Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/501034.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Underage_-_Freeform, Rimming, Established_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-09-01 Words: 4148
****** Little Red ******
by ashinan_smut_(ashinan)
Summary
     Stiles did research. He has PowerPoints. And a red hoodie. Derek was
     going to cave eventually.
Notes
     I finally caved, okay? I COULDN'T STOP MYSELF. Katka and Abby dragged
     me in kicking and screaming. So, here we are. My first foray into the
     porny side of Teen Wolf. Dear lord. Cover your eyes.
See the end of the work for more notes
Leaning back in his chair, Stiles stares up at his ceiling. He balances a
pencil on his top lip, hands shoved into the warmth of his red hoodie pocket.
There’s a water stain spreading along the far corner; he should inform his
father. He purses his lips, rolls the pencil to the side, and catches it as it
falls.
There’s a click, his window sliding up. A breeze curls through the room as
Derek sits on the sill, his eyes catching red in the fading light. Stiles tilts
his head back at him, spinning in his chair. One moment Derek is on the sill,
the next he’s behind Stiles, hands on his shoulders. Stiles grins up at him,
fingers playing with the pencil in the confines of his hoodie. “How are you
today, my sourwolf?”
“You smell like pine,” Derek says, leaning down to kiss him. It’s slow and
steady and Stiles hums into the kiss, wanting something more desperate. He’s
been researching.
“I was running around the forest, you know. Had to take some goodies to
grandma,” Stiles huffs against Derek’s lips. Derek kisses him again, the slow
burn of his stubble dragging over Stiles’ nose. He laughs into the kiss, pulls
back when Derek can’t help but grin against his mouth. “What can I do for you?”
Derek noses against his throat, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t come see me.
I got worried.”
“You just want a booty call. Not that I’m complaining. Stop sniffing me, you
weirdo,” Stiles says, shoving Derek’s head away. Derek whines low at him, just
a quick release of noise, and Stiles grins. He stretches out his hands, arches
his back for show, and scratches at his stomach. Derek hovers over him, eyebrow
raised.
“Are you done?”
“Are we finally going to have sex?”
Derek flashes a fang. Stiles shouldn’t find that as sexy as he does. “Depends.
What is your argument?”
Stiles stands, flipping the pencil onto his desk. “Research is my forte, as you
know. Want to know what I learned?”
Derek follows him, eyes flaring predatory red. Stiles feels his cock jump
against his fly, already half hard. Derek prowls toward him and Stiles smiles,
dancing backwards. It’s a game they play, an easy test of keep away. Stiles
isn’t very good at it. He turns his back and Derek is on him.
Derek slots up behind him, one hand finding his hip, fingers curling against
his skin in a grip aimed to bruise. He arches back, grinding his ass into the
thick cut of Derek’s cock. Derek’s other hand slides up, pushing the red
material away from his stomach. His touch lingers, sharp traces over his belly
button and the thin trail of hair leading down.
Stiles tilts his head back and to the side, baring his neck. Derek breathes
deep, nose buried in the skin behind his ear, fingers pushing up, up, up, until
they slip over his nipple. He bites his lip to keep in the noise, eyes
fluttering closed, but Derek pulls it from him with a sharp twist of his
fingers. Derek rocks against him, that burn of heat so tantalizing that Stiles
can’t help but moan again. He catches Derek’s wrist, still tight over his hip,
holds on as Derek twists and pinches his nipple, turns it red and sensitive. He
tries to curl away and Derek sets his teeth against Stiles’ neck, just sharp
enough to warn, blunt enough to ignore.
Derek shifts his grip from Stiles’ hip to the button on his jeans. Stiles’
breath hitches, jumps against the bruise of Derek’s teeth, but he pushes back
again, wordless permission. Derek pops the button, grinning sharp against his
throat, before he licks a stripe up to his ear. “Do you want it, Stiles?”
“Fuck,” Stiles answers, mouth open as Derek presses hot, biting kisses along
his jawline. Derek’s hand works its way into his jeans, past his boxers, to
squeeze hot and insistent over his cock. He groans, eyes fluttering shut, and
Derek twists his nipple.
“Answer me.”
“I did, I did,” Stiles breathes out.
Keeping the pressure light against Stiles’ straining cock, Derek repeats, “Do
you want it?”
“I always want it, I don’t know why we’re still standing, why won’t you fuck
me,” Stiles says all in a rush. Derek sucks at the lobe of his ear before
pressing practiced fingers over the head of Stiles’ cock, smearing the precome
down the length. He doesn’t go much further than that, thumb a steady pressure
just under the head, fingers touching light over warm skin. Stiles breathes in
sharp.
“You’re already so wet just from a little touching,” Derek says. His teeth
pinch when he traces them over the rim of Stiles’ ear. “What would you do if I
left you like this, fucked you open until you couldn’t take anymore and then
left you there, gaping and still hard? No, I don’t think you would make it. I
think you’d come just from my cock stretching you wide.”
Biting his lip at the filth, Stiles spreads his legs as much as he can, ass
grinding back in desperation against Derek’s cock. They haven’t actually fucked
but every time Derek talks about it, all Stiles can imagine is being held open
and left panting, loose and wanting more. Derek gets a hand up around Stiles’
throat, fingers careful over the soft skin of his jugular, before tightening.
Stiles groans, pushing against the hold, grinning as Derek growls against his
ear. His hand moves short over Stiles’ cock, just an aborted stroke, but it’s
enough to send Stiles reeling, desperation a clamouring in his ears.
Licking his lips, he slips his free hand up his chest, under his hoodie and
over his abused nipples. The pleasure is sharp, a heady drug that leaves him
shaking, as he pinches and twists his nipple between his fingers. Derek grinds
against him, cock catching against the fall of Stiles’ jeans, rubbing harsh and
sure over Stiles’ clenching hole. He wishes they would fuck already. He’s done
his research. He wants it. He knows he wants it.
Fuck.
Derek tugs at his cock, just three sharp jerks before releasing him completely.
Stiles stumbles, one hand catching the falling slide of his jeans, the other
slapping against the wall. His cock peeks out of the top of his boxers,
friction from the fabric making him groan. He twists forward, fighting not to
come, the hair on the back on his neck standing up from where Derek is
obviously watching him.
Breathing in, he turns, presses his back against the wall. Derek has draped his
jacket over Stiles’ computer chair, fingers already stripping off the tight
fabric of his shirt. Stiles clenches his fingers against the wall, eyes
focusing on the flex and bunch of Derek’s stomach, the way his cock pushes
against the fly of his jeans, the glint of red in his eyes as he stalks
forward. Stiles meets him halfway, moaning as Derek shoves him back into the
wall, dominating the kiss. He licks over Stiles’ teeth, pushes incessant into
his mouth, bites at his lips; he’s cocksure and handsy. Stiles thrills under
the attention.
But it’s not what he wants Derek to be focusing on right now.
“You always talk about fucking me,” Stiles says into his mouth. “But you never
do. Are you all bark and no bite?” He punctuates the last word with a sharp
nip, grinning when Derek pushes him further into the wall, body pinning him
still. Derek licks over the indent on his lip, eyes flashing that tantalizing
red.
“I was waiting on you,” he says. He ducks his head against Stiles’ neck,
mouthing at the skin there. Stiles thumps his head back against the wall.
“I’m pretty sure I begged you to after our first impromptu make out session
four months ago,” Stiles says. Derek presses his nose into the hollow of
Stiles’ throat, breathing deep. “The words I used were ‘Fuck me, fuck me now, I
don’t want to die a virgin’. I admit, not my best line, but I thought you got
the gist of it.”
“You were under the influence of a succubus,” Derek says, sucking a hickey into
the underside of Stiles’ jaw. “I couldn’t take you seriously.”
“How about last week?” Stiles prompts. Derek slides warm hands under his
hoodie, spanning over his hips before scraping down the small of his back. He
slips his fingers under the hem of Stiles’ boxers and grabs his ass, jerking
his hips forward. Stiles stutters. “I’m pretty sure I begged while straddling
you pantless.”
“You came before I could get my fingers in you,” Derek says. He presses a kiss
against the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “And then again when I did get my fingers
in you. And then you passed out. Not conducive to the whole ‘let’s have sex’
angle.”
“Shut up,” Stiles says. He grabs Derek by the hair and turns his head, kissing
him hard. Derek rumbles against him, pleased, and deepens the kiss, turning it
filthy and commanding. Stiles falls helplessly in line, fingers scratching
through Derek’s hair at every swipe of his tongue. They’re a hop and a skip
away from the bed, where Stiles desperately wants to be. If he can get Derek on
the bed, he can get Derek out of his clothes and that much closer to having sex
with him. He very much wants that. He braved a sex shop in order to prepare. A
sex shop with Lydia. She had laughed at him when they got to the dildo section.
Stiles left with a small tube of lube and condoms. Lydia laughed harder.
“Have I lost your attention?” Derek nips at his lip. “Because we can stop if
you’re unsure. I can wait.”
“For the love of – Derek, listen to me very closely because I am going to say
this as slow as possible, with little words so you can understand,” Stiles
says, fingers tightening in Derek’s hair. Derek watches his mouth. That isn’t
helping. “If I wake up tomorrow without that telltale ache in my ass, I am
going to cut you off. Completely. I’ll live out my sex life using toys. They
have some good sized ones that I’m sure can make up for the lack of sex I’m
having right now. So, please have sex with me. Shove me down on the bed and
fuck me through the mattress.”
Pressing a quick kiss against Stiles’ lips, Derek says, “I don’t know, could I
still watch?”
“No, you cannot watch! What part of completely cut off are you unfamiliar with?
No sightseeing, no tours, no nothing. This body would be closed for business to
one Derek Hale. I mean it.” Stiles noses at Derek’s cheek, arching when Derek
slips his hands out of Stiles’ pants and grips him under the ass instead. He
bends his knees and lifts. Stiles wraps his legs eagerly around Derek’s waist.
“Did that get your attention? Are we going to finally have sex?”
“I just don’t know. You’re not making a very good argument,” Derek says. He
walks them backwards, balancing Stiles easily. He’s smiling, the bastard.
Stiles purses his lips and arches, grinding his leaking cock against Derek’s
stomach. Derek falters. “Okay, argument getting better.”
“I’ve thought about it so much,” Stiles says. He presses his fingers against
the jut of Derek’s collarbone, breathing into his ear. “I’ve thought about
finally getting you in me, finally, finally, and how it would feel, how you
would make me take it, how you would wring it out of me with every stroke. I
wouldn’t even need you to touch me. Come on, come on.”
Derek drops him on the bed, just lets him go, and grabs the bottoms of his
pants, yanking them off. Stiles boxers slip down mid-thigh, dragging over his
cock and making him arch. Derek pushes his hips down and presses the flat of
his tongue against Stiles’ hipbone, as he throws the jeans behind him. Stiles
scrambles to get his hoodie off before Derek catches his fingers.
“Keep the hoodie on,” Derek says, leaning up to kiss him. Stiles winds his arms
around his neck, kicking at his boxers until they’re hanging off one foot.
Uncaring, he tugs Derek down to settle in the cradle of his thighs. Derek’s
jeans rub harsh against his cock and it’s good, it’s so good, but he can’t go
off just yet. He pulls back, panting against Derek’s cheek as Derek pushes the
hoodie up around his chest again, dragging blunt nails over his stomach on the
way back down.
“Is this a kink?” Stiles asks, groaning as Derek’s fingers curl over his cock
again. “The – the hoodie. Do you like the half clothed thing?”
“You don’t even realize,” Derek laughs, the drag of his fingers so light that
Stiles chases the feeling. “But sure, let’s go with that. My little red.”
Stiles blinks, but Derek ducks down, nosing over his stomach and back along his
hipbone, teeth grazing the stretched skin. His hand moves faster over Stiles’
cock, thumb rubbing continuously under the head, and heat pools in Stiles’
stomach, thick and heady. He fists the sheets, toes curling at the sensation,
but Derek stills his hand, dragging Stiles back from that edge.
“Oh, come on. I have the refractory time of a teenager,” Stiles says. He
snorts. Derek bites him.
And then, like the goddamn tease he is, he fists Stiles’ cock, turns his head,
and swallows him down. Stiles practically jabs himself in the eye trying to get
the sleeve of his hoodie in his mouth, the shout building and building as Derek
doesn’t even give him time to recover. His mouth is hot, slick and perfect; he
pulls back up before going down again, hollowing his cheeks. Stiles squeezes
his eyes shut, trying to connect chemistry elements in his head, but Derek
keeps scattering his plans, sucking harder, moving faster, tonguing at the slit
and massaging his balls. He can’t breathe with all the material jammed into his
mouth but it’s stopping him from making some truly embarrassing noises, so he
endures.
With an obscene sound, Derek pulls off, tongue dragging up and over the slit of
Stiles’ cock before going back again. Stiles whimpers, low in his throat; bites
at the fabric. Derek looks up at him, sucks on the head, and presses a thumb
against his hole.
Stiles goes off like a shot. The rush rips a wail from him, barely muffled by
the material in his mouth. His hips buck, his back arches, his head rolls
against the pillow; Derek holds him through it, thumb pushing into him as he
swallows. Stiles sags against the mattress, breathing heavy through his nose,
lightheaded and endorphin high. Derek licks at him one last time before pulling
away, resting his head on Stiles’ stomach.
“Jesus Christ,” he tries to say. The fabric chokes him. He yanks it free from
his mouth and tries again. “Was – you – fuck.”
“Now we will,” Derek says, grinning as he kisses against Stiles’ belly button.
Stiles stares up at the ceiling, catching his breath. Derek noses at his skin.
“Lube and condom.”
Those two are in the drawer on his left, which means Stiles has to move. He
doesn’t want to move. Derek drags his thumb out, circling around Stiles’
quivering hole. His cock jerks against his stomach, good to go for round two.
Okay, he wants to move. He arches back, scrambling at the desk, but it’s
impractical so he pushes at Derek’s head. “Move, move, if you want to fuck me
you have to move.”
Derek reluctantly sits up and Stiles flops onto his front, ripping open the
drawer and digging past papers and randoms for the bag under his DS charger. He
digs into it and pulls out a condom, tossing it over his shoulder for Derek. He
paws through the bag for the lube, making a triumphant noise as he brandishes
it. Derek makes an equally triumphant noise and drags him back.   
Trying to roll over, Derek grips his waist, making it impossible. He hauls
Stiles to his knees instead, stretching his legs as wide as they can go. Stiles
trembles at the position, looking over his shoulder as Derek’s hands curl over
his rib cage, circling around until his fingers splay wide over Stiles’ chest
under his hoodie. Sucking in a deep breath, Stiles drops to his elbows, pushing
his ass into the air. Derek makes a surprised growl, fingernails scratching
down his chest and over his stomach. He leans down and presses a sucking kiss
into the skin just above Stiles’ tailbone.
“You need –” Stiles starts to say, but Derek grabs his ass, spreading him open.
His hole clenches and Derek breathes out over his skin. Before he can ask,
before he can toss the lube back at him, Derek licks a hot stripe up and over
his hole. Stiles scrambles at the sheets, mouth open wide as he gasps out in
surprise. Derek holds him still as he licks him again, a long probing swipe
that leaves Stiles panting and arching up for more.
Derek fucks into him with his tongue, the sensation so vastly different from
fingers that Stiles’ cock jumps eagerly at the switch. He’s leaking everywhere
now, precome dribbling down onto the bed and sticky against his hoodie. He
can’t get a hand on himself, not without alerting Derek, and the hot thrust of
his tongue is enough to send even Stiles’ best wrought plans spinning.
“Derek,” he breathes out, arching his hips back. Derek hums and presses his
tongue deeper, dragging a moan out of him that is just embarrassing. A finger
presses against the rim, dragging around the edge, and Stiles bites at his lip.
Derek pulls back with another lick, before teasing a finger in. He reaches up
for the lube clutched desperately in Stiles’ hand.
Stiles lets go only when Derek drags a nail over his knuckles, rocking back
against the finger barely buried in him. He wants more. He wants the stretch of
it. Derek pulls his finger out and Stiles whines at him, rolling his head to
the side and glaring at the wall. The snick of the tube makes Stiles clench,
his cock jump. There’s a moment of dead silence before Derek touches him again,
his fingers slick and probing, two this time. Stiles groans, arches into the
stretch. Derek kisses his tailbone, licks a path up his spine to where his
hoodie is caught up around his shoulder blades. He takes his time on the way
back down, sucking bruises into the skin along his ribs, over the dips of his
hips, until he’s licking back over Stiles’ hole.
Clenching around the two fingers working him mercilessly, Stiles bites at his
clothed arm. It feels so alarmingly good, a spike of pleasure that rockets up
his body and makes him buck. Derek spreads his fingers, gets his tongue between
them, and Stiles is two seconds from coming. He gasps out a warning, his cock
throbbing as he arches back against Derek’s mouth, against Derek’s fingers, and
then Derek pulls away from him. Of course he does. Stiles sucks in desperate
breaths, head spinning, and body alight.
Another snick, the sound of a foil, and Stiles groans. “Main event?”
“Are you sure?”
“I will cut you off,” Stiles warns, wiggling his hips. Derek smacks his ass,
which, whoa, okay he wasn’t expecting that spiral of heat, but he doesn’t let
on. Stilling him with one hand, Derek presses the blunt of his cock against
Stiles’ slick hole, not really moving. Stiles wiggles again, groaning at the
heat, and then Derek pushes.
He eases into Stiles, slow and steady and Stiles focuses on breathing through
the bite of pain. The stretch feels awkward at first, tight and uncomfortable,
until Derek bumps against his prostate as he bottoms out. Stiles shouts, teeth
finding the fabric of his hoodie again. Derek groans above him, long fingers
flexing against his hips in uncertainty. Stiles shoves back, just a quick
movement, and Derek rumbles low against him. He pulls back, snaps his hips
forward, and Stiles can barely contain his wail.
There’s a brush of fabric against his thighs and he realizes Derek didn’t even
take off his pants. He’s fucking Stiles in his jeans. The thought makes him
more frantic, clenching desperate around the drag of Derek’s cock. Derek
grunts, fingers tightening as he pulls Stiles back against him with an angry
jerk. Stiles writhes, toes curling in the sheets. He wants more of that, more
of that right now, and when Derek eases back, Stiles clenches tight around him.
“Stop it,” Derek grits out, shoving into him, sharp and angry and delicious
against his prostate.
“I’m not going to break,” Stiles gasps, arching his back and thrusting his ass
up, catching Derek by surprise. Derek’s hold on his waist weakens, before Derek
growls low and fucks him.
Stiles grabs for anything he can: the pegs on his headboard, the bunched up
sheets around his pillow, the saliva heavy fold of his hoodie. He moans and
whines, cock bouncing eager against his stomach, and Derek twists his hand into
the fall of his hoodie, and yanks him back into the thrusts. Stiles cries out
at that, head thrown back as his muscles clench, as his cock drips messy over
his stomach. He falls forward, panting, desperate, and Derek finds his
prostate.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles manages, scrambling to get a hand on himself, to
push himself over that edge he can practically taste. “I’m close, come on,
touch me, let me touch me, I don’t even care.”
“You’ll come untouched,” Derek says, growls, commands. Stiles twists against
his hold, bites his lip as the angle changes. He’s so fucking close. He arches
up to get a hand under and Derek grabs his desperate fingers, curling their
hands together as he pushes them up and above Stiles’ head. Stiles wants to
bite him, wants to flip them over and take his own pleasure if Derek won’t let
him come.
Derek’s thrusts speed up, angled now to scrape over Stiles’ prostate, to wring
noises from him without his acknowledgement. His hoodie sticks to his back, the
cloth heavy with sweat. Trembling, he bucks back, gets Derek as deep as he can
go, and bites off a curse.  
Huffing out a groan, Derek says, “Now.”
Stiles chokes, his cock jerking as heat rushes through him. He comes over the
bed, over his hoodie, messy and desperate and thrashing. He clenches around
Derek’s cock, the heat and the stretch and the erratic thrusts driving him
higher. Derek fucks him through it, whispering his name as he pushes in as far
as he can and comes. Stiles shakes with it, body twitching from the
aftershocks, gasping out desperately for air. Derek groans and falls forward,
held up only by the hand clasped with Stiles', his other still bruising on
Stiles’ hip.  He eases out, releases Stiles, and Stiles can’t even bother with
muscles at the moment because holy shit.
He collapses, legs splayed wide, stomach sticky and wet with come. His hoodie
is hiked up uncomfortably around his armpits, heavy with saliva along the arms,
and sweat and come over the front. He groans as Derek collapses beside him, and
Stiles turns his head to look at him.
“We need to do that again, in about five minutes, because holy shit,” Stiles
says. Derek eyes him, removing the condom and depositing it with a flick.
Stiles squirms closer. “We can do that again, right? We can do that many times
again because I did research, do you realize, I’ve looked up positions that are
all set to maximize both the pleasure and the experience. We need to get on
that. I made a PowerPoint.”
“I believe you,” Derek says. He runs a hand over Stiles’ hair, scratching at
his neck. Stiles finally manages to flop half on top of Derek, grinning at his
groan. “Why are you still talking? And why are you still wearing that
disgusting hoodie?”
“Because a big bad wolf decided to dirty it up,” Stiles sing songs. Derek
freezes at the proclamation and Stiles wiggles in post-orgasmic bliss. “Oh,
yes, I got your little reference. So, Mr. Wolf. What big hands you have.”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Lying lies. Sex now?” Stiles sits up, hissing at the ache in his ass and the
interested twitch of his cock. Yes, that’s what he wanted.
Derek runs a hand up his stomach, under the filthy stain of his red hoodie.
“I’ve created a monster.”
“What time is it, Mr. Wolf?”
“Stiles, I swear.”
“Shut me up then.”
Derek takes that for the challenge it is. Stiles still wins. 
End Notes
     Originally posted on my_tumblr!
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