Chapter Text
The weather is miserable. The ground on the way to the Hale house was soaked, the water running over saturated earth to fill every dip of terrain with brownish puddles. It looks like the equatorial mangrove out there.
Inside, there is a brief smell of sulphur and a small puff of smoke as Stiles lights a match. The flickering light and its reflection in the glass catches his eye for a second and holds it until the fire starts licking at his fingers. Stiles lights the candle and watches the match turn black and the flame die slowly. There's something about fire, about the brightness and the warmth of it, that Stiles feels bad for losing.
The decision is taken away from him when the door opens and a gust of air blows off the small flame.
Derek steps fully into the room. Boy, does he not look happy. Not that he ever does, but he's got his game face on, the one that he wears to go fight off hunters and kanimas. Stiles feels his lips stretch into a strained smile. It's something of a reflex he's acquired lately, along with the sarcasm. Things don't get less scary, but at least Stiles can say he was facing them grinning without his heart skipping a beat.
Stiles pretends he isn't watching Derek as he looks around and takes in the candles, the carpet that covers the floor, the pillows heaped on it, the excuse of a fire Stiles built in the stone chimney.
That fire doesn't procure much warmth. Its life is hanging on by a breath, that of every gust of wind coming from the hidden hole in the chimney. The one that blends in with the soot and scorch marks and all the shadows the Hale house seems to grow inside its walls. Stiles is no boy scout, but he is damn proud that he managed to make fire, even this fire, out of the wet wood that was all he could find in the forest when he arrived; yet another reminder of the rain and the reason for his and Derek's presence.
The burnt out remains of the Hale house are not the best place for what they are going to do, but Stiles is going to make it as not-horrible as he can, even if, right now, Derek is looking at a pillow like he wants to murder it. Unless his grief is with the Batman pillow cover. Of course Derek would be a Marvel guy.
Stiles goes back to the wobbly table where he set the book earlier. Its old cover smells overpoweringly of leather herbs and incense; it's so strong it conceals the stench of dust, mould and smoke of the house. Speaking of which, Stiles opens the box that holds a scented candle. He found it in a drawer. It possibly belonged to his mum, so long ago he doesn't know if it will still smell of anything at all. He's almost surprised when a waft of cinnamon tickles his nostrils. It's faint, but there.
Stiles checks the candles and the diagrams he wrote on the ground against those in the books and finds them to be acceptable. He is never going to be an artist. He's got the imagination, but not the patience, or the coordination. It doesn't matter. Magic isn't about craftsmanship; not the magic Stiles practices.
He brings the scented candle with him to the centre of the room and deposits it inside the circle created by his marks. Derek seems to be scowling harder now. Though he is the one who is supposed to be the least affected by the cold between them two, he has yet to take off his leather jacket, and he’s currently hugging himself tightly. Stiles, on the other hand, has gone against all his layering habits and is only wearing a t-shirt. His arms are covered in goosebumps and the symbols he drew on himself earlier. They start in his palms and go up his arms under the fabric of the shirt all the way to the centre of his chest and down to his navel and hips. Stiles looks up from the candle just in time to catch Derek checking them.
Stiles will be the first to say that they don't look the slightest bit flatering on him. He drew them with a permanent marker and the black ink combined with the jagged lines of the design he chose makes him look gaunt and paler than usual.
Once the scented candle is lit and placed at the head of the circle, everything is in its place; all that's left for the spell to start is the human touch. This time, when Stiles looks up, Derek is making a point of looking straight at him.
Derek Hale! ladies and gentlemen, the man who won't let no spell scare him away. Though his arms are hanging somewhat stonily at his sides, Stiles can see now the determination that the Alpha first showed when they decided to do this. It is still less determined than Stiles's level of determination about not doing this. How people crumble and give into adversity. But Stiles spent enough time looking for a loophole to get him out of the obligation to practice stupid sex spells for the greater good. It's sleep with Derek and do what he's best at - which is save the day, thank you very much - or watch his hometown disappear under a supernatural flood.
You gotta keep perspective on certain things.
So Stiles will stay in that circle. Just lay back and think of Beacon Hill, he thinks to himself. To Derek he says "Planning on staying over there all night long?"
Derek pauses and looks like he might ask for privacy. Stiles has a retort to that ready on the tip of his tong. But he doesn't have to, because Derek starts undressing in slow movements.
Derek takes off the jacket first and then the black Henley he wears underneath. So far, nothing Stiles hasn't seen before. Just, you know, perfect six pack and a body that there's no way Derek doesn't spend hours of his days working into this shape, because Peter's a werewolf too and he doesn't go around parading underwear model perfection. Just saying.
The first step into unknown territory comes from the way Derek holds himself while he unfastens his belt. It's small, and stupid, but Stiles looks at Derek's slightly hunched over back, at the way he brings his hips forward to work the belt buckle and the way his muscle just bunche under his skin. Truth be told, if this was happening in any other circumstance, Stiles would be envious at best, maybe even a bit turned on at worst. Right now, all he feels is a growing pain in his gut that is one hundred percent stress.
Derek has put his jacket on a chair but he lets the belt fall at his feet. He keeps his eyes down on his hands, as if undoing buttons was the most fascinating thing ever. Stiles suddenly realises that if he watches much longer, he is going to be ogling a naked Derek and that said naked Derek, in turn, will have nothing else to do but watch Stiles performs his own strip tease.
The wrenching sensation this thought provokes isn't pleasant.
"I strongly feel like I should apologize now in case I puke on you later," Stiles hear himself say. Then "aww fuck my life" also comes out before he has the time to slap a hand on his mouth and facepalm with the other.
But the effect isn't entirely negative as when he looks again Derek isn't moving like an automat anymore or looking like he's going to kill his trousers. Said trousers are also hanging loose on his hips and riding very, very low, front completely undone and black boxers showing through the V of the zipper.
Stiles only hesitates one second before he starts undressing. There's a comforter folded under the pillows. When he's naked he can hide under that. He takes off his t-shirt and shucks it out of the circle. Even though it's only a stupidly thin layer of fabric, he really feels its loss. Especially when he looks up and Derek is watching him. The werewolf's trousers are still in the same state, he's barefoot though. Stiles goes for his own shoes thinking that it's a good thing he noticed before his trousers were stuck at his ankles.
He's nervous enough already that he fumbles with his shoelaces and tightens the knots instead of undoing them. The more he wants it to be done so he can get on with the rest of his clothes, the more the cords tangle and tighten until it hurts his finger to try and pinch the lace and undo the lot.
Eventually he defeat the knots. Stiles shucks shoes and socks out of the circle. He's got his hands hovering over the button of his jean when he looks up and sees Derek hasn't moved in the slightest and is still glaring down at him.
It's not because Derek brings the worst in him in terms of bad jokes but Stiles can't help feeling like a bunny rabbit who's about to get eaten.
They both straighten, facing each other. Derek's hands are hanging loose — if by very, very still and open in a nonthreatening manner you can mean loose — and Stiles has his arms crossed over his chest.
None of them look like they are going to do anything. Stiles doesn't know whether popping a joke about this having better chances to work if they're not standing ten feet apart is the way to go. He doesn't really want Derek close enough for what they have to do, and the more they stand here the less he actually wants to do it.
Finally Derek just walks to the circle without a word. The unrelaxed way he hold his arms at his sides becomes even more obvious when the rest of his body is moving. Stils is so calling him Rob the Robot later.
Before Derek can cross the circle, Stiles remembers that there's something he still has to do. "Wait, we need a picture!"
His bag is out of the circle. On the way out of the circle, it's like the air thickens and become... not solid, but there's still a resistance there. Much like he imagines walking through jelly must feel like. He doesn't feel slowed down but that last step is the hardest he's ever had to take –and Stiles has walked willingly toward enraged wolves, deranged hunters, a kanima, several creatures and... yeah, you get the gist.
There's a shock of static electricity when he steps out of the circle which he can hear crackling even from the other side of the room. Derek jumps and growl at the circle, so obviously it's not just Stiles's imagination. Seems like the spell has already started even if they haven't done anything yet. Stiles hopes he didn't break something by leaving the circle. With the way his luck goes, he's just brought on them the ire of all magical forces and all this will end very badly.
He better stop thinking about it now before he gives the higher forces ideas.
The Polaroid is rolled into a t-shirt - for extra-padding and because Stiles brought a change of clothes for the morning. "Here," Stiles says, extending the camera toward Derek. "can you take a pictures of the magic scribbles? I had to alter them and I want to keep track of the changes for future reference."
The camera is something Scott's dad left behind. Scott offered it to him without any explanation whatsoever and Stiles never asked. He also never used it before now, but he didn't trust the magic not to mess with his phone or any electronic camera. Well, the ginormous polaroid is also electronic but at least it will take and develop the photo Stiles wants to take inside the circle. If Derek takes the damn thing. Right now he looks at Stiles with an unreadable expression that doesn't bode well.
"I don't know what to be more worried about," Derek finally says with a low and matter of fact voice. One that tells Stiles that he is so stupid he deserve to have his throat torn out (by teeth). "That you changed the spell in any way or that you just implied there will be another time." Derek is a bit growly too. Is the big bad wolf nervous after all?
It's because Stiles knows Derek that he allows a little fear to seep in. Fear is a normal and healthy reaction when dealing with Alpha werewolves. The stupid thing to do is relaxing and treating him like a friend - by that logic, having sex with the guy should be the suicidal thing to do. Since Stiles isn't stupid, he'll keep treating Derek with a healthy amount of distrust
"Can you take the picture or not?" Stiles insists when Derek doesn't move. The thing is, while it's healthy to be scared of Derek, it doesn't mean Stiles should let him frighten him into submission. Especially on important matters.
Derek takes the camera and fiddles with the buttons at the back. Stiles hopes he doesn’t touch anything he doesn’t know how to undo, because the extend of Stiles’s knowledge with that thing is flash on and flash off. While Derek raises the camera to his eyes, he spreads his arms like he’s doing a starfish impression. Derek takes the photo without a word. He waits for the slip of photo paper to come out and wave it until the picture finally shows a tiny Stiles with writing all over his pasty chest and his bony arms.
Derek looks at it and immediately asks "Will you be able to make the marks out?" with a disbelieving look in Stiles's direction.
Stiles makes grabby hands at Derek and peers down to get a close look at the picture. He can recognize the signs. Not very well, but he just needs the general idea.
Craftsmanship: not a magic must have.
But now that the picture's taken, nothing keeps them from going on with the program. Stiles is painfully aware of that.
From the way he has gone tense all over again, so does Derek.
"Okay," Stiles says to no one. Scott thinks Stiles talks to himself because it makes him feel better. Truth is: Stiles doesn't like the sound of his voice more than the next Joe, but nowadays Stiles never knows who's looking or listening or scrying in his direction and he does look less scared when he talks. "I'm going to put that thing back." Okay, maybe doing a running commentary of his actions isn't going to fool Derek. But Derek knows Stiles.
Stiles keeps talking and is commenting on "that weird jelly feeling, are you sure you don't feel anything Derek?" when they both stop face to face in the middle of the circle. Then the words just die on Stiles's lips.
Derek is looking down at where he's playing with the belt-loop of his jeans. The fiddling turns into a small jerks and suddenly Derek takes a deep breath and starts pulling his pants down.
Stiles can't look away.
He follows the hand as it goes down and down and realises, when he sees Derek's hipbone, that Derek has his fingers hooked in both his pants and underwear, and both are coming down at the same time. And though Stiles has seen plenty of naked guys in the lockers after practice - he has seen Jackson naked and he and Derek have a similar built - this feels different. Now that he thinks about it, Scott's pretty built too. Stiles is actually the odd man out on the perfect body department. And yeah, perfect fits very well in this case, because Derek definitively has a body of underwear model and he is just as perfect under his jeans as Stiles suspected. The only thing he is missing right now are underwear. Instead, Stiles has a perfect view of his junk. Which is uncut and looks slightly weird but…, yeah, Stiles understand how Derek wouldn't need to feel self-conscious of that.
Derek lets him watch. Stiles doesn't know why because he is fully expecting to be shoved against a wall and growled at something that will render the phrase "take off your clothes" completely unappealing for the rest of Stiles's life. Because he will remember this for the rest of his life. It's his first time, he's bound to compare every following experience to this one. And how it sucks.
Derek's still not moving and it's giving Stiles complexes to be the only one standing there with his pants still on. Plus, they really need to start the spell. They need tonight's moon to be kind of at its peak and that's going to be in an hour and… Stiles really doesn't have any excuse now, does he?
No he doesn't. Which is why he does the same as Derek did a few seconds ago: hooks a hand at the waist of his pants and boxers and pulls everything down in one push. It's lacking Derek's easy confidence and Stiles knows he looks stupid doing it, but he still pushes the pants to his knees and then fall on his ass trying to push them further. Instead of staying there for Derek to oogle once he's done though, he grabs the comforter and spreads it on himself.
Once he's properly covered, he lifts a corner and gestures for Derek to come join him. They still need to be touching at some point.
"Come on then." His voice crack on the "come", but it doesn't matter because his heart has been going a mile a minute for as long as Derek as been in the room and Derek has freaky—awesome—werewolf hearing. Plus Stiles does't think he's doing a very good job of hiding how nervous he feels.
Derek approaches slowly. Once again Stiles's mind fills with pictures of white and fluffy bunny rabbits and the wolf licking its chops and creeping slowly closer.
It's wrong though, isn't it? Derek didn't want this anymore than Stiles did. Well, maybe slightly more because he's not going to lose his virginity to a guy he can barely stand for the sake of a spell. Also, Stiles knows Derek slept with Kate Argent, but nowadays sleeping with a girl doesn't make anyone straight anymore. For all Stiles knows Derek might be bi and not mind having sex with other guys, whereas Stiles is just coming down of twelve years of pining after Lydia and never even had reasons to think about guys and- oh shit! While he was thinking about this Derek has lifted the comforter and settled next to Stiles. At least he's still glaring, so Stiles has that bit of normality to hang on to.
Stiles notices that the fire is about halfway through its log, and soon it's going to be cold on top of awkward, but right now putting another log means getting out from under the cover - and exhibiting his ass all the way to the chimney AND his dick on the return journey. No thanks.
Stiles can see Derek moving in the corner of his eye. It's really creepy to be here with Derek. But he is glad he didn't have to do that with Scott. One, really really icky. Two, they'd have spent the night looking away from one another and doing nothing. Not that Stiles feel much better about the way he screeches like a girl and scrambles away when Derek puts his hand on his side, but at least something is going on. He can appreciate Derek trying to get things going. In a very distant "we're going to laugh about it later, in a hundred years when I can look at you again" manner.
Derek's scowl worsens, which is in no way reassuring, and he emits a low growl.
"Oh my God, don't look at me like that, you almost gave me a heart attack." Stiles is annoyed but he's also very carefully keeping his arms around himself instead of flinging them around like he usually would.
Derek growls harder and scowls harder and this is beyond ridiculous, Stiles thinks. Derek is probably as nervous as he is and doesn't need to see him lose his shit, so Stiles pushes down his growing hysteria. "Okay, sorry. I'm just, I just haven't… like ever." His hands smooths the comforter on his lap again and again and he feels Derek watching him so he just powers on. "I have done research- wait! have you ever done it with a guy?"
Derek shakes his head and looks pained as he does.
Stiles had kind of hoped Derek had. In Stiles's head, things would have been less awkward if Derek knew what he was doing.
"Okay, err… so no. Okay. Do you… oh shit. So there's going to be… I mean, like, girls are more… well not that I would know but…"
"Stiles." Derek's expression has grown more and more sombre with every word and they still haven't started and now Stiles feels like he's never ever going to go through this without having a panic attack.
Stiles takes another deep breath, holds it in while he counts to four then exhales slowly and takes another. "Okay. For the spell to work we need…" the words gets stuck in his throat and it takes another deep breath to choke it out "… penetration. And you need to… to come inside, oh God I never thought words could be painful."
A peek in Derek's direction doesn't produce new levels of glare o'death. Derek just looks very purposefully blank. Stiles doesn't know whether he's trying to not laugh or not shiver in disgust.
"Do you know anything about how it works between guys?" Stiles asks. If there is a chance he doesn't need to go through this conversation then there is no reason to go through that humiliation.
Derek's expression becomes pained. Before Stiles gather the courage to share his own researches with him though, he grimace, raises two finger and says "There's…" and moves his hand up and down jerkily. The gesture is probably supposed to convey what Stiles thinks it's conveying. Maybe. He doesn't want to check so let's say it does.
"I'll do that part," Stiles says so quickly his voice kind of go all chipmuncky. "Actually, I should probably start, like, now." He pulls his jeans toward himself without much conviction - he's got lube in there which Lydia gave him during what is becoming the most terrifying moment of Stiles's entire live. "Maybe you should," jerk off "get ready too… I mean, not…" Stiles imitates Derek's previous gesture feeling more stupid than he has ever felt gesturing at anyone. "But… hu…" He mimics jerking off, "you know."
Derek's face is still facing away and it says Derek doesn't know and he would like for Stiles to stop trying to explain. Please. Derek's mouth snaps "No, I don't." But Derek doesn't look at Stiles to get a chance of knowing and Stiles isn't going to tell Derek he should masturbate. He does wonder why they didn't have that conversation before they were both sitting naked next to each other. He feels hot all over, in a deeply mortified way. There is as much space as they can put between them without leaving the circle — which on hindsight isn't that big — and they have yet to touch at all since they decided they were doing this - which was a month ago. Stiles doubts it is going to get better in five minutes, when Derek has to… oh God there is no good way to say it. When Derek has to stuff his dick up Stiles's ass.
And yeah, Stiles still can't bring himself to tell Dereck he should masturbate so he just gets the tube of lube from his pocket and turns his back to Derek as much as he can while still being covered by the blanket.
Opening that thing makes a noise, and then spreading the lube on his fingers feels like it is making a noise. Even if it didn't, Stiles bets there is a distinctive smell to that shit, one that is telling Derek all he needs to know about what Stiles is doing even though Derek is probably still staring down the wall. Hell, Derek would know even if he wasn't sitting right next to Stiles. And how is Stiles supposed to stick his fingers in his ass and move them around without looking ridiculous? Why didn't he think of doing this before?
Stiles looks down at his sticky fingers, at the comforter pooling in his lap and at Derek who has yet to move. Without much of a choice, he lays down on his side facing away from Derek. He might also huff in frustration.
The lube is cold against his skin and wet. Stiles has to go with both hands because his cock and his balls are in the way. He feels kind of stupid that his cock is completely soft when he's five minutes away from having sex. On the other hand, this has been so far from sexy, or exciting in any way, that he can't really blame his body for the lack of interest. It doesn't get better when he rubs one finger against his hole.
He had thought of trying this before tonight, and almost done it once in the shower before deciding that he had ample time. When time started to run out, he had decided he would ask Derek if he knew how to do this and that was enough to keep the denial going until a few hours ago, when he'd finally admitted that he was scared shitless of this. So scared that he had trouble admitting to himself that he was going to have sex with Derek. Now, all he can do is force that first finger in and cringe at the noise and at the sensation. He doesn't even know if he likes it or not, because this is the most humiliating moment of his entire life. And Derek Hale is listening to it. Maybe watching, which makes Stiles curl even tighter into himself.
Moving the finger inside himself doesn't feel like much, unless he really twists around and then it doesn't feel so good. As soon as he is used to the sensation of one finger, Stiles pushes another in. And "pushes" is the right verb here. The first finger might have gone in smooth, but the second kind of hurt. Also, the noise gets worse.
Stiles turns his head to bury a moan of discomfort in a pillow and pushes harder. He tries spreading his fingers and… yeah, nothing's moving for now. Stiles can't help but think he could do a better job if the angle wasn't so awkward. Though it is short lived, the image of someone else's fingers doing this sends an unexpected wave of heat through his lower abdomen.
Stretched enough must be when three fingers fit. That's where Stiles will put the limit of "ready", because he can't keep doing this for much longer. With that in mind, Stiles practice a strange mix of relaxation exercises and forcing his fingers to move that is actually more of a mindfuck — ah, pun! — than linking Coach's economy lessons with the history of religious mutilation ever was. Which is such a wrong thought to have right now.
The third finger burns on the way in and Stiles is so done with that shit. He moves his hand up and down three times for good measure and then takes it away and uncurls from his position. It's been five minutes top — laws of relativity dictate that extra suckiness of moment plus ADHD mean it's closer to three really — and his legs feel cramped already.
When Stiles turns his head to look over his shoulder, he comes face to face with Derek, who isn't sitting anymore and is watching him. Also, from the angle of his arm and the way his shoulder moves, Derek read Stiles's mind earlier and is taking care his end of things. From Derek's expression, it's not going too well.
"Now is really not the time for performance problems." Stiles says, because someone has to say something, so why not?
Derek lets out a frustrated huff and suddenly Stiles can hear the wet sound of a hand moving on a dick. Derek Hale is jerking off. Not that he didn't know before but… Derek Alpha Werewolf Hale is jerking off. There are not enough braincells in the world to get around that. Especially when Stiles remember the size of Derek's hands and Derek's cock and boy but Derek's got wide shoulders and strong legs. Smooth skin too. All of Stiles's blood must have left his brain to gather in his cheeks right now because thinking of this, all that skin and how soft it will feel against Stiles, sends another pleasurable pulse through him.
But there isn't much touching going on once Derek shuffles closer and straddles his hips: Derek's hands on Stiles's hips, Derek's knee parting his legs, and then Derek's legs against the inside of his thighs. The last one feels way too intimate to be something Stiles is sharing with Derek. Too intimate to be something Stiles could share with anyone, because, for all that Derek slams Stiles into things, and Scott like to hang from his shoulders like he mixed up his were-animal for a monkey, no one has ever touched Stiles under the belt. And he’s never been delusional enough to imagine sharing tender lovemaking with Lydia either.
Back to the situation where Derek is kneeling above Stiles, who is looking up at him because if he looks down he can see all down Derek's body up to his dick — Derek's not entirely hard, but already the sight alone hurts. And now there are hands on his legs pushing them aside and then hands on his hips puling him closer and then a hand on his ass lifting him up.
Of course, Stiles would remember the internet said on your knees was easier the first time as Derek gets his dick in hand. Stiles's brain has trouble keeping track of this information as said hand brushes against the soft skin of his sack. It doesn't tickle exactly, but it sends a shiver down his spine, a nice shiver. Completely at odds with what happens next.
The pressure is similar to his fingers for about two seconds, then Stiles wishes he hadn't agreed to anything.
His first reflex is to scoot away, and he does. Tries to. Because Derek’s first reflex is to hold him close, and Derek is stronger.
Groans of pain and Stiles’s fingers digging into Derek’s arm and chest don't free him either, though Derek isn’t moving anymore, which is a start but not nearly enough.
Stiles is panting, short pained breaths that sound a lot like whines on their way out and don’t bring in enough oxygen. It’s ridiculous but he’s afraid he’ll faint. He’s also afraid Derek will start moving again. At the same time, Stiles is the first surprised to find he’s angry. He didn’t think this through and now he’s paying for his lack of foresight.
Derek moves again and the pain spikes then recesses as the head of Derek’s cock pops inside him in the weirdest sensation he's ever experienced. Stiles started repeating a litany of “no, stop, no” as soon as Derek moved, but all Derek intends apparently, is to reposition his knees between Stiles's legs. Once that's done, he stops moving. Stiles looks up and glares. Derek, looking in pain also, glares right back. Stiles wants to tell him that he has no reason to complain but Derek beats him to it.
"We're not doing this."
"What? No way!" Stiles feels Derek start to pull out so he hooks his legs around Derek and pulls him forward, kinda forgetting that Derek's dick is still stuck in his ass.
Derek freezes at the noise of pain Stiles lets out.
And though he is wheezing a little, Stiles pushes the words out before Derek can start saying nonsense again. "We said we'd do this. We've already waited for too long, and Lydia said it had to be tonight or the stars won't be right for another month or maybe it was the moon and we're basically the only two people who can do this! Plus I won't survive having to do this all over again. I'll just explode if we have to come back some other day and start from the beginning. Stay." All the effect his babbling has on Derek is to annoy him further, so in a bout of madness brought on by despair Stiles continues, "Please, Derek, I'll do whatever you want." When that doesn't work either, he finally lets the anger peek through. "I can't believe you're that much of an asshole about it, all you have to do is come, you're not even the one who's going to walk funny for a week or risk internal bleeding from stupidly big junk, why can't you just move and get it done? Jesus!"
"You try getting there while the person you're fucking looks like you're torturing them," Derek growls suddenly.
There is no other answer to that than to gape like a fish. "Well that's a good point. I hadn't thought of that," Stiles has to admit.
Derek rolls his eyes. "Obviously."
Stiles forces his thoughts — having a dick up his ass is actually worse than his ADHD for his thought processing — to add this to the complex equation that having sex with Derek is turning into.
"Okay, I think, maybe if I'm face down…" he can't bring himself to add anything and flushes instead. But Derek is a big boy who can comprehend the human language when the fancy takes him. So Derek pries away Stiles's legs, gently this time, then he pushes out of Stiles much more slowly than he had pushed in. It feels weird when there's nothing to keep Stiles open. Stiles's muscles keep twitching and it takes him a minute to get used to that feeling.
Derek puts a hand on Stiles's side and gives an impatient push. Since Derek isn't just rolling him around though, he guesses he can be thankful about that. Stiles rolls on his belly, snatches a cushion and hides his face in it. Then he tenses in apprehension as he waits for Derek to push back inside.
But the pain doesn't come back. It sounds like Derek is messing with the lube. Stiles silently curses him for making him wait.
When Derek position himself at Stiles's back with a hand on Stiles's ass, Stiles's muscle go all tense again. But it still isn't Derek's cock at his entrance. Instead, Stiles feels cool lube, and then just a slight pressure as something that is definitively not Derek's cock slips inside his hole.
Stiles groan, not in pain but in surprise, and immediately bears down on the intrusion. It's less awkward than his own fingers. The angle is easier, Derek's fingers are thicker than his own but after the pain of before it's almost a welcome change.
Also, Derek pushes deeper than Stiles could and it's far enough to reach Stiles's prostate, though the first time Derke's fingers bumps into it Stiles doesn't know wether the sensation sent to his brain is pleasure or just pain so sharp it feels like pleasure. Whatever it is has him hoof all the air from his lungs in a guttural "Ha" sound that wouldn't be out of place in a porn movie. Either Derek thinks so too, or he has another way to tell how Stiles's body feels, because his next ten strokes are aimed for that spot. It must be pleasure as Stiles's dick finally takes notice and hardens against Stiles's belly.
The sensation is different from when Stiles masturbates. Each stroke against his prostate is a sharp burst of pleasure instead of the usual build up, and it makes him feel like he's going to come on each thrust, when he knows for a fact that that's not happening yet. And then there's the feeling of another hand, of Derek's hand, in him. Which shouldn't feel more intimate than having Derek's cock inside him. Only, while he was fucking Stiles, Derek was careful to keep most of his body away. Now he's actively making Stiles feel good. Even if there is even less touching, it feels kinder. Stiles doesn't feel as used. He still feels self conscious though.
"Dude," Stiles breaths after the tenth stroke. He needs Derek to stop before Stiles does something humiliating like come for real.
"What is it this time?" Derek says. Stiles has no doubt that he is scowling and that, if looks could kill, Stiles would be very, very dead right now.
"You need to… this is supposed to be for… stretching. Nhn. You need to actually move your- aah, fingers in a way that will, you know, stretch."
Stiles is expecting, at the least, a slap on the head for that.
Derek barely pauses and, when he starts again, he is scissoring his fingers instead of just pushing in and out.
After a while, Stiles feels a third finger pushing at his entrance, but it is too soon and he lets Derek know with a pitiful moan that was supposed to be words before it comes out all garbled. Derek relents, for a while. From there on it's a little routine of Derek trying to move things along and Stiles letting him know without words when he doesn't quite feel ready for them. Sometimes, the noises aren't from pain, but he's just human and this shit starts to feel really good when he gets used to the sensation. Especially when Derek starts unconsciously rubbing up and down Stiles's sides with the hand that isn't busy. It's warm and soft and kind, even though Derek probably doesn't know he's doing it. That, coupled with all the other sensations coursing through Stiles's body, allows him to relax somewhat. It becomes even better then.
Derek ends up spending at least triple the time Stiles spent on himself stretching him before he withdraws his hand. Stiles has somehow managed to get fully hard while it happened.
There's more noises of lube and Stiles looks back without thinking, just in time to watch Derek pour more lube on his cock. After that he can't get his eyes away from the sight of Derek, spreading the lube on his length. Derek too, has had time to get fully hard. It's an impressive sight, if Stiles can say so himself. But that's not what keeps Stiles watching. Derek looks relaxed, hips cocked forward to give himself better access, hand shining with lube as it moves up and down his length. It sends pleasure coursing through Stiles in a hot wave, like Derek's fingers a minute ago.
Lascivious, Stiles thinks, Derek looks lascivious. That's not a word Stiles would have ever thought he'd associate with Derek Hale.
Derek meets his eyes and doesn't even flinch. He gives his cock a few more slow strokes, as if to tell Stiles that he won't let himself get cowed by the situation. Stiles can feel every one of these strokes as if Derek's big hands were on his own dick.
Or it's just him rocking into the cushions…
His mouth is dry when he croaks "So, are we doing this or what?"
Derek tilt his head as if considering. His hand moves for one last stroke and then he moves toward Stiles and kneel over him. "Let's," he says.
Stiles hates him for the easy assurance that he is oozing right now.
Stiles breathes carefully this time, but it still feels like the air is pushed out of him. Derek is slow while he pushes in, but he doesn't stop moving until his hips are flush against Stiles's ass. Then, Stiles hear him exhale, long and deliberate. Stiles follows his example and takes a deep breath that immediately makes him feel calmer.
"Good?" Derek asks.
Stiles doesn't think he imagines how rough it sounds, how constrained. There won't be any stopping in the middle this time, if Stiles is right about that sound.
Stiles takes another breath. "Good."
The feeling of Derek bottoming out takes him by surprise. Not the strech of Derek's body which he can feel against hi back, but the sensation inside him. It still burns, in the way muscles stretched too far do, but the friction feels nice. Not as nice as Derek's fingers, not as unforgivingly pleasurable as when he was pressing against Stiles's prostate, but his brain keeps insisting that there is something soothing and tingly about it. Derek pulls back, until the head of his cock tugs at Stiles's entrance, and then he moves back in, still slow and purposeful.
Stiles's world contracts until it is reduced to that sole sensation. Derek moving inside him. He is distantly aware of the sudden warmth of Derek's abs against his ass and lower back when Derek leans forward for a deeper thrust, of the way Derek's hands feel so big against his sides, of the pants and moans coming out of his own mouth.
Derek is definitively enjoying himself this time. His thrusts grow faster and harder until Stiles's body is rocked forward with each roll of Derek's hips and pulled backward by his grip on Stiles's sides. The slight movement is enough to topple Stiles down on his elbows until he just gives up and rest his whole upper body on the ground. Derek keeps moving, his thrusts becoming more urgent. Some of them manage to recreate that spark of sharp pleasure and Stiles's cock twitches from time to time. It doesn't feel that bad anymore.
Stiles feels lightheaded and it's not just from lack of air. His vision is a bit blurry. It's like the temperature has risen and heat-waves are blocking things. Or vapour. The air is also warm around him and thick. Stiles feel like he is floating over his body. As a matter of fact, Stiles feels straight out buoyant. His body is loose and relaxed in the water that smells like his mum's favourite bath-salts. Through the fog in his mind, Stiles has a thought that this is what serenity must feel like.
He is so relaxed that he doesn't feel like moving to get to the faucet a few feet from him to turn it off. Luckily, all he has to do is extend a leg and push it closed with his foot. Once the bath isn't on the verge of flooding over, Stiles relaxes back in the water and floats. Hours pass.
***
Stiles is jarred awake by an insistent shaking. His first vision upon waking is the scowling face of Derek who is glaring down at him a mere couple inches away. For someone who just got laid he looks positively grumpy.
"Lemme go. It' too early for you to be a sourwolf," says Stiles's mouth without his permission.
Derek's eyebrows frown even more.
Stiles remembers that he has a reason why he's here dealing with Derek's mood. A spell reason - sex reason, spex reason - what was it again? Ah yes. "Did it work?"
As the answer doesn't come fast enough, he sits up to peer through the window. Or, at least, he attempts to sit up. As soon as he starts moving, all his muscles, especially those in his thighs and back, and all the ones in between, size up and cramp until he falls back down whimpering.
"Aow, aow, aow. Not cool."
Derek reacts to that by looking even more constipated. He does finally say something though.
"It's not raining anymore."
"Doesn't mean much" Stiles points out, carefully moving to his side. Now that the pain isn't blinding his senses to everything else, he can feel wetness leaking from his ass. Knowing what it is only makes him wish for a shower harder. Derek has had time to get back into his jeans. Stiles wants to do the same as quickly as he can."Can you help me up please?" he says, shoving his hand at Derek and his pride down a ravine. At least, Derek moves at once to help him.
Stiles wonder how much he can milk this… this guilt? It looks like Derek feels guilty. Maybe Stiles can get a ride out of it. Right now he doesn't want to be sitting any more than he has to. If this were Scott he'd try to get himself carried back to the jeep too, but he's not stooping so low in front of Derek. He isn't above complaining a little to get the guilt going though.
"Dude, I feel like my ass is on fire." He's about to add how he doesn't understand why people would subject themselves to this willingly, but that's kind of become a lie. He's dealing with a werewolf and he doesn't know if they're fine tuned enough to spot half truths.
Anyway, Stiles doesn't have to, the speed with which Derek proposes "I could drive you home" gives him whiplash. Also, a little guilt of his own.
He deserves it though, Stiles reminds himself when Derek's come run down his legs and his ass twinge at every move.
"Before we go, do you want to… ahh, take care of that?" Derek asks.
Stiles follows Derek's line of sight down and down and to his semi hard-on. Now that he thinks about it, he feels relaxed but it's not the kind of relaxed that comes with an orgasm. And there isn't any evidence of come where there would be if Stiles had ejaculated. That said, the answer to Derek's question is definitively no.
"You know what, I'm really not in the mood." Tiredness is catching up with him and he feels ready to drop in his bed. He still wants that shower first, but then he's sleeping for a week straight. "Give me a minute to get dressed and then let's go.
On the way back home, Stiles takes a second to admire the few stars he can pick up in the sky from between the clouds. At least they know the spell worked.
Derek opens his mouth just as they turn in Stiles's driveway, but he shuts it without saying anything. Stiles doesn't really care anyway. He's already planning how he should react when Scott or any of the others asks or hints or starts in on the gay jokes - he really hopes Jackson won't dare since he's friend with Danny, but Stiles has no illusion that Danny is a special case and whatever keeps Jackson's mouth shut won't work on Stiles.
Stiles mumble a distracted "see you" and then proceeds to cuss Derek silently when he has to limp up the stairs to his room.
He'll just pretend tonight never happened. If he pretends hard enough the others will follow. Eventually it won't make any difference at all.