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Summary
And when the day finally comes, when Stiles finds himself bent over Derek’s kitchen table, hands gripping the edges of the wooden surface and sweat pooling on the long curve of his back, when Derek drives into him with deep, eager thrusts- “Wanna feel it,” he finds himself incoherently babbling. “Wanna feel it so bad. Please, Derek. Please, please,” it’s just a litany that keeps bleeding out his mouth, pleads and cries melting together as, behind him, Derek grabs the back of his neck and snarls.