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Got Milk?

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Got Milk?



Following several days of evasive behavior and increasingly flimsy excuses, Derek was determined to get their resident pack human straightened out. Scaling the wall, he perched outside the window of Stiles’ room. It was completely quiet in there, yet not even an hour ago, Stiles had texted, claiming he had a mountain of homework needing to be done. He’d written he’d be up all night working on it. The darkness belied that statement - unless Stiles had taken to writing by hand, in the dark. Not likely.


Derek snorted as he eased the window open and slid inside, landing on light feet. He automatically scanned the room for any abnormalities, but none were present. The only sound was the deep breaths of the human burrito on the bed. Quirking an eyebrow, Derek took in the strange sight. Stiles seemed to prefer sleeping sprawled out, taking up as much space as possible, starfished on top of his duvet. However, his current arrangement involved a daunting amount of blankets and they all appeared to be wrapped tightly around him, creating a sort of cocoon.


Shaking his head, Derek dismissed the issue as unimportant. He had other things to worry about.


He stalked over to the bed and grabbed a hold of the outer layer of the bed burrito and gave it a shake. Stiles awakened with a squawk, trying to flail inside his self-made prison, but only succeeded in rolling off the side of the mattress. The whole mess hit the floor with a heavy thud and a litany of curses from within.


“Derek! What the fuck, man?”


After a scuffle, Stiles’ disgruntled face emerged from the pile, glaring.


Derek merely crossed his arms over his chest. “Why have you been avoiding the pack?”


Sputtering, Stiles managed to free a hand to wave around in wild circles. “What… I haven’t… I’m not-”


Holding up a hand to stop the word vomit, Derek used the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Stiles. I know when you lie to my face, if not over text messages. Besides, shouldn’t you be buried in a mountain of homework right now, not snoozing in a blanket nest?”


“I was just taking a nap!”


Rolling his eyes at the obvious lie, Derek stooped to grab Stiles under the arms, hauling him to his feet.


Wide-eyed, Stiles squeaked. “Whoa, dude! Give a guy a little warning before you start with the manhandling.”


Derek raised an eyebrow and loosened his hold, which caused Stiles to wobble. Rather than use his arms to gain balance, he kept the blankets clutched to his chest, knuckles going white from the strain.


If Derek left him to his own devices, Stiles would no doubt topple over and sustain a head injury, so Derek stepped back into his personal space. Stiles made a low, choked sound deep in his throat. Derek squinted at him, observing the pretty blush Stiles’ face had developed. A slow, curling burst of arousal hit Derek’s sensitive nose. He reflexively turned his face down into Stiles’ neck, inhaling the delicious scent.


Flush escalating and heart thundering, Stiles jerked backwards. In his haste, he tripped on a corner of one of the blankets and fell over, onto the bed. Through it all, he’d kept the death grip on the fabric fisted in his hands, and something about how adamantly he protected his chest niggled at Derek.


Eyes narrowing, he stepped closer to the mattress. “What are you trying to hide, Stiles? You’re acting like a blushing maiden.”




Derek growled even before the word had fully passed Stiles’ lips. “Don’t lie to me, what’s-”


An unexpected, sweet scent reached his nostrils and the words caught in his throat. What was that? Leaning in, Derek took a deep breath. He’d smelt this particular aroma before, but he couldn’t remember where.


Before he could attempt to sort his memory out, a veritable wave of embarrassment emanated from Stiles. The frantic beat of his pulse hadn’t lessened either, so Derek took a deliberate step back, trying to relax his posture. He had no wish to give the idiot a stroke, after all.


“Stiles, please tell me what’s wrong. You’ve got me worried, here.”


Face crumpling, Stiles slumped back against the headboard looking utterly defeated. A low mumble was all he could work up to, his face turned away so Derek couldn’t see his expression. “There was a little mishap at Deaton’s.”


A faint tendril of dread bloomed in Derek’s stomach. He’d tell Stiles to stop being melodramatic, it can’t be that bad... but with how their lives had turned out so far, he’d be lying. Trying to keep the situation light-hearted, he quipped, “What? Did you accidentally dye your chest hair green?”


Lips pinched together tight, Stiles shook his head. Distress was still oozing from him, burning thick and acrid in Derek’s nose.


Sighing, Derek rubbed a hand over his face. “Come on, Stiles. Drop the blanket.”


Stiles took one look at Derek’s face and his eyes snapped back to stare at the wall. Chewing his lower lip, Stiles finally nodded, a hitched breath getting stuck in his throat. The simple action of getting his fingers to unclench seemed like a daunting task, but after a good minute of pale-faced struggling, the blankets slipped from between Stiles’ fingers. They fluttered down to settle around his hips and left his upper body on display.


At first, Derek wasn’t even sure what the problem was. No rips or blood on the t-shirt and, as far as he could tell, no green chest hair. It wasn’t until the sweet scent wafted across his face, stronger than before, that Derek realized there was something wrong. He squinted, making out two wet patches on the front of Stiles’ shirt, right where… oh. Oh.


Suddenly, the image which had escaped him before burst to the front of his mind. A memory tickled at him, bringing a rush of home and safe. Even though he’d been too young to really be able to remember the specifics, the scent reminded him of being cradled in his mother’s arms. All of a sudden, he longed for the comfort and his wolf side was whining, trying to point out how Stiles was right there.


Confused, Derek shook his head to dispel the bittersweet sting in his eyes. He had to make an effort to prevent himself from launching into Stiles’ lap. There was something slightly taboo about his lust for Stiles mixing with the tender memories of being fed by his mother as a cub. He missed the wholesome feeling of safety and being loved, being taken care of. At the same time though, these images brought forth a surge of white hot desire, burning a path through his veins. The thrill of forbidden pleasure he experienced every time he inhaled the sweet scent intensified the ache, and he longed to just yank Stiles’ shirt off and lick his chest. At this point the hunger was a fierce burning in the back of his mind, making it difficult to focus on anything else.


Apparently, the silence had lasted too long because Stiles started fidgeting, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the way his front was soaked. His face was twisted into resigned defeat. “Come on, Derek. Unleash the mocking. You know you want to.”


Instead of answering, Derek plopped down on the bed next to Stiles. He had to restrain his hands from reaching out to touch.


If he was a better person, he’d jump back out the window to spare them both the embarrassment. Alas, he was not.


He cleared his throat. “Can Deaton fix it?”


Eyes narrowing in suspicion, likely because of the lack of ridicule, Stiles shook his head. “No, it will wear off in a few more days.”


Not knowing how to respond - mainly due to his inner wolf chanting rather incessantly for Derek to rip the shirt off this delicious smelling human - Derek waved a hand around, attempting to gather his thoughts. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off Stiles’ chest. Shit.


“How did it happen? I mean, you aren’t supposed to . . . ” Giving up on being vocal, Derek gestured to the wet spots. Were they spreading? Oh, God!


Suddenly, Derek’s pants seemed to be two sizes too small and he rearranged himself to hide the obscene bulge in his jeans. He wasn’t able to control his expression, however. Derek was certain he must resemble a drooling puppy at this point, though by the way Stiles’ face colored further, maybe he just looked like he wanted to murder someone.


Snatching up the blanket to hide again, Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. As if blocking the situation from his sight could make it go away. “I was supposed to make a herbal tea to enhance my spark. It’s not my fault Deaton thinks it’s more entertaining to let me guess what’s in those jars, rather than labeling them correctly.”


There was a definite pout going on. Derek tried not to find it cute, but failed horribly.


Trying to avoid acting like he was perving on a packmate in distress - though he totally was - Derek nodded. He was afraid to breathe too deeply, lest he lose control of his wolf and jump on Stiles, tongue first.


Stiles’ sharp gaze raked over Derek’s face. “What’s up with you? You never just agree with me and, even ifyou do, there’s a great deal more glaring involved.”


Derek scoffed, hoping that would be answer enough, so he’d avoid having to explain the jumbled mess of emotions roiling inside of him. Stiles looked like he was about to argue though, so Derek quickly deflected with another question.


“Um, do you leak like that all the time?” Derek figured that would be enough for anyone to avoid the presence of their friends. Most people have at least one buddy who’s predisposed to taunting and Stiles has several in the pack alone. It’s safe to say even Boyd wouldn’t waste an opportunity like this; Stiles had doled out too much sarcasm for him to warrant any kind of consideration in return.


Hauling the blanket up to cover his entire face, Stiles groaned. “Ugh, how is this my life? Seriously!” He lowered the fabric enough to peek over the edge at Derek, eyebrows drawn together. “Fine! But you asked, so if you don’t like what you hear, it’s your own goddamn fault!”


Derek raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible.


When the silence dragged, Stiles huffed and glared down at his own chest. He used two fingers to pinch the shirt and pull it away from his skin before throwing Derek a guarded glance. “I . . . the milk runs when I get aroused or . . . or when my nipples are stimulated, okay?”


The implications hit Derek like a punch to the stomach and he felt his jaw dropping. His cock throbbed where it was trapped in his jeans. It would probably have a permanent zipper imprint when he managed to get it out of his pants.


Leaning in, he sniffed the air, detecting the recurring scent of arousal Stiles had emitted since Derek came in through the window. It escalated as Derek raised his eyes to meet Stiles’. A growl burst forth when he saw the way Stiles’ pupils had expanded, swallowing up most of the warm, honey brown.


“Can I see?” Derek hardly recognized his own voice. It was rough and low, rumbling out of his chest with a sensual, needy lilt. He sounded almost desperate and something deep inside him was expecting Stiles to recoil, disgusted with his Alpha for having such thoughts.


As was always the case, Stiles saw right through him. His head tilted and he regarded Derek silently for a few long moments before he whipped his shirt up and off, anxiety mixing with the lust bleeding from his pores.


“Go ahead.” Voice trembling, Stiles scooted closer to Derek, grabbing one of his hands and placing it over a swollen nipple. The flesh was hotter than was usual for humans, the area puffy and supple under his fingers. Not able to help himself, Derek pinched the soft tissue. Stiles moaned, open mouthed and filthy, his head tipping back as milk squirted onto Derek’s hand. The sweet scent intensified and he whined, shuddering at the feel of warm liquid trickling down his arm.


Not even pausing to think about it, he brought his arm up to his face and licked the milk off, an acute sweetness exploding in his mouth. A choked sound distracted him from his reverie and he looked up to meet Stiles’ incredulous stare. All of a sudden Derek felt mortified. Oh God, what was he doing?


“I- I’m sorry,” he stammered, trying to force his legs to cooperate. He had to get out of there before he made Stiles even more uncomfortable.


“No, it’s . . . it’s okay, I think.” Stiles’ voice had a distinct tremor to it but, whether good or bad, Derek couldn’t tell. He’d managed to get one foot to at least drift a bit in the direction of the window. Now, if he could only get the rest of his reluctant body to follow.


Panting, Stiles alternated between staring at his own, slightly swollen chest and sending contemplating glances at Derek. Then he shot out a hand, grabbing a fistful of Derek’s shirt and pulled him in. Since Derek was kind of trying to move the other way, he almost toppled over, but caught himself with his hands before he could face-plant into the mattress. He whipped his head up to glare at Stiles, but was distracted halfway when he ended up with a puffy, shiny nipple right in his face. A single bead of white was gathering and it was so tempting, Derek wanted to cry from frustration.


Stiles cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry. Can you, um . . . Derek, please!”


The arousal was thick in the air, so potent Derek thought he could almost taste it in the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure what Stiles wanted, but with the begging and the way his pajama pants were tenting and twitching, the options seemed limited.


Still unsure of his welcome, Derek crawled forward, dragging his tongue through the sticky mess on Stiles’ chest, circling the swollen nipple, his gaze steady on Stiles’ face. Keening desperately, Stiles thrust a hand into Derek’s hair and tugged him closer. Taking the hint, Derek wrapped his lips around the raised peak, flicking the tip of his tongue over the sensitive flesh. Just as warm sweetness burst into his mouth, Stiles cried out and then started babbling.


“Yes, yes, oh my God! Derek, fuck, oh fuck!


Using his superior strength, Derek pushed Stiles back, managing to get them both horizontal on the bed while remaining attached to Stiles’ chest. His wolf was literally purring under his skin, and he prayed to whatever deities were listening that it was indeed internal. If not, the mockery would be monumental.


Not that Stiles seemed capable of noticing right now. His face was contorted in bliss, mouth open on a nearly endless moan and his hips kept stuttering upwards, seeking purchase against Derek’s hip.


While he continued licking and sucking, Derek snuck a hand down between them to push at Stiles’ pants. He could only get them halfway down Stiles’ thighs before he had to give up, refusing to relinquish his mouthful. Either way, it was enough for him to be able to wrap his hand around Stiles’ erection, jerking him in short, tight pulls.


It only took a minute of the combined stimuli on his cock and nipples for Stiles to arch up, groaning, body straining as he came hard between them, covering Derek’s hand and slickening the slide of their skin.


Trembling all over, Stiles raked his nails down Derek’s back. “T-touch yourself,” he rasped, voice quivering.


Keening, Derek shoved his soiled hand down to grab himself. He felt like he was floating, the simultaneous euphoria of the sweet milk hitting his taste buds and the intimate act of nursing from Stiles almost too much for his body to contain.


A tugging in his hair startled him from his daze and he immediately released the deflated teat in his mouth. Before he could ask whether something was wrong though, Stiles pushed him to the other side, practically stuffing the nipple into Derek’s mouth. He latched on, moaning when he felt a hand that wasn’t his own, wrapping around his throbbing cock.


The way Stiles’ fingers gripped him, using some of the come already spilled to ease the glide, made Derek’s instincts go mad. He rutted into the tight grasp, fisting clawed hands into the sheets as he hurtled towards the precipice. Molten heat was gathering low in his gut, coiling tighter and tighter until, with a devilish swipe of a thumb across the slit, Stiles made the dam burst.


Body jerking and spasming, Derek felt additional blood flow heading south and, with a gasp, he realized his knot was forming, the flesh at the base of his cock swelling rapidly.


He’d never knotted before. He knew it was possible, it had been included in the werewolf sex talk his mum had given him and Laura many years ago. From what he’d been told, this could only happen in very specific circumstances. The presence of a suitable mate, plus an innate desire to breed had to be present. Apparently, his wolf side regarded being nursed by Stiles as a valid qualifier for the part. Not that Derek’s human mind disagreed.


The first burst of come ripped him from his thoughts. He was unprepared for the way it tore out of him with the force of a wrecking ball. He had to let go of Stiles’ nipple to avoid nicking him with the fangs pushing through his gums.


Stiles’ heartbeat was increasing, his eyes wide and focused on Derek’s dick, his hand still wrapped around the tip.


“Whoa,” he breathed, sliding his hand down to curl his fingers around the knot, squeezing experimentally. The sensation shot up Derek’s spine and he cried out, the second wave of his orgasm hitting as hard as the first. Looking down he saw his come spurting out, making a mess on Stiles’ abdomen. It just kept coming to the point Derek started to feel embarrassed, wondering if he should get off the bed. Stiles’ fingers tightened beneath the knot and tugged, making Derek groan like he was dying and spray come on Stiles’ chest, his face, and even in his newly outgrown hair.


“Shit, you could drown me with this.” Stiles’ voice was awed, but definitely not disgusted. On the contrary, Stiles’ body exuded a sharp blast of arousal and he rubbed the jizz into his skin with his free hand. With the other, he massaged Derek’s knot, keeping the flow coming. “So fucking hot!”


Still shaking, Derek curled into Stiles’ body, licked the abandoned nipple free of come and resumed suckling. When his brain was once again fully functioning he’d have to thank the deities for the repeated waves of release accompanying a knotting. Holy fuck!


Within a few minutes, his orgasm tapered off and Stiles reached for the box of tissues on his bedside table, wiping the worst of the mess off his skin. He settled back in with a sigh, his hand returning to Derek’s hair, fingers running through the strands in a manner which lulled Derek to sleep before he could even think about fleeing out the window.






Derek woke up feeling warm and content, bathed in the sunlight coming through the window. His head was pillowed on a soft stomach, Stiles’ heartbeat a steady rhythm in his ear. He stretched, breathing in deeply, and rumbled in satisfaction as the scent of sex and sweat and mate filled his nostrils.


Still pleasantly sleepy, he rubbed his face across Stiles’ chest. The muscles below his cheek jumped and a low hiss sounded from above. Derek glanced up, watching Stiles’ eyelids flutter and open, then focus on him. A small smile curled the corners of Stiles’ mouth and he hummed, wiggling in the sheets. The motion drew Derek’s attention to the bulges of Stiles’ pectorals. Last night it hadn’t been too bad, but now the swelling was noticeable; the skin pulled taut by the full glands.


In the light of day, the instincts that had overruled Derek’s inhibitions were dormant, and he started to feel embarrassed. When he thought of the implications of his actions the night before, his cheeks heated up, the blush no doubt spectacular. He - the alpha - had suckled from the pack human. He was supposed to take care of his pack, not the other way around. At the very least, it had to be a two-way street.


And, despite Stiles seeming wholly enthusiastic, Derek hadn’t even gotten proper consent. What if, now that his mind wasn’t hazy with lust, Stiles regretted his impulsive behavior?


Given that he wasn’t sure how Stiles felt about what had happened, Derek inched back, putting some space between them. He didn’t want to make Stiles uncomfortable.


Derek was pulled from his mental, downward spiral by Stiles running one of his gorgeous, long-fingered hands up his own stomach, scratching absentmindedly at a patch of dried come above his navel. As he got close to a puffy nipple, Stiles’ breath hitched and he craned his head to look down his own torso. For a second he seemed confused, but then his face cleared, expression turning into one of bemused resignation.


“Oh, right,” he mumbled. “Almost thought it was a dream.”


Derek struggled to listen, his eyes glued to Stiles’ fingers prodding the distended skin. The attention on the sensitive flesh caused a drop of pearly white to well up, and a whine punched out of Derek before he could stop it. A sudden wave of yearning rushed through him, his entire body itching to lean over and let his mouth enclose a leaking teat. To prevent himself from launching onto Stiles like a ravenous beast, Derek locked his muscles, jaw clenching with the strain.


Stiles’ gaze snapped up, zeroing in on Derek’s face and then briefly down to the strained skin of his own chest, before returning.


Cringing, Derek scooted further back. “Sorry. I’ll just . . . uh, I’ll get out of your hair.”


He didn’t get far though, before a hand clamped onto his arm and pulled him back down. Flailing, he landed half on top of Stiles, shocked by the turn of events. What the hell? Pulling himself together, he directed a scowl at his pack human.


Stiles smiled, a small, hesitant thing that instantly melted Derek’s resolve to get out pronto. “So… I was thinking, instead of fleeing out the window like a scaredy wolf, you could stay and finish the job?” Stiles’ tone was clearly aiming for cool and casual but he missed by a mile, landing somewhere in the vicinity of hopeful.


Derek opened his mouth to argue but only managed a startled squeak as Stiles squeezed his swollen chest. The sweet fluid squirted out, a trail of it running down his side and into the sheets, and Derek swore he felt his saliva output double. A desperate whine was pushing up his throat, but he managed to choke it down, swallowing hard a couple of times.


With his smile turning into a fond smirk, Stiles wrapped a hand around the back of Derek’s head and urged him down. As he got closer to Stiles’ chest, Derek’s instincts were in chaos, a part of him wanting to go with this, wherever it went, and another part wanting to put a stop to it; avoid the complications sure to follow if he gave in to his desires. His attempts at relationships should be enough of a deterrent, but another factor was the inevitable ramifications in the pack hierarchy, if he took Stiles as a mate.


In the end, it was Stiles’ ever-present consideration that decided the matter. His grip loosened while Derek was bent over, face hovering above a swollen nipple, and mumbled, “If you want to.”


With a groan, Derek gave in, circling his tongue around the tightened bud, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking, delighting in the soft moans coming off Stiles in a constant stream. Stiles’ fingers scratched at Derek’s scalp, a happy, pleased scent wafting into the air between them. Derek wrapped an arm around his human’s waist, rumbling in satisfaction.






Derek didn’t leave Stiles’ side before the effects of the herbs wore off, and it took two days for him to gather the courage to tell Stiles what the knotting signified. After Stiles’ initial doubt and subsequent squealing, Derek was tackled to the bed. They didn’t even make it downstairs the rest of that day.


Neither of them paid any mind when the pack wrinkled their noses at them during the first pack meeting following Stiles’ absence.






A few weeks later, Stiles went online to buy some of the herbs he accidentally ingested while at Deaton’s clinic. “Just in case,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.


Derek found he didn’t mind at all.




~ The End ~