FIC: Teen Wolf -- Texts From Last Night

[the_deep_magic]

Title: Mating Games Week 2 Challenge: Texts From Last Night (Director's Cut)
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Erica/Stiles (with established Derek/Stiles)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,119
Warning: threesome
Disclaimer: polyamorous lies
Summary: (860): I’m so glad we both made out with him though.  I feel like that really brought us together.
A/N: It was so hard to choose just one TFLN prompt!  I did a second fill posted here.

The most surprising thing about Derek – setting aside the whole werewolf thing – is not his Madonna CD collection.  It’s not his ability to cook gourmet cheese puffs and, like, nothing else.  It’s not even his weird obsession with those hoarder shows, which frankly Stiles thinks are more terrifying than what’s on the inside of a swamp monster (hint: there are leeches, so many leeches).

No, the most surprising thing about Derek is that he likes to… share.

Well, in specific circumstances.

Very specific.

If Stiles had to guess – and he did – he would’ve thought that the whole “mate” thing would mean exclusivity, jealousy, possessiveness.  In a word: monogamy.  But after it was official (yes, there was a ceremony; yes, Derek and Stiles were every bit as embarrassed as Lydia was gleeful; and yes, there were a surprising number of bodily fluids involved), Derek actually seemed less possessive.

There was still just as much post-clusterfuck shoving against walls and growls of mine, mine and the neverending hickeys.  Stiles would’ve been seriously disappointed if any of that had gone away.

But one minute Stiles is getting caught staring just a few seconds too long at Erica stripping for the full moon (not like she needs an occasion, but still), the next he’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, with Erica straddling him and sucking on his tongue while Derek looks on approvingly.

“And this is okay?” Stiles asks, trying to crane his head the best he can toward Derek while Erica’s got his lower lip clamped firmly between distressingly pointy teeth.

Derek smiles – small but genuine, and that more than anything else relieves Stiles’ anxiety – and asks, “Do you want her?”

Erica lets go of Stiles’ lip, which slaps back with a pop.  “The answer had better be yes, Stilinski.”

She’s giving him an arched eyebrow and he splutters, “Well, yeah, but not, like, for good.”

This time Derek and Erica both laugh, and Stiles knows he’s missed something again.  Fuckin’ werewolves.

But Derek comes up behind him and rubs broad palms down his arms.  “This is just for fun,” he whispers in Stiles’ ear, so close the puff of air makes him shiver.  “And she wants to play with you so much.  Don’t you, Erica.”

She rolls her eyes and backs off enough to get to Stiles’ pants.  “I’m so glad we both made out with him, though,” she whispers to Stiles, like Derek can’t hear her perfectly.  “I feel like that really brought us together.  As a pack.”

Stiles preens a little at been thought of as pack, but… “Both made—What?  When?”

“Forever ago,” Erica snorts.  “Not long after he turned me.  It lasted, like, five seconds, though I did get some tongue action.”

Stiles whips his head around to Derek, who just shrugs.  “Mistakes were made.”

That is not beyond the realm of belief when it comes to Derek.

After that, Stiles loses track of time and just experiences a cascade of sensations instead: Erica’s mouth drifting down to his cock; Derek’s fingers working him open; the roll of a condom; the force of Derek’s first thrust in making Stiles sink into Erica as she slides down against him.

They’re all lying on their sides on the bed – Stiles and Derek’s bed – so there’s not a lot of room for movement, but Stiles has Derek rocking deep into him from behind, his open mouth pressed to the back of Stiles’ neck, while Erica has one leg thrown over Stiles’ hip and is grinding against him, so Stiles is pretty much at peace with being the meat in this particular werewolf sandwich.

Erica’s kisses have grown surprisingly soft, a distinct contrast to the way her fingers are gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, like she’s afraid he’ll push her away.  So Stiles brings a hand up to cup her face, and it’s a tight fit, but he worms the other one down between their bodies to press his thumb against her clit.

She cries out and rocks back harder, pushing Stiles into Derek and they both moan.  “Make her come,” Derek growls low in Stiles’ ear, and fuck if that isn’t almost enough to end it right this second for Stiles.  But Derek continues, “Get her off and you’ll get more.”

Stiles can’t imagine being able to take more of anything at the moment, but he focuses on Erica, finding the right rhythm against her clit while she pants and works herself on his cock.  It doesn’t take long, especially with Stiles whispering every dirty thought that crosses his mind, and Erica’s coming, squeezing so tight around Stiles that it’s only the blunt pain of Derek’s teeth sinking into his shoulder that keeps Stiles from losing it.

They either planned this out ahead of time or it’s another case of fuckin’ werewolves, because as soon as Erica stops shaking, she and Derek roll simultaneously so that Erica’s on her back, Stiles still inside her, and Derek’s on top of them both.  Stiles can’t see the question on Derek’s face, but Erica nods once and says “Go,” and Derek pulls back and thrusts forward so deep that Stiles sees stars.

Each hard thrust shoves Stiles into Erica, but she doesn’t seem to mind as long as Stiles doesn’t grind against her oversensitive clit.  It’s so far past too much, Derek’s thick length splitting him open and shoving him over and over again into Erica’s wet heat, that Stiles has to bury his head against Erica’s neck, whimper, and just try to hold on.

Erica recovers fast, and soon she’s moving her hips in a counterpoint to Derek’s thrusts, and pressed between them, Stiles feels every nerve in his body light up.  He wants to make Erica come again but he’s already so close, teetering right on the knife edge when Derek changes the angle.  The pleasure shoots straight through him so hard his toes curl and Erica clenches around him, drawing it out until he’s sure he’ll die from it.

Time slips away from him again, and he’s vaguely aware of Derek coming with a deep growl, then two pairs of hands moving his limp body around.  There’s moment when all the warmth surrounding him pulls away and he makes a truly pathetic sound until they’re back around him, reversed this time: Derek against his front and Erica pressed to his back.

“Mine,” Derek whispers, pulling Stiles against his chest.  Erica hums in agreement, rubbing Stiles’ sides but not going anywhere near the bites and bruises Derek left around his neck and shoulders.  Stiles reaches back to hold Erica’s hand, and he thinks he gets it now.  Derek doesn’t need to be possessive; Stiles is already his, for good.


Voting for week 3 (kink grab bag!) is going on here until Friday.