Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1152722.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Smoking, Scenting, Pining, Anal_Fingering, Come_Eating, Anal_Sex, Riding,
      Felching
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-25 Words: 7694
****** Help Me Smoke This One ******
by GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary
     "This is stupid." Derek said to his cigarette. "I don't want to smell
     like smoke." and that was a lie so he amended, "I only want to smell
     like smoke for a stupid reason that doesn't make any sense."
Notes
     This was supposed to be one or two thousand words and take me three
     days to write and get posted. Fuck me. How did this become so long?
     Title from an Otis Redding song, "Cigarettes and Coffee"
See the end of the work for more notes
Derek didn't go to the Jungle often. He'd only been a regrettable handful of
times. Every now and then, he'd get it into his head that easy sex would make
him feel better - which it wouldn't. He could never seem to remember in the
long term that it would only make him feel like shit. He suspected this was
because he was an idiot.
But, it was one of his infrequent nights of this particular brand of idiocy and
he'd fucked some barely legal Art Major, in mascara and tight pants, who had
wanted to kiss him again and again and again with his purposefully familiar,
full, pink mouth that had tasted like ash. It wasn't shocking, because Derek
could have smelled the boy's three packs a day even without super senses. What
it really was was unpleasant. He didn't want to kiss someone he didn't know,
and he wanted their mouth to taste like mouth if he did, but Derek knew that
other people's sexual needs should always come before his own.
The sex was nice and the pretty, lithe Art Major was complimentary - but in
that way that made Derek nauseous. Luckily, the boy hadn't been looking for
anything but a quick fuck in a dirty bathroom, and Derek got to leave first,
the boy claiming that he'd need a second to stop shaking after that. He'd said
it with a wink that Derek didn't see because he was already rushing out of the
restroom and the bar and to the parking lot.
Coming in, two other boys arm-linked in front of him, was someone Derek didn't
want to see going into a place where he'd just fucked someone. He certainly
didn't want him to see Derek coming out from a place like that.
Stiles's eyes were big and bright in the dark. His mouth was open, of course,
but Derek didn't look at it because he didn't deserve to. He was going to hurry
by and then deny the encounter should it be brought up, but Stiles said,
"Derek?" like he was beyond shocked, in a sort of breathless, amazed way that,
if louder, Derek would have felt proud to make him say. As it was, he just felt
more guilty and ducked his head to push past.
Stiles caught his arm - or his jacket to be more exact, but Derek could still
feel the warmth of his palm and feel how long his fingers were.
He tried to say something, shut the fuck up, what the fuck do you think you're
doing here?, fucking let go, but nothing came out. Stiles took a step closer.
His friends before them had stopped, looking back, whispering, laughing.
Stiles looked like he wanted to say something too until he stepped into Derek's
space and inhaled and -
And Derek didn't know what.
The boy froze. There was a spike in his scent, and that wasn't surprising in
itself - Stiles often gave off of waves of arousal when Derek was close. Derek
wasn't blind, aurally speaking - but this was something completely different.
It was a flash of warmth and a softening of the face and a completely lost,
vulnerable look.
Neither of them said anything until Stiles murmured, "My mom used to smoke."
And the world, which Derek hadn't noticed to be muted, came crashing back and
he could hear the music from the club and the streets and they almost covered
up Stiles's heartbeat, which was still slow and calm until he realized he'd
been staring for so long and became embarrassed.
Stiles let go but didn't move. Derek tried to swallow, working his throat. He
licked his lips and opened his mouth, watching Stiles's amber eyes flit down to
catch the movement.
"I didn't know you smoked." Stiles said finally. Derek didn't respond and
Stiles turned, even more embarrassed, and left with his friends, who cackled at
him like the exchange was the funniest thing they'd ever seen.
"I don't." Derek finally managed out, but Stiles was already at the door and
not looking back.
He went inside, but his warm scent, and his firm hands, and his heartbeat
stayed. Derek kept all of this with him until he got home, and then purged them
from his system like he always did.
===============================================================================
Derek had never smoked. He liked most things that didn't involve fire, for
reasons. Of course, he could understand the difference, and he'd never had a
problem with people smoking around him - or, at least, smoking wasn't what made
him uncomfortable when people were around him. But it didn't interest him. It
couldn't do anything for him, good or bad.
Stiles doesn't ask him to or anything. Stiles doesn't even mention it outside
of one, "I didn't know you went to the Jungle. Do you know," so and so. Derek
hadn't and Stiles had faded off, blushing and coughing to clear his throat and
change the subject to something more important.
So, really, it didn't make much sense. It was just that Derek had started to
think, which was often bad because thinking generally meant dwelling, that he
wanted Stiles to touch him like that again, even if just on the arm, and look
at Derek with longing, even if it wasn't Derek he really wanted. Mostly,
although it was a subconscious desire that Derek wasn't fully aware of, he
wanted Stiles to be reminded of family when he looked at him.
So, a week later, he found himself at a gas station a few towns over and buying
a pack of cigarettes. He didn't know what kind was best, because he knew
relatively nothing about this, so he bought the pack that was priced exactly in
the middle.
He expected judgement. He thought the cashier might give him a knowing look or
a sermon about lung cancer. He thought they might say, "Hey, aren't you Derek
Hale? Didn't your family burn? Guess you want to blacken up and char like they
did, huh?" He was reaching a frantic I don't know why I'm doing this this is so
stupid when the cashier rung him up.
She didn't say anything besides the total, and she didn't even look at him. In
all honesty, she looked even more tired than Derek felt, and so he told her to
have a nice day before she said it to him.
He smoked his first cigarette in his car with the radio on quietly and the
window cracked just enough to flick ash out. It was all much easier to do than
he had thought, even if he wasn't quite sure what about lighting up and
inhaling he had thought would be so difficult. Taking a drag, he wondered if
they still made lighters that heated up in your car port, and then realized
that such an investment would have meant that this, whatever this was, was
something he did now. Which it wasn't.
"This is stupid." Derek said to his cigarette. "I don't want to smell like
smoke." and that was a lie so he amended, "I only want to smell like smoke for
a stupid reason that doesn't make any sense."
The cigarette didn't respond, so he brought it to his mouth again and then
flicked ash out the window and turned up the radio.
===============================================================================
Derek wasn't exactly sure why they met at his apartment. He wasn't the Alpha,
but Scott's mom's night off was Wednesday, and, no, they couldn't do Thursday,
and Stiles's dad had said they couldn't do it there, and no one really knew
where Peter lived. So it had fallen into his lap. Pack meetings were are
Derek's place, whether he liked it or not.
Stiles walked into Derek's apartment for a "Pre-Pack Meeting Pow Wow." The
phrase was Stiles's, and Derek was pretty sure they only did this so Stiles
could say it. After all, why would Stiles want to spend so much extra time with
Derek, regardless of how physically attracted he might have been to the man.
Derek didn't delude himself. He knew Stiles couldn't really stand him
personally.
He froze once he was in scent range. Derek waited. He waited for Stiles to get
that soft, lost expression. He wanted to be looked at by the boy once more,
even if only for a second. But, Stiles seemed to shake himself out of it and
put on a casual face, saying, "Hey," like it was nothing at all.
Derek's hopes fell and he said, "Hey," back in a gruff manner. Stiles didn't
comment on it, because it wasn't really out of character, and set his stuff
down to start going over preliminary matters.
No one mentioned it at the meeting, except Peter, who remarked, "You smell like
a dive bar, Derek. A dive bar from the sixties. It's abhorrent."
"Oh, the sixties, huh?" Stiles repeated. "Do you remember them well?"
To which, Peter had laughed and opened his mouth, ready to respond. Derek had
growled at them to focus. Stiles had huffed, obviously not feeling as playful
as Peter, who had perfected faking cheerful compliance.
Afterwards, when the Pack left, Stiles was still there, like always, quietly
washing dishes while Derek packed leftovers into the Tupperware someone had
given him for Christmas last year.
"If you wanna light up, I don't mind." Stiles said, casually, but there was
some strain in his body, a quirk in his heart beat that seemed out of place. It
wasn't a lie, but it was definitely off.
"No." Derek refused.
"Okay." Stiles nodded quickly. "But I don't mind it. The smell. So, it won't
bother me if you want to."
"I don't."
Stiles nodded again. "Okay." and he almost sounded disappointed, but maybe
Derek had heard him wrong - which was nearly impossible at this point because
Derek had studied Stiles's tonal behavior intensely to better differentiate
friendly sarcasm from defensive sarcasm, and he knew what disappointment, or at
least sorrow, smelled like as he had scented it on the boy so many times, and
the way those broad shoulders slumped, however minutely, was never lost on him.
But, he was probably just imaging any sort of emotion Stiles might seem to be
giving off.
Derek suddenly felt more than angry - at whom he wasn't sure. It didn't seem
right for the boy to be there if he didn't want Derek back. He knew it was a
tall order, and not something he could ever accept from someone as good as
Stiles, but it seemed rude for him to still be there when Derek so obviously -
"Why are you even here?" he snapped finally at he boy's back.
Hands in the sink, not turning, Stiles huffed, "Maybe because I'm cleaning, you
jackass. Maybe, if I don't, you won't, because you're shit at taking care of
yourself and you'll let it sit for too long and you'll get fucking mice or
something. And I'm not sharing my seat with Stuart Little."
"I can take care of myself. I don't need help from you." he grouched and Stiles
finally looked at him, drying his hands off with a dirty dishtowel. He didn't
look mad, exactly, and that unnerved Derek more than he'd ever admit. He looked
raw, if anything. Hurt.
"Am I bothering you that much? Do you really hate having me around? Because, I
thought maybe - " Derek watched him cut himself off by biting his lip. He
opened his mouth to say something in return, something grudgingly apologetic,
but Stiles put a hand up, throwing the dish towel on the counter. "Whatever,
Derek. I'll see you next week. Sorry to be a pest."
Derek didn't catch his arm or say wait stop like he wanted. He didn't apologize
or make a joke, or even snark a comment back, which would have at least made
this seem less tense. He just stood there, silently, as Stiles left, slamming
the door.
He didn't know why, but he smoked a cigarette over the sink, standing where
Stiles had, free hand lightly toying with the dishrag, raining ash over his
half-washed pots and plates. He thought about how much of an idiot he was, but
didn't acknowledge it aloud, because he couldn't bear to. He just stood silent,
breathing in smoke and the lingering, now-fading presence of the boy.
Somehow, in his quiet, he missed the boy's re-approaching of his apartment and
was startled when the door was wrenched open, Stiles already saying: "Whoops.
Forgot my phone and keys. Sorry to bother you while you're - Oh."
Derek had panicked, not knowing how to get rid of the cigarette. He looked for
something to snub it out in and didn't have any ashtrays - because that would
have acknowledged that this was a thing he was doing - and had, as Stiles
entered the kitchen, dropped it into the sink full of water.
Stiles stared at him. Derek stared back, embarrassment creeping over him. The
longer they were silent, the more ridiculous he knew himself to be, because
there was a bowl a foot away, and the floor, and he didn't actually give a shit
about his counter-tops. He just ended up looking like an asshole, again.
"You don't - " Stiles started, beginning softly and then turning mad. "Don't
act so fucking guilty about it. It's your fucking place. I'm intruding. You
didn't have to stop. You're not doing anything wrong."
"But - "
"Fucking Christ, Derek. What is the deal? I told you I don't mind and you say
you don't want to but I leave and you immediately - " he stopped talking
abruptly. Something like realization crossed his face. "Oh." he frowned, heat
creeping over his cheeks, and the sound of his voice made Derek feel even more
ashamed of his actions. "Oh. It's me. I'm... I'm making you uncomfortable." He
ran a hand through his hair, shifting his weight. "Oh my God, I am, aren't I? I
thought I was getting better at reading people when it comes to this; that you
liked - But, that's dumb, isn't it? Oh my God, this is awful, just let me get
my stuff and I'll go."
Derek panicked, "No, I - " as he frantically tried to think, unable to find the
words, so he just strangled out, "Second-hand smoke."
Stiles gaped at him and then snorted humorlessly, ducking his head to try and
hide the dark pink of his cheeks. "God, wow. You don't have to be a dick." His
voice shook which seemed to embarrass him even more. He took a step towards the
sink where his phone and keys were sitting on the counter, right behind Derek,
but the man didn't budge, desperately searching for something to say. "Look,
this is a lot worse for me, believe me. If you could just - " and Stiles made
some vague gesture, and Derek still didn't move.
"Stiles..."
The boy sighed. "I'm trying to get out of your hair, but - "
"Stop." and Derek pushed off the counter. "Just for a second." He came to stand
close to Stiles and watched how the boy took in his scent, how his lips pressed
together in upset. Without thinking, Derek raised a hand to touch him there, on
the corner of his mouth, wanting to the smooth the displeasure away.
Sure enough, Stiles's mouth fell open and he tilted his face up, getting that
raw, warm look again. "Are you making fun of me?" he breathed out.
"No." Derek said, and reveled in the slow way Stiles opened and closed his
eyes, and his jackrabbit heart, and how his tongue brushed Derek's thumb when
he wet his lips.
"You..." Stiles started, and Derek shifted his hand so his palm was resting
against the boy's cheek, fingers cupping the boy's jaw. Stiles leaned into the
touch, "You smell so good. I don't know why or when you started - but it's not
fair." Stiles said, eyes suddenly wide, voice accusing. "You can't just be
attractive and consistently noble and almost seem to be into me sometimes and
then smell like - How am I supposed to react? You always smelled fine before,
but now you smell like you - which as previously stated, is a scent I don't
dislike - and - And home." Stiles voice bit off and he sounded too sad, so
Derek framed his face with his other hand and shushed him.
"I'm sorry." he murmured. "I wanted you to like me. Because I didn't think you
did. Not - Not outside of - Not the way I - " He sighed, frustrated, unable to
find the right words. "I just wanted you to look at me like you like you did
that one time. At the club. It was... It was like you liked me and I wanted to
see that again."
"I did. I do. Like you, I mean." Stiles assured him, eyes bright and soft. His
own fingers came up to brush the back of Derek's hands. "How did you miss that?
Isaac used to tell me that I looked so desperate around you, he was surprised I
didn't die from thirst. Seriously, I couldn't keep it from anyone." And he
looked so young there that Derek started to feel guilty because he shouldn't
have this. He'd done all of this just so he could pretend not so he could have.
He pulled his hands back and looked away, but not quick enough to miss the hurt
and confusion on the boy's face.
"Except me." Derek said, stepping back. "Which is for the best. I'll stop
smoking. It was stupid anyway. You can - "
"What?" Stiles snapped. "Excuse me? Did I just hear you about to tell me what
to do?"
"Stiles, you're seventeen. You don't know - "
And suddenly Stiles was crowding him, in his space, his frame slotting against
Derek's, his scent and the sound of his heart and his heat taking over all of
Derek's senses. His hand was on Derek's waist, pressing warm, fingers curling
into his shirt.
"I don't think that's really a problem." Stiles hushed, and, besides the
lowered tone, he seemed unaffected, not attempting seduction but achieving it.
"You've given the bite to enough teenagers that I don't think age means much to
you at all." Which was a lie, and Derek opened his mouth to say so, so Stiles
hurried on. "And, I'm not even asking for something as life-changing as the
removal of my human-status. I just want you to touch me."
Derek was frozen still and Stiles's free hand reached for his to guide it up.
Derek's fingers brushed his cheek and ear and Stiles, eyes closing, turned to
lean into the touch he had created. "Is it that bad?" Stiles murmured, peeking
up at the man's face, which was stuck in a sort of reverent, awe-struck
disbelief.
"No." he mumbled out.
"This would be a good time to kiss me." Stiles cued him in. Derek, other hand
curling around Stiles's back to hold him close, dipped down, just to brush.
Stiles's eyes were shut lightly and Derek was forgetting how to breathe and
think and kiss until Stile's opened his mouth a little more to him and, in a
moment, let Derek inside.
It was easy, kissing him like this, because Stiles smelled good like he always
did, and felt warm and steady, like he wasn't going to leave, and tasted like
mouth.
"You smell really good." Stiles told him, breaking away. He was still so near
though, his eyes half-lidded and dark. And, before Derek could say anything in
response, Stiles was leaning forward, nosing just under his jaw, pressing a
kiss below his ear. It was only when he was laving on long stripe up the man's
neck that Derek finally broke, whining, eyes screwing shut, hands coming to
brace on Stiles's forearms.
"You taste good too." Stiles murmured, pulling back a little to take in the
man's kiss-red lips and his hazy, glowing blue eyes and stunned expression.
Stiles beamed, and it was perfect, and kissed him again, lightly. "Do you taste
good everywhere?" he asked mildly.
Derek was thrown, not having expected that question. In fairness, he wasn't
really prepared for any questions right now - or conversation in general -
because Stiles's hands were clutching and petting at his sides, up and down,
warm and firm, pressing down his back. Carefully he said, brain stalled, "I
wouldn't know the answer to that."
"Oh." Stiles remarked, hands dipping under his shirt. "Well, then. Let's find
out." and he was raising the hem, which Derek was totally fine with, until he
remembered their situation. He grabbed the boy's hands to still them.
"I don't think this is a good idea." Derek said.
Stiles pulled his hands clear back, almost looking guilty. "You're right. This
is probably too fast. I mean, I'm - Fine. I don't want to push and I - Shit.
I'm sorry." He looked away, around, anywhere but at Derek. "Oh my God, I can't
believe I said that." He ran a hand through his hair.
"Yeah. I never thought I'd hear you say something like - That." Derek admitted.
"God, shut up." Stiles said, rolling his eyes and stifling a grin. "You were
totally into it."
"Yeah." Derek nodded, and it was so completely genuine that Stiles had to duck
his head and clear his throat.
"Right. Well. I'll go now." he said, lingering a second longer, not looking or
touching. Derek was about to raise a hand to fix a stray hair, when Stiles
nodded once to himself, eyes sheepishly darting up to Derek's face, before
slinking to his phone and keys. He pocketed both quickly and, without another
word, left Derek alone in his apartment.
Derek did his dishes and tried not to dwell.
===============================================================================
Derek kept smoking, privately, quietly, thinking about something else on his
lips and in his hands. He figured he could call Stiles, invite him over or out
- but he didn't know to what. He was quickly realizing - having finally
accepted that Stiles actually liked him in, at least, a physical sense - how
far away from boyfriend material he was. He didn't have many hobbies, he wasn't
a good conversationalist, and he was absolutely certain that Stiles wouldn't
want him to interact with his dad, who had arrested him, who probably didn't
like, if not hated, him.
And, exhaling smoke, bringing the heel of his hand to his forehead, he reminded
himself that this was probably just a physical thing for the boy, because he
was a teenager, and that Derek would let him do anything, have anything, if
pressed against him like that last night.
So maybe that was why he didn't call, because knowing just how Stiles wanted
him was bound to make him desperately sad - even more so then he was as he sat
alone, smoking on his bed, tapping ash into a plastic bowl.
There was a knock on his door and he swore, loudly, stubbing out the bud and
putting the bowl aside. He padded over to the door and knew who it was before
opening it.
Stiles looked uncomfortable and young and awkward, standing in his doorway with
a small smile and something gift-wrapped in his hands.
Derek raised his eyebrows and vaguely nodded at Stiles's hands. "That an
ashtray?"
Stiles looked down, astounded that his wrap-job hadn't concealed the contents
of the gift. "It's supposed to be a surprise." he bitched, looking back up. He
pushed his way in without being invited a forced the ashtray into Derek's
hands. "You'll have to pretend to be excited when you open it." He stayed a few
paces away as Derek shut the door and considered the gift.
"You... Didn't have to." he managed out. He didn't look up to see Stiles smile,
but could hear it when he spoke.
"Please. I want to encourage your bad habit - Is it even bad for you? Scott
said he didn't think so when I asked - so it's mostly selfish. The gift, I
mean. And I want you to have nice things - or, uh, nicer things. Not to say
your stuff's shit or anything." and he cut himself of abruptly. "Don't listen
to me right now," he rambled on, "I'm just nervous."
Derek unwrapped the paper carefully and looked at the ashtray. It was painted
in dark colors, with a coarse, light brown bottom, and a wolf howling in its
center.
"'Cause you're a werewolf." Stiles offered, after a moment of Derek silently
staring at it.
"Yeah." Derek murmured, and then didn't say anything else, eyes glued to the
little, cheesy image, fingers gliding over its smooth sides.
"Wow." Stiles said, smile now forced into his voice, sounding fake-light and
actually upset - Derek knew because he'd studied this - "I didn't think you'd
hate it this much."
Derek looked up sharply. "I - "
"You don't have to like it, Derek." Stiles rolled his eyes, cheeks pinking from
embarrassment, rubbing his upper arm and then holding a hand out. "I can take
it back."
"No," Derek said, grip tightening on the ashtray.
"No, Derek. Don't keep something you hate." Stiles said, hand more insistent
now. "Just give it back."
"No." Derek growled, holding it closer to himself, away from the boy. "I - Like
it. You didn't have to and I - Like it."
Stiles stopped and folded his arms in front of him. "Well, good." and they
stood awkwardly for a few moments. "Can I... Can I watch you use it?"
Derek raised his eyebrows.
"Aw, come on." Stiles groaned. "I bought it for you."
"Yes." Derek nodded. "As a gift. Making it mine now. I'm not obligated to use
anything that's mine to make you happy."
And Stiles smirked and slinked forward a step. "I can think of a few things of
your's that you could use to make us both happy." His hand came to pull the
ashtray out of Derek's grip and set it aside.
"Stiles." Derek said, and he didn't know if he was warning or sighing or what,
but it stopped Stiles regardless.
"Right." Stiles nodded and took a step back. "That's fine."
"No," Derek frowned, wanting him closer. He reached out and, clasping his hand,
tugged him flush against his chest.
"Oh." Stiles said, sounding a little overwhelmed. "I'm, uh - oh." and he
trailed off, his eyes shutting as Derek, one hand up to splay over his neck,
leaned in to kiss him softly.
He pulled back and Stiles murmured, a little dazed, "Mmm, yeah." and blinking
into focus, he added, "We can just kiss if you just want to - Kiss. Yeah." and
Derek did kiss him again, shallowly, reveling in the way Stiles's arms slid
around his waist and how, physically, their bodies fit together well. There
weren't many things that Derek could remember feeling this right.
Stiles hand slid down his back, groping his ass, and Derek froze. Stiles pulled
back immediately. "Sorry."
"No, it's..."
"Look, unless you really want to do this..." Stiles said, slowly, watching him
intently to gauge his reaction. He must have seen hesitancy on the man's face.
"Okay."
"You don't have to go." Derek said, quickly, and Stiles smiled.
"I wasn't planning on it."
"We could go out." Derek suggested weakly.
"Nah." and he turned, heading towards the kitchen. "I'm gonna make some coffee.
Go put on a movie." He looked back for a moment. "You like movies, right?"
Derek kind of shrug-nodded, which seemed to suffice, because Stiles was turning
back and disappearing, leaving him to stand, gazing after him. After a moment,
he followed him in.
"I know you have a TV." Stiles said without having to look. "You hide it in
your bedroom. I wasn't snooping - I just saw it."
Derek didn't respond for a moment, because Stiles was going through his
cupboards, sifting through his things with such familiarity that Derek was
overcome with emotion he wasn't sure he could bear to name. He didn't even mind
that Stiles was acting like Derek's home was his home - which was a sensation
he didn't want to be so absent. Without being able to snark at Stiles for being
so presumptuous, he didn't know how to interact with him.
He'd forgotten what he'd come in to say.
Stiles was carefully scoping out grounds when he finally shot a glance back at
him. "Do you want a cup?"
"I, uh..." Derek grumbled, trying to get himself back on track. "I don't have
any movies."
Stiles nearly spun on his heel, face slack with amazement. "You don't have any?
You own none? How? What do you even do with your TV?"
"I watch the news."
"Oh. Well, then." Stiles shrugged. "We can do that. You want a cup?"
He shook his head but watched the boy silently, taking in the careful, focused
way he used Derek's things. He pressed the on button and took Derek's hands and
led him to his own bedroom. Flicking off the lights, he grabbed the remote
control and flopped down onto the bed.
Derek sat gingerly at his side as he turned on the news. He didn’t know quite
was to do with himself. Stiles was there, like it was the most natural thing.
Like, Derek’s bed was a place he belonged. He was meant to be there, stomach
down, clicking through TV channels. Derek was simultaneously struck by the
realizations that his bed was a terrible place to be if they were trying to not
have sex and how totally boring the news was in comparison.
"I just guessed BBC." Stiles said after a second. "I don't know what you like -
there are, like, fifty news channels on here. Actually, we could probably find
a movie if we wanted - but, uhm, this is fine and - " He cut himself off
because Derek was shifting over, arms bracketing the boy's hips. He shifted
with the man, turning onto this back as Derek pulled himself over him. "Oh," he
managed out, breathless. "You, uh... Really like the BBC, huh?'
"Yeah." Derek mumbled, a hand petting down his side, his hip, hitching at his
thigh to spread his legs apart, letting Derek slot into them better.
"Oh, I'm, uh..." Derek leaned down to nuzzle just under his jaw. "I'm getting
kind of mixed messages here and - oh." Stiles head feel back and his eyes fell
shut as Derek rocked forward, grinding down to show the boy how hard he was
getting. "Okay, that's not very, uh, mixed. That's very clear. So clear. And,
oh, okay, yeah, there." He finally quieted - or at least he stopped talking -
as Derek sucked over his pulse.
"You know," Stiles started again, sounding shaky, as Derek sat back to pull off
his own shirt and toss it off the bed. "If I had known how you got when the
news was on, I'd have had you over to watch, fuck," and Derek was pulling up
the hem of the boy's shirt, not doffing it but mouthing at the exposed skin.
"Walter Cronkite or what-the-fuck-ever ages ago."
Derek looked at him. "That's a very dated reference."
"What-the-fuck-ever, jerk." Stiles repeated, sitting up to wiggle out of his t-
shirt and toss it off the bed next to Derek's. "He's literally the only
newscaster I know by name."
"How?" Derek scrunched up his brow and Stiles's hand came up to try and smooth
it away.
"Dunno. Thinking about other things." and he gave Derek a meaningful look.
"And Walter Cronkite is who you remember?" Derek asked, really sitting back,
catching his hand, keeping his judgmental expression in place.
"Ugh, wow. The eyebrow thing shouldn't be a turn-on. Gotta be some kind of
bullshit conditioned response. Stop it. It's weirding me out."
"It's weirding you out?" Derek asked, amusement filling his voice as he tried
to keep the same face. Stiles wiggled on his back and reached up, grinning.
"You're a butt. Come here."
Stiles guided him in to be kissed again, fingers rubbing just behind Derek's
ears - which felt better than Derek was pretty sure it should, but he didn't
really want to think about what that meant too deeply. "You have lube." Stiles
said.
"Uhm..." Derek quickly tried to remember if he'd used it all.
"Wasn't a question. You have lube." and Stiles was squirming out from under
him, crawling over to his bedside drawer. Derek started after him dumbly and,
turning to face him, retrieved bottle in hand, Stiles seemed to realize his
mistake. "Oh, right. So, I might have snooped a little bit. Once or twice or
seven times - whatever - doesn't matter."
"Stiles." he growled.
"Like you haven't gone through my things." Stiles rolled his eyes. Which, yeah,
that was true. "Also, say my name like that again." he tossed the bottle next
to Derek and rose up to his knees, hands at his jeans' button and zip, undoing
them comfortably. "I like it when you get all macho-gruff on me."
"Stiles..." Derek said, voice catching in his throat, eyes locked on Stiles's
hands and his quickly lowering jeans.
"Oh, I like that too." Stiles grinned, sitting back to kick his pants of the
rest of the way. "I might like it more."
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Derek clarified.
And the smile Stiles gave him was beyond radiant, beyond affectionate. "Yeah."
he murmured. "Are you? Because we could wait if you wanted."
"No." Derek shook his head, firmly. "I want to do this."
"With me?" Stiles furthered, smile faltering a little.
"Yeah." Derek breathed.
"'Kay." Stiles nodded, back to beaming. "You wanna prep me or should I start?"
Derek balked. His glanced at the lube, and the tented front of Stiles's
underwear, and his long fingers. "Uh..."
"I'll start." Stiles said, and just like that, he was taking off his boxer-
briefs, throwing them aside, grabbing the lubricant to slick his fingers. And,
he looked nervous, eyes darting up to Derek's face periodically - looking for
what, Derek wasn't sure, because Stiles was too gorgeous and young and smooth,
his motions surprisingly fluid - or not surprisingly, because Derek had
observed him through a whole medley of motions and knew how graceful he could
be when he wasn't thinking about it. He was leaning back and opening his legs
and bringing his hands down, circling a finger over his hole, like it wasn't
anything at all.
"You do this a lot?" Derek asked before thinking it through. To clarify, he
added, "Uhm... finger... your - "
"Sometimes." Stiles murmured, and wet his mouth with a little brush of his
tongue and pushed in. "Do you?" he asked back, his voice soft and swallowed.
"Sometimes." Derek allowed.
Stiles nodded and worked in another finger, eyes flicking up to Derek's
transfixed face often, seeming pleased with his reaction.
It wasn't until Stiles was nudging in his third finger, biting his lip but
unable to keep himself from whining, soft, in his throat, that Derek finally
crawled up the bed to nestle between the boy's naked thighs, lubing up his own
fingers. Stiles eyes were fluttering when Derek, head bowed a little, ran a
finger against Stiles's, against his rim. Stiles pulled his own hand away and
guided Derek's slicked fingers in, nudging in one digit alongside the man's and
then drawing back to let him try alone.
Derek, nervous, stilled for a moment, but, as Stiles groaned and pushed his
hips into the touch, bringing Derek's free hand to his cock, Derek started to
press in another finger.
"That's good." Stiles hummed, eyes shutting, one hand coming to rake through
Derek's hair to keep him close. "Like that."
Stiles sucked him in, and he was even more vocal when Derek was the one
stretching and scissoring him open. Derek leaned in, breathing in the boy's
neck, trying to stifle a moan against his skin. Stiles sighed, and then jerked
as Derek rubbed over something inside of him.
"Again." he demanded, voice choked and desperate. Derek did as told, getting
reward with Stiles's soft, swearing praise, both hands now in his hair,
cradling his face, mouth close enough to kiss, until they were.
"Pants, Derek." Stiles groaned out. "Why are you still wearing pants?"
"Don't know." Derek admitted.
"Lame." Stiles said, gently tugging him back by his hair. "Take them off." and
Derek nearly whined because he'd have to leave the warmth of Stiles's body to
do that - and the charge of his hands - but Stiles huffed, "Now." and he was
up.
It was quick work and, naked, he was on Stiles again, mouthing at his neck with
renewed heat, fucking his fingers into him harder, letting Stiles fuck his
fist.
"Oh, Jesus, I'm gonna come." Stiles groaned, and Derek was gently nipping his
earlobe, tugging at it with his teeth and laving with his tongue, and that was
it. He shot hard, coating Derek's hand, and Derek quickly used that hand to
jerk himself off, coming in no time at all, mixing his release with Stiles's.
"Can you go again?" Stiles was panting, already grasping Derek's wrist to hold
his dirty, come-coated hand up and lick their combined ejaculate off
thoughtfully.
Derek groaned, "Yeah," because that was too much, more than he thought he could
handle - until Stiles pushed him onto his back and got his mouth on the man's
soft cock, cleaning it up. Sure enough, his cock twitched, making an attempt to
harden again. "God, fuck, you can't just - "
Stiles pulled back a little. "I think I like you like this." he hummed, kissing
and nipping away from his cock. His eyes darted up to Derek's flushed face,
hands coming to hold his hips as he nibbled a little harder at the sensitive
skin of his inner thigh and then kissed a wet, soothing apology. "All
breathless and sweet."
Derek would have frowned if he felt steadier. As it was, his thighs were
shaking and his whole body felt-over hot. "Sweet?" he questioned, meaning to do
more with his eyebrows and failing.
"Yeah." Stiles smiled and laved up the side of his cock again. "And, in regards
to our earlier conversation, you do taste good everywhere." Derek groaned and
pushed his hips up a little, Stiles looking more than pleased with the
behavior.
Stiles sat up a little. "Can I ride you?" he asked, grabbed the tossed aside
bottle of lube to coat his palm. Derek nodded adamantly as Stiles wrapped his
hand around his cock. Stiles hummed and watched intently as Derek's mouth fell
open, his head falling back a little.
"Are you sure you want to?" Derek managed out, once his brain caught up.
"Hmm, let me think..." Stiles said slowly, gripping tighy and twisting his
wrist in a way that had Derek close to crying out. "Am I sure I want to ride
you?"
"What if it's too much?" Derek asked. "I don't want to hurt you."
"And you won't." Stiles said, taking his hand and rearranging the man so he
could clamber onto his lap, arms draping over his shoulders. "You're going to
be good for me, right?" Derek nodded, bucking a little at the thought. "Hold
yourself."
Derek's hand did come down to steady himself, his other fingers at Stiles's
hip, gripping tight as Stiles, bracing one hand on the man's shoulder and the
other behind him, started to sit. He nudged just the head in and his breath
shuttered, looking down between them, his shoulders tense.
"We don't have - " Derek started to shake his head, but Stiles caught his mouth
and sank down a little further, and then a little more, and finally, breath
gasping out, all the way down. "Are you okay?"
"Uhm..." Stiles stalled, the noise high and strained and wrung out, both hands
now at Derek's shoulders, digging in. He didn't seem like he was going to
continue the thought just yet.
"If it's too much - "
"You're just so big." he managed out, blushing all the way down his cheeks and
neck, panting, shifting a little to try and get more comfortable; Derek hissing
at the tight, sucking friction. He gripped the boy's hips a little tighter and
tucked his face into Stiles's neck, trying to calm himself down, an arm curled
around Stiles's back, pulling him closer.
"Derek, okay. I'm gonna - " Stiles said, and rocked his hips a little, just to
try. He pulled up and made some soft, wavery sound, which had Derek shushing
him and wrapping his other arm around him, thrusting back in.
"Oh, yeah, okay, yeah." Stiles babbled, voice close to hysterical. He gasped
off whatever he was going to say, hands scrambling down Derek's back, into his
hair, as Derek pushed in again and again. It was all quick, shallow thrusts,
harder each time, fucking him wrecked and strained and breathless.
Derek kept him near, hiding blue eyes by keeping them shut and claws by keeping
them out of sight. He didn't mouth at his neck, worried he'd bite too hard. He
just kept rocking small hiccuped noises out of the boy, holding him tenderly.
"Wanna kiss you." Stiles slurred. Derek hit into him a little harder to maybe
distract him but just made him sob out, "Please." too desperate to deny in good
conscience. Still, Derek didn't pull back until Stiles had a hand on his neck
guiding him back and one firmly in his hair.
Stiles didn't say anything as Derek met his gaze or opened his mouth. He just
leaned in to kiss him and suck his tongue and feed his cries into the man's
mouth. And, quite suddenly, Stiles was being flipped onto his back, Derek still
just as close as before, still kissing him, but fucking in harder, deeper, one
hand at the boy's thigh to pull it spread. Stiles had to break away, swearing
and sobbing, eyes screwed shut as Derek pounded into him.
Derek could feel Stiles hard against his stomach and knew he should slow down
to get him off before coming, but when he started to, Stiles whined and pulled
him closer, rolling his hips back frantically. And, not needing any other
encouragement, Derek slammed in a handful more of times, coming hot in the boy,
staying inside for a moment too long.
To make it up to him, Derek eased the boy onto his trembling knees, holding his
hips steady and up as Stiles slumped forward, boneless, panting, about to ask
what? Before he could, Derek caught a trickle of his own come from the boy's
hole with his tongue and lapped it up, laving over his rim and then sliding
inside to suck up more seed.
"Jesus, fuck, dude, warn a guy." Stiles bitched, although he didn't sound all
that displeased.
Derek pulled back regardless. "Want me to stop?"
"Fuck, no," Stiles said, pressing his hips back insistently, his own hand
coming down to pump his leaking cock. "Back to work."
And so Derek lowered his head again, running his tongue in and out of the boy's
swollen, pink hole, eating out as much as he could, listening to Stiles's
breath harsh as he stroked himself to the edge.
He didn't take too long and, as Derek was sucking at his rim, Stiles was
groaning and slumping forward, exhausted.
As he recovered, Derek sat behind him and asked an awkward, "You want a
shower?"
"Never." Stiles groaned into the bedspread. "I'm never leaving your bed." One
hand came up to wave him away. "Go get a towel." Which Derek did, and, when he
came back, Stiles was lying on his back, looking tired and content, staring at
the bowl-cum-ashtray and pack of cigarettes next to the bed.
“You wanna smoke one?” he asked, in that casual way that Derek was learning to
mean that he wanted something. “I hear people like to after - And secondhand
smoke isn't even - “
“No.” Derek said, and Stiles didn’t say anything else about it, letting him
wipe down his thighs and over his hand. He didn't let him do much more other
than turn off the still-playing TV after that, because Stiles was catching his
arm and pulling him onto the bed next to him, immediately cuddling into his
warmth.
"We can do this, right?" Stiles checked, eyes opening to look at him blearily.
"Yeah." Derek gruffed. "We can if you want."
"Do you?"
And the word was caught in his throat, because there was nothing he wanted
more. "Yeah."
Stiles hummed and let his eyes drift shut, tucking himself under Derek's arm,
which was still a little tense. Eyes still shut, he tried to pet tension out,
shushing him senselessly. "Stop it. What's wrong?"
Derek didn't know exactly where to start, so he just asked, "You weren't
bothered by the wolf thing?"
Yawning, "I like the wolf thing."
"Oh."
Stiles peeked up at him, smiling a little. "If anything, wanting to get freaky
just because the news in on is weirder."
"It wasn't - " Derek furrowed his brow, not sure how to phrase it. "I didn't
want to just because the news was on."
"Sure, weirdo." Stiles murmured.
"It's weird that you wanted to have sex with me because I smell like your mom."
Derek told him, and realized his mistake a second too late because Stiles
froze.
"Shut up." he grumbled, pulling away to lie on his other side, facing away from
the man.
"I'm sorry." he rushed out. "I didn't - "
"That's not why I wanted to have sex with you." Stiles said, and Derek felt
himself calm at the words because he didn't sound mad and wasn't giving off
that scent of sorrow Derek knew so well. He turned on his side as well to run a
hand tentatively down the boy's shoulder and then arm. When Stiles let him
grasp his hand, Derek scooted up behind him a bit, and Stiles folded their
entwined arms in front of him, shifting back to catch more of his warmth.
"Oh, my coffee's probably done." he mumbled, half-asleep.
"You still want it?" Derek asked, ready to get up and fetch it for him. Stiles
just shook his head and fell silent.
Derek breathed in the back of his neck and his hair, and started to smile, but
only because Stiles couldn't see him and his breath was evening out as he fell
asleep.
Stiles was starting to smell like family too.
End Notes
     So, uh, I hope all y'all liked it. Thanks so much for reading!
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