“I’m trying to shave here,” Stiles’ voice reminds Derek. But, despite his words, his hold on the razor slackens and he lowers his wrist, rests it against the porcelain edge of the sink.

“Hmm,” Derek articulates back, sinking his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck and pushing his hips forward to meet the round, inviting curve of the boy’s ass. Not so much of a boy anymore, since Stiles is already twenty-three, but old habits are hard to break, especially when Derek feels so old - like he’s lived too many lives, over and over and over - in front of Stiles’ genuineness.

“I’m not gonna use your jizz to comb my hair or anything, so if this is some of your possessive wolf things you better knock it off now-” Yet, his breath catches when Derek’s hand slides over his chest, down to caress the soft trail of dark hair that decorates Stiles’ abdomen, until his fingertips are lingering over the edge of Stiles’ cotton boxers. “Derek,” Stiles tries again, pleads, but the smell of his arousal hits Derek’ nostrils like the best of the prizes.

“Sex now, wedding later,” Derek murmurs, almost chuckles, against that small, hot portion of skin between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, where his pulse is so strong. He plants a kiss there, lips lingering a moment longer, as his fingers slide inside Stiles’ boxers, taking his already leaking erection in his palm.

“Fuck,” Stiles’ exhales, panting as he leans his full weight on the sink, the razor kissing the floor with a loud, clacking sound. “I was trying to be the responsible one here. You can’t just-” But the funny thing is that, really, Derek can. And he’s just doing so, pushing Stiles’ underwear off his hips, baring pale, smooth skin that will soon be red and used.

They both groan when Derek frees his own cock, both palms on Stiles’ chest so he can press him against his chest, close, closer. “Derek,” Stiles says again, but this time his tone is hot, urgent, as he arches his back, his spine shifting under skin, offering his ass so Derek can take- Anything you want.

“Yes,” Derek hisses, takes the lubricant from the mirror shelf in front of him and smears it all over his cock with hurried gestures. He needs Stiles so much, needs to feel him, hot and sweaty against him, trembling because Derek is the one doing this to him.

The cleft of Stiles’ ass welcomes Derek in the most delicious of the ways when his dick presses against it. And Derek can almost feel Stiles’ hole clench and then loosen when the head of his cock catches against it, smearing slick wetness all over the smooth, darkest skin. “Want you all the damn time,” he blurts out, heat rushing in his veins in response of Stiles’ pliant abandon.

The length of Stiles’ cock is thick and heavy against Derek’ palm and Stiles squirms when Derek tightens his hold on it, pumps faster in unison with the frantic pushes of his own hips. “You possessive fucker,” Stiles’ laughs, laughs and moans and it’s so beautiful- “Allison will slaughter us if we are late. So hurry up and make me fucking com-” His words die on his tongue when one of Derek’s hands cups his balls and Derek bites his shoulder, blunt teeth sinking in just enough to make Stiles mewl, white, sharp waves of pleasure blossoming right inside his abdomen.

Everything is reduced to parted lips and short intakes of breath as Derek presses himself against Stiles’ body, craving his heat, his gorgeous, bright light. And when white spurts all over his hand, the smell of Stiles’ come fills Derek’s head, like every fucking time, pushes Derek over the edge, falling and falling until he leans, finally satisfied, against his lover’s back.

“Well,” Stiles grins, from the mirror, at Derek’s direction. “Now. Allison will surely behead us with the butter knife. And Lydia will help her, because there is no way she wouldn’t take part to such a joyful massacre.” Copious rivulets of Derek’s come are slowly dripping from his ass to his thighs, but Stiles doesn’t seem to mind, or maybe he hasn’t ever noticed, seen the amount of freaking out that seems to be going out in his head.

Face buried in the back of his neck, Derek snorts, and then circles Stiles’ waist with his arms, keeping him close.

My heart.