Stiles blew out a breath and propped his hands on his hips, staring at the bed. He looked a little silly, actually, just standing there like that, completely naked with his dick soft. But Derek didn’t dare say anything. “So.”
“Yep,” Derek said, from his stance on the other side of the bed. He still had his underwear on, at least, and his arms were crossed over his chest.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“I know. Me neither,” Derek reminded him. They’d talked about this, at length, over the past month, and the fact that neither of them had any direct experience was a major topic of conversation.
“Right, right,” Stiles said, nodding as he rubbed at his face, and Derek did not like the anxiety wafting off him.
“We don’t have to do this, you know. Today, or ever,” he said, completely truthfully. “Or we can do it the other way around.”
Stiles’ eyes glazed over a little bit, which was flattering, and then he shook his head, blinking a few times. “Um, yes to that, definitely. But not today. I am mentally prepared for this. Your dick, my ass,” he said, pointing to the dick in question. “That is a thing that is happening, tonight. That is, if you—”
“Yes,” Derek interrupted. “Still yes.”
“Do you wanna—”
“Nope,” Stiles said cheerfully, clambering onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. “Let’s get right to it. Take those boxers off, bucko. Do it nice and slow.”
Derek rolled his eyes and shucked them off quickly, just to make a point, but Stiles wolf-whistled anyway before flopping down onto his stomach. He rummaged in the nightstand for the lube and flung it in the vague direction of Derek’s chest. He caught it with a little laugh and snapped open the cap as he straddled Stiles’ thighs.
“We don’t have to hurry,” he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to Stiles’ shoulder blade, and he nodded, his face mostly buried in the pillow.
“I know. I’m just excited, really.”
“Well, in that case,” Derek said dryly. He wasted no time in squeezing a cold line of lube right over Stiles’ ass and didn’t bother hiding his grin when Stiles squirmed under him and laughed.
Derek murmured something in response and continued rubbing at Stiles’ ass, just massaging with his thumbs until he felt Stiles relax a little under his hands. “You good?”
“Mhmm,” he said, his voice muffled. “Keep going.”
Derek kept waiting, though, tracing his fingers around while Stiles wiggled his hips, his impatient groan barely audible to Derek. They’d done this before at least, several times, so Stiles laid there, relaxed as anything as Derek slid one finger in slowly. He was fully hard now, just from the anticipation and the view, and he let himself rub a little against the soft skin of Stiles’ ass cheek.
Stiles let out these little whimpers and squirmed around as Derek kept going. He kept it slow, switching between one finger and two and rubbing at Stiles’ back with his free hand. They usually didn’t go beyond two fingers, so Derek was extra careful with the third, pausing to add more lube.
“C’mon, dude,” Stiles said, pushing his hips up. “Let’s move this along.”
“Someone told me there’s no such thing as too much lube,” he responded, parroting what Stiles had told him in one of their many conversations about this. Stiles just groaned and thrust his hips again.
“Well, that guy sounds like a dumb jerk. Don’t listen to him.”
“I dunno, I’m kinda fond of him,” he said, punctuating his words with a twist of his fingers. Stiles shuddered.
“Can you please stop being sappy and just fuck me?” he said, his voice a little shaky, and Derek grinned.
“Nope. That wasn’t the deal.”
“Oh, I wasn’t aware that we had a deal,” he snapped, as snarky as ever even with three fingers in his ass. So basically, exactly what Derek had hoped for.
“Yep. You never said anything about me not being sappy.”
Stiles let out a strangled little laugh. “C’mon, please,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m dyin’ here.”
Derek gulped and tried to take a deep breath. He had no trouble keeping the shift at bay, but he let his eyes glow blue just to release some of the tension. “You wanna stay like this?”
“Yeah,” he said, wrapping the word around a moan when Derek spread his fingers a little bit. “That okay with you?”
Derek nodded, forgetting that Stiles couldn’t see him. He’d love to see Stiles’ face, as always, but his only real preference was that Stiles was comfortable.
“Condom?” he asked, and Stiles nodded jerkily.
“I think it’ll make it, uh, easier,” he said, so Derek reached over to the nightstand. They never used condoms otherwise, but hopefully it would dull the sensations a bit and help Derek last more than 90 seconds. He withdrew his fingers carefully, in order to deal with the condom, but Stiles groaned. Derek bit his lip, thinking that Stiles might be in pain, but then he squirmed, and Derek had to look away from the very tempting sight of Stiles thrusting his ass in the air.
“Feels weird,” he gasped, arching his back again. “C’mon, c’mon, please don’t. Come back.”
Derek slid his fingers back in, just on a hunch, and Stiles relaxed almost instantly. “It’s okay,” Derek said lowly. “I got you.”
He managed to rip the packet open with his teeth and put the condom on one-handed, with only a minor amount of fumbling. He added another squirt of lube, not really caring about the stray streaks that landed on the comforter and on Stiles’ thigh. “You sure?” he asked again, and Stiles nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, twisting his left arm back and fumbling for Derek’s hand. “Come on.”
Derek tangled their fingers together and squeezed as he withdrew the fingers of his other hand, replacing them with the head of his dick, inside Stiles just about an inch. Stiles gasped, and Derek echoed him.
Dulling sensations, my ass, he thought, clenching his eyes shut. Jesus Christ. “Fuck. You—you okay?”
Stiles nodded, jerkily, and swallowed. Derek could hear it, as well as his little pants and the thundering of his heartbeat. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said tightly.
“I swear. I’m…it’s a lot, but I’m good.”
Derek grimaced before sliding forward another inch, and Stiles’ low groan was drowned out by his own. “Oh, holy shit,” he panted, forcing himself to loosen his crushing grip on Stiles’ hand.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Stiles chanted, his whole body tense, and Derek winced.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing the back of Stiles’ neck. “I would take the pain, but I don’t want to risk—”
“I know, I know,” Stiles interrupted. “We talked about that. I’m fine. C’mon, a little more.”
Derek obeyed, about halfway in now. “You don’t seem fine,” he said, stroking his free hand firmly down Stiles’ side. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”
Stiles did, several times, and Derek blinked rapidly, trying to remember…anything.
“Talk to me, babe,” Derek said, breaking out the rare pet name before giving into the temptation to suck a little mark at the back of Stiles’ neck. “Do you want me to stop?”
Stiles shook his head with a grunt. He took another deep breath, exhaling harshly, and then used his other hand—where the hell did that come from?—to yank clumsily at Derek’s hip, causing him to bottom out in one surprised motion.
Stiles groaned, fisting the sheets, and Derek sucked in breaths, suddenly sweating from the effort. It was so, so tight, more than anything he’d ever felt, and holy shit this was gonna be the end of him. “Why the hell did you do that?” he gasped.
“Because you were going too slow,” Stiles said weakly. Those broad shoulders were still tense and strained, so Derek tried everything he could think of to help him relax, nibbling at his ear and scratching through his hair. He seemed to be breathing a little easier, at least, and he wiggled ineffectually under Derek’s weight. “Move.”
“You sure?” he asked, but Stiles just groaned in response, that frustrated and impatient groan that Derek was all too familiar with.
It took Derek a minute to rearrange his weight and figure out the best way to put his limbs and brace himself, but he got there eventually. He gingerly slid out and back in again, only a couple inches, probably. Stiles whimpered, and Derek froze, interpreting the sound as pained.
“Oh my god, no, don’t stop!” Stiles said, his arms scrabbling at the sheets. “Moving is better, c’mon.”
“How is moving better?” he gasped, and Stiles groaned.
“I don’t know, do we really need to have an entire discussion about this right now? It just is, so move your ass,” he gritted out.
“So bossy,” he said fondly, and Stiles’ fingers clutched the pillow in clear frustration.
“I swear to god, if you don’t move in the next three seconds, I am going to flip you over and do it myself.”
Derek looked down at their current position, with nearly his entire body weight covering Stiles. “I’d like to see you try.”
“You know those stories about how parents can like, lift cars off their children from the adrenaline? It would be like that.”
Derek cocked his head. “So you’re…comparing my dick to your child? I’m confused.”
Stiles groaned and reached one hand back to slap at Derek’s thigh. “Come on. Stop talking, and fuck me.”
“If I move I’m gonna come,” he said, whispering in Stiles’ ear, “so you need to give me a sec.”
Stiles burst out laughing, and yeah, the resulting wiggling wasn’t really helping things, either. “Okay, boo, take your time. But just so you know, I’m gonna bring this up every time you take even the smallest dig at my stamina.”
“Hey,” he complained. “I don’t do that.”
“Well, in my head you do,” Stiles retorted, and Derek rolled his eyes. He tried another thrust, and Stiles groaned again, but this time it was his happy-pleased-aroused one, which Derek liked much better. He moved his hips again, longer this time, and started up an easy rhythm, even though he kept the pace gentle.
Stiles was panting again, for good reasons now, and he tangled their fingers again. “Fuck, Der, god.”
He closed his eyes—he could barely handle the sensory overload, and he had to shut some of it out. “Is it—is it good?”
Stiles moaned, all long and low and drawn-out, and Derek’s rhythm stuttered before he managed to start it up again. Jesus. “So good, holy shit. Please don’t stop.”
As if there was any chance of that. He kept going, letting Stiles’ stuttering gasps and grunts guide him. Derek opened his eyes again after another minute—there was no way he was gonna last much longer, so what the hell—and inhaled sharply. It was obscene, that’s what it was, the way Stiles was practically writhing against the sheets, moving his body as much as he could under Derek’s weight. The back of his neck and his shoulders were flushed red, dotted with dark marks from Derek’s mouth, and the muscles in his arms were bunching as he moved.
Derek came almost instantly, with little warning, and barely managed to bury himself to the hilt before he cried out, right into Stiles’ ear. His ears were ringing, everything fuzzy and cotton-y, and it took several long seconds for all his senses to come back online. He was mindlessly mouthing at Stiles’ shoulders when he regained full consciousness, and one of Stiles’ hands was clumsily patting at his hair.
Derek pulled out as carefully as he could manage and flipped Stiles over onto his back. He was mostly hard and looked completely fucked-out, his eyes heavy-lidded and his hair a mess. Derek couldn’t resist those bitten-red lips, and when he leaned down to kiss him, Stiles lunged up into it, kissing him sloppily and wrapping both arms around his neck. Derek let him take control, since he was still feeling foggy and off-balance from his orgasm. Stiles thrust up against him shamelessly, but Derek wanted him to have a better orgasm than just rubbing off on him.
So he pulled back, ignoring Stiles’ plaintive groan, and dropped down his body, mapping his chest and torso with his hands before settling between Stiles’ legs. He was fully hard now, and Derek palmed his balls carefully before licking at the head of his dick.
“Derek,” he gasped, “Derek, please, c’mon.” Stiles was squirming like he had been earlier, so Derek took an educated guess and carefully slid two fingers back inside him. He relaxed again and tangled his fingers in Derek’s hair, thrusting up against him just a little. Derek worked out a rhythm between his mouth and his fingers, crooking them up carefully, and it only took a couple minutes before Stiles was arching up on the bed and coming with a cry. Derek swallowed it all down and only pulled off when Stiles whined and kneed him gently.
He climbed up Stiles’ body on shaky limbs and kissed him again, trying to pour everything he was feeling into it. Stiles was still panting, as was Derek, and the kiss was eager and slack until Stiles shoved him away. “Oh, holy shit,” he said, flopping back onto his stomach with a groan. “Wow, we are good at that.”
Derek rolled onto his side next to him and stroked a gentle hand down his back. “Was it really okay?”
“I mean, it hurt, definitely, at first, but it got really good. Totally worth it. Was it good for you?”
Derek gave him a flat look. “No,” he said dryly. “I usually only come in like three minutes when it’s bad.”
Stiles’ grin was completely shit-eating, and he looked impossibly cute as he burrowed into the pillow. “Aw, boo, you’re so sweet.”
“Are you okay now?”
Stiles nodded and scraped his palm against Derek’s stubble. “I can definitely feel it, but it’s okay. I’m not gonna move for at least 12 hours, though. And you gotta bring me breakfast in bed.”
“Gladly,” Derek whispered, slinging his arm over Stiles’ back and closing his eyes. He would get up and take care of everything—namely, the mess of lube between Stiles’ thighs and the condom hanging off his own dick—as soon as he could move his legs again.
Derek got home one night, a couple weeks later, to the familiar sight of Stiles stretched out on the couch. “Cora’s thinking about coming to visit,” he said as he dropped his keys in the little basket by the door.
“Yeah, she told me,” Stiles said, not looking up from the book he was reading, and Derek paused.
“You guys talk?”
“Every once in a while,” he said, lifting his head and puckering his lips for a kiss. Derek rolled his eyes but smiled as he leaned down to oblige. “Mostly on Instagram.”
“Does she, uh, does she know? About us?”
Stiles hummed. “I dunno. I don’t think so.”
“Does anyone know?”
“I haven’t told anyone,” he said, yanking at Derek’s belt loops until he fell on top of him. “I wasn’t sure how you felt about that.”
“About what?” he asked, distracted by Stiles’ lips on his neck.
“About people knowing.”
“Oh,” he said, a little startled. He hadn’t even thought about that, to be honest. “Everyone should know.”
Derek nodded and busied himself with the line of Stiles’ stubble under his jaw. He heard the ridiculous camera shutter sound from Stiles’ phone and couldn’t even bring himself to care about whatever dumb picture he had just been a part of.
“There,” Stiles said, a minute later. “Now it’s on Instagram, and everyone will know.”
“Okay,” Derek said, still not really caring as he took Stiles’ phone from his hand and tossed it down onto the rug. “Now take off your shirt.”
About half an hour and a pair of orgasms later, Derek could not handle the incessant buzzing of Stiles’ phone. Without opening his eyes from his pleasant post-sex haze, he reached for it on the floor and pressed it into Stiles’ hand with a groan. “Make it stop,” he murmured, and Stiles laughed.
“Okay, okay,” he said, petting Derek’s hair. “Let’s see. Cora’s pissed because she, and I quote, just talked to that asshole and he didn’t say anything. And Kira says she’s mad at you about some bet?”
Derek grinned against Stiles’ shoulder.
The next few months were most definitely the best of Derek’s life. He felt completely settled into their life in Austin, and he’d never been happier than he was with Stiles.
Not that everything was all sunshine and roses, all the time. They’d always argued, ever since they’d known each other, and that didn’t stop just because they started having sex. In fact, it might have even gotten worse since now they had more latitude in what they could talk about, as well as more knowledge on what would really hurt. Stiles had a tendency to press and press and press, and Derek would just stonewall him while shutting down more and more. It was like a reflex—the more Stiles pried, the less Derek wanted to talk. He knew the intentions were good, but it was hard for him to change the old patterns.
They were really good at the whole sex part, though—like really good—so sometimes they’d just have sex instead of arguing. And as enjoyable as that was, Derek knew it wasn’t always the best solution.
They were spooning on the couch, watching TV, and Stiles kept sliding his hand under the hem of Derek’s shirt, gently tracing against the lines of his abs. Derek idly batted it away each time, but Stiles was treating it like some kind of game. “Stop,” he said finally, much sharper than he’d meant to, and Stiles jerked, removing his hand slowly.
“Whoa. What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” Derek insisted, shaking his head as he sat up. “I’m fine.”
“C’mon, that’s obviously not nothing,” Stiles said, sitting up also. “Tell me.”
Stiles scoffed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I don’t need your little wolfy lie detector to know that’s bullshit. Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because there’s nothing to tell!” he said, a little louder than he planned, and Stiles clenched his jaw.
“You know, this whole thing isn’t gonna work if you don’t actually tell me what’s going on.”
Derek inhaled a sharp breath and tightened his jaw. “So it’s just not gonna work out, huh? Great, good to know.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and leaned forward. “Stop it with that shit,” he mumbled against Derek’s lips. He leaned into it for a minute—kissing Stiles was as natural as breathing, now, and this was how they solved many of their arguments—but forced himself to pull back.
“No, what?” Stiles murmured, moving his kisses to Derek’s neck as he slid a hand up his shirt.
“Stop,” he said, shaking Stiles off as he stood up. “I’m going upstairs, I want to be alone.”
“Derek!” Stiles called after him, jogging over to the stairs. “C’mon, let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to talk!” he called back. He knew it was childish even as he was doing it, but he slammed his door anyway. He paced the length of his room and ran a hand through his hair, as frustrated with himself as he was with Stiles. He hated fighting with Stiles, but he had no idea how to stop, or even how to fight with him productively. That was a thing, right?
Derek sighed and fell back onto his bed. He loved Stiles, even though they hadn’t said that yet, and he knew they were good together. So he really didn’t want to ruin this before it even got a chance to really be something.
The rest of his night was slightly more pathetic that he’d like to admit. Stiles’ room had pretty much been turned into an extra guest room at this point, and Derek wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore. He had April, at least, who was a pretty good cuddler, but it still took him a long time to fall asleep.
Derek rolled over groggily the next morning, and it took him a few minutes to realize what had woken him up. He sniffed, taking in the cinnamon-scented air, and buried his smile in his pillow.
Stiles was making banana pancakes, Derek’s favorite, and he knew it was a gesture of goodwill. Slightly energized, he rolled out of bed and crept downstairs, watching Stiles at the stove before he turned around and saw him, waving with a little smile.
“Hey, sit down,” he said, gesturing to the table.
Derek obeyed. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, covering Derek’s hand with his own for just a second as he set both plates down on the table. “I shouldn’t have kept pressing, I should have just let it go.”
Derek shook his head and reached for his hand again, tangling their fingers together and tugging him closer. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…stormed off like that. I should have just talked to you.”
He kept tugging until Stiles fell into his lap. He laughed and kissed Derek, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, just like he knew Derek liked. The thought of it, that Stiles knew all those things about him, made Derek squeeze him a little tighter. “So this is how we’re eating breakfast?” he asked, wiggling in Derek’s lap until he found a more comfortable position.
“Mhmm,” Derek said easily, using only his left hand to cut a pancake with his fork. “These are great. Thanks for making them.”
“Always,” Stiles said, leaning forward from his perch on Derek’s lap to reach for his own plate.
They ate mostly in silence, interrupted by a little meaningless conversation. It was fairly relaxed, at least until Stiles cleared his throat and rubbed at his face, which Derek recognized as the tics he used when he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to. “What about, uh…what do you think about us going to see Jane, together?”
Derek immediately opened his mouth to argue—they didn’t need that—but then paused to think about it. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before Stiles spoke up again.
“I just—I really want this to work out, okay?” he said lowly, pressing a slow kiss to Derek’s temple. “I really hate fighting with you.”
“Me, too,” he confessed, tilting his chin up for a real kiss. “So, yeah, let’s do it.”
“Really?” he asked, his eyes wide, and Derek frowned.
“I just, uh, thought it would take a little more convincing,” Stiles said, waggling his eyebrows. “I had this whole bribery plan worked out and everything.”
Derek laughed and tightened his grip on Stiles. “Hmm. Why don’t you tell me more about this plan?”
“Oh, no way, buddy,” Stiles said, tugging playfully at Derek’s hair. “You already agreed. No going back now.”
“Okay,” he said, giving in easily. “I’ll set it up.”
“You know,” Stiles said, his voice dropping lower as he traced one finger along Derek’s shoulder. “You talking about your emotional health gets me really horny.”
“Oh, yeah?” he said through a mouthful of pancakes, and Stiles laughed.
“Yeah, and the talking with your mouth full just really seals it.”
“I’m glad I can be half as irresistible to you as you are to me,” he said with a smirk, and Stiles’ groan was long and low, his head thrown back. He was smiling, though, and he kissed Derek’s cheek.
“Sappy Derek’s back, my favorite.”
“Hello, boys,” Jane said, with a wide smile.
“Hello,” they said in unison as she ushered them inside. It was weird for Derek to be here, in this familiar room, with Stiles. He made himself comfortable on the couch, and Derek gave him a little look.
“I told you I like to lie down!” Stiles said, and Derek just rolled his eyes as he picked up Stiles’ feet, sat down in his customary corner, and pulled them back into his lap.
“So,” Jane started, writing something down on her pad. “Why are you two here today? Stiles, you first.”
Stiles took a deep breath. “I—I like Derek a lot. Like, til death do us part a lot,” he said. Derek snapped his head over to stare at him—because what—but Stiles was looking determinedly at Jane. “And I really don’t want to screw it up.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “And what about you, Derek?”
He swallowed. “It was Stiles’ idea,” he admitted. “And since I’m not really…I don’t really have a lot of experience with functional relationships, I thought it would be a good idea.”
“And what would you say is your goal here? What would you like to get out of these sessions?”
The two of them looked at each other, and to no surprise, Stiles spoke first. “We—we argue a lot. Or, I guess it’s a lot? And I don’t think we’re very good at it.”
“We really like each other,” Derek added because he knew that was true, at least. “But we—or I, at least, I’m afraid we’re gonna sabotage it somehow.”
“Yeah, I feel that way, too,” Stiles said, giving him a small smile. “And since we’ve been friends for so long and we’ve been living together for a while…it’s like we feel like we’re more, uh, advanced in our relationship than we actually are? Does that make sense?”
Jane nodded. “Well, first of all, I think it’s great that you two are even here. I knew you were both a little resistant to therapy at first, so I’m glad that you think it has helped enough that you’re willing to bring this into your relationship. Let’s start by going over a couple rules, okay?” she asked, and they both nodded. “One, try to use I statements instead of you statements. Focus on how you feel. Two, don’t use the word always. Nobody always does anything, and it’s not helpful. Lastly, be sure not to conflate actions with characteristics.”
“What does that mean?” Stiles interrupted.
“There’s a big difference between ‘you’re such a jerk’ and ‘you acted like a jerk.’ Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” Derek said, and Stiles nodded.
“Good. Now what about the arguing? Would you like to talk about that?”
Stiles cleared his throat. “So we’ve always argued a lot, like ever since we met. But it’s never been a big deal, it’s more like bantering. And turns out,” he said, grinning, “it’s actually really foreplay, who knew?”
“Stiles,” Derek groaned, feeling his face flush. “Don’t tell her that.”
But Jane just laughed and motioned for him to go on.
“But now…it seems like our arguments are more serious?”
“That makes sense,” she said. “You know each other better now, which unfortunately means that you know how to hurt each other, as well. Do you feel like your arguments have common themes?”
Stiles nodded immediately. “Sometimes he doesn’t tell me things. I mean, it’s way better than before—like, giant leaps, good job, doc,” he said, and Derek rolled his eyes. “But I can tell when something’s wrong, and I ask and ask, and then he just shuts down more and more and he—”
“Use an I statement, Stiles,” Jane interrupted, and Stiles took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.
“Okay, okay. I, uh—I feel like a complete failure as a, as a partner,” he said quietly. “Like I haven’t created enough of a, uh, a trusting environment, I guess. I start to think that Derek doesn’t feel comfortable telling me anything, and then I panic. And when I panic, I just talk more and more, and it becomes this cycle.”
Derek exhaled and gently squeezed Stiles’ ankle. “I didn’t know that,” he said softly, and Stiles smiled at him. “I’m sorry.”
“What about you, Derek? Can you describe how you feel during one of these arguments?”
He sighed again and looked down at the loose thread on Stiles’ right sock. “I…I do trust Stiles, very much, and I feel more comfortable talking to him than anyone. Just—”
“Just what?” Stiles asked.
“Just not in that specific instance,” he said finally. “When you press, it makes me feel pressured. Like I’m the failure for not being able to talk about it. And honestly, I feel screwed up enough already, all the time, without giving Stiles more reasons to think so.”
Stiles levered himself up into a seating position and moved to sit next to Derek, linking their arms. “You are not screwed up,” he whispered, his brow furrowed. “I think you’re perfect.”
“Okay, this is very good,” Jane said. She gestured to Stiles. “What are you getting from what Derek is telling you?”
He gnawed on his lower lip and sagged a little against Derek. “That he…sometimes needs space. And instead of being selfish and pressuring him to talk just so I feel better, I need to back off.”
“And you?” she asked, nodding at Derek.
“That I can do a better job making Stiles feel, uh, feel reassured, I guess,” he said slowly. “And that me talking about things is comforting to him.”
“You two are doing a really great job,” Jane said, scribbling something on her notepad. Stiles nudged him with an elbow, giving him a little eyebrow waggle, and Derek bit back a smile. “Would you like to give an example of something specific that’s come up recently? Something we can talk about now?”
“The—the other night on the couch,” Stiles started, sneaking a little look at Derek. “We ended up fighting about it.”
Derek took a deep breath. “Yeah. Stiles, uh, was touching my stomach. I didn’t—I didn’t tell him to stop, exactly, but he kept doing it even though I didn’t want him to.”
Stiles looked completely ashamed, but Derek kept talking. “It’s just, uh,” he said, waving his hand as he tried to think of the right words, “a thing. A Kate thing.”
“A trigger?” Jane supplied helpfully, and he nodded in her direction.
“Yeah. That. It doesn’t happen all the time, but sometimes. Anyway, he was asking about it, but I wouldn’t talk about it and I stormed off.”
“I’m so sorry,” Stiles said. “I won’t, I didn’t know.”
Derek winced. “I just don’t want you to think I’m made of glass!” he said, a lot more loudly than he meant to, and Stiles held his hands up.
“I don’t, dude, not at all. You’re the strongest person I know.”
Derek sighed, frustrated, and Jane must have picked up on it because she opened her mouth. “Are you going to ask how that makes me feel?” Derek asked, before she got the chance, and she smiled.
“See, it’s like you don’t even need me.”
They all laughed, and Stiles tangled their fingers together. Derek squeezed back.
“Okay, let’s imagine that you were in that scenario again,” Jane said. “What would both of you do differently?”
“I would stop the first time,” Stiles said immediately. “I would be paying better attention and would notice that Derek was serious and not just being playful. And I wouldn’t press Derek to talk about it if he didn’t want to.”
“I would, uh, try to talk about it,” Derek said, scratching at his jaw. “Instead of just getting mad and leaving. That’s not fair to Stiles.”
Jane nodded. “This is wonderful progress already. Do you think you two can keep those principles in mind next time you have an argument?”
“Yeah,” Derek said, looking over at Stiles, who nodded.
“Could—uh, could we talk about sex now?” Stiles asked carefully. Derek startled a little and gave him a funny look. What in the world was he gonna bring up?
“Certainly,” Jane said. “I will tell you, though, that I’m not a sex therapist, that’s not my specialty. So I would focus the discussion on how sex affects your relationship, not specific issues that you’re having with sex. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, nodding. “And that’s what I mean, actually. We have no problem with the actual sex part. That’s the, uh, that’s is the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes I think we have sex to avoid talking about our problems,” Stiles blurted out, and Derek couldn’t help it, he laughed.
“You noticed that, too?” he asked—because they had never really talked about it in that context—and Stiles nodded with a little smile.
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you did.”
“I definitely don’t want our relationship to be just about sex,” Derek said softly.
“And tips for us, doc?” Stiles asked, and Jane smiled.
“Well, a healthy sex life is an important part of most relationships, so kudos to the both of you for that,” she said, and Derek chuckled at Stiles’ blush. “It’s up to you two, of course, but I don’t think it would be a bad idea to stop having sex while you work on your relationship for a little bit.”
Stiles nodded slowly. “For how long?”
Jane hummed. “You two would be the best judges. I would suggest at least a couple weeks, perhaps a month. Until you get to a place where you feel more comfortable with your arguments and that you aren’t using sex as a crutch.”
“Do you think we could last a month?” Stiles asked him, the corner of his mouth twitching, and Derek smiled.
“I would do anything for you,” he said honestly—a month without sex was nothing. Stiles smiled, the little one that was Derek’s favorite, and bumped their shoulders together.
“Then we have a plan. What do you think we should focus on?”
“It’s about creating trust,” Jane explained. “Trust in each other as well as trust in the relationship. That way, one of you can bring up a problem or an issue or a discussion point, and the other person doesn’t automatically head to the worst-case scenario. That type of thinking can very quickly derail the lines of communication, where one partner is afraid to bring up things because the climate is so hostile.”
“I think I’m guilty of that,” Derek said quietly, and she nodded.
“It’s very common, we all do it. Would you like to give an example?”
“I just immediately think that this is it, it’s over, he doesn’t want to be with me anymore, and it reinforces all the insecurities I have about that.”
Jane nodded again. “Your relationship is not going to be perfect. You’re going to fight, and frankly, sometimes you’re going to annoy the shit out of each other. That’s completely normal. What keeps these incidents small is the ability to talk about them before they become big issues.”
Derek took a deep breath, and Stiles squeezed his hand. “Okay. Then let’s learn how to talk about it.”
“Today, right?” Stiles murmured against his lips, barely keeping balance as they stumbled through the front door.
“Mhmm,” Derek responded, a little distracted as he tried to keep them both upright and usher them up the stairs at the same time. It had been a full month, and their self-imposed sex ban was over. About to be, anyway.
It had been a good month. They fought less, and when they did fight, they were better at getting through it with a minimal amount of casualties. They’d gone on a bunch of dates and tried to slow their relationship down a bit—as much as they could while still living together, that is. Withholding from sex for a month hadn’t been the easiest thing they’d ever done, but Derek thought it had been a good decision, and he knew Stiles did, too. And not just because right now it felt like the top of his head was about to blow off.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, gasping and barely separating from Derek’s mouth as he shoved them through the bedroom door. “This is amazing. I can’t even decide what I wanna do, I’ve been composing a list in my head all month.”
“Oh, yeah?” Derek asked as he stripped Stiles’ t-shirt off.
Stiles laughed and tried, very ineffectually, to get rid of Derek’s shirt and pants at the same time. Derek rolled his eyes and shoved Stiles down onto the bed, making him laugh when he landed with a bounce. “Yeah,” he said, waggling his eyebrows as he shimmied out of his pants. He watched shamelessly as Derek undressed, and he tried to slow down a little bit as he did so, even though he felt a little ridiculous. “Why, you have any input?”
As a matter of fact, he did. It actually wasn’t that often that they even did anal—or “sex sex,” as Stiles called it, just to annoy Derek—but Derek knew what he wanted to do tonight.
He threw one leg over Stiles’ and leaned down to nibble at his earlobe. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered, and Stiles froze.
“Holy shit,” he said, pushing at Derek’s chest until they were face-to-face. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” he said, putting a little more bravado into his voice than he was really feeling. “You can’t be that surprised, we talked about it.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, nodding. “But that was a while ago, and you haven’t mentioned it since, so I thought you didn’t want to. Which would be fine, of course.”
Derek sighed and tried to think of Jane’s advice. And then promptly shoved her out of his mind because she certainly didn’t have this in mind when they were talking about how to communicate his feelings. “It makes me, uh, feel vulnerable. And I haven’t done it before, obviously. But I want to.”
“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, one of his big hands resting on Derek’s chest, right above his heart. “I don’t want you to do this just because you think I want it.”
“I’m not, I promise. I want to try,” he said. Stiles still didn’t look completely convinced, so Derek shrugged, feeling more than a little insecure. “But if you don’t wa—”
Stiles surged up to press their lips together, hanging off Derek’s neck. “Oh, god,” he mumbled into the kiss, licking eagerly into Derek’s mouth. “No, don’t say that, of course I want to. So badly.”
Derek kissed him for a minute and eased him back down onto the bed. Stiles was shaking a little, though, and his heartbeat was through the roof. “You seem anxious.”
“I just want this to be perfect,” he said, low enough that Derek needed his good ears to catch it.
“It will be,” he said, dipping down to press a kiss to the hollow of Stiles’ collarbones. “Stop worrying.”
“You know that’s like the worst thing to say to someone who’s worr—holy shit.”
Derek smirked, as best as he could around Stiles’ dick, and went to town for just a minute, until he felt Stiles go completely lax under his hands.
“Okay,” Stiles gasped, with a forceful yank at Derek’s hair. “If you wanna do this, we gotta stop.”
Derek pulled off, reluctantly, and licked his lips as Stiles tugged him back up. They made out for a while, just alternating soft kisses with forceful ones as they rolled around on the bed, hands wandering. This had been the extent of their sexual contact over the past month, and they both clearly still took comfort from it.
Stiles gently cradled the back of Derek’s head with one hand and slowly dragged the other one down his body to wrap around his dick. “Fuck, your fucking hands,” Derek groaned, arching up into his grip, and Stiles laughed, delighted.
“Yeah? My hands?”
“Shut up,” he muttered, tucking his smile against the curve of Stiles’ shoulder.
“Oh, no, please continue,” Stiles said gleefully, his grin evident in his voice as he kept stroking Derek, torturously slow. “Talk some more about my hands.”
Derek heaved a sigh, unsuccessfully hiding a smile, and wiggled his ass against Stiles’ other hand, which had drifted down his back. “Can we get to the fucking now?”
Stiles laughed, a little manic, and squeezed Derek’s ass, hard, before kissing him again. “Well, I suppose, if we have to.”
“How do you want me?” he asked, and Stiles’ eyes glazed over.
“Holy shit, I am not prepared for this,” he muttered, then rearranged them until he was behind Derek on his side. “I know you like being little spoon,” Stiles said, punctuating his words with a little tug to Derek’s earlobe. “Don’t lie.”
It was true—Stiles’ shoulders were just as broad as his, anyway—so Derek did nothing more than arch back into him.
“Promise me that you’ll talk if I do something you don’t like, okay?” Stiles whispered into his ear, and Derek nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out rougher than he was expecting. “Yeah, I promise.”
He wasn’t lying, but he couldn’t really imagine Stiles doing anything that he wouldn’t like. It was all a bit of a blur, actually, as Stiles found the lube and slowly started stretching him. It didn’t take long for the sensation to go from strange, after a month without it, to familiar and then to pleasurable. Stiles was narrating the whole time, random babble interspersed with biting kisses to Derek’s shoulders, but Derek was barely listening, having to put all his concentration on not touching his own dick yet, lest he come too soon. He really was obsessed with Stiles’ hands, and this was…it was a little overwhelming, to say the least.
“C’mon,” he said, impatiently rocking his hips against Stiles’ hand. “Another one.”
“Be patient,” Stiles said prissily, and Derek rolled his eyes.
“I’ll heal,” he reminded him, but Stiles just groaned and pinched Derek’s ass with his free hand.
“Are you fucking serious right now? I don’t care if you’ll heal, I’m not hurting you.”
That was…a decent point, actually, and Derek tried to relax as Stiles finally slid in a third finger. Stiles’ dick kept bumping up against the back of his thigh, leaving little drops of pre-come, so Derek focused on that instead of the uncomfortable stretch. It morphed into a pleasant one, finally, and a few minutes later, Derek reached back to squeeze Stiles’ hip. “Please,” he said lowly. “C’mon, I’m ready. Promise.”
“Condom?” Stiles asked, his voice a little shaky, and Derek shook his head—he really didn’t like the smell of latex.
“Is that okay?”
Derek heard another squirt of lube when Stiles slipped his fingers out, and he suddenly understood all the squirming—he felt empty and uncomfortable, like something was wrong and missing. It really was a disquieting sensation, and his tension must have been visible because Stiles slid up right behind him, his bottom arm hooked over Derek’s chest.
“It’s okay,” he said lowly, as the head of his dick brushed against Derek, making him shiver. “I’m right here. You good?”
Derek nodded and then barely kept the claws and the fangs at bay when the head of Stiles’ dick breached him. He panted instead, twisting the sheets between his fingers while he tried to stay still. It hurt some, and while he was all-too-used to pain, unfortunately, he was not accustomed to pain in the context of Stiles, when they were like this, and it was taking him a minute to wrap his head around it.
“Talk to me,” Stiles whispered, and Derek wet his lips.
“I—it’s overwhelming,” he admitted. “But it’s okay.”
“Press down against me a little bit,” Stiles said softly, and Derek did, exhaling. That made it a little better, as did the way Stiles mouthed at his jaw, down to his throat. He tilted his head back, concentrating on that sensation instead. Stiles’ lips rasped against his stubble, and the teasing pinch of his teeth was familiar. “Moving really helps, I promise. Can I move? Just a little?”
Derek nodded, and Stiles released a shaky breath as he started to move back and forth a bit. He was right, it turned out, and the stretch and the burn turned into something pleasant rather than tender and flaring. Derek exhaled, grateful, and fumbled for any part of Stiles’ skin, landing on his thigh. “Yeah, it’s better. Keep going.”
“Oh, fuck, Derek,” Stiles said, the words spilling from him now as if a dam had been released. “You feel so good, you have no idea. Well, I assume you have some idea because I doubt that I feel terrible, but there is no way in hell that it’s as good as this. Like, no way because this is seriously…”
Derek smiled—irrationally pleased that Stiles was always himself, no matter what he was doing—and even huffed a little laugh. He really loved this idiot, and the sex was clearly making him sappy and stupid.
Stiles had a pretty decent rhythm going now, his arm still locked around Derek’s chest, and Derek held on to it for leverage as he started to thrust back. Stiles whimpered and went a little faster, until they built up a steady pace. The pain and discomfort was just a distant memory now, and the feel of Stiles, of them being connected in this way, was completely electric.
A familiar buzzing and blurring was building at the base of Derek’s spine, and he gasped. “Stiles,” he groaned, not caring one little bit about the desperate whine in his voice, “I’m gonna come.”
“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed, thrusting a little harder for a second. “Oh my god, that’s so hot. Seriously?”
“Are you gonna make me do it myself?” he asked, scrounging for any grumpiness that he could put into his tone. It must have worked because Stiles laughed, a little strangled, and curled his lubed hand around Derek’s dick. He stroked effortlessly, sliding easy as anything, and Derek had to force himself to keep his eyes open. The dual sensations were just about enough to send him into some kind of weird sex haze.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles chanted, for once abandoning any notions of teasing and just launching into a fast, hard pace with his hand. His strokes weren’t really in any kind of rhythm with the movement of his hips, but Derek couldn’t care less. “Derek, oh my god, you gotta come, man, I don’t know how much longer I can last. This is already a miracle, really, that I’ve made it this long, especially when you’re…holy fuck, you’re squirming, Jesus Christ. I don’t—we’re talking, like, Olympic levels of restraint here, but I really can’t hold off any longer. Please come, boo, I can’t—”
Derek held his breath as the pressure built and peaked, and he finally came with a hoarse cry, twitching in Stiles’ grip as he spilled messy ropes all over his hand. The release was even better than he was expecting, and it seemed like Stiles’ dick in his ass was the only thing stopping him from collapsing into a puddle of post-orgasm goo. He heaved for breath and could feel the way he clenched involuntarily around Stiles. Just a couple seconds later, Stiles gave one particularly hard thrust and stilled, clutching Derek’s hip while he let out a little sob.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, pressing messy kisses all along Derek’s neck. “Best orgasm ever, holy shit.”
Derek grunted in agreement, completely incapable of anything more, and tried to suppress his whine when Stiles pulled out. He might have even dozed a little, mostly out of it and still shivering lightly while Stiles wiped them both off and massaged at his ass for a while. They got under the covers, Derek with a lot of help from Stiles, and drifted in their own sex-stupid haze for a little while.
“Hey, do you miss home?” Stiles asked finally, and Derek responded before he could even think about it.
“I am home.”
Stiles flopped to his side, a small, lazy grin spreading across his face, and Derek fought the urge to blush. “Yeah?” he asked, trailing his fingers up Derek’s side, just light enough to make him shiver. “This feels like home already?”
“You’re my home. No matter where we are.”
Stiles’ grin got broader, and he slid closer to rest his forehead against the curve of Derek’s neck. “I’m gonna take that as an I love you.”
“Good,” Derek said. He was aiming for haughty but probably ended up closer to love-sick and reverent. “It was meant as one.”
“I love you, too.”
Stiles laughed and rearranged his limbs so that his weight was nearly all on top of Derek. “Oh my god, stop being so perfect, you jerk.”