Count your fingers

7. Are we there yet?

Trigger warnings:  non-con (but it turns out okay pretty quickly), explicit sex, hints of a/b/o

Derek is naked. He's kneeling on a bed and naked, one hand palming the firm swell of someone's ass and smoothly guiding his erect cock inside with the other. It feels so good he bottoms out in one slick, fluent slide, his balls pressed against the other's ass before he has the notion that this might not be okay. He stills, freezes more like, barely registering the pleased, breathy moan of his partner. His hands are on his partner's hips now, fingers gripping perhaps a little too tightly. It's not too firm to keep the other from moving, which he does, minute little twitches of his hips, as if he's aching for Derek to start moving. He almost does, the need to slide in and out of that tight, wet heat over and over again nearly taking over his mind completely.
The moment he notices they are not alone in the room, his partner shifts a bit and turns his head to look at him. It makes Derek forget about anyone else, because Stiles has his head hanging down between his shoulders, leaning on his elbows on the mattress. His pale skin stands out against the dark grey, silk sheets. There's a blush on his cheeks and his mouth hangs open on a pant. Derek takes in the expanse of pale skin that covers Stiles' back, dotted with beauty marks that he instinctively starts to trace with the fingers of one hand.

Stiles shivers, eyes closing in a smile. "That tickles." The sensation triggers some sort of corkscrew movement of his hips, which drags Derek's cock even deeper inside. They both moan, unable to keep it in.

The vaguely familiar person that started forward in their direction just a moment before, hangs back again. There's an automatic understanding in Derek's brain that she is the director who was gonna comment on their lack of movement and interaction. Just above their heads is a boom mic and bright lights are set up around the bed. The bedroom they're in only has two walls, one of which has a door in them that Derek just knows is fake. There's cameras around them, unobtrusive for now, but who knows how long that will stay that way?

"Never imagined our first time like this," Stiles whispers quietly and Derek hopes the mic doesn't pick it up. The camera probably doesn't see it, because Stiles has turned his face down again, ever so slightly leaning into the touch of Derek's tentative hands on his hips and back.

Derek freezes once more, his mind stuck on the panicky thought that this is Stiles' first time. They're on a porn set and Derek has just shoved his dick inside without any memory of foreplay or even a word of consent. He's not even wearing a condom, for crying out loud! Yet before Derek can pull out, Stiles speaks up again.

"Don't flatter yourself, big guy, you're not my first." The relief Derek feels over those particular words is strong enough to overpower the stab of jealousy that briefly crosses his mind. Stiles continues, wiggling his hips a little. "Well, maybe for this particular activity, but generally speaking -" It's said so flippantly that Derek can't help the way his hands close down on Stiles' hips, pulling him backwards in a swift jab. Whatever Stiles was gonna say next about his previous sexual activities is lost in a series of moans and cries of 'fuck' and 'Derek' and 'oh my god' as Derek fucks into him with abandon. Stiles is so unbelievably hot and slick inside, his scent so enticing, it makes Derek lose his mind. He slides his hand over Stiles' back, splaying it out between his shoulder blades and pushing him down into the mattress, rewarded by a sharp spike in the boy's arousal and a keening "Oh god, yes".

He's had sex before. With men and women, with partners who knew he was a werewolf and with ones who didn't. But it was never like this. There's something in this particular reality that makes it more intense, as if he's in a rut. There's an almost animalistic urge in him to claim, a fervent wish to breed. It would scare him, would it not be for Stiles who is evidently in the same boat. He's smelled arousal on him before, yet that was nothing like what his scent does now. It's the familiar scent of Stiles, but with something extra to it. Something sweet and enticing that lures Derek in. He's positively in heat, his body welcoming Derek with each slide of his cock, punctuating each thrust with a moan. It's downright pornographic.