox down on top of it.

   “Stiles!” he calls, the constant screech of powertools only deepening the already impressive scowl splitting his forehead in two. He escapes the kitchen and, toast clamped between his teeth, slip his jacket on. With a grumble he stomps upstairs. “Stiles!” he bellows, a few of the contractors turning startled eyes to him.

   He’s not in their bedroom. “Babe! Where are you! I said five min-” he cuts off when he walks past the guestroom on their floor. Stiles stands by the window. “What're you doing? We need to go, babe,” he stops just outside the door.

   Stiles slowly turns around. He surveys the room; the brand-new furniture, freshly painted walls. “Ah,” he brings his hands out from behind his back, a small white stick clutched in his fingers. “We may have to think about redecorating this one.”

   Derek blinks.

   Stiles holds the little stick up. Waves it around with a half-hearted grin. "You know, smaller bed. A rocking chair, maybe."

   Derek blinks again. His gaze flit from Stiles’ face to the stick, and back up. “You’re…?”

   Stiles bites his lip and slowly nods.

   Derek’s mouth falls open. He sags against the doorframe. His lips turn up until his smile shows all his teeth, each and every one, brilliant and perfect.

   When he blinks again his eyes are wet.

The end.