You know what I think about more?
I think about how Derek is the pinnacle of control. How he can remain perfectly calm and poised in the full moon’s glow with the wolf just rippling under the surface of his skin. How he only lets the wolf out when he chooses to because he has had a lifetime to reign in his instincts.
Except when it comes to Stiles.
Because it’s when he’s around Stiles that suddenly he feels like he’s back in high school having to use a mantra and a talisman to help him control his shift,
It’s when he catches a whiff of Stiles’s scent just after he’s got out of lacrosse practice that he can feel the prickle of his claws against his fingertips. It’s when he catches a glimpse of Stiles in his window just coming out of a shower a towel slung around his hips that he can feel his fangs piercing his gums wanting to bite and mark up the pretty pale skin.
So he tries to stay away because he’s never had so much trouble trying to keep himself in check, to remain human, to not let his instincts take over.
But Stiles of course won’t have that. In fact he provokes him, stands closer to him on purpose during meetings, comes earlier, stays later than anyone else so he and Derek are alone, so no one else is around to hear him scream or to protect him from the animal that Derek can just barely keep inside.
And Stiles likes it. Loves it, actually. That he alone can have such an effect on Derek. Backs him up against a wall when they’re alone in his loft, everyone else gone home tired of the sexual tension between them. He demands Derek do something about it, asks why he’s so afraid to be near him, why he keeps denying himself when Stiles knows full well he wants him, that his wolf wants him, and certainly it’s not healthy to keep resisting.
And Derek is a mixture of fear and lust and want and affection all for this brave, smart, spastic teenager. And he tries, he tries to push Stiles away, tells him he needs to leave, that it’s not safe, that he shouldn’t be alone with Derek because something could happen, that he can barely hold his wolf back enough as it is with him pressed against Derek’s chest.
And of course Stiles doesn’t move, he doesn’t back down, he presses in even closer, lets his hand come up to rest on the side of Derek’s neck, his wolf whimpering at the touch. He tells Derek, it’s okay, that he trusts him, that he knows he wouldn’t truly hurt him, that he wants him to let it loose, to give in to what he feels and wants.
And with those words, the dam breaks, and Derek can’t push his wolf down anymore. He rushes forward to kiss Stiles, and runs his clawed hands all over his body, lifting him up to carry him to the nearest flat surface (the couch), and rip both their clothes off, his eyes red as his gaze falls on Stiles’s flushed and unmarked chest.
And that’s when he gives in, sucks and marks and gently bites Stiles’s skin, covers Stiles’s body with his own, rubs himself over Stiles so everyone will know that Stiles is his, that no one can have him, that he’s his mate. And Stiles nods and moans yes, frantically doing the same to Derek even though his bites and marks don’t last, because Derek is his just as much as he’s Derek’s.
And when they’ve both come down from their high, sated and warm, their combined scents surrounding them, leaving Derek’s wolf pleased and satisfied, they stay pressed together, kissing and touching and staring.
"Mine," Derek says into Stiles’s neck while he runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, rubs his other hand up and down his spine.
"Yours," Stiles replies, then pulls on Derek’s hair to get him to look at him. He gives him a hard firm kiss. "Mine."
Derek smiles, brushes his nose against Stiles’s.