Derek tries to ignore them, but Stiles knows he can’t get enough of the soft tawny wings. Derek tugs them roughly when he does touch, but only when they’re alone, and Stiles is pretty sure Derek’s tongue tracing where his wings join his back has more to do with Derek wanting to rub his face in the downy feathers than actually marking Stiles as his.
Stiles is intuitive and his wings are fucking awesome. If Derek wants to rub his face in the feathers and grind against Stiles’ thigh until he comes than Stiles has no qualms about rolling onto his back and spreading his wings out far, draping them across the bed and letting the longer feathers brush the floor.
That moment, where Derek’s eyes flash red and his breath hitches at Stiles’ complete submission, when Stiles can practically feel Derek’s intentions before he’s even made up his mind himself, more than makes up for every bump and bruise Stiles will get in the process.