Title: All of me uncharted
Author: ANTchan
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Rating/Genre: Smutfic/E
Pairings: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Summary: So maybe Stiles has this fantasy. Maybe it's his favorite one. And maybe he makes a post about it on a community sex blog. There's nothing shameful about that. That's what it's for. He expects most of the responses he gets - the supporters, the enthusiasts, the creeps.
But the simple message: Would you trust me to give you that?
After that, all bets are off.
This story includes Safe, Sane, Consensual BDSM, casual sex, anonymous sex, bondage, orgasm delay/denial, slight dubcon roleplay (in concept rather than practice), rough sex, prior consent, kink negotiation, aftercare, werewolves are known AU, intensely platonic/pseudo-romantic Sciles, and platonic Sciles kisses.
So this isn't the sequel, and for that I apologize. THAT's still be worked on (for almost a year now, ugh). And if it gets much longer I may just post it in two parts.
BUT ANYWAY. Welcome back to All of me uncharted! This little extra was meant to go into approx. the third installment of this series. But a reader talked me into the idea doing a little extra from Derek's POV. I say talked me into. It was more like they said "wow this was great! I would love to see something from Derek's POV" and I went "I CAN DO THAT." So here we are. This ficlet starts off just as Derek leaves the room, and goes up to the end of that scene.
I want to thank everyone for all of the love and encouragement you've all shown this fic. It's been an experience that I could only have dreamed of. And I hope you enjoy this little token of my gratitude.
(Even if it's not the sequel.)
All of me uncharted
Extra
How Derek makes it to the ice station on numb, shaking legs, he'll never know. It's just one step at a time, one hand on the wall to support him, until he walks the fifteen feet or so to the floor's refreshment alcove. There's no one to see him go stumbling into the wall, thank god. He doesn't want to know what he looks like right now - sweaty and flushed, pants barely fastened from throwing them on so quickly, smelling like sweat and come and arousal. For a moment all he can do is lean there and gasp for breath.
It has been a long, long time since he's been this far gone. He barely stops himself from sliding to the floor and just shaking there in the aftermath for a few minutes; from just crashing right there in the damned hall.
But he can't do that. Because there's a sub - a brash, responsive, delicious submissive - waiting for him back in that room. One that's never been brave enough to try a scene before, let alone one this intense. Fuck. Fuck.
Derek lurches off the wall, gritting his teeth in frustration as his hands falter to open the refrigerator in search of water bottles. His hands don't seem to want to do what he tells them. (How did he even manage to keep it together when he was fucking the man into his first subspace?)
He gives himself a moment, distantly listening to his companion's still reedy gasps and the rustling of sheets as he starts to shift on the bed. Just long enough that he can take a few drinks himself. So he might have a chance to steady himself before going back in.
It's the first little hint of a sob that stops him. No longer sexual and now distressed and followed by the sound of what can only be struggling.
Derek grabs another bottle of water and doubles back as fast as his unsteady legs can carry him.
Stupid. Stupid! Why did he ever agree to leaving the room after? The other man had insisted, sure, but he obviously had no idea what he was getting into. And Derek did. This may be outside how Derek usually operates, but he at least has experience. He's an idiot.
Derek slips into the room as quickly and quietly as he can, fearing the worst. But the standard BDSM horror stories are nowhere to be found in the room. His companion hasn't fallen off the bed in his bound state, hasn't worked himself into a position that cuts off circulation or made breathing difficult. He's not hurt, thank god, but he's...
He's crashing. Derek can actually see it happening. He's coming down from his very first endorphin rush during a scene and he has no idea how to handle it. And Derek knows, he knows it can be scary even on top of draining as fuck, and he'll be damned if he lets him go through this without proper help. "Shhh," Derek hushes him, going to the bed in quick strides. The young man almost falls over at his voice, his answering sob one of relief this time. "I've got you," Derek tells him softly. He does what he can to steady him, tracing nonsense circles at his hips.
And the young man pleads with him, his voice wrecked. "Don't," he says. Over and over like it's a lifeline.
"Don't what?"
"Don't leave."
And fuck if that doesn't set off every instinct Derek has. It's borne of the intensity of the sex and the connection that forms, to be sure. But it's Derek's job to make sure his partner is well taken care of, before, during, and after. Not just his job, it's his obligation. And it fulfills something in him just as much as acting out a scenario does.
He tries to bring the sub down as easy as he can, murmuring praises and assurances as he rubs at his hips and up and down his sides. The young man's wrists are still bound behind his back, and they'll need to be freed soon. But Derek needs to get him calm first. "Do you want to come?" he asks. Because he's been so good for Derek, so brave and so willing. There's nothing Derek wants more in that moment than to reward him for it. The way he begs for it is so perfect, so pretty and desperate that Derek doesn't even think to make him work for it or tease him. It's so, so easy to press three fingers into his sloppy, slack hole and watch him choke on a shout. His body goes from pliant to pulled taut, straining to fuck back onto Derek's fingers.
He's so beautiful - sensual and utterly obscene. Derek's come is still cooling on his lower back; his skin is flushed pink all the way down to his ribs; and there's a bite mark blooming right between his shoulder blades. Just watching him makes Derek want to fuck him again, to keep the pretty brunette desperate until he can shove right back inside the hot grip of his body.
(But no, Derek can't do that. He knows that. His companion needs to be brought down gently and cared for. Not pushed past his limits on his first go.)
He's only half-aware of the litany of praises coming out of his mouth, only jolted back to reality when he hears himself speak the words: "You can come whenever you want to, sweetheart." The endearment feels so foreign on his tongue. The word has only ever been sickeningly sweet, a false reassurance that has only ever felt wrong, wrong, wrong in his ears - memories of sweet perfume and flashing eyes, too-sharp smiles and false kindness. But here, saying it now, only feels right. Because this man has been so good for him, so sweet in his submission that Derek can't help it.
Derek lets him chase his orgasm in the messy thrusts of his hips for a while. Until he breaks and begs for Derek's touch, begs for Derek to wrap fingers around his cock. At the first touch his body snaps taut as a bowstring. He's close, seconds away from shattering completely. It's too perfect and Derek can't help but lean in and run his tongue along his rim, tracing where his fingers are stretching him open.
The scream dies off as fast as the sub's breath does. He ruts in Derek's grip until his body just gives into overwhelmed shivers and he comes all over Derek's hand.
Derek catches him, at least, before he completely slumps into the bed. The room is filled with the man's ragged gasps and his racing heart. He looks like the perfect picture of thoroughly ravaged prey and Derek lets out a deep rumble just looking at the long lines of his back and bound limbs.
He slips away as quickly and quietly as he can into the en suite for a damp cloth, half fearful that the other man will turn to panic again in the mere seconds that Derek is gone. Wiping the lube, come, and sweat from his body and untying the belt from his hands is a completely rote sequence for Derek, but there's something settling about it. Watching his companion slowly melt into the bed as Derek massages up his arms is the perfect bookend to the soaring power rush that a scene evokes. It makes Derek's own crash, that he can feel coming every time his hands shake, ease off just a little.
Now relaxed, his sub (and it does something unspeakable to him to refer to the man that way in his thoughts) is gazing at nothing with unfocused, heavy-lidded eyes. He's well and truly fucked out, so delectably vulnerable and all for him. His. If only for today.
Taking care of him lets Derek get a good look at the man's face for the first time since spotting him in the lobby. falling with stile sometimes posts the occasional picture on his blog - never his face, of course - so Derek had already expected the lanky, speckled body. The elegant, long-fingered hands. And his broad shoulders and slender hips (though no picture did them justice to illustrate just how easy it had been for Derek's hands to grasp them, to almost dwarf them.)
But he hadn't expected the long line of his neck, or his sharp jaw. That the same beauty marks that decorated his body also decorated his cheeks. Or his sharp upturned nose or his flyaway, perfectly pullable hair.
And certainly nothing had prepared Derek for the delectable cupid's bow of his lips, that are now swollen and pink, wrecked.
Derek has a hundred things he would like to do to that mouth right now.
Or would, if either of them had the energy for it. The man only stirs when Derek shuts the curtains, blocking out the bright afternoon sun and sending the room into comforting darkness. He proves to be absolutely useless at moving himself up the bed, so Derek just scoops him up to deposit him amongst the pillows. "Wait," he whispers as the man bonelessly sinks into the bed. It's only Derek's hand cupping the back of his neck that stops him. "Take a drink before you lie down."
The man doesn't even open his eyes, just lets Derek place the straw to his lips and takes big, greedy gulps of water until Derek has to physically slow him down before he chokes. And then Derek tucks him into bed, watches him sprawl out beneath the cool sheets with a whisper-like moan. Derek should leave him there. He should go wait on the couch for the other man to recover his strength. But Derek can feel the crash creeping in on him, and the space next to his companion looks so inviting.
So Derek joins him. He climbs into bed beside the man, this beautiful, wrecked man, and lets him fling an arm over Derek's waist. Let's him press an ear to his chest.
This is… different than how things usually go for Derek.
He's not exactly cold with his lovers, but there's always a distance to be maintained - an understanding that this isn't a regular thing, that Derek doesn't make any of them a regular thing - and cuddling like this is usually brief. If it ever happens at all.
He blinks, and watches the man start to drift off, only to snap awake again and demand his phone, in a hoarse rasp that, if Derek weren't worn out from the first round, would send pleasure trickling straight down to his toes. His companion has no idea of the effect a few mumbled words has on him, blindly fiddling with his phone in a pathetic attempt at sending a picture to his friend acting as backup. He grunts and fidgets, even curses as his boneless fingers drop the phone a few times. Until Derek has to reach down and help him steady it.
It's oddly endearing.
Derek turns his face into soft, flyaway hair, and breathes deeply. The man's scent and the smell of sex and fresh sweat, and the triumphant little crow his companion makes as he finally finishes his task brings a smile to his mouth. It's… nice.
It's the first time in ages that Derek reconsiders how he handles sex. The first time in a long while that the idea of a one and done, of leaving after they're both satisfied, doesn't fill him with a sense of safety or relief. No, now instead it only fills him with makes him wonder if maybe it wouldn't be so bad to spend even just the weekend with this man, rather than leaving after he's only had a taste.
After all, what harm could it be?
End. Walk on, Traveler of Worlds.