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"Huh. I’m the first one here today,” Stiles commented as he parked his Jeep next to Derek’s sleek black car. He hadn’t been the first to a pack meeting in a while.
Usually, at least Erica—the head omega of the pack—was already there, staring at Derek with stars in her eyes and making Stiles want to throw up.
Though that was before she and Boyd got together. After the man popped his first knot.
Behind Derek, Boyd was the second alpha Stiles enjoyed ogling in the pack. Especially back when he thought they were both betas.
The second-in-command was Scott, who usually arrived next. A beta through and through—just like Stiles. They’d both been tested as kids, for different reasons, and accepted their (to some, boring) fates long ago.
Stiles didn’t mind being a beta most of the time. He’d always had Scott by his side to vent about unobtainable omega crushes. A certain Lydia Martin—omega perfection and sin incarnate, a prime example.
Then she’d been officially claimed by Alpha Jackson during the whole lizard mumbo-jumbo, and Stiles’ attention had officially landed on Derek Hale.
Okay, he was lying. He’d noticed Derek Hale’s perfect face and strong alpha musk—if a beta can smell it, you know it’s potent!—from day one in the woods. But Stiles hadn’t really accepted being into dudes at that time, okay?
His thoughts were really getting off-point here, anyway. But then, so-pretty-she-could’ve-passed-for-an-omega Allison arrived in town. And the two betas—Scott and Allison—became star-struck lovers from day one.
Then came Isaac, the single omega. Stiles was just been waiting for him to get together with Derek. It seemed inevitable. Derek was an alpha. Isaac, an omega. They’d bond, and Stiles would be left as the only single member of the pack.
Which would suck. But what could he do? Unlike Scott, he wasn’t a werewolf. Didn’t have a perfect werewolf body. Wasn’t good at lacrosse.
He was just pure, ADHD, lanky, never-knew-when-to-shut-up human Stiles. Who would want that?
Stiles sighed and shook his head hard, trying to dislodge the thoughts, as he used his key to let himself into the redone Hale house.
Derek didn’t usually lock it. Or maybe he did, but the others just left it unlocked for Stiles, even though he also had a key.
Hard to say.
His nose flared as he crossed the threshold, breathing in the overwhelming scent of alpha. It was potent today—Derek must’ve been working out downstairs recently. Alpha musk was everywhere.
He had a nagging feeling he was forgetting something. Something important.
Stiles rummaged through his laptop bag as he made his way into the living room, double-checking that he’d brought everything.
Laptop? Check.
ADHD meds? Check.
Cellphone? Check.
Notebook? Check.
He dumped the contents onto the coffee table and took count again, brow furrowed.
Everything was here, so what was he missing?
Then–
A deep, animalistic growl.
Stiles froze. His eyes snapped up and met piercing red embers that immediately had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
Oh fuck.
It clicked—hard and fast—what he’d forgotten. The meeting had been postponed due to their leader’s annual rut cycle.
Stiles barely had time to draw in a breath before Derek lunged. He yelped, scrambling out of his seat just seconds before Derek’s claws sank into the leather.
“Oh my god,” he whimpered, cursing his own idiocy for entering an alpha’s territory during rut. He was dead. Deader than dead. A corpse rotting in his own stupidity.
He scurried across the floor on hands and knees, heading for the kitchen. He’d barely crossed the threshold before he heard—and felt—Derek’s feral snarl behind him.
Stiles flipped the kitchen table, the wood crashing as it clattered across the tiles, trying to slow Derek down. The alpha was right on his heels.
Stiles managed to scramble around the island. If he could just make it through the kitchen back to the front door—or hell, even the backyard—
He skidded to a halt with a yelp. Derek was already there, blocking his escape.
“Derek,” Stiles breathed, hands up as he backed away slowly while Derek advanced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your territory,” he whispered, trying to keep the kitchen island between them. “Please let me go.”
Derek bared his fangs with a growl and leapt over the island like it was nothing.
Stiles spun on his heel, trying to bolt—but strong arms wrapped around his waist, yanking him back against a burning-hot, naked chest.
“No, no, no,” he whimpered, squirming uselessly. This was it. This was the end—
A warm, wet tongue slid over the back of his neck. Then lips closed around his skin and sucked.
Stiles froze, brain short-circuiting.
What?
Derek rumbled, grinding his hips forward, his thick bulge rubbing against Stiles’ jean-clad ass.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Derek didn’t want to kill him like an intruding alpha.
He wanted to mount him like he was an omega.
Stiles’ body trembled. He honestly wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
“Derek, buddy, I’m not—” he began, voice shaky.
Then he squeaked as Derek bent him over the island. The sound of fabric tearing filled the room as claws shredded his clothes like paper.
Cool air rushed over his skin—and then came the heat.
Overheated naked flesh pressed flush to his own, and Stiles gasped—loud and sharp—as Derek’s erection slid against his crack.
Hot. Wet. Leaking.
Smearing fluid against his bare skin.
Stiles choked, brain blue-screening as Derek thrust against him—humping him like an animal. Smearing copious amounts of pre come between his cheeks, making Stiles feel momentary sympathy for omegas everywhere who dealt with swamp ass like this on the daily.
His breath hitched, fingers flexing on the kitchen countertop as Derek growled and grunted in his ear. His hips were moving like he was searching—
Stiles stiffened when one thrust had Derek tip catching on his unprepared entrance.
“Derek,” he gasped, trying to stand up, but a firm hand pressed to the back of his neck shoved him back down. “Derek, no, plea—”
His words cut off with a sharp yelp as Derek cock slid home with a snarl. Stiles’ eyes squeezed shut, bracing for pain—but none came. Just a deep, overwhelming fullness that had him gasping for breath.
Derek had to be taking the pain himself—there was no other explanation.
The alpha growled above him, hips slapping against his skin as he mounted him fully, cock twitching inside the beta. A wave of shame curled through Stiles… at how good it felt.
This was wrong, Derek was in rut.
“Derek,” he mewled, arching his back, eyes fluttering open as he pushed back to meet each thrust. “Oh my god—”
He pressed his forehead against the cold kitchen countertop, his body jerking with each hard snap of Derek’s hips, each one wetter then the last.
He’d never been this full. He’d tried a toy once—out of curiosity—but it hadn’t felt anything like this.
“Uh,” he whimpered, clinging to the counter edge, helpless as Derek grunted and growled behind him. “Uh, uh, uh—”
Derek’s pre come leaked out of him, down his thighs, hot and sticky, and he spread them wider for the alpha, unabashed.
“Yes,” he gasped, rising onto the balls of his feet, the air thick with lewd, wet slaps of skin-on-skin.
Derek was going to kill him—either with his cock or his claws when this was over. When he realized who he'd been fucking through his rut.
Stiles moaned, the sound pathetic and wanton as heat coiled tight in his belly.
He was close. So, so close.
His lips trembled, teeth sinking in to bite them as he was fucked harder.
“Alpha, fuck—” he hiccuped, eyes watering from the intensity. “Derek, please, please—” he babbled, words tumbling as he reached the edge.
Derek snarled, nails digging into his hips as he drove in faster, harder, deeper.
“Oh, fuck—” Stiles cried out, and then he was gone, coming with a broken shout, all over the side of the countertop.
Derek didn’t stop—just kept fucking him as Stiles trembled through the aftershocks.
“Mercy,” he whined, blunt nails digging into the ceramic tiles. “Derek…”
His cries went unheard, the alpha chasing his own release mercilessly while Stiles twitched and jerked beneath him. A hole to breed.
Then he felt it—Derek’s fat, throbbing, knot.
“Nooo,” he slurred, squirming as Derek fucked harder, trying to force it in. “Derek, I can’t—” Panic flared. His ass would never recover. The phrase anal prolapse flashed through his mind, and he whimpered, nearly delirious.
Derek growled deep, and low, holding him in place as the knot slid home with a hard, merciless, thrust.
Stiles screamed. Even without pain, his body protested screaming—too big, too full. The knot pressed against his prostate, sending him spiraling.
Derek’s hips didn’t stop, grinding into him in deep, needy motions, trying to press it even further.
Molten, heat, flooded Stiles’ insides.
He whimpered, cock jerking as he came for a second time—dry and untouched, body wrung out.
Then he collapsed, slipping into unconsciousness like falling into a dark abyss.
Stiles had no idea how long he slept, but when he came to, it was in an unfamiliar room.
Well… not totally unfamiliar.
He was curious—nosy, if you asked anyone else—so he recognized the space as Derek’s bedroom. The walls. The scent. The plush, absurdly expensive sheets he was currently wrapped in.
He blinked, tried to move—immediately regretted it as his asshole throbbed.
“Ow,” he moaned, soft and hoarse, as he rolled onto his side. He was naked. And so very, very sticky.
A too-hot chest pressed to his back, warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him close. The pain melted instantly, soothed by the contact. Stiles sighed in relief.
“You’re still in rut,” Stiles murmured, stating the obvious as Derek licked and nibbled at his ear.
“No,” he whined, pushing the alpha’s face away. “I’m hungry.”
Derek growled, clearly displeased, and pinned him to the mattress.
Stiles could feel Derek’s erection pressed against his thigh—hot and demanding.
Damn it, how did omegas deal with alphas in rut?
An idea struck.
“Alpha,” he whined, arching his neck. “Food. Need food,” he purred, doing his best impression of a submissive omega.
Derek stilled, head tilting like a curious animal. Then, reluctantly, the alpha withdrew.
Stiles started to follow, but Derek bared his teeth with a warning growl. He immediately stilled.
Derek returned quickly, arms full of snacks and water bottles, chest puffed out like he’d just taken down a mammoth.
Stiles blinked. Then it clicked.
Derek was providing for him. Like an alpha does for an omega—for their mate.
His cheeks flushed, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. The intimacy of the gesture hit him hard, followed by a new wave of guilt.
He shouldn’t be here.
If he could just get to his phone… or maybe Derek’s? No, that was a terrible idea. Derek was feral right now—he’d probably maul anyone who tried to take what he saw as his.
It would just be another humiliation, more people knowing about Stiles’ colossal lapse in judgment.
He sighed and opened a water bottle, chugging it greedily before nibbling on some crackers. Derek watched him the whole time, eyes glowing red, so intense it made Stiles squirm.
Only once Stiles had finished did the alpha take any for himself—barely touching the food before crawling back over him.
“Wait—” Stiles held up his palms. “Derek, can’t we just—”
Whatever protest he’d meant to make died on his tongue as Derek swallowed him down to the root.
“Oh my god,” he squeaked, body trembling as the alpha licked and sucked like Stiles was his favorite treat in the world.
His chest heaved, gasping for air as his fingers tangled in Derek’s dark hair.
This was amazing. No—better than amazing. Stiles could practically hear angels singing.
Derek rumbled, the sound vibrating through Stiles—and then the beta was coming.
Quick and embarrassing.
His face burned as he whimpered, Derek still sucking him down even as his erection softened in the alpha’s mouth.
Derek released him with a wet pop, licking his lips, completely unbothered by Stiles’ premature finish, while Stiles silently died inside from shame.
He just wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. He tried to roll away, but firm hands grabbed his hips, hoisting his thighs up.
“No,” Stiles’ breath hitched, panic coiling hot in his gut. His asshole hadn’t recovered—Derek was going to break him!
Then Derek ducked his head, and Stiles made a noise he couldn’t even name as a warm, slick tongue licked over his puffy, sensitive rim.
“Oh,” he gasped, thighs twitching as Derek licked him relentlessly. If he thought the alpha had been devouring him before, it was nothing compared to this. “Oh my god—”
The tongue, pressed in.
“You’re eating my ass—oh my god,” Stiles babbled, body jerking with each overwhelming wave of sensation. “This is too much, Derek, I can’t—” He clawed at the sheets, trying fruitlessly to escape the sinful tongue now inside
Derek growled, teeth grazing a thigh as he held him down, grip like a brand around Stiles’ pelvis.
Tears burned behind Stiles’ eyes as his body twitched helplessly under the relentless pleasure—so good it hurt, the sharp edge of oversensitivity something even the alpha werewolf's pain sucking couldn’t numb.
His chest heaved, head thrown back into the pillows as obscene slurping filled the air. Thick fingers joined the tongue, pressing deep down inside him.
“I’m gonna die,” he whined, muscles tightening. “This is how I die. Stiles Stilinski, impaled on alpha cock.”
Derek’s mouth and fingers withdrew as he manhandled Stiles onto his stomach, ass up like an omega presenting.
Stiles groaned, face smashing into the pillows as Derek slid home in one smooth, almost gentle thrust.
“Fuuuuck,” he whimpered, biting at the pillow. It hurt—but the hurt was so good. He must be a masochist, because he was enjoying this way too much.
Derek grunted, chin hooking over Stiles’ shoulder as he set a steady rhythm—deep, consistent strokes.
The bed creaked, their skin slapping together, Stiles’ little “ah, ah, ahs” filling the room in a rapid-fire rhythm.
He was definitely going to hell. Only the damned could enjoy something like this—Derek should hate him. Would hate him. After this.
He spat the pillow out, sucking in air as Derek fucked him into the mattress.
His cock—soft and spent just minutes ago—was already thickening again where it was pinned beneath him.
"Derek,” he whimpered.
Derek rumbled, deep and approving, as he picked up speed, the mattress creaking beneath them.
“Fuck!” he hissed as a particularly hard thrust slammed into his prostate dead-on.
Claw-tipped fingers clamped down on his hips, locking him in place as Derek’s body slapped against his, each thrust sloppier than the last.
The alpha growled, biting at Stiles’ neck and shoulders while the beta choked on every breath, strangled, broken noises spilling from his lips.
“I’m going to die,” Stiles gasped, feeling the telltale pressure of Derek’s knot beginning to form. “No, Derek—fuck!” he cried out as the alpha shoved the swelling knot inside him with one brutal push.
Stiles clawed at the sheets, squirming helplessly as the knot expanded, locking them together while Derek ground forward, unrelenting.
Each movement pressed the knot hard against his prostate, sending shocks of painful pleasure ricocheting through his nerves.
“Fuck—I’m gonna—” Stiles’ mouth fell open in a silent scream as his orgasm crashed over him, spilling into the mattress beneath him.
He collapsed face-first into the sheets, whimpering, while Derek kept moving, instinct driving him to pump every last drop inside.
Stiles’ stomach cramped as he felt the warm fullness spreading, a heavy, uncomfortable pressure growing in his gut.
Derek shifted above him with a low rumble, nuzzling into Stiles’ shoulder, hands gentling as they smoothed over his sides.
Stiles panted, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, exhaustion already pulling at him.
“How long do your ruts last?” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder with a mix of dread and resignation.
Of course, Derek didn’t answer.
The answer, however, turned out to be three days.
Three days of nearly nonstop sex—thankfully, not all of it anal. The alpha had seemed to take mercy on the beta in his bed, switching between Stiles’ mouth, ass, thighs, or sometimes just plain humping him.
There wasn’t an inch of Stiles’ skin that hadn’t felt Derek’s come, to say the least.
So when Stiles woke up on the fourth day to Derek not immediately pouncing on him, he knew it was over.
He glanced at the empty side of the bed, his heart twisting with dread. Derek was probably going to kill him. Or at the very least strangle him before shoving him out the door.
Stiles gulped, wincing as he sat up and crawled out of bed. His clothes were nowhere in sight, and he faintly recalled hearing them get shredded three days ago—in the kitchen.
Fuck.
Maybe he should just steal something of Derek’s. It was only fair, right? Clothes in exchange for Stiles’ virginity was the least the guy could offer.
Steal clothes, grab his bag, sneak outside, and maybe join a monastery.
Perfect plan.
That was until Derek stepped into the room, catching Stiles red-handed mid-theft, tugging a too-big T-shirt over his head.
They both froze, staring at each other in surprise.
“What are you doing?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised and expression painfully judgmental.
“Getting dressed?” Stiles offered, voice an octave too high. The T-shirt was still only halfway on, his ass and dick out in full display. Meanwhile, Derek was fully dressed, looking freshly showered and aggravatingly put together.
“Are you asking me?” Those ridiculous eyebrows somehow rose even higher.
“No,” Stiles muttered, face flushing as he tugged the shirt down. It only just fully covered him, falling like a mini dress on his slim frame.
Derek looked… almost disappointed.
Stiles’ stomach dropped. In rut Derek probably thought he was Isaac.
He looked away, hands fidgeting as an awkward silence filled the air. He was just starting to count the cracks in Derek’s hardwood floors when the alpha finally spoke.
“Are you…” Derek started, then trailed off, jaw working like he was chewing on the words.
Stiles glanced up, catching the tension in Derek’s posture—shoulders stiff, fingers flexing at his sides.
“Did I hurt you?” Derek finally asked, voice low. Cautious.
Boy, wasn’t that a loaded question?
“Emotionally or physically?” Stiles asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He winced, immediately wishing the floor would swallow him whole.
Pale hazel eyes pinned him in place, stripping him bare.
“Both,” Derek answered.
“No,” Stiles lied, lips twitching into a tight, brittle smile.
Derek’s gaze darkened, and Stiles knew the werewolf didn’t need super-hearing to tell it was a lie.
“Stiles—”
He cut him off.
“I should go.” Stiles stepped forward, trying to push past him, but a thick, muscular arm snapped out, blocking the doorframe.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, voice barely above a whisper—so soft Stiles almost didn’t hear it.
“What?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry. I never would have—”
Stiles’ heart sank, and he cut him off again.
“It’s fine.” He couldn’t bear to hear it. Not out loud. He already knew: Derek would never have touched him if he hadn’t been in rut.
“No, Stiles—”
He ducked under the arm, eyes stinging. He already knew, so why did the rejection still hurt so much?
“It’s okay. I get it,” he mumbled, practically running down the hall. “You thought I was Isaac—”
“What?” Derek’s voice was close. Too close. The alpha was right behind him.
“You thought I was an omega. It’s cool—ACK!”
Stiles was suddenly yanked backward, spun around fast enough to make his head swim. He stared, breath catching as glowing red eyes met his own.
“I knew it was you,” Derek said firmly.
What?
Stiles blinked, lips parting as his lashes glistened with unshed tears.
“But I’m a beta,” he said, confused.
Derek’s expression twisted into something caught between irritation and disbelief. “No shit.”
“I’m confused,” Stiles squeaked, just before Derek hoisted him up like a sack of potatoes, a hard shoulder digging into his stomach. “What are you doing?!”
Derek didn’t answer, just marched them both back into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the messy, come-stained sheets.
Yeah, there was no salvaging those, Stiles thought hazily as he was set down in front of Derek. They’d have to be burned.
"I knew it was you the moment I tried to pin you to the couch.”
Stiles stared, slowly processing the alpha’s words.
“The moment I heard you walk through the door, I smelled you and I just—” Derek’s jaw flexed, grinding his teeth. “I couldn’t stop myself.”
“You were in rut, it’s not your—” he started, but Derek cut him off.
“Shut up,” Derek snarled, yanking Stiles into his lap with a startled squeak.
“You think I only wanted you because of my rut?” the alpha spat, one rough hand sliding down, cupping over Stiles’ red ass cheeks. “I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since you climbed into that cop car, acting like you weren’t scared of me—when I could see you trembling.”
Stiles choked, breath leaving him in an audible whoosh. “What?” he asked, brain flatlining as it tried to process. “But Isaac—”
“Fuck Isaac,” Derek snapped, grabbing his face and making him look into his eyes. “I don’t like omegas.”
“Oh.” Stiles blinked, stunned. “What…” he whispered. “What do you like?” He needed to hear it. He needed Derek to say it.
“Alphas and betas,” Derek said, leaning in until their noses brushed. “But most of all? Idiot betas named Stiles.”
“I like you too,” Stiles blurted, the words tumbling out of him as he surged forward—crashing their lips together in a kiss that was more teeth than tongue.
Derek rumbled deep in his chest, hands fisting in Stiles’ hair as he licked into his mouth.
Stiles sighed, melting into it, eagerly opening up and submitting to the alpha.
He pouted when Derek broke the kiss all too quickly.
“Don’t look so disappointed,” Derek huffed, though the tone was fond. “We just spent the last three days having sex. You still reek of it.”
“Exactly,” Stiles said with a sly smile, batting his lashes innocently. “So what’s one more time?”
“You’re a brat.”
Stiles grinned. “That’s not a no,” he pointed out cheekily.
“Fine. But I’m not penetrating you.”
“Sold!” Stiles chirped, launching himself forward and knocking Derek flat against the mattress.