Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/759273.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek/Stiles'_Red_Hoodie, Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Isaac_Lahey_
      (mentioned)
  Additional Tags:
      Fluff, Humor, Masturbation, Red_Hoodie, Scenting, Blow_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-04-13 Words: 3077
****** A Good Plan ******
by vampireisthenewblack
Summary
     The one where Derek steals Stiles' clothing for sexual gratification
     and Stiles has a plan. A good plan. With maps*, and condoms.
     *There's no maps.
Notes
     Yeah, this was supposed to be under 1k. It's not.
     Love and eternal hugs and kisses to my one, my only, my venis-envy.
     She beta'd. She's awesome.
See the end of the work for more notes
"You totally told him, didn't you?"
Scott's eyes are wide, the picture of innocence, but they flick upward, just
once. "I didn't. I swear I did not say a single word to Derek."
Stiles shifts from foot to foot, shakes his hands just to stop himself from
strangling his best friend. "Then how come he's looking at me funny? Like, all
the time now? I should never have told you, oh, god. I said, I knew I'd regret
this, last time I'm getting drunk with you, Scott, heknows and—"
"Calm down." Scott grabs him by the shoulders, gives Stiles a shake as he
laughs. "I didn't tell Derek, okay."
Stiles blinks. "Then why—"
"I might have said something to Isaac."
"You what?" Stiles can't believe it. He trusted Scott with that information,
and sure, his inhibitions were seriously impaired when he confessed that he
sometimes jerked off to thoughts of Derek goddamn Hale, but he trusted Scott
not to betray that confidence. "Why would you do that? Why, exactly, would you
do that?"
"Isaac asked if you were staying over sometimes."
Stiles freezes. "Staying over where?"
Scott grins. "At Derek's. In his room. In hisbed."
Stiles looks at Scott like he's completely lost his mind. "Why on earth would
he think... I don't... Huh?"
Scott crosses his room and reaches under his bed, pulls out a rolled wad of red
fabric.
Stiles gasps. "My hoodie? I've been looking for that." He narrows his eyes.
"Did you steal this?"
"Isaac found it. In Derek's bed." Scott looks far too pleased with himself.
"Are you and Derek—"
"No! I've never been near Derek's bed. I don't know how it got there. He must
have stolen it." Stiles' eyes go wide. "Oh my god. Derek's totally into me." He
shoves the garment in Scott's face. "What does it smell like? Has he been
having sex with my clothing?"
Scott shoves it away. "Too late. Isaac and I already figured it out. We just
didn't know if you were in it at the time or not."
"Oh my god," Stiles whispers.
                                      ~v~
Stiles has a plan. It's a good plan, involving him sneaking his hoodie back
into Derek's bed.
While he's wearing it.
Scott and Isaac are instrumental in luring Derek away from the house with
promises of monsters in the main street (it's been ridiculously quiet,
supernatural wise, in Beacon Hills lately).
It still seems like a good plan, until Stiles kicks his shoes off, climbs in
under the covers, hoodie, jeans and all, and his phone rings once.
It's the signal. Scott's letting him know that Derek is on his way back to the
house.
Suddenly, it all seems just a little too real. Derek's going to arrive, already
pissed because there are no monsters, and he's going to rip Stiles a new one
for breaking into his house, or...
Stiles is in Derek's bed. That kind of implies things that Stiles has no
experience with. No one can say Stiles isn't prepared for what might happen
because there's condoms and lube in his jeans pocket, but that sort of implies
something Stiles might not be ready for, either.
"I'm insane," he says, throwing off the blankets, preparing to abort the
mission.
Derek's car pulls up outside.
Stiles leaps out of Derek's bed, fights with his hoodie as he tries to tear it
off but it's clinging to his arms like a killer octopus as he barrels down the
stairs. He gets it off, bundles it up and shoves it behind him as he lunges for
the front door.
Derek throws it open before Stiles can reach it.
Stiles stumbles back, shrinking under the weight of Derek's scowl.
"What the hell are you doing in my house, Stiles?"
"That's... That's a very good question," Stiles says, coming up with nothing
good. "I'm sure there's a good answer." He inches toward the door. "How 'bout I
text you when it comes to me?"
Derek grabs him by the shoulder and slams him into the wall. The breath rushes
out of him, and the force makes him release his grip on the hoodie. It falls to
the floor, and Derek's eyes flick downward.
Derek steps back, releasing Stiles, and his gaze moves up again. The thunderous
expression is gone, replaced with something Stiles has never seen on Derek's
face.
"I can explain," Derek says.
"You were practising your sniffer dog skills?"
Derek drops his eyes. Shakes his head. "No." He bends, scoops up the red
garment, hands it back to Stiles. "You've been in my bedroom."
"You've been in mine. The difference is, I wasn't taking things that don't
belong to me."
Derek's eyes start to redden, and Stiles is afraid he's about to wolf out. He
takes a step back, hits the wall, looks away for a moment and then, when he
looks back up, Derek's trying to hide his eyes.
"Just give me a head start, let me get out of town before you tell your
father."
"What? Why would you leave? Why the hell would I tell my dad?"
Derek looks at Stiles like he's lost his mind. "You're seventeen and I'm
stealing your clothes so my bed smells of you when I—"
"Jerk off?"
Derek looks as though he's going to throw up. "Oh my god."
"Yeah," Stiles agrees, imagining it. He can feel his own heart beating faster,
and he can't seem to get enough air. His jeans are getting uncomfortably tight.
"You should totally make it up to me."
Derek looks worried. "How?"
"Well," says Stiles, dragging his eyes over Derek's body as he thinks. Then he
realises it's obvious. "You took my shirt, I should totally take yours."
"Why the hell would you want my shirt?"
"Why did you want mine?"
Derek stares at Stiles for a long time, like he's having trouble processing
that. Then finally, he says one word. "Oh."
"Yeah. Hand it over."
Derek straightens up, then he shrugs off his jacket, lets it fall to the floor
behind him, and he peels off his white T-shirt.
Stiles takes it, brings it to his face and inhales, long and deep. "Holy crap,"
he moans as his senses are assaulted by the scent of laundry detergent
andDerek. His dick is immediately and painfully hard.
"So, you're going to... take that home and... you're going to... Huh." Derek's
own breathing is quick and labored. "Inyour bed." He groans. "You should go
then."
Stiles pulls Derek's shirt away from his face. "Actually, I thought I might use
yours. If that's okay with you?" Screw implications. Stiles needs to get
offnow.
Derek stares at him and blinks.
"I mean, you're totally welcome to come, too."
Derek blinks again, just once. "Yeah." He grabs Stiles by the upper arm and
drags him toward the stairs.
Stiles pulls away and runs up the stairs ahead of Derek.
"Stiles, where are your shoes?"
"Under your bed. I had a plan. It was a good plan, but I chickened out. I'm
over that now." He dives onto Derek's bed, rolls onto his back and fumbles to
wriggle out of his jeans. Derek pulls Stiles' socks off by the toes, grabs his
jeans by the hems, yanks them off his legs. As he's tossing them aside,
something falls out of the hip pocket.
Stiles watches in horror as two condoms and a small tube of lubricant fall to
the floor. "Oh, crap."
Derek looks up at Stiles. "That part of your plan?"
"Plans can change," Stiles stammers. "I can think on my feet."
Derek takes a step toward the bed. "You're not on your feet." He toes off his
own shoes, and his hands drift over the front of his jeans, like he wants to
take them off, but he leaves them fastened.
"No, and granted, right now most of my brain function is in my dick." Stiles
rubs his hand over the length of his cock, straining against the fabric of his
boxer briefs. He stares at Derek, eyes at the level of his hips. There's a
suspiciously large outline in the front of his jeans, and Stiles swallows. His
mouth is dry.
"What do you want, Stiles?"
"Everything," Stiles breathes, then his eyes flick up to Derek's face. "But I'm
kinda freaking out because I've never doneanything before, so—"
"You've never jerked off before?"
Stiles rolls his eyes. "Of course I have. All the time. More than once a day.
Sometimes three."
Derek lifts his eyebrows, his nostrils flare. "Do that, then." His eyes move
down Stiles' body. "Take off your shirt."
"Oh, god." Stiles squirms, fights to get his shirt off, tosses it over the edge
of the bed, then lies back down and rubs his palm over his dick again. "I've
never had anyone watch me before."
"Please," Derek breathes. His chest rises, falls, the movement exaggerated.
Stiles' eyes go very wide. In his processing of the fact that Derek was into
him, he never really thought about the reality of what it might be like to see
Derek aroused. All Stiles thought about was the possibility of being able to
touch Derek without risking decapitation, to be able to see Derek naked, to
touch his cock—Stiles groans just thinking about it. But Derek's affected, he's
looking at Stiles like he wants to eat him alive—but in a good way—and he's
begging Stiles to jerk off for him. "Yeah, okay." Stiles shoves his hand into
his briefs, pulls on his dick a few times before he pushes the waistband down
so Derek can see.
Derek lets out a long, slow, jerky breath. "Stiles," he says, almost whines,
and he slides his palm down over the front of his jeans.
"Take 'em off," Stiles gasps, squeezing his hand tight around his dick as he
strokes up, down, circles the base with thumb and forefinger, drapes the other
three fingers over his balls and gives them a little squeeze. "I wanna see."
Derek unzips his jeans. Pushes them down, kicks them off. He straightens up,
clad in a pair of plain black boxer briefs that do nothing to hide the fact
that he's incredibly hard, and, Stiles thinks, scarily well endowed.
Stiles' hand falters and his heels dig into the mattress in an unconscious
effort to put just a little more distance between them. "Oh, my god, dude.
You're huge." His eyes flick to the condoms lying on the floor. "Forget the
plan. It was a bad plan."
"No," Derek says, taking a few jerky steps forward, hands outstretched.
"Stiles, I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want to do. I don't give a
shit about any plan, I just want... Jesus. This. Your scent in my bed." He
crouches, lowering himself so he has to look up at Stiles, and he reaches out
and puts his hand on Stiles' ankle. "To touch you a little. If you'll let me.
Only as much as you want."
Stiles stares down, eyes wide, breath shaky and erratic, wondering if it's hard
for Derek to lower himself like that in front of him, or if Derek's only doing
it so his enormous cock is out of sight. "So I could just..." He wraps his hand
around his cock, covering it from sight. "Roll around in your bed, rub off some
skin cells?" His eyes linger on Derek's fingers, wrapped around his ankle.
They're warm as they gently stroke back and forth. It's soothing, thoroughly
incongruous with the way Derek usually touches him, and in his mind those
fingers creep upward, tickling his knee, stroking his inner thigh. Stiles
closes his eyes and moans, squeezes his dick, gives it a little stroke.
"I want you to come in my bed," Derek breathes, and his breath is warm.
It tickles Stiles' leg hair and inexplicably Stiles spreads his legs a little.
"Make me," he whispers, eyes still closed, head hanging back. If he opens his
eyes, he might chicken out again and he doesn't want to do that. He wants Derek
to slide his hand up the inside of his thigh, he wants Derek to touch his
balls, touch his cock, make him come.
"Stiles," Derek moans. "Fuck." His hand slides up a little as he rises, Stiles
can feel him leaning over the bed. "I can touch you?"
Stiles cracks one eye open. "Unless you're planning on doing it with dirty talk
alone, but I've heard you talk, and no offence, but you're not much with the
words, you know?"
Stiles opens the other eye. Derek's frozen, eyebrows drawn together, lips
slightly parted. "You can touch me," Stiles says, softly, kindly, because when
Derek's vulnerable like this, he gets protective, and when did he start feeling
like this?
Derek's knees press against the bed, dipping the mattress, and his hand slides
up Stiles' leg. It rests on the inside of his knee, fingers sliding under,
stroking.
Stiles squirms, ticklish. "If you could just..." He beckons, and Derek pushes
his hand farther up Stiles' leg.
Derek cups the underside of Stiles' thigh. His eyes are locked onto Stiles'
face, and his chest rises, falls as he takes deep, even breaths, then lowers
his head, presses his lips to the inside of Stiles' thigh just above the knee.
"Oh, my god," Stiles moans, the words long, drawn out, one hand twisting in the
blanket, the other clamping down on his dick as it twitches, hard. "This is
happening. Oh god."
Derek moves up the bed, pushes on Stiles' leg, spreading it. He drops his head
again, this time an open mouthed kiss with drag of tongue to the soft fleshy
stretch of skin half way up Stiles' thigh. "Do you want me to stop?" he
whispers, lips moving over Stiles' damp skin.
Stiles barely controls the violent jerk of his hips. The bed still rocks
beneath them. "Hell, no. If you stop Iwill have to kill you."
Derek grins against Stiles' skin, then his hands slide up over Stiles' hips,
grab his underwear by the waist and tug. "Can I?"
"Yes, yes, completely, yes." Stiles lifts his hips to allow Derek to drag his
underwear off. His hand is still on his cock, and he unfurls his fingers and
puts both elbows on the mattress so he can prop himself up and watch the
proceedings.
When Derek turns back after tossing Stiles' briefs on the floor, his eyes
slowly wander up the length of Stiles' body. This time he spreads both of
Stiles' legs, wrapping one arm underneath each of them. He lies between Stiles'
thighs, closes his eyes, and puts his lips just below the crease.
Derek inhales and moans.
"What?" Stiles whimpers. He's tense, shaking with the effort it takes him not
to push Derek's mouth towards his balls. He's soclose.
"If you knew what you smelled like to me, Stiles..." Derek turns his head just
enough, noses at Stiles' balls before opening his mouth, wrapping his lips
around one, using his tongue to stroke, and it's so warm and wet and shivery-
good and this is the first time that anything other than Stiles' own hand has
touched him there and it's Derek'smouth.
Stiles thinks his brain might be seizing. Like, simply grinding to a halt as
all the blood in his body rushes straight to his dick. Precome oozes thick from
the tip onto his belly as Stiles' shudders and moans.
Derek takes his mouth away.
"No, oh god, fuck no, Derek please—"
But Derek's lifting himself again, moving further up the bed, and the sound
that's coming from him isnot normal. The deep, rumbling groan vibrates through
his chest, into Stiles' thighs where they've clamped around Derek's torso, and
Derek is staring down at Stiles' cock.
Stiles knows what Derek's going to do before it happens, before Derek lowers
his head again, before his eyes flick up for permission.
"Yes, holy crap, don't ask, just fucking do it—"
Derek drags his tongue through the fluid on Stiles' belly, catches the tip of
Stiles' cock as he does it and Stiles is gone, just gone, no blood left in his
brain at all, he'll probably suffer brain damage because of it but he doesn't
care.
Derek sucks the head of Stiles' cock into his mouth, prods at the slit with his
tongue.
"I can't— Oh my god— Derek, god, Derek," Stiles manages to get out before he
comes, and then all that escapes his mouth is a choking sound. Derek sucks him
right down, drags back, all while Stiles' comes and comes.
When the white noise in his brain stops, when the pulsing spasms ease, Stiles
blinks up at the ceiling. This is one of the few top story rooms in the house
that has a ceiling, Stiles thinks it might be the only one. What once may have
been white is almost black with damp or soot or both. "We haven't even kissed,"
he says, and he's sure that there's something better he could have said, but at
least he's fairly sure he's not brain damaged.
"True." Derek's voice is disembodied, but there's movement and then his face
comes into Stiles' view. Derek's smiling.
"That's weird." Stiles isn't quite sure whether he's talking about the smile or
the fact they haven't kissed, yet right now, Derek has Stiles' come in his
mouth.
Derek puts his arm over Stiles, comes down close. Lips only inches away, he
says, "Can I kiss you?"
"Ungh," Stiles says, which of course means yes, and Derek first drags his
tongue across Stiles' bottom lip and then teases his mouth open. And it tastes
salty and bitter but Stiles figures he can't really blame Derek for that, and
it doesn't stop him anyway.
"Are you going to stop stealing my clothes?" Stiles says when they break apart,
each of them rolling onto their backs to stare up at the ceiling.
"Sure," Derek says. "On one condition. I want your scent in my bed."
"Huh. So, I'd have to come back and refresh it from time to time?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds fair."
"We'll work on that plan of yours when you're ready."
Stiles pulls himself up on his elbow, looks down at Derek. "Little bit at a
time." He slides his hand down Derek's torso, over his stomach, pushes his
fingers into the waistband of Derek's black briefs. "We should totally start
now."
End Notes
           If you enjoyed reading, please hit the [Kudos ♥] button.
                             twitter | dreamwidth
                          Transformative_Works_Policy
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!