Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1061602.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Underwear_Kink, Truth_or_Dare
  Collections:
      The_Antidiogenes_Club_Book
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-28 Completed: 2014-02-23 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 4374
****** Red Lace ******
by badwolfbadwolf
Summary
     Stiles gets dared to wear red lace panties.
     The instant everyone leaves Derek has him pinned against the wall,
     hands down the back of Stiles’ pants and teeth biting sharply
     everywhere.
     “I want to see,” Derek says plainly against Stiles lips.
     Stiles doesn’t argue, hands sliding lower, clumsy fingertips pulling
     against the hidden red lace.
     “No. Everything.” He steps backward, leaving Stiles with heavy glazed
     eyes and mouth shiny and open.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Lydia looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, lip gloss shiny pink and lashes
batting.
"Truth or dare, Stiles?"
Stiles glances up from where he’s sprawled on the carpet with loose limbs. His
sock-less feet are playing with the fringed edges, his toes pausing their
wiggling only as he props himself up on his elbows.
"Hey, no, haven’t we had enough ‘Embarrass Stiles Eternally’ fun for the
evening? I’d like to be able to show my face in this town again. I think it’s
Derek’s turn."
"Don’t be such a wuss, Stiles," Lydia says with a grin, flipping her hair over
her shoulder. Derek shifts on the couch, grabbing at the remote and flipping
the channel to something action-oriented and subtitled. He hasn’t answered a
single question all night, except when Stiles had asked him if he wanted
something from the fridge. His own fridge.
"Hey, don’t pick truth again," Scott pipes up from where his head is laying in
Allison’s lap, hair being petted idly. "I’m so uninterested in hearing more
about how many times you jerked off last week."
Stiles pulls a long face and scoots up until he’s seated, back brushing against
the couch and his elbow bumping into something solid. Derek’s leg. Oh. He
quickly slides sideways, giving the silent lump some space. Derek is always
about the personal bubble.
”Glad to hear my friends are so bored with me,” Stiles grumbles.
Lydia fixes him with a ‘well come on' look and raises her eyebrow delicately.
"Fine, fine, give me dare." Stiles crosses his arms, secretly hoping Lydia will
miraculously dare him to kiss her. Or anyone. Or Derek. Or. Wait, what?
Stiles shakes his head slightly and sees that he has zoned out yet again and
everyone is looking at him expectantly. Scott has also shot up from off of
Allison’s lap.
"Uh, could you, uh. Repeat that, please?" Stiles is sweating already, palms
hot, and he doesn’t know why.
"Ladies underwear. For the rest on the night." Lydia’s smirk is wicked and
Stiles sits up ramrod straight.
"That’s funny, Lydia. Ha ha, ok good one. What’s the real dare?"
The look she gives him is all business and Stiles pulls his legs upward,
wrapping his hands around his ankles nervously. “Where would I even get ladies…
underwear? That isn’t, uh… used?” Stiles is completely red in the face now, all
the way to the tips of his ears.
Lydia grins and flounces upward, trotting over to her purse where there is a
pink striped bag that Stiles didn’t notice before.
“Lucky for you I was shopping earlier today. Here. Brand new.” She pulls out a
mess of crinkly tissue paper, sorting through to reveal two lacey scraps of
fabric, one lavender and one candy apple red. Stiles feels his flush deepen
tenfold as Lydia turns with a cocked hip. “Which one?”
"Dude, Stiles. You really gonna do this?" Scott whispers loudly.
Stiles opens and closes his mouth like a gaping fish, feeling heat creep up the
back of his neck and over his freckles as he looks between Lydia’s expectant
gaze and Allison’s bitten-back laugh.
Lydia is back in front of him before Stiles can formulate a coherent thought,
manhandling him up from the floor and shoving a piece of lace in his hands. She
presses against him with well-manicured nails until he nearly trips over his
own feet on his way to the bathroom.
Stiles steadies himself with a hand on the back of the couch and catches
Derek’s eyes. The light green is unreadable, Derek silent. But then there’s a
tiny quirk of an eyebrow. Did Stiles just imagine that? He has no time to think
as Lydia shoves him into the bathroom and slams the door with a chipper ’hurry
it up.’ He looks down at his hands to see she’s given him the red pair, holding
them up with horror to see the canned light of the bathroom shining through the
lace. He thinks they might be called boy shorts or something, wracking his
brain for that one evening he spent an inordinate amount of time looking at the
Victoria’s Secret catalog.
“Shit,” he mumbles as he unbuckles his belt and lets his pants fall to his
ankles. The noise of the others is muted through the thick door and he curses
to himself as he looks at the ridiculous frilly lace staring at him. More
banging on the door makes him jump and he shucks off his boxers and steps out
of the jeans, kicking them over into the corner.
“I’m coming. Hold your horses, sheesh!” The lace is soft against his skin,
smooth along his calves and thighs, the sensations almost alien. He tugs it up
over his hips, feeling his cock pulled tightly against his stomach. Stiles
looks at himself in the mirror, his plaid shirt hanging low over the red lace
that didn’t quite cover everything, face ruddy and blotched, lips pink from
where they were bitten nervously. He thinks about Lydia outside, waiting with
her gleeful grin. He thinks about Derek, brooding and dark, sneaking glances
from the corner of his eyes.
The banging on the door increases.
Stiles pulls up his jeans, sliding up the zipper carefully, the lace feeling
snug and weird against his skin.
Lydia yanks open the door and peeks inside, eyes alight. “You all done,
Stiles?”
Stiles narrows his eyes at her sweetness, crossing his arms in retaliation.
“Yes.”
“Proof?”
Stiles throws his boxers at her and she smirks, holding them to her chest and
turning around to display them to the group and eliciting a variety of cheers
and catcalls.
Stiles walks out of the bathroom, feeling every single set of eyes grazing over
his body uncomfortably.
“Hey, I did it. Calm down.” He settles back on the floor, the lace pressing
against the hardening skin of his cock, stretching tight against him. Scott
gives Stiles a sympathetic look before the focus returns to Allison, giggling
nervously about whatever she has just said that Stiles completely missed. The
conversation buzzes but Stiles doesn’t listen; all he can think about is Derek
brooding two feet away and how tight the fabric is stretched over his ass. He
thinks about what it would feel like for strong fingers to wind into them and
tug.
“Was it the red lace?” Derek asks hotly into Stiles’ ear, leaning down from his
perch on the couch so no one else can hear.
Stiles is so lost in thought that he jumps with his whole body before
rearranging his limbs, keeping his gaze locked straight forward. Derek’s breath
is warm along his neck, fingers close and twitching against the soft fabric of
Stiles’ shirt collar. Stiles shudders and shifts his hips, feeling the lace
constrict pleasantly.
“Yes. Red,” Stiles answers from the corner of his mouth, heart instantly
hammering and eyes widening further as Derek rests one leg against Stiles’
forearm, letting it lie there possessively.
Stiles is unusually silent and uncomfortably hard the entire evening, skin
burning every time Derek brushes against him under innocent pretense. The wait
for the evening to end is interminable and Stiles thinks he may die from lack
of blood flow to any of his extremities.
The instant everyone leaves Derek has him pinned against the wall, hands down
the back of Stiles’ pants and teeth biting sharply everywhere.
“I want to see,” Derek says plainly against Stiles lips.
Stiles doesn’t argue, hands sliding lower, clumsy fingertips pulling against
the hidden red lace.
“No. Everything.” He steps backward, leaving Stiles with heavy glazed eyes and
mouth shiny and open.
Stiles gets suddenly nervous under Derek’s measured look. He undoes the button
and shoves down his jeans to his knees slowly, standing there like an idiot as
Derek looks at him like he’s prey.
“I didn’t know you were, uh, into lace, Derek,” Stiles begins to babble to fill
the silence, pulling down on the hem of his shirt. “Otherwise I would’ve…”
“Shut up, Stiles. And turn around.”
Stiles clamps his jaw shut and shuffles around, pants still caught on his
ankles, heart wild in his chest. He is pressed against the wall with every inch
of Derek hard against him. The lace is tight all over, Derek’s growls inhuman,
and Stiles is wetting the red fabric and smearing the wall with his orgasm an
embarrassingly short time later.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Sex. While Stiles wears red panties.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Derek is pressed up against him, breath hot on Stiles’ neck, fingers twisting
in the red lace of the panties. They are soaked with come and uncomfortable on
Stiles’ softening dick, and he shifts as it itches along his skin.
“Derek...” Stiles begins but trails off as Derek cants his hips and pushes his
very hard cock forward. He’s still fully clothed, the jeans rough and stiff
against Stiles’ flushed skin. Stiles is tingling everywhere, held up only by
the press of Derek’s hips and the push of his cheek against Derek’s wall.
Derek works his teeth into the base of Stiles’ neck and the dull bite sends
shivers down Stiles’ spine. He closes his eyes and lets his body simmer in that
dull after-orgasm haze, hardly believing what was happening. Only an hour ago
Lydia had dared him to wear ladies underwear and now here he was with his pants
around his ankles and Derek pawing at him like he’s a piece of raw meat. Not
like he is complaining.
Derek’s fingers slip underneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt, tugging it upward to
reveal a winding line of moles that disappear down into the diagonal cut of the
panties. Stiles shifts again, feeling awkward under Derek’s intense gaze.
“Do you…” Stiles swallows. “Do you like them?”
“What do you think?” is Derek’s smartass reply, and that’s enough to snap
Stiles back into reality. He frowns slightly and turns his hips to slide out of
reach of Derek’s thick fingers.
“Hey, I thought we were being nice here,” Stiles grumbles as he turns around
fully. Derek’s fingers trail along Stiles’ stomach as he does, and they latch
around the slim hips and pin him back against the wall.
“I am nice,” Derek says with a grin that is not nice at all. It shoots straight
down into Stiles’ belly and makes his toes curl. There’s a darkness lurking
around Derek that has nothing to do with his coarse scruff or the shadowed
light of the loft. It’s something primitive and feral and has Stiles’ breath
sticking in his throat as he inhales.
“Oh yeah?” Stiles taunts feebly, letting a shaky smile slide across his lips.
“Want to show me?”
Derek lets his fingers skate down further, one trailing across the top of the
panties and smearing through the come that is dripping downward in a cooling
mess. “Didn’t I just make you come inside these frilly little panties, Stiles?”
Stiles closes his eyes and swallows, nods. His dick is twitching slightly,
trying to leap up as Derek slides one fingernail over the center seam of the
lace.
“Do you want more?” Derek’s voice is low, smooth, warm against Stiles’ cheek.
“Yes,” Stiles says, and he hears his own voice go a little breathless.
“Do you want me to fuck you in these tight little panties that are all wet with
your come?”
Stiles brain stutters to a halt and he has to squeeze his eyes shut because he
can’t possibly look at Derek right now. He’s never heard that voice say
anything even remotely near that filthy, and the thought of Derek fucking him
is making Stiles’ knees turn to jelly. He opens his eyes again and sees Derek
smiling smugly. He’s so close that Stiles can see every hair in his scruffy
beard, every long eyelash, every beautiful fleck in the light green eyes.
“Yes, please,” Stiles says, and Derek takes that as permission to lean forward
and pull Stiles into a deep, lingering kiss. The first slide of their tongues
is sweet and Derek tastes like the licorice he was eating earlier. Stiles
tangles his hands in Derek’s soft shirt, twisting in the fabric, almost afraid
to touch Derek’s skin. As if he would just turn disappear into a really good
wet dream. But nope, Derek’s still there, hard and pressed into him, and the
wetness against Stiles' hardening dick is so very real and sticky in the tight
panties.
The speaking portion of the evening seems to be over and Derek hooks his
fingers into the bottom of the lace, sliding his fingertips underneath and over
the curve of Stiles’ ass. It makes Stiles push forward, their hips meeting,
Derek shifting so he can fit one leg in between Stiles’. He pulls Stiles
against him, grinding into his body and then walking them backwards until they
are bumping into the bed and they are tumbling down. Stiles falls in a heap on
top of Derek, his limbs an uncoordinated mess, his pants still caught around
his ankles.
Before he has time to think, Derek's mouth is back on his. The movement of his
fingers and lips are like everything else the wolf does: intense, serious and
thoughtful. He wastes no time in rolling Stiles over and sliding his large
hands everywhere, tracing along the pinked skin. Stiles squirms uncomfortably,
the panties wet and tight against him, the sweep of Derek's hands just light
enough to be ticklish. Stiles kicks with his feet to try and dislodge his jeans
from where they are caught around his ankles, but pressure from Derek's knee
causes him to stop his movement.
"You look good like this," Derek says, sounding like his breath got stuck in
his vocal cords. His fingers are back on the edges of the panties and Stiles
has barely a second to process anything before there's stubble rubbing against
his ass and a hot tongue sliding along the lace's edge.
Derek's scruff draws red marks on Stiles' inner thighs, burning pleasantly. His
tongue is heavy and broad, and it laps up against Stiles' skin and worms it's
way beneath the lace. Derek's hands come down to rest on Stiles' ass and pull
him apart slowly. There's silence and Stiles has the distinct impression that
he's being examined. It makes his cheeks flame a hot red and he turns his face
into the pillow so he doesn't have to face Derek and his stupidly attractive
face.
"Can we hurry things along here?" Stiles mumbles into the sheets. Derek still
hasn't moved and it's beginning to freak him out a little.
"You're awfully pushy. Don't know why I thought you'd be otherwise."
That little snippet makes Stiles flush even further. "Thought about it before,
yeah?"
"Maybe once," Derek says before leaning down and pushing his tongue beneath the
lace once more. He wiggles it over until it's sweeping right along Stiles' rim
in lazy strokes, making him moan out loudly.
"Aw, fuck, yeah," Stiles bites out. "God that feels good. Yeah, that's it, a
little harder. Come on, Der."
Derek pulls away and Stiles cranes his neck to shoot an irritated look down at
him. He stops short and swallows at the stormy way Derek's brow has descended
and how his beautiful eyes are narrowed.
"I think I'm going to need to do something about your mouth, Stiles. You're
always running it, getting yourself into trouble. And that just won't do."
Derek's words arc through Stiles like a current and his feet start to shake
with nervous excitement. "And what are you going to do about it?" Stiles asks,
just to piss Derek off. And also because he wants to know. Like, a lot.
Derek pulls away and gives Stiles a firm spank that makes him yelp. "I bet
you'll finally shut up if you have a cock down your throat."
And yep, that about does it. Goodbye, Stiles is dead. His mind reels as Derek
manhandles him sideways and pulls his head so it’s poised above Derek's thighs.
Derek draws down his zipper and pulls his dick out, giving it a few quick
jerks. Stiles watches in fascination as the skin slides over the flared head,
the tip a shiny white, precome squeezing out slowly. Derek eases forward and
rubs the head along Stiles' lips, taking his time. It feels soft and sleek, and
Stiles opens up willingly and flicks his tongue outward in little kitten licks.
Stiles swell with pride when Derek groans throatily, but Derek grows impatient
soon, grabbing Stiles by the ears and forcing his cock right between Stiles’
lips in one smooth motion.
The grip on Stiles' neck is tight and possessive, and Derek wastes no time in
fucking upward into Stiles' eager mouth. Stiles struggles to curl his tongue
upward on each thrust but the pace is quick and Derek is big and stretching his
jaw with a dull burn that is just shy of uncomfortable.
"Jesus, you were made for this. You look so good with my cock in your mouth."
Stiles creases his brow, a little irritated that Derek wants to shut him up,
but not really in a position to complain. Derek stills beneath him, pushing his
cock in further so Stiles has to swallow reflexively because he's in so far.
"I better stop if I still want to fuck you. Next time I'll come all over your
face." Next time. Stiles forgets to be irritated with Derek's possessive
behavior in lieu of elation at the promise in those words. Derek pulls out and
Stiles immediately hinges his jaw open and closed and wipes off the spit with
the back of his hand.
"Big boy," he says with a smirk and Derek just grins and rolls Stiles over
until he's on his back and his limbs are sprawled carelessly.
"I'm getting you a gag," Derek deadpans as he strips off the rest of his
clothes and slicks up two fingers. Stiles watches the reveal of the absurdly
well-muscled body with wide, honeyed eyes as he spreads his legs and waits.
Derek is quick, leaning close and sliding in two fingers as soon as he can,
obviously impatient. Stiles quiets as Derek works, the stretch tight and
exciting, his cock leaking again. The tip is just over the edge of the lace and
he looks down as Derek's forearm flexes with each quick thrust.
"Nnng," says Stiles when what he means is please continue. Now. Please. Please
GOD. He bucks his hips and whines, and Derek seems to understand because he's
suddenly hovering over Stiles and looking down with a fierce intensity that is
almost like being under a magnifying glass.
"You ready?"
Stiles nods, ridiculously nervous. He’s had sex before. Like, a few times. But
Derek, ugh. He’s hovering over Stiles looking beardy and unbelievably
attractive, and it makes Stiles’ stomach burst into a flurry of butterflies.
He’s sure Derek can hear his heart beating straight out of his chest, and he
jumps about a mile when Derek presses their lips together in a sweet kiss.
He’s nudged up against Stiles, the red panties held bunched to the side with
one hand while Derek props himself on his forearm so he can lie pressed on top
of him heavily.
“Okay. Are you sure?”
Derek’s looking at him with such intensity and something bordering on concern
that it makes Stiles’ insides clench.
“Yeah. I want you. Please.”
The crinkles around Derek’s eyes soften slightly at Stiles’ words, and the
corner of his lips turns upward. Then he’s pushing forward with his hips and
Stiles feels his body opening up very slowly. Even though Derek had spent a
copious amount of time stretching him it still burns, still surprises in the
way it pulls him apart. Stiles draws his legs backward, the feeling of Derek
filling him up luscious and overwhelming and seemingly never ending. When he’s
finally seated all the way in he pauses, waiting for Stiles to give the okay to
keep going.
After a minute Stiles nods, and Derek starts to move slowly, taking his time,
his eyes closed tight. Stiles takes the opportunity to look over the older man
while he can, feeling uninhibited without Derek’s eyes peering so intently at
him. It’s intimate, being so close to someone, watching them trust, bare
everything. Derek’s features look more open than Stiles has ever seen them, and
this time is suddenly so much more different than being pressed against Derek’s
wall and jerked off quickly. Derek picks up his rhythm slowly, shifting onto
his hands to gather more power, bottoming out each time and making Stiles groan
in delight.
“You like that?” Derek asks with bright eyes. His face is flushed a deep pink
and Stiles can see sweat beginning to gather in a silvery sheen along his
smooth skin.
“Yeah. More, please.”
Derek smirks, his mood turning playful. “Remember what I said about a gag?”
“Oh, shut up. I said please. And you like my mouth.”
Derek pushes forward with enough force to make Stiles toss his head back and
arch backward with an open mouth. “I like it with my cock in it,” Derek
replies, and his voice has enough roughness in it that it makes Stiles’ dick
jerk against his stomach. He thinks about the weight of Derek in his mouth,
about doing that to him all the time, about Derek letting him do that to him
all the time. He thinks about Derek sitting on the couch while he kneels in
front of him, tonguing at his weeping dick. He thinks about lying on the bed
while Derek straddles his face and just straight on fucks his mouth. The mental
images combined with Derek’s punishing thrusts and devilish smile cause Stiles
to begin to clench tightly. He can feel the climax edging up from deep inside
him, the blood gathering and pulsing, his skin beginning to flash in a red-hot
rash of heat.
“Derek,” Stiles grunts, voice wrecked, and Derek leans down and kisses him.
It’s system overload, the friction on Stiles’ dick between their stomachs and
the lace of the panties suddenly way too much. Stiles pulls back from Derek to
push his head into the pillow as he feels the heat take over his body, his come
spilling out between them and spattering onto Derek’s chest. Stiles digs his
fingertips into Derek’s shoulders, making little half-moon marks as he lets
Derek ride him hard through his orgasm. Each hot pulse is perfect and awesome
and amazing and better than anything Stiles has ever felt times a million and
one.
“God, that was hot,” Derek says as he kisses him and Stiles smiles up at him,
grinning like an idiot. The panties are beyond wrecked and Derek pushes up so
he’s on his knees, drawing Stiles upward so he’s resting along the tops of
Derek’s thighs and is pulled up forcibly each time.
“Was it?” Stiles asks. He watches Derek from behind half-lidded eyes, his body
shivering and over-sensitive and each thrust pushing him roughly against the
sheets. “What part did you like? Did you like watching me soak these panties?
Did you like watching me come just from riding your big dick? Did you like me
saying your name when I came?”
“Yeah,” Derek says simply before his body stiffens into a tight arch. Stiles
bites his lip to keep his grin from widening too much, but then tilts his head
back as he feels Derek coming inside with hot pressure and bruising fingers on
his hips. Derek looks even more beautiful as he lets the pleasure wash over his
features, flicking across his cheeks and lips with little twitches before
hanging his mouth open in a full-throated moan. It’s hot. Beyond hot. Sitting
on the surface of the sun holding a just-cooked pizza that burns the roof of
your mouth type of hot.
Stiles waits until Derek opens his eyes again before blurting out, “See? You do
like my mouth.”
Derek laughs. Actually laughs, deep and easy. It makes their bodies shake
together, and Stiles feels it all the way through to his chest. “I never said I
didn’t.”
“Mmmm,” Stiles replies as Derek leans forward to catch his response with his
lips. The kiss is soft and lingering, and Stiles lets it warm his skin. Derek
licks into his mouth for a long time before Stiles finally squirms beneath him
and pushes at the thick chest pressing him down into the bed.
“I’m getting a little squished here,” Stiles says against Derek’s lips,
smiling.
Derek rolls his eyes and slides sideways, slipping out of Stiles as he does so.
Stiles groans at the sudden feeling of emptiness, his body clenching around
nothing in that odd, not entirely unpleasant way. He pushes the wrecked panties
down over his hips, making a face and tossing them off the bed. Derek chuckles
at his expression and Stiles turns to poke him in the chest with a fake look of
ire.
“Next time you’re wearing the panties.”
“Nope,” Derek says, falling all the way over onto his back and tucking one hand
up behind his head. His bicep looks huge and Stiles leans over to press a kiss
against it causing Derek to shift with ticklishness. “I don’t have the hips for
it,” he adds, voice a little lighter.
Stiles laughs, letting his head drop down and rest against Derek’s chest. They
rest for a moment, listening to their breathing slow, the feeling of exhaustion
creeping over their bodies as the lingering sweat cools.
One moment turns into many and Stiles looks up in surprise to see Derek’s face
relaxed with sleep, his mouth parted slightly, his chest moving rhythmically
beneath Stiles’ chin. Stiles smiles and tucks up against him, pulling the
blanket up around their legs. He doesn’t think too much about how easy it feels
to be in Derek’s arms, and how comfortable it is that Derek trusts him enough
to drift off to sleep. Even if it was post-orgasmically induced.
Stiles has watched Derek sleep before. Loads of times. After too long nights of
research, or fights when Derek’s dripping blood but wakes knit back together
again. But this time it feels so different it’s like night and day. And Stiles
likes it. He likes it a lot.
Chapter End Notes
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