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Derek (surlier) wrote,

"Antiquated gender roles about who's supposed to be on top all the time, maybe we should only have sex with the lights turned out and the bed sheets pulled up to our chins, missionary style--" except he was teasing because he had no interest in that. He loved having sex here, in the kitchen, maybe out int he woods. And he loved being able to see Stiles, wanted him under the bright white of the moon and the warm gold of the sun.

And he was glad that Stiles didn't lie to him. Stiles wasn't answering, and there was something there, but at least he wasn't lying. He nuzzled up to the side of his neck, tongue swiping out over the bite again -- he really couldn't resist it -- "You'll tell me when you're ready."

Working his arm around Stiles' hips, he started lifting him up slowly as he rocked in, enough for him to get his knees under him -- proper mounting position he thought int he back of his mind -- and growled as he thrust forward that much easier. "Can't wait for that either. And can't wait for you to have me like this--"

He pulled out until it was only the flared crown inside and slowly pushed back in, his entire length working to make his mate crazy. "I can do," he promised. Whatever Stiles wanted -- and he didn't think twice about all the things they revealed to one another. They were mates and he was a werewolf, secrets weren't going to be big possibility for them.

Derek wouldn't have it any other way. He inhaled deep, nose pressed into the spot behind his ear. "Every time I start to pull out, I can smell how wet you are for me, you're probably going to soak me before I knot you up." Probably leave his groin and thighs wet with his slick, and Derek groaned at the thought, hips hitching forward to bury himself a little bit deeper. "Fuck, baby."