"If you're saying your dad's okay with me coming in, and you're okay with me coming in, I think I'm going to want to… explore."
Danny's words were motivation enough for Stiles to manage to reclaim enough motor control to face forward and put his hands on the wheel. He gunned the accelerator, and the Jeep leapt the twenty feet up the driveway before coming to a screeching halt three feet from the garage door. Danny just laughed.
"Yeah," he said, "that's about how I feel, too."
Stiles gave a breathless laugh of his own. "Yeah. I can feel it, I think. I can't really tell how much of it is me and how much of it is you."
Danny's eyes twinkled. "I think… I think it doesn't matter much anymore? If this is what we're going to feel, the way it's going to feel… from now on, then the things we feel are… all us?"
Stiles thought this through as he climbed out of the car, taking a moment while he was safely hidden from Danny's view to adjust himself in his jeans. That made him wonder if Danny was hard, too, which led him to wonder if he might get rebuffed if he tried to find out for himself — which led to some very detailed and specific images about what might happen if he were not.
By the time they made it to the front door, he was lightheaded and breathing heavily. Judging by Danny's own dark eyes and flushed cheeks, it was a reasonable risk to take. He put his hands on Danny's hips, pulling him close, and kissed him, right there on the porch.
"You can say no, too," he added, his hands already making their way around to Danny's decidedly firm and amazing ass. "I'm feeling a little stupid, but I'd still listen."
"Oh," Danny said, smiling around each kiss, "trust me. If I wanted you to stop, I'd make you listen."
That sounded incredibly appealing to Stiles, but as Danny wasn't saying anything that sounded like no, he had to appreciate what he had in front of himself — which, as had become very apparent, was indeed just as hard as Stiles himself. Nor did he seem to object to Stiles grinding their mutual hardness together. This felt like the most delicious, decadent permission that Stiles had ever been given, so much so that he decided he should ask to be sure.
"This is really okay?" Stiles asked, squeezing Danny's ass to be certain he was conveying exactly what this was.
Danny's response was to slide his own hands around to cup Stiles' ass and to thrust a little harder into the hollow of his hip. Stiles gasped, letting himself be used in that way.
"Oh my god oh my god."
"I should probably be the one asking that question," Danny said, "but at this point, I don't think I even need to ask. I can just tell. That's pretty amazing."
Stiles stepped back, taking a moment to breathe, then unlocked the front door. He gestured for Danny to go in first, then followed him in, shutting the door behind them.
"I think I should go in and let my dad know I'm here. That, um, we're here." He tasted the words, wondering what they meant. Are we a "we?"
"I'll go with you," Danny said. "I've met your dad before."
Stiles hesitated, wondering if his dad had been telling the truth about not drinking while Stiles was away, but in the end, he figured there was no point in trying to hide things from Danny. There was obviously some level of automatic trust that came from living in another person's head. He nodded, gesturing down the hall. Danny walked with him, falling into step with Stiles. It felt surprisingly comforting.
"Dad?" he called, to prepare him as much as anything. "It's me, and… and Danny."
He heard the scratch of a chair against the floor. A moment later, his dad was standing in front of them. He didn't look particularly drunk, but Stiles knew his dad was pretty good at hiding when he was.
"Hello, son," his dad said to Danny, holding out his hand. "It looks like the two of you were able to work something out?"
"Yes, sir," Danny said, nodding as he shook Stiles' dad's hand. "I'm Danny Mahealani."
"If I recall correctly, you play goalie for the Cyclones?"
"Dad," Stiles hissed. His dad cleared his throat.
"Yes, well. I suppose we can continue this conversation another time. It's good to see you again." He hesitated, then added, "When you're ready, boys, we can talk about… the pairbond, and how to deal with it."
Danny smiled. "Thank you. That would be really helpful."
The whole situation was a hell of a lot more embarrassing than Stiles had expected it to be, but Danny was calm as Stiles nudged and prodded his way down the hall.
"He's nice," Danny protested. "And it's polite to talk to a guy's parents before you — you know. End up in his bedroom."
"I think you'll discover that my family's not much about the talking." Stiles backed into his room, watching Danny as he entered and glanced around. Oh my god, there's a guy in my bedroom. A guy with whom I'm about to do some serious making out. Probably for the rest of my life. He leaned down and gathered up the worst of the dirty laundry.
Danny sounded amused. "I think you're doing just fine with the talking."
"Oh, thanks." He glared reproachfully at Danny. "Who's teasing now?"
"No, I was serious," Danny assured him. He approached Stiles slowly, holding up his hands, as though Stiles were an animal that needed taming.
Stiles huffed. Fuck that. He headed straight for Danny, cupping his face and kissing him hard, trying to imitate what Danny had done earlier.
Danny's response was to put a hand on Stiles' chest, pressing him back toward the wall. He looked calm as anything, even though Stiles could feel what was thrumming under the surface. It made him catch his breath.
"Let me drive, okay?" Danny said.
Stiles waited a little too long to answer, because Danny had already moved in against him, untucking Stiles' shirt and pulling it up to touch the skin of his abdomen. That was far more hot than he'd anticipated, and he reached for Danny's shirt to do the same. But Danny nudged him away, a gentle reprimand on his face. Stiles felt himself flush.
"Let," Danny said again, more slowly and emphatically, "me… drive."
"Okay," Stiles squeaked.
This time, he let Danny edge a hand under his shirt, brushing his stomach, without trying to reciprocate. It felt a little selfish for Danny to be doing the touching and for him to just wait to be touched, but the sensation of Danny's fingers against his skin trumped any guilt he was feeling. He moaned softly.
"Yeah," Danny said, sounding satisfied. "That's good. I like those noises."
It took a while for Danny to work both hands under Stiles' shirt, kissing him while he touched, eventually winding up with both thumbs on his nipples, and god, why hadn't he realized how good that felt before? By the time Danny had reached the part where he was lifting Stiles' shirt up over his head, Stiles was breathless and squirming, bucking up against Danny's leg with shameless desperation.
"I don't know how fast you want to go," Danny said, resting one hand on Stiles' hip. "But I'm not going to push you. We can stop right here."
Stiles wondered if it would make sense to step back and calm down, the way he'd always been asked to do with girls when things had gone too far. Instead, he mirrored Danny's hand, placing it on his hip, then edged lower, using his thumb to trace the length of the hardness in Danny's pants. It was satisfying to hear him catch his breath and curse.
"I've been told to stop a lot," Stiles said. "Pretty much every time I got to this point, really. And if you're not telling me, I don't want to stop. I don't think I'm supposed to stop. Not with you."
Danny leaned in and kissed him while Stiles continued the progress of his thumb, up and down, listening to the reactions he was eliciting with fascination.
"You still get to say no," Danny assured him. "Any time, for any reason. But I don't want to stop, either. I want…"
He didn't go on with that thought, getting lost in Stiles' touch. Stiles dared to shift his hand, pressing the palm against Danny's cock and letting him rut against him. It was amazing how much pleasure he took, just from his hand touching Danny. When he realized precisely why that was, he laughed.
"I can feel how much you like that," he marveled. "You… I know what you want."
Danny's breath came harder, more ragged. "Yeah? You want to tell me what that is?"
There wasn't any sense in what Stiles said next, but he wasn't thinking rationally. He just knew it was right. "No — I just want you to take it."
The sound that came out of Danny's throat wasn't human. It was the growl Stiles had heard from Scott, many times, just before he'd leapt into action. He'd heard it from Derek, too, and from any number of other werewolves over the past two and a half years. He wasn't about to call it good or bad, but from Danny, there was no question that it was hot. He pawed at the fly of Danny's khakis, whining in anticipation.
"Stiles," Danny said, his voice deep and throaty. Stiles could see his eyes glowing red — the red of an Alpha. "Do you have any idea what you're asking for?"
"No," he admitted. "If you think we should stop and talk about it, I'll do that, but… I don't care. That's the truth. I trust you. That's the truth too."
Danny slowed his touching, until he sat, and Stiles sat beside him. He wasn't moving away, nor was he asking Stiles to move his hand. Stiles attempted to control himself, but feeling the way Danny was pulsing in his palm made it hard to do anything other than grip him and stroke him off right there.
"This is more than just… sex." Danny's voice was still growly, thick with desire and control and other things that made Stiles want to pull him down on top of him on the bed. But he listened, trying to focus as best as he could. "When an Alpha takes someone — penetrates them — that person becomes part of their pack."
The word penetrate, spoken in Danny's wolf-voice, made Stiles quiver in very specific places. "Okay," he managed. "That sounds… not a whole lot more definitive than this soulmate thing."
"Being part of someone's pack is a limited bond. You don't have to join a pack, when you're a wolf. But if you do, you're beholden to them. To all of them. And to tell you the truth, I don't really know what it will mean for a human to be part of someone's pack."
Stiles had enough blood left in his brain to make sense of this question. He rested his hand on Danny's thigh. "Allison should know," he said. "She and Scott have been going at it for a long time."
This made Danny pause. "I hadn't realized that," he said slowly, "but… yeah. You're right. She's his pack."
Stiles took Danny's hand, clasping it tight. "So, yeah. It makes sense that I would be your… pack. Because you and I are bound to each other for life."
Danny's eyes slipped closed. For a moment, Stiles thought he might be in a kind of trance. But then his chest rose again, and fell, and he saw the tear on Danny's cheek. It made him a little scared, but he it didn't stop him from reaching up a hand to touch the tear with his fingers.
"Hey," he murmured.
"I'm — adjusting," Danny assured him. His voice was still steady, even though the tear was joined by another. "Just… this is going to take some time. It's not bad. It's just — a lot."
"I get it," Stiles said. "I mean, I think I do. We don't have to do this tonight."
He could feel the trembling inside Danny, where no one else could see. So he took both hands and placed them on Danny's hips, pulling Danny down on top of him. Danny held himself up on his hands and knees for as long as it took Stiles to lie down prone, and then his full weight was on top of Stiles' thigh, pinning him on the bed.
"Not tonight," Danny agreed. "But very soon, I'm going to take you like this. And you'll be mine. My pack."
The words were enough to drive them both into thrusting against one another, losing the rhythm and finding it again and again, until it was clear that neither of them was going to walk away from this without dealing with it more constructively.
"Okay if I ditch these?" Stiles said, reaching for his own zipper. Danny nodded, watching him closely as he took off his pants and boxers, tossing them in a heap on the floor along with his shirt. By the time he was naked and back on the bed again, Danny was halfway out of his own pants. When Stiles tried to reach for him, to help, Danny gave him a little nudge back onto the bed.
"Let me watch you do it," he said, taking Stiles' hand and putting it on his own cock. "I want to see how you like it, so I know what you want. Then you can help me."
While he undressed, Stiles watched him, stretching back against his pillow. It was a little surreal to be jerking off in front of another guy, especially one who'd asked him for it, but he definitely wasn't going to complain. He tried to be as obvious as possible about what he was doing, where his thumb was, how many times he made long strokes before going back to short ones.
Once Danny had his own pants off, he climbed onto the bed, kneeling over Stiles and stroking himself, and it was Stiles' turn to watch. Danny hadn't restricted Stiles' movement, giving him plenty of leeway to put his hands where he wanted them. When Stiles let go of his own cock and reached for Danny's, it was clear it wasn't going to take him long. Danny leaned back on his heels, letting his head drop back with a groan.
"God, Stiles, your hand," he muttered, twisting his hips and thrusting into Stiles' grip. "You, touching me… I seriously can't believe this is happening."
Stiles laughed, watching his hand move faster on Danny's cock, the thick purple-red of the head, the way his balls lifted up into his body the closer he got to coming. I'm doing that, he thought, and it made him proud. I'm doing that for Danny.
"You can believe it," he assured him. "I'm going to do it a lot. This is so hot, I — I don't even know how to tell you."
"Yeah." Danny put a reassuring hand on his cheek. "There's so much more. I want to do it all with you."
Even the end part, which Stiles figured would just be messy, was sweet. He should have expected that from Danny. The way he growled when he came on Stiles' chest was hot, but then he knelt beside Stiles' legs and used the box of tissues to clean him up, carefully wiping up every bit of sticky fluid. His eyes were still red, even though he spoke with the voice of a human now.
"Would you let me suck you off?" he asked.
Stiles could barely choke out a yes, please before Danny was climbing in between his legs, nudging them apart with his strong, thin fingers.
"Nobody's ever — well, done any of this before, really, but —" He broke off into a moan as Danny used his lips to envelop the tip of Stiles' cock. "Holy shit."
There wasn't much talking after that, but Stiles moaned every time Danny took him in his mouth, until it was just one big long drawn-out moan. He felt the climax coming, almost too late, but he did manage to say, "Wait wait wait."
Danny did, pulling off and looking up at Stiles, breathing heavily, his lips red. "What do you need?"
"Nothing, I'm just —" He laughed shakily. "I don't think you want me to come in your mouth."
Danny just raised an eyebrow at him. "Stiles, that's exactly what I want you to do."
"But…" He had no idea what to say to that.
"Werewolves and humans don't pass STDs to one another. Our biochemistry isn't compatible. You're going to have to be okay with coming down my throat any time I tell you to."
That was all Danny had to say. Stiles had nothing to say in reply. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel — and every piece of the experience suddenly appeared there in his mind: his overwhelming emotions, and Danny's, and the progression of the whole night, like a timeline, stretched out for him to observe and appreciate and remember in complete detail. It shook him.
When he came, he was crying, not even scared of what that would mean to Danny. Because Danny knew.
"God," he said, spread out uselessly on his bed. "This is what it's going to be like, every time?"
"Don't worry," Danny consoled with a grin. He wiped his mouth before stretching out alongside Stiles, and wrapped him up in his arms. "I'm sure it'll get better."