Stiles is freaking out. Why the hell did he have to be the one with the spark? Because Beacon Hills is in peril again—must be Tuesday—and this time it's not going to take muscle and posturing to fix it.

This time Stiles is the only one who can save the day.

He's just one guy, you know? One very human kid, with the bad luck to have inherited a tiny kernel of magical ability passed along from god knows where in his family line, and so he's the one who is, apparently, going to haul their asses out of the fire, or across the coals, or however that adage goes.

He's also the guy currently staring down the eye of Derek Hale's cock.

It's a very active cock, right now, too. Rather, it's Derek's hand that's actively jerking it. It looks almost painful the way Derek's pounding on it, but Stiles figures Derek's pretty nervous about the whole thing himself, and has to keep up the pace to avoid losing his boner altogether.

Now that Stiles thinks about it, he's getting off light in this deal. All he has to do is swallow. Derek has to come, while he's stressed, nervous, and has Stiles staring at him.

That's probably why Derek's eyes are on the ceiling.

It's all very clinical, really, but it could have been worse. Deaton offered his examination room for the purpose, and Stiles is actually very pleased Derek vetoed that before he had to. It was Derek who suggested Stiles' house, his bedroom in fact, as somewhere Stiles would feel comfortable.

Stiles almost smiles when he remembers the way Derek blushed when he said the word 'safe', and then lifted his eyes to Stiles', pleading and scared, and said, "You can say no. Pick somewhere else. Or just... We'll find another way."

But there was no other way, and they all knew it. Every single living person in Beacon Hills is in danger, and Stiles is going to take one for the team.

Maybe one. He's not exactly sure about that. Deaton said he'd know when it was enough.

Stiles is just hoping Derek's got 'enough' in him.

"Open your mouth," Derek chokes, finally looking down at Stiles' face. His eyes are wide and staring, his face is flushed, and there's sweat beading on his brow. "Now, fuck, I'm coming now."

The first spurt hits Stiles' upper lip and dribbles down onto his tongue. The next goes square into his mouth, the third doesn't quite have the same distance, and he catches most of it in his hand, scooping up the spill with his tongue before lunging forward to take the tip of Derek's cock between his lips so he doesn't miss another drop.

He suckles, teasing at the tip, just to make sure, until Derek whines and pulls away, and Stiles realizes what he's doing. "Oh," he says. "Sorry."

All Stiles had to do was swallow it. He didn’t have to coax it out or have actual, physical contact. He just had to swallow.

Same end result, though, so he shrugs it off as Derek staggers across the room, tucking his dick back into his pants and zipping up.

Stiles focuses. The taste—well, he's tasted his own come before, so it's not a huge surprise that it's salty, a little bitter, and he's not entirely fond of the consistency, the way it seems to coat his teeth and stick to the roof of his mouth. It's warm going down, though, and the warmth seems to radiate out from his core into the rest of his body, making him feel invigorated—

"Holy crap."

"What?" Derek looks up from Stiles' desk chair.

"I can feel it. The, ahh. The magic. Yeah. Jesus. It's..." His fingers and toes start to tingle with it, and it buzzes up his spine. "Oh my god."

"Your eyes," Derek whispers.

Stiles blinks. "What?'

"They just... Nothing. Your pupils dilated, but they're back to normal now."

Stiles feels the sensation fading, the magic dissipating. "Oh crap," he says. "It's not enough."

---

That's how Stiles finds himself on his knees between Derek’s spread thighs, giving his first ever blow job.

It's not like he'd never thought about it before. Maybe not with Derek, because Derek's kind of scary. Or, yeah, maybe with Derek, because scary or not, the dude is fucking hot. He never expected to actually have his lips around the base of Derek's not-quite-hard-but-well-on-it's-way dick, doing things with his tongue he's only ever imagined before.

The tiny taste of power that came from taking the life essence of an Alpha within him was kind of addictive.

Also, it's for a good cause.

Also, Stiles kind of likes it.

Derek's refractory period seems fairly short. Not as short as Stiles', but, teenager. Actually, it's a pity Stiles doesn't have the magic come because he's been known to get off four times in an hour before.

That was the night he figured out how to get three of his own fingers up his ass.

He gave Derek ten minutes to calm down, and it's only taken him about three to get Derek all the way hard again, and Stiles is doing his best, using all his favorite learned-it-from-porn techniques and hoping like hell it's doing some good.

Then Derek lets out a moan. The tiniest, tiniest, not much more than a sigh, moan.

That's when Stiles sees the almighty flaw in this marvelous plan.

Deaton was quite clear about this part. Derek had to come. Stiles had to ingest it (well, take it 'within' himself, so ingesting, yes, probably he could take it 'within' elsewhere, too, and get the same result, but they're starting with simple). Stiles was not to come. Power in. Not power out. No, Stiles isn't an Alpha with the magic jizz (when inflicted on the right person), but once he's magically jizzed, his body would be buzzing with it (check, just needs topping up), and if he were to 'release' it would all come spilling out.

Crap. Stiles has the boner to end all boners and his hand is inching closer and closer.

So he ups his game, grabbing Derek's cock at the base, corkscrewing his mouth down onto him, pushing until the head of Derek's cock hits the back of his throat and he almost chokes. Lots of spit, he reminds himself, and then he begins to flick his tongue, right there.

Derek lets out a deep, guttural groan, and he comes, right down Stiles' throat.

---

Derek watches as the magic builds up inside him. Stiles can feel Derek's eyes on him, even with his head hanging between his shoulders and his hands pressed against the floor. He breathes hard as it flows through him, warmth—magic—pulsing out from his center in waves.

Then it eases, settles, fades. He can still feel it, it's there, but it's not enough.

Stiles lifts his head and lets out a long, slow breath. "You've got fifteen minutes, then we go again."

Derek groans, his shoulders slumping. "I don't know if I—"

"You have to," Stiles says. "People dying, fire, brimstone, all the things, man." He blinks his eyes back into focus. "Also, this feels really cool and I want more."

---

"Just...hold my head, that's it, and just...ungh...fuck."

It takes a whole two thrusts of Derek's hips for him to get fully hard in Stiles' mouth. Derek's standing, this time, one hand on the back of Stiles' head, the fingers of the other holding onto what little hair Stiles has. He starts slow, pushing in, pulling right out, sliding back in until his balls hit Stiles' chin and Stiles' eyes are watering as his throat is stretched open and blocked off altogether at the same time.

And it's awesome.

Derek seems to be enjoying himself, too, letting out a little grunt every time his cock head squeezes into Stiles' throat and Stiles chokes around it. If Stiles could speak, he'd be chanting a litany of 'fill me up', and 'come in me', and 'fuck my mouth', because that's all he can think.

Except for the fact that his balls have got to be blue by now and he thinks he might die of it. Or come, and that would be just as bad.

As long as he leaves his dick alone, though, he should be all right. He's got to ignore the way his jeans seem to be jerking him off all on their lonesome because every time Derek thrusts into his mouth, they twist a little as Stiles rocks on his knees and Stiles really needs Derek to come right the fuck now.

Once he does, coming so deep in Stiles' throat that when he splutters he's sure some exits his nose, Stiles' erection is forgotten. Because then he's just writhing on his back on the floor, moaning as the magic swirls inside him, and this is better than sex, better than anything, ever, even jerking off with three of his own fingers up his ass.

So when it fades this time, he knows what he needs.

Derek's lying back on Stiles' bed, his jeans hanging open, his soft cock lying on his belly, his arm flung over his eyes. "Go away," he says, when Stiles kneels on the edge of the bed. "I can't, do you hear me? There's no way."

Stiles strips off his clothes regardless and grabs the lube out of his bedside drawer.

Derek lifts his arm and cracks one eye open. "What are you doing?"

Stiles slicks his fingers, bends over the side of the bed, bringing his face close to Derek's chest as he reaches behind himself. "Putting my fingers up my ass. What does it look like?" The nipple in front of his nose is too tempting, and he darts his tongue out and gives it a flick.

Derek shivers. "Don't make yourself come," he warns. "We won't get a do over. In fact, I don't think I'm ever going to be able to have sex again."

"I'm not going to come," Stiles insists. "I'm just getting myself ready, so that when I sit on your dick, I can start riding you right away."

Derek almost chokes. He's very still for about three seconds, then he's a blur of movement as he shucks out of his jeans and kicks them onto the floor. "Okay," he says, reaching for his cock.

When Stiles does sit on Derek's dick, it's not as hard as it could be, but it stiffens right up inside Stiles. Stiles moans and tips his head back, can't help a little up down motion. He's so full, so goddamn full, stretched wide around Derek's fat cock, ready to be filled up.

That's when Derek really starts to get into it. He grabs hold of Stiles' hips and starts to fuck up into him, hard and fast. Stiles squawks as he's thrust up into the air before Derek yanks him back down, hard, onto his cock. Stiles' dick slaps against Derek's stomach, sending shocks right into his aching balls.

"After this," Derek gasps, punctuating each word with a hard thrust up into Stiles' ass. "I'm gonna come all over your face, like the first time, but everywhere. I'm gonna come in your hair, on your chest, rub it into your nipples, I'm gonna come everywhere but in you, do you understand?"

Stiles whines. "Come in me," he says. "Please come in me, fuck, I want it, want your come in my ass, Derek, please."

Derek's eyes roll back in his head. Fingers biting bruises into Stiles' hips, he jerks up, once, twice, then pulls him down hard, where he stills.

Stiles can feel the twitch of Derek's cock as he pulses inside him. The warmth comes from a different place this time, deeper inside, lower. He loses all control of his own body, of his own voice as ecstasy all tied up in magic pounds through every muscle, as it spreads over the surface of his skin. He hears a rushing in his ears, like blood pulsing through veins, and behind that, his own voice, rising in pleasure.

---

"Please," Stiles begs. His ass is in the air, his cheek is pressed into the mattress. His cock is harder than he can ever remember it being, and yet that pales next to the need he has to have Derek come inside him, just one more time. "Please, Derek."

Derek lets out a soft, low groan, and presses the head of his cock—still soft—against Stiles' hole. He's so stretched open, so loose, so relaxed and wet with come, that Derek gets his dick in easily, just slides it in, guides it with his hand, pumps his hips until he's hard.

It's so good, feeling Derek get hard inside him, slowly filling him from the inside. Derek goes slower this time, taking his time, gradually building up to a regular, rhythmic series of thrusts.

He bends forward, slides his hands up and under Stiles' chest. Fingers slowly circle Stiles' nipples in time with slow, gentle thrusts, and Derek kisses the back of Stiles' neck.

Stiles lets himself go, closes his eyes, focuses on all the many sensations, not least of all is the magic humming through his body.

This time he knows it'll be enough, and once it's done, there'll be things to do, he'll be busy, and he doesn't know when next he'll have a chance to feel like this. So he savors it, the feeling of Derek's fingertips pressing against his ribs, Derek's lips on the back of his neck, on his shoulders, of Derek's cock spreading him open, moving inside him.

It doesn't stop the need for it. His body craves completion, and the completion of orgasm is second on the list. More than that, it needs the magic that's swirling in random, untethered patterns inside, needs the final piece to come together in a cohesive and powerful whole.

"I need it," he says when he can't bear it any longer. "Need you to come, fill me up. I need to be done, Derek, please."

Derek's hips shudder into an erratic rhythm. "I can feel it," Derek says. "On your skin, inside you. You're humming with it." He sucks in a shaky breath, and Stiles can feel him coming.

It builds slow, starting right down in his gut, heat spreading outward, until Stiles is burning, but not in pain. He cries out, hears his own voice, his moans of agony and ecstasy. His vision leaves him, a slate painted over with the color of magic, one he can't describe, one he has no name for.

And in the midst of a sensation that almost takes him into madness, it brings him home.

Stiles' eyes snap open. Everything's so clear, clearer than can possibly be real. He's entirely alert, and he pushes himself up, looks down at himself, sees Derek's semen on his own skin, tiny traces that glow and shimmer in that new color.

"That's it," he says, turning to look down at Derek, exhausted, completely fucked out. "We did it."

Derek opens his eyes. He stares for a moment, blinks, then shoves himself up. "That's it?" He reaches out, slides his fingertips down Stiles' bare chest, then rubs them together as though they tingle. They probably do. "Oh my god. We did it." He looks up, looks into Stiles' eyes. "You did it." His face shifts into an expression of shocked happiness. "You're amazing."

If Stiles didn't feel pretty damn pleased with himself right now, he might brush it off. He doesn't. "Couldn't have done it without you," he says, though, and winks, before slipping off the bed and grabbing Derek by the hand. "Clothes, " he says. "We've got work to do."

---

Hours later (and it might be days, for all Stiles knows), in the wake of victory and fueled by relief because none of them have slept and they're stained with blood and dirt and soot and god knows what else, Derek drags Stiles away from the pack, deeper into the woods because they can't wait. Stiles can't wait, anyway, can't keep his mouth shut long enough not to ask Deaton if he's allowed to come now in front of everyone.

He giggles as Derek drags him through the trees, over roots and fallen branches, until Stiles can't feel the werewolves close anymore.

He's still buzzing. High on magic, feeling like he could fly, and maybe he can, but he doesn't have time to try right now. "Here," he says, grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt and pulling him back. "Right here. Here is fine. Just need to come, Derek, holy god you've got no idea." He struggles with his jeans, pulls out his cock and he's been hard the whole time, and the freedom is a relief, the cool air is a relief, that they're alive is a relief, so Stiles moans as loud as he pleases.

Derek pushes his hand away, drops down to his knees in the dirt, swallows Stiles right down to the base.

It's not going to take long at all. It builds like the magic, swirling and thickening inside him until there's nothing else to do but overflow.

Magic explodes outward when Stiles comes, pulsing through the woods like a blast wave, sending birds into flight and small creatures skittering. Leaves quiver on the trees long moments after his own aftershocks subside, and he watches them, dazed, his head tipped back against the bark of a tree.

Derek tucks him back into his pants, presses his lips to Stiles' belly, doing it again, all the way up his body, up his throat, finally capturing Stiles' mouth in a kiss so drawn out and intense Stiles has to push Derek off him just to catch his breath.

"Thanks," Stiles says. "That might be the greatest achievement of my life to date. I'm glad it's over."

"You're right." Derek strokes his hand down the side of Stiles' face, slowly, reverently. "The way you stood there, faced it... You looked into it's eyes Stiles. It was amazing. I've never seen—"

"Not that," Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes. "I meant not coming, for like, I have no idea how long. That might be the longest I've gone without getting off since I figured out what my dick was for."

Derek shakes his head, a smile spreading over his face. "What you can do, though, Stiles. You saved our asses, saved a lot of people. If you can do that...if we can do that, we should maybe... Or should we just wait until the situation—"

"Are you saying you wouldn't be opposed to having sex with me again?" Stiles says, because it's almost painful watching Derek try to explain himself. "Because I would be very cool with that. Something a little less extreme between crises though, might be nice. Like a regular thing? With orgasms on both sides? Less for you, more for me? I'd like that." He nods enthusiastically. "I'll probably be good to go again, in fact, pretty soon, if you're up for it?"

Derek blinks, and then nods, once. "Yeah," he says. "Let's do that."

fin