Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/679303.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Top!Derek, Bottom!Stiles, Knotting, Rimming, Anal_Play, Breeding
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-11 Updated: 2013-02-14 Chapters: 2/3 Words: 8525
****** Grindr With Me ******
by xxdeejadoodlexx
Summary
     Stiles isn't gay-- he's just...curious? So when he downloads a gay-
     dating app on his phone, it's strictly for research purposes.
     Except when he's trading inappropriate pics with a random dude who
     has the best set of abs he's ever seen, it seems a lot less like
     research and a lot more like horny.
Notes
     Grindr in no way belongs to me. It's made by some random, horny gay
     dude.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Okay, so...let’s talk about Grindr. This little, unassuming app for your
smartphone that Stiles may or may-not-have sought out for the sole reason
of...research.
The app is a geo-based dating service, but it caters to a specific kind of
people. Namely...guys.
Gay guys.
It’s not like, Stiles is gay, he just has an insatiable curiosity and an
unquenchable need to understand and learn about anything and everything
regardless of its origin. So going on this app has nothing, nothing to do with
the copious amounts of guy-on-guy porn that have slowly been integrated into
his regularly visited ‘Stiles Private Time’ folder.
Nope. Nada. Nein. Never. No. 
So, Stiles stares at his phone, watching the installation bar slowly fill with
a guilty expression and a nervous demeanor. Thankfully, he’s in his room and
it’s just about midnight. He hopes that means that there won’t be any werewolf
related issues tonight. Still, you can’t ever be too careful, right? He’s made
sure to lock his door and his window. At one point, he was debating on nailing
it shut, but he’s sure if any of the mutts really wanted to get in, they’d just
rip the whole window off with super strength or something. Plus, he’s not sure
how it’d look to his dad if he ever saw his son’s window littered with nails.
Stiles shakes his head, ridding himself of his thoughts and looks down to his
phone to see that the app is finished installing. He bites his bottom lip. It’s
not that he’s afraid of the app, per se, but more so the fact of what it might
mean if he does enjoy the app. Not that being into dudes is a bad thing. Stiles
is totally into equal rights. Free love. Do what you want. But he’d be lying if
he said that this wasn’t some sort of sexuality crisis. For the longest time
Stiles has only had eyes for the perfectly perfect Lydia Martin, but after
Jackson’s over-dramatic transformation into Wolfihood, Stiles has sorta
unconsciously accepted that Lydia and he will probably never be a thing.
Even if Jackson hadn’t turned into a Werewolf and stayed a freakish, lizard
creature, Lydia had always loved that douchebag. Even when they had their
falling out, Stiles remembered the feeling of hope so bright that it was
practically shining out of his ass. Lydia was single. Jackson didn’t want her.
She was free game and all Stiles had to do was show her how amazing he was.
Only, Lydia was so obviously not interested in him it was like being kicked in
the gut and stabbed in the chest.
So yeah, Stiles has resigned to his fate of living a life without Miss Martin.
Tish tosh. It’s all in the past. On to bigger and better things. And as it so
happens, bigger and better just might be a member of the male gender.
It’s not that Stiles has never been curious. Sure, he’s noticed guys’
physiques. Tough muscles, masculine characteristics, dominating demeanors. Just
look at Danny. Stiles might have a long subdued crush on the dude. He was so
painfully attractive. His darkly, tanned skin. His powerful body; strong corded
arms thick with muscle and a chest so bulging with abs it’s basically sinful.
Then there was his shining smile, his deep brown eyes and his beautifully
sculpted face. Stiles had asked the dude more than once if Danny thought that
he was attractive to gay guys. Danny was always dismissive about it, but Stiles
sorta liked to think that his own slightly lanky body and so awesomely awesome
personality would be a total catch to some hunky gay dude.
But it wasn’t until after Jackson’s transformation and Lydia’s confession of
eternal love for said douchey-douchedouche that Stiles actually took off the
blinders and looked around himself and yeah...checkin’ out guys made Stiles
feel all funny in the pants.
So here he is. After a week of slowly jerking off to more and more gay porn
than straight, he’s scoured the app marketplace for a gay dating app and this
one was the most popular. So he tapped the download button and now he’s staring
at a yellow icon with a black symbol at its center. He taps the button and the
app launches and he holds his breath. He’s met with the loading screen, a
message displayed below the apps icon.
 Get Ready To Grindr
Stiles quirks an eyebrow. Gay dudes really don’t beat around the bush, do they?
Everything is so sexually suggestive. Not that Stiles is complaining. He’d be
lying if he said he wasn’t hoping to get nakedly acquainted with some willing
participant of the same sex.
He’s suddenly presented with a grid of pictures on rows of four. Each one with
with a username. Stiles instantly notices that most of the guys are definitely
into posting chest pics with a purposeful lack of face. The users are ordered
based on distance from his current location. That’s sorta handy.
Stiles scrolls down a bit, checking out what Beacon Hills has to offer. Most
people he doesn’t recognize. Not that he’s meant to, seeing as how he’s
basically looking at a collage of abs. There are a select few of guys that have
posted a pic of their face, but Stiles quickly deduces that those are the men
that are either are a bit heavier in stature or older than forty. 
Suddenly Stiles freezes. His eyes land on Danny’s display picture and he nearly
freaks. A little green dot in the corner of his grid picture shows that he’s
online, too. Stiles quickly clicks on his grid picture looking for some sort of
option to block users. He’s presented with a small profile bio and a larger
picture of his classmate. Beside the bio is the block and favorite button.
Stiles’ finger hovers of the red ‘X’ meant to block, but abruptly stills. He
remembers that he hasn’t set up his own profile yet; devoid of a picture,
username and profile info. Surely Danny wouldn’t know the blank profile
belonged to Stiles. So...he slowly lets his finger move away from the icon and
he favorites Danny instead. Backing out of the profile to scour more hot abs.
He’s about a hundred and ninety-four users in when a set of deliciously
perfectly set of abs catch his eye. Stiles felt that there was something so
eerily familiar about them. That is why he clicked on the profile before he
could think better of it. The user name is a simple ‘sw’. Lower-case and
cryptic. The green orb on the profile tells Stiles that this set of abs is
online and ready to mingle. He looks to the profile bio. It’s one word:
‘looking’.
Looking? What the hell is that suppos--Oh. Stiles’ brain pieces it together
fairly quickly.
Looking for some sexytimes.
Stiles is suddenly very much more aware and very, verymuch more interested in
these tasty abs. Abs that are looking.
Stiles gulps, and clicks on the message icon, bringing up his keyboard to a
simple chat screen, but then he freezes. What are you supposed to say to this?
Stiles has never hooked up before. Hell, he hasn’t even kissed anyone yet.
Also, it was so painfully obvious he wasn’t good with the whole flirting thing.
Or at least, all his attempts in the past have ended pretty horribly.
After a few moments of debating with himself he decides that a simple greeting
should suffice. It’s proper. It’s initiating. It gives way to conversations and
conversations can lead to confessions of interest and confessions of interest
could lead to perfectly chiseled abs pressed to his skinny, hormonal, teenage
body. The thought has Stiles a little hard so hell yeah he types out three
letters and presses ‘send’. 
 Sup
That looks a little impersonal now that Stiles has sent it. But then again,
aren't these things supposed to be completely impersonal? A simple ‘Wham-Bam-
Thank-You-Sir’ sort of dealings? Stiles shrugs to himself and waits for a
reply. When one doesn’t come within the following five minutes he becomes a
little discouraged and then he’s finding himself bored. So he leaves the chat
and starts to fix up his profile.
He’s pretty scarce about everything. Mostly because no one is supposed to know
that Stiles is secretly into manmeat quite yet. His profile says he likes video
games and comics and that’s pretty much that all needs to be said. His
username, however was a little bold. Bold as in horribly ironic. Maybe he
should feel bad about it, but he really, really doesn’t. Because it’s actually
really fucking hilarious given that his life circles around Werewolves. So
yeah, Stiles has decided to go by ‘Little Red’ on this here gay scouting app.
Last thing he needed to do was add a picture. This part has Stiles feeling a
little apprehensive. Mostly because he definitely can not upload anything with
his face. Not yet, anyway. Not until he has sorted out whatever homo-bug bit
him that has him slowly craving dick in all the wrong (right) places.
He remembers earlier when he was scrolling down through the many dudes of
Beacon Hills that are getting busy with other dudes. How most had posted body
pictures rather than faces. So...Stiles was debating on whether or not to do
that. Before he knew it, he was in his bathroom across the hall. He was super
ninja-like so as to not wake up his dad. He turned on the light and met his
reflection; hand reaching to the door knob to lock it. He looked at himself for
a moment, then shimmied out of his pajama bottoms then tore off his shirt. He
frowned at himself.
He definitely wasn’t super built like the many other guys on the Grindr app. He
was having a serious inferiority complex at the moment. He then remembered
seeing many scrawny and lanky ‘twink’ guys posting pics of their slender
bodies, too. Stiles wasn’t oblivious to how gay stuff worked. He beat off to
enough porn to know that there were a lot of more masculine gay dudes that were
super into the whole ‘twinky-slim-boy-next-door’ body. The type of body that,
to much of Stiles’ dismay, he himself had. His body was tight, yes. But there
wasn’t any prominent, bulging muscles. Just a lean and slender build. His pale
skin and random moles speckled across his flesh, though. That made him feel
even more self conscious.
However, that didn’t stop him from grabbing his phone, opening the camera app
and snapping a picture of himself. He looked at the resulting image through the
tiny screen of his phone and decided it was whatever. His mind lingered on the
fact that he was wearing unusually tight red underwear, but it was only for the
fleetest of moments. A part of him thought that it would be all the more
fitting in some fucked up way. Little Red in his little red undies. Ha.
Ha. Ha.
Hahahaha.
Stiles cropped out his face and uploaded the picture as he made his way back to
his room. He closed and locked the door quietly and plopped down on the bed. A
few moments later his phone chimed with a notification. He opened Grindr and
his eyes went wide. Apparently, fixing up a profile was a good idea. He had
sixteen new messages from twelve dudes. But Stiles ignored all that. Because
‘sw’ was one of the people that had messaged him.
Stiles opened the chat, excitedly looking at the reply.
 [SW: you looking?]
Oh fuck yes he’s looking. Looking for those deliciously perfect abs all up on
his face. Stiles is replying before he knows what’s good for him.
 [Little Red: Sure.]
Maybe that could have been a bit more...he doesn’t know. Enthusiastic sounding?
In his mind he’s screaming at the top of his lungs ‘yes, yes take me now.
taaaake meeee’ but his fingers reply with a “sure”? What the fuck body. You
seriously need to collaborate better. Stiles doesn’t have time to further
chastise himself, because Lickworthy Abs has responded.
 [SW: Any other pics?]
That has Stiles freezing up again. He hasn’t really had the need to take pics
of himself in the kind of way he’s assuming ‘sw’ is inquiring about. The most
of himself he has is him doing awkwardly stupid and childish things that he
still snickers at because yeah, that shit was funny.
Stiles bites at his bottom lip and begins to type his reply.
 [Little Red: Yeah. You?]
A few seconds after its sent, ‘sw’ has sent him three pictures. The first was
his abs again, looking so, super fucking perfect. Delicious. So, so delicious
Stiles is salivating.
The other two have him gaping.
The second was taken in a mirror, the man’s face is hidden by the phone and the
flash that Stiles thinks was implemented on purpose to conceal his identity.
But Stiles isn’t paying much attention to his face, because while one hand is
holding up the phone, the other is reaching down to hold on the massive...he
repeats, massive outline in ‘sw’s sinfully tight, black briefs. There really
isn’t much of a reason to even be wearing them, Stiles thinks. He can see
everything almost so clearly. And holy shit. That is the fucking Kraken. A
mothafucking Anaconda.
Okay, okay. It’s not freakishly huge, but still. If that were to go into the
places Stiles wants them to go, he’s almost positive that it was going to be an
extremely painful process, ‘cause that was porn worthy cocksize right there.
If the second picture had him gaping, the third had his mind on the verge of
implosion.
The last picture is in the same bathroom, camera situated in the same manner,
hiding ‘sw’s face, only...while his other hand is reaching down just like the
seconds picture, there is a distinct lack of underwear and oh god Stiles is so
painfully hard right now. ‘sw’s hand is covering himself, his hand’s obscenely
big fingers cupping and successfully hiding his dick. But dear sweet baby
jeebus. Stiles’ eyes are instantly drawn to the way his muscles are flexed. The
dark patch of hair above his groin. The hair on his built and powerful thighs.
 Oh fuck.
Stiles is so, so gay right now. He’s so gay he doesn’t even know what the fuck
to do with himself.
The sound of another notification tugs Stiles out of his existential crisis. He
scrolls down to see another message from ‘sw’.
 [SW: your turn]
Oh, um...right. Yeah. Stiles owes this guy some pictures. Equally sexual in
nature, he suspects. Right? Stiles is short circuiting. He’s never done this
before. He doesn’t know the rules of trading pictures and on top of that, his
brain has just been fried to nothingness from the sheer amount of sexy that is
‘sw’. 
He absolves himself from his stupor and decides to ask. Because, despite the
fact that he wants to look cool or whatever, he really, really doesn’t want to
send the wrong kind of pictures and look like a complete imbecile.
 [Little Red: What kind of pics do you want? Like, do you want me to send you
ones like the ones you sent me? Same poses? Same order?]
A minute passes and Stiles is thinking that maybe he ended up making himself
look like an idiot anyways. The familiar notification sound has him rushing
back to his conversation with ‘sw’.
[SW: ass is what i want to see.] 
Stiles...Stiles just sorta sits there for a moment to collect his thoughts,
because apparently ‘sw’ wants to see his ass. An ass that ‘sw’ might want to
plow into later and fuck yes. Yes yes yes.
Stiles is flailing off his bed and jogging for the bathroom as fast as he can.
He’s locking the door and stripping until he’s naked and staring at himself in
the mirror again. He’s half hard with thoughts of ‘sw’ and the pictures he got
from him earlier. He turns to the side, observing the way his back curves in an
almost graceful way before bowing back where it meets his bottom. Speaking of
butts, Stiles has never really looked at his before and not to be too cocky,
but he’s thinking it kinda looks super fucking bangable. It’s all plump and
round from the copious amounts of fast food he seems to eat, but at the same
time its firm and bubbly thanks to lacrosse and running around, flailing for
his life in the woods during the shenanigans he and the pack get into.
All in all, it’s a pretty nice ass.
Freakishly smooth, though. Stiles isn’t quite sure why he doesn’t have hair
there. He doesn’t trim or shave. He only keeps his man-bush in check. He
shrugs, still sideways, he grabs for his phone and takes a shot; one hand
cupping his now soft dick, hiding it. There needs to be some mystery.
If he curves his back a little more than necessary, thus jutting out his ass a
little more obscenely, you can hardly blame him. He’s trying to make a good
impression.
The second, he turns all the way around, opposite to the mirror. He brings the
phone up over his shoulder and shoots a couple pics, hoping the angle is right.
He settles on one that captures the beauty of his ass to his impeccable
standards.
The third picture he takes from high up. His hand covers his dick, the phone
capturing his body at an angle that can only be described as the ‘MySpace
Pose’. He’s shameless.
After he’s satisfied, he sits on the edge of the tub. He crops out his face and
sends them to ‘sw’.
He feels nervous all of a sudden. Now that his horny-high has subsided and his
brain is thinking more about what’s actually happening than imagining himself
being pounded into the mattress by ‘sw’s massive cock, he feels extremely
exposed. He realizes now that ‘sw’ didn’t even technically send him anything
‘nude’. At least not in the way Stiles just sent him. He wonders if this makes
him seem easy. Like some sort of sleezy, loose slut. Someone who easily gives
away pictures of themselves in hopes that they’ll end up in bed with a total
stranger.
Which...isn’t that what Stiles is doing?
Now Stiles feels super wrong and dirty. Seriously! What the hell is he doing on
here? First he’s just checking shit out and now an hour later he’s swapping
pics with the hottest body he’s ever seen in the history of ever. In hopes that
maybe, what? He’ll be invited over for sex? Is this what Stiles is all about
now? For the longest time Stiles had always imagined his first time being all
magical and slow and passionate and sickly romantic. There weren’t many times
he imagined it being dirty and and impersonal. Not to say that those fantasies
didn’t exist. Those were usually the hottest, but that didn’t change the fact
that he was sappy and wanted his first time to mean something. A quick get-off
with a total stranger isn’t romantic or magical. But that’s exactly what’s
happening here. He’s setting himself up for...for...a hookup. A casual exchange
of bodily fluids and pleasure.
The sound of ‘sw’ replying stole his attention.
 [SW: fuck. i want to tear into that ass.]
Stiles is suddenly hard again. Screw morals.
 [SW: you travel?]
Travel? Stiles thinks that maybe this guy is asking if he wants to come over.
He hopes he’s asking. Because yes. Yes, yes yes a million times yes Stiles
wants to go over. So his fingers rush along the touchscreen, replying with:
 [Little Red: Address?]
And that is how Stiles ended up here, in some sketchy part of town. Parking in
front of some wrecked sort of apartment-community-looking thing. He takes a
moment to let it all sink in; letting the realization of what is happening
really wash over him. His palms are sweaty and his heart is pounding so loud it
feels as if it’s crashing against his head. He swallows and breathes out a
shaky exhale.
“Alright, Stiles. This is it. You’re gonna go in there and be sexy and this
dude is gonna be all over you and it’s gonna lead to touching, and maybe
kissing and then nakedness and eventually...oh fuck. Holy shit this is
happening. This is actually fucking happening.”
Licking his lips and gathering the last remnants of his courage, he leaves his
jeep and heads towards the the staircase that leads up to the apartment that
belongs to 'sw'. However, standing before the door that separated him from a
stranger all too willing to deflower his rose, he swallows hard and brings his
hand to hover over the wooden surface. He lets it linger a moment, internally
conflicted with his situation. But before his fist could even hit the door, it
swings open and the sight he's met with literally has him gaping.
Derek is standing in the open entrance, and apparently allergic to proper
attire since he's scowling in only a pair of gym shorts. Stiles chokes, mind
suddenly feeling like its imploding, because no way. No fucking way this is the
right address. No fucking way in fuck that this is the same stranger he was
swapping pictures with just a half an hour before. Derek just huffs out an
aggravated breath, looking dangerous levels of 'not-dealing-with-you-right-
now'.
"Stiles" The Alpha grits out, "What the hell are you doing here and how do you
know I live here?"
Stiles wants to respond, but he can't think. He literally can't breath right
now and he pretty sure the universe hates him. It hates him so damn much and
he’s almost positive its laughing it's ass off. So fucking pleased that Stiles
has inadvertently orchestrated a hook-up with Derek Fucking Hale. But he's a
dumbass if he thinks that his mouth needs to utilize his brain to utter words.
Before he can stop himself, he's gasping out:
"Holy fuck! You're SW?!"
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     So, my plotline changed and I ended up adding feelings. So, this has
     been extended to 3 chapters. Oops?
The moment the words are out of Stiles’ mouth, it’s like everything stopped.
Derek’s face practically collapses, giving way to a terrified expression and
neither of them move for an undetermined amount of time.
It’s like being suspended in air, and then you’re suddenly falling. Your
stomach feels all light and airy and your heart is hammering, because you know
that eventually you’re gonna hit the ground. And really, everyone knows what
happens when you hit the floor from an insane distance. You fucking splat like
a pancake and die.
Then Derek’s face hardens, donning a menacing scowl before he’s reaching out
and dragging Stiles into his creepy wolf-den apartment. In a flash, the door is
slammed shut and Stiles is pushed up against a wall.
“Well, this is certainly familiar” Stiles says while clearing his throat, “I’m
glad we’re past all the awkwardness that is my life. So if you’d just let me
go, I’ll leave and we can just pretend this never happe-- Oh my God! What are
you--” 
“Shut up.” Derek says as he reaches into Stiles’ pockets, and that’s when he
begins to realize that Derek is close. Really, very, close. How he has his
hands on Stiles’ thighs with just a thin sliver of fabric, separating his
insanely, hot and firm fingers from sliding across Stiles’ flesh. It was
thoughts like these that seem to plague Stiles in the most inappropriate of
times.
Before he can begin a dutiful protest, Stiles is watching Derek pull his cell
phone from his back pocket. Stiles wants to reach out and take it from him, but
he’s still being pinned to the wall, so...he guesses he’ll just chill right
there. Derek unlocks the phone and tenses. His finger hovers over the little
yellow Grindr icon. Abruptly, Stiles is aware of that trepidation again. Like
the air is too hot to breathe and you’re trying too hard not to make a sound
when really, everything is just noticeably louder. Then Derek hits the icon.
It seems like a millenia passes while what he assumes is technically just the
five seconds it takes for the app the launch. Then Derek groans, chucking the
phone somewhere in his small living room.
“What the fuck Stiles! Seriously? What the hell are you doing on a dating app?
And for fucks sake, you’re not even legal!” Derek is yelling and Stiles
instantly feels himself become defensive. 
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know! It was stupid, I know that. Fucking
Christ, can you let me down?” That’s when Derek must have noticed how close he
was, still pining the boy to the wall. Pulling his arm from Stiles’ body, he
slowly takes a step back out of his space. Stiles sighs, long and weary and
cards a hand through his hair. Remarkably, he deflates, feeling drained and
abnormally sullen.
“Look, I’m having like...” He stops and and huffs out another breath, “I think
I might be into dudes.” He’s not quite sure why he’s confiding in Derek. He
hasn’t even seen him since the night they all fought Gerard at that warehouse.
Even before then, they’ve never been anything you could comfortably call
friends, but Stiles couldn’t deny that Derek was there for him when he needed
him. And the same went for Derek when he needed Stiles. 
Derek is still silent though, his eyebrows drawn up in confusion. Stiles
notices then that he’s still standing there wearing nothing but basketball
shorts, which reminds him precisely why he was most likely in that state of
undress. 
It was because Stiles-- no, Little Red was on his way over. 
His brain eventually tumbles back to how he got into this mess. How some
innocent intentions and an insatiable curiosity led to an exchange of nude
pictures, and the offer of a hook up. Still, thoughts of ‘sw’s-- no Derek’s
pictures left Stiles feeling increasingly hot as his body spiked uncontrollably
with sudden salacious desire.
He licks his lips, promptly aware that his eyes have been lingering on Derek’s
naked flesh far longer than what he would deem appropriate. He looks up slowly,
meeting the man’s knowing glare. Derek raises a brow, looking too smug for his
own good; like he knows that Stiles is interested, and how could he not?
Despite how fucked up this situation might be, it didn’t change the fact that
Stiles was-- is interested. That he had inadvertently sent Derek pictures of
himself. Pictures that Derek had specified he wanted. The resulting consensus
being that he wanted to fuck. 
Stiles doesn’t even know what to do right now. His hormones are suddenly on the
fritz while his mind is screaming at him to leave and never see Derek again. It
has him conflicted in the most frightening, yet exciting of ways. However, a
deeper part of him still can’t help but imagine Derek’s body pressed up against
him, pushing him into the wall; hands burning hot into his skin like both a
promise and a claim. He wants to know what it would feel like if Derek trailed
his claws across his flesh. How it would feel if he grazed his fangs along the
curve of Stiles’ neck. To maybe have Derek turn him around and slam him into
the wall face first; to feel him grind his hips hard and rough, into the jut of
Stiles' ass.
Derek makes a deep noise, it resonates in a way that could only be described as
a growl. Stiles pulls from his haze to focus on Derek whose eyes are
dangerously red and is visibly flaring his nostrils. Derek's glare is
lecherous, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine. It makes his skin crawl and his
heart pound heavy in his chest, because Derek isn't looking at him like he had
all those times in the past; like he’s some annoying little shit, berating him
with harsh humor and dry wit. He's looking at Stiles like he's good enough to
eat.
The surprise must show on Stiles face, because Derek is suddenly crossing his
arms over his chest, pointedly looking away and clearing his throat.
“Is that...such a bad thing?” Derek finally answers. Stiles begins to open his
mouth, automatically searching for a defensive rebuttal, but he falters,
thinking once again about their situation. Derek is on the app, and of course
that would mean that he isn’t against some male persuasion. The thought had
never crossed Stiles’ mind before. Although Stiles was more than against
stereotyping the homosexual lifestyle, he just didn’t peg Derek as ‘rollin’
with the bros’ sort to speak.
Clearing his thoughts, Stiles realizes that maybe he might have offended Derek
in a way that he really didn’t intend to.
“No. I mean, not for you or anyone. I just...fuck Derek. I don’t know what I’m
doing here. I really don’t. This is fucking embarrassing and I’m--” He stops,
biting his bottom lip. “I’m just confused.”
Dereks sighs, giving Stiles a pitying look before uncrossing his arms and
motioning towards the living area. It takes Stiles a moment to understand the
gesture, but reluctantly begins his tread towards the couch. Derek follows
after him, veering off into the small kitchen to the left-- a short breakfast
bar gives a clear view to the living room.
Stiles falls back onto the dark, leather sectional. It’s nice, he thinks
randomly, looking around Derek’s secret apartment. A dark wooden coffee table
separates the sectional from the modest entertainment center; a sizable flat
screen TV on its surface. Beside it, Stiles notices a PlayStation 3. That
has his mind crumbling into oblivion, because seriously? Derek and video games?
This definitely isn’t reality.
Derek pats around in the kitchen a few more moments before rounding the bar
with two beers in hand. He pops the cap off one and hands it to Stiles who eyes
the drink suspiciously.
“Um...you do know that I’m only sixteen, right? And my dad is the Sheriff?
You’re pretty much asking for jail time, buddy.” Derek merely raises a brow
before responding.
“You do realize that you were on a dating app that requires you to be at least
eighteen and you went to a complete stranger's house to get laid?”
Stiles feels embarrassed and maybe even ashamed for a moment, because yeah. He
sorta, maybe did all that, but he was on a mission for the truth. The truth of
sexuality and the exploration of the male physique. He thinks that maybe that’s
really not a good enough justification, though. Which means that Derek is
right, and by principle, that sorta makes Stiles mad.
“Yeah, well...didn’t seem to bother you at the time.” He says while taking the
offered beverage. Derek just sighs, taking a seat on the sofa a comfortable
distance away from Stiles. The preceding minutes are filled with an unpleasant
silence. The air around them seems dry and heavy.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of...if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s
normal to be curious” Derek says finally. It surprises Stiles a little, because
he realizes that Derek is actually trying to be supportive in his own
nonchalant way. The notion has Stiles feeling strangely raw. He didn’t think,
that of all the people he knew, that Derek would be understanding. Which is why
he decides to divulge more of himself than he normally would.
“Thing is, I think I always kinda knew, ya know? Like, there were signs but I
was just so fixated on Lydia that I didn’t really read into it, but after
Jackson...” He trails off, looking down at his fidgeting hands. He thinks that
Derek knows what he's feeling. That he probably stinks of grief and sorrow and
bitter resentment. It makes him feel pathetic and exposed. It’s not something
he wants to feel like in front of someone like Derek. An Alpha werewolf with
the confidence and strength to do things that Stiles only wishes he was capable
of doing. Someone who is so sure of themselves; of who they are.
Stiles subconsciously curls into himself, trying to appear smaller than he
really is. Possibly to convey how he’s feeling; like some little, defenseless
animal. He notices Derek’s hand flinch, moving slightly toward him, but stops
to rest on the couch instead. And maybe that’s what gave Stiles the confidence
to continue? The implication that Derek appeared to want to comfort him.
Letting him know that it was okay for Stiles to voice himself and his concerns.
“But anyway, I’m moving past all that and when I started noticing guys more, I
just--” He chuckles to himself. “You know me, diving in head first without
thinking shit through.”
Derek huffs a laugh, because yes, it’s definitely a Stiles thing to do. Anyone
that knows him would tell you that Stiles is as impatient and anxious as they
come. 
They sit in silence a bit more, nursing their beers slowly. Though, Stiles
notices more than once Derek’s eyes follow the motion of his lips covering the
rim of his bottle. He tries not to read too much into that, because its making
his gut feel as if a searing, hot wire is coiling its way up his spine. Soon,
Stiles is growing restless with the new silence that is filling the air around
them. 
“I just want to know, like...am I? You know...gay? Or maybe Bi? Not that there
needs to be labels or anything...I just want some clarification.” Derek nods in
agreement. It dawns on Stiles that Derek would indeed understand his dilemma.
That at one point maybe he went through this ridiculous uncertainty of his
sexuality. The realization has him asking Derek a question he isn’t quite sure
he’s allowed to ask.
“How did you-- you know...know?” Stiles voices tentatively. Derek just shrugs,
like the question wasn’t in any way offensive. That has Stiles’ body releasing
the sudden tension he only just noticed had taken over. 
“It doesn’t really matter to me. I like what I like, I’ve always known, I
guess.” He confesses, but Stiles just keeps looking at him like he needs to
understand more. Derek must have caught on because he sighs, putting his bottle
on the coffee table before continuing.
“When Laura and I moved to New York-- It’s different up there. No one really
cares about stuff like who’s sleeping with who. Besides, Laura was always sort
of wild. She’d drag me around to all these really dumb clubs, and I guess it
was her way of coping with everything. Clubs are loud, and there are too many
people; too many scents. It overwhelms you.” He stops, looking down at his
hands, letting out a long exhale.
“So we’d go almost every night. I just went with it, saw this guy one time,
took him home and...” He shrugs again, like it was that easy.
“It was good and that did it for me. I was curious before then, but after
confirming it, I guess I just do whatever I’m feeling at the time now.” Stiles
can’t help but laugh, because really? Derek actually told him something that
was personal, and it shouldn’t be all that strange, but watching his mouth move
and form exaggerated, coherent sentences just seemed so ridiculous to Stiles.
“Sorry” He says, still chuckling lightly. “It’s just, wow man, I think that’s
the most you’ve ever said to me in the history of ever.” He finishes with a
smile. Derek just grins, clearly understanding Stiles need to provide humor at
least every five minutes. The sight of Derek’s lip curling up playfully, feels
like a punch to the chest. Knowing that he did that. To know that the grin
Derek is sporting so freely is just for him, it clutches at his insides in a
way that shouldn’t feel this bittersweet.
“Shut up” Derek says, though it’s said more in fondness; with a gentleness
foreign to what Stiles usually associates with Derek.
The conversation trails off, leaving them with nothing but a cold, awkward
silence. Stiles brings his beer to his lips, only to realize that the drink is
spent. Derek seems to notice, his gaze already fixated on where the bottle
meets Stiles’ mouth. 
“You want another?” He asks casually, if not a little hopefully. Stiles mulls
it over for a moment. He knows he has to go home eventually, and the
possibility of being pulled over drunk or crashing isn’t enticing.
“I have to drive home soon. I don’t really think a car accident is what I need
right now.” Stiles finally says, frivolously. Derek shrugs, and really? This
dude is always shrugging.
“I could drive you home later? Or you could crash here, its fine.” Stiles looks
at Derek suspiciously, because, um...that is oddly chivalrous of him.
“You’re being nice. I don’t know how to handle this. You’re never nice,
especially not to me.” It’s out of Stiles’ mouth before he can think better of
it. His eyes are narrowing on Derek as if to accentuate his suspicion. Derek
scowls, looking at Stiles like he’s dumb.
“I’m always nice.” He says gruffly. That has Stiles chuckling.
“Yeah right, dude. You throw me against shit all the time, and when I try to
help you, you give me the death stare and ignore me.” Though it was said
flippantly, Derek’s face sports a guilty expression. Perplexed, Stiles doesn’t
like the fact that he was the reason for that self-condemning look. Troubling
enough, he wonders wistfully when he started to berate himself for making Derek
feel bad. Stiles isn’t sure he likes the significance of this discovery.
“You’re human, Stiles. I’m not--” Derek trails off looking strained. “I’m not
good with Humans. The last time I trusted them, my whole family payed with
their lives.” He looks so plagued; so vulnerable and breakable. Stiles shifts a
little closer, and without thinking of the repercussions, rests his hand on
Derek’s. He’s not sure what he’s trying to do. Comfort, perhaps? Alleviate the
burden that seems to sit so heavily on Derek’s shoulders? All he knows is his
body instinctively needs to convey that he’s there. That he’s not going
anywhere; he’s not going to judge him.
Derek flinches, looking down at where Stiles’s hand is placed almost tenderly
on his own before raising his head to stare at Stiles. His eyes filled with
bewilderment and admiration. That alone is giving Stiles the courage to find
his voice.
“Hey man. We’ve been through a lot of shit together, there’s no doubting that.
I admit I sorta hated you when all this wolfy crap started, but now...Now I see
that you’re a pretty decent guy who’s just trying to do the right thing and
even if Scott doesn’t really trust you, well...” He stops, looking away for a
moment, suddenly feeling shy. He doesn’t understand why, but telling Derek this
makes him feel fragile. He steels himself, before turning to meet Derek’s eyes
with an unfaltering gaze.
“I trust you. Even if you don’t believe me, I’m telling you anyways. I trust
you, man.” Once the words have left his mouth, he’s met with confliction. His
body feels lighter, but at the same time, it’s heavy with trepidation. Worried
that maybe his assurance would be taken in negativeness.
But Derek looks absolutely gutted, his face, open and unrestrained. That moment
gives Stiles a glimpse at the man on the inside. He’s seeing a teenager from
six years ago that watched his family burn. The lost little boy who had to
encase himself in armor and build walls of stone around himself out of fear of
losing anything else. The same child who’s more alone and unsure of himself
than Stiles could have ever imagined. In that singular moment, Stiles knows
with a starling certainty that the words he just uttered weren’t just simple
declarations. It was a promise of something far more intricate.
Stiles’ eyes are locked with the intention to assert that, yes, no matter what
the hell is going on, he’ll be there if Derek needed him. The moment lingers,
as they stare into one another, their eyes almost searching for a deeper
understanding of what they both seem to be walking the edges of. The lingering
touch of Stiles’ hand on Derek’s almost seems to charge the air, tugging Stiles
subtly closer in attempt to satiate some incomprehensible need. He notices that
Derek’s gaze flicks between his own and a space somewhere farther down his
face; the way his lips have parted almost gracefully leave Stiles’ own mouth
feeling dry and hungry. How they’re both leaning into each other's space,
fixated on a desire that Stiles is sure neither of them want to ignore anymore.
Cognizance jolts Stiles, pulling him from whatever compelling intent that had
enslaved him; eyes widening before he stalls his motion. Derek must sense the
abrupt change as he stops too, looking away with a jerk. Stiles swallows
heavily, all-too aware of the uncomfortable aura that has gripped them. Licking
his lips, he searches for a deviation.
“So...about that other beer?” He asks. Derek gets up, a little too quickly, and
heads to the kitchen. Stiles lets a small smile creep onto his lips, because,
yeah. Derek and him totally had a moment. He looks to the ground and notices
his phone. Getting up from his perch on the couch, he braces himself on the
coffee table, and bends down in what would almost be an obscene manner. While
he he's gripping the phone, he hears the sound of glass crashing. Still bent,
he look back towards the kitchen to see Derek staring at him, visage contorted
in shock. Stiles, taking a moment to understand the situation, follows Derek’s
gaze to his ass that he realizes is practically being presented. It’s then that
he notices his pants have sagged slightly, revealing the red underwear he’s
still wearing. Everything comes crashing back to him, the whole grindr debacle.
The pictures they’ve traded. How Derek, and he quotes, wants to ‘tear into that
ass’.
His neck and cheeks feel flushed and the well-known feeling of arousal strikes
through him like liquid fire. Derek loses his surprised expression in favor of
something more defensive, growling a warning.
“Stiles, stop.” He says through gritted teeth, but its too late. Stiles is
already thinking about Derek’s tight, black briefs and the huge outline of his
cock. The way his large, heavy hands covered his dick but exposed the rest of
his body in an unabashed display meant to entice. He should be ashamed by how
his mind can so quickly move from the familiarity of a friendship to a starved
lust. He swallows again, finally straightening his back. He already knows he’s
getting hard but he can’t stop himself-- he’s not sure he wants to, because in
that moment he’s feeling more comfortable, more starved, more desperate for
Derek than he’s ever been.  
That’s when a brilliant plan jolts him.
Stiles licks his lips, thinking about how, despite the fucked up situation
they’ve stumbled in, he can still come to a clear consensus on his sexuality.
Derek’s jaw clenches, his eyes flare red momentarily at the sight of Stiles
wetting his mouth. All the while, Stiles begins to piece together that he’s
influencing Derek’s state of distress. That just the simple act of presenting
himself has someone so controlled like Derek in a near-sexual frenzy. It makes
him feel powerful, to have such sway over someone so dangerous. He turns to
face Derek, whose nostrils are flaring in way that seem conflicted on whether
they want to inhale deep, or stunt his breath altogether. 
Stiles decides he’s going to put his plan into action.
“I have an idea...” Stiles says, slowly walking towards the kitchen. Derek
tenses, doting a menacing scowl, as if he knows what Stiles’ intentions are;
knows the lascivity of his thoughts. That only seems to fill Stiles with a more
stimulating incentive.
“How about...you fuck me?” And at that, Derek’s mouth drops open. Stiles’ blunt
invitation hadn’t been expected, by the way Derek has abandoned his unyielding
expression. But Stiles is feeling confident and horny and now that he’s looking
at Derek, still shirtless and becoming more disheveled by the second, he’s got
to admit...sleeping with Derek is an incredible idea. Derek clenches his jaw
and takes a step back. 
“What the hell are you talking about?” He asks almost angrily. Stiles’ approach
doesn’t falter, taking small steps, almost swaying his hips in a salacious
manner. Derek takes notice and turns his face away.
“You told me it took one time to figure it out, right? Well...I need to know
Derek. I need to know if I’m into this. Besides, would you rather me
experiement with someone I know? Or find some random dude on Grindr?” That
steals Derek’s attention, his gaze intense and unforgiving; practically
asserting an unspoken claim. The look he all but stabs into Stiles almost seems
to convey that the thought of anyone else touching him is treacherous. That the
mere entertainment of the idea warrants punishment.
“No.” Derek replies gruffly. Stiles smirks, knowingly. 
“Then let’s do it? I trust you...” He says. Those words makes Derek falter for
a moment, once again looking like he’s retracting into his mind. He abruptly
raises a hand, stalling Stiles’ approach, who immediately stops. Taking in the
sight of the dangerously sharp points of Derek’s...claws, his brain rushes with
hesitancy. For a second, he thinks that he’s been reading Derek all wrong. That
he really doesn’t want to have anything to do with Stiles, and would rather
just forget about any of this. But that train of thought leaks into a time when
when Scott had told him about how difficult it was to control the shift when
presented with extreme lust. The insinuation that, once again, Stiles effects
Derek in such a way, makes him bold. Fills his chest with a burning
satisfaction and desire.
“Fine.” Derek finally says. “But I’m not holding back, Stiles. This might not
be enjoyable for you.” Stiles smirks, looking dangerous in his own right,
before closing the distance between them. He trails his hands up Derek’s chest,
confident and suggestive, snaking them up to rest around his neck.
“Good thing I want it rough, then, huh?” He says, as his entire body exudes an
overbearing musk of titillating want, sex, and temptation. 
Derek growls, low and ferocious, while gripping Stiles’ hips. He crashes their
mouths together; kissing Stiles with a fervent hunger, sliding his tongue on
the brim of Stiles’ mouth. He bites at Stiles’ bottom lip, catching it between
his teeth and tugging it which makes Stiles’ body buzz with an unrepressed
want. He tightens his grip, pulling them both impossibly closer all the while
licking into Stiles’ mouth. Their tongues mingle, dancing at the forefront to a
cadence of grunts, moans, and groans. Stiles’ hands move to grip into Derek’s
hair, needing to hold on to him in fear of falling out of the sex-crazed plane
of existence they seem to be in. Whimpering high and needy, he reciprocates
with an endearing enthusiasm, sucking on Derek’s tongue; sliding his teeth on
the wet muscle as Derek retracts it and bites down on Stiles’ lip again. Only
this time, it’s borderline painful, but the pleasure it sends down his spine
makes him shudder and cry out in a sound that can only be described as mewling.
Before he knows it, Derek is lifting his legs, hoisting Stiles up and around
his waist. Stiles immediately and instinctively locks them around Derek's body
before his back meets the kitchen wall. The impact has him gasping out in
surprise, breaking the kiss and moving his face up.
“You never could resist throwing me up again walls, could you?” Stiles says
hoarsely, his voice already feeling hard to use; body and mind humming with
lust. Derek only makes that low, rumbling noise, deep in his throat before he
assaults the flesh of Stiles’ neck. 
“Oh fuck--” Stiles whimpers while Derek’s nips and sucks on the curve of his
neck. It’s almost a science, how he bites at Stiles’ skin, before he sucks and
licks. Then he moves lower to repeat, and repeat, and--
Stiles needs to be naked. He needs Derek to be naked. They need to be naked
together and despite how hot it would be to get fucked into a wall, he really
wants to be on a bed for his first time.
“Hey-- Uhnn-- Derek, oh fuck. Derek, please-- Bed. The bed.” Stiles says
breathlessly. Derek bites down hard on Stiles’ collarbone, eliciting a wanton
moan, so filthy and needy it only proves to drive Derek further into a frenzy.
The next thing he knows, Derek’s mouth is on his again, devouring in its wake;
kissing him with a savage brutality that leaves Stiles’ keening. He runs his
tongue over Derek’s teeth when he suddenly feels them. Long, pointed and sharp.
Derek’s fangs. Deep in his mind, he wonders what the appropriate response to
this would be, but before he can over analyze, he’s shoving his tongue into the
sharpest point of Derek’s protruded canines, licking at them with a sick
fascination. Derek growls.
He’s only half aware that he’s being carried farther into the apartment. The
sound of the bedroom door slamming echoes throughout the room. Then, Stiles is
being thrown onto a plush mattress. Collecting himself, he looks up, taking in
the sight of Derek standing above him. His mouth, open and panting, shows that
his fangs are indeed there. His ears are long and pointed; animalistic. The
hands to his sides show claws, sharp and lethal, but most evident are those
eyes. Bloody scarlet and glowing in a constant promise of rage and untamed
savagery.
It’s in that moment Stiles thinks that perhaps he’s damaged. To crave someone
that could easily rip you apart and literally eat you. That definitely can’t be
healthy desire. But try as he might, looking up at Derek, that’s all he can
see. Not the Alpha Werewolf who has a bloodlust that could fill a whole pool
with bodies, but a man that he just recently realized he trusts a lot more than
he had let himself believe. All he sees is Derek Hale, a man who lost his
family and is just trying to do his best to fix a mess he feels responsible
for. That, despite the whole ‘stoic-badass-I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ routine he has
down almost perfectly, Derek cares a lot about the people around him and he’s
sort of a great guy.
“Are you sure about this?” Derek asks, his voice low; more animal than human.
Stiles smiles, privately and genuinely, the epiphany that he really wouldn’t
want to be anywhere else right now is startling, but absolute.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m sure.”
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