|Compromising Positions | Into the Black | Contact|
Girl TroubleNotes:Big, massive thanks to emungere for the beta. And for the LOLs that told me that I wasn't the only one who thought it was funny. Any remaining mistakes are mine, all mine. Especially in the bits I edited after she was done.
“What the fuck! What the holy fuck was that? Oh my God, what the fuck is this shit?” Stiles wipes the faintly glowing purplish-pink goo off his face and arms, flicking it away.
“STILES!” Scott’s tone and volume implies he’s been trying to get Stiles’ attention for a while.
“What? Why are you yelling at me?” Stiles asks, shaking more of the substance off himself. It’s making his skin tingle.
“Dude. You have boobs,” Scott replies, staring at Stiles’ chest.
“What?” Stiles puts hands on chest, pauses a moment, and then cups his breasts. He pulls the neck of shirt out, and looks inside. “What the fuck, I have boobs! And what the hell has happened to my voice?”
“It’s an octave lower?” Derek deadpans, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, fuck you, Hale.” Stiles gives him the finger. Which is slightly thinner and more tapered than before. Stiles blinks a few times. He frowns in thought, and then his eyes go wide. His moves his hands slowly down to his crotch, trepidation running through him. Once he’s made contact with what is no longer there, his eyes go even wider and wilder and his hand flies away like it’s been burned. “Oh my God, my junk is gone. Jesus Christ, I’m a girl. How the – What the – WHAT THE FUCK WERE THOSE THINGS?”
“How the fuck would I kn –” Derek starts. He takes one look at Stiles’ panic-stricken face and stops himself before he continues in a softer tone. “I’ve never seen anything like them before. Maybe Deaton might know. Or the Bestiary. I’ve never even heard of this kind of thing happening.”
Scott is suspiciously quiet. Stiles looks over at him.
“For the love of – Scott, stop staring at my tits!” Stiles exclaims, wrapping his open plaid button-down around himself, and then crossing his arms over his chest.
“Sorry, sorry,” Scott says flushing. He looks away, but his eyes drift back almost of their own accord.
“Scott, c’mon, seriously. You’re freaking me out,” Stiles complains.
“I’m sorry. But dude. Boobs,” Scott replies a lot like a stoner saying weed.
Neither of them notice that Derek is looking too, with a deeply unsettled look on his face. He tears his eyes away, and concentrates on the trip-hammer flutter of Stiles’ heartbeat and the rush of breath through his lungs. He realizes that Stiles is very nearly on the edge of a panic attack.
“Stiles, calm down. We’ll figure something out,” Derek says.
“Easy for you to say, you’ve still got your dick. What the hell am I going to do?” He scrubs his hand over his hair and absently notes that for some reason, being turned into a girl did not affect his buzz cut.
““We’ll go talk to Deaton, and Scott can ask Allison what the Bestiary has to say,” Derek replies decisively. “When we know more, we’ll figure it out. We always do.” He puts a hand in the middle of Stiles’ back and starts pushing him gently towards his Camaro.
Stiles is disturbingly quiet and passive, allowing himself to be led to the car. Stiles opens the door and slumps into the passenger seat. Derek gets in, starts the car, and they head into town. Stiles stares out the window at the passing scenery, not really seeing it. They’re about halfway to the vet’s office when Derek breaks the heavy silence. “If you don’t stop that right now, I’m going to rip your arm off and beat you to death with it.” The words are sharp, but the tone is missing the edge of irritation and anger that often colours Derek’s voice.
“Huh?” Stiles replies, absently.
“That,” Derek says, nodding at Stiles’ hand – which is currently opening and closing the glove box over and over again a semi-rhythmic fashion.
“Shit, sorry,” Stiles apologizes. He puts his hands under his thighs. About half a second later, they’re fiddling with the edge of his shirt. He can’t sit still under normal circumstances and this is about as far from normal as you can get.
When they arrive at the vet clinic, they make their way through the deserted front office to the examining room where Deaton is replacing his supplies.
“Hey, boys, to what do I – Oh,” Deaton says, the gentle smile on his face turning to concern when he spots Stiles. “I see.”
“Yeah, hard to miss,” Stiles replies, holding his arms out before quickly wrapping them back around himself. He slumps into the chair against the wall.
“Any ideas how to reverse it?” Derek asks, leaning back against the wall next to Stiles.
“Why don’t you tell me the whole story?” Deaton requests. “I need details before I can tell you anything definitive.”
Deaton listens quietly as they tell him what happened. He interrupts briefly to send Derek to gather a sample of the purple substance for testing. By the time Derek returns, Stiles is finished giving Deaton all of the details.
Deaton rubs his jaw pensively, and says the words that make Stiles’ stomach sink. “I’ve never heard of this happening before. I’m going to have to look into it. It may take a while. I’m really sorry, Stiles.”
“Not nearly as sorry as I am. My father’s home tonight. I can’t hide this from him, this isn’t some lame ’80s sitcom. He’s going to be so pissed. The werewolf thing was bad enough, now I have to tell him about magic, too?” Stiles complains miserably.
Sheriff Stilinski takes the news of Stiles’ magical transformation relatively well. After a long, steady stare, he says weakly, “Well, your mother always wanted a girl.”
Stiles gapes at him, expecting a much less sane reaction, and then realizes that his father is just trying to keep the situation as calm as possible. “Yeah? I bet she was going to name her something nice and easy to spell too, like Anna,” Stiles replies.
“Krystyna, actually,” his dad says, wistfully.
Stiles never asked his parents why they never had more kids. Even when he was younger he could tell it was a sensitive topic, so he never brought it up. In an effort to lighten the mood, Stiles exclaims, “Oh my God, you suck! My name is all but unpronounceable!”
“Hey, don’t blame me, blame your mother,” his father replies, with a grin. Stiles griping about his legal name is a common topic of conversation. “She’s the one who wanted to name you after her father.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m still saddled with a name only you know how to pronounce. Or spell. I’m going to go take a shower. You can’t see any of it, but I’m covered in dried monster bits. Blech.”
Stiles takes the stairs two at a time and dumps his backpack in his room before heading to the bathroom. He closes and locks the door. Taking a deep breath, he turns to face himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and starts to undress. His hands shake a little, but he steels himself until he’s naked.
He looks at himself. Really looks at himself, and starts cataloguing the differences and similarities: his height is the same, which makes him almost freakishly tall for a girl – nearly six feet, but he’s lost a lot of muscle tone, so he’s slimmer. He also seems to have a smaller bone structure, so he’s much narrower, too. Somehow the combination makes him look willowy and coltish, instead of gawky and awkward. His hands and feet are a also smaller and thinner, and all the hair on the back of his hands and on his arms has disappeared. His face looks almost the same, except that it’s slightly rounder and somehow softer. All of his moles – although now that he’s a girl people will likely call them beauty marks – seem to be present. His breasts are a decent size, more than a handful, round and full, with tiny, pink nipples. Tentatively, he cups them in his hands, fascinated by the way they feel against his palms. Who would have imagined that the first breasts he would ever touch would be his own? He moves his hands slightly and inhales sharply in surprise when the nipples start to harden.
His nipples have always been kind of sensitive, but this is ridiculous, he barely moved his hands. Still watching in the mirror, Stiles continues to touch himself, palms barely brushing the sensitive flesh. Pleasure zings through him, down and down, causing muscles he’s never had before to spasm slightly. He’s already starting to get a little wet when he experiments with a little pinch. He gasps and an even sharper zing goes through him.
“Oh my God,” murmurs to himself, “Boobs are awesome.”
In a haze of pleasure, Stiles continues exploring, and just as he’s getting up the courage to slide his hand down between his legs, his father’s voice calls up. “Stiles, you okay? I don’t hear the shower running.”
“Yes,” Stiles’ voice is high and tight, so he clears it before continuing. “Everything’s fine.” Stiles stares at himself in the mirror. He looks a bit wrecked – his face is flushed and his bottom lip is red from where he’s been biting it. And that was even before getting to the good stuff.
“Dinner’s in twenty,” his dad calls up.
“K,” Stiles replies, moving away from the mirror to the shower. He turns on the shower and gets in, letting the water slide down his body for a few minutes, just enjoying the sensation of it. He soaps up, probably spending more time on his breasts than strictly necessary, before once again heading downwards. Stiles tentatively slips his fingers between his legs. At the first brush of his fingertips over his clit, Stiles inhales sharply. It’s like all the good parts of his dick are concentrated in one tiny little spot. He starts to rub in slow, methodical circles that has sharp spikes of pleasure shooting inward, coiling something deep inside him tighter and tighter. He’s getting wetter and wetter and his breath is coming in short pants and he can’t seem to stop the quiet noises coming from him. Stiles can feel his body reaching for something and he lets his instincts take over, and his hand moves faster and harder and suddenly the tight coil spirals up and out and his hips are jerking and something inside him is contracting rhythmically and he’s gasping his way through one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had in his life. He can’t seem to stop moving his fingers even after he’s done as every movement causes more sharply pleasurable aftershocks to roll through him. It’s not long before he’s whimpering his way through a second, slightly less intense orgasm.
Stiles leans his head against the cool tiles of the shower and catches his breath, pressing his wobbling knees together to stay vertical. He takes a few minutes before he finishes his shower to wonder how girls ever leave the house.
Stiles basically spends the next week holed up in his room waiting to hear from Deaton, playing a lot of Xbox, and experimenting with the new equipment. He learns that although girls don’t get aroused as easily or obviously as boys, they definitely do get just as aroused, and can stay that way for ages, just thrumming with desire, without the burning need to do something about it. It’s pretty fucking amazing. He spends half a day watching porn, just to see how long he can go without touching himself. When he finally does allow himself to masturbate, he comes so hard he actually stops breathing for a second. He also learns, much to his horror, that girls can lose an orgasm if the stimulation stops just at the wrong point of peaking. He is right there, right fucking there, his body shaking with the need to come, but his wrist is at a funny angle so he pauses briefly to reposition and then it’s like all that build up has shifted and it’s now unreachable, no matter how hard he tries, leaving him feeling unsettled and twitchy as he moves his hand away.
Stiles goes to the pack meeting the following week, at his father’s urging. Stiles hasn’t left the house since the incident, and his father thinks it’s a good idea for him to get out for a bit and stop wallowing in misery. There’s no way he’s going to tell his father that he’s not entirely miserable, just getting worried that no one can figure out how to switch him back.
Everyone stares at him when he first arrives at Derek’s, but after a few jokes, they take it in stride. What’s a little more magical transformation amongst werewolves? Stiles snarks back and stays for the post-meeting pizza and movie. It’s like nothing has changed. Right up until fighting over the remote control with Scott gets really weird when Scott’s arm brushes against his boob and Scott squawks and flails off the couch.
A few days later, Lydia shows up at the front door.
“Hey, Lydia, what’s up?” Stiles asks.
“We’re going shopping. I can not be seen with you dressed like that,” she says, waving her hand at his clothes.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Stiles asks, and looks down at his vintage graphic tee and jeans combination. Admittedly, they’re a bit large on him now, but they’re comfortable. And it’s not like he’s got anything else to wear.
“Are you serious? They were barely tolerable when you were a boy. You are not wearing them now. Besides, you need a bra, Stiles. You’ve got way too much going up front to do without. The boys were killing themselves trying not to notice the other night. So, come on. My father sent me a guilt cheque, let’s go spend it.” Lydia grabs him by the arm and drags him out of the house.
Lydia’s got her stubborn face on, so Stiles knows it’s not worth his time to argue. He goes to the mall with her. First, she takes him to Victoria’s Secret to get undergarments. She commandeers a sales person to measure him, and then goes to pick out some matching sets. Stiles has no idea why his underwear has to match. It’s not like anyone else is going to see it. So, he stands in the change area, waiting for her, feeling extremely out of place and slightly mortified. When she gets back, he can feel his face heating up when he spots the thongs in her hands.
“Lydia, oh my God, I am not wearing butt floss,” he says in horror. “What about those ones?” He asks pointing at the mannequin that he can see with low-rise, hip-hugging underwear that at least has full ass coverage.
Lydia rolls her eyes at him and then huffs out a “Fine,” as she hands him several bras. “Try these on.”
Stiles takes the armload into his fitting room and strips down. Following the instructions he was told by the fitter, he puts the first bra on. It’s pink and white striped with a little bit of lace on the edges. It fits well, pushing his breasts up a bit and holding them in place. He’s just turning to look at his profile when Lydia pushes the curtain aside just enough to slip in.
“Oh my God, Lydia!” Stiles exclaims and covers his chest. “What are you doing in here?”
“Oh, please!” Lydia says with disdain. “Like you don’t get naked in front of how many guys on a regular basis during lacrosse season? How is this any different. Now put your arms down and let me see.”
Reluctantly, Stiles lowers his arms. He can feel his face heating up with embarrassment. Lydia eyes him up and down and nods her approval. “Good, we’ll get this style in a bunch of colours. Keep that one on, and here, put these on,” she says, passing him a pair of pink panties.
As she leaves the fitting room, she says, “We’re going to be stopping at the beautician’s next; I’m assuming from the state of your pits it never occurred to you to shave your legs, either. We’re not in Europe, you know.”
Stiles has been waiting his entire life for Lydia Martin to notice him. And now it’s the stuff of nightmares. He bangs his head against the wall and does as he’s told. He doesn’t have the energy to fight with her, and he knows he’d just lose in the end anyway. So, he lets Lydia spend ridiculous amounts of money on his underwear, and then spends the next hour having a tiny little woman strip his body of what little hair it has remaining. He flat out refuses to let her anywhere near his bikini line, but reluctantly allows her to shape his eyebrows.
His skin still tingling, Lydia drags him off to a department store and starts choosing clothes for him to try on. She hands him a pair of heels, and he laughs at her. He trips over his own feet wearing sneakers. Stiles plus heels would equal a trip to the emergency room. Lydia pouts a little, but agrees. After several hours, Stiles finds himself back at his front door with a full wardrobe, including four pairs of shoes and some make-up – only eye-liner, mascara, and lip gloss. Stiles refused to even consider anything more no matter how much Lydia pouted. Lydia gives him a wave from her car window as she peels out of his driveway.
Stiles still sticks close to home, only going out to hang out at Scott’s place every now and again. He’s dressing in the clothes Lydia bought for him, but he doesn’t feel entirely comfortable in them – he feels like he’s playing dress-up. He thinks that’s why he buzzes his hair back down when it starts to grow out – it serves as a reminder of who he really is.
After a month goes by with no update, Stiles has a melt-down on the phone with Deaton that turns into a half-hour crying jag after he hangs up. It’s been a terrible week. Everything is getting to him, nothing is right, his boobs hurt, he’s moody and irritable, and he feels kind of awful and tired.
He stomps down the stairs and slams open the fridge door, looking for something to eat. He’s been starving the last couple of days, too. But nothing looks appetizing. His father comes into the kitchen and hands him a chocolate bar. Stiles looks at it like his father has handed him the secret to the meaning of life.
“I think you’d better call Lydia, Stiles. Looks like you’re getting the full girl experience. Your mother used to get just like this right before her – ” Sheriff Stilinski says, gently.
“Oh my God. Don’t say it!” Stiles says, in horror. “I can’t, I, this is just so wrong. Fuck my life. Sideways.”
“Stiles! Language,” his father admonishes.
“Right, because my language is my biggest problem right now!” Stiles shouts. “Jesus Christ, Dad, I’m about to start bleeding from the crotch. I think some ‘fucks’ are in order.”
“Stiles! That’s enough,” his father says sternly. “Every woman you know goes through this every month. It’s not pleasant, and it’s probably scary the first time, but it’s not wrong, and it’s not the end of the world. Just call one of them and get some help, okay? Or would you prefer if I called Melissa?”
“No! I’ll call Lydia. Please, leave Scott’s mom out of this. I need to be able to look her in the eye when this is all over,” Stiles replies. He pauses, and then says contritely, “I’m sorry. Just had a bit of a freak out there, Dad.”
Sheriff Stilinski gives his son a hug. There’s really nothing more he can do. Stiles hugs him back, holding on a lot longer and tighter than he has in a long time, before letting go to attack the chocolate bar.
Stiles manages to survive the next week with his sanity intact – barely. He now knows more about tampons and sanitary napkins than any boy ought to. He also knows that Midol is a miracle drug.
There’s a pack meeting the following week, and Stiles goes to it wearing some of the clothes that Lydia bought for him. It’s the first time any of the gang outside of Lydia and Scott will see him in anything other than his own clothes. He’s nervous as hell. The shorts are both shorter and tighter than anything he’s ever worn before, hugging the curve of his ass before ending in a cuff about an inch and a half under the edge of it. Stiles has to give Lydia credit where credit is due, though – his legs really do look endless in them. He is wearing a simple t-shirt with them, instead of one of the flowy blouses that Lydia favours. He’s a little self-conscious about the v-neck, but not enough to wear one of the scarves that somehow or another managed to make its way into his new wardrobe, despite his vetoing any kind of unnecessary accessories. He finishes off the whole ensemble with a pair of tennis sneakers and a messenger bag. He drew the line at buying a purse. But he is wearing the make-up – not much, just a little mascara and lip gloss.
Lydia’s at the front door when he arrives at Derek’s and she seems pleased, or at least the half-smile on her face indicates as much.
“Did I do good, boss?” Stiles asks, holding his arms out. “Let me tell you, the mascara was a total bitch. Someone as twitchy as I am should not be putting things near their eyes. Nearly blinded myself. Twice.”
Lydia laughs. “Yes, Stiles, you did good.” She links arms with him and leads him back down the front stairs. “Everyone’s out back. Derek’s smacking the betas around and calling it training.”
When they arrive, Lydia leaves Stiles to stand on the edge of the training field to watch the mayhem, and goes to stand beside Allison on the porch where she’s inspecting her crossbow. Allison takes one look at Stiles, puts her hands on her hips, and gives Lydia a suspicious look.
“Lydia Martin, what are you up to?” Allison asks, keeping her voice down so that the wolves won’t hear her.
Lydia makes a ‘who, me?’ face at Allison, who is totally not buying the innocent act. Lydia laughs and grins at Allison. “Watch Derek,” she answers, just as softly.
Allison frowns. “What?”
“Just do it,” Lydia says.
Allison turns to the field and watches Derek, who goes from a flashing blur, knocking both Scott and Jackson over in one acrobatic move, to a stumbling halt that has him ending up in a heap under Boyd, Erica, and Isaac, when his attention drifts to the edge of the field where Stiles is standing. Allison turns to Lydia and sees the smirk on her face.
“Oh my God, Lydia. Are you crazy? Matchmaking those two?” Allison whispers fiercely.
“What? They’ve been circling each other for ages. This might just be the push the two of them need. The UST is getting annoying,” Lydia states. “Besides, Derek is definitely interested in the new packaging.”
“Lydia, that’s my point. What happens when Deaton figures this all out and Stiles is back to himself? It just seems...cruel,” Allison says.
“Oh, honestly, Allison. Do you not have eyes? Gender is so not an issue with those two,” Lydia says, matter-of-factly. Lydia Martin has spoken, and that’s the end of that topic. But they both watch closely as Derek shakes off the others and tears his eyes away from Stiles long enough to continue the training.
Eventually, Stiles gets bored with no one to share his scathing commentary with, and he joins the other girls on the porch. They chit chat about random shit – school, movies, who Erica is hooking up with: Boyd or Isaac, or both – until Derek calls Allison in to shoot at the betas so she can practice on moving targets, and they can practice dodging. Scott points out that Derek could also use the practice, so he consents to join in. Lydia stands on the sidelines encouraging Jackson when she notices him sulking.
Stiles digs into his messenger bag and pulls out his laptop. He might as well do some research – it looks like the training is going to go on for a while – besides, it’ll take his attention off Derek. He tries really hard to keep his crush under control, but training days make it more difficult than usual. Derek just standing still, looking like a living, breathing grumpy sex god is bad enough, but Derek in motion, using his mad werewolf fighting skills is mesmerizing. Stiles forces himself to look back down at his laptop. He finds what he hopes is a useful link on fae creatures. Maybe the things that transformed him are listed. A disappointing half hour later, he’s in the kitchen getting himself a soda when Derek comes in looking for some water. Stiles stumbles while trying to manoeuvre around him. Derek puts a hand on his waist to steady him.
“Thanks,” Stiles says, flushing. Derek’s hand feels huge and hot against his side through the thin material of his t-shirt. Derek doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t drop his hand, either. He just looks into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles notices that Derek’s eyes are really beautiful – an intense dark green, surrounding a lighter, leafy green with stars of yellow around the pupils. Pupils that are getting larger as they dilate. Stiles can feel the flush spreading from his cheeks, down his neck. Derek has got to be able to hear his heartbeat by now. Derek leans in slightly and Stiles catches his breath. Slowly, Derek’s reaches up with his free hand and rubs his thumb gently, but firmly, against Stiles’ lower lip, which promptly drops open as Stiles gasps quietly.
“Can’t stand the taste of this stuff,” Derek says gruffly as he continues to wipe the gloss off Stiles’ lips.
Stiles’ heart is trip-hammering in his chest as he quickly brings his hands up to wipe any remaining traces of the offending substance off his mouth. “There, there, all gone,” he says breathlessly.
Derek cups Stiles’ cheek, thumb running gently against his bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth, right up until the soft press of Derek’s lips against his. As first kisses go, it’s pretty chaste, barely more than Derek’s mouth brushing against his, but it’s still enough to make Stiles’ knees weak. Derek pulls Stiles closer, steadying him, and leans in again – the second kiss is just as soft and sweet as the first.
On the third kiss, Stiles winds his hands in Derek’s hair and flicks his tongue against Derek’s lips. Derek’s mouth opens, and suddenly, their kisses go from slow and gentle to hot, wet, and frantic. Derek backs Stiles up against the counter as they exchange increasingly desperate kisses. Derek’s body is one long, hard, muscular line of heat against Stiles. His erection is impossible to miss, pressed against Stiles’ lower abdomen. Stiles arches against Derek, just to hear him groan and feel his hands tighten on his body. Stiles feels powerful and terrified at the same time. He has no idea how he can be so nervous and so turned on and want so much and be so scared all at once. All he does know for sure is that he definitely, absolutely wants more.
He is wet, so damn wet, just from kissing Derek. He can feel his panties sticking to him and he knows that Derek has to be able to smell it, smell how much he wants him. Stiles gasps as Derek grinds into him. Derek’s hands move all over him, drifting from his ass, to his breasts, down his shoulders and sides, leaving Stiles’ body humming with desire in their wake. He arches into every touch and can’t stop the soft sounds of pleasure from spilling out of him.
“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek groans against his lips before capturing them in a brutal kiss that leaves them both breathless.
Derek’s hands clutch at his hips, and, suddenly, Stiles is sitting on the counter with Derek between his legs. The change in height brings Derek face-to-face with Stiles’ breasts. Derek cups them in both hands and rubs his thumbs over the tips, grinning up at Stiles when the nipples start to harden under his attentions, despite the two layers of cloth. Stiles arches into the touch and whimpers a little when Derek bends down and sucks at one through his shirt.
Stiles tilts Derek’s face up for a searing kiss, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist and pulling him in closer. Derek’s hand slides up his thigh and finds the cuff of his shorts. With gentle fingers, Derek works his way under the edge of the material, sliding inward and down. Stiles can barely breathe, let alone think with all of the sensations running through him, but he manages to gasp out, “Not here, not on the kitchen counter. Please, Derek.”
Derek doesn’t say anything, but his hands curve around Stiles’ ass, and the next thing he knows he’s being lifted and carried out of the kitchen. Derek is strong enough that he doesn’t need to hang on, but Stiles wraps his arms and legs around Derek anyway. Somehow or another, Derek continues kissing him all the way to his bedroom on the second floor, without bumping into anything.
Stiles fully expects to be dumped on the bed and ravished, but instead, Derek sits down on the edge of it, leaving Stiles in his lap. Derek trails soft, sucking kisses down his neck, while his hands slip up under the hem of his t-shirt. Stiles can’t stop the noise he makes when Derek’s hot hands slide against his bare flesh. Derek’s hands skim upwards and cup his breasts once again, only this time there’s only the thin material of his bra between them. Stiles can’t get his t-shirt off fast enough, nearly elbowing Derek in the face. Derek chuckles and dodges the flailing limbs. Stiles is reaching for the clasp of the bra when Derek asks, “Let me?”
Stiles stops and lowers his hands. Instead of going straight for the clasp, Derek slips one finger under a shoulder strap and shifts it slowly down, leaning in to trail kisses along Stiles’ shoulder and collarbone. Stiles shivers. Derek’s stubble rubbing against his skin, along with the light kisses, makes him break out in goose bumps, and his nipples tighten. In the meantime, Derek’s other hand is slipping the other strap off his shoulder. Derek continues kissing Stiles’ neck and shoulders while his hands slowly slip around Stiles’ back to undo his bra. Derek helps him remove it and drop it on the floor. Derek’s hands are gentle as he cups Stiles’ breasts and runs his thumbs over the sharp peaks of his nipples. Every swipe of his thumb sends little shocks of pleasure through Stiles. When Derek leans forward and takes one into his mouth, Stiles moans and clutches Derek’s shoulders.
As Derek swirls and flicks his tongue and sucks, Stiles writhes in his lap. It feels so good, so much better than anything he could do himself. Derek’s stubble just intensifies the sensation when he drags his face across his chest to the other nipple to give it the same treatment.
“Bite,” Stiles gasps out, fingers digging into Derek’s shoulders. Derek glances up at him and raises an eyebrow in question. Stiles nods and slides his fingers to the nape of Derek’s neck. After a particularly powerful suck, Derek’s teeth clamp down gently on Stiles’ nipple. His whole body arches into the sensation and he gasps sharply. He grinds down onto Derek’s cock. Derek does it again and then tugs firmly, and Stiles moans loudly, grinding even harder, clutching Derek’s face to his chest. In some crazy werewolf ninja move, Stiles finds himself looking up at Derek as he’s suddenly flat on his back on Derek’s bed, with Derek looming over him. His hands are busy on Stiles’ breasts, rubbing and pinching and pulling on Stiles’ nipples as he writhes under him.
“Stiles, can you come from this?” Derek asks, his voice a low growl.
“N-no,” Stiles gasps out, “But I can get really fucking close.” He reaches up and pulls Derek down to kiss him. He gets his hands under Derek’s shirt and shoves it upwards, muttering, “Off.” Derek complies, and soon his shirt has joined Stiles’ on the floor. The flesh-to-flesh contact has them both moaning.
Stiles hands wander all over Derek’s body – it feels amazing under his hands, all tight muscles and hot skin – and even more amazing pressed against him. They kiss until they’re breathless, and then Derek’s mouth wanders down Stiles’ neck. He arches his head back, giving Derek as much access as he needs, but when the soft, gentle sucking turns harder, he squeaks out, “No visible marks. My father would lose his mind.”
Stiles feels Derek smile against his skin before his tongue leaves a hot, wet trail down his chest to the mound of his left breast, where he proceeds to suck hard against the flesh, while teasing Stiles’ nipple with barely there brushes of his thumb. Stiles moans loudly and arches into the sensation.
After he’s finished marking Stiles, Derek slides slowly down Stiles’ body, leaving a trail of soft kisses down towards the waistband of his shorts. Derek’s fingers play with the button and slip under the edge a few times before he says, “Stiles? May I?”
In a lust induced haze, Stiles asks, “Wha – ?” Before catching on to what Derek is asking. “Oh my God, yes. Yes to everything.”
“Fuck, Stiles, don’t say shit like that unless you mean it,” Derek groans, biting a kiss onto Stiles’ stomach that has Stiles trying to inhale and exhale at the same time as a sharp jolt goes right through him. Somehow, parts of him contract, expand, and get wetter, all at the same time.
“I mean it, I mean it,” Stiles moans, as Derek licks his belly button. “Everything, anything, oh God, just don’t stop.”
With one last nibble, Derek makes quick work of the fastenings on Stiles’ shorts and then they’re on the floor, too. Derek inhales deeply before pressing his face between Stiles’ legs, rubbing against him through the cloth of his soaking wet panties. Stiles arches and moans. “Oh, fuck, Derek.”
Derek’s fingers press against him, rubbing slow circles. The thin layer of cloth just makes it a horrible teasing sensation that can’t quite give Stiles what he wants. “Derek,” Stiles whines.
Derek stops being a teasing bastard and pulls Stiles’ panties off. He kisses Stiles’ hip as he slips his fingers between Stiles’ legs, stroking gently. “Christ, Stiles, you’re so wet,” Derek grits out. “And the way you smell, so ripe, so ready –” Derek growls and buries his face between Stiles’ thighs, licking and sucking, fingers stroking, using the sounds Stiles makes to guide him. Stiles moans loudest when Derek flicks his tongue back and forth over the tip of his clit, so Derek sets to work, holding Stiles’ thighs open, so that they don’t clamp down on his head as Stiles’ squirms enthusiastically into his ministrations. Derek soon adds fingers to the mix, slipping the tip of one shallowly in and out of his body, driving Stiles crazy with the need for more.
The sensations build and build in Stiles, nothing like anything he’s ever experienced before. Somehow, they get sharper and deeper and soon all he can do is gasp and moan out Derek’s name as he writhes into Derek’s devastating tongue and fingers wanting more and more. Suddenly, the pleasure crests, and Stiles’ whole body jerks from the inside out as wave after wave of his orgasm rips through him. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s coming again and again or having one massive orgasm that just won’t stop. Either way, it’s the most intense thing he’s ever experienced. He cries out and thrashes under Derek, who continues to lick and suck, lapping up his release until Stiles sags limp and boneless against the mattress.
Derek rubs his face against Stiles’ thigh and then kisses his way back up to Stiles’ face, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Stiles slaps weakly at his arm and mutters, “Smug bastard.”
Derek grins and goes in for a kiss. It starts as a gentle press of lips, but then Stiles shifts his thigh and it brushes against Derek’s cock. Derek groans and kisses Stiles with more passion, and more desperation.
Stiles fingers are trembling a little when he reaches for the button on Derek’s jeans. And maybe he’s just addled from the orgasm, but he really, really wants Derek’s dick in him. He knows there are lots of other things he could do for Derek right now, but his whole body is screaming ‘fuck, fuck now’ at him, so he decides to listen.
Between kisses, Stiles gasps out, “Condom, condom, condom.”
Derek pulls away with an ‘oh, shit’ look on his face.
“You don’t have any condoms?” Stiles asks, incredulously. “How can you not have any condoms? Don’t tell me you’re not having sex. Look at yourself!”
“Stiles,” Derek says quietly, through gritted teeth. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve been kind of busy lately. Sex hasn’t exactly been high on the priority list. Why don’t you have any? You’re the teenager.”
“Who, me? The dateless wonder? Kind of a waste of money,” Stiles replies glumly. He frowns and starts thinking.
“You know, we don’t have to – ” Derek begins and Stiles interrupts him.
“Oh, no, we are totally doing it. I am not without resources. Give me your phone,” Stiles says, snapping his fingers impatiently at Derek. Derek gives him a death glare, but sits up and digs into his pocket. He hands Stiles his phone. Stiles hops out of the bed and dials Scott’s number while pulling Derek’s t-shirt over his head, switching hands when necessary to get his arms through the appropriate holes. Although Derek is broader and thicker than Stiles, they’re still approximately the same height, so the material just barely covers Stiles’ ass, a small sliver of curved flesh peaking out as Stiles walks towards the bedroom door. Derek watches, fascinated. He also listens in on both sides of the conversation.
“Scott, I’m calling in a favour, I need a condom,” Stiles says. “Meet me in the kitchen.”
”What? No. Are you kidding me? I know what you’re up to in there. I’m not giving you a condom so you can have sex with Derek. Forget it.
Stiles huffs out a sigh. “Scott, stop being a cock-blocking – hey wait, is it cunt-blocking, now? Whatever, fuck it, stop being an asshole and meet me in the kitchen in like ten seconds or I’m going to tell Allison the exact location, size, and colour of her birthmark.”
Scott makes an inarticulate sound of distress and then grinds out, “Fine.”
“Be back in a jiffy,” Stiles says to Derek, tossing him his phone, and then scampering out of the room and down the stairs.
When he gets to the kitchen, Scott is standing by the counter, looking forlorn, and then his nose wrinkles up and he covers his face with his arm. “Oh my God, you reek of sex! Are you sure you want to do this, man? Aren’t you moving way too fast? You’ve never even been on a date.”
“Scott, c’mon, I like him, okay? And I want this. Can you not make me feel like I’m doing something wrong? Can’t you just be my best friend and be happy that the hottest guy in town wants me?” Stiles says gloomily.
Scott’s face goes through a complicated mess of emotions before he replies with a sigh and a half smile. “Yeah, yeah I can.” He hands over three condoms. “One from me, one from Allison, and one from Lydia. You should have seen Jackson’s face.” Scott slaps Stiles upside the head. “That is also from Lydia, who says you’re an idiot, and to always keep some in your bag. Guys are reckless dumbasses. Her words, not mine.”
Stiles gives Scott a quick one-armed hug. “You’re the best. Thank you!” He turns to leave. Just as he reaches the edge of the doorway, Stiles turns his head slightly and says, “And stop looking at my ass.”
“Then stop flashing it at me, you jerk!” Scott calls out after him.
Stiles takes the stairs two at a time and tosses the three condoms at Derek and says, “My friends love me.”
Derek catches all three of them, and then says with a chuckle, “I think they may be overestimating your stamina.”
Stiles mutters, “Jerk,” and then says, “Why do you still have pants on? Off, off, off.” Stiles skims out of the t-shirt and drops it on the floor as he moves towards the bed.
“Stiles, are you sure –”
“Oh, my God! How many times do I have to say yes? Yes, yes, yes. Yes to everything. I told you that already. Now get your pants off, I want to see your dick.” Stiles says heatedly.
Derek doesn’t need any further encouragement and he shimmies out of his jeans and boxer briefs. Even half-hard Derek’s dick is still pretty impressive and somewhat intimidating – thick, uncut, a little curve to the left. Stiles crawls onto the bed and tentatively reaches out to touch it. It’s hot and heavy in his hand as he gives a light stroke. It’s not like he’s never had a dick in his hand before, but this is different – it’s not his own. Stiles watches his hand on Derek’s cock, stroking more firmly as it hardens to its full length.
Derek tilts Stiles’ jaw up with one finger and kisses him gently. As Stiles’ fingers continue stroking and teasing at Derek’s cock, Derek’s kisses get more heated and soon Stiles finds himself under Derek, one leg wrapped halfway around his hip and Derek grinding his erection slowly against his stomach.
Derek gives him a slow, sucking kiss and then starts moving down his body once again. He starts with Stiles’ breasts, kissing, licking, and biting at the nipples until they’re red and oversensitive, and Stiles is breathless with need. Derek slips his fingers between Stiles’ legs and rubs a slow, teasing rhythm against Stiles’ clit before moving lower down. One finger brushes gently against the entrance to Stiles’ body, pushing in a little until it meets resistance, and then out again, teasing around the edge of his opening. It feels amazing and terrifying all at the same time. Stiles’ is trembling with need and fear and can’t do anything but clutch at Derek.
“Stiles,” Derek says softly. “This is might hurt a bit, I’m sorry. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but –”
“Do it,” Stiles says back. “Just get up here and kiss me, okay?” He curls his hand around the back of Derek’s neck and tugs him up.
Derek kisses him. Stiles focuses as much as he can on that as Derek’s fingers press inexorably inwards. All the talk is that this hurts like hell and he finds himself tensing up. Derek’s fingers stop moving and he keeps kissing Stiles until Stiles relaxes again. There’s a slight twinge, and then, suddenly, Derek’s fingers are sliding deeper into him. Stiles gasps a little – more in surprise than in pain. Derek kisses unnecessary apologies while his fingers move back to Stiles’ clit, working him slowly until a quiet, shuddering orgasm goes through him.
Stiles blindly searches for one of the condoms that is on the bed. He snags one and presses it into Derek’s hand. “Please,” he whispers.
Derek kisses him hard before kneeling up to put the condom on. Stiles watches, fervently, running his hands up and down Derek’s thighs. When Derek is ready, Stiles spreads his legs in invitation. Derek groans and closes his eyes as his cock visibly twitches. Derek settles between his legs and guides himself in. He pushes slowly inwards, and Stiles gasps at the sensation of being filled. It hurts a bit, Derek’s dick is a lot bigger than his fingers, but not as much as it could have, and the pleasure of being penetrated soon obliterates any sense of discomfort. Once he’s fully inside Stiles’ body, Derek stops.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Stiles gasps out, arching his hips upwards. Derek moans and starts to move. His thrusts are slow and shallow at first, but soon Stiles starts to arch into the thrusts, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist to give himself more leverage. Stiles is pretty sure he’s not going to come from this, but it definitely feels amazing. He moans and gasps and asks for harder and deeper and nearly loses the ability to think when Derek pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back in. Stiles definitely enjoys the feeling of being penetrated. So he begs for more. Derek is more than happy to oblige.
Derek’s thrusts get erratic, his breaths get shallower, and he’s making these tiny little grunting sounds that Stiles finds adorable, and then, he thrusts in deep and hard, and suddenly, goes rigid above Stiles. His hips stutter against Stiles’ and he gasps out his name before collapsing slowly down onto him. He gives Stiles a sloppy, breathless kiss and then rolls off of him to remove the condom and throw it into the garbage – half way across the room. Stiles is impressed, considering he can barely find the coordination to roll onto his side and fling an arm around Derek, burrowing into his body heat. Derek curls an arm around Stiles and pulls him closer. Stiles barely feels the kiss on his forehead before he’s asleep.
When Stiles wakes up, hours later, guessing from the darkness coming through the window, he’s sprawled over Derek and has a moment to worry that maybe Derek didn’t want him to stay, before he notices the change. He’s laying flat on Derek. Flat. As in, no breasts pressed against Derek’s chest, as in, yes, the hard line of his erection pressing against Derek’s thigh. As in, holy fuck, he’s no longer a girl. Apparently, the big cure was sex. He is so giving Deaton a hard time about that, the next time he sees him.
Stiles’ heart rate has just ramped up astronomically, so Stiles isn’t really surprised when Derek murmurs, “Stiles?” in concern. Stiles looks down into Derek’s eyes, that are blinking sleepily at him. “Uh, hey. Um, this is awkward.” Stiles moves to roll off of Derek, but the strong hand on the middle of his back stops him.
“It doesn’t have to be awkward, unless you want it to be,” Derek says softly, as his fingers stroke lightly up and down Stiles’ back. There’s a faint blush on Derek’s cheeks. Stiles has never seen him look so hesitant before.
Stiles’ eyes widen in shock. “You mean – ” He can’t even seem to say the words, his mouth just opens and closes a few times.
“Yeah, I mean,” Derek replies before leaning up and kissing him so, so gently. Stiles returns the kiss happily.
“No awkward here,” Stiles says with a grin when they part. “Nope, none. None at all.”
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek replies when it seems like Stiles is just going to babble about the lack of awkwardness for an indefinite period of time.
“Make me,” Stiles says, grinning widely, his dimples on full display.
So Derek does.
“Stiles. Stiles, wake up.” Derek’s quiet voice intrudes on his sleep. Stiles rubs his face against the strangely warm, firm pillow under his cheek, and makes a sound of protest. “Stiles, it’s after midnight, you’re father’s probably getting worried.”
Derek’s voice vibrates against his cheek and he realizes that the ‘pillow’ is actually Derek’s chest. Derek’s hand is warm where it rests against his lower back. Stiles mutters a louder sound of protest, but opens his eyes anyway. Stiles’ body aches deliciously all over. He even aches in places he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have anymore. He stretches and scrubs his hand over his face.
“Shit. I’m late. I was supposed to be home by eleven,” Stiles says, sitting up. He spots his clothes on the floor of Derek’s bedroom. “Fuck. I can’t wear those home, they’ll never fit me now.”
Derek pats Stiles on the back and rolls out of bed. He rummages through the top drawer of his dresser and produces a pair of draw-string sweats and a familiar-looking grey t-shirt.
Stiles frowns as he accepts the clothes. “Hey, isn’t this mine? Wait a minute! It is. Holy shit, you kept it?” Stiles looks at Derek, who is avoiding his gaze, his skin flushing slightly. “Oh my God! You like me! I thought you were just taking advantage of the situa – ”
Derek’s head flies up and his eyes widen in shock and dismay. Stiles flails his hands to negate Derek’s obvious thoughts. “No, no, not like that, stupid, not some dirty pervert kind of take advantage, I mean, Jesus, I’ve so totally wanted you for so long, you have no idea, or actually maybe you do, what with the super-wolfy nose and shit, but I mean, I thought you just finally figured, ‘hey, why not go for it, he’s here, he’s willing,’ you know, that kind of thing. But I had no idea that – ”
Derek stops the babbling with a hard press of his lips against Stiles’ mouth. When Stiles stops trying to talk and finally kisses him back, Derek breaks the kiss and says, “Yes, Stiles, I like you. Please stop talking about it.”
“All right,” Stiles replies, grinning. “Don’t suppose you have any underwear that I might be able to borrow?”
Derek looks pointedly at the panties on the floor. Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?” Derek shrugs and his cheeks darken in a blush. Stiles grins even harder and says, “Kinky. But I really don’t think those particular panties are going to work, they were small and tight before I got my junk back. Commando, it is.”
Stiles dresses quickly and Derek slips back into his jeans to walk Stiles to the door. Stiles grabs his messenger bag off the floor and pulls his phone out – three missed messages from his father. “Shit. I’m probably going to be grounded for weeks. Unless me being a guy again buys me some slack.”
Stiles stands awkwardly at the door fidgeting, before Derek rolls his eyes and pulls him in for a long, slow kiss. “Good-night, Stiles. I will see you later. Get your ass home before your father sends a cruiser out to find you.”
Stiles pulls Derek in for one last quick kiss and says, “There are some specialty websites you should check out, I’ll send you the links. You pick out the panties, and I’ll wear them, but it’s going on your credit card bill. I am not going to explain that shit to my father.”
Derek turns bright red. Stiles laughs as he skips out the door, texting his father to let him know he’s on his way home.