Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*****

“Next week I might be out of town,” Derek says with a suspicious glint in his eye, having just appeared like magic beside Stiles in the cereal isle of the local IGA.

Stiles doesn’t believe him one bit.

“Uh huh,” he responds, dryly.  “Guess you’ll miss out, then,” Stiles sighs out with equally fake disappointment (because Derek’s fooling exactly no one).

Derek quirks a faux-affronted eyebrow at him, but the edges of his lips are twitching up a hair at the same time, Stiles sees.  He also sees the way Derek’s sniffing almost, allllmost unnoticeably and his pupils are blowing out a little wider as he does.

Stiles’ own breath catches when he realizes Derek can likely still smell himself on Stiles.  Or, more likely, in Stiles, only two days later.  Stiles is now very glad he’d worn his over-sized, over-long hoodie, because he’s more than a little pleased that someone (even the responsible party) can tell that Stiles totally got his ass owned.

“And what a shame that would be,” Stiles concludes lightly, turning back to the various flavors of Chex.  And it would be a shame, truly, because Stiles has no doubt they’d somehow manage to top this last experience with a little imagination.

Derek’s breath shudders in, holds, then shivers out when he too, turns to peruse the Chex.  “It really would be,” Derek agrees.  “Is your schedule really so full over the next few days you can’t pencil it in?  Or are you just frugal with your time?”  There’s a slight rasp to his voice that traces straight down Stiles’ spine to tickle his balls and he shivers, swallowing.

“Well, it is possible to have too much of a good thing, y’know,” Stiles murmurs.  “Denial makes both mind and libido grow stronger, I’ve learned.  I’d hate to lose out on the full experience because I got greedy.”

But Stiles, with all of Derek’s — well, Derek-ness right here next to him and openly turned on by the faint scent of his own spunk lingering on (in) Stiles, Stiles is tempted to be greedy. 

Very, very greedy.

Derek hums thoughtfully.  “Unless the aim is extended, pre-game practice time.  Winding up for the pitch, so to speak.”

That idea has merit, Stiles will admit.  And it’s nothing he hasn’t occasionally done before in preparation for his own full-size sessions.  A week of ruins capped with edging denial after?  Extra kink time with Derek would be just dialing it up a notch, right?  Stiles hums thoughtfully back.  

“Have some ideas in mind, I take it?” He asks shrewdly, finally settling on cinnamon Chex.  He sees Derek’s barely-hidden glee from the corner of his eye.

“A few,” Derek agrees.  “For single or double,” he adds, frowning at the pumpkin spice Chex with a look of distaste.  (Stiles doesn’t blame him, because the pumpkin spice craze that’s struck the nation is proof that it’s absolutely possible to have too much of a good thing.  Pumpkin cereal is just weird, if not downright wrong.)

Stiles wonders if just staring at cereal while he’s this horny is going to give him some weird, pre-conditioned response now, with the scent of Derek’s leather and musk in his nose and the scent of Derek himself apparently still on (in) Stiles.  It’s likely, he thinks.

Stiles hums acknowledgement because he’s sure his voice will likely tremble out any words and that’s just not cool when he’s trying to at least appear aloof to any casual observers.  They’re talking about bondage tease and denial in the cereal isle, after all.

“And a certain knowledge of at least one barely-used cabin on the edge of the preserve that no one is likely to stumble upon... or find an open and inviting-looking window in,” Derek continues, smirking slightly, but sounding almost innocent.  Stiles blinks, then gives Derek a narrow side-eye.

“Barely used?”  Stiles would rather not squat in someone’s vacation hideaway, especially not for something like this.

“Even I need genuine privacy,” Derek admits with a shrug and now Stiles feels weirdly honored by the invitation because Derek wouldn’t seek actual privacy some place he didn’t own.

Still, playtime so soon after this last round—

Only— a different kind of play, right?  This won’t throw off Stiles’ stride, surely?  Well, not in the wrong direction, at least.

“I might have tomorrow free.”

*****

Derek has clearly used this cabin before and the evidence of what he’s maybe intended it for lay with shackle-clips mounted firmly into the steel I-beams hidden in the foundation under the flooring (accessible via popping a few choice floor boards up and out) and in both walls and ceiling.  Whether this was a emergency safe space for a broody werewolf or an emergency prison— well.  This would certainly hold up for either scenario, Stiles thinks, blinking wide-eyed.  With the shackle mounts exposed, it looks like a super-cozy dungeon, actually.

“Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be needing this particular level of restraint,” Stiles says honestly, eying the clips in the ceiling, but doesn’t miss the way Derek’s ears pink up a little.  “But for you...” 

Derek shrugs a quick shoulder, eyes shifting away.  “I’d meant it as a just in case sort of place.  If any of the betas ever got poisoned, or—“

“I get it,” Stiles interrupts, nodding and recalling the restraints Derek had once used in the old subway station for the betas.  “It’s good, really.”

Stiles lets his own well-stocked backpack slip off his shoulder while he sates his curiosity, opening doors (closets and bathroom) and poking into the cupboards of the tiny kitchenette.  The entire cabin is only twice the size of Stiles’ whole bedroom and despite the necessity of the place, it’s comfortable and ready for use with a small sofa, footstool, ottoman and mattress with a soft-looking comforter and squashy pillows.  Spartan, but comfortable.

Stiles can easily guess that the locked trunk in the corner has just about anything Derek might need for restraint purposes, but quirks an inquiring eyebrow at Derek anyway, biting his inner cheek when Derek blushes.

“I tried some... self-experimenting, after I first had it built,” Derek says with an slightly hunched and embarrassed air, but also winces a little.  “But being an alpha— there’s a certain mindset to it that makes letting go that way... difficult.”

Stiles winces on Derek’s behalf now.  “Dude— that’s... yeah, I, uh... sympathize?  I’m guessing you’re overdue for your own mental reset by now, then?”  And now Stiles gets why he’s here, if Derek really has plans for double-fun.  This really is for Derek as much as for Stiles.  “I gotta know, though... do you trust me enough to help like this?  Or, play like this?  It’s kind of a big part of it, just— feeling safe enough?”

Derek looks surprised for a second before his eyes warm, his expression honest and open.  “You’ve never really given me reason not to trust you,” he says quietly.  Stiles goes warm at that and smiles back.

“So.  What’s first, then?”

*****

Stiles very firmly sets the dog jokes aside when he locks Derek in place on hands and knees with his legs spread and stuck shoulder width apart, and instead just appreciates how Derek’s entire posture goes from rigid to relaxed in synch with every locking shackle Stiles clicks into place.  

Stiles had very thoughtfully brought his own prostate-destroying vibrating plug only to find that Derek had one-upped him, buying a dual set of the same model with a single controller.  Once Stiles locks himself in, they’ll literally be suffering together, though Stiles opts to skip the cock tube of bristly doom since his dick is still hyper-sensitive from the other day (he’s been at least half-chub ever since and feels amazing).  But for today, they’ll only both lock in for a few hours, tops, since it’s only their first deliberately planned playtime.  

But Stiles doesn’t lock himself down just yet, since now he’s got all of Derek, naked and gorgeous and shaved bare almost everywhere and on display and weirdly passive (not to mention obviously and achingly turned on) right in front of him, giving Stiles an odd sort of expectant look when Stiles doesn’t immediately move to get himself into place.

“Sorry... just, appreciating the view,” Stiles murmurs, eyes tracing over Derek’s form, just to watch the subtle shifting of hard muscle under all that naturally-tanned skin.

“I can tell,” Derek smirks, but with heat in his voice and his ears tinging pink, even as he makes a deliberate show of sniffing Stiles out.  Stiles smirks back, but then bites his lip and reaches out to trace a finger slowly from Derek’s shoulder inward to his spine and down toward his tailbone while Derek just sighs, muscles going even more lax.

“Well, I’d be a fool not to, with you all trussed up like this,” Stiles adds, then retraces the route of his finger back up, but with a scraping fingernail added in and Derek shivers for him, which pleases Stiles to a stupid amount.  “Been way, way too long, hasn’t it?”

Derek drops his head a little with a slow nod, then shivers again when Stiles grips the back of Derek’s neck the way Derek had done for him, muscles going completely loose and Stiles warms, somehow, all the way through.  For Derek, this is a huge show of trust and one that Stiles had never assumed that he himself would ever earn because Derek mostly seems frustrated around Stiles, if not blatantly annoyed.  It seems possible now that Derek’s mostly just been deprived of the right kind of release, which would make anyone cranky.

Stiles knee-walks downward, still in his jeans, keeping that same hand on Derek, sliding down his back to his side, past the thick leather belt and chain combo keeping his waist in place, and then just rests it on Derek’s phenomenal ass.  Stiles bites his lip again when he sees that Derek’s already lubed, his furl just a little shiny.  “Got started without me?” Stiles asks, finger tracing boldly around it, not quite touching the rim.

Derek whines softly at the sensation.  “Just being proactive,” he grits out, shifting his hips back as much as he can and Stiles lifts his fingers away until Derek stills, then resumes his teasing touch, his other hand tracing down further to run a scratchy nail just behind Derek’s sac and Derek keens, shifting back again only to actually whimper when Stiles lifts his hands away.

“Be still, Derek,” he instructs quietly, feeling almost benevolent when he’s sure he should probably be a hair away from coming, completely untouched, in his own jeans.  But Derek’s simple responses seem to have triggered something odd in Stiles, like he has to give Derek the full Monty because of how obviously Derek needs it.  He licks his lips, his own breath shivering out when Derek immediately stills again, head bowing down.

Stiles shakes his mind loose of it’s own greedy thoughts because Derek’s pretty much stuck here, powerless, until Stiles releases him since he hasn’t yet set the keys or the ice-release.  Stiles has to be the responsible one, for now.  “Tell me what you want, Derek.  Because I need to know how far I should take this before you’re maybe too far gone to tell me yourself.”  Derek sucks in a breath, then peers over his shoulder, eyes wide and a maybe... hopeful?

“Aren’t you—“

“I can, yeah.  And I do want to, but I’m getting a fair share of tease and denial just being here.  I can work you up a bit before I join in, unless you’d rather—“

“No!” Derek interrupts, then nods.  “You can— fuck.  Touch all you want, anywhere, really.  Just don’t let me...” Derek’s words trail off when Stiles rests a hand back on his ass.

“Well, you seemed to like the fingernails,” Stiles comments, and digs those nails into Derek’s ass cheek, increasing the pressure until Derek shivers again, then drags his nails down and inward.  Derek whines, trembling with the effort not to press into the sensation.  “What else do you like, Derek?”

Derek trembles a little more, head shaking a bit before he grits out “Pain.  Not a lot, but—“ his voice chokes off then Stiles presses his thumbnail hard behind Derek’s balls and just rocks it into that muscle slowly from side to side until Derek’s practically gasping at the sensation.  “Fuck, yeah,” Derek choke-sighs out, nodding rapidly.  “Like that.”

Now Stiles has to readjust himself in his jeans, just from watching Derek’s expression go rapturous and hazy, but keeps driving that nail in while he rests his other thumb over Derek’s hole, rubbing slow hard circles around the edge, increasing the pressure little by little until Derek’s breathing gets a little too fast and Stiles eases off, flicking his finger hard against the pucker and Derek jolts with a whine, pressing back again, then whines harder when Stiles pulls his hands away in retaliation.

“Be.  Still,” Stiles reminds him quietly and Derek’s shoulders hitch a little, head dropping down even further as he nods.  Stiles sucks in a shaky breath at how something so simple could bring an alpha to heel.  (Not that Stiles plans on commenting on it, because Derek’s already in a fuzzy headspace and it’s not like they’d negotiated for any kind of emotional play, like verbal humiliation.  Stiles knows he’d be into the receiving end of it, but Derek?  Stiles isn’t certain.)  “That’s better,” he says approvingly when Derek’s muscles go limp again.  “I’ll get you there if you’ll let me... just relax.  Let me take care of you, okay?”  Derek nods again with a peaceful-sounding sigh.  “Okay.”

Stiles drives his thumbnail back into that muscles and encircles Derek’s nearly-bare sac with his other hand, squeezing and tugging experimentally but Derek doesn’t seem to get much from ball play so Stiles reaches under further to trace a finger up Derek’s swollen, neglected, sizable cock and Derek shivers again, head nodding a bit as he sighs and Stiles repeats the motion a half dozen more times.  Then Derek jolts again when Stiles’ next pass has a nail scraping up Derek’s dick and Derek keens, trembling and dropping down to his elbows, his ass still high on display, unconsciously (or maybe it is consciously) presenting himself and Stiles swallows, shifting his own knees in an attempt to get his own dick to readjust itself so he can keep both hands on Derek and see how many different sounds he can pull out of him.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, Derek,” Stiles huffs out shakily, then returns to Derek’s hole, pressing two blunt fingers against the oily shine of it, his other hand still digging a thumbnail into Derek’s perineum.  “You loose enough?” He asks quietly and Derek shudders out a breath, nodding again.  “Then push back.  You do the work.” 

Derek does just that with a nearly-silent whine, a steady pressure just there until Stiles’ fingers slip in to just past his fingernails.  Derek groans, open-mouthed and presses a little further, driving himself onto Stiles’ long digits.  “Keep going,” Stiles whispers, thumbnail digging in a little further, the motion a little faster and Derek’s breaths turn to little gasps until Stiles is knuckle deep and Derek’s straining against the chain at his waist and almost whimpering.

Stiles pauses, unmoving until Derek’s breath steadies, then resumes his scraping massage, fingers crooking in Derek’s ass, searching for the sweet spot and bites his own lip hard enough to bruise when Derek near-sobs out Stiles’ success and shudders hard from head to toe.  Stiles gentles his motions again, then speeds up little by little until Derek’s ass clenches hard and tight around his fingers and Stiles pauses again, pulling free oh-so slowly which has Derek whining a final time.

“Now the plug, I think,” Stiles says shakily, but bites his already aching lip.  “And cock rings for both of us.  But first— can I... Fuck, I’ve got no illusions of tapping all this without seriously blowing my load, but can I— just a little?  Get you a little wet in there?”  Derek nods frantically this time with a choked-out noise and Stiles yanks his jeans open, and having gone kinky commando, his dick practically jumps out like it knows something good is waiting there.

He’s already plenty slick at the tip and just the visual of him dripping wet so close to that slippery pucker has him pinching himself at the base of his dick as he knee-shuffles forward while Derek peers wide-eyed over his shoulder, watching.  Stiles knows if he goes in, his current level of restraint will just plow him to the root (and maybe never come out), so he just strokes up his cock to get an extra drop and then pries that furl open an inch and lets that dollop just drip into Derek.  

Derek groans, ass clenching closed like it’s trying to drink that tiny bit in and Stiles finally stands to strip his jeans off entirely and sets the keys and ice and finally works cock rings onto them both before he carefully nudges one of the plugs into Derek.  “I was thinking of, like, me under you with my ankles around your back?”

Derek nods, looking woozy and spaced out and Stiles is a little proud that he’d made that happen, wriggling his way under Derek before nudging his own plug in with a shaky groan while Derek breathes hot and heavy into his neck.  It takes some maneuvering for Stiles to get his leather-cuffed ankles up behind Derek’s back and secured with an easy carabiner clip (it’s not like either of them can undo it before Stiles’ hands get freed anyway), then finally sets the controls to the same near-torturous settings Stiles had on the other day before cuffing himself by his wrists to the same flooring-inset I-beam that Derek’s wrists are both chained to, just over Stiles’ head.  

On the final click of metal locking in, Derek swoops down to kiss Stiles hard and wet, almost chewing his way in and Stiles just takes it with a groan.  It gentles little by little until Derek’s nosing at Stiles’ cheek in a weirdly affectionate way that to Stiles feels more cat-like than a wolf-like.  

Then he doesn’t think anything at all, too busy bucking his hips up when the plugs switch on, a continuous vibration at the strongest setting that has Derek hissing in a breath and grinding right back down against Stiles as best he can, already desperate for some kind of relief.  They’re both sweating and gasping unsteadily after it switches abruptly off and the look of awed relief on Derek’s face has Stiles softly smiling up at him.

“Nice, huh?”

Derek just blinks at him for a second, dazed, before burying his face into Stiles’s neck again and nodding while he calms down.  He doesn’t get much of a reprieve before the next cycle flicks on, a series of slow buzzing rolls, stimulating but gentle, up and down the length of the plug that has Stiles’ hips rolling a little too and Derek sighing and biting little nips into Stiles’ neck and shoulder.

“Fuck yeah,” Stiles sighs, stretching his neck to give Derek more room.  “Could do this all day.”

Derek huffs, but he’s pressing a smile onto the spot he’d just nipped a mark onto.  “Think so, huh?” 

Stiles grins at the challenging tone.

“Bet I could, yeah.  You?” Stiles asks with a final roll of his hips.  The vibes die out and Derek sweeps in for another kiss before pulling up enough to smirk down at Stiles.

“You bet, huh?  Care to wager on it?”

Stiles smirks right back, amused.  “Is there a point?  Win or lose, whatever prize gained or lost would hardly equal up to a full day’s worth of teasing playtime.”

Derek tilts his head, thinking.  “What if the reward is a new toy?”

“Depends on the toy.”  Stiles can think of a few Bad Dragon toys he’d definitely consider prize-worthy.  He’s even got one on order that makes writing and selling a dozen term papers in the space of a single week more than worth the lost sleep.  It inflates.  And squirts.  And Stiles is betting he can find a way to make it vibrate, too.

Derek smirks again, like maybe he’d somehow just heard Stiles’ thoughts.  

The next almost brutal cycle starts and continues for so long that Stiles is thrashing by the time it dies down, tears on his flushed and sweaty cheeks as he blinks up into Derek’s alpha-red eyes smoldering down at him.

“You look—“ Derek growls out, visibly fighting off shifting any further, then swallows hard.  “Really amazing when you cry,” Derek finishes quietly, ducking down to flick his tongue up Stiles’ cheek. “With tears on your cheeks.” 

Stiles flushes a little more, shrugging awkwardly.  “Sometimes it’s— overwhelming,” he mutters, biting his lip, embarrassed.  “Different kind of release.”

“I know,” Derek rumbles.  “But I still like it.”

“Well, stick around and you’ll undoubtably see more of it,” Stiles huffs, flexing his legs a bit so his joints stay loose.  

Derek doesn’t respond beyond another red-eyed smirk, then goes abruptly (so fucking hot) full-beta shift when the next cycle hits; another long, almost violent vibration that has Stiles gasping wildly, then crying out when his body demands the release he can’t give it even if he wanted to and he sobs, almost convulsing for a second with Derek growling above him, his own hips rocking uselessly until he’s also keening and jerking in his bonds, then half-collapses onto Stiles, twitching until the damned plug finally switches off.

Stiles clings almost desperately to Derek with his legs, since it’s the most contact he can initiate to ground him and keep his own mind from flying apart.  Derek must feel the same because he drops down as much as he’s able and just burrows his furred face into Stiles’ throat again, inhaling greedily and trembling until Stiles turns his face, nudging at Derek’s fuzzy ear and scruffy jaw until he lifts enough for Stiles to kiss his mouth, which is weird and hot with the extra, extra sharp teeth but it helps.  It maybe helps Derek too because he only puffs out a soft sound when the next cycle starts, something almost as gentle as the last one was brutal that leaves them both rocking together, soothing each other through it.  Once Stiles’ vision clears, he sees the keys are significantly lower.  Maybe another hour until he can reach them?

For Stiles, it’s an hour well-spent because it gives him time to memorize all of Derek’s blissed-out and tormented features (in both half-furry and human form) and they’re both pretty wound-up and desperate by the time Stiles’ shaky fingers fit the key into his cuffs and a little metallic click has him breathing easier even while he mourns the end of playtime.

Derek has an expression that says he’s maybe feeling the same thing, which seems odd, considering how blatantly aroused they both are, so Stiles doesn’t actually undo Derek’s bonds once he gets his own ankles unclipped, just pulls Derek in for a heated kiss, arcs his hips up and grips their collective cocks in a tight fist when the next cycle starts in, leaving Derek whining and shaking in his arms, burrowing into Stiles’ throat like it’s his link to sanity.

“Jesus.  Really trying for all day?” Derek rasps out when the cycle completes.

“Well... may as well, right?” Stiles rasps back just as shakily.  “Four hours down... I could go another 8, probably.”  Which Stiles maaaaay be able to, yeah.  After an hour-long jerk-off session that he’s not letting himself have because despite being so aroused every muscle in his body is twitching, he feels fucking amazing.

Besides, they’re seriously already a third the way through the day and Stiles is now only two hours shy of hitting his own personal record.  “Don’t think you can do it, huh?”  Stiles muses, carefully smirk-less, on the outside.  

Derek can hear it just fine anyway, it seems, because his eyes narrow to red slits and he rolls his hips down hard in a way that has Stiles gasping again, but refuses to back down from, instead grabbing a thick handful of Derek’s cock, giving it a few borderline gentle strokes... until the next vibe cycle hits.  Derek keens, face like both rapture and agony when Stiles adds fingernails while gripping as tight as he dares, stroking hard and dry and scratchy in time to the pulsing vibes until Derek goes almost stupidly passive above him, like somehow those forty-five seconds are the one thing he’d been starving for and just not known it.  Derek’s face, peaceful and mellow and silently joyful might be the most gorgeous thing Stiles has ever seen.  Stiles tugs him down for an equally joyful kiss.

“So... we really all done here?” Stiles asks, rubbing his nose against Derek’s.  Derek slowly shakes his head, but now has the seriously drifty look of someone not entirely mentally present and able to consent, so Stiles just waits it out while Derek nuzzles at him, then tickles Derek’s ribs ruthlessly through the next (thankfully short) cycle of rolling, heavy vibes that has Derek snarling at him grumpily.  Stiles gives him a quick stroke of apology after, followed by a quicker kiss.  “So again... we really all done here?” Stiles asks again, but gently and seriously while he still has breath to.

Derek raises back up to his elbows to give Stiles a rueful sort of look.  “No,” he says aloud, then winces.  “But new position, yes, because my knees are killing me.”

*****

Somehow, Stiles gets Derek unhooked without having to abandon his plug, though mostly through some fancy yoga-like moves and pausing halfway down to Derek’s ankles to blow him through the next cycle of vibes well enough to leave them both with a taste for more.  Instead, Stiles more or less clings to Derek like a koala while they hit up the kitchenette for some Gatorade before shuffling over to the bed with fresh release ice and extra restraints.

It takes three vibe cycles to get the dangling ice release set and them both repositioned and locked in, this time both flat on their sides, bound legs pretzeled together with an arm a piece shackled above their heads to the wall and an arm a piece at a more convenient waist height where they could up the teasing ante as needed.  And Stiles very much needs to see that look of euphoria on Derek’s face again.  Derek, once down from the endorphin high seems to need to see tears on Stiles’ cheeks again just as much.

“Out of curiosity,” Stiles asks a few hours later, voice still raw from his last extended hyper-edge, “What is the refractory period for a werewolf?”

Derek seems a little too preoccupied with tracing a claw tip round and round Stiles’ right nipple to answer until Stiles repeats the question.  Derek blinks heavy-lidded eyes at him before smirking.  “Depends on the werewolf.”

“Yeah?” Stiles thought it might be.  “So what’s yours, then?”

“Anywhere from three to ten minutes.”

Stiles gapes at him, then swallows hard.  “Seriously?”  Derek flashes his eyes alpha red, like he’s making a point and Stiles wants to believe him based solely on the enticing concept of getting freshly fucked for a full day with only the most minor of breaks.  “Huh.”  

Derek’s smirking again and now Stiles couldn’t care less because the next cycle kicks on with that fantasy in his head and it’s another brutal one that has them both sweating and swearing and Derek shifting to beta form and Stiles sobbing and manically scrabbling for his own dick to get the damned cock ring off— that Derek deprives him of, rolling them just enough to pin Stiles’ hand as far from his cock as the cuffs will allow which has Stiles sobbing harder, breath nearly gone and Derek, the sadist, just watching with a hungry look, like seeing Stiles this far gone is a fucking gift.

“Trying to lose this bet?” Derek growls out when the cycle finally ends.  “Not a fucking chance,” he says darkly, nudging his thigh up to rub almost kindly against Stiles aching balls and Stiles bites his lip on another sob, trembling and feeling more than a little broken.  Even emotionally.  Maybe especially emotionally.  “We’re both going to win this round,” Derek murmurs, rubbing his furred cheek against Stiles’ wet one, soaking up those hard-earned tears.  “And when we do, I’ll fuck you and fill you and fuck you and fill you over and over until you’re overflowing with it.  Bloating fat with my cum,” he murmurs in a growl that’s almost breathless with anticipation.  “And if you’ve earned it, I’ll have you come on my cock  over and over until you run dry and beg for me to stop.”  Stiles groans through a fresh wave of tears, but nods frantically because that— fuck.  Yeah, that’s something he needs.  “But,” Derek adds, “if you haven’t earned it, I’ll ruin your orgasms five times a day for a week straight.  Put you in a cock cage in between until I think you’ve learned what patience really is.”  Stiles nods even harder because—

“Please,” Stiles mewls, almost desperately.  “Derek—“

“Then behave,” Derek gasps as a new set of rolling vibes interspersed with heavy thudding ones kicks in.  “Because I really want to see you fat and full with my cum.”

Stiles maybe never stops nodding but now he’s got a much better goal to focus on to keep himself in check.  He’d be hard pressed to choose which option sounds more enticing, reward or punishment, but sort of hopes there’s enough time left before he leaves for college again to maybe get both.  “Me too,” Stiles sighs once the vibes peter out, then gives Derek’s cock a few lazy and faintly scratchy strokes as a reward for both his restraint and his evident future plans.

*****

When the keys release this time, Stiles makes no move to undo them, spaced out and flying the high of overstimulation.  Derek seems to get it though and in no time has them rocking together in the kitchen through another wave, the cherry Gatorade they’d been sharing nearly spilling before Derek grabs up more ice and shuffles them back to the bed, resetting the keys and pretzeling them together again, looking somewhat indecisive but finally takes up the vibe control with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Last round... I think we can handle a little more,” he says, finger on the timer switch.  Stiles gulps, chews his lip for a second, then nods hesitantly.    Hesitant, because he’d tested his own plug when he’d first gotten it and knows exactly how strong the vibes can get.  Prostate-wrecking, sanity-destroying levels of strong.

But Stiles lets Derek reset the random break times lower, then the cycle duration time and intensity both higher, biting his own lip nervously when he locks them both in, now with both sets of arms stretched above their heads to the wall and ankles hooked firmly at the foot of the bed, their aching cocks sliding together helplessly when the first new wave kicks on, hard little drums pounding away at their prostates until they’re both lost to it because it just keeps going.  And going.  And going.  Even Derek’s cheeks are wet and flushed by the time it ends but he’s relatively calm compared to Stiles, who’s twitching uncontrollably and weeping with sensation overload.

“Fuck,” Derek grits out, but he’s back to looking like a goddamn lotto winner and a sobbing, orgasm-deprived college student is his ultimate fantasy prize and he takes up peppering Stiles cheeks and eyelids with little kisses interspersed with bits of praise and admiration.  “So amazing, how it just opens you, breaks you apart and remakes you.  So fucking gorgeous.”

Something in Stiles’ spaced-out brain melts a little at how honest he sounds.

The next cycle has Derek, too, whining high and helpless and grinding against Stiles a little frantically, even while it switches off a mere (cruel and teasing) twenty seconds later.

“If I die of a heart attack or a stroke today... I’m coming back to haunt your ass so hard,” Stiles warns through chattering teeth.  “Ruin every orgasm you have for fucking life.”  If anyone can figure a way to do it, it’ll be him, Stiles is sure.  Even now, he’s feeling very motivated to do just that.

“Fair enough,” Derek groans back breathlessly.

After the first hour, Derek begins to kiss Stiles, deep and dirty, through every wave to keep him calm(ish) and by the third hour, even Stiles’ ability to speak beyond ‘Derek’ and ‘please’ has been lost to the never-ending edge.

By the time the keys drop, Stiles isn’t certain he’s still in the same cosmos as he was before until Derek’s got a tight grip in Stiles’ hair with one clawed hand and his other hand shoving Stiles’ thighs wide.  Stiles chokes on air when the plug is dragged roughly free and replaced with a violent thrust of cock that’s just this side of too much and exactly what he wants.

Stiles can only gurgle out a groan when Derek rams in, buried deep and tight and he’s snarling, the human fully given way to the wolf who’s frustration is mounting at the continued lack of relief and Stiles’ vision clears a little when he’s flipped, ass dragged up and shoulders pinned bruisingly down but just lets Derek take his prize and bowing his back low in blatant, slutty invitation.  Derek growls with satisfaction, and fucks himself through one climax and then just keeps going, growl unceasing and teeth snapping as he comes again.  Stiles whines with the little breath that Derek hasn’t yet squeezed out of him, fingers scrabbling weakly at the sheets.

*****

Story continues next chapter, but this is also the break for the next, much much kinkier continuation. (Coming soon)

Chapter Text

Stiles whimper-keens under him, trembling and shivering and he hardly notices when Derek plows through yet another climax, but Stiles finds just enough energy and mental clarity to clamp down his ass as hard as he can onto Derek’s dick to practically milk Derek’s next snarling orgasm right out of him in retaliation, if only to prove that Stiles is still participating.

Not that that slows Derek down, really, so much as drives a grunting, pleasure-pained shout out of Stiles when Derek stops holding back entirely and just brutalizes Stiles into submission with a jackhammering, supernaturally-fast series of thrusts that has Stiles wheeze-sobbing pleas and apologies right up until Stiles is quaking and nearly mindless again and back to ‘Derek’ and ‘please please please’ as his only form of communication.

Derek’s maybe not hearing him, or hearing him and gleefully, sadistically ignoring him, but his hips eventually slow again, replaced by a low bass growling that Stiles can’t help but feel as well as hear when Derek’s (thankfully human) teeth begin a bruising series of nips over Stiles’ shoulders, every one like a claim, painful and possessive that have Stiles’ breath hitching and hips twitching up and back, offering and demanding and it all feels so amazingly right that Stiles is half sure this is how he’ll die, well on the way to pure nirvana because nothing, ever, has felt this perfect, caught on the teetering edge and riding it harder than he’s ever done.

He’s honestly praying this will never end.  Not that he wants to, but he could absolutely die happy, just like this.

Stiles’ insides feel just as bruised as his outsides will surely be and dirty-hot-wet and Derek might actually be, in a single session, trying to fulfill his promise to get Stiles full and fat with cum and that thought alone has Stiles moaning, clawing at the sheets for purchase and fisting them tighter and tighter when he feels another thick-hot pulse deep in.

And deep doesn’t seem to cover it because even through the exquisite ache, Stiles could swear Derek’s even longer, thicker, than he was an hour ago and every new bruise that blooms up on Stiles’ skin seems to just increase it.  And even with this, Derek either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he’s slowly shifting the angle to get deeper still, like he’s determined to find fucking China in the depths of Stiles’ ass, grind-punching down in until Stiles suspects—

He wretches a hand free of the sheets and drags it shakily under him, pausing only when Derek gets a near-mouthful of muscle between too-sharp teeth and growls out an almost feral warning low and hard enough to rattle Stiles’ bones.

“Wanna—“ Stiles whimpers through trembling lips, need warring with a touch of real fear at the kind of damage Derek’s (right now, very likely) capable of inflicting.  “Wanna feel— just wanna feel it,” he grates out and Derek’s teeth relax in increments when Stiles slides his hand lower over his own sweat-slick chest, body jolting under the continued assault until it rests on his abs and— 

“Holy fuck,” Stiles heaves out because Derek’s there, deep enough in to have Stiles’ belly punching out with every thrust, starting low and grinding upward hard enough to make the skin and muscle undulate under his palm and Stiles is almost, alllllmost too surprised to even think of Alien and parasites bursting free but even that thought is blown out of the stratosphere when Derek’s clawed hand slinks under to join his, weaving through Stiles’ fingers and lets out an appreciative, gratified purring-growl at the sensation.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles wheezes, then ceases breath entirely when Derek forces their combined hands inward and— “FUCK,” Stiles shout-sobs because the added pressure just cranked every nerve ending Stiles has in his body up ten-fold, and he’d swear on everything holy that his prostate is now absolutely everywhere.

It’s too much, too big, too tight, just right, and he’s silently screaming while his body convulses, clamping down and while the damned cock ring’s still on, he maybe can’t come but he damn-well orgasms in every other way, starting somewhere beneath the skin under his palm and explodes outward, a body-chemical shock and awe that just. Doesn’t. Stop. 

Derek’s body curls down and winds itself around Stiles, hips still throttling-rolling, clamps tight around him and Stiles is sure he’s roaring as loud as Derek is now, vicious and primal and Stiles knows the next bite at the junction of neck and shoulder draws blood, feels it slip and spill down his chest and Derek’s still, still, working himself deeper, thicker, pulsing and growing harder, rounder, at the base—

Oh. 

Oh. 

Shit.

Stiles whines, part in genuine fear and part in base, primal need that has him sliding his knees wider still and keening out noises that are all canine that Stiles knows he shouldn’t be capable of with a purely human throat, he doesn’t think, but can’t seem to help while Derek’s too-sharp teeth are still clamped into his skin (where they’re meant to be, Stiles’ chemical-soggy brain insists), growling low and surprised and sounding just as needy-desperate as Stiles feels.

Stiles grips Derek’s clawed fingers tight where they’re still entwined and clinging beneath Stiles and presses them deeper while he tilts his head (or maybe his head tilts itself), bearing all of his long, vulnerable throat and (plea-demand-beg) rasps out the one thing he hasn’t uttered in months. 

“Alpha.”

Derek freezes for a half second, breath and body stilling, like he’s waiting for reality to right itself or the universe to catch up or a historian to maybe pop in from nowhere at all and mark this very day in the books because they both know that Stiles has never, ever said it before and meant it as much as he does right now, the way they can both feel the word, now spoken, is more than a mere title. 

Derek shivers with something that feels like relief and maybe gratitude and something else that Stiles can’t really grasp without seeing Derek’s expression before Derek whines and jolts, the knot grows twice it’s size in seconds and locking firm and keeping every impossibly huge inch deep and suddenly pulsing inside, the flood of sticky heat spraying hard enough that Stiles swears he can feel it under his hand and leaves him gasping open-mouthed, head dropping down to the remains of the shredded pillow (and when had that happened?) hips twitching in time to Derek’s circular, grinding micro-thrusts and Stiles groans again when Derek finally releases Stiles’ shoulder, though it doesn’t hurt, oddly enough.

Stiles feels floaty all over but weirdly anchored by Derek’s knot, keeping him still and centered, pinned but protected and shiver-sighs when Derek begins nipping new marks over his skin, every pinch of teeth like a new and essential brand of ownership because Stiles is pretty sure that’s what just happened.  His endorphin-soaked brain just werewolf-married him to a kinky, grumpy, hot-like-burning Alpha.

Derek’s weight is more than enough to keep Stiles pinned right where he’s at, no doubt, and Derek’s human brain seems to be finally re-awakening enough to start muddling through the events of the last however-many-hours to catch on one point Stiles has, somehow, mostly forgotten about; Derek drags their still-clasped hands down and down until Derek’s fingers brush over the length of Stiles’ furiously-hard cock, startling a loud and plaintive whine out of him when Derek begins to roll the silicone ring upward and off and Stiles’ breath hitches hard, knowing how close to being over this is, but settles when Derek just rumbles out a soothing growl and untangles their hands to clamp his own tight around Stiles’ balls.  Stiles sighs out with relief, then whimpers when Derek grips it almost too-tight.

“Mine,” Derek declares, and it’s all wolf and all demand and all truth and Stiles nods against the mattress, almost eagerly. 

“Yours,” he rasps out, then lets himself go fully lax, resting and making appreciative little noises at how amazingly full he feels and wonders a little dreamily if this is how it’d feel to get knocked up.  If it is, he seriously has to wonder why there aren’t more surrogate bio-mothers in the world because it feels fucking amazing if the heavy weight of just Derek’s newly-ginormous dick is anything like the weight of a tiny person growing within would feel.  He seriously can’t imagine anyone deliberately passing up the chance to feel this... this something.  Not just full but filled.  Bred.  

“You’re br’ding me,” he slurs out woozily and Derek’s arms tighten around him, hips jerking inward while he grumbles agreement, digging his teeth into a new spot just over Stiles’ spine and gives Stiles’ balls another possessive, authoritative squeeze. 

“Mine,” Derek growls out again, low and soft and maybe a little wonderingly and Stiles feels something (not Derek) deep inside his mind and chest that echoes the sentiment.

There’s no doubt going to be a long and maybe awkward conversation ahead about what, exactly, all this means, but Stiles... doesn’t mind. 

At all, actually. 

Even if he probably should.  In fact, he knows he should.  Like, he’s feeling oddly concerned about how not concerned he actually feels.  Somehow.  But while his stomach bulges little by little, thick and heavy under him, even that concern drifts away. 

Maybe, he thinks, drifting into a mellow, contented half-doze, he’ll feel differently when he’s not stuffed with alpha cock, but... 

Well.  He kinda doubts it.  In fact, he’s pretty sure this is all meant to happen again, same time next week.