Chapter 6: Library Fuck
The stale scent of old paper and dust couldn’t mask it. Not for Stiles. He caught the first tendril as Derek pushed open the heavy oak door to the fraternity library – a sweet, musky undertone cutting through the smell of decaying leather bindings. Derek had come looking for a specific volume on pre-colonial werewolf migration patterns Scott had mentioned. He hadn't expected company.
Stiles was sprawled in a worn leather armchair near the cold, grand fireplace, its mantel crowded with dusty lacrosse trophies. He looked up from a comic book, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face as Derek stopped just inside the doorway. The only light came from a single, buzzing fluorescent strip overhead and the dim orange glow of the exit sign.
"Well, well," Stiles drawled, closing the comic with deliberate slowness. "Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, what the Omega dragged in?" His eyes, sharp and predatory despite his human status, raked over Derek. "Scent’s kinda loud for research, Derek."
Derek felt the flush crawl up his neck. He knew what Stiles meant. The slickness started the moment he’d felt Stiles’ gaze, a familiar, betraying warmth pooling low in his gut. He tried to keep his voice steady. "Just grabbing a book for Scott. Didn't know you were here."
Stiles unfolded himself from the chair, movements smooth and deliberate, like a cat stalking prey. He crossed the worn Persian rug, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the lights and the soft scuff of his sneakers. He stopped inches from Derek, close enough that Derek could smell the faded scent of his soap, the faint tang of coffee, and beneath it, the unmistakable, potent aroma of Alpha-adjacent dominance Scott’s close friendship seemed to imbue him with. Stiles’ fingers, surprisingly strong, trailed slowly up Derek’s jean-clad thigh. "Bullshit," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, wicked whisper that vibrated in the quiet room. "I can smell your slick, pretty Omega. Right through the denim. Pungent. Sweet." He leaned in, his nose almost brushing Derek’s neck, inhaling deeply. "Mmm. You thinking 'bout my cock already? Or was it Scotty’s you were dreaming of finding down here?"
The directness, the sheer filthy implication, combined with the scent of Stiles so close, was overwhelming. Derek’s breath hitched. The slick gushed, hot and sudden, soaking his boxers. A low, involuntary groan escaped him.
Stiles’ grin turned feral. "Yeah, that’s what I thought." His hand tightened on Derek’s thigh, then slid firmly around to grip his ass through the jeans, squeezing the firm muscle. "Knees, beautiful. Now."
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command laced with dark promise. The raw dominance in Stiles’ tone, so reminiscent of Scott’s yet uniquely his own, short-circuited Derek’s higher functions. His body obeyed before his mind could protest. He sank down, the rough texture of the rug scratching his knees through his jeans, landing heavily between Stiles’ spread thighs. Stiles hadn't even bothered to unzip yet, but the thick outline of his erection strained blatantly against his dark sweatpants, already damp at the tip.
Stiles looked down at him, eyes hooded and dark with lust. He palmed himself through the fabric, making the bulge even more pronounced. "Been thinking about that mouth of yours since the field," he rasped. "How fucking good it felt wrapped around Scott. How hungry you looked swallowing him down." He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats and boxers and shoved them down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, flushed deep red at the tip, a bead of pre-come already glistening. The musky scent of him filled Derek’s nostrils. "Show me what you can do, Omega. Show me that famous Hale technique."
Derek didn't hesitate. The hunger was a physical ache. He leaned forward, gripping the base of Stiles’ cock firmly. He flicked his tongue out, catching the salty-sweet droplet from the slit. A low hiss escaped Stiles. Then Derek opened wide, taking the entire swollen head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the ridge. He sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks, his other hand coming up to cradle Stiles’ balls, rolling them gently in his palm.
"Fuck yeah," Stiles breathed, his head falling back slightly. "Just like that. God, your mouth is fucking heaven." He tangled a hand in Derek’s dark hair, not forcing, but holding, guiding. "Take it deeper. C'mon, show me you can handle it."
Derek relaxed his throat, breathing through his nose as he pushed forward, taking Stiles deeper. The thick shaft stretched his lips, filled his mouth, nudged the back of his throat. He fought the gag reflex, focusing on the taste, the weight, the muffled groans coming from above. He bobbed his head, setting a steady rhythm, sucking hard on the downstroke, tongue working the sensitive underside. Saliva pooled, dripping down onto Stiles’ balls and the dark hair at his base. The wet, rhythmic sounds – the sucking, the soft pops as he pulled off slightly, Stiles’ ragged breathing – echoed strangely loud against the backdrop of silent bookshelves.
"Shit, Derek... yeah... fuck your mouth," Stiles grunted, his hips giving small, involuntary thrusts upwards. His grip in Derek’s hair tightened fractionally. "So fucking good. Gonna make me blow fast if you keep that up." He looked down, watching Derek’s lips stretch around his girth, the obscene shine of spit coating him. "Bet your ass is dripping right now, isn't it? Bet it's fucking soaked, thinking about me pounding it after this."
The words, the image, sent a jolt of pure heat straight to Derek’s groin. His own cock was painfully hard, trapped in his jeans. He moaned around Stiles’ length, the vibration making Stiles curse and thrust deeper. Derek felt the pulse of Stiles’ cock against his tongue, the pre-come flooding his mouth, thick and salty. He swallowed it down, eagerly, sucking harder, wanting more.
Stiles’ breathing grew harsh, ragged. "Gonna... gonna come, Derek," he warned, his voice strained. "Where do you want it? All over that pretty face? Or down your greedy fucking throat?"
Derek pulled off just enough to look up, meeting Stiles’ burning gaze. His lips were slick, swollen, chin wet. He opened his mouth wider, letting his tongue loll out slightly in clear invitation. A silent plea.
Stiles’ eyes flared. "Fuck yes. Swallow it all." He fisted his cock roughly, the head glistening and purple. With a guttural groan, his body tensed. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot straight into Derek’s waiting mouth, splattering his tongue, hitting the back of his throat. Derek closed his lips around him, sucking firmly as Stiles shuddered, milking every last pulse. He swallowed convulsively, the salty-bitter tang flooding his senses. More cum spurted, coating his tongue, some escaping down his chin. He kept sucking gently until Stiles’ cock gave a final twitch and softened slightly in his mouth.
Stiles slumped back against the armchair, panting, eyes dazed. "Holy fuck," he breathed, looking down at Derek, who was still kneeling, lips glistening with spend. "You weren't kidding about those skills." He wiped a stray strand of cum from Derek’s chin with his thumb, then pushed the digit roughly into Derek’s mouth. "Clean it."
Derek sucked the thumb clean, his own arousal a fever pitch inside him. The slick was flowing freely now, a hot, insistent pulse between his legs. He needed more. Needed to be filled.
Stiles saw it in his eyes. He withdrew his thumb, then gripped Derek’s hair again, pulling him up roughly. "Turn around," he commanded, voice still thick with satisfaction but regaining its edge. "Hands on the armrest. Ass out.Now."
Derek scrambled to obey, his movements clumsy with need. He turned, bracing his hands on the cool leather of the armchair Stiles had vacated, pushing his hips back. He felt the cool air on his exposed skin as Stiles roughly yanked his jeans and boxers down to his knees. He heard Stiles’ sharp intake of breath.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Stiles muttered, his voice reverent and hungry. "Look at that. Slick as a fucking river. Dripping down your thighs." He ran a finger through the copious wetness gathering at Derek’s entrance, making him gasp and push back instinctively. "God, you’re fucking made for this. Still loose and wet from Scott and me the other night, and you're leaking like a faucet." He spat heavily onto his hand, then slicked his already hardening cock again. The thick head pressed against Derek’s slick hole, rubbing, teasing the rim. "You want it? You want my cock splitting you open against this fancy chair?"
"Yes! Stiles, please!" Derek begged, the words torn from him. "Fuck me! Need it!"
Stiles chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. "Good Omega." He pushed.
With his slick easing the way and the lingering stretch from before, Stiles’ thick cock slid in with shocking ease, burying itself to the hilt in one smooth, powerful thrust. Derek cried out, a sound of pure relief and overwhelming sensation, his hands scrabbling on the leather as he was filled completely. The stretch was immense, perfect, igniting every nerve ending.
"FUCK YES!" Stiles roared, his hands clamping onto Derek’s hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Shit, it's like fucking a hot, wet dream! Fuck!" He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, then slammed home again. The wet slap of skin on skin was thunderous in the quiet library. Then again. And again. He set a punishing rhythm from the start, no gentle build-up, just pure, raw fucking. His balls slapped wetly against Derek’s slick skin with every deep drive.
Derek’s vision blurred. The scent of sex, sweat, old books, and his own slick filled the air. Stiles’ cock hammered into his sweet spot relentlessly. Pleasure, white-hot and electric, detonated low in his belly with each thrust. He felt his own cock, trapped and ignored, twitching violently against his jeans. The friction of the rough denim against his sensitive head was almost painful, amplifying the intensity radiating from his ass.
"Look at you," Stiles gasped, his voice strained with effort and lust. He fucked harder, deeper, driving Derek forward against the chair with each powerful stroke. Derek’s moans were continuous, broken gasps. "Takin' my cock like a fucking champion. Your hole’s sucking me in, Derek. Clenching like a fucking vise. So fucking greedy for it!" He reached one hand around, fumbling with Derek’s jeans, yanking them open enough to free Derek’s leaking cock. "Bet you're gonna blow untouched again, aren't you? Like the little slut you are? Cum just from getting your ass pounded?"
The words, the searing friction against his prostate, the sheer overwhelming fullness – it was too much. Derek felt the coil inside him snap. "STILES!" he screamed, back arching violently as his cock erupted untouched. Thick jets of cum splattered against the leather armrest, dripping onto the rug below. His ass clamped down viscously around Stiles’ driving cock in rhythmic spasms, milking him.
The intense pressure, the sudden, vice-like grip, sent Stiles over the edge instantly. "OH FUCK! DEREK!" he roared, slamming deep and holding, grinding his pelvis hard against Derek’s ass as he emptied himself. Hot pulses of cum flooded deep inside the Omega, filling him, mixing with the slick. Stiles pulsed and throbbed, groaning harshly, his forehead pressed between Derek’s shoulder blades.
They stayed locked like that for a long moment, panting heavily, the only sounds their ragged breathing and the persistent fluorescent hum. Stiles finally pulled out slowly. A gush of thick, white cum immediately spilled from Derek’s gaping hole, running down his trembling thighs and onto the rug. Derek collapsed forward, his cheek pressed against the cool leather of the armchair, utterly spent. Stiles slumped back against a nearby bookshelf, wiping sweat from his brow, looking down at Derek’s wrecked form, the evidence of their coupling glistening in the dim light. A slow, sated smirk spread across his face. "Library’s gonna need a serious clean," he rasped, the adrenaline fading into exhaustion. "Worth it though." He chuckled, the sound low and dark in the quiet room. "Definitely worth it."