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Ember

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Stiles rolls over in the bed on an early Sunday morning, wondering what woke him since the sun isn’t even out yet, and gradually becomes aware of Derek’s face gently pressing into the palm of his right hand. He smiles then, affection welling up easily within him, and his fingers twitch involuntarily. Derek lets out a huff of breath but continues dozing off, seemingly content to have his nose pressed against Stiles damp palm.

Stiles watches him sleep, a rare enough event since Stiles is not a morning person and even though neither is Derek, he has never been able to quite drop the discipline that came with living a life of constant vigilance. Moments like these are Stiles’ favorite ones, where the world seems to fall away and it’s just them in their bed, in their bedroom, in the loft that has become theirs.

The room is bathed in the cold light of dawn, and Stiles watches the thin stream of sunshine highlight the dips and valleys of Derek’s arm, curving sharply over a bare shoulder. His face is turned towards the pillow, the sharp jawline, the soft parted thin lips, the angle of his nose, the thick brows, time has changed little in him, partially because of the wolf, partially because of genetics. Stiles watches the sun catching in Derek’s black hair, the only place were age has begun showing signs, streaked with gray on the temples in a way that makes him look unfairly handsome and dangerous.

Suddenly feeling that the scant inches between them are too much, Stiles slides closer, pushes himself up just enough to slide his cheek next to Derek's, nuzzling the hairline near his ear, his lips pressing softly against the shell of it. He feels Derek stir under him, moves only enough to press his cheek back against Stiles, before going back to nuzzle his hand. Stiles smiles.

He is not a wolf, but they’ve been together for nearly two decades now, and Stiles knows that wolves use all their senses in ways he can only comprehend intellectually, but can never really understand. He knows how to scent mark, however, even if he can’t experience the pull of it himself, but he doesn’t need to, because all he needs is to hear Derek’s pleased exhale, see his eyes grow dark with lust and affection. Stiles pleasure lies in giving it to Derek, so he watched and observed and catalogued each and every of Derek’s moves and acts, and learned to do them to him instead.

He moves his head lower, exerts enough pressure to nose his way towards Derek’s neck, presses a wet kiss against it, inhales his scent, warm and so uniquely Derek, familiar and comforting and Stiles knows that in a bit it will be arousing, but right now it smells of home and family and pack.

Derek is making a soft rumbling noise deep in his chest that Stiles had once said sounded like a purr, which Derek was deeply offended by so he didn’t repeat it, but still Stiles thinks it’s exactly that, a noise that speaks of profound satisfaction and pleasure. He mouths at Derek’s shoulder, the patch slightly warmer from the sun, and slides his left arm around him, his hand trailing up Derek’s bare back, over the tattoo and towards his neck. The angle isn’t quite right, the position is slightly awkward, but he still fans out his fingers into the short cropped hair, circles the neck more firmly to squeeze gently, his thumb pressing into the thick tendon, and Derek groans.

He gets rolled onto his back, Derek moving to slide halfway on top of him, a thick thigh sliding in between Stiles slightly more slender ones. The sheets get tangled between their legs, so that Derek’s left side is left completely bare and Stiles takes pleasure in watching the long line of muscle, heavy and powerful, the slope of his ass, and feels the beginning of arousal stir low in his belly.

He looks back up then, meets Derek’s hooded eyes, before very carefully tilting his head to a side, exposing his neck. It’s not submission, he would have to lower his eyes to do that, but Derek has never expected him to submit, has never wanted that from Stiles. Instead, it’s about acceptance, about Stiles accepting his place in the pack, accepting Derek as his alpha, accepting him as mate.

Derek lets out a deep groan and lowers his mouth to Stiles neck, sucks on it, trails his teeth down to the juncture of Stiles shoulder, bites down on it briefly, before moving up again and nuzzle the spot behind his ear.

Stiles closes his eyes and sighs, rubs his face against Derek cheek encouraging the scenting, it’s another sign of acceptance and it comes to him so natural now after so many years. He lifts his hands, moves them along Derek’s flank, revels in feeling the muscles contract and bunch for no other reason than to show them off. He absolutely adores it. He lets out a quiet hum of appreciation to please his alpha, and shifts his legs so he can tilt his hips upwards. He isn’t quite hard yet, but he is getting there and he knows Derek can can smell his arousal, can hear the quickening of his heartbeat. It thrills him knowing that his body is getting ready for Derek and that he knows.

It wasn’t alway so. In the beginning, it was a cause for arguments between them and felt often like a terrible invasion of privacy, the way Derek would immediately know his moods and extrapolate based on that to his thoughts, and Stiles hated feeling like his mind wasn’t his own. It took time for Stiles to understand that that was part of what it meant to be pack, that it wasn’t something uniquely between Derek and him, that the entire pack could sense mood, would be affected directly by them, that it wasn’t about privacy because a pack was about all being one, about working together and fighting together and hurting together.

There were missteps where Stiles struggled for his independency and Derek took that as a rejection, as a sign of him not being a good alpha capable of fixing his mates problems, of not being enough. It took time, and arguments and in the end the support of the entire pack, for Stiles to understand that he could rely on them for help, and for Derek to understand that some battles had to be fought alone.

Now though, Stiles revels in how well they know each other, in how well they can read each other’s mood, how they just need to share a look across a room and know everything that needs to be said. There is a connection forged between them, a bond that pulls and tugs them inexorably closer, like magnets circling each other until they met in the middle. He doesn’t have wolf senses, but he doesn’t need them, because Derek says everything he wants to say with the stance of his body, the touch of his hands, the look in his eyes, and Stiles has become an expert in reading him.

Derek presses his mouth directly to Stiles ear, licks the shell almost absent minded and sighs his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s the answer of every of his questions, and Stiles shudders. It’s been years and years of them together like this, tangled in sheets, tangled in each other, and still, still Stiles loses his breath.

He whimpers, part instinct, part unconscious, and again Derek lets out a deep satisfied rumble. The lassitude dissipates then giving place to the restlessness of arousal, and Stiles feels himself grow hard under Derek’s thigh, the twitch of his hip is involuntary then, driven purely by the need to be closer, to get more, anything, everything.

Derek flexes his thigh, a show of strength, a move that means he can effortlessly please his mate, and Stiles wants more. Derek’s hand is pressed against Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles presses against it, shifts until the fingers splay over his mouth instead, nuzzles the tips, laps at the palm with his tongue. The hand twitches, a mirroring role reversal of just a moment before when it had been Stiles' hand pressed against Derek’s face, and Derek leans his entire body onto Stiles. The pressure is delicious, heightens both their arousal, and then Derek moves to press his mouth softly against Stiles. It’s a quick brush of lips only, and Stiles gasps when he suddenly feels Derek’s hand pressed against his erection. The heat is almost unbearable, Derek always runs hot, and aroused he’s a furnace.

Stiles spreads his legs, bends one of them to be able to push into Derek’s fist, looks at his mate trying to convey without words what he wants. Derek squeezes his erection before releasing it and sliding lower, behind his balls, pressing against his entrance and Stiles arches and spreads his legs open even more, answering the unspoken question.

Derek moves away then, the sheets slide into a rumpled puddle towards the floor, as he leans over towards the bedside table grabbing the lubricant they keep there. A moment later, Stiles feels Derek slick fingers against him again, pressing gently inside, and the slide of it is so familiar, so practiced, there is barely any resistance. Stiles arches his back and rolls his hips upwards, pulling him in easily. They get lost then, in the familiar routine, Derek kissing his chest, nipping and licking and sucking, and Stiles whimpering as Derek opens him up.

When Derek moves way again to slick himself up, Stiles moves, turns on his belly and lifts his hips, pressing down on the bed with his chest. They don’t do it often like this, Derek preferring to see Stiles’ face, but sometimes like this, with Stiles offering himself to his alpha, is good too. He looks over a shoulder, sees Derek lick his lower lip as if fighting the urge to grow fangs, and that’s good too.

Derek aligns himself, grabs Stiles by a hip and pulls him back. Stiles pushes up to his hands and slides down Derek’s length slowly. Derek moves forward, pressing front to back, and curls a hand around Stiles’ chest, encouraging to move with him when he sits back on his haunches. Stiles goes with him, arching into the heat, moaning when Derek slides even deeper in, and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. This time when he moves his head to a side it’s completely without thought, and Derek hums in approval before biting down on it. He is sucking a mark into his neck when he hitches his hips upwards, grabbing onto Stiles hips to pull him down at the same time. It’s not so much thrusting as it is a deep, dirty grind and Stiles keens.

Stiles feels his head swim, he is surrounded by derek’s heat inside and out, feels his big hands on his hips like brands, drowns in the heady scent of sex and sweat and Derek and if he feels it this way, he can only imagine what it must be like for Derek.

The pleasure from the deep grind is more psychological than physiological, Stiles getting off on the idea that Derek can’t seem to be able to part from him even an inch. He places his hands on top of Derek’s, pushes back and undulates his hips to get more friction for both of them and then it gets good physically as well. He moves his head to bury his face in Derek’s neck and their movements gradually increasing until Stiles is almost bouncing on Derek’s erection. He is whimpering now, because he is trying to keep a measure of control, trying to keep his voice down for no other reason than to see if he can, and Derek matches his whimpers with almost breathless pants.

Stiles reaches down to tug on his erection, mostly because he wants Derek to touch him and he is not disappointed when his hand is batted away by Derek’s larger one. He arches into the heat, the friction feeling like a balm. Derek releases his hips entirely, uses both hands on Stiles’ dick to create a tight sheath for Stiles to fuck into and he does, thrusting upwards into his hands, and then backwards to impale himself onto Derek and it almost feels like he is being fucked by two people at the same time.

His whimpers have turned into panting moans, little “ah ah ah” sounds he can’t keep back, doesn’t bother to even try, and instead holds onto Derek’s forearms trying to anchor himself, his thighs trembling with the effort. He is close, so close, can feel the orgasm coiling in his belly, but he needs more, he needs, he needs…

“Derek,” he keens out then because he can’t articulate anything more, can only tell his mate that he needs him, and Derek understands because he is releasing him, tips him forward so that Stiles is on his front and lets himself be pressed down against the bed by Derek’s large hand on his back.

Derek spreads his legs so that Stiles is almost lying completely on the bed, close enough that the tip of his dick rubs against the bedsheets, and he loves it how Derek easily moves him, handles him effortlessly until he is right where he wants him to be.

Derek places both hands on the bed next to Stiles sides, and sets up a steady, hard pace. The room is filled with Stiles whimpers, Derek’s pants, the wet noises of their bodies where Derek enters and exits him. Stiles is getting closer, drowning in the noise and the scent, and he fists the bedding as the sensation starts to peek. Derek slides a hand under him, fisting Stiles’ erection and pounds in deeper, arching over him so he can lick at Stiles’ back, his breath puffing close to Stiles' ear.

Stiles comes the orgasm surprising him, and he shouts out his release. Derek lets go of him then to grab Stiles hips almost brutally so, and fucks him through his orgasm, chases his own, with a determination and ferocity that makes Stiles crave. He reaches back, places his trembling hand over Derek’s on his hips, and feels Derek’s fingers dig in deeper for a moment before they seem to spasm. His movements falter, so that the thrusts become a kind of staccato and Stiles knows he is coming, feels the wetness inside him, and groans as Derek keeps thrusting all the way through.

Derek is bowed over, catching his breath, his heart galloping in his chest, his senses overloaded with scent and sound and sensation. He chokes out a gasp when Stiles moves under him, pushing and arching his back, and Derek shakes as he leans forward to mouth at his back, his shoulder, commands heavy limbs to obey so he is close enough to claim Stiles neck and bite and lick and suck.

Stiles moves again, forward this time, squeezing down on Derek’s overstimulated, soft dick as he slides out. It’s too much for both of them, but the pain heightens the pleasure afterwards. Derek collapses next to him, feeling weak and shivery, every sense too keyed up and he closes his eyes as he tries to catch his breath, tries to stop the ringing in his ears, and gulps in air through his mouth trying to not be overwhelmed by scent but it doesn’t work because instead it’s like he can taste Stiles and sex and come.

Stiles rolls until he is pressed against Derek, rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, and moves close to nose at the damp hairline behind his ear. His hand is resting on his chest, and he squirms as if even now, sated and oversensitive, he still wants Derek’s hands on him. The move, the snuffling, the soft noises Stiles makes, wake something else in Derek, affection and love blooming as easy as arousal had, and he circles his mate close, pulls him against him, lets Stiles scent him just as he had done before.

The come down is a slow slide, muscles relaxing into the thick-feeling lassitude that only comes after exertion, and it seems to reach them all the way down to their bones, so that they melt against their mattress. Derek noses Stiles damp hair on his crown, and enjoys the lazy feeling of love between them. Stiles sighs and Derek knows he is falling into a soft slumber, and even though he feels relaxed and heavy, Derek knows he won’t be able to sleep again.

The sun has come up, the light warming their bedroom, teasing out highlights in Stiles hair. Derek closes his eyes, lulled by Stiles' steady heartbeat, and thinks that the day can wait a bit longer.