The pyre took nearly six and a half hours to fully burn all the way through. Yet tradition stated that they stay out there all night, no one leaving until the sun rose and the sky lightened.

Stiles didn't remember most of it. He didn't remember most of his mom's funeral either, but he'd always figured it was because he'd been so young, that most memories from that age were gone, only the highlights—and extreme lowlights—sticking around. But that clearly wasn't the case. It was all a matter of it being too much for him to handle so his brain had just shut down, saving him from most of the pain and emotional scarring.

He sat at some point, must have, because his ass was numb and his feet didn't hurt nearly as much as he thought they would. That much he was aware of. The rest? Not so much.

Derek hauled him to his feet when a majority of the crowd had left, when the S-Dubs had gathered around the slab of aconite that lay on the ground where the pyre had been built, mound of ashes spread across the top. It was impossible to tell what was wood and what was Stu, even more impossible to separate them. Families wound up with giant urns the size of barrels, full of ashes, theirs to do whatever their loved one's last request was. Scatter it somewhere. Put it in a mausoleum. Some families kept a miniature version of the urn with some of the ashes in their homes.

The Stilinskis were one of those families.

Panic welled up inside and he began hyperventilating, beating his hand against Derek's chest as the alpha held him upright, supportive arm wrapped around his waist.

"No, they can't—Stu—I—my mom—" he stammered between gasps, tugging at Derek's tee, trying to get him to understand. They couldn't put all the ashes in one urn. There had to be some saved, some he could take with him, to put in a smaller urn and set it next to his mom's. He needed to bring Stu home, even if it wasn't alive and in one piece.

Derek rounded him, hands on his upper arms as he locked onto his eyes. "Stiles? Stiles. It's okay," he stated calmly, evenly, trying his best to ease the omega without commanding him. "We took care of it, alright? Look." He nodded his head to the side, eyes fixated in something behind and to the right of Stiles.

Turning his head, the younger man caught sight of Lydia standing a few feet away, Parrish to her right, arms cradling a silver urn with three black lines scored all the way around it, tag hanging from around the top on a chain.

Just like his mom's.

A long sigh of relief left him and he pulled away from Derek, heading straight for Lydia, wrapping her up in a tight embrace as soon as she was within arms reach. Parrish took the urn from her, holding it carefully as he stood to the side, allowing her to return the tight hug, fingernails scratching the back of his head.

"It's okay, Stiles," she murmured by his ear, her short stature not allowing her to quite reach it, but her heels helping to close the distance. "We've got it handled."

A shuddering exhale left him, his head falling to her shoulder, trembles racking his entire body. He'd completely forgotten everything, hadn't remembered the moon cycle or the urn or a speech, none of it. He'd been too young when he'd lost his mom so he wasn't involved in any of those arrangements, but he should've done something for Stu, should've remembered.

But he hadn't.

But Lydia had.

Because Lydia was perfect in every way and the best person to have by his side during all this. No offense to Scott, but the guy would've been more concerned over Stiles' mental and emotional state than remembering an urn—not that there was anything wrong with that, but it wasn't what Stiles needed, not when he had so many other people around him for that, including Derek. He needed someone to remember all the stupid details he'd spaced on, like taking some of his brother's ashes home and getting something to put them in.

And she'd remembered. She'd taken care of it for him because she knew he couldn't. And in a way, she'd helped take care of Stu as well.

"Thank you," he whispered roughly, eyes stinging behind his closed lids.

A soothing hand rubbed up and down his back, her head nodding against his. "Of course," she murmured back. "I promised I'd help."

A small smile formed on his face at that and he pulled away just enough for her to see it, for him to look down at her with watery eyes and see the shine in her red-rimmed green ones. They'd both put a best friend to rest that night and now, they were gonna make sure part of him came home.

Derek slowly approached them and Stiles sniffed then fully removed himself from Lydia's embrace, she moving so she was standing beside him and rubbing his upper arm. The male alpha glanced at his subordinates, Laura waving her arms around and pointing as she organized and coordinated everyone, then turned back to the two visitors.

"My crew is gonna take care of everything," Derek informed them, voice low out of care rather than a need for discretion. It was as though everyone had come to an unspoken agreement that it was time for quiet volumes to go along with the delicate situation. Or maybe they were too tired to put forth the energy to talk any louder, too emotionally weighed down to fight for their words to be heard.

"We can stay and watch if you want," Derek went on, leaving the choice entirely up to Stiles.

His whiskey eyes fixated on that pile of ashes, watching as the male members of the S-Dubs—minus Parrish, who was still only a few feet away from Lydia, holding the smaller urn—and Braeden left the group, presumably to get supplies and whatever tools they were gonna need. Stiles wasn't entirely sure if he could watch, if he could emotionally handle it, much less if he wanted to. His brother had been reduced to nothing but dust that was about to be scooped into a giant three foot urn. Yeah, he wasn't watching that.

Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to Derek, letting the exhaustion show on his face. "I just wanna go to bed," he admitted roughly.

The alpha nodded in response before focusing in Lydia, giving her a grateful smile. "Thanks again for all your help."

A small grin of her own formed, dimples displayed, and she slid her hand down Stiles' arm to squeeze his wrist. "Of course." Kissing Stiles' cheek, she softly told him to rest up, told him they'd talk later.

He nodded dumbly, watching as Parrish approach, hand outstretched, and he shook it as he was offered heartfelt condolences.

Derek put his hand between Stiles' shoulder blades, steering him away and extracting him from the group before anyone noticed they were leaving, before anyone else approached to offer words of sympathy. He couldn't remember if any of the townspeople had once the flames had died out, the sky still black, making it okay to speak—at a low and respectful volume, of course—and move about. He kind of didn't care whether or not they had. He didn't know this people, didn't care what they thought, if they were sorry for his loss or whatever other cliché bullshit people generally said. These people meant nothing to him.

Turning back, he watched the S-Dubs, Lydia, Laura, and Kira around the aconite slab, Aiden and Boyd carrying the urn, Isaac, Jackson, and Braeden pushing wheelbarrows of shovels and scoops and dustpans and brushes. Facing the front again, he caught sight of Derek out the corner of his eye as they stepped onto the tar road and left the grass.

Okay. Maybe some of them meant something to him.

Movies and TV shows have you believe that the day of the pyre and the one following were full of rain. Thick, heavy drops falling from the sky and soaking everything as the pyre was built—yet somehow still magically ignited and burned—a light drizzle during the funeral itself, not enough to put the fire out, but enough to be felt and seen.

Stiles figured it was the symbology of it all, remembered discussing it during his film criticism class freshman year at Stanford. The rain was meant to add to the dreariness of the whole thing, to visually express the sadness and turmoil everyone felt inside over the loss. It was added for drama, to make the scene more depressing, to help you see what the characters were feeling.

The day they built Stu's pyre was a sunny eighty-four degrees with a few fluffy clouds that look like bunny rabbits and flowers and other cutesy things. The night of the funeral was a warm sixty-three with clear skies and damn near every star on display. The day after, as the sun rose above the trees and the sky turned gorgeous shades of purple, orange, and pink, was shaping up to be another beautiful sunny California day.

Stiles hated it.

He wanted rain, wanted thunder, wanted the weather to reflect the storm raging in his head. He wanted to be soaked to the bone going from the car to the front door. He wanted his clothes to be hanging off him they were so wet and his skin covered in so much water, he'd be shaking all over.

He got a sunrise that looked like Bob Ross had painted it with his happy blue and happy peach, happy little bush over there and happy little bird in the tree singing a sweet tune to greet the morning.

The Joy of Painting could suck his dick at that point in all honesty.

The car ride was silent on the way back to Derek's house, neither of them saying anything until they'd stepped inside and had taken off their shoes. And even then, a long few minutes of not talking passed between them, Stiles still numb from the funeral he'd just witnessed and the knowledge that it was his twin that had been burned.

Probably beating a dead horse to continuously think of it, to constantly bring up his relation to the deceased, but it was all he could think about. His twin, his twin, his fucking twin.

Was Stiles even considered a twin anymore? He'd had one, his twin had been alive. But now that he was no longer living did that mean Stiles was no longer a twin? Did it just void all that out?

Seemed to him like it did. Technically he was now an only child, just like his dad was once the father of two boys and Derek was once a Mate but was now a widower.

Fuck that was weird. After twenty years of being a twin, of being constantly lumped together with Stu until they were this amorphous blob known as "The Stilinski Twins", he was now all by himself. Everyone would be able to tell which one he was because he was the only one still alive.

Fucking hell.

His breathing became shakier as he stood just inside the house, staring at his sock covered feet. No more being mistaken for Stu because there was no Stu for him to be mistaken for. It was just him now, his twinship cut in half, his entire family cut in half.

"Stiles?"

He shook his head as it continued to hang, counting fingers on trembling hands. Not a dream. He was awake and all of it was very, very real.

Damn.

Lifting his head, he met the concern gaze of a very worried Derek, his head tilting slightly to the side.

"You okay?" the alpha asked lowly, getting a head shake in response. "There anything I can do?"

That part Stiles nodded to, stepping closer and closer, not stopping until his feet were between the other man's and their chests were only an inch apart. Threading his fingers through Derek's belt loops, he bit his lip, not entirely sure how to ask but knowing there was no way he couldn't.

"Make me forget," he murmured and he felt the shaky exhale of the other man ghost against his lips. "I just wanna get out of my head and forget about the night."

Derek swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides, every muscle in his body tensed up. But Stiles could smell the want slowly taking over his scent and knew that tension wasn't from disgust or discomfort; Derek was holding himself back.

"You sure?" the alpha questioned in a strained voice, lids at half mast as his eyes locked onto Stiles' lips, tongue darting out to wet his own.

The younger man's breathing became shakier for a whole 'nother reason, shiver racing up his spine. There was an edge of danger to the whole thing, that tingle in his mind that he was playing with fire and should back away. But there was also that rush of excitement that came with it, that anticipatory increase in his heart rate, the adrenaline pumping through his system and making him restless.

Swallowing hard, he gave a shaky nod, voice trembling as he gave a weak "yeah".

Which apparently was the magic word to spring Derek into action. He cupped the omega's face in his broad palms as he crashed their lips together, sparks of electricity zapping through Stiles at the contact. It was heated, rushed, passionate, this all-consuming thing that he needed with a desperation he'd never felt before.

Hands grabbed at one another, pawing, groping. His hoodie was unceremoniously shoved off his shoulders and he shoved the sleeves past his hands, letting it drop to the floor while he wrapped his arms around the other man's neck. Hips rolled against his, a hand grabbing at his ass and pressing him even closer, allowing him to feel the bulge of the half-hard cock trapped within Derek's jeans. Stiles let out a whimper, the sound muffled by the lips pressed to his, and he bucked his hips against Derek's, letting him feel just how very on board he was with everything.

A low rumbling growl was the alpha's response and Stiles felt his passage dampen further and his arousal kick up higher. The scent of Derek's want became stronger and Stiles began clawing at his shirt with blunt fingernails, trying to pull himself impossibly closer. Hands cupped the back of his thighs and before he could register a single thought, he was hoisted in the air, his legs wrapping around the older man's waist on automatic.

He pulled away with a grin, amusement joining his chemosignals. "Nice move."

Derek grinned back just as wide, bunny teeth on display, green eyes twinkling in delight. "Glad you liked."

"Mmm, very much so," he admitted before reconnecting their lips, taking the lead this time as he slipped his tongue inside the other man's mouth.

People always comment on what someone tastes like, what flavors still resided in their mouth, but there was nothing. Pure Derek. Yet it was still enough to make Stiles' head spin.

Oh,wait, no. He was actually spinning.

Derek turned them around, somehow managing to maneuver them into the master bedroom—or what Stiles was assuming was the master bedroom, judging by the short distance and a door opening and shutting—then headed straight for the bed. Stiles felt his world tilt on its axis again as he was lowered down onto the mattress, his arms around the other man dragging Derek down with him.

Hips rolled, gasps filled the room, and Stiles felt all the blood in his body rush south as his cock plumped up and his passage dampened further. He felt himself get lost in the feel of a hard bulge pressing down against his and creating a pleasurable friction, in the feel of soft lips parting and gripping and tugging at his own, in the feel of whiskers scratching at his chin in a pleasurepain burn. His mind was slowly shutting down, only focusing on the physical sensations, on the scents and sounds and tastes of what they were doing. It was exactly what he wanted, what he needed, and he gave in to it wholeheartedly.

He somehow managed to wrangle the older man's shirt to his armpits and Derek sat up, straddling his hips, then pulled it over his head and tossed it away. Stiles eyes and hands all roamed the flesh that had just been bared, eyes tracing the lines of muscles and his fingers following that same pathway. Derek took advantage of his distraction, slipping his black tee up and over his head, his own hands skimming over pale skin as his eyes flickered about, seemingly unable to focus on any one thing.

"Fuck. You're even more beautiful that I remember," Derek murmured reverently, getting a disbelieving snort in response. He smacked the back of his hand on Stiles' chest playfully, barely using any strength, then leaned down to rub his nose against the tip of the younger man's. "You are. And I'm gonna make you believe it."

Stiles opened his mouth to wish him luck, but was instead met with another heated kiss. Their hips rolled in a crashing rhythm of push/pull, chests sliding together, bare skin causing a delicious sort of friction. Derek wrapped his fingers around both of Stiles' wrists and pinned them above his head, holding them down in a wordless order. He nodded to show he understood, their lips parting yet still rubbing together with his actions.

Derek switched his grip so that he held both wrists in one hand, dragging his lips along the younger man's jaw, down the side of his throat, along the edge of his ear. Stiles shivered beneath him, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, low whimper leaving him at the tickle of breath on his lobe.

The alpha managed to find and exploit every weak spot Stiles had, nipping his collarbone, blowing gently against his neck, sucking at a nipple, licking along his pit. He took his time, moved slowly, kissing practically every mole on his body, every freckle and scar and mark on the pale flesh. He nuzzled the crook of his neck, growling as he scented him, hips rolling with more purpose at that. And when he pressed blunt teeth on the left side of his neck—where a Claiming Bite would go—Stiles damn near came.

His wrists were released as Derek moved further down his body, but he kept them in place, digging his fingers in the pillow as the jut of his hips were nipped, as the line of his jeans was licked, as a mark was sucked right above his pelvis. His every breath was shaky, chest heaving, yet he wanted, needed more.

Derek moved so he was kneeling at the end of the bed, slipping off one of Stiles' socks, then the other, kissing the instep of his foot. The omega's leg twitched as he giggled, slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Ticklish there," he stated the obvious, feeling a grin form against the arch of his foot and his leg jerked again at the sensation.

When Derek finally released his foot, it was with a wicked grin and a devious spark in his eyes, leaning forward with his fists on either side of the smaller man's body. "Good to know," he rumbled, eyes looking down, down, down before the smirk grew.

Stiles swallowed hard as his jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped, slipped down his legs and off. Nerves pooled in his stomach, twisting and knotting up, his chest heaving as his breathing became shakier. Hell, all of him was shaky at that point, body trembling in a combination of anticipation and anxiety.

But he wanted this, wanted to feel Derek once more, wanted the alpha inside him in some way. And if he couldn't get exactly what he wanted—mainly the guy's cock and knot—he'd settle for those thick fingers filling him up once more, spreading him open and driving him to orgasm.

The memories of that very thing from the night before came crashing down, making him bite his lower lip to hold back a moan. His cock was fully hard, tenting his boxers, his slick leaking out and soaking into the cotton as precome created a matching wet spot on the front.

Derek's nostrils flared as he caught the scent of it, eyes flashing red before zeroing in on the omega's crotch, a pleased growl rumbling up from his chest. Spreading the younger man's legs apart, he settled between them, laying flat on the bed. He ran his nose up along his hard length, making Stiles shiver, before burying it behind his balls and letting out a guttural groan.

"Smell so good," Derek practically whined, hands gripping Stiles' inner-thighs and holding them apart.

The omega bucked his hips in a wordless plea to be touched, fingers tangling in the sheet on either side of him. He watched through half-lidded eyes as the older man dragged his bottom lip up his length then sealed his mouth around the tip, sucking at the wet spot. A shaky cry left him, hips rising up again, more slick dampening his passage and his crack.

"Oh fuck," he breathed out, head tilting back, feeling more of the mushroom head being sucked into the older man's mouth. "Oh shit."

Thumbs pressed into the lines where his thighs met his groin, rubbing and massaging, fingers creeping up to the waistband of his boxers. He peered down to see the questioning look on Derek's face, nodding adamantly and licking his lips. His underwear was slowly peeled down, blunt teeth biting at the jut of one hipbone, mouth sucking at the dip of the other, creating a mark that disappeared all too soon.

Damn.

His boxers were slipped off and discarded with the same ease as his pants, leaving him naked and spread-eagle on the bed. Derek's eyes flashed red as they roamed his vulnerable form, tongue absently licking his lips as he knelt between the omega's legs. Stiles caught of the scent of the alpha's arousal kicking up a notch, his cock twitching in response and dragging a rumbling growl from the older man. They were feeding off one another's excitement, the more turned on one got, the more it ratcheted up in the other, a never-ending cycle of desire and need.

His own eyes drifted over the older man, taking in the dips and planes of his muscular torso, blunt teeth sinking in to his lower lip at the line of hair trailing from his belly button down past the waistband of his jeans.

Which, no. Why were there still clothes? And more importantly, why were there still clothes on Derek?

Hooking his fingers through the other man's belt loops, Stiles hauled himself up to a sitting position. His lips roamed ridged abdominal muscles, wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses left everywhere as he worked on the buttons on too-tight jeans. Fingers trailed through his brown locks, muscles twitching beneath his mouth, hair tugged to pull his head back so he was peering up at the alpha, dull red eyes staring down at him. His own flashed gold in response, a pleased growl vibrating up from Derek's chest before he shook it off, effectively silencing himself.

"This is about you," the older man stated in a sexy rumble that went straight to Stiles' cock, hips bucking awkwardly where he was sitting.

"Want you naked," he responded with a plea, popping the next button open. "Please."

Derek let out a noise eerily close to a whine, fingers threading through the hair on either side of Stiles' head, leaning down to connect their lips. The omega finished unbuttoning his jeans, fingers slipping inside the waistband of his boxer-briefs then sliding around to the back where he shoved them down and cupped his ass. With a tug, he fell into his back, hauling the older man down on top of him.

The jeans were shoved down as far as Stiles could reach, winding up midway down Derek's thighs. A gasp escaped the younger man at the feel of another hard length against his, the heat of it causing him to shiver. Shit, Derek was hot all over, his higher temp making Stiles feel like he was burning everywhere their naked flesh touched, scorched in the best way possible.

But he would gladly burn alive and turn to ash if it meant he got more of naked Derek on and inside him.

Hips rolled together, cocks sliding from precome, Derek's releasing more due to his alpha nature. Whines escaped Stiles' mouth, the other man's lips repeatedly grazing against his in a never-ending tease. Derek's name was a beg, a plead, a desperate cry for more as he tried and failed to find a grip on flexing back muscles.

The alpha nodded, understanding what Stiles couldn't say, rising up and climbing off the bed. Which definitely wasn't what Stiles wanted, what the fuck?

But then Derek shucked his pants and his underwear and stood beside the bed completely naked and yeah, that was what the omega wanted.

His eyes became glued to the older man's groin, taking in the sight of the hard length located there. It was flushed red, shiny with copious precome, jutting out proudly. And while it wasn't the first one he'd seen in person—thank you, awkward locker room changes after gym and practice—it was the first hard one and he had a difficult time imagining that it got any bigger or thicker than that.

At least outside of porn.

Hell, it was bigger than some of the ones he'd even seen in porn.

His pubic hair was neatly trimmed and Stiles had a brief flash of the word "manscaping" before everything completely left his head as Derek climbed back on the bed, kneeling between his spread legs. The omega cocked his legs up, feet planted on the mattress, fingers gripping the sheet on either side of him as his breathing became erratic. His eyes roamed the man kneeling before him, drinking his fill and still thirsty for more. Because Derek was a specimen that should be used as a diagram of what the ultimate male looked like. Because he was a work of art that should be hung in a museum for all to admire. Because he was the epitome of beauty and perfection and he was staring down at Stiles like he was the ultimate and the epitome and the work of art.

Derek's hands cupped his knees, slowly sliding down his inner-thighs, pausing before he reached his groin. He licked his lips, letting out a shaky breath, eyes flashing red as he took in the omega's hard cock and leaking hole, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes. "May I?" he asked, voice rough, shaky.

Stiles nodded, not entirely sure what he was asking permission for and not really caring. It was dangerous, he knew that, warning bells and self-defense classes and omega orientations ringing through his head. Always get consent, always know what you're getting yourself into, always make sure your alpha gets explicit permission before doing anything, that way you aren't taken advantage of. Because omegas were impressionable, susceptible to an alpha's every whim, their very nature creating them to be the perfect docile partner for the aggressive take-charge alpha. A certain tone of voice and an omega will do whatever is asked of them, easily commanded and pushed around. Despite multiple laws being enacted that now makes it a crime to order an omega around, that has it covered under Mate abuse statutes, that allows an omega to press charges against an alpha for ordering them to do something they don't want to, it still happens.

For every crime, there's a criminal. And omega's were far too easy a prey to pick on.

But Derek wasn't like that. Derek had proven he could be trusted, had proven he wouldn't pull such shit. If Stiles wanted to, he could say "stop", "red", "safeword", any of that shit, and Derek would immediately pull back. Stiles could ask what was going on, what they were doing, and Derek would explain it all in graphic detail—for better or worse. Stiles knew this, trusted Derek because of it.

And because of that trust, he didn't ask.

An awed smile formed on the alpha's face and he peered down at the younger man's groin once more, teeth sinking in to his bottom lip. With a gentle push, he folded the omega's legs back, Stiles gripping them to hold them in place. Derek settled on his stomach, palming the other man's cheeks, massaging them, spreading them apart to put his gaping, leaking hole on display. Stiles' breathing became shakier with anticipation, remembering how it felt to have those fingers inside him, hoping like hell for a repeat performance.

Only that's not what he got.

Leaning down, Derek pressed a gentle kiss to his hole, making him gasp, hips jerking away in surprise. Green eyes flicked up to watch his face, to make sure it was okay as he cautiously lowered his mouth to his hole once more and kissed it again.

Stiles let out a whine, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he realized what the alpha really wanted to do, what was actually about to happen. Sure he'd seen tons of it in porn, had watched omegas thrash and cry out as alpha's ate them, and he'd fantasized about it plenty of times, but he'd never really been given the opportunity to do it.

Until now.

Until his Mate.

A sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over him, mind filling with a million and five worries. Was he clean enough down there? Did it matter that he hadn't showered since the funeral pyre? Did he taste okay? What if it he tasted horrible? What if Derek hated it?

A tongue traced along his crack, from the base of his spine to his perineum and all thoughts left his mind as he gave himself over to the sensations of it all. The wet muscle flicked over his rim before the flat of it lapped at him and he groaned, digging his fingers into the back of his thighs.

"Fucking hell, you taste good," Derek rumbled, diving back in and lapping at him more.

A shaky gasp was Stiles' response, lifting his head to peer down at the alpha, the tip of his tongue flicking over his hole in a teasing fashion. "Fuck, shit, fuck," he muttered, moaning, slamming his head back against the pillow.

He could feel the older man grinning against him, whiskers being rubbed against either cheek and causing sparks of pleasure to burst over the sensitive flesh. Sufficiently marked with beardburn, Derek delved back in, lapping at his hole before sliding his tongue inside and flicking it around.

The omega cried out at that, eyes flying open, a hand slamming against the mattress as he swore loudly. "Oh my god!" he yelled, shoving his hand through his hair. "Oh god, Der, don't stop."

A satisfied hum vibrated through Derek against him, making him shiver, hole being licked all over. He speared his tongue and fucked it inside, bobbing his head up and down as he thrust it in and out. Stiles moaned loudly, groan-tinged laughs leaving him at the pleasurable sensation.

"More," he whined. "More. Der, fuck, eat me, fuck."

Derek sealed his mouth around his hole and sucked, drawing some of his slick out and swallowing it. He watched as the alpha's eyes flashed red then rolled to the back of his head, moans muffled between his pale cheeks. "So fucking good," Derek panted out before lapping at him more aggressively and sucking at him once more.

Stiles' hips began rocking, rolling up to meet the other man's mouth, keening as that tongue slipped inside him once more. He felt the pad of a finger rubbing at his rim, massaging, relaxing it before the digit slipped inside and a second finger rubbed at the pucker instead.

"You have no idea how fucking amazing you are," the alpha commented, pressing his lips all over his cheeks, nipping the fleshy globes, sucking marks that left within moments. "Could do this all day."

"Not gon' stop ya," Stiles slurred, moaning as the second finger slipped inside and both digits began scissoring him open. "Give you 'spress permiss'in ta do it."

Derek chuckled, hot breath ghosting over his hole and making him shiver. The fingers hooked, finding his prostate pretty much immediately and pressing against it, making Stiles' cry out.

"Fuck!"

"Turn over," Derek ordered gently as he slipped his fingers up and rose back up to his knees.

The omega laid there shaking for a moment before clambering over, limbs feeling like they were full of jelly and barely functioning. He flopped onto his stomach with an "oomf" before instincts had him rising up onto his knees, arching his back as he presented.

A pleasure-filled growl left the alpha and Stiles' wolf practically purred with pride, the human part of him preening just as much. Hands gripped his cheeks and pulled them apart, his hole kissed sloppily before a finger on either hand slipped inside to hold him open. Derek's tongue joined in, licking at his rim, lapping at his slick, making him whimper and moan.

Stiles felt shaky in and out, completely overwhelmed with everything. His head felt like it was spinning despite the fact that it was simply laying on his forearm, his other hand reaching back to bury his fingers in Derek's hair, using it to ground himself in some way. Because he felt like he was flying apart, being taken apart piece by piece, all because of the male behind him giving him pleasure unlike that which he'd ever felt before. Hell, he didn't know it was possible to feel that good, for things to be that intense, yet it was happening.

Should've known it was gonna happen though. Because Mates.

His hand slipped free from the alpha's hair, falling onto the bed before wrapping around his cock, not wanting to stroke, caught between needing to come and wanting it to last forever. A hand gripped his hip to steady him, barely aware that he'd been rocking back and forth, trying to press himself closer to the older man and his talented mouth. Two fingers pressed and rubbed against his prostate, and it was only a couple jerks of his cock before he was crying out, shooting onto the sheet beneath him. His mouth hung open as he gasped, heaving, trembling all over. His knees finally gave out and he fell onto the bed, still twitching and coming, fingers still held inside of him.

When it became too much, he batted at the other man's forearm, Derek taking the hint and slipping his fingers out. The alpha crawled up, hovering over him, nosing at the side of his neck. Stiles tilted his head to the side to give him more access, letting out a satisfied hum at the pleased rumbling growl the older man let out, eyes closed and sleepy smile on his face.

Only to remember...

He opened his eyes and peered back at the other man, reaching up to slide his fingers through his hair once more, relishing the feel of the silky—if not slightly sweat-dampened—strands sliding between his fingers. "You?"

A finger trailed between his crack, grazing over his hole in a barely there sensation that was just enough to make him jerk and gasp at the sensation. "Can I?"

"Mm?" he asked back, still slightly sleepy post-orgasm, arching his back and jutting his ass out. "What?"

Derek gently gripped his legs, pressing them together before nudging between them with the head of his cock. "Can I?" he repeated, voice more reedy this time, rougher with need.

Stiles nodded, licking his lips, feeling his slick between his thighs. Combined with the copious precome still leaking out of Derek's cock and it was the perfect lubrication, the alpha's dick easily sliding between his legs.

The older man groaned before lowering himself, gently laying over the omega with a leg cocked up for leverage, arms wrapping around his leaner frame. He began moving immediately, thrusting at a fast pace, entire body trembling as he nuzzled and scented his Mate. Stiles wondered if maybe Derek needed this as much as he did, if his emotions were just as wracked and fucked up after the night they'd had, only for the thought to fly out the window as he felt a pulsing at the base of Derek's cock, his knot forming. The omega could feel the heat of him between his legs, the head pressing against the back of his balls with every inward thrust, his knot filling and plumping.

It wasn't long before Derek was pressing between his legs and holding there, gasping harshly against the sensitive part of Stiles' neck as his body stiffened above him. He whined out the omega's name as he spilled between the sheets and the younger man's dick, the first spurt of what Stiles knew would be a long orgasm for him. He internally preened at the knowledge that he'd gotten the older man off, that he was able to make him come like that, the satisfaction dimmed slightly with the knowledge that Derek was coming but not inside him or even on him, that he wasn't being marked or claimed or anything like that.

Reaching back, he threaded his fingers through Derek's hair once more, scratching at his scalp as his Mate shook and whined, breathing hotly against him. It didn't matter if it wasn't in him, Stiles decided. Derek felt good and that was all that mattered.

Closing his eyes, he let that be enough.