Happy Sterek Week!
It might have been the first time Derek laid blunt teeth to the soft skin of his collarbone as he sucked marks into the ridge. It might have been the clamp of his teeth to the line of his throat when Stiles tipped his head back, baring it to the alpha scraping fingernails down his back. It might have been the gentle nips laid to the flesh of his inner thighs laid in the wake of Derek’s warm hands the moment before heat enveloped him. It might have been the sensation ghosting through his core when Derek used just the barest hint of teeth a moment later.
Whatever started it, he knew that his desire to feel the gentle, human bites Derek gave bordered on obsession. He wasn’t above asking, or directing Derek’s attention where he wanted it. He wasn’t above demanding. He wasn’t above begging.
Derek liked when he demanded it, when he growled “Derek!” nearly as well as any werewolf ever had. He liked feeling Stiles’ fingers curl tight in his hair, pressing him closer, and the feel of Stiles’ skin giving slightly under the pressure he applied. He liked the marks he left behind, and he liked knowing Stiles couldn’t heal them.
"Mine," he would say, lips brushing the skin of Stiles’ back at the end of a trail of marks that left nothing of what they’d been doing to the imagination.