Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/784788.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Gift_Giving, Fuckbuddies, Angst, Barebacking
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-04 Words: 1565
****** Consider It Love ******
by mysecretashes
Summary
     Stiles and Derek are just fucking. It doesn't mean anything.
Notes
     Written for Challenge Two at Mating_Games. Based on this text.
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles and Derek have been fucking for three months.
It's just fucking: Stiles is trying to get over Lydia and Derek is damaged,
using sex to fight whatever demons keep him awake at night.
It doesn't mean anything.
*
"God, Stiles," Derek groans, twisting three of his fingers deep in Stiles'
come-filled ass. "You're going to be the death of me."
Stiles grins, breathless and sore in the best way, and hooks his hands behind
his thighs to hold himself open. "Best way to go."
Derek rolls his eyes, pulls his fingers free, and pushes in with his dick,
barely giving himself time to bottom out before he starts fucking Stiles with
hard, perfect thrusts. Stiles' dick throbs, leaving strings of pre-come on his
stomach. It's the third time they've fucked in as many hours, and Stiles spares
a moment to thank the universe for the combination of werewolf and teenage
stamina.
After that he stops thinking much at all.
*
"What's this?" Stiles says, taking the unwrapped box from Derek. It's small and
square, black, and void of any sort of brand name or logo.
Derek shrugs, not meeting Stiles' eyes. "I stepped on your watch last time we
were at my loft. Consider it an apology."
Stiles hesitates, but opens the box anyway. Inside is a silver watch, much like
the one Derek had broken, and when he takes it out the words Stiles Stilinski
are engraved on the back.
"Oh." Stiles blinks, not sure what to say. Something uneasy settles at the
bottom of his stomach, but he tells himself it's nothing. "Thanks."
*
Stiles likes to be fucked from behind, likes to have his ass in the air and his
shoulders pressed down into the mattress as Derek splits him wide open on his
dick, pounding his hips so hard against Stiles' ass there are bruises for days
afterward.
Derek likes it too, Stiles thinks; he likes to press his nails into Stiles'
hips, likes to hold Stiles' ass cheeks apart so he can watch the rim stretch
around him, likes to shove so deep inside it makes Stiles stop breathing.
*
Stiles stares at the leather wallet Derek has just handed him, and then stares
at Derek.
"It's no big deal," Derek says, glancing away. He looks uncomfortable. "I saw
it and thought of you, so I bought it."
Stiles looks back down at the wallet. It's simple, made of rich brown leather
and soft in a way that means it's probably expensive. He takes a deep breath,
fingers tightening around it. "Okay," he says, and shoves it into his back
pocket.
Derek visibly relaxes, and Stiles swallows around the sudden lump in his
throat.
*
Sometimes, Stiles lets Derek fuck his face. He's not very good at it yet, but
he likes it, and Derek always makes the best noises. He tangles his fingers in
Stiles' hair and holds on like he'll fly apart if he doesn't, hips hitching as
he tries not to choke Stiles. When he comes, he pulls out halfway through and
empties the rest onto Stiles' nose and cheeks.
*
Third time's a pattern, Stiles thinks, jaw clenching in anger as he stares at
the brand new lacrosse stick on his bed.
There's a note with it:
Your old one looked like it was about to fall apart. Pay me back by making
first line with this one.
- Derek
Stiles wants to throw the lacrosse stick against the wall, but instead he turns
around and storms right back out of his room, keys fisted in his palm.
*
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Stiles says as soon as Derek opens
the door to his loft.
Derek doesn't answer, looking confused. Stiles pushes inside, spinning to face
him, and waits.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Derek finally says, shrugging, and
Stiles might have believed him if he'd been able to meet his eyes.
"The hell you don't," Stiles says, and guilt flashes over Derek's face. Stiles
refuses to let him worm his way out of this. "The gifts, Derek. The watch, the
wallet, the fucking lacrosse stick. Why the hell do you keep buying me things?"
"I want to," Derek says, and it sounds like the words are forced out of him.
"Why are you so upset?"
Stiles clenches his hands into fists, trying not to completely lose it.
"Because that's not how these arrangements work. You don't buy each other stuff
unless you break a sex toy. End of story."
Derek's lips quirk. "We don't have any sex toys."
"Not the point," Stiles says between gritted teeth. He doesn't think anything
about this is amusing. "You need to stop."
Derek's face twists, as though he's struggling not to let what he's thinking
show. "Why?"
Stiles focuses on his breathing for a moment, trying to quell the rising panic
that's making his chest tight. "I don't need another Lydia."
Derek looks stunned, and Stiles steps around him and out of the loft, slamming
the door shut behind him.
Derek lets him go without a word.
*
Stiles hides the watch and the wallet in the top drawer of his bedside table,
and shoves the lacrosse stick in the back of his closet. There's a constant
tightness in the back of his throat, a heavy weight in his chest, but he
refuses to think about it. Stiles has been having sex with Derek in an effort
to finally move on from Lydia, not to find someone else who would steal his
heart and never give it back.
*
The text comes at one in the morning, two weeks after Stiles walked out of
Derek's loft. It's from Derek, and Stiles opens it with trembling fingers.
I don't want to be another Lydia, it reads. I want to be more.
He stares at it for a long time, eyes flicking over the words again and again.
His heart pounds in his ears and he lets out a shuddering breath, dropping his
phone onto his bed. He doesn't let himself think about how this is a bad idea,
stripping out of his pajamas and pulling on jeans and a t-shirt and shoving his
feet into a pair of sneakers.
It might be a bad idea, but maybe – just maybe – it'll be worth it.
*
Stiles knocks softly, and isn't surprised when Derek opens the door almost
immediately. He looks exhausted and scared, knuckles white where his fingers
are wrapped around the edge of the door. Stiles licks his lips, feeling his
stomach twist with nerves.
"I can't promise," he says slowly, trying not to choke on the words. He wants
to promise, wants to make Derek stop looking like the world is about to end,
but he just can't. Not right now. "But we're good together, for some reason,
and I want to try. I want to try for more."
Derek lets out a breath, swallowing visibly, and nods. "Come to bed?"
The words are hopeful but cautious, and Stiles can't stop the fond smile that
twitches at his lips. He nods and Derek steps back to let him in. Stiles
follows him up, eyeing the rumpled covers on the bed, and strips down to
nothing before climbing in. Derek pulls him close, presses his front to Stiles'
back, and tangles their fingers together over Stiles' heart.
It's warm and comfortable, and after a few minutes Stiles starts to relax. He
hasn't slept much in the past two weeks, and he can feel himself already
starting to drift off.
"Stop giving me things," he mumbles.
Derek huffs against the back of his neck, lips curving into a smile against his
skin. "No."
Stiles wants to argue, but he falls asleep before he can think of anything else
to say.
*
In the morning, Stiles wakes to open-mouthed kisses against his neck and a hard
dick pressing against his ass. He smiles, eyes still closed, and presses back
into Derek.
"Can I –?" Derek says, voice strained, and Stiles twists his head around to
give him a deep kiss. They both have morning breath, but he doesn't care.
Derek moans, slipping two already slick fingers into Stiles' ass, twisting them
around until he presses them against Stiles' prostate.
"Please," Stiles gasps, bending his knee to open himself up more. "Derek –"
Derek pulls his fingers free and presses in with his dick, the stretch and burn
causing Stiles to whimper. Derek's arm is tight around Stiles' middle, holding
on like he's scared Stiles will get up and leave, and it makes Stiles' chest
hurt. When Derek's all the way in he pauses, mouthing at Stiles' shoulder.
Stiles reaches back and buries one hand in Derek's hair, trying his best to
reassure him that he isn't going anywhere.
Derek fucks him slow and deep, kissing along Stiles' jaw and gasping into his
ear. Stiles' throat closes up, and he worms his free arm down to wrap his hand
around his dick. It only takes a few strokes before he's coming, clenching
around Derek, and Derek groans brokenly. He fucks Stiles through it, drawing
out his orgasm until it's almost painful, and then lets himself go, thrusting
into Stiles until he comes.
*
Afterwards, Stiles grins and kisses Derek and gets up to make them pancakes. He
pretends not to notice when Derek walks up behind him, wraps his arms around
Stiles' waist, and slips a key into his front pocket.
End Notes
     tumblr, if you're interested
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