Disclaimer: See initial chapter.

A/N: The F word is used in this as an exclamation. Also, because the person that this is being written for requested either Sterek or Scott/Jackson, I've got a mention of Scott/Jackson in this.

Prompt 5: Kissing

Kissing Derek was a lot like lassoing the moon, and pulling it down to the earth.

Or, maybe it was more like entering a black hole and being torn asunder, transported through a wormhole to a different time and place, a universe not yet discovered by those living on Planet Earth in the Milky Way, and having all of the atoms that made him who he was, reconfigure themselves into something new. A new Stiles who discovered whole galaxies, comprised of alien worlds, in a kiss.

Derek's kisses always left him breathless, lightheaded - feeling a lot like he'd completed a marathon by hopping around the track on one leg. All of the muscles in his entire body felt like they'd been strung taut, and they burned in the aftermath, whenever he'd come up for air.

He wondered what his kisses did for Derek, if anything. If he was any good at it. He'd tried to talk to Scott about it, which had been...awkward, and not in the least bit helpful.

Apparently asking your best friend in all the world to kiss you and give you a detailed description of how that kiss made you feel was crossing some sort of invisible friendship line, though, of course Scott being with Jackson might've had a little something to do with that refusal.

All he wanted though were cold, hard facts. Was he, or was he not, a good kisser? Did he make Derek's toes curl up, or make his insides go all squishy, or make his skin tingle, or make his lips feel all rubbery and loose and bruised when the kiss ended? Did he do anything at all for Derek when they kissed?

He didn't want to ask the big wolf himself, because, well, awkward, not to mention juvenile and desperate, and, well, not very manly. Though, maybe Stiles had a skewed view of what it meant to be a man in a relationship. Especially considering who it was that he was dating, and the fact that he'd never dated before Derek, and couldn't even fathom the idea of dating anyone else. Of kissing someone else, because Stiles doubted that anyone else would be able to take him to the moon and back with a single kiss.

Was it really necessary, though, to have distinct roles when dating - wolf or human, male or female?

Did everything need to be labeled and defined? Did one partner have to be the 'girl' and the other the 'boy'? Was it necessary to have the polarity of male/female-like roles when in a relationship? Were he and Derek actually in a relationship?

What was it that they had - just a series of unconnected dates, or the start of a bona fide relationship that would lead to something with a future?

And, what did any of that mean for the kissing?

Did the way that Derek's kisses made him feel - like a sailor lost at sea; a rabid dog surrounded by water that it couldn't drink; a merman stranded on shore with a pair of brand new legs - mean that they were a couple, that they had something that might maybe, kind of sort of, be love? And, if Stiles' kisses didn't make Derek lose himself the way that Derek's kisses did, what did that mean?

"What're you thinking about?" Derek asked, index finger tracing Stiles' jawline.

They were in Stiles' room, lying on the bed, face-to-face, door open, because Dad had a door open policy when it came to him and Derek. He could keep his door closed when Scott was over. Stiles hadn't won that particular argument with his father.

Unfair or not, the door remained open when Derek was over, end of discussion. Not that there'd actually been a discussion, more like an ultimatum and some rather immature stomping up the stairs and a slamming of the bedroom door in question when the subject had been broached.

Stiles felt heat rise to his cheeks, and he looked at Derek through his lashes, held his breath, because, well, because. Derek's lips were right there, and well within kissing range, and, what better way to answer Derek's question than by showing him what he'd been thinking about?

So, Stiles surged upward, catching Derek's bottom between his teeth and tugging at it, prising the man's mouth open, apparently startling him if the near-squawk sound that Derek made was anything to judge by. It was the first time that Stiles had really done anything like this, initiated, and then taken charge of a kiss, and though Derek stiffened at first, he relaxed, let Stiles lead the kiss, kissing back, moaning, letting Stiles sprawl out on top of him and be in control.

It was heady and empowering and Stiles really didn't want to stop to breathe, because who needed air? Air was for people who didn't have werewolves to kiss.

Eventually, though, Stiles' lungs protested the arguments that his brain had made, and they were very good arguments. Very, very good arguments, because Derek was moaning and his legs were wrapped around Stiles' waist, and, and, and...he was suddenly gasping in too much air, hiccoughing and choking on it.

Stiles rested his cheek against Derek's chest, which was still heaving with the lungfuls of air that he was dragging in to compensate for the air that he'd been deprived of for the length of their kiss.

"Did the earth actually move, or -"

"Fuck, Stiles." Derek's voice was husky, and the hand that he had on Stiles' back was shaking. "Who taught you to kiss like that?"

"So, you liked it?" Stiles asked the question quietly, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible.

"Hell, yeah," Derek said, and he dragged a hand through Stiles' hair, held him close. "Everytime we kiss, I feel like there's nothing else, no one else in the world but the two of us."

It was a rare moment of truth, and vulnerability, from Derek, and Stiles pressed a kiss to his collarbone, reveled in the fact that Derek actually shuddered, that there were goosebumps prickling the heated flesh.

"Really?" Stiles asked, because he was feeling more than just a little vulnerable himself.

"Stiles, kissing you is like trying to contain the sun, or the beast that tries to claw its way out of me during every full moon," Derek admitted, voice a low rumble, fingers stilling in their rhythmic movements in Stiles' hair.

"Oh," Stiles breathed out, stomach twisting in knots, filling with butterflies. Maybe this is the real thing, and maybe it wasn't just a series of unconnected dates that were going nowhere.

"Did you feel the same way with Kate?" Stiles asked, holding his breath for the answer, feeling stupid for blurting the question out when things were going so well, and they could be kissing instead.

Derek kissed the top of Stiles' head, his wrist, the palm of his hand. "No, not even close." There was no indulgent tone, no indication that Derek was lying, and, when Stiles met Derek's gaze, he could see that the man, the wolf, meant what he'd said.

"I love you," Stiles said, and then he ducked his head, because it was too soon for such bald declarations, and he was certain he'd made a fool of himself, and just proven to Derek what the wolf had been trying to convince him of before they'd actually started dating - that Stiles was too young for him.

"I love you, too," Derek said, voice hoarse, fingers digging into Stiles' shoulder.

"Let's kiss?" Stiles suggested, needing to somehow lighten the mood, and to feel Derek's mouth - hot and wet and so delicious - on his.

Kissing Derek was a lot like trying to lasso the moon, and pull it down to the earth. Knowing that Derek felt the same way, or close to it, about the way that he kissed, put them on an even playing field, made them equally vulnerable. Made the way that they kissed so much better.

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