Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2558756.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Lydia_Martin, Jackson_Whittemore
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Alternate_Universe_-_No_Werewolves, Teacher
      Stiles, Student_Derek, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Bottom_Derek, Bottom
      Stiles_Stilinski, Versatile_Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Come_Eating,
      Comeplay, Rimming, Anal_Sex, Anal_Fingering, consensual_stoned_sex,
      consensual_drunk_sex, Drinking, Marijuana, Angst, Angst_with_a_Happy
      Ending, brief_jackson/derek, Fireworks, Romance, First_Date
  Series:
      Part 3 of Mr._Stilinski
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-03 Words: 6188
****** Are You Sure (Mr. Stilinski, Part Three) ******
by alisvolatpropiis
Summary
     Stiles isn’t sure how to bring it up with Derek, doesn't want to at
     all, because it’s too close to the conversation he’s been trying not
     to have with him for the last three weeks, ever since he woke up the
     morning after Thanksgiving half under Derek’s sprawling, warm body.
     Derek didn’t stir at all when Stiles wriggled out from under him,
     rolling to his side to watch him sleep; he was lying on his chest,
     face turned towards him, his lovely bare back rising and falling
     steadily with his even breaths. It was the first time, Stiles
     realized, watching the slow dance of his dreaming eyes under his
     smooth, pretty eyelids, that he had ever seen Derek’s face completely
     free of guile: utterly open, serene, vulnerable.
     Stiles had cupped his cheek and leaned over to press a kiss on his
     still slightly swollen lips before rising from the bed, trembling.
Notes
     Part Three, heavy on the angst!! Actually, just the first half of
     this is angsty (with some very brief/vague Derek/Jackson), but then I
     had an angst intervention with myself so the second half is lovey
     smutty fluff because I can't not let these idiots be happy.
     Also, the first half jumps around in time a bit - hopefully it's
     clear by the breaks and the tense changes!
     Check out the new tags!
     Thank you for reading! XOXO
See the end of the work for more notes
Lydia closes his classroom door behind her just a few minutes after the final
bell, her heels – not nearly as high as the ones she wore when they were in
high school, but every bit as expensive and intimidating – clicking hard across
the floor. “You might have a problem.”
~*~
Stiles isn’t sure how to bring it up with Derek, doesn't want to at all,
because it’s too close to the conversation he’s been trying not to have with
him for the last three weeks, ever since he woke up the morning after
Thanksgiving half under Derek’s sprawling, warm body.
Derek didn’t stir at all when Stiles wriggled out from under him, rolling to
his side to watch him sleep; he was lying on his chest, face turned towards
him, his lovely bare back rising and falling steadily with his even breaths. It
was the first time, Stiles realized, watching the slow dance of his dreaming
eyes under his smooth, pretty eyelids, that he had ever seen Derek’s face
completely free of guile: utterly open, serene, vulnerable.
Stiles had cupped his cheek and leaned over to press a kiss on his still
slightly swollen lips before rising from the bed, trembling.
~*~
After his unsettling talk with Lydia, Stiles arrives home to the now familiar
sight of Derek reclining against the arm of his couch, legs splayed and
stretched wide as he reads. He takes a moment to simply stare at him, to bask
in his endless beauty, at how much he loves coming home to him.
Their first morning together, after Derek finally rolled out of bed and they
ate the pancakes and bacon Stiles made, they kissed goodbye at the back door
and Stiles watched, partly bemused, partly ashamed, as Derek casually strode
through his small backyard and climbed over the fence, hopping over to the bike
path that leads to the park where he left his car. Stiles had stopped locking
the back door after that; he’s found Derek waiting for him after school nearly
every day since.
“Hey,” he says, dropping his bag and gently pushing Derek’s feet off the couch
so he can sit next to him.
“What’s wrong?” Derek sits up and closes his book, eyebrows bunching together
in concern.
It catches Stiles off guard. “How do you know something’s wrong?”
“Your face. And the fact that you still have your clothes on.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, an old affectation he’s picked up again from Derek. It’s
gotten so bad that last weekend his dad made a comment about how spending so
much time around high school students is starting to make Stiles act like one
again. Stiles had nearly choked on his burger.
“Lydia overheard something today.” He had told Derek the day after Thanksgiving
about Lydia knowing about them, didn’t think it was fair for him not to know.
“More teacher gossip?”
“No, some junior girls. Apparently they all know you’re gay but are still
obsessed with you and your hotness. Not that I blame them.”
Now Derek rolls his eyes, but he moves closer, so close he’s practically in
Stiles’ lap, leaning in to mouth at his neck. “You haven’t kissed me hello.”
Stiles still can’t say no to him, and soon, Derek is spread across his lap,
grinding down while they kiss, breathy and eager. “Derek,” he pants, pulling
away, dropping his head to rest on his chest. “Derek, I gotta tell you.”
Derek stills his hips and settles back, looking at him. “What’s up?”
“Lydia’s been overhearing a lot of people talking about you. About how you
haven’t been dating anyone lately. How unlike you it is.”
“Well that’s not that bad. It’s not like anyone knows about us?”
“No. But, people are starting wonder what’s going on with you.”
“It’s true, you know.” Derek’s eyes flit down, lashes black smudges against the
light pink flush on his cheeks. “I haven’t been with anyone else. Not since
that first night at Jungle. Only you.”
And this is exactly why Stiles has been putting off having a conversation about
whether or not Derek was sleeping with anyone else. Because he knows he isn’t,
and neither is Stiles, and once they acknowledge it, once they say it out loud
to each other, it means something.
And Stiles wants it to, so very badly.
“Maybe you should,” he says, feeling Derek’s body stiffen, gut souring with how
it wrong it feels to make the suggestion, to see the way Derek’s face hardens.
But he has to do this. He can’t let his feelings for Derek put them at further
risk of discovery.
Stiles is weak, because he should be ending it with Derek, but he can’t even
bring himself to really even think about that, so he compromises, tells himself
he can stand Derek dating other guys if it means it will help keep their
relationship a secret. Because discovery means bringing chaos and disruption to
Derek’s life, the end of Stiles’ career, and not to mention whatever legal
repercussions Talia Hale might decide to throw at him (the fact that Derek
turns eighteen on Christmas day, just over a week from now, does little to
assuage his fear of her).
All of that, Stiles thinks he could handle, terrible as it would be.
But discovery also means an end to their relationship, and that's the one
consequence that scares Stiles more than all the rest.
So he’s willing to try anything.
“I mean, maybe you should start…seeing, or at least, being seen, with someone
for awhile? To keep suspicion at bay.”
Derek’s mouth is turned down at the corners, eyes dark and harsh. He slides of
Stiles’ lap, moving down the couch so they’re no longer touching.
Stiles feels cold.
“I see,” Derek says slowly. “And who do you think I should date?”
“Well, doesn’t Erica already think you’ve been seeing Jackson again? I mean,
she must think it’s strange that she never sees you with him, right?”
“She doesn’t think it’s strange because she knows it was always just sex with
me and Jackson,” Derek snaps. “You know that. I’ve told you that.”
“I know. But Derek, people…pay attention to you. You have a certain reputation.
If people start getting too curious…” He drifts off, not even willing to say
the words aloud.
“What about you? Aren’t you worried that people will think it’s weird that
you’re not dating anyone?”
“It’s not the same for me. I’m older and no one here really knows me anymore.”
Stiles shrugs. “Besides, it’s not like it’s weird for a gay guy in his thirties
in a small town to be single. It’s not like I have a lot of options,” he adds
wryly.
The second the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them, cursing himself for
his stupidity, for the look of open, raw hurt that reshapes Derek’s face.
“Oh. I get it now.” Derek grabs his boots and pulls them on with jerky, hard
movements, standing quickly. “You’re right. I’ll go see if Jackson wants to
fuck me tonight. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I was one of your limited
options.”
“Derek, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like
that.” He stands too, chest aching at the hurt and anger in Derek’s voice,
reaching for his arm. Derek jolts at the touch, knocking his hand away and
leveling him with a frighteningly sharp, angry glare. Stiles thinks that he
finally understands why so many people are scared of him. “Derek, please, don’t
go.”
Derek pulls his jacket on and stalks to the sliding glass door, throwing it
open with a loud bang. “Fuck you, Mr. Stilinski.”
~*~
“Fuck, Lyds, what am I going to do?” he had groaned after she told him about
the conversations she had overheard about Derek’s suspicious lack of boyfriends
in the last month. His face was buried in his hands again, elbows on his desk,
just like when he had admitted their relationship to her a few weeks ago. He
looked through his fingers at her, at the way she looked at him with
understanding and sympathy, possibly even pity.
“About people figuring out that something’s up with Derek, or about the fact
that you’re in love with him?”
~*~
Derek doesn’t answer his phone, and he’s not at school the next day. Neither is
Jackson.
Stiles goes through the day in a fog, making it through his lessons on
autopilot, not even half paying attention, exhausted from a night of little to
no sleep and numbed by the Xanax Lydia gave him in the staffroom before first
period.
He had collapsed to the couch in a stunned heap after Derek left last night,
stunned, confused, hating himself anew. He couldn’t believe how spectacularly
he fucked things up, how callous and thoughtless he had been.
How right Lydia was.
How hopelessly, stupidly in love with Derek he was.
How the look of hurt on Derek’s face had stabbed into his heart and lodged
itself there, sending a panicky ache through his chest that the meds only
barely touched.
The next night isn’t any better; Derek still isn’t answering his phone, and
Stiles falls asleep on his couch with an empty fifth of Jack on his chest,
tortured by every terrible image of Derek and Jackson he can conjure.
Derek is absent again the next day, but Jackson strolls into Stiles’ fourth
period world literature class with a painfully obvious hickey just under the
hinge of his stupidly square jaw. Stiles sits rigid at his desk and studies his
lesson plan, but he can’t help but watch out of the corner of his eye when
Danny Mahealani slides into the desk behind Jackson and nudges him on the
shoulder.
“Hale?” he asks with a dimpled smirk.
Jackson smiles and nods, all pretty-boy arrogance, clearly proud, and Stiles
wants to die.
~*~
Their third night together, a week after Thanksgiving, lying in bed, Derek had
told him that his relationship with Jackson had been just sex. Stiles had felt
a strange mix of relief and jealously. And then he couldn’t help but think
about what Laura had said about Derek and Cam Lahey, about what he had heard
about Derek’s relationship with Jordan, which ended when Parrish joined the
sheriff’s department. “It seems,” Stiles had said, choosing his words
carefully, stroking a hand down the elegantly muscled lines of Derek’s back,
slightly slick with sweat, “that you…only have casual relationships?”
Derek had nestled closer before answering, kissing Stiles’ ribs. “Yeah. I
haven’t been interested in more than sex for awhile now.”
He was quiet, voice neutral, like he was trying very carefully to not give
anything away, and Stiles didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t understand the
mix of anxiety and hope it stirred up in him, didn’t know how Derek would react
if he pressed him for more.
But he didn’t have to. Derek kept talking, in low tones, mouth brushing against
his skin. He told him that he had once been in love, the summer after his
freshman year. “He was a senior, captain of the baseball team. Jason. His
girlfriend was in Italy for the summer and he wanted to explore his sexuality.
I was his first guy, and he was my first everything.”
Stiles’ hand had stilled on his back, pulling him closer as Derek told him
about losing his virginity to Jason and spending three months in perfect – but
secret – bliss with him. Jason had said I love you too when Derek said it
first, and he promised that he would break up with his girlfriend when she came
back and would come out as bi so they could finally date publicly. “He didn’t,
of course,” Derek had said, voice still neutral and quiet. “And I don’t even
know why. I don’t know if he got scared, or if he was lying to me the whole
time. He went to pick her up from the airport the day before school started,
and then I never heard from him again. I spent my sophomore year watching them
together, Jason pretending like I didn’t even exist.”
Derek is far too young to sound so cynical. “It wasn't a complete loss though.
He taught me that I love to get fucked, and that’s all I’ve ever cared about
since.”
Stiles didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to make of the contradictory
mix of feelings within him. Jealousy, sure, at the thought of Derek with anyone
else, but a strange gratitude too, that at least Derek lost his virginity to
someone he cared about at the moment, even if it turned to shit. Anger, that
the asshole didn’t seem to care enough about him to at least give him an
explanation. Happiness that Derek was opening up to him, and a deeply
unsettling mix of fear and hope: scared that Derek’s just-sex approach to
relationships extended to them, and hope that it would.
Because the last thing either one of them needed was to fall in love.
~*~
On the third day after Derek stormed out, Stiles leaves the staffroom with his
fourth cup of coffee of the morning, listlessly walking to his classroom for
first period. It’s the last day of school before winter break, and it’s a half-
day, the hallways brimming with barely-contained restless energy.
He rounds the corner down the hallway that leads to his room and sees Derek,
leaning, one booted foot propped against the locker, tight ripped jeans
gripping his thighs, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. It
looks like he hasn’t shaved in days and his eyes are a little bloodshot –
Stiles isn’t entirely sure he’s sober. Derek’s surrounded by his friends,
Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, all looking just as stoned and intimidating, daring
anyone to call them on it.
And Jackson. Who, in his designer jeans and cashmere sweater, looks terribly
out of place amongst all that ripped denim and flannel. He’s pressing up
against Derek, clutching at the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in to a kiss.
Stiles does his best not to stumble, but he definitely sloshes coffee out of
his mug, scalding his fingers. He also tries his best to tear his eyes away, to
keep walking normally even though it feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart
with each step he takes closer to them.
He can’t help but think about how, as mismatched as they are in style, Derek
and Jackson more than make up for it in how absurdly handsome they both are,
how good they look together, and that just makes the knives in his heart twist
harder.
His hand is shaking now, drips of coffee still spilling over the brim. Jackson
pulls away from Derek’s mouth, smiling, just as Stiles passes by them, stepping
to the side to avoid a gaggle of freshmen girls. He catches Derek’s glassy-eyed
glare for a quick second before he darts his gaze away, turning away from his
classroom, down the hallway towards the faculty bathroom.
It takes three tries to get his key to work. Once inside he locks the door
behind him and lurches to the counter, setting his mug down with a clatter and
falling heavily on his burned, coffee-stained hands, fighting back tears.
He’s late to first period, and he doesn’t give a damn.
Later in the day, Derek doesn’t come to Stiles’ class. Granted, attendance on
the last day before break is always atrocious and Derek is one of six missing
students in his abbreviated seventh period, but still.
Derek is the only one Stiles watches out the window, eyes narrow and heart
thumping as he watches him stroll casually through the parking lot, red flannel
shirt tied low on his waist, smoking a cigarette that he tosses to the ground
before falling into the passenger side of Jackson’s Porsche.
~*~
“What about you,” Derek had asked that night, still tucked in close. “What
assholes were stupid enough to let you get away?”
Stiles laughed and rolled to his side to face him. “Not many worth mentioning,”
he said. “The first guy I loved was Brayden, senior year of college. He wasn’t
ready for anything serious, and it took way too long for me to accept that. And
then, there wasn’t anyone serious until Lucas. We were together for five
years.”
“And you broke up when you came back here?”
“Yeah. I ended it. Coming back here was just an excuse, really. Things had run
their course. For me, at least.”
Derek had kissed him then, long and slow and sweet, smiling gorgeously when he
finally pulled away. “Do you think,” he asked, “that if he had moved here with
you, or if you were still with him…this…would we still have happened?”
Stiles raised his eyebrows at him. “Would I have cheated on him with you?”
Derek had looked a little sheepish when he nodded yes, and Stiles had wondered
what he was really trying to ask. “Well, I’ve been cheated on,” he answered
slowly, watching Derek’s face. “Brayden. And I told myself that I would never
make anyone else feel the way that it made me feel.”
Derek kept his eyes lowered. “That’s good. You’re a good person.”
“But,” Stiles had said, heart beating faster. “There’s something about you,
Derek. Something that I can’t resist.” He sighed heavily, running his hands
through Derek’s hair, which he was growing out. “I think this would have
happened no matter what,” he admitted, if not feeling good about what it meant
about the kind of person he was, at least feeling good that he was being honest
with himself, with Derek.
And he couldn’t even think about what it meant, the truth of it, what kind of
confession it might be, because Derek was smiling, leaning in to kiss him
again.
~*~
Stiles spends the afternoon at school, finishing all of his paperwork and
grading before cleaning up and organizing his classroom, then helping Lydia
with hers, avoiding going home to an empty house that still smells like Derek,
to an empty bed that still smells like them. Lydia invites him to dinner with
her new boyfriend – an age appropriate professor at the community college – but
he declines, not wanting to intrude and ruin their date with his wallowing.
It’s after seven when he finally leaves, stopping by the liquor store on his
way home. By ten pm he’s drunk and in the shower, in the dark, angrily stroking
his half-hard cock, two soapy fingers in his ass.
He wants to get off. He wants to feel anything but this,this ache, but every
time he closes his eyes, all he can see is Derek kissing Jackson, Derek on his
knees for Jackson, opening himself up for him. Finally he gives up, decides
that what he needs is porn, turning off the water with a grunt and barely
bothering to dry off before wrapping a towel around his hips, angry at Derek,
angrier at himself.
He’s drunk enough that it takes him a moment to register the sight of Derek, in
nothing but black boxer briefs, sitting on the edge of his bed, his clothes a
messy heap on the floor. Stiles jolts to a stop in the middle of the room, eyes
big, taking him in. Derek’s clearly stoned and maybe a little drunk too,
judging by the faint scent of cheap beer that’s mixing with the potent smell of
pot. His eyes are bleary and red as he stares up at up him, aggressive brows
held tight in a harsh glare.
He’s beautiful.
Stiles almost asks him how he got in, but then he remembers. He still hasn’t
locked the back door.
“Hi,” he says softly, not sure if he should move closer to him, so he just
stands there, water dripping from his hair and running in cold rivulets across
his shoulders and down his chest. “Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question, he
knows. Derek looks wrecked and Stiles just wants to fall to his knees at his
feet and kiss the anger from his face, wants to get his hands and mouth back on
that flawless skin. He stops himself, barely.
“I saw you,” Derek seethes, pushing up off the bed. He takes two long strides,
athletic and graceful even in this state, and pushes Stiles until he’s backed
against the wall by the bathroom door. Derek cages him in with his forearms on
either side of his head, elbows digging hard in his shoulders. “I saw your face
when Jackson kissed me,” he practically growls, his bare skin hot. Derek’s eyes
track over his face, like he’s searching for something there. “Your fucking
face,” he mumbles, barely audible.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Stiles challenges, fingers digging into his
hard stomach, wanting to bring him closer. He’s dizzy from whiskey and
frustrated with Derek and so, so fucking happy to see him, to have him close
again, even if he’s stoned and pissed off.
“Yeah,” Derek admits finally, leaning back a little. “I did. I wanted you to
hurt like I hurt.”
“Well it worked.”
Derek lets his arms drop to Stiles’ waist, resting just above the towel. They
stare at each other for a long time, silent accusations turning to silent
apologies. “I miss you,” Derek says finally, quietly, tension leaving his
shoulders, falling in to hug him.
“Miss you.” Stiles buries his face in his neck and wraps his arms around his
shoulders, bringing him closer. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” In one surprisingly coordinated movement, Derek snaps the towel from
his waist and scoops Stiles up by the thighs, carrying him over to the bed as
he lets out a gruff laugh of surprise that Derek kisses from his lips as they
tumble to the mattress, arms and legs tangled. “I didn’t sleep with Jackson,”
Derek murmurs quietly, eyes downcast. “We fooled around, but –”
“You don't have to tell me,” Stiles interrupts. “I don’t really want to know.”
“It was your idea.”
“I know.”
“It was a stupid idea.”
“I know.” Stiles kisses him now, pushing him onto his back and straddling him,
refamiliarizing himself with his mouth, with the sweet press of the barbell
against his tongue, the way his lips are at once pliable and giving, but
strong. After three days of missing him, of agonizing over losing him, having
him underneath him again feels like a gift.
“I don’t want anyone but you,” Derek whispers, holding him close.
~*~
“Are you sure,” Stiles asks, watching Derek shimmy out of his underwear,
flushed cock rising against his abs. “I mean, we’re both kinda fucked up. Maybe
we should wait until the morning.” Stiles has no qualms, no reservations at all
that he wants to have sex with Derek right this instant, but he needs to know
Derek wants it too.
“I want you, always.” Derek stretches over him, grinding his hips. He kisses
and nibbles down his neck, making Stiles’ skin jump and rise with the rough
scrape of his young stubble. “All I do is think about you. About your hands,
your eyes, your mouth. About how good it feels when you fuck me.”
Stiles smiles and closes his eyes, rocking his hips up to meet Derek’s roll,
getting an idea. “Do you want to fuck me?”
Derek’s head jerks up, eyes wide and suddenly very focused. “What?”
“Do you want to fuck me,” Stiles repeats, cock starting to twitch at the
thought. It’s been a long time since he’s been fucked, since Brayden; he’s
almost forgotten what it’s like to give himself over to someone like that, to
be filled up so completely. He wants Derek to show him again.
“I, um, I didn’t know you liked that,” Derek says nervously.
“I do. It’s been awhile, though. If you don't want to though, it’s fine.”
Derek silences him with a hard, eager kiss. “No…I want to. I’ve just…I’ve never
done that before,” he whispers, cheeks pinking.
Stiles smiles at him, warmth blooming in his chest. “I’ll teach you,” he says
with a wink.
~*~
Stiles nearly tells him he loves him when he feels Derek’s hand shake against
the inside of his thigh as his other hand, slick with lube, gently starts to
finger his rim. He twists his head and bites a pillow instead, squeezing his
eyes shut. He’s sprawled on his back, pillow under his ass, Derek on his knees
between his spread thighs. They both gasp when the tip of his finger slides in,
Stiles rocking his hips, asking for more. Derek obliges him, pushing in farther
and reaching up to stroke his dick. He works him open slowly, eyes raking
steadily up and down his body, lingering for long moments on his face, on his
hands gripping at the sheets as he writhes, on his leaking cock.
When Stiles is whining, spread open on three of Derek’s big fingers and begging
for more, he helps him slick up his cock before settling back, spreading his
legs even wider. Stiles goes breathless, hole twitching when the wet head of
Derek’s cock presses against him. Derek just holds still there for a long time,
staring down at him, eyes locked on his before trailing down his body to watch
himself enter him, deliciously slow. The stretch and burn gives way to a
buzzing heat of pleasure when Derek’s thick head slips all the way in, both of
them gasping. “More,” Stiles demands, squeezing at his biceps. “Derek, god, yes
you feel so good, give me more, please.”
“Stiles,” Derek chokes out, half collapsing on top of him and thrusting
forward, burying himself to the hilt. It’s a blistering rush of good-pain and
hot pleasure, so bright and intense Stiles cries outs and clutches at Derek’s
back, nails digging into skin. “I’m sorry,” Derek pants, hand coming up to
cradle his face, kissing him softly, trembling. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh, Derek, shh, it’s so good, you’re doing so good.” He pets at his hair,
chest aching with the swelling depths of his love for the boy, has to bite into
his collarbone to keep from telling him. “You feel so good.” He rolls his hips,
the wet-hot drag of Derek’s thick cock stretching him wide making them both
sigh in pleasure. “You’re so good, baby,” he murmurs into his temple, rocking
his hips up.
Derek starts rolling his hips, tentative at first, kissing him with sloppy
eagerness. Soon he finds a steady pace and begins thrusting harder, faster,
biting into Stiles’ neck before rising back to his knees and hooking his elbows
under Stiles’ knees, pulling him closer, deeper. The change in angle makes
Stiles throw his head back and cry out, pulses of heat building with Derek’s
thrusts, each one more confident than the last. Soon he’s gasping, mumbling,
lost in the rising waves. “Don’t stop, Derek, fuck…don’t stop.” He gets a slick
hand around himself and squeezes tight, jerking hard in time with Derek’s
thrusts. It doesn’t take long before he arches and stills, clenching tight
around Derek’s hammering cock as he comes, spilling across his stomach.
Derek groans deep and loud, shoulders shuddering and hips snapping through his
release, shooting hot inside of him. He’s gasping, head hanging, still trying
to catch his breath when he pulls out, making Stiles yelp at the loss. Derek
smiles sweetly and pets the inside of his thighs, holding him open. He reaches
up to collect Stiles' mess from his stomach, licking some from his fingers
before slipping them inside of him, adding to the slow, messy drip of his own
come, just starting to leak out. “Fuck, Derek,” Stiles moans, awed, whole body
sensitive and raw, newly used hole wet and twitching.
He slips his fingers out and leans down, licking at him carefully, moaning.
Stiles fucking keens when he circles his tender rim with ball of his tongue
piercing before slipping it inside of him, the teasing, come-drenched steel
sending bone-deep shivers through him, spent cock starting to thicken again.
Derek rims him thoroughly, lovingly, eating up their combined come and tonguing
into him until they’re both hard again.
He falls on top of him, feverish and hot, lips red and swollen. His mouth is
alive with the taste of them, and Stiles licks greedily while fumbling for the
bottle of lube, slicking up both of their hands again. It’s messy and hot,
broken words of affection and encouragement panted into each other’s mouths as
they stroke each other off, desperate almost, consumed by the heat of their
want for each other, insatiable.
~*~
The next morning, after Stiles fucks him in the shower, Derek makes them
omelets and they eat at the kitchen table, deciding on a new plan. Derek is
going to tell Jackson and his friends that he’s met a college guy who lives in
Berkeley.
“Should of have done that in the first place,” Derek chides, reaching over to
steal the last bite of Stiles' breakfast with a grin.
~*~
At 12:01am on Christmas Day, Stiles gets a text from Derek, a picture of his
bare chest, abs rippling into the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock
that’s just barely out of frame. It’s the first time Derek’s broken Stiles’
strict no pictures rule (an edict he insisted on for obvious reasons).
This is officially legal now, the caption says. Happy birthday to us.
~*~
For New Year’s, Derek tells his parents that he’s going to San Francisco with
Erica and Boyd to visit Erica’s dad, and Stiles tells his own father that he’s
going to Portland to visit his college roommate Scott.
They take Derek’s Camaro up the coast to Mendocino, four days of freedom ahead
of them at Lydia’s beach house. Stiles drives and Derek holds his hand the
whole time, playing him all of his favorite songs and listening to Stiles
ramble about college and graduate school and the latest season of Game of
Thrones. Derek tells him more about his family and his plans to study English
and History in college, hopefully at Berkeley, neither of them commenting on
the fact that the school's only an hour and a half away from Beacon Hills.
Both of them are giddy at the prospect of getting out of town, of not having to
pretend, even if it’s just for a few days. When they stop for fish tacos for
lunch in a small beach town three hours north of Beacon Hills, it’s the first
time they’ve ever been out in public together, the first time they’ve shared a
meal openly as a couple. Derek sits next to him in their booth, hip to hip,
both of them smiling like fools the whole time they’re eating.
Stiles has made dinner reservations for tonight at the nicest steakhouse in
Mendocino, their first real date, and and he’s more excited and nervous for it
than he’s been for any date, ever. They get to the house – a cozy cottage on a
high bluff with a stunning view of the rocky coastline – in the early evening
with enough time to slowly suck each other off before showering and changing
for dinner.
Stiles is in the bedroom buttoning up his shirt when Derek emerges from the
bathroom, looking a little sheepish and uncomfortable, eyes parially downcast.
For the first time that Stiles has ever seen, he’s not wearing jeans; instead,
he’s wearing fitted black slacks that hug his thighs and hips perfectly, and a
soft, snug V-neck sweater, a dark forest green that makes his eyes positively
glow. He’s got on dress shoes on too, stiff-looking and hardly worn, and his
hair, the sides grown out long enough that he cut his mohawk off yesterday, is
all one length now, buzzed about a half-inch long. He still hasn’t shaved, and
he’s damn close to having a legitimate beard. He looks years older than
eighteen and is utterly, completely breathtaking.
“Wow,” Stiles whispers, hands frozen on a button.
“Yeah?” Derek asks, finally looking all the way up, showing how red his cheeks
are.
“Yeah,” Stiles assures him, crossing the room to kiss his answering smile.
~*~
Their table is in a secluded spot near the window overlooking the sparkling
ocean, almost-full moon high in the blue-black sky, lit by candlelight that
dances and glitters in Derek’s eyes, enchanting, romantic and perfect.
The waiter doesn’t even blink when Derek orders a beer, and Stiles isn’t sure
if it’s because of the beard and the way Derek orders with such confidence, or
if it’s the charming smile that he throws his way as he purrs his request. The
poor guy stares at him in a daze for a second before recovering, nodding and
shuffling away.
“Oh my god,” Stiles laughs. “You’re a menace.” He reaches across the table to
take Derek’s hand in his, wanting there to be no question in their waiter’s
mind – or anyone else in the general vicinity for that matter – who Derek
belongs to.
“What would you have done if he had carded you?”
“Flirted my way out of it,” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
“Wow, it must be nice to be pretty,” Stiles teases, rubbing his thumb along the
back of his hand.
Derek stares at him, smiling, but confusion tightening his brows. “You really
have no idea, do you?”
“About what,” Stiles asks, confusion on his own face now, tangling his fingers
tighter with Derek’s when he sees the waiter approaching with their drinks.
“How completely gorgeous you are,” Derek says, like it’s the most obvious thing
in the world.
~*~
After dinner, they walk downtown, hand in hand, leaning in to kiss each other
on the cheek whenever they feel like it, which is like, a lot. Ridiculously a
lot, in fact. Stiles has never been so enamored of anyone, has never wanted
shower anyone with affection the way he wants to Derek, all the time. It’s like
their anonymity here, hours away from home, has finally allowed him to give in
fully to the strength of his love for the boy. Or maybe it’s just the fantasy
they’ve built together for the next four days, fully buying into the false
reality that he and Derek are a real couple who can share their relationship
with the world. Either way, he doesn’t care.
He’s never been happier in his life.
There’s a holiday fair at the north end of town, a few blocks lit by Christmas
lights, roped off for food booths and music, craft vendors and games. They
stroll through, sipping mulled cider with whiskey, buying gifts for their
friends and families. They’re about to head back to the house when Derek pulls
him towards a photo booth, one of those old-fashioned ones that prints strips
of black and white photos.
“Come on,” Derek demands. “We don’t have any pics together.”
“For good reason,” Stiles reminds him, wincing a bit at breaking the illusion.
Derek just rolls his eyes and keeps pulling towards the small box, pulling the
half-curtain open. “Don’t you want something to remember this?”
I’ll never forget this, Stiles thinks, with or without pictures. Derek is
looking at him expectantly, digging cash out of his pocket. “Okay, fine,”
Stiles relents, reluctantly admitting to himself that yes, he would cherish any
photo he had of he and Derek together.
Derek sits on his lap even though there’s enough room for them to sit side by
side on the small stool. “You ready,” he asks, leaning back after putting the
money in, smiling down at Stiles as he smiles up at him, the camera flashing
loudly. It flashes again just as Derek’s mouth finds his, and a third time when
they both look towards it, laughing. It flashes the last time just as Derek
darts forward to plant a wet, loud kiss in Stiles’ hair, who’s still looking
forward, smiling.
They stay in the booth making out, until their photos print, arguing the entire
walk home over who gets to keep which ones, still hand in hand, still laughing.
~*~
They make love slowly, languidly, Stiles moving inside of Derek with exquisite
precision, marveling at how beautifully he falls apart, hungry and needful as
ever. Stiles comes with a growl into his neck when Derek slides a finger into
him, Derek spilling between them soon after.
They wipe themselves clean with damp washcloths before wrapping up in blankets
and heading out to the back porch overlooking the ocean to watch the midnight
fireworks. Stiles sits in a reclining deck chair and Derek leans against him,
resting his back against his chest, head fitting snugly against his neck,
buzzed hair soft and bristling.
The fireworks are glittering rainbows of fiery light, reflected back over the
smooth obsidian of the ocean, magical.
“Happy New Year,” Derek murmurs, reaching up and back to cup Stiles’ cheek,
bringing his other hand up to his mouth to kiss.
“I love you,” Stiles whispers into his temple.
Derek sighs happily and cups his cheek harder. “I love you too, Mr. Stilinski.”
End Notes
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