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There’s a part of Stiles that marvels at his restraint - the jokes, the comments, the innuendos, that he holds back. If he were in his early twenties and not a fully grown 29-year-old who has lived through many an uninspiring or hurtful relationship, he would be using his very impressive arsenal of puns right now.
Heel. Sit. Roll over. Those are off limits. It’s not about shame or humiliation.
There are a few he can get away with, though.
Good boy.
Beg.
Come.
Derek looks so gorgeous like this. Stiles doesn’t think he will ever get used to it - the hottest man in Beacon Hills kneeling at his feet, looking up at him with simmering heat and head-rushing trust.
“Are you comfortable, Derek?” he asks, letting his voice settle low and quiet.
“Yes.”
“Good.” Stiles drags his nails through Derek’s short, dark hair and slowly tilts his head back. “Take them off.”
Derek uses his big, strong hands to gently unbutton his jeans and lower the zipper. He’s so careful as he slides pants and underwear down to his knees. Stiles is so hard he could come across his husband’s gorgeous face in a few strokes but it’s not about him. Tonight is about Derek, helping him forget the pressures of training new pack members and the pain of the anniversary of Laura’s death. So Stiles squeezes the base of his cock and takes a few deep breaths.
He waits until he has himself under control. He waits until Derek has lost his own control.
Stiles holds him by the hair at the perfect distance away - not that Derek would push any limits tonight. He can be the fiercest, most exhilarating brat… growling and crowding into Stiles’s space, pushing him to his absolute limit and then forgoing his werewolf strength completely to allow Stiles to hold him, press him, take him. It makes Stiles feel powerful and allows him to push away the memories of those who overtook his human fragility. It makes Derek feel less dangerous and feel wanted beyond his strength.
But tonight, Derek waits. He pulls forward just to feel the tension on his scalp, just to taste Stiles’s arousal. Stiles pulls back his foreskin and allows Derek to lap at the head of his cock and wrap his lips around the tip.
As always, Stiles can’t help but run his mouth. Derek obviously doesn’t mind.
“You’re just desperate for me, aren’t you? Want me to fuck your face hard and fast. But I won’t, Derek, not today. Not unless you ask me very, very nicely.”
Derek whines and his hands grip tighter on Stiles’s hips.
“Careful, baby. Keep those claws away, keep your mouth nice and soft for me. That’s right, look at your control. You take such good care of me. Let me take good care of you.”
Stiles doesn’t thrust forward. Instead, he presses the back of Derek’s head and moves him closer. As more of his cock is enveloped in the wet heat of Derek’s mouth, he feels his breath quicken.
“Fuck, Der. It’s like you were made for this, made for me. Breathe through your nose, baby, almost there.”
Slowly, Stiles pulls Derek toward him until his husband is pressed into the coarse hair above his cock. Stiles shivers when he feels the werewolf breathing deeply where he knows his scent is the strongest.
“How do you feel?”
Derek taps his thumb once against Stiles’s hip - green. He wants to stay there longer and Stiles cannot deny him.
His cock twitches and throbs in the beautiful, tight heat of Derek’s mouth, but he doesn’t move. Not until Derek wants him to. The werewolf is under, lost in taste and smell and touch, and Stiles wants him to live in that for as long as he wants. He pets Derek’s hair and waits.
After a few minutes, Derek squeezes his waist and Stiles slowly pulls out. Saliva drips through the stubble on Derek’s chin and his eyes are hazy but bright. Stiles can’t resist wrapping a firm and gentle hand around his neck. “Come here.” He guides Derek to his feet.
They’re the same height (Derek may be an inch taller but Stiles will deny that to his grave). Stiles feels like he’s thrumming with energy, holding a pliant and trusting Derek Hale by the chin, looking into his beautiful green eyes as he leans into his orbit helplessly. He can’t help but kiss him.
Derek kisses back softly before he surfaces a bit and returns some of Stiles’s ferocity. Stiles pushes him back by the hold on his neck - pressure only on the sides, plenty of space to breathe. With his other hand, he cups the front of Derek’s sweatpants, feeling his thick, hard cock pushing against the fabric.
“Let me take care of you.” It’s not phrased as a question, but they both know it is. Derek nods.
It’s quick but tender. Stiles lets the werewolf lick his hand and suck on his fingers for a few minutes before reaching into his pants and grabbing his heavy, warm cock. Stiles keeps his other hand on Derek’s neck and watches his face go slack with pleasure.
“No one else gets to see you like this,” Stiles whispers, not even really aware of what he’s saying at this point. “Yeah, a few people have been fucked by Derek Hale but none of them have seen you, really seen you, like I do. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make you come. I’ll take care of you. You take care of me too, baby.” Derek’s eyes flash blue for a second. Stiles smiles, achingly soft even as he continues to stroke his cock with a firm grip. Derek has been so patient with him through his PTSD diagnosis, the panic attacks, the therapy. They take care of each other.
“I love you so fucking much,” Stiles says. Derek whimpers into the kiss and comes in Stiles’s hand.
They didn’t even make it to the bed. Stiles suppresses a giggle thinking about them standing in the middle of the room. He guides Derek to sit on the comforter with him. The werewolf leans into him and nuzzles into the side of his neck. Stiles rubs his back and hums a song that has been playing in his head all day.
He knows Derek has come back to himself when after a few minutes he groans and says, “Shut up.” Stiles laughs.
“Feeling better?” He asks. Derek nods into his shoulder.
He lifts his head and kisses Stiles gently. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Stiles is sure he has embarrassingly soft heart eyes right now. “Of course.”
Derek looks down with his eyebrows furrowed. Stiles had done up his pants again before cuddling, but his half-hard cock was a visible shape against the denim. “Do you want to -“ Derek asks.
“I’m alright,” Stiles replies easily. “I would love to shower, though.”
Derek wraps his strong arms around him. “Can I join you?”
“Yeah, okay.”
They make out on the bed for a bit, Derek biting and nuzzling into Stiles’s neck as he always does. Stiles is just happy to see him with more energy, his green eyes bright and clear instead of dull and drained like when he got home from work.
Derek gives him a blowjob in the shower, pinning Stiles to the cold tile and looking up at him with mischief.
Stiles is astounded by how lucky he is. Derek Hale is kneeling in front of him, water running down his muscles and over the tattoo on his back. Derek Hale married him in front of all their friends and family two summers ago. Derek Hale lets him run his hands through his chest hair while he sinks his ridiculously toned body down on Stiles’s cock some Sunday mornings. Derek Hale trusts him and loves him just as he is.
Stiles comes so hard he would have slipped if Derek hadn’t held him up. The werewolf looks up through water-soaked lashes and grins, wiping the edge of his mouth.
“Fuck off, Derek, can you ever stop being a walking wet dream?”
Derek kisses him sweetly. “I love you.”
He washes Stiles’s hair and scrubs him with body wash, kissing his neck and licking up the side of his face. Derek pins his arms above his head and noses into his armpit. Stiles giggles.
“Down, boy,” he scolds.
Derek growls.
Okay, maybe he indulges sometimes.