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Stiles woke sometime later to the jarring snap of the kitchen light, followed by the unmistakable hiss of a beer can cracking open. He turned over, his muscles protesting after the pack night’s vigorous activities, and saw Derek leaning against the oven, clad only in a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips.
“Go back to sleep, Stiles. Sorry, I woke you up,” Derek rumbled, his voice a low, husky murmur.
“It’s cool,” Stiles said, his head already throbbing with the beginnings of a hangover. “I need water,” he mumbled, his throat feeling like sandpaper. “What time is it?”
“Five-something,” Derek replied, his gaze meeting Stiles’ for a brief moment before he turned away. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and handed it to Stiles, then with a lazy grace, laid down on the loveseat opposite the couch.
“Thanks,” Stiles said, sitting up to gulp down the water, the cool liquid a welcome relief. “Is Scott still sleeping?” he asked, his mind still fuzzy from sleep and partying too hard. Derek, meanwhile, gulped down a swig of his aconite beer, the can resting precariously on his sculpted chest, the muscles rippling subtly as he moved.
“He went to Melissa’s place,” Derek said, his tone flat, devoid of any emotion. “We had a fight.”
“Shit,” Stiles said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “I guess I slept through it. That’s too bad.” He shrugged a non-committal gesture. He wasn’t exactly surprised.
“He’s probably off fucking Theo, Liam, Isaac, or anybody, really,” Derek continued, the words laced with a mixture of bitterness and casual indifference. “It’s okay, Stiles. I know you know,” he said, his gaze locking onto Stiles’. There was something heavy in his eyes, something that went beyond the mere fight.
Stiles took a moment to process this, the implications of Derek’s words slowly settling into his mind. The unspoken knowledge hanging in the air was thick with meaning, and suddenly, he wasn’t sure what to say.
“Does Scott know you know?” Stiles asked his voice barely a whisper, laced with a mix of concern and simmering curiosity. He knew Derek was playing a dangerous game, and he wasn’t sure he was equipped to handle whatever came next.
“Probably,” Derek said, turning back to Stiles. His eyes flickered with a dark intensity, but his tone was detached, almost callous. “I could give a shit either way.” He took a long swig of his drink, his expression unreadable.
They sat in companionable silence, the only sound the soft creaks and subtle hums of the apartment, the tension between them thicker than the air itself. Stiles focused on the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of his own heart, trying to decipher the unspoken truth lurking between them.
“He admitted to fucking Isaac, but I know there’s more,” Derek said, his voice low and gravelly. The implication hung heavy in the air, a dark secret whispered between two men who were far more alike than they sometimes dared to admit.
“I’m sorry, man,” Stiles mumbled, feeling a pang of guilt he couldn’t quite place. He felt responsible for Scott.
“Not your fault,” Derek said, his voice softening slightly. “Your loyalty’s with Scott, after all.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the constraints their relationships placed on them.
“I wish it were different,” Stiles said, honesty laced with regret.
“I know you do,” Derek said, resting his left hand on his stomach. His eyes held a deep sadness, a subtle plea. “I should just leave him, right?”
Stiles nodded, unable to offer anything more substantial, a silent agreement to the pain and struggle of their shared reality.
“And in the meantime, I’ll fuck whoever I want,” Derek said, his tone laced with a dark determination.
“Seems fair,” Stiles replied, more resigned than agreeing. He knew Derek’s words were a kind of lament, a whispered rebellion against the confines of loyalty.
“Find some willing chick,” Derek said, taking another long gulp of his beer. He paused, letting the words linger in the air, “Or a man for that matter.”
Stiles’ heart skipped a beat, catching that last word. The implication hung in the air like a palpable threat.
“You ever had sex with a girl?” Derek asked, suddenly inquisitive.
“Yeah. Not since high school,” Stiles said, his voice betraying a slight hesitation.
“Funny how that works,” Derek commented. “All the straight guys I know who’ve experimented with guys did it in college. But all the gay guys I know who’ve messed around with girls did it in high school.” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“And probably never did it again,” Stiles added, completing the picture of Derek’s sexual history.
“You wouldn’t?” Derek asked, his gaze intense.
“Probably not, but I wouldn’t rule it out,” Stiles said, trying to meet Derek’s gaze without flinching.
“Me neither,” Derek muttered, taking a final, slow drag from his beer. He set the empty can down on the carpet, where it lay, a small, discarded monument to their night. Then, he folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes, the image of the empty can a stark contrast to the powerful emotions still churning within him.
Stiles finished his water, his gaze fixed on Derek. The way Derek’s breathing slowed, the quiet rhythm of his chest rising and falling, was strangely comforting, a stark contrast to the raw energy they had just unleashed. A sense of exhaustion mingled with a lingering heat, washed over Stiles. He knew the night was far from over, the aftershocks of their encounter would reverberate long after the last of the beer cans were emptied.
Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the whole evening, Stiles turned off the kitchen light, the darkness engulfing the whole space. He collapsed onto the couch, his body groaning in protest as he succumbed to sleep, the aftertaste of their night clinging to him like a second skin.
Stiles didn’t know how long he slept, but when he woke, a soft, watery light was filtering through the blinds of the loft’s huge windows. Derek was still on the loveseat, but he was now lying on his stomach, limbs sprawled out in a way that could only be described as carelessly alluring. And, to Stiles’ surprise, he was bare-ass naked.
A morning boner, sudden and insistent, made itself known, and Stiles quickly shuffled off to the bathroom to relieve himself. When he returned, Derek hadn’t moved, his head still nestled in his folded arms, his broad, strong back a canvas for his signature triskele tattoo. But it was his perfect, spectacular, huge, and hairy ass mounds that had Stiles’ full attention, on full display like a delicious offering.
Stiles glanced out the window, noticing that Scott’s bike was still absent from the street. As he turned back, Derek shifted, and Stiles’ gaze was drawn to the way Derek had let his left foot rest on the floor, parting his legs in a blatant invitation. Even in the dim, early morning light, Derek’s furry skin glowed with a captivating allure.
Stiles hesitantly put his hand on Derek’s warm shoulder. The werewolf didn’t stir, so Stiles let his hand slide down his rippling back, his heart hammering against his ribs. He scarcely knew what he was doing, caught up in a vortex of desire and curiosity. Derek shifted his hips, nestling his other leg deeper into the cushion crack, his head burying even deeper into his arms. Stiles felt the pull, the magnetic force of Derek’s proximity, his fingers tracing the small of his back, the whisper-soft sound of skin against skin as his palm cupped one of the rounded, voluminous ass cheeks of his best friend’s boyfriend.
He moved to the bottom of the couch, tracing the contours of Derek’s athletic legs, from his feet to his upper thighs, the muscles beneath his skin firm and powerful. Derek’s breathing grew heavier, a clear indication that he was awake, every single nerve ending on high alert. Stiles massaged him with both hands, feeling up the sides of his torso, his fingers tracing over his tight stomach, the rounded pecs, and the erect nipples that begged for more attention.
Then he felt the backs of Derek’s arms, his forearms, his hands. Derek’s hands grasped Stiles’, pulling his arms around him tightly, drawing him closer. Stiles’ lean, muscular body rested on top of Derek’s beefy one, Stiles’ clothed body pressing tightly against the werewolf’s muscular nakedness.
Stiles’ face was nestled in the crook of Derek’s neck, he pressed a light, lingering kiss to the warm skin. Derek turned his head, his lips meeting Stiles’ in a hungry kiss, their tongues writhing together, desire quickening as their bodies ground together, Derek’s naked ass meeting Stiles’s clothed and increasingly firm thrusts.
Stiles lifted his torso, his hands sinking into the soft cushion of the loveseat for leverage. He licked the back of Derek’s head, dragging his tongue down his neck and along the depression of his spine, putting emphasis as he mapped the triskele tattoo with his mouth. He backed up, slowly sliding his tongue down the small of Derek’s back, his teeth teasing over the top of the werewolf’s hairy ass crack, his body trembling with anticipation. Derek raised his ass up in a clear and obvious invitation. Stiles took his time, teasing around the werewolf’s eager and enthusiastic bubble butt, the anticipation building with each passing moment.
Derek whimpered a little, a soft sound that vibrated against Stiles’ lips. Stiles remembered how much it annoyed Scott that there was too much hair on this guy, it was true, but for something that was an annoyance for Scott, for Stiles, it was pure, unadulterated contentment. Stiles’ tongue worked its way up from Derek’s beefy thighs, a slow, tantalizing journey until he reached the tight ass crack, where he rested it against Derek’s incredibly tight hole, the muscle contracting under his touch.
Derek groaned, the sound raw and desperate, as Stiles pressed his tongue against the tight ring of muscle until it loosened, and finally slid his tongue inside, exploring the hot, wet depths. Derek became more vocal as his boyfriend’s best friend ate him out, moaning and grunting his approval, the sounds echoing through the silent loft. Stiles reached under him, his hand wrapping around Derek’s hard cock, the weight of it heavy and substantial in his grasp. The thick foreskin around the head was an invitation he couldn’t resist. He skinned it back, stroking the werewolf as he continued his delicious assault on his hole.
Stiles moved his attention, his tongue tracing over Derek’s taint and balls, a playful nip here and there. Then, he slipped his head underneath Derek’s crotch and began to suck his cock, keeping a thumb pressed firmly against Derek’s tight hole. It really was an amazing cock, thick and pulsing with life. Derek got into it, fucking Stiles’ mouth with almost desperate urgency, backing up just enough so that Stiles’ thumb popped right inside his hole. Derek gasped, some pre-cum leaking out of his cock and Stiles swallowed it down, the taste of it a potent reminder of their shared desire.
Derek got up then, his movements frantic, almost desperate as he began to tear at Stiles’ clothes, throwing off his shirt with a barely controlled ferocity. Emerald eyes connected with honey eyes, a silent conversation passing between them as Derek lifted off Stiles’ shirt, a slow, sensual smile curving his lips. He went in for a deep, hungry kiss, their mouths meeting with a force that sent shivers down Stiles’ spine. It was a sort of relief, a quiet acknowledgment that Derek could look at Stiles and be okay, that this wasn’t a betrayal, but some other kind of truth. Once Stiles was naked, they stood together, their bodies pressed close, grinding their hard-ons together as they made out, their cocks, similar in size 'n girth, sliding against one another, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Derek whispered, his voice a husky purr against Stiles’ ear, sending shivers down his spine. Stiles was already grabbing Derek’s ass, his hands kneading the firm flesh, pulling him impossibly closer, his fingers inching toward the werewolf’s hole, the desire to touch him, to taste him, a burning need.
“What if Scott comes back?” Stiles asked, his voice a little breathy, a small flicker of apprehension momentarily interrupting the desire that had taken hold.
“He won’t, he does this all the time. Besides, if he does, I locked him out,” Derek said with a wicked grin, the glint in his emerald eyes promising a night of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and maybe a little bit of mischief.
Stiles followed, his gaze hypnotized by the older man’s flexing ass as they made their way to the bedroom, his body practically vibrating with anticipation. Derek flopped onto the bed, landing on his stomach with a soft thump, his body long and inviting on the mattress. “I don’t have any lube, so you’ll have to get me really slick,” Derek said with a smirk, looking back over his shoulder, his eyes glittering with predatory intent.
Stiles, ever the eager student, did exactly as he was told, his mouth finding its way to Derek’s ass with practiced ease. He started eating Derek out with a slow, deliberate thoroughness that made the werewolf groan and writhe beneath him. Derek couldn’t get enough of Stiles’s mouth, his pleasure spots clearly focused on the sensitive landscape of his ass, and Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if Scott had ever been this attentive, this dedicated to pleasuring Derek in this way.
He still couldn’t quite believe he was going to get to fuck this perfect piece of tail, his mind still reeling from the sheer audacity of what was happening, but he didn’t question it either, letting the desire wash over him. Derek seemed to know exactly what he was doing, his ass ripe and ready for the taking, his body clearly begging for the release that Stiles was about to provide. After a very thorough rim job that left Derek’s ass glistening and wet, Stiles slicked his big cock up with as much spit as he could muster, coating the head of his dick with his own saliva. Derek’s hole was so wet and relaxed, so ready for him, that the lack of lube worked out just fine. He rested his cock head against the entrance, feeling the heat radiating off the werewolf, and Derek eagerly backed up onto it, his muscles contracting around Stiles’cock. Stiles waited a moment, allowing Derek time to adjust, but the werewolf didn’t have the patience for the delay, he simply backed up further, his eager body taking Stiles’s whole ten inches of dick inside him, the tight muscles gripping around his shaft like a vise.
Stiles laid his body on top of Derek’s, their bodies fitting together as if they were designed for each other, his arms wrapped tightly around the werewolf’s chest. Then, he began to fuck him harder and faster, each thrust a deeper exploration of the space between them. They made out some more, their breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, as Stiles banged into the betrayed man’s perfect ass, his hips moving in a rhythm that was both frantic and controlled. Derek met every thrust back, his body arching into Stiles, the sound of Stiles’ big dick colliding with Derek’s big ass creating a cacophony that was both sinful and incredibly arousing.
Stiles felt utterly connected to him, totally in tune, a physical and emotional symbiosis that transcended mere sex. This time, he got the werewolf on all fours, fucking him from behind, the heavy whack of his hard-on as it slapped against Derek’s tight, drum-like stomach, a sound that had to be heard to be believed. Stiles then flipped Derek onto his back, moving between his legs to do him missionary style, his legs resting on Stiles’s shoulders, his hands mapping and adoring every inch of the werewolf’s body.
“Fuck me,” Derek panted and chanted, over and over again, a dreamy and glassy look of adoration, lust, and submission swirling in his eyes. Stiles, fuelled by the intensity of the moment, jacked his big dick, pushing even deeper.
“I’m gonna cum,” Derek said, his voice a raw, desperate plea. He rolled his eyes back, his asshole tightening around Stiles’s thrusting cock, his entire body convulsing. Derek gasped for breath as a big jet of cum shot out of his cock, landing all over each other and the bed, a sticky, hot mess that was the physical manifestation of their lust. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Derek cried as another and another followed, girthy ropes of cum that landed on his face and chest, a testament to the raw intensity of their shared experience.
“I’m gonna shoot in you, man,” Stiles said, his voice thick with desire. Derek nodded eagerly, a silent agreement to the unspoken promise, and the younger man let it loose, shooting his load deep inside the werewolf’s bubble butt, feeling like his soul was pouring out of him, a truly massive load that shot into the depths of the older man’s rectum.
Stiles slid out, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as he watched his cum pouring out of the werewolf’s wet and wide-open hole, looking now like a cunt, moist and glistening with Stiles’s baby seed. He collapsed next to Derek, both of them heaving for breath, the exhaustion almost as potent as the desire they had just unleashed. Before Stiles had time to wonder what was going to happen next, Derek pulled him close, spooning with Stiles, the human acting as the big spoon, his softening cock resting against Derek’s well-used ass, their flushed bodies pressed together.
“Well,” Stiles said, the word a soft exhalation of breath.
“I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was waiting for that to happen,” Derek said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against Stiles’s hand.
“You’re kidding,” Stiles replied, his eyes wide.
“Truth be told, I’ve been attracted to you since the day we met,” Derek admitted, his voice laced with a vulnerability that surprised Stiles.
Stiles held Derek, a bit dumbfounded by the admission, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him. He knew there was going to be a knock at the door from Scott, sooner or later, figurative or literal, but he felt too good to let go of Derek just yet, the warmth of the werewolf’s body against his, a potent distraction from the inevitable confrontation. Scott was and is too much of a hypocrite after all, and for the moment, that was enough.