Part 2 of the Werewolf Stiles series.

Stiles has had just a few weeks to get used to the two biggest changes in his life since his mother died.

Epic upheaval number one: he's a werewolf.

He's got an advantage over Scott. Stiles already knew about werewolves, knows more about werewolves than most werewolves know about werewolves. He's spent hours thinking about what it would be like to be a werewolf, about what he'd do, how he'd deal.

Not because he had ever wanted to be one. He didn't.

But he's stronger now, faster, he can see and hear everything. The choice between being a werewolf and dying? This is definitely acceptable.

Epic upheaval number two: Stiles and Derek are totally a thing.

It's something else Stiles had spent hours daydreaming over, and this time, it is something he wanted. Sometimes it doesn't seem real, because there's not a lot about their relationship that's changed. Derek still gives him exasperation-face, complete with rolling eyes, tells him to shut up when he's rambling, shoves him up against walls...

Except that usually leads to kissing, which sometimes leads to orgasms. And Derek totally doesn't do the whole growly 'I'm the Alpha' thing to him like Stiles expected he would, which is nice.

But it's a lot of change in a really short space of time, and Stiles stares at the chains and manacles—manacles, for fucks sake—in a heap on the floor of Derek's basement in horror.

"Can you feel it?" Derek asks.

Stiles tears his eyes away from the pile of iron and looks back. "What? Oh, the moon? Yeah." He turns back, eyes drawn to the restraints. It's a slow rise of adrenaline, like a dripping tap filling a sink one tiny drop at a time. There's a buzz of energy flowing through him, weirdly familiar, but the ADHD is all but gone now so it's definitely the moon. "Are they really necessary?"

"You've seen first full moons before, Stiles. You know what it's like."

Stiles turns away, takes the few steps between him and Derek. He reaches out, catches Derek by the belt loop. "Scott went after Allison. Stands to reason that I'll go looking for you. And you're here."

"I can't stay."

Stiles knows the moon is definitely affecting him when he feels a rise of anger. "Are you crazy?" He flicks his head back to the pile of chains. They look capable of inflicting a considerable amount of damage as he attempts to break free. And he will break free. The need to be close to Derek is already stronger than he can bear.

Derek flicks his eyes back up the stairs, then crosses the room and crouches by the pile of chains. "Come on, Stiles. I have to go. Scott's waiting for me." He lifts the manacles, opens one, holds it out as if Stiles is just going to let himself be locked up.

"Oh, you guys hanging out tonight, are you? You're just going to leave me here on my own while you hang out with my best friend?" Stiles feels it when his eyes flash, feels the drawing pull as his claws come out, the ache in his gums as his teeth start to lengthen.

Derek springs up, grips Stiles by the upper arms. "I need someone to watch me tonight," he growls, his own eyes flashing red. "We can't be together on the full moon yet. It's just a few months, as soon as you—"

"Turn eighteen," Stiles groans, rolling his eyes. Derek's insistence on frottage and hand jobs and no more until Stiles is legal has been the subject of much heated discussion over the past week and a half. Stiles figured he'd wear Derek down before long and he hadn't even thought about the fact that tonight would be an opportunity. "Forget eighteen, Derek." Hormones flood his system, new, stronger hormones that he's only just beginning to get a handle on. He breathes deeper, taking in more oxygen.

"The mating instinct is stronger on the full moon. It's hard enough to say no to you the rest of the month. Tonight, I can't... I won't..." Derek's breathing harder, too, the chains clinking in his hands as he grips them tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "And you... I can't trust you if you say yes, you won't be yourself."

"Yes," Stiles growls, "I'm saying yes now, I fucking consent. To everything, all of it, I've been wanting you to fuck me for days, do you know what it's like having you in my bed every night and wanting you inside me so bad and you won't? If you'd just done it then we wouldn't even be having this argument now and you wouldn't be trying to leave me here by myself." He stops, panting, takes the chains from Derek's hands and dumps them on the floor. "Don't leave me alone tonight."

Wolfed out, Derek's indecision is painful to watch. Stiles wraps his clawed hand around the back of Derek's neck and brings their mouths together. Fangs break skin as they kiss and he tastes blood, Derek's and his own, and mingled like that the effects of the rising moon are amplified. Scott had described it as the urge to hunt and kill, this is different.

All Stiles feels right now is the desperate, feral need to be claimed, to submit. His knees buckle, and he starts to go down, tearing long rents in Derek's shirt. Derek's hands come down on his shoulders, gripping so tight that his claws break the skin, seems torn between pushing Stiles down and jerking him back up.

"Please," Stiles begs, the word slurring as he speaks through a mouthful of fangs. He rubs his face over the front of Derek's jeans, the fabric strained, Derek's cock hard and pushing against his fly. Stiles pauses, barely holding back from tearing away the button and zipper with his claws. "Let me."

There's blood on Derek's lips. He licks it away as he stares down, sucking in quick gasps of air. Then he blinks, and drops to Stiles' level.

He withdraws the claws from Stiles' shoulders, slowly, carefully, like it takes concentration he doesn't have. He moves his hands to hold Stiles' face. "I should be gone by now." He sucks in lungfuls of air, and it hisses out from between his fangs. "It's harder with every moment that passes." His eyes flick toward the stairs, back to Stiles' face. "It's not just sex," he hisses. "I'm your Alpha, Stiles. I will knot you."

A whine builds in Stiles' chest, threatens to become a full bodied howl. "Yes." Barely clinging to his humanity, he sinks down further, dropping his head below the level of Derek's eyes. "Yes."

Still on his knees, Derek seems to loom over him when he presses his mouth to Stiles' lips. Derek's teeth cut into him, slicing open his lips, then his tongue laps up the blood. Stiles tips his head further back, lets himself go limp in Derek's grip.

"I didn't want it to be like this," Derek says.

"Should have fucked me earlier." Stiles locks his claws into his own shirt, tears it away from his body. The sleeves hang, tattered, from his wrists, and he falls backward as Derek leans into him, tips his head back as Derek's mouth comes down on his throat.

Stiles bares his neck. Derek's fangs scrape his skin, could tear his throat out in a moment and he wouldn't heal. Even on the verge of losing his sense of self, though, Stiles trusts.

A low rumble vibrates through Derek's body. He pulls away, rips away his own shirt, then he crawls, predatory, over Stiles' body, pushes at him until he's flat on his back. "You stay with me," he growls. "You hold on to who you are, Stiles." He closes his eyes, and there's tension in his face when he slowly shifts back to human, but when he opens them again, they still glow red. "Stiles, stay with me."

"Yes," Stiles says, staring up into the eyes of his Alpha. It's a big part of who Derek is to him, but not the biggest. He's his boyfriend, too, his lover, the man who kissed him when he was bleeding to death, the man who saved his life. "I'm here." It's too hard to push the wolf down, to push it away, so he doesn't try. And as the moon completes its ascent and all the pull it inflicts on him rises to a peak, the only way he wants to run is closer to Derek. "I need you," he growls. "Need you, you're too far away."

Derek drops his weight onto Stiles' chest, licks at the cuts on his lips, at his fangs and into his mouth. Stiles opens up, spreads his legs and clamps his thighs around Derek's hips. There's clothing between them, layers of too-thick fabric. He grinds up, seeking friction, but it's not enough, needs hot, bare skin. He aches inside. "Fuck me," he grinds out. "Please, fuck me, need you to fuck me."

Derek pulls away, fingers working the button and fly of his jeans.

"Tear them, fucking tear them." Stiles writhes, arching up off the floor. "Need you."

"Shut up," Derek spits. "You wanna walk out of here naked in the morning?"

"Don't care." Stiles bites into his own lip, feels those cuts heal up, leaving Derek's still bleeding. "Do it."

Derek shakes his head, finally yanks Stiles' jeans down his legs and off. Stiles hisses as his bare ass hits the cold wood floor. Derek rises up on his knees to work at the fastenings of his own jeans, stands to step out of them.

Stiles watches until he sees Derek's cock, standing long and thick and hard against his stomach, precome dripping down the shaft. He rolls onto his belly, pulls his knees under him and spreads his legs. Need and the full moon shift outstrips any shame, and he presents himself, relief from the aching emptiness his only thought. "Please," he whines. "Please, please, please."

"Fuck," Derek breathes, and his knees hit the floor. He drags his thumb over Stiles' hole, and it slides. "You're ready," he says, reverence and wonder in his voice. "You're ready for me."

Derek's words don't compute, and Stiles doesn't know where the slickness comes from, but he doesn't care. "Fuck me," he begs, pushing back as Derek slides his fingers inside, needing more, something thicker, longer, something that will fill him up completely. "Please fuck me."

"I will." Derek pulls his fingers free, his body jerks and he lets out a growl that tells Stiles he's shifted. There's a thick, hard pressure right where Stiles needs it, claws in his flesh where Derek grips his waist.

There's one thing Stiles doesn't know about werewolves. He doesn't know if wounds from an Alpha scar. He wants them to scar, wants the cuts in his lip, his shoulders, his waist, to remain. He wants to keep the marks, proof that he belongs to Derek, that they sealed whatever they are to each other just like this.

Derek's cock pushes into Stiles' body, a long, slow slide that stretches him open, provides a delicious pressure, but no resistance.

"Stiles," Derek growls, and he pulls back, slides in again. He curls his body over Stiles' back, huffs hot breath out over the back of Stiles' neck. "Stiles."

His voice is low, dark, feral. His mouth opens over the back of Stiles' neck, teeth scraping the skin. Then he bites down, sinks his fangs in deep.

Stiles jerks beneath him, lets out a whine of pain, but it's not his focus. He doesn't fight, just goes still, accepts Derek's control over him. He whines again, but for a different reason, when Derek starts to thrust.

Quick, sharp jerks of his hips, and a sustained growl that vibrates into Stiles' body. It's what Stiles craves, but still not enough. He'd beg, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a moan, desperate and needy.

Stiles' claws dig deep into the wooden floor, carve out valleys in old boards. His cock is hard, throbbing, dripping precome onto the floor beneath him, and he can't move to ease it. Derek's thrusts into his body are steady, a slow slide out, swift jerk in.

Stiles whimpers as the stretch increases. With each thrust there's resistance as Derek pushes his cock back inside. Eventually, he stills, sunk deep within Stiles' body, his growls increasing as the base of his cock swells.

Derek's growl becomes a groan, his body stiffens, his teeth tug at the flesh at the base of Stiles' skull until they finally release. Derek opens his mouth wide and throws his head back. The walls seem to vibrate as he roars at the room, and he twists his hips so the knot pulls at Stiles' rim.

Stiles can move, he can speak, he can think. The moon, hanging heavy in the sky and shining down the stairs, pulls at him, but there's something far more magnetic right here.

"Yes," Stiles grinds out. "Yes, Derek, fuck, yes." As he speaks, his fangs slide back and his claws retreat into his fingers. "Yours, I'm yours." The words come from somewhere deep inside him, from a place he didn't know existed.

Derek's lips slide down along Stiles' jaw, hot breath washes over Stiles' cheek as Derek pants for breath. "Stiles." He whines, rocks his hips, shifts so the knot presses against Stiles' prostate.

Stiles cries out, writhes beneath the body pressing down on him, surrounding him. He's so full, more by the second as Derek pumps him full of come in a long, slow orgasm. He grinds back on the knot, rolls his hips to make it press against that spot, over and over and over again. "Please. Derek, please."

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' chest, pulls him up off the floor, back onto his lap. Stiles sinks down further, and the pressure eases, shifts so it's right there, right where he wants it. His cock bounces as he settles, hurts, and there's so much pressure in his balls that it's impossible that he hasn't come yet.

Derek's fingers graze his nipples, and Stiles moans, tips his head back onto Derek's shoulder. Derek's lips come down on his, and Derek's fangs melt away, but his eyes still glow red. Stiles moves, writhes on Derek's knot, reaches a hand down to cup his balls. "I'm going to come," he whispers, sliding a finger up the underside of his dick before he wraps his hand around it. "I'm going to come on your cock."

Derek's lips curve up into a smile that reaches his eyes, even as there's still tension in the skin around them. "Do it," he says. "Come on my dick, Stiles. Make me feel it."

Stiles' body stiffens, arches, shakes as he starts to come, clamping down on the knot inside him so hard he can almost feel every vein. His eyes fly open wide and he stares at the ceiling as his balls empty, come spattering down on the bare floorboards.

"Mine," Derek growls, rough and uncontrolled. "Mine."

They slide to the floor, lie on their sides, Derek's arms wrapped tightly around Stiles' chest. The knot is still swollen inside Stiles' body, and his belly feels tight and full. "They're all going to smell you on me," he whispers, when Derek's breath starts to slow and calm. "For weeks."

"Until the next full moon," Derek whispers, his lips trailing the line of Stiles' shoulder. He bites down, with blunt human teeth, sighs as the knot goes down enough that his cock slides out, followed by a warm rush of fluid. "Then I'll fuck you again, mark you with my scent until the next."

"Yeah," Stiles says. "I think I'm going to like full moons."

fin