Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/583849.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Stiles_is_Experienced, Glory_Hole, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot,
      Facials, Dickerella, Bottom_Stiles, When_you_get_down_to_it_this_is
      basically_Cinderella_but_with_dicks, Rimming, Comeplay, Top_Derek
  Series:
      Part 1 of Gloryverse
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-05 Completed: 2013-06-30 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 15103
****** Edge Of Glory ******
by freezepopsandoom
Summary
     Stiles and Derek. There's a glory hole involved. PWP.
Notes
     Title taken from the self-same song by Lady Gaga, because I'm a
     horrible person. This is my first foray into the writing of explicit
     porn, so please feel free to leave me feedback.
     I also need to thank my lovely enablers/betas: SLCKat and Fayriedust.
     Couldn't have done it without you!
***** Rumours of Glory *****
The first time Derek followed Stiles to Jungle was mostly for the kid's own
benefit. It was shortly after the Kanima, Jackson, had been dealt with, and
there were still some loose ends that Derek just didn't feel right about, so he
shadowed each member of his pack (including the humans - whether they thought
they were in or not), at least one a day. Luckily, they were all almost
friends, even if they were in a bit of a recovery period from all the
supernatural bullshit the universe seemed to be sending their way, but they
still hung out together. Keeping watch on a few at a time usually worked
towards their benefit and his sleeping patterns. Win-win situation.
But tonight was really the first night in the week since he’d started that
Stiles had left the house and not ended up at Scott's or Danny's (somehow they
had become better friends, if Derek had to surmise, it was because Jackson's
family moving left an opening in Danny's life for a friendship position and he
really could do worse than Stiles, but Derek would never say that out loud.
Besides, from the small talk Stiles attempted to make at pack meetings, they
had a lot of classes together. Only natural.) Curious, Derek stealthed his way
through town and, not entirely surprised, ended up parked next to the local gay
club.
He waited a few minutes and rolled his eyes as he watched Stiles in his mirror:
the boy got out of his Jeep, fidgeted with his somewhat tight shirt, readjusted
his already low-slung jeans and moved his hair around a bit in his own mirror
before deciding he looked good enough to enter. Either that or he just gave up.
He wasn't sure. As he watched, Stiles seemed to transform as he made his way
from the parking spot to the door. His gait changed and he put a small sway in
his step that actually moved his hips a bit more from side to side. Something
close to smooth confidence oozed all the way from his partly coifed hair to his
skinny jeans. His hands were tucked away in his pockets and the bouncer seemed
to know him well enough to just let him in without even the courtesy of a
carding. It was all very off.
So he waited a couple beats before getting out of his own car, and walked
calmly up to the bouncer, who waited for a flash of I.D. but did take a moment
while comparing the picture to give Derek a thorough once-over. And then a
twice-over. Derek just scowled a bit in response. He wasn't actually here to
find a playmate, he was here for surveillance. But the Henley that stretched
over his expansive chest and the black pants that showcased his thighs and ass
may have given off a different impression. Not his fault.
Besides, Derek liked his men on the skinnier side, so he can manhandle them
just the way he likes. Which was the polar opposite of the way he liked his
women: strong enough to keep up with him. Bouncer looked a little too much like
himself to pique Derek's interest.
Walking inside, he was assaulted by the flashing lights and smell of sweat and
musk and come and tequila. He took a moment to shut off his werewolf senses
from overloading his already tired brain before he crept against the wall and
tried to spot Stiles milling through the crowd.
The bright red of Stiles' shirt was unmistakable, even in the dim lighting, and
he was hanging out at the bar, drink in hand, talking to the bartender. Who was
a bit on the pale side, but had no shirt on and was a leaning into the
conversation like his smile was genuine. A small spark of some unknown, violent
desire went off in Derek's mind, but he quelled it in favour of watching them
interact some more. Stiles seemed to be enjoying the conversation, whatever it
was they were talking about, straw in between his teeth, even when he smiled
bright and happy after the bartender looked from side to side and poured a bit
more liquor in his drink.
That angry spark went off again in the back of Derek’s mind: he was here trying
to protect this most human member of his pack and they were getting drunk on
their own in public, heedless of the possible dangers?
At that moment, Stiles sipped the entirety of his first drink, cheeks hollowing
around the now deformed straw, and shook his head at the next words the
bartender threw his way. Then he sauntered out onto the dancefloor to some
hideous bass driven song with whiny vocals and Derek decided he probably
wouldn’t be needed here.
He made his way from the corner where he’d been spying by his lonesome and
noticed the eyes of most every guy he bumped into on his way to the door. It
wasn’t this crowded when he arrived, was it? Regardless, he was catching the
gazes of many a patron and, in trying to ward them off with a complicated
gesture that relied heavily on his eyebrows, he noticed one of the guys
watching him wasn’t watching the drink in his hand. The man’s partner, or
friend, whatever he was, slipped something small and pill-shaped into his drink
right as Derek watched.
Derek stopped and had a moment to think about how to deal with the situation,
but before he figured out a solution, his admirer made to take a sip of the
poison. Working on instinct, Derek grabbed the cup out of the guys hand and
locked eyes with him while throwing it back himself. He was immune to most
drugs, and any effect they had never lasted long.
It had the opposite of the intended effect, because the guy’s face went from
appreciative to angry to horny in the span of three seconds and when Derek
shifted his gaze to the perp, the guy looked like he was about to piss himself.
“Leave.” Was all Derek said. At least that actually worked, because the guy was
scrambling for the exit without one look back.
“You owe me a drink,” said the one still standing. “I’m Bryan.”
“You wouldn’t be very careful with it, and that’s no way to treat a stiff
drink,” was Derek’s entire reply and then he brushed past a startled Bryan to
make his way to the bar.
Now he was back to his original reason for the visit: protection. But not from
supernatural predators, just the human variety. Which Derek almost always
thought were worse. At least the human predators had a choice in the matter,
and most weren’t born that way.
It had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy. And Derek fucking Hale would
deny any jealousy unto his dying day.
He meandered towards a seat at the bar opposite of Stiles’ vacated one, just in
case Stiles came around to reclaim his seat. This was supposed to be a stealth
mission, but the fucks he was giving were swiftly dwindling down to zero
Not to mention, once he sat himself and ignored the other bartender’s
questioning face, his eyes found Stiles and he didn’t know quite how to process
the picture they were met with: a limber, young man in a tight red shirt,
rocking his hips in time to the music, a fine sheen of sweat above his brows.
With his arms waving above his head, back moving against the front of his dance
partner, Stiles looked relaxed and so physically sure of himself, Derek wasn’t
even sure if it was actually Stiles or something else that had possessed him.
“Really cute, right?” He was so entranced, he didn’t even notice the bartender
who leaned across the bar, the same shirtless one who was chatting Stiles up
earlier. Who had also noticed the object of his attentions.
“What?” Derek had a way with words, face careful and blank.
“It’s ok, his I.D. says he’s legal.” The bartender smiled at him. “What can I
get you to drink?”
He took a second to scout the liquors on the top shelf before answering. “Gin
and tonic. Bombay Sapphire.” He looked out at the dance floor and saw Stiles
squished between two (objectively) attractive men, his arms now around the neck
of the one in front of him. Without looking back at the bartender, he added,
“Splash of tonic with the gin.”
Still nothing to do with jealousy. Nope.
Derek watched Stiles dance and threw back about four more G+T’s and he still
felt nothing. He was very aware that it would take at least a bottle or two in
rapid succession before he even began to feel anything at all, but he
legitimately enjoyed the flavour of gin, so it wasn’t like it was a chore to
metabolise the burn right after it seared his throat.
Whenever Derek bothered to remove his eyes from his quarry, he would notice a
couple of guys at the bar seriously checking him out, but he wasn’t all that
interested. He did send a couple of apologetic smiles but that was just an
attempt at being nice. His gaze flitted back to Stiles, right as he stepped
away from the two guys he was dancing with to make his way to the bar once
more.
“Jeremy! I need another!” He heard Stiles yell over the noise, flushed from the
heat and the alcohol, face split in a wide grin. The shirtless bartender, now
revealed to be ‘Jeremy,’ laughed and finished pouring a light, amber-coloured
beer for the guy in front of him before he strutted back to Stiles and whipped
up what looked like a Tequila Sunrise. Derek eye-rolled pretty damn hard,
because Stiles would drink something fruity and colourful, not that there was
anything wrong with a drink that was mostly juice, but Stiles would.
It was a wonder Stiles didn’t notice him, but then again, maybe not.
One of the two muscular guys Stiles was dancing with came up behind him and
placed a palm flat on Stiles’ hip and whispered something in his ear, which,
dammit, if Derek hadn’t turned off his superhearing he would have caught. But
from Stiles’ reaction, it was something interesting enough to make him blush,
which brought another stab of something suspiciously like jealousy to the
forefront of Derek’s mind. A moment of clarity came in which he realised he
might actually be jealous. Then it passed.
In a fit of disgust, with himself and partially with the situation as a whole,
he caught Jeremy’s eye and motioned him over, and paid his tab in cash (with a
generous tip should he ever decide to come back.) Rising from his seat, he
noticed the guy had left and Stiles was sitting there, a look of excitement
coloured his face. It only took a moment before he was getting up and heading
to the back of the club.
A small voice in the back of Derek’s brain told him he needed to follow, if for
nothing other than to check to make sure Stiles wasn’t going to get stabbed in
the bathroom. Or worse, some sick part of him wanted to know if Stiles was
going to the back room, where he knew that casual hookups were part of the
appeal.
So he went.
He followed Stiles all the way to the restrooms, and slipped in, fully
intending to talk to him, make up some story about the guy he was flirting with
or warning him about some sort of false alarm with one of the betas that may
need his help. He wasn’t sure, but he’d work it out while he was talking.
What he wasn’t expecting was for Stiles to be in one of the tiny, cramped
stalls,with almost no light to see by. There was a moment where Derek wondered
how his life had come to this, and so he got into the stall right next to
Stiles’, locked the door and stood there before deciding how to start the
conversation. He also wasn’t expecting to see three fingers in the dim light
creep through a hole in the wall between their two stalls. A hole he hadn’t
seen before then.
After a moment of paralysed inaction, he knew what those fingers meant, he
heard a little huff from Stiles’ side.
“C’mon, dude.” There was a little wiggle of his fingers to accompany the words.
Derek stilled, not even sure he was breathing. Stiles’ next words were a small,
needy whine and he sounded like he’d had a drink or two. “Just let me taste
it.”
The words wrought a fiery path from Derek’s ears straight to the tip of his
cock, which roused at the possibility of even more attention. He released the
breath he’d been keeping prisoner and wondered if he could actually go through
with this.
“You said you’d feed it to me,” he whined again. Derek was struck with the
realisation that the guy from the bar must have been the one he was talking
about. That Stiles had planned on blowing this random guy in this bathroom.
Right where he was currently standing. Jealousy streaked through him and he
very nearly growled, but his dick was straining against his jeans and he
decided if Stiles wanted to blow someone, he could make that happen.
He shuffled the two steps which would place his crotch right at level with the
hole in the wall, and immediately, Stiles’ hand reached out to pet him through
the fabric. Derek hissed at how eager Stiles was, how much he wanted this. He
wondered if this got Stiles off more than anything else, faceless sex in a
bathroom.
“Yeah, give it to me.” Derek felt like his gut might collapse in on itself.
Heat pooled and his dick throbbed, almost to the point of pain, behind his
jeans. Stiles was working on that though, because once he stopped rubbing
Derek’s hard-on, he started to undo Derek’s fly, one button at a time. Single-
handedly, as if he’d had much practice in this.
The heat from his anger just added to the rest of the heat that pooled in his
belly, right under his abs.
Stiles took his time with the buttons, but Derek waited until he had them all
undone, and and his hand retreated before he pulled his pants down, and set his
cock free. A quick adjustment to the cooler air and then Stiles wrapped his
hand around it, through the hole, and gave a couple of firm squeezes. Derek
moaned at the contact, at knowing that Stiles was holding his dick and didn’t
even know it was his. Stiles reciprocated Derek’s moan and then tugged a bit
until Derek got the hint.
He pushed forward until his cock was completely on the other side and he
couldn’t see anything. He was beginning to understand why people did this, as
it cut off any other sensory input.
A few more strokes in Stiles’ long, skinny fingers before he kissed the tip and
Derek heard a whine escape his throat without any permission from him. He
wanted this more than even he had realised. Stiles kissed the head again,
almost reverently, before swiping a thick tongue right over the slit. A sharp
intake of breath and Stiles took him into his mouth, wet and hot and more
perfect that he’d ever wondered.
Derek felt the warm suction of Stiles’ mouth and braced his hands on top of the
wall. Stiles snaked his tongue in sweeping motions on the underside of Derek’s
shaft while he took him in as deep as he could. Which wasn’t too bad, but then
he had to remind himself that the boy apparently had practice at this sort of
thing.
Stiles went down until Derek’s cock was hitting the back of his throat and
Derek thought he might just explode at that moment. It felt like he was having
a low-voltage current run through his body, just enough to make them tense and
unwind and close enough to that precipice of pain for it to be enticing. He
moaned loud and clear as he felt a little bit of precum leak out.
There was a slight gagging noise before Stiles relaxed his throat and then all
the warmth was gone, the cool air of the bathroom shocking him out of his
singular train of thought.
“You taste so good,” he heard Stiles say around a sniffle. Then his mouth was
back on Derek, licking up and down and around and covering every hard inch that
he could get with his lips, with his tongue. “You’re bigger than I thought
you’d be,” he mouthed right into Derek’s flesh.
It took everything in Derek’s power not to talk back. Not to ask Stiles if he
thought about his dick often. Thought about sucking him off, or riding him in
the Camaro. Thought about Derek fucking his mouth and cumming on his moles.
Because Derek had a feeling that this is all he would be thinking about for a
long time.
A hand joined Stiles’ lips as they closed on the head once more, this time
moving up and down, setting a steady rhythm of heat and wet and suction, and
Derek lost himself in the whole affair, hips stuttering to meet lips. The slide
of Stiles’ fingers, coated in his own saliva, as they squeezed and rocked back
and forth. The boy’s tongue was in constant motion, spinning around the head
and focussing on the ridge as if he knew exactly how Derek liked it without
ever having told him.
Little noises of affirmation leaked out of Derek like steam and he moaned as
Stiles slid off and laid another small kiss right on the tip, sent a jolt of
pleasure coursing up his spine. He felt nothing for a second, a moment to
gather himself again from the wreck that Stiles had made of his shaking body,
before he felt a warm breath right at the base of his cock. A cold nose nestled
itself in space where groin met sex, and Derek heard more than felt Stiles
inhale, long and deep.
“Oh god,” they both whispered at the same time.
“I... Don’t normally,” Stiles started, the first hint of trepidation since he’d
walked in the club. “But I’d really like it if you came in my mouth.” Derek
groaned and dropped his head against the cold wall and he could hear the smile
in Stiles’ voice as he said, “Ok.”
Another low moan escaped Derek’s lips as Stiles took a breath and then
swallowed Derek from tip to balls in one go. This time, Derek pumped his hips
and Stiles stayed put to make Derek do all the work as Stiles groaned around
him, the vibrations causing Derek to leak a bit more right down Stiles’ throat.
A few minutes of Derek fucking Stiles’ mouth and he had to stop if he wanted
this to last much longer. But Stiles had other plans. He pulled off until just
the head was between his lips again and sucked while pumping Derek’s cock,
squeezing and rubbing, lubricated only by his own coating of saliva.
The heat that had been pooling in Derek’s gut got tighter and tighter until he
felt the familiar tingle at the base of his spine move forward. His orgasm
crashed outward and he felt his cock grow even more stiff before throbbing and
jumping, spewing white, hot cum right onto Stiles’ waiting tongue, cursing
under his breath the whole time. Stiles just swallowed and licked and sucked
until, with a final shudder that wracked his entire body, Derek was cleaned
out.
It took a few more minutes before Derek got his bearings again, he couldn’t
remember the last time he came so hard. Stiles continued to lick Derek’s
softening shaft, interspersed with kisses. He stopped for a few seconds and
Derek wondered if he could have his dick back when Stiles showed his age again.
“So... I was thinking. Maybe we could get some coffee or something?”
Derek paused for a second and then decided on a tactical retreat before he did
or said something stupid.
He pulled his junk back through the hole and stuffed it in his pants, wincing
at the contact of the fabric so soon against his spent flesh. He didn’t even
bother to button all the way up before he unlocked the door and rushed out
through the club, avoiding every eye. Jeremy gave him a pointed look when he
passed by the bar, but Derek pretended he didn’t actually see it.
Time was mostly a blur as he drove back to his apartment on the other side of
town, and then he lay down that night, his dreams were full of freckles and
pale skin and that cupid’s bow of a mouth he had wrapped around him.
Derek promised himself he would never follow Stiles alone again. Or ever go
back to the club. He was never the best as keeping his own promises.
***** Eyes Have Seen The Glory *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles returns to Jungle after an angsting spell, because he needs to
     take his mind off things. Derek follows him and is generally a
     creeper. Again.
Chapter Notes
     Many thanks to my betas/enablers once again: SLCKat and Fayriedust.
     Any mistakes the three of us didn't catch can be labelled 'artistic
     license.'
     Thank you for reading!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It hadn’t been the first time Stiles had asked some random guy if they wanted a
quick blowjob in the bathroom, with the added fantasy from the glory hole. He
just hadn’t been expecting his latest experience to change his entire
worldview.
Now, when he mentioned this in hushed tones to Danny at lunch, his friend just
rolled his eyes with the implicit promise to not share any of this information.
Lucky enough for Stiles, none of the wolves were well tuned to his particular
voice (or seemed to shut it out in an active fashion, which, rude) but that
left Danny as the only person to know about his other extracurriculars that
didn’t involve monsters. Stiles thought it was kind of funny that most of his
friends were in on the whole monster thing, but not his relatively newfound
need for a sexual fix, and the one friend who knew about his sexual habits
didn’t know about the monsters in his life.
But the real problem with the whole situation arose when he found the same guy
whose load he swallowed (first time he ever did that, by the way - it wasn’t
like Stiles was stupid enough to do that all the time) and awkwardly asked him
for it again to a very blank, but nonetheless excited, look. So he got the same
dark-hard, muscular guy that he thought he had last time, and when the guy
stuck his dick through the hole, Stiles was left surprised and unimpressed.
Took him about two straight minutes of staring at the guy’s dick, and not
touching it, before he made the final judgement that it wasn’t the same one he
blew (and sucked and swallowed and fell a little bit in love with). So Stiles
kind of skipped out on him and dashed his way back home before he had a minor
panic attack.
He spent the next two days deconstructing the event in his mind, and decided
that some other guy had just happened to follow him in there and got a no-
strings-attached, not-even-a-name blowjob. Not entirely out of the question,
seeing as it was Jungle, and he was a little intoxicated, so the finer details
of the guy leaving in such a rush were blurry. But that would be Stiles’ luck.
Three weeks passed. Three weeks, and the more often Stiles went back to Jungle,
the less sure he was that the events that he kept replaying in his down time
had ever actually occurred. It was becoming an issue, partially because he ran
out of lotion and his own dick was both appreciative of the attention and
getting to the point where much more self-love might end in chafing. Which was
something he didn’t look forward to by any means.
Another problem arose when, for the next two weeks after that, whenever he went
back to the club and found himself on one side of the glory hole, he honestly
didn’t want any of the other dicks that got shoved through that hole. He just
didn’t. He was officially ruined, and worse, he couldn’t even yell at the guy
who ruined him.
It wasn’t like he spent all his free time there, just to be clear, but whenever
he found himself with a night free of the odious burden of friendship (which,
sadly, was increasing in frequency), he would put on one of his three tight
outfits and go dancing and pray for that one guy to just grab him from behind
on the dancefloor, talk dirty right in his ear, tell him all the ways he wanted
to fuck him and then take him home and actually do all that fucking and then go
to Starbucks and buy him a post-coital coffee and pastry. But that was just,
you know, a hypothetical. Stiles wasn’t hung up on some random guy he would
probably never see again. Nope.
After the end of the fourth week AD (After Dick), Stiles had pretty much given
up on ever finding that particular cock ever again and so he decided he’d get
drunk and call Danny for a ride home again. Mourn the dream in the only proper
way. So he shot a text in that general direction and hoped for the best before
he changed and went along his not-so-merry way.
A Thursday, so it was half price vodka night, and Stiles once again wondered
how he had acquired that knowledge and a fake I.D. that actually got him in
there the first time. He wasted no time and crawled through the crowd, right up
to the bar.
“Stiles!” Jeremy greeted him like an old friend, which Stiles was still getting
used to, and Stiles always gave him an odd look because of it. At least he had
a shirt on tonight. Even if it barely contained his well-kept physique, which
normally would have been something to which Stiles’ eyes were drawn, it was
better than a shirtless Jeremy, but tonight Stiles didn’t care one way or the
other. Stiles returned his favourite bartender’s smile then let his head drop
to the bar the second he sat down. “So. Two shots of vodka, then, coming right
up.”
“I love you.” The words were muffled because of the bar and the people, but
Jeremy heard him. He assumed Stiles had been through a break-up or was head
over heels in love, the kind that wasn’t returned, and wondered who would
possibly break the poor boy’s heart like that. He took pity on his young
friend.
“On the house,” Jeremy added.
Head raised, mouth agape, Stiles stared in wonderment. “Let’s drive to
Washington and get married... I’ll be a good housewife!” It would have been a
lie for Stiles to say he wasn’t attracted to Jeremy, because look at the guy.
Plus, he was just really nice to Stiles. Always had been, even from that first
visit with Scott when he had no idea what he was doing besides trying to ignore
a burgeoning attraction to men in general (and looking for a snake that wasn’t
in anyone’s pants).
Jeremy just smiled even harder and Stiles took the first shot that was poured
for him and threw it back, feeling the specific and alcoholic burn of shitty
vodka. A laugh exploded out of Jeremy.
Stiles grimaced, smacked his lips and wondered what he’d ever done to offend
that vodka so much. “Holy god, that was awful.”
“On the house means cheapest, so my liquor counts aren’t too off. Sorry.” His
smile was apologetic, despite the mirth in his eyes, and liquor is still
liquor. There was still cause for celebration. So Stiles took the second shot
before the burn had died from the first. Another grimace and another snort and
Stiles was thinking he could definitely go dance a little bit. Work off some of
his sadness.
He smiled at Jeremy and waved a hand in a vague motion towards the now crowded
dancefloor before he got up and swayed his way into the rhythm. Normally it
could be said that he moved a bit awkwardly and that his lanky limbs didn’t
want to cooperate, but trying not to force his body to stillness and letting it
just move made a huge difference.
Stiles may not have been a big fan of dance music, but he really loved the
volume that took his many extra thoughts and ground them to a fine dust between
the bass notes. It was an escape in more than one sense, one Stiles had grown
accustomed to before his trips to glory. Hips swayed and dipped and he threw
his hands in the air until a nice gentleman joined him and he could grab onto
something.
It was another stupidly attractive gay guy in this relatively small town and
Stiles had to wonder if it was something in the water and how he missed out on
it. His dance partner didn’t seem to be complaining, if his roaming hands and
grinding hips were any indication.
The vodka caused a slow, heated creep from his stomach upward, warming him even
further beyond the dancing and the close quarters. It was a welcome sensation,
the preoccupation of his mind with the music and his body with the movement. It
was so welcome that when another dancer pressed himself firmly along Stiles’
back, another layer of searing heat, Stiles’ thoughts turned from vertical to
horizontal.
He turned around and, without hesitation, put his lips onto the new guy’s and
figured he could blame the vodka if there were any grievances. But the new guy
swiped his tongue on Stiles’ bottom lip, begged for invitation, so Stiles
wasn’t too worried. They stopped gyrating to just explore each other’s mouths,
lips puffy and tongues searching for treasure. The guy bit Stiles’ bottom lip,
worried it between his teeth, and Stiles made a noise entirely unbecoming of
someone with their clothes still on.
The guy’s hands moved from Stiles’ waist to his ass and squeezed as he pulled
their hips flush. It was two points of pleasure, both his front and his back,
and his brain short-circuited until he remembered his original goal: forget
about the other guy. He seemed to be succeeding for once, and thought, hey, why
not just pick this one?
Stiles leaned in to the guy’s ear and offered the same thing he usually did in
this situation, and when the guy spoke, he looked so turned on that Stiles had
to walk around his own hard-on the whole way to the bathroom. He was completely
oblivious to the pair of red, glowing eyes that followed him.
He walked in and closed the door to the stall that he’d mentally referred to as
‘his’ for the past two months or so and got on his knees with the full
knowledge that his partner was following.
The din of the club was lessened significantly in the bathroom and Stiles had a
moment to wonder why that was when the noise returned full force to signify
that the door had been opened. A spark of excitement settled in his gut as he
thought about what he was going to do. The thrill of not-quite-anonymous sex
got him off every time. He’d go home and remember the hot, heavy feeling of
cock on his tongue, the taste of sweat and precum, and it wouldn’t take much
more than a couple good squeezes and Stiles was finishing on his stomach.
He heard the door close and then something like fabric rustling and then Stiles
heard the voice of his dance partner. “Dude, what is your-...Woah. Ok.
Leaving.” Wait, leaving?
“Leaving?” Stiles said, his voice a bit higher than normal. He stood up before
he heard the metallic clang of the other door’s lock sliding shut. Not sure
what was going on or what just happened, Stiles thought to make a break for it
when he heard the telltale zip of jeans and he paused. Looking down, he saw
something familiar making its way through the hole in the wall.
“Oh my god.” It was a whisper he barely heard himself, but Stiles took a moment
to wonder why it was the exact moment he stopped looking for this guy, that he
showed up. But then he was on his knees, nose nestled right at the point where
dick met hips and he just inhaled the scent of musk and man that he didn’t even
realise he’d missed. Without thinking, his mouth just started to go off on its
own.
“I looked for you for a month,” he said, voice husky with lust, right into the
guy’s hair. He brought a hand up to stroke him, but it wasn’t like he needed
any help. Rock hard, long and thick, if a bit pale, Stiles could see some of
the veins and his mouth watered at the prospect. He whispered, “I couldn’t stop
thinking about you.”
Stiles mouthed small kisses from the base to the tip, slowly, like he might not
get the chance again anytime soon. If his luck held out for once a month, he
wanted to savour it.
Remember it. Use it later when he’s back home alone and has nothing but his
fingers to pretend with. Mouthing kisses back down the other side, Stiles
brought his other hand up to fondle the man’s balls, tugging lightly and
rolling them back and forth. It was something he enjoyed doing to himself, so
why not?
The moan he got in response was the first noise he’d heard, so he indulged a
private smile before he returned his attentions to the tip. His lips closed
around it and his tongue swirled, tasting precum. Stiles was so hard he ached,
but he couldn’t spare himself a hand: they were too busy worshipping the guy in
his mouth.
Pausing a moment to take a deep breath, Stiles closed his eyes and opened his
throat as wide as he could before he slowly brought his mouth down to swallow
the man whole. Lips sealed around the base, tongue writhing as much as
possible, Stiles had to remember to control his breathing through his nose and
ignore the burn of his jaw. He felt impossibly full, the heat radiating out
from him and he wondered if this is what it felt like to be truly fucked. He
swallowed the spit that was gathering, or tried to, and that’s when his guy
released a long, drawn out groan. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes,
and that was the sign that Stiles should probably back off, give his throat a
rest, even if he really, really didn’t want to.
“You taste so much better than I remember,” Stiles panted, swiping at his eyes.
Every shift in his body rubbed his dick against the fabric of his boxers and
when he was this hard, it was all he could do not to grab himself and get off
on his own with a few strokes. Dipping his head a little, Stiles snaked his
tongue out to lave at the man’s balls. He sucked them each into his mouth one
after the other and tasted sweat. Licking one long stripe on the underside of
the shaft, Stiles made his way back to the top along the thickest vein, where
he planted another kiss.
“I’ve been fucking myself on my fingers imagining it was you.” Only part of
this could be blamed on the vodka. Stiles felt more drunk on hormones than he’d
ever been on booze. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Just the thought of
you inside me again really did it for me. About twice a day,” he added. All the
man ever seemed to do was moan and groan, and Stiles tried not to be a little
bit disappointed by that, but he figured at least he still got the dick, so it
wasn’t a total loss.
That in mind, Stiles returned his lips and tongue to their business (or the
only business Stiles thought did any real good in the world) and licked him
like candy, hollowing his cheeks at points and sucking hard enough to draw out
some more of the sticky, almost sweet nectar he so craved.
Stiles thought he might like to die this way, dick in his mouth, sucking his
way into nirvana.
He kept going and going, despite the muscles in his legs protesting their
treatment and his own dick hard beyond the border of painful. He kept up the
slow rhythm he’d started in the beginning, rarely giving his mouth a break to
slide across the hard flesh with his fingers.
There was no question this time, Stiles never even thought to ask, but he just
kept working him over, sliding his lips over the man’s cock, flicking his
tongue and swallowing when he could. He had almost no warning, other than the
hard length getting impossibly harder in his mouth, before hot spurts of cum
splashed the back of his throat and he had to pull back.
Maybe not the best idea in the world, because then the white sticky stuff got
splattered on his face, coating his mouth and cheek with a little dripping down
his chin, following the line of spit he couldn’t get back. He wasn’t sure what
exactly just happened, other than he accidentally just got a facial, and when
the realisation hit him full force, the heat that had been gathering at the
base of his spine erupted, he groaned and came in his own pants without so much
as a helping hand. There might be some residual shame about that later, but at
the time, Stiles couldn’t say he minded other than there was a big mess to
clean up.
Stiles wiped his chin on his forearm and went back in to lap up the remains and
suck the softening flesh, no matter how hard the man on the other side hissed.
He didn’t pull back, so it obviously didn’t hurt that bad.
A little bit of clean up with toilet paper (which didn’t work quite as well as
Stiles had hoped - seriously, he would just rather swallow or let it fall to
the floor than get it on his face) was in order and he the guy hadn’t pulled
back yet. So maybe there was hope?
“Y’know, a little warning would have been nice,” Stiles said as he pawed at his
face. Maybe there wasn’t hope. Not with Stiles’ brain at the helm. “I know
you’re not much of a talker, I’ve also been told my blowjobs can do that to a
man, but I’d like to ask again...” Stiles stopped midsentence.
There was a measured stillness before Stiles had the small panic that the guy
was just going to leave and he might not see him again. Without a care for the
state of his pants, Stiles rose and would have made it out of the stall quicker
if he weren’t back to his usual clumsy self and tripped a little bit on the
way. It was apparently just enough time for the his blowee to get the hint and
with a horrid noise like wrenching metal followed by the loud music, Stiles was
left alone in the bathroom once again.
He tried not to despair about the fact that, for the second time, the guy had
decided he’d rather flee than get to know him any better (and maybe set up a
regularly scheduled dicking appointment, because that could definitely satisfy
Stiles’ itch in more ways than one). But when he cleaned up well enough that he
could go out and face the world again, he checked the state of the stall next
door and saw that the guy actually had wrenched the lock off the frame.
Apparently there wasn’t enough time to unlock the damn thing, so he just pushed
hard enough to break it. Upon further inspection, Stiles found what looked
suspiciously like punctures on that side of the stall, up at the top, in a
perfectly made hand formation.
Stiles had some investigating to do, and he tried his best not to let these few
observations get his hopes up too high. Phone retrieved from back pocket,
Stiles called Danny only to learn he was already at the club that night and
that Danny wanted to ask him a couple questions himself.
Chapter End Notes
     So since this has expanded into a 'verse, it wouldn't be too far out
     there to bother me for a final chapter for this story, and possibly
     other stories featuring other characters' trips to Glory! Twitter:
     @8DDD/Tumblr: triskelion-trampstap
***** Ragged Glory *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek confronts Stiles about his trips to the glory hole.
Chapter Notes
     THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HELD IN THERE FOR THIS FINAL CHAPTER,
     please don't hate me for taking so long. Thanks for bothering me and
     cheering me on and thank you to my LOVELY beta, Fayriedust! (Any
     remaining mistakes are my own.)
     I would highly suggest you return to the previous chapters before
     starting this one because otherwise it might not make as much sense
     (since it's been so long since the previous chapter was posted.
     Again, please don't hate me.)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek lasted exactly one night before he sought out Stiles. In a real person-
to-person kind of kind of interaction this time (instead of the blessed
anonymity that got him into this mess), mostly because his brain refused to let
up on him.
His dreams that night were wracked with images of Stiles in any number of
positions, ecstasy written on their bodies in lines of sweat and come. When he
did his morning run through the forest, he always stopped in the same little
alcove, which now looked like the perfect place to take Stiles on his hands and
knees, pull his hair and make him beg for it. In the shower, he was bombarded
with images of Stiles naked and on his knees, water clumping his eyelashes
together as he closed those maddeningly perfect lips around Derek’s erection.
Derek had it bad, and clearly Stiles wanted him back, at least in a sexual
capacity. And even if Stiles didn’t want anything else from Derek but his dick,
Derek was inclined to give it to him. But Derek had thought about more, had
taken into account his previous jealousies and thought about having Stiles in
more than just that one way. It was a thought he wasn’t altogether against, at
least from a selfish view. He was still aware he shouldn’t want any of it.
So the next evening, Derek walked from his apartment across town (in an effort
to blow off some of the nervous energy he’d accumulated, despite getting
release the night before and jacking off twice that day already) all the way to
the Sheriff’s home. The Jeep was in the parking lot, as was the other car.
Derek didn’t like to think about the sheriff’s car, as it seemed to have it out
for him, even if it was technically the first place he got to see Stiles’ moles
up-close.
Sunset was approaching, so Derek maneuvered his way onto the roof to wait for
Stiles’ father to leave. If he wasn’t gone by eight or nine, Derek told himself
he would just give up and try again tomorrow. At about 10 (Derek ignored his
own cut-off limit, which was something he also ignored with masterful aplomb),
the Sheriff walked out and he heard the engine turn. Luck was on his side
tonight.
Derek tuned into his stronger senses and heard the car drive off down the
street and turn onto the road that headed in the direction of the Sheriff’s
office, which meant he might not be coming back too soon.
Even better; Derek wanted to take his time.
Being that his senses were on full blast, there was no way Derek could have
missed the sliding of wood that signaled a window opening, or the wafting of
scents that followed. He smelled Stiles and sweat and arousal and come and
Derek felt it push all the wind out of him, lust replacing most of the logic
that was left in his brain.
A wave of heat coiled in his gut, the tell-tale signs of his own excitement. It
only served to sharpen his senses, and he heard the scratch of nails on flesh
and a small sigh escape Stiles’ throat and he couldn’t handle it anymore.
A jump and slight twist of his body and he landed on the carpet of Stiles’
room, eyes immediately honed onto Stiles’. The boy was on his bed, hands
hovering pointedly away from his body, like he was caught red-handed. He wore
nothing but a pair of boxers with cartoon wolves printed on them, and Derek
didn’t know whether he should smile or roll his eyes at that one. But Stiles’
face split into a wide grin (dare Derek think it? He looked almost wolfish), he
dropped his arms to his chest and sat up, which made Derek knee-jerk to a
glare.
“I figured out it was you,” Stiles said, voice a bit rough, as if he’d had
something lodged in his throat. Derek froze to a level of stillness only
granted by a hyperawareness of one’s body, eyes wide, the fledgling bud of
panic ready to spread its wings at a moment’s notice. He had nothing to say to
that, because it was true and it had been his intention to seduce and then do
the big reveal (quite literally), but Stiles, as usual, put a tiny wrench in
those plans, which then blew up in his face.
“Stiles,” Derek started, a small edge of anger laced with the barest hint of
terror in his tone, but Stiles interrupted him.
“Besides the fact that you scratched up the metal on your side, punctured it
with your freakish, wolfy claws,” Stiles curled his own hands and pawed the
air. Panic left Derek’s system and Stiles paused for effect. “Danny asked me
what Miguel was doing in the club, with a little too much interest, if you ask
me.” Stiles spoke slowly, while he swung his legs over his bed and rose, hands
skating down his chest, blunt nails scratching a series of delayed red streaks
from his collar bone, down to the edge of his boxers. Derek’s eyes were
transfixed, following the paths downward as they reddened, back up to Stiles’
eyes, then back down to the wolf-print boxers. Which he no longer gave any
fucks about.
Derek stood tall as Stiles took a couple of tentative steps towards Derek,
until they were eye to eye. Stiles reached around him and let the blinds fall,
not taking the time to close the window.
“I was hoping it was you,” Stiles whispered into the heat between them, eyes
roaming up, down and around, drinking-in everything Derek offered as if he were
dying of thirst. “When I saw the claw marks, I started hoping it was you.”
Derek didn’t have much to say to that either.
Stiles sank to the floor, to his knees, never breaking eye contact, hands
moving to Derek’s fly. Derek was already hard, had been painfully hard since
Stiles raised those pretty red lines on his soft, pale skin.
Slim fingers made quick work of the buttons and Stiles pulled the jeans down,
leaving Derek’s black briefs tenting out towards himself. He rubbed and
squeezed Derek through the fabric, added friction to the natural heat of flesh,
and Derek was already moaning soft pleasures into the night. It was softer than
Stiles had imagined, the fabric. Derek was a rock solid heat underneath the
cotton and Stiles could only rub a couple of times before he broke eye contact
to mouth Derek through the briefs. Breathe in his scent.
While Stiles may not have had a drink tonight, he still felt drunk and way too
hot, even with next to nothing on, and his skin burned with lust at the thought
of touching Derek again and his mind was overwhelmed at the prospect of Derek
watching Stiles touch him. For the first time.
Moving his hands up to hook a couple fingers in the briefs, Stiles felt another
little jolt go through him at making first actual contact with Derek’s skin. He
looked up and locked on to Derek’s gaze, eyes pleading, asking permission
before he released the main object of his desire. Derek brought a hand to rest
on Stiles’ cheek and never gave him the ‘ok.’
“Stiles,” he started, voice soft but eyes heated and pupils blown wide, “You’ve
swallowed me twice now. I think it’s my turn to make you come.” Stiles’ mouth
dropped open of its own volition, went desert dry and Derek felt his heartbeat
spike.
“You’ve gotten me off more times that I care to say, but hey, if you want to
blow me back, I won’t complain.” Stiles would have been embarrassed if he
weren’t so used to himself, and the predatory smirk that Derek shined down at
him helped with that too.
“Take those off and lay back on the bed,” Derek commanded, already dropping his
leather jacket and reaching for his own shirt. It didn’t take him long to
remove his own clothes but when he was standing there, naked and flushed with
heat and desire, he looked up to see that Stiles had been staring at him from
his seat on the bed, still barely contained by the wolf-print. Derek cocked an
eyebrow at his partner, who looked like a bit like a fish, mouth opening and
closing in short bursts, eyes fixed on Derek. “I didn’t think I’d have to
repeat myself.”
The words snapped Stiles out of his reverie and he had one thought (blowjob)
before he pushed his underwear down and lay on his back, arms slanted behind
his head, smug grin plastered on his face.
But Stiles was neither smiling nor smug for long, as Derek dropped to his knees
and put both of his hands on Stiles’ thighs. He started kissing each of the
younger boy’s knees, one after the other, and alternated kissing and licking
and nipping his way up Stiles’ legs, eyes closed to better take in the
shuddering breaths and delighted twitches he was causing.
Avoiding Stiles’ dick, despite how badly he wanted to lick it, all hard and red
and already leaking, he shifted up, hands sliding to bracket hips and he sucked
bits of Stiles’ stomach, raising more blood to the surface, licking and blowing
in succession.
It was as if Stiles’ entire body had decided that he was super sensitive, so
Derek’s eyelashes tickled at the same time that his scruff scratched and
burned, not an altogether bad burn, but added to the hickeys Derek was sucking
into his stomach, then licking hot and blowing cool, Stiles thought he might
just cease to exist. Sex was always good, but sex with Derek reduced him to a
bundle of breathy moans and shaky need only held together by Derek’s body heat
enveloping his own. And they weren’t even properly fucking yet.
Derek licked up Stiles’ chest, following the now-fading scratch marks, and when
Stiles bent his head down to accept the kiss he was expecting, Derek tilted his
chin back up and bit down on the patch of skin right where neck met shoulder.
It wasn’t a soft bite. Stiles shuddered out a high-pitched whine, full of need,
and collapsed further into the bed the second Derek let him go.
“Holyshit, ow,” Stiles said, with no real conviction. The pain was fleeting and
it was only after Derek backed off and dropped his forehead to Stiles’ hip that
Stiles registered that it hurt, instead of just set his nerves on fire in a
direct line from his neck to his cock.
“I’m... Stiles-,” Derek started, also breathless. He raised his head to plead
his case or offer an apology, but Stiles met him, will for will, stared right
into his penitent eyes.
“Well don’t stop now.” Stiles grinned, a bit manic, heart rabbiting, pulse
heightened far above normal. It was a new sensation for the boy to straddle the
line between scared and turned on. Intellectually, Stiles was aware they were
similar, from a biological perspective, but first-hand experience was always
enlightening.
It only took enough time to process the words before Derek’s eyes went Alpha
Red and his nails elongated into pinpricks against Stiles’ hips, not enough
pressure to break the skin, but still skating just this side of painful. Sadly,
the nails digging into his sides did absolutely nothing to abate his arousal.
In fact, once again proving his enjoyment of his own pain, he got even harder.
He didn’t know when this became his life, but he’d deal with it when he didn’t
have a porn-star hot alpha werewolf about to swallow him from tip to base.
Derek dropped his forehead back to Stiles’ hip and kissed and nuzzled sweetly,
and Stiles had to wonder how much practice he’d needed before he could kiss
while fanged-out and not cut either himself or his kissing partner.
“I need a minute,” Derek said. It was soft and mumbled right into Stiles’ skin,
where it buzzed and brought a small moan out of him. Knowledge that he could do
that to Derek, make him lose the precious control that defined his entire
being, it was a power rush. And being a human in a werewolf pack, Stiles often
felt a little on the powerless side. So Derek could have as much time as
needed.
“No rush,” he replied after a moment. Stiles relaxed back onto the bed, closed
his eyes and draped an arm over his face. If he had to look at Derek while he
was trying to cool off, it might be over way too soon.
Stiles felt Derek’s claws scale back, and that was really his only indicator
that Derek had reigned himself in, and when he uncovered his face to peek down,
Derek was licking his lips, staring straight at him. Stiles groaned, “You’re
going to kill me.”
“Not before I make you come at least twice,” Derek said. Not bothering with a
reply of any kind, Stiles whined and covered his face again. Too much sensory
input.
Derek once again kissed the tender flesh on the inside of Stiles’ thighs, moved
around to nip at the bones that jutted out from his thin hips, then licked up
his treasure trail while he traced the long lines of Stiles’ legs with his
fingers. Stiles was once more in a trance, feeling everything too much: the
heat of him, his (thankfully clawless) fingers skating patterns into Stiles’
thighs, disturbing the hair’s natural directions, lines of electricity and
light racing over and underneath his skin.
A couple more open-mouthed kisses branded into Stiles’ skin, and Derek was
nosing Stiles’ cock, inhaling the scent that he seemed to linger on. Stiles was
so distracted, he didn’t even notice Derek placing his hands under Stiles’
knees. When Derek moved lower, nosed at Stiles’ balls, Stiles thought nothing
of it, until Derek pushed the boy’s knees up and apart.
Squawking out his surprise at the suddenness, Stiles had no time to figure out
how he felt, other than exposed in a way he had never been before. Waiting a
moment to adjust, Stiles flushed and he was pointedly not looking between his
legs. His ass was literally on display and Derek didn’t seem to be doing
anything other than staring at it.
Before he was going to say something along the lines of Derek what are you
doing or Derek please do something before I get too nervous and tell you to
leave or Seriously. Derek, he spared a glance down and found the look on
Derek’s face was one worthy of shutting up for. His eyes weren’t red, but they
were close enough, pupils blown and mouth shiny with his own spit. He looked
reverent and turned on, hair slightly mussed and Stiles could almost feel the
heat of his gaze on a part of his body to which no one else had paid that much
rapt attention. It was exhilarating and he was left breathless, once again
watching Derek watch him.
Without thinking too much about it, Stiles canted his hips to give Derek better
access and Derek’s eyes shot up to meet his, lust replacing any shame or even
gratitude. Then Derek returned to his work and delved thick fingers into his
flesh, hard enough that Stiles knew he wasn’t going anywhere, but not hard
enough to bruise.
He pulled Stiles’ cheeks apart, slowly, carefully, and didn’t wait for anything
before he licked a solid stripe over Stiles’ entrance. It was wet and hot,
which cooled the instant Derek’s tongue was no longer in contact and Stiles’
breath caught in his throat. It was a completely foreign sensation, but one
that his body obviously appreciated, as more electricity jumped up and down his
spine.
That ever so familiar pooling of heat started gathering right under Stiles’
gut, the building energy of his imminent orgasm was already making him whine,
well, that and the new sensory input.
Derek spread him open even wider, and swirled his tongue around the tight ring
of muscle, coaxing him to relax, all the while humming his own pleasure in a
spot where Stiles felt it reverberate throughout his entire being. With his
general insistence on being a fountain of useless knowledge, Stiles was well
aware that he had a lot of nerve endings back there; he’d just never had them
activated in this way before.
Derek stroked and pushed and licked, and Stiles mewled and clutched at the
sheets, trying not to think about his orgasm other than to tell it to go away
whenever the pleasure spiked and Stiles thought he might lose it. His legs
trembled when Derek brought a finger to press in, his tongue temporarily out of
commission (and, seriously, why did Stiles miss Derek’s tongue, it hasn’t even
been in his mouth yet, which, not fair.)
“You taste so good, Stiles,” Derek rasped, panting for him. Stiles groaned and
refused to look down and see the lascivious grin he heard in Derek’s tone.
“Ohmygod, please don’t talk like that right now.” Derek chuckled and Stiles
smiled to himself, still refusing to look.
Derek stopped laughing and his voice dropped a register, grew husky and full of
dark promise. “I’m going to make you come just from this and then I’m going to
fuck you until you come again.”
Yup. Stiles was going to die. Just white out when he had his orgasm and float
onward to the afterlife (or something).
Derek returned his tongue to lave at Stiles’ hole, and Stiles returned to
moaning, only this time instead of clutching at the sheets, he moved both hands
down to brush through Derek’s soft hair, pull his face in deeper, just that
little bit more into him, and he felt his own muscles relax enough to let
Derek’s tongue push past the tight ring. The heat sparked between Stiles’ legs
and he felt the arousal spiral around itself again and again, winding him up
like a toy.
They both groaned at the added contact, and Derek pulled his tongue out only to
push it back in, fucking Stiles open with short thrusts followed by long licks.
He traced every bit and mapped Stiles out as if he might never get the chance
again and needed to save the memory for later use.
Guttural moans and more than one breathy Derek tumbled from Stiles’ lips as he
felt his orgasm building and burning and sharpening his focus so that all that
mattered in that exact moment was Derek. And the exact spot where Derek entered
him.
It didn’t take long once Stiles started concentrating on the lower sensations,
felt himself open up to take Derek in deeper and felt the stretch begin to
burn, for Stiles to feel the build-up reach the precise place where he couldn’t
stop it if he even wanted to. He really didn’t want to. He wanted to jump off
that precipice and he wanted to jump off with Derek inside him.
A strangled, “fuckDerek,” escaped and Stiles only had time to get a hand around
his cock before he was coming all over his stomach. His eyes screwed shut until
he saw stars and felt like he might pass out, arched and contorted, happy that
Derek was nigh indestructible. He twitched around the tongue still fucking into
him as he rode out the spams, back writhing and breath heavy in his lungs, like
it didn’t want to leave the pleasure that echoed around inside him.
Getting himself off had never been that awesome, and the come that was quickly
drying, even though his own, was never as hot as when Derek drew it out of him.
Speaking of, it was cooling and not really as sizzling as it was when it first
splashed on his skin and he should probably see to that before it crusts
completely. As soon as he opened his eyes, which he hadn’t realised he’d
screwed shut.
He was greeted with the image of Derek, his chiseled, hairy face framed between
Stiles’ quivering thighs, staring intently into his face, like he was asking
permission for something. Whatever it was, Stiles wanted to give it to him. He
nodded.
Derek brought two fingers up and dragged them through the mess Stiles made on
himself. He’d wanted to lap it all up, but he also recognised that some people
weren’t into that sort of thing, so he’d asked. Because he yearned to taste
Stiles, wanted to feel the reward of his hard work on his tongue. The moment he
smelled Stiles’ come, he almost dove forward to catch it all between his lips.
He ached for it, his own dick throbbing in sympathy.
After he spread it around, rubbed it into Stiles’ skin until he squirmed and
whined, Derek kissed his fingers, just the pads, licked at the salty coating it
left on his lips. He savoured it, lost in his own little world, oblivious to
the way that Stiles stared at him, face dark, breath quick and hard.
“Give me five minutes and a maybe let me clean up and I think it’s your turn.
For something.” Stiles paused, feeling sticky and crusty and kind of gross, but
still so incredibly turned on when Derek met his heated gaze with half-lidded
bliss. “Anything.”
Stiles shifted a bit, considering Derek’s face was still kind of between his
legs, that made the whole prospect of moving a bit difficult, but Derek saw the
signs and just pressed down lightly to hold him still. “Lay there. Recover.
I’ll be back.”
There would have been a fleeting moment where Stiles wondered if Derek knew his
way around the Stilinski home, knew where the hand towels were to be found and
the bathroom to wet them, but he was honestly too distracted by the sight of
Derek. The muscles underneath his skin moving sinuously at his will, his
ridiculous cock jutting out from his body, begging for Stiles to touch it
again. Derek’s jeans did him a service, but they didn’t compare to the bare ass
that was clearly sculpted by the gods and sent to Earth as a gift, as proof
that the gods existed and loved them.
He returned, not having lost any enthusiasm if his dick was any indication, and
knelt back between Stiles’ legs. Truthfully, Stiles couldn’t have moved much if
he wanted to. The bed felt nice underneath him and the post-coital haze set in
when Derek took his lovely time in the bathroom, but he jolted a little when
Derek swiped the warm washcloth against his stomach. It was a tame gesture in
and of itself, but he watched Derek make slow, even motions against his skin
and the intimacy of it nearly got to him.
The big bad wolf was cleaning him up after making him jizz all over himself. He
was being attentive and calm and it was a completely different Derek than the
one who whispered hot nothings into his ear; Stiles wondered if this Derek
would make an appearance more often. It might just have been partially because
of the chemical reactions that happen during sex, but Stiles suddenly felt warm
and fuzzy towards Derek. Not just sexually frustrated. But he had to remember
that this was, at the moment, purely about fucking.
It wasn’t his fault if the newfound Derek did it for him, but while he was
noticing his feelings, his dick was noticing the attention. He was 17, after
all. There was a part of Stiles that didn’t want to interrupt Derek, though,
the other part just really wanted to have penetrative sex with him. The warring
mind of an American Youth.
Derek pressed the now chilled cloth all over Stiles’ chest, anywhere he spotted
even a drop, and it wasn’t until he was done that his eyes met Stiles’, which
had gone soft with the heat dropped down to a slow simmer instead of a rolling
boil. And Derek couldn’t have that. He wanted to blow Stiles’ mind enough that
Stiles asked for it again and again.
Luckily, Derek’s cleaning had left Stiles flushed and hard and they must have
been on the same brainwave, because Stiles canted his hips and Derek threw the
used cloth to the side and leaned over him to slot their mouths together at the
same time. Stiles wasn’t quite expecting it, so he made an oomph before he got
with the program and parted his lips to let Derek plunder his mouth.
The connection sent sparks through both of them, Derek’s tongue massaging
Stiles’ in undulating waves that made Stiles keen, need more, need everything
Derek could give him. Long, thin fingers wrapped around Derek’s biceps, moved
down to press against his chest, etching trails of fire around his back to pull
them closer, only taking breaks enough to struggle for a breath before lips
joined and tongues battled.
Derek seemed to break every kiss, even if they were only giving each other
enough space to breathe, by sucking Stiles’ lip between his teeth and biting
down. It was just hard enough to make Stiles whine in the back of his throat,
but not hard enough to break the skin.
In retaliation, Stiles scratched outward from Derek’s spine each time he bit
down, which only spurned Derek on to nip at his mouth a little harder, press
his nose to Stiles’ neck and lick one long stripe following the line of his
jaw, where Derek found Stiles’ ear.
Stiles moaned and arched his back when Derek didn’t let up on his ear, which
only served to grind their cocks together. It was two points of heat and
pleasure and Stiles still wanted more. “Derek, I need something else of yours
inside me right now, or I swear to all that is holy, I will end you.”
Derek’s chest clenched with desire, but it was more than just the desire to be
inside Stiles and come inside him, mark him as his own, but the desire to give
Stiles pleasure, make him feel amazing and make him forget about everything but
the moment and the act. And if Stiles demanded more, right at that instant, who
was Derek to deny him? It was also the moment that Derek realised he was
already gone.
There was minor shuffling on Derek’s part, he extricated himself and rummaged
around; he made the correct guess that Stiles’ lube and condoms were in the
nightstand drawer next to the bed. He’d thought maybe Stiles would be a bit
more creative with the placement, but when he looked back to see Stiles keen
and drag those lovely, long fingers down his chest, past his dick and press
lightly into himself, he was glad he didn’t have to do any extra searching.
A snap of the lid and Derek squeezed the cool, slick liquid into his left palm,
while he repositioned himself between Stiles’ legs. He tossed it onto the bed,
in case he needed more later, and worked his fingers through the lube, warming
it up a little before applying it to Stiles’ skin. It was never nice to be
shocked with cold down there.
He scraped it off his palm as much as he could (not an easy prospect) and
looked up to see Stiles’ glazed, half-lidded expression, wanton lust plain as
day in his ruddy cheeks and dilated pupils. It didn’t matter, though, no matter
how much Stiles’ body wanted, he needed to know Stiles still wanted this.
Stiles moved his hands to pull his cheeks apart, spreading himself wide in
anticipation. Yet Derek still waited. Stiles felt superheated and it took him a
moment before he understood what Derek was waiting for. Another nod, and
Derek’s face turned positively predatory.
He pushed his slick fingers right over Stiles’ hole, dragged it around the
already loosened ring of muscle in a spiraling circle that pressed inward, and
Stiles let his head fall back onto the bed as a loud moan was wrung out of him.
He moved his hands to grip the back of his legs, gave Derek more access. It was
a position that left Derek feeling possessive, as if Stiles were willingly
offering himself up in the most pliant position he could.
Stiles was already a little bit stretched and little bit wet from Derek’s
tongue, so when Derek pushed two fingers in, he was still tight, but not tight
enough that it hurt. Tight enough that Derek’s dick jumped in anticipation.
Tight enough that Stiles rattled out some choice words when Derek pressed his
fingers in past the knuckles, but most of those were ‘fuck’ and not ‘ow.’
Derek twisted his fingers out, nice and slow, until Stiles’ sweat-sheened face
snapped off the bed to throw him a look that was part exasperated, part amused
and really turned on. “If you don’t hurry up I’m going to come again and then
I’m going to pass out on you,” he sounded like he’d run a marathon, but he
smiled all the same.
Shooting a smile of his own, Derek added another finger and went agonisingly
slow . Stiles laughed and wiggled his hips just to get a little more friction
going on, but Derek stilled his hips with one hand pressed down on the junction
where hip met leg.
“Werewolves make everything so unfaaaa-iiiir,” Stiles whined, breath hitching
when Derek pumped his fingers in and out in rapid succession. If Stiles wanted
to go a bit faster, Derek could handle that. He just didn’t want to hurt him,
and he was all too aware that Stiles was human. Derek also wanted to savour
this, every possible moment, twitch and moan, drink it all in like the
dessicated man he was.
It wasn’t just the slow drag in and out of him, lighting up all the nerves in
that sensitive area, but the hot, stable hand that, despite its proximity to
Stiles’ dick, ground him to the moment. Made him feel safe and anchored. But it
also made his dick hurt and made him want to crawl out of his skin or crawl on
top of...
“Ok, we’re done with that,” Stiles said, urgent and sudden. He dropped his legs
and Derek pulled his fingers out quickly, to a shudder and exhale from Stiles.
But Derek hadn’t moved and Stiles had plans for them both, so he waved his hand
in a general upward motion. “Up. Up, up up.”
“I thought I already was,” Derek said as he stood, a bemused smirk turning up
the corners of his mouth. A bossy Stiles was not unknown to him, because he
occasionally got pushed too far by the other wolves or whatever rampant
supernatural tried to eat him, but this is an entirely new context and Derek
thought he might like it.
Stiles stood, legs a bit wobbly from the sensations and shaking that were all
Derek’s fault. He placed his hands on Derek’s shoulders, to steady himself, but
when Derek looked at him with the hungry look on his face tempered by what
Stiles could classify as something resembling affection, what little air was in
his lungs vanished and he couldn’t help himself. He crashed their lips together
and reeled Derek in with his mouth, who was more than compliant.
This kiss was slow and sweet, filled with the promise of breakfast pancakes
with maple syrup. Their mouths slotted together perfectly and Derek’s tongue
massaged Stiles’ with a grace Stiles hadn’t really felt. Large hands moved to
encircle Stiles’ shoulders and Stiles’ lips moved in rhythm to Derek’s
ministrations. But then Derek’s hands started moving lower, pressing strong
fingers into Stiles’ lower back, and the kiss sharpened and hardened, much like
Stiles himself, and Derek’s fingers dug into Stiles’ hips and he moaned and
broke for air.
Stiles pressed and pulled against Derek’s arms to reposition them both, and
Derek let him, despite the obvious strength that could keep him rooted no
matter how hard Stiles tried. With a small shove, Derek went backwards, bounced
once against the bed and had just enough time to prop himself up before Stiles
straddled him and wiggled, but Derek’s face blanked to inscrutable.
“Do you... do you want me to put on a condom?” Derek sounded tentative, not
sure if their sexual history had already eliminated the need or if they should
try to keep it safe from there on out (because Derek fully planned on this
happening again.)
“Dude, I’ve already swallowed your load,” Stiles replied, voice gone musky.
“Twice.”
“I just thought-,” Derek started.
“Besides, werewolves can’t get diseases, which means you can’t give me any and
can’t get any to give to me. And I’m clean as of two weeks ago.” Stiles had a
tendency to be very matter-of-fact about his sexuality, but that also meant he
was unashamed to get tested and share his sexual history with people who asked.
But Stiles thought it was nice to offer, so he showed his appreciation by
leaning in to snag a quick kiss before continuing.
Even that small press of lips and the resultant tangling of limbs left Derek
feeling woozy, like he wasn’t in complete control of himself. Normally, that
feeling accompanied violence or at least shifting, but this time it was a
glorious escape.
With a hand on Derek’s shoulder to keep from tilting too far, Stiles reached
behind him to line them up. If they needed more lube, it was on hand, but
Stiles had done this plenty of times and he figured between the spit, rimming,
lube and fingering, he should be good. He already was good, could-die-a-happy-
death level of good, but he was still ravenous, in throes of a longing that he
knew wouldn’t be sated until Derek was inside him, filled him up and knew the
strength of his desire in the gasps of his name.
Stiles sank back as he guided Derek’s cock into him. He was thicker and harder
than anyone Stiles had taken recently, and Derek groaned at the heat and
pressure. Head thrown back in ecstasy, Stiles welcomed the slight burn as he
pushed all the way down, a slow, constant drag until, legs a bit shaky, Derek
was fully sheathed. Knowing that he would need a bit of time to adjust to the
girth, Stiles squeezed the muscles and Derek choked as the already tight
feeling got tighter and nearly overwhelmed him. It served to help Stiles relax
even more, and, eyes closed, he smiled at the noise Derek made. Experience
definitely had its perks.
Testing the waters, Stiles shifted his hips to drag himself off of Derek,
pulling him out just a hint. What little burn there was had abated; the only
fire that consumed him was one of lust. Hips ground back down and he whispered
a small fuck under his breath.
“I want to see you,” Derek said. He sounded breathy and hopeful and when Stiles
opened his eyes, he looked younger than he’d ever seen him before. It coloured
him lighter, in both flesh and spirit and Stiles felt something shift inside
him that wasn’t at all physical.
As a distraction, he tightened again and watched Derek shudder an inhale, eyes
rolling closed. The rush of pride and power was unmistakable, and addicting.
Stiles loved that feeling almost as much as he loved the friction.
Gyrating his hips back and forward, tilting them just so, Stiles began to set
pace while Derek moved his hands to encase Stiles’ hips. There was no force to
them, he didn’t bruise or pull. He let Stiles do what he wanted, and was more
than content for Stiles to fuck himself on Derek, to let Stiles ride his cock
with abandon.
For support, Stiles snaked his arms around Derek’s neck and Derek saw the
opportunity to indulge. He licked the skin over Stiles’ artery,felt his blood
pounding beneath it, tasted his sweat and desire, and that specific mixture
that made up Stiles. It was a heady taste, and without thinking, Derek pulled
Stiles’ skin taut and bit hard enough to make Stiles gasp, seize and then drop
his hips harder, flesh smacking obscenely. Rocking in place, Stiles dropped his
forehead onto his arms.
“Derek if you do that again, I’m gonna come all over you.” They both took a
moment to mull over that image and Derek would love to have Stiles’ come rubbed
into the crevices of his skin, so that even when he washed it off, he would
still smell like Stiles and any wolf worth his nose would be able to tell. It
was a dangerous thought and he knew he still couldn’t go down that path, not
really, but his face heated at the prospect.
Moving his arms to cross over Stiles’ back, Derek pulled him in and kissed him
breathless, distracting him with his deft tongue and surprisingly soft lips.
Scratching stubble left his own mouth feeling raw and used and the
juxtaposition of the two kept his head spinning. He was so distracted that he
didn’t have time to flail before Derek had picked him up and flipped them
around, leaving Stiles on his back at the edge of the bed, Derek standing over
him, still intimately connected, with minimal effort. Werewolves.
The new position left Stiles at Derek’s mercy, so he clutched just a tiny bit
tighter to Derek’s shoulders in compensation for his legs going wider, wrapping
around Derek’s waist. Derek stayed stationary, bracketed his arms on either
side of the bed, allowing Stiles time to readjust. It wasn’t long before Stiles
withdrew his arms and held Derek’s face in his hands, looked into his beautiful
green eyes, which he’d not had a chance to see this close and not fear for his
life, and gave him a small nod. Stiles tilted his head to devour Derek’s mouth
in earnest, and Derek pulled out and pushed back in, painfully slow, drawing a
gasp from the younger man when he bottomed out.
New angle meant new nerves being lit up, and Stiles was full; he was so full
that when Derek pulled back out again, he felt incomplete. A place deep inside
him was carved out and hollowed just for Derek to fit, this fleeting notion of
wholeness being everything he didn’t know he even wanted out of sex. It was a
new sensation, completely foreign to the fullness of every other man he’d ever
let inside him, and Stiles keened for it. He whined and begged in the muffled
prayers of his sighs. Reached up to drag long fingers against Derek’s stomach
while he arched to get a better angle, squeezed to keep Derek inside longer,
keep him from retreating and leaving him bereft and open.
Derek picked up the pace, feeling desperate, caught up in a loop of pleasure:
of Stiles, tight and hot around and under him, of knowing he’s drawing those
noises out of Stiles, his name falling like prayers from Stiles’ tongue, only
reverberating back through him, heightening his senses so he can drink in as
much of Stiles as possible. Everyone has a shelf life, werewolf stamina or no.
The air between them grew heavy with moisture, a combination of breath and
sweat and exertion, and Stiles felt his orgasm building deep in his gut,
drawing him tight, a bowstring being pulled back. Derek smelled it, he felt
Stiles get tighter and felt his pulse rocket and heard his breath getting
shallower; he knew that Stiles needed but a small push to go careening. So he
pulled out completely, and when Stiles opened his eyes, demanding, Derek pushed
in as deep as he could, fierce in his pressure.
Stiles spasmed and moaned, hot come landing on his chest and stomach, sticking
to the small tufts of hair in the center of his chest and under his navel,
hands gripping the sheets to ground him when he felt like he was flying. His
orgasm ripped him apart with bouts of pleasure, wracking him thoroughly as
Derek continued to pulse his hips in tiny ministrations, fucking every last
drop out of Stiles without either of them touching his dick. Derek was
entranced, his own needs temporarily forgotten as he watched Stiles come down
from his high, felt him slump against the bed and sigh out the final shiver.
Without thinking, Derek dragged two fingers through the mess they’d made of
Stiles’ chest, brought them to hover over Stiles’ still open mouth. In a state
of trance, Derek spread come onto sex-dried lips, a sticky sheen he wanted to
bend over and clean off with his tongue. It was a picture he’d only been able
to guess at, what Stiles’ face looked like when debauched, an image planted
when Stiles sucked him dry in that bathroom, when he’d heard his seed splatter
on the boy’s face. He studied the work of art with more than his usual
intensity and felt himself grow infinitesimally harder.
Stiles sucked at the fingers and moaned at the salty taste, his tongue
determined to lick them clean, but sluggish with post-orgasmic haze. When only
saliva was left, he crumpled back onto the bed, a deep sigh shuddering out, and
Derek’s hand dropped to his side, practically useless.
“Oh my God,” Stiles said, voice husky and low, abused from use. He ran a hand
over his face, and breathed. In the process of attempting to sit up, he was
reminded that Derek was still inside him, because Stiles had somehow overlooked
that small fact, and that was all it took for Stiles to go from sated to
heated, eyes dark with lust. “Ok, big guy, how do you want me?”
Derek straightened and froze, a dozen images flashing before him, all of them
lewd with Stiles in any number of positions, and he groaned when his mind
stopped at the image he kept returning to.
“I want to come on your face again,” Derek breathed, a faraway look on his
face, words dripping with molten desire. “This time when I can see you.”
Realisation dawned on Stiles’ face, and he pushed at Derek's torso. He knew
what Derek wanted and he wanted it just as much, but that meant Derek had to
pull out. Derek went slowly, watching Stiles' face for anything other than
determination and desire, but there wasn't so much as a wince.
Stiles crowded Derek in the minimal space, pushed him playfully to give them
enough room. Then Stiles slithered to his knees, face level with the werewolf’s
cock, which was still achingly hard, all red and flushed.
Stiles stroked him, grip unforgiving, partly because he liked watching Derek’s
eyes roll up and his head tilt back on a groan, and partly to clean him off a
little bit. Stiles had plans. Puffy lips closed over Derek’s head, his tongue
massaged the thick vein on the underside and then Stiles went all the way down.
He couldn’t help the moan and sigh that escaped through his nose, ruffling the
wiry hairs where cock met pelvis, because he was full again: filled with Derek,
heavy flesh like velvet in his mouth, his musky scent permeating every breathe,
the taste of Derek’s pre-come on the back of his tongue, slightly sweeter than
his own. Stiles dropped his free hand to reach down and press into his own
slick heat, flesh that opened so sweetly, that still remembered where Derek had
last entered him and set him alight.
A dribble of spit escaped and fell down Stiles’ chin, and that was his cue to
try and swallow, throat constricting as much as he physically could. Derek
crumpled in as if the air was being squeezed out of his lungs, and a hand found
its way to the back of Stiles’ head, carding through the fine hair, but not
pushing him down.
“Stiles,” Derek pleaded with so much reverence and need in that one calling
that Stiles doubled his efforts. He got lost in the motion of neck, hand,
tongue, lips, throat, breathe, that it wasn’t until Derek pulled him off with a
not quite gentle tug of his hair that he even remembered the end goal.
“C’mon, Derek, give it to me,” Stiles said, hand still working him over,
pumping hard flesh.
That was all it took. Derek looked down after the first white, hot spurt landed
on Stiles’ cheek, and he watched as Stiles’ eyes closed in rapture; he
continued to tug thick ropes of Derek’s come onto his face, changing the angle
until Derek’s cock was positioned over his mouth, but the damage was already
complete. It got in his hair, in the corner of his eye and coated his cheek, (a
little dripped into his open mouth, which he relished and swallowed.)
When Derek had stopped gasping like a drowning man pulled from water, Stiles
squeezed his cock at the base and pulled one last time, a droplet of come
beading out of the head. He languished his tongue over it, savored the
freshness and proceeded to kiss it away.
With only one working eye, Stiles smiled up at Derek, who was completely lost
for words. Then his closed eye started burning, so he tried rubbing it out and
that didn’t seem to help too much, in fact only making it worse. He rose from a
kneeled position, feeling the ache in muscles he didn’t normally use that much,
a steady burn in his neck and knees, but a good burn. One that signified use.
“I- uh, I gotta go take a shower, ok?” There was still a dopey smile on his
face despite his body’s protests, so Derek figured it was ok, but there was a
small part of him that had hoped for some post-fuck cuddling, still mired in
their mess, scents overwhelmingly mingled and potent, enough to satisfy his
baser desires for more than just sex.
Derek stopped him and wanted to express all of these sentiments and so much
more, but he instead kissed him, tasting them both in the sour and salty
melange. Stiles returned the kiss, emphatic enough that a little of the come
spread to Derek’s face, and Derek couldn’t be bothered by it. When Stiles
backed away and headed off to the bathroom, Derek wiped his face on Stiles’
pillows, wanted to keep a small part of his scent on Stiles’ sheets (which he
would deny if asked).
Somehow, the evidence had all ended up on Stiles, Derek was just sweaty and
warm, so when he sat on Stiles’ bed to awkwardly wait for him to get out of the
shower, he didn’t feel quite that bad. Stiles didn’t seem to be in a hurry, so
Derek lounged, naked, and waited patiently. He was comfortable, felt the pull
of drowsiness and knew he could fall asleep right at that moment. There was a
moment where he was amused that he felt safe enough in Stiles’ house, in
Stiles’ bed, to sleep.
Hands clasped behind his head, Derek figured they’d had sex three times
already, so it wouldn’t be a problem if he took a small nap while he waited.
But that left his gaze on the ceiling, where he noticed the glow-in-the-dark
stars, the same ones he had in his bedroom in the Hale house until it burned
down. Derek was no longer amused, nor was he comfortable. Clued in to his
surroundings, he looked at Stiles’ room for the first time when there was no
Stiles to distract and animate. There were band posters he didn’t recognise,
messy piles of clothes and comic books flowing off a shelf that held a small,
battered stuffed wolf and he was immediately reminded that Stiles was underage,
that he was just a child.
Guilt flooded him like the tide, something he could set his watch by, and he
immediately leapt from the bed, fishing for his clothes among the wreckage of
the situation, whatever sense of pride he once had completely evaporated. The
obviously analogy of Kate came to him, but he knew that he wasn’t trying to
hurt Stiles, he could trust himself enough to know that. But it didn’t stop him
from following that line of thought, from ghosts of his past haunting him anew.
He had just pulled his shirt down when Stiles came back, clad only in a low-
slung towel, one of his eyes red and irritated, but you’d hardly be able to
tell by the grin that split his face.
“First I was thinking we should have sex again, because that was awesome, but
then I was thinking maybe-” and the offer of late night milkshakes at the 24
hour diner died when Stiles noticed Derek’s face, carefully shadowed, something
akin to disgust leaking from his pores.
“This can’t happen again, Stiles.” His tone was an unyielding wall of granite,
brooking no arguments, and Stiles felt something in him start to wither.
“What do you mean-,” he started, the barest hints of panic creeping up on him.
“I mean...” Derek paused, face downcast, refusing to look him in the eye. “I
mean this won’t be happening again.”
Moral righteousness making Derek feel like he didn’t need to explain his
actions, he moved to the window and raised the blinds. Straddling the sill,
face still downcast so Stiles couldn’t parse through the self-hatred colouring
his face, “I’m sorry,” was all he said. Then he was gone, into the night like
he’d not just changed Stiles’ entire world.
Dejected and, if he were honest with himself, a little heartbroken, Stiles
started stripping his bed. He spent the next half hour sitting on the washer,
phone in hand, trying to compose a text that was more than just ‘WTF’ or
‘please come back.’ When he finally found himself in bed that night, he could
have sworn he smelled Derek, but convinced himself it was just wishful
thinking.
Chapter End Notes
     Ok now you can feel free to hate me. I love comments on here, but I'm
     also on Tumblr a lot.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!