Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1056255.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, First_Time, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-24 Words: 2288
****** How to Win an Argument Without Really Trying ******
by sffan
Summary
     It started with a kiss.
     Well, actually, it started with an argument.
Notes
     Big heaping thanks to emungere for the beta, despite being in the
     midst of writing an epic tale herself.
     Yet another "how they got together in the first place" fic. What can
     I tell you? I'm a sucker for them.
“Why won’t you just listen?” Derek says heatedly through clenched teeth.
“Me? Oh, that’s rich, coming from you!” Stiles replies. “You never listen to
me!”
“Just because you’re smarter than almost everyone else in the room, Stiles,
doesn’t mean you’re always right!” Derek growls back.
“And sometimes, I am and this time I am, goddamnit! You need to – ”
“You’re so fucking stubborn!” Derek interrupts. “Would you just – ”
They’re right in each other’s faces, Stiles poking at Derek’s chest and Derek
slapping Stiles’ hand away. It feels like this argument has been going on for
hours. Stiles has no idea what possesses him, but he just reaches up, grabs
Derek by the face and kisses him. Hard. He puts every ounce of his fucked up
feelings for Derek into this kiss – his irritation, his frustration, but most
importantly, his devotion and desire. It’s been years in the making, but ever
since Derek came back, the charge between them is more obvious than ever, and
Stiles is sick and tired of pretending that all he feels for Derek is
friendship.
Stiles stands there cupping Derek’s ridiculously beautiful face in his palms,
mashing their lips together for all he’s worth, as Derek’s eyes widen in shock.
It feels like the moment goes on and on and will never end – frozen, just like
Derek. Stiles is just about to start panicking when Derek makes a soft, wrecked
sound and finally, finally kisses Stiles back. There’s no finesse, just
desperation and need. It should be all wrong – too rough, too wet, too clumsy –
but it’s not. It shakes Stiles to the core, and he clings to Derek and just
kisses him harder.
When they stop long enough to drag in shuddering breaths, they stare at each
other for about half a second before Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and
draws him into another fierce kiss. It’s like they’re making up for lost time –
skipping over the first, tentative fumbling kisses and going straight to
heated, desperate, and devouring. Stiles whimpers and moans as Derek savages
his mouth. He retaliates by sucking on Derek’s bottom lip until Derek growls
and grinds his erection against Stiles’ hip so firmly they stumble backwards
onto Stiles’ bed.
They land, mouths still locked firmly together, with barely a stutter as they
fall, legs tangled together, arching and rocking against each other as their
hands roam, neither of them able to stop – a firm press between shoulder
blades, a long, slow drag down an arm, a quick, furtive grasp of ass that
elicits a quiet moan and a hard buck of hips. Stiles wants, no, needs to get
his hands on Derek’s skin. He tugs at the edge of Derek’s t-shirt.
“Can I?” Stiles asks breathlessly against Derek’s mouth.
Derek leans back, frowning a little in confusion. “Can you what?”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Can I touch you?” He asks, tugging the shirt upwards
slightly.
Derek looks even more puzzled and oddly lost.
“What?” Stiles asks. “Why are you looking at me like I just asked you to do a
quadratic equation?”
Derek pauses, he looks down, almost shyly, and then back up at Stiles. “No
one’s ever asked before,” he says, quietly.
Stiles’ mouth falls open in shock. It takes his brain a couple of seconds to
flash through what he knows of Derek’s sexual history before he lets go of the
material clenched between his fingers with a shiver of dismay sliding down his
spine. Before he can shift away, Derek’s hand is on his, guiding it under the
edge of his t-shirt and onto the warm, tight perfection of his stomach. Stiles’
breath catches in the back of his throat, and he looks into Derek’s eyes – dark
and blown with desire.
“You can touch, Stiles. Anywhere. Blanket permission.” Derek smiles and curves
his other hand around the back of Stiles’ head and pulls him into a slow,
tender kiss. In between more kisses, Stiles gasps out, “You, too. Same thing.
Just get your goddamn hands on me.”
After that, it’s all just a blur as they tug and pull at each other’s clothes,
desperate to get to skin. At some point, Stiles is pretty sure Derek actually
rips his jeans in the frantic quest to get as naked as possible as quickly as
possible, but any protest is knocked right out of his head at the sensation of
Derek’s skin sliding against his.
It’s like every fantasy he’s ever had, only so much better, because no matter
how vivid his imagination, Stiles could never fully imagine the firm, rippling
strength of Derek’s muscles beneath his fingers or the hard, heavy weight of
Derek’s body against his, pinning him to his bed. Nor did he ever envision the
near reverent way Derek touches him back – the slow drag of fingers down his
spine, the way Derek’s hands curl around him and hold him close, the
incredible, passionate kisses that leave him desperate for more.
They twist and roll and grind against each other until Stiles finds himself on
top of Derek, straddling him. Derek has one hand buried in Stiles’ hair and the
other on his hip, encouraging the slow roll that has their cocks dragging
together in a tortuous tease.
“Can I blow you?” Stiles gasps out against Derek’s mouth before sitting back.
Derek’s eyebrow goes up in a distinct ‘are you kidding me?’ arch.
Stiles can feel his cheeks heat up, and he starts babbling out his nervousness.
“Look, I get it, dumb question, but it’s not like I have any experience with
this. Are you supposed to just, I mean I don’t know if you even – ”
Derek’s hand curving gently around his cheek stops the stream of words.
“Stiles, after seeing you with a highlighter, no man in his right mind would
turn down the opportunity to get your mouth on him.”
Stiles gapes at Derek, who takes advantage of the silence and Stiles’ open
mouth to sit up and kiss him breathless. When the kiss ends, Stiles mutters, “I
still may suck at this.”
Derek replies dryly, “I certainly hope so.”
Stiles can’t help it, he starts to giggle. It’s the single cheesiest thing that
Derek’s ever said, up to and including his assertions of being the Alpha.
“You did not, oh my god, you – you did not just make the lamest blow job joke
ever.” Stiles says in between fits of laughter.
Derek chuckles back. And Stiles is struck by how gorgeous Derek is when he
smiles – something that he doesn’t do nearly enough. Stiles kisses Derek
fiercely and pushes on his shoulders to get him to lie back down. Derek’s hand
splays across his back and brings Stiles down with him.
Stiles kisses his way down Derek’s neck, nipping and sucking a slow trail down
his body, pausing to scrape his teeth over a tight nipple that has Derek
arching and moaning, and his fingers clenching around Stiles’ hips briefly.
Stiles grins and keeps moving downwards, slowing his progress even more. As
much as he wants to get his mouth on Derek’s cock, he’s enjoying this part too
much to rush it.
Derek’s skin is hot against his tongue as he licks a wet path down Derek’s
stomach – the muscles twitching and tightening as he goes. Stiles finds a spot
just below the dip of Derek’s navel that makes him gasp, and his hips buck when
Stiles drags his teeth over it. Stiles stays there licking and sucking until
Derek’s practically writhing under him. Stiles watches as the red marks fade
away, and can’t resist one last, gentle tease with the tips of his fingers just
to watch the skin twitch away as Derek catches his breath sharply.
He trails his fingers lower still and grazes them down over the hot, hard
length of Derek’s cock. It twitches under his light touch. Stiles curls his
hand around it and gives it a long, slow stroke. Derek groans, and his hips
jerk. Stiles does it again a few more times, relishing the way a strange cock
feels in his hands. Derek’s thicker and heavier than he is. And uncut. Stiles
is fascinated by Derek’s foreskin, rolling his fingers over it, pulling it
gently, sliding it up and down over the wet head of Derek’s cock. Stiles has
read that a foreskin makes a guy way more sensitive and judging from the
gasping, broken sounds coming out of Derek as he plays, it’s true. Stiles
shudders, his own cock jerking against his thigh as he imagines the noises he’s
going to hear once he gets his mouth on Derek.
Stiles settles between Derek’s legs and cradles his dick in both hands. He
looks up at Derek, who is watching him intently, wets his lips and then drags
his mouth up the full length of his cock. Derek’s head falls back, and his
hands clench in Stiles’ comforter. Stiles darts his tongue out over the head,
swiping over the slit, gathering up the pre-come that has formed. The bitter
flavour explodes over Stiles’ taste buds. It’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s
not entirely unpleasant either. Stiles licks again, and then again, then swirls
his tongue around the whole head before taking it into his mouth entirely. The
second his lips close over Derek’s flesh, Derek whines out his name, and his
hand curls gently around the back of his head.
Stiles likes it, likes the added contact. Likes knowing that Derek could make
him do anything he wanted, but safe in the knowledge that he won’t. Stiles
likes it so much that he can’t stop the little moan that bubbles up his throat.
Derek’s fingers tighten briefly in his hair and his cock twitches in Stiles’
mouth as a spurt of pre-come flows over Stiles’ tongue.
Taking a deep breath through his nose, Stiles lets his instincts take over. He
explores, licking and sucking, finding out what makes Derek writhe and moan,
what makes his cock jerk and leak, what makes his hips arch and his fingers
clench uncontrollably and uses it all against him until Derek is a panting
wreck under him. Stiles curls his hand around the base of Derek’s cock and he
slides his mouth down to meet it, swirling his tongue, and sucking steadily as
he goes. He draws back until just the tip is between his lips and then he stays
there sucking and flicking with his tongue, varying the speed and pressure,
listening to every broken, gasping sound Derek makes.
Stiles loves this. He loves that he’s reduced Derek to a writhing, moaning
mess. His jaw is aching and his own dick is throbbing with neglect, but he
doesn’t care. It’s worth it just to hear Derek gasp out a broken, “Stiles,
fuck, Stiles, I’m going –”
Stiles has just enough time to pull away before Derek is coming in hot spurts
across his stomach. Stiles strokes him through it, watching, fascinated as he
coaxes out another hard spurt of come when he leans down and licks a slow path
up the length of Derek’s cock.
He’s trying to figure out if he likes the taste when Derek hauls him up by the
armpits into a bruising kiss that leaves him lightheaded and breathless. Derek
kisses him again and again, his hands roaming over Stiles body, moving ever
downwards until he curls a hand around Stiles’ cock. Stiles gasps into Derek’s
mouth as his hips jerk. Derek rolls them onto their sides and kisses Stiles
again – slower, gentler – as he begins to move his hand.
“Oh, fuck, Derek,” Stiles whispers. Derek’s hand on him is slow, tortuous,
teasing. Stiles’ orgasm builds and builds until he can do nothing more than
moan and shake in Derek’s arms. He always thought he’d go off so fast that it
would be embarrassing, but Derek is drawing it out, changing his rhythm up just
enough that Stiles is constantly on the edge of orgasm, but never quite there.
Stiles senses are overloaded and centred on the slide of Derek’s hand on his
cock. He can’t even kiss Derek back anymore, just pant and whine against his
mouth. Suddenly, Derek’s grip tightens and his strokes speed up and, with one
last firm swipe of Derek’s thumb over the head of his cock, Stiles shakes
apart, coming so hard he stops breathing as everything in his body freezes up
before releasing again. Stiles moans brokenly through his orgasm, voice
hitching with every pulse of his cock. Derek murmurs quiet nonsense in his ear
as he strokes him through it.
Still twitching with aftershocks, Stiles curls himself around Derek, burying
his face against his neck. There’s some rustling – Stiles is pretty sure it’s
Derek wiping his hand on the comforter – before Derek wraps his arms around
Stiles, pulling him close. He kisses the top of Stiles’ head and then rests his
cheek against it. Stiles plants a soft, uncoordinated kiss on the skin under
his lips and then mutters blearily, “Don’t think you won the argument just
because you distracted me with fantastic sex. You’re still wrong.”
Derek makes a snorting noise. “Me? I distracted you? I’m pretty sure you kissed
me first, Stiles.”
Stiles waves his hand limply. He barely has the energy to move. “Whatever. The
sex was fantastic and I’m right. That’s what we’re taking away from this.”
Derek tugs lightly on Stiles’ hair until Stiles looks up at him. “What?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says before cupping his face and kissing him softly.
“Go to sleep.” Derek sighs and kisses him again. “We’ll work something out when
you wake up.”
Stiles drops his head back against Derek’s neck, tightens his arms around him,
and falls asleep with a grin on his face.
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