Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1170839.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Public_Sex, Clubbing, Demon_Stiles_Stilinski, Spoilers, Lingerie
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-06 Words: 1148
****** And we all fall down ******
by pterawaters
Summary
     It's dark in the club where Derek finds Stiles. No one will see.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Derek's still thrown off by the wolfsbane when Stiles crashes into him, grin
wide and giddy. "Derek! Hey! What's up?"
"Have you seen it?" Derek asks him, holding Stiles' shoulders tight so he'll
stop bouncing around to the music. "The demon, have you seen it?"
Stiles frowns, pushing his chin forward, and shakes his head. "Are you sure
it's here? Seems like a happy place for a demon that feeds on chaos and pain!"
Derek looks around and really notices where they are. The dance club is full of
young people, most of them with smiles on their faces. The music is loud, but
upbeat, and still under the effects of wolfsbane, it doesn't hurt his ears the
way it normally would. He feels the thump of the base in his heart, throughout
his body, and for once it feels good.
Nodding at Stiles, Derek tries to pull away, but Stiles stops him. "Aw, going
so soon? Come on, where's the fun in that?" Stiles steps closer and presses his
thigh and hip between Derek's leg. "Dance with me."
This is stupid. Derek should be finding the demon. It's his duty to protect
Beacon Hills from the supernatural and he can't do that if he's here, letting
Stiles coerce him into dancing. Dancing is not something Derek does.
Stiles' leg is warm and firm and as Stiles' hand finds Derek's ass and
squeezes, just as Stiles sets his mouth against Derek's neck, Derek is half
gone. He closes his eyes against the flash of power he can feel in them and
turns his face toward Stiles'. He feels his way to Stiles' mouth and takes the
kiss he's been wanting since Stiles almost drowned for Derek's sake.
By the time Derek opens his eyes again, Stiles has them backed into a dark
corner of the club, Derek pressed against the sticky wall. "Fuck, wanted you
for so long," Stiles says, his hands all over Derek's arms and sides and hips.
Derek suddenly remembers that Stiles is still in high school. He's what,
sixteen? Seventeen? Younger than when Derek met Kate. Derek tries to push
Stiles away, but instead, he finds himself with his face pressed into the wall,
Stiles' cock hard against his ass, and Stiles' hands undoing his zipper.
Something in the back of Derek's brain protests that Stiles shouldn't be this
strong, but that voice is silenced when Stiles gets his hands on Derek's cock.
"Stiles!"
The things Stiles says are filthy, but Derek isn't surprised. He's the kind of
boy who lets his mind wander through everything, who can imagine acting on his
darker urges. "I'm gonna make you come in my hand, and then I'm going to use
your own come to open you up and fuck you. Right here. Anyone could see us."
Derek moans.
It's been a couple months since Jennifer, and they were only together a few
times before Derek found out who she really was. It doesn't take long for
Stiles to jerk Derek off, carefully collecting his come in one cupped hand.
"Beg me for it," Stiles says, pushing Derek's jeans down around his thighs with
one clean hand. Derek helps him, body still aching at the thought of need and
sex and yes I want that please.
"Please," Derek groans over his shoulder, moving his head a few inches to the
right, where the cinderblock is still relatively cool. "Stiles, please.
Quickly!"
The shock of Stiles palming quickly-cooling come between Derek's ass cheeks
makes Derek grunt, his knees quivering. He shoves his pants down a little
further. It's dark in this corner, and humans have such bad eyesight. No one
will see.
Stiles doesn't do much more than push the come all the way into Derek with
rough, precise strokes. His fingers are long and urgent, catching at times
where there isn't enough lube and it burns, but it doesn't hurt. "Like that,
baby?"
Derek should ask how Stiles got so confident, when just a few months ago he was
a self-professed virgin. Derek shouldn't let fingers against his prostate for
the first time in years turn his brain off the way it does. "Please!"
Stiles' dick quickly replaces his fingers, thicker, but not by too much. Not by
so much that Derek can't take it, sweating and cursing, his hands braced
against the wall, his hips pressed backward, wanting. Stiles is long, though.
His dick is long and his hips relentless and Derek feels so sore, but so good,
so full. He tells Stiles, "Harder," when he should probably tell Stiles to
stop.
Stiles digs his nails into Derek's arms, his chest, his hips. Stiles bites and
sucks at the back of Derek's neck, saying, "Fuck, yeah. Perfect ass on you.
Fuck. Derek."
It hurts, but Derek welcomes the sensation, welcomes the way the hurt makes him
feel like he's teetering on the edge of something good. He tells himself next
time they'll use real lube. He tells himself he would never let Stiles ask this
of him.
The ache builds and builds until Derek's coming, digging his claws into the
cinder blocks and breathing in the dust. Stiles pulses inside Derek, and it's
much wetter as he pulls out. Derek smells blood, but only a little. It might be
from the scratches.
Derek feels almost limp as Stiles turns him around and pulls up his jeans.
Stiles kisses Derek as he buttons Derek's fly, and then pulls back grinning.
"That was fun!"
Guilt washes over Derek as he realizes what he's done. "I-I have to go find the
demon."
"Oh, yeah, sure, dude," Stiles says. "You go ahead. I'll catch up in a minute."
Derek tells himself it was the wolfsbane, that he can't lead Stiles on, that he
can't let it happen again. Stiles is still a teenager. He doesn't need to be
with someone as fucked up as Derek.
When Stiles texts Derek two days later and tells him to put on what Stiles left
under his pillow and then come over, Derek hurries home. Under his pillow are a
pair of bright blue lace panties. They actually fit, until Derek gets hard
thinking about what Stiles has in mind for them. Derek slips his jeans on over
the panties and tells himself he's already lost the moral high ground
everywhere else in his life. He might as well go along with it.
It isn't until Stiles is licking Derek's cock through the lace that Derek slips
and lets his eyes change. He happens to glance down at Stiles and that's when
he sees it. Derek scrambles away, his pants still around his ankles. "You're
not Stiles."
"Baby," Stiles says with a wicked smirk, the rest of his body lazy and calm and
so un-Stiles-like Derek has no idea how he didn't see it before, "I haven't
been Stiles for a long, long time."
End Notes
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