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Right Me Up

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Derek’s favorite is when Stiles is fresh from the shower and his skin is still pink and raw and he smells like soap, with his hair damp and dripping water against his nape. Derek likes to bury his nose in the crook where his shoulder meets neck, his arms wrapped around Stiles from behind while he brushes his teeth at the sink and rolls his eyes in the mirror that reads ‘I like your butt’ scrawled with a wet fingertip through fog.

Stiles grins at it, eyes like embers in the lowlight of the bathroom where Derek sees them glinting through the broad sweep of the ‘Ts’ and watches as Stiles renders a crude drawing beneath his letters. Derek presses feather light kisses against his bare shoulder and watches with a smirk. He raises his head and asks, “why are there scars all over my butt?” winding him up and Stiles scoffs in annoyance and flushes. “It’s hair!”

“I don’t have a hairy butt,” Derek huffs nosing at Stiles’ temple and the wet hair there, snuffling along back towards the shell of Stiles’ ear. Stiles makes a soft, satisfied sound and melts into the touch, presses his back along Derek’s chest.

“You have a hairy everything,” Stiles tells him, tilting his head slightly to give Derek more access, which he takes, nibbles softly on the tip of Stiles’ ear before licking a stripe down to grasp his lobe softly between his teeth.

 “I need to rinse,” Stiles mutters, but Derek’s hand has already snaked its way towards the edge of Stiles’ towel and he lets it drop to the bathroom floor without resistance. Stiles grinds his hips softly against Derek’s as Derek grasps Stiles in a loose fist, tightens around him as he begins to harden in his hand. Stiles tips his head back and Derek kisses him, doesn’t care about the left over toothpaste foaming at the corners of Stiles’ mouth as he opens up beneath him, breathing moans against his tongue and offering himself up for Derek.

Derek jerks him off in steady strokes, cups his other hand across Stiles’ thigh to hold him up, steady him, legs going weak as his heartbeat rackets in his chest and he comes with a stifled moan, staring up with wide eyed adoration at Derek. It punches every time, seizes up his chest until it feels like it’s bursting with some unnamable emotion he thinks might be luck, or love, or stunned unending disbelief all rolled into one as Stiles’ lips lift and he presses his nose against the rough stubbled underside of Derek’s jaw and grinds his ass against Derek’s erection still trapped in his own sleep pants between them.

“Will you fuck me?” Stiles asks, earnest, voice quiet over the fan still running from Stiles’ shower and Derek turns him around without prompt and lifts him, grasps his hands firm beneath Stiles’ ass and walks him back into the bedroom. He lays Stiles out on the bed and he sprawls in the sheets already turned down, waiting. Derek strips himself slow but efficient, until he’s naked and settling himself between Stiles’ open legs, pushing at them, Stiles opening easy, relaxed and loose as Derek buries his face between them, noses at his balls and moves lower, pushes at Stiles gently until he has access.

It took Derek a long time to work his way towards this the first time, embarrassed with how much he wanted it, afraid of Stiles’ judgment or confusion, the way Stiles’ scent was heaviest here. Now though, Derek can smell the soap clinging to his skin and the way he’s loose around the press of his tongue like Stiles prepped, and he imagines it, his fingers slick with soap and working in and out of himself, readying himself for Derek.

Derek scents him, noses at his spent cock, and licks at his balls while Stiles watches with rapt and patient attention, one hand curled around the crook of his knees and the other petting Derek softly, fingers carding gently and encouragingly through his hair. Derek nuzzles the inside of one of Stiles’ pale thighs before he leans down and blows cool air across his spit slicked hole and Stiles’ eyes roll up and his back arches, mouth parting on a soft drawn out ‘oh.’

“Do that again,” He whispers a smile on his face and Derek offers him one of his own and obliges. Stiles lets Derek take his fill here, opens him up slow and easy, works him up until Stiles is hard again before he coats his cock up in the lube they keep in the bedside table drawer.

He pushes in slowly, watches Stiles’ eyes widen, his toes curl where they rest against Derek’s forearms and Derek nips at them softly and Stiles smirks, presses his foot against Derek’s face with a quiet sort of grin as Derek leans over him, buries himself in Stiles, brackets his arms by Stiles’ head and kisses him. Stiles’ hands clutch at his face and jaw as he sucks Derek’s lower lip into his mouth and catches it between his teeth and hmms his satisfaction. When he wriggles down on Derek’s cock Derek moves.

The first time it was awkward, Stiles smelled like pinched off pain and trepidation, and Derek’s cock kept sliding out, their rhythm off just so like a bad audio synch on a good movie. But Derek came with Stiles’ name on his mouth and his hands on his face and Stiles pressed kisses to his neck and whispered pleas into his skin as Derek worked at his cock.

Now they move in synchronized undulations. Derek sways and Stiles swerves and their hips meet and thighs press with slick sounding smacks in the quiet room, as they both moan open and unreserved. Derek is quiet outside of the bedroom, words careful and calculated, but here, with Stiles spread beneath him, surrounding him, ass clenching tight around him he whispers unconsciously, buries his secrets in the flush of Stiles’ heated, wet skin and whimpers out his worries in long drawn out moans and deep groans, open and raw as he fucks Stiles, who wraps himself around Derek and clings like he’s a life preserve.

This is how he offers everything to Stiles, and Stiles comes once more, pleasure wracking his body until it’s pulled tight and taut and gone paralytic with pleasure beneath him and he yanks Derek over the edge with him, pulsing hot inside him. Derek collapses then against Stiles before he rolls them carefully, sheets and all until they’re cocooned amidst their messy blankets, sticky with sweat and lube and drying come, and too sated to care, too sleepy to do anything more than laugh against each other’s mouths as they kiss, all slow and unhurried, calm and content.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ broad shoulders and buries his face once more in the crook of his neck. Stiles tangles their legs together, strokes a hand over the curve of his ass and squeezes soft, and gentle and whispers, “it is too hairy,” before he nuzzles his face against Derek’s collarbone and tries, and fails, every time, to hide the easy laughter that wells up in him. Derek buries his chin in Stiles’ hair, and joins him.