Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1099451.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Christmas, Santa_Claus_-_Freeform, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Anal
      Fingering, Rimming, Anal_Sex, Come_Eating
  Series:
      Part 1 of XXX-mas
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-24 Words: 9219
****** Stocking Stuffer ******
by GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary
     The guy was dressed up like Santa - he even had the stupid hat on -
     and the only thing that was way worse than a crazy person robbing him
     while dressed up like Jolly Saint Nick, was that Jolly Saint Nick was
     devastatingly, mind-bogglingly, unfairly handsome and stubbled and
     firm-looking. Stiles was struck by a hard desire to run his hands
     over that velvet-clad, fit body, which was a decidedly unfortunate
     desire to have because the man was clearly stronger and more
     attractive and, more importantly, dressed up like Santa and
     burglarizing his house.
Notes
     Ugh, I swear to God, this was supposed to be a short, smutty fic but,
     like, I got six thousand words in and they were barely at handsies
     and, like, what. That is not how you write a short smutty fic.
     Also, this is unbetaed. I did my best to catch some things, but, you
     know, one can only do so much. Sorry about that guys.
See the end of the work for more notes
It was Christmas and Stiles’s dad got called away for late night/early morning
police work again because, as Stiles had mumbled out to his father in the
groggy early morning, criminals are apparently that inconsiderate in Beacon
Hills. There had been some robbery thing. Or maybe there had been a shooting.
Might have been some paperwork that wasn’t filed right or - whatever.
Stiles had basically been asleep, and while, of course, he was super interested
in all of the Sheriff-y things his dad was involved in, it was one in the
morning. And even though he’d gone to bed early - because it had been Christmas
Eve and “if you didn’t go to bed early enough the night before Christmas, Santa
wouldn’t come,” or so tradition dictated and tradition was important, no matter
how stupid, and so it must be respected - it didn’t mean he’d gone to sleep
early. Sometimes, it was nice to spend hours in bed, just providing a little
self-care.
Merry Christmas to me, had been the final thought of the night, when Stiles
felt wet and sticky and sated and had gone through more Kleenex than he would
during a week of being sick. And, so, no, okay. He actually had no idea why his
dad had had to duck out so late on Christmas morning. He didn’t know when he’d
be back and he didn’t know if he had to worry and, at four AM when he woke up
because of some noise in the downstairs living room, he felt mildly disgruntled
and kinda totally pissed that, once again, Dad was gonna be probably gone for
Christmas.
He then sat straight up in his bed, his brain suddenly processing the loud thud
he had heard. That could be his dad, but his dad didn’t thud like that when he
got back in the morning. And, what’s more was the crash and bang that followed
the thud and the sound of something getting knocked over. That wasn’t Dad.
There was no reason why his father would be wrecking their living room.
It had to be a burglar. He was sure of it. He was completely certain now that
the murmured, forgotten words his dad had left with were that there had been a
string of breaking-and-entering or a band of robbers or something like that. It
made sense; being Christmas and all.
Once deciding that, yes, he was remembering that correctly - even if he was
aware how faulty the human mind was when it came to memory and maybe his dad
had just said that Sanders had had an accident and he needed to fill in - he
was out of bed, quietly tiptoeing to the closet in the upstairs hallway they
kept the baseball bat in and then sneaking to the stairway. As silently as he
could, he descended the steps but froze halfway down the steps, just as the
intruder came into view, apparently bolting for the door carrying one, full
sack. The man turned in shock and Stiles stood very still, brandishing his
weapon but not having the nerve to jump down and attack.
The man was clad in white fur trimmed red. The material looked soft - velvety -
and it matched the ridiculously oversized bag he was toting. Stiles blinked,
wanting to rub his eyes and gape in disbelief. For starters, the guy was
dressed up like Santa - he even had the stupid hat on - and the only thing that
was way worse than a crazy person robbing him while dressed up like Jolly Saint
Nick, was that Jolly Saint Nick was devastatingly, mind-bogglingly, unfairly
handsome and stubbled and firm-looking. Stiles was struck by a hard desire to
run his hands over that velvet-clad, fit body, which was a decidedly
unfortunate desire to have because the man was clearly stronger and more
attractive and, more importantly, dressed up like Santa and burglarizing his
house.
The man, who had a vaguely angry, mildly surprised, but mostly constipated
look, finally spoke. “You’re supposed to be asleep.” he grumbled. He was kind
of growly, but his voice wasn’t all that low. It was kind of nice even. Stiles
pushed the thought aside.
“Why?” he asked, tightening a hold on his bat and taking another step down the
stairs. “So you can rob us?”
The man’s eyebrows furrowed - and, damn, those were some eyebrows. How did
people even get eyebrows that nice? Stiles wanted to raise his hand forward and
run a finger along and touch -
“Rob you?” the man growled with no small amount of confusion. “I’m not robbing
you.”
“What?” Stiles balked, almost lowering his weapon. “But,” he gestured to the
bag. “You-”
The man raised his really nice eyebrows and violently pointed a finger at the
pile of presents under the tree. If anything, it looked like there were more
than before.
Stiles lowered the bat. "Oh."
The man was already looking through a satchel at his side. "Just... Stay there.
I have something for this." To himself, he grumbled. "Every fucking year. This
is not good. Such a pain in my-"
"What was that?" Stiles cut in, finally making it all the way down the stairs.
The man sighed. "It doesn't matter, Stiles. You just really suck at staying
asleep. I thought you might have tired yourself out, but you're the worst and I
should have seen this coming. Seriously, how did I not make it out of here
faster?"
Stiles gaped. "You said my name."
The man ignored him, bitching to himself. "Where the fuck are my Forget-Me-
Nows?"
"Who are you?" Stiles asked, taking a step closer to him.
"We do this every year and I refuse to do it again. Just shut up for once in
your life."
Stiles caught his arm and the man flashed his eyes up to the boy's face. "Who
are you?"
The man looked unimpressed. "Don't ask questions you know the answer to." He
started to look through his satchel again. "You didn't even have to ask as a
kid - you just knew."
"No." Stiles refused. "Absolutely not. You can't be."
The man dropped the oversized sack to the ground to better dig through his
sidebag.
"You don't exist." Stiles hissed.
The man looked up and sent him a glare and a sarcastic. "Thanks."
"Santa isn't real." Stiles told him.
"They must have taken them out of my bag." the man said, not responding to him.
"Those assholes."
"Who?" Stiles asked.
"Listen, Stiles." the man said, his voice soft, almost soothing. All his
attention suddenly on the boy, his hands bracketing Stiles's shoulders, and his
hands were warm and firm and Stiles was completely okay with the contact and
the tempting lull of his voice, despite the man being basically an insane
stranger. "You're right. Santa isn't real. This is a crazy dream because of
that take-out Chinese you had with your dad last night."
"You know about that?" Stiles murmured, his eyes locked on the man's face.
"You didn't see me. You imagined me." The man took his hands back and started
to pick up his things to leave. "Now, go upstairs." he ordered, his voice back
to its gritty bark. "Start forgetting this happened."
Stiles blinked back. "Uh, yeah, not gonna work, Santa. What's going on here?"
"Stiles, I'm really busy tonight. I don't have time-"
"I don't care."
The man glared at him, fumed, and finally said. "If you interrupt me one more
time, I will rip your throat out."
Eyes widening, Stiles took a step back. "You - You can't do that."
"No. But I can bring you coal next year if you don't high-tail is back to your
room. Now. Shoo."
"God," Stiles scoffed. "You have got to be the least jolly person I have ever
met. How did you even get this gig? I don't think you're right for it. I want
to talk to your supervisor."
"I don't have a supervisor." the man seethed. "I'm Santa Fucking Claus - there
is no one higher than me." and, as he said it, his eyes glowed red and there
was a hint of fangs inside of his opening mouth. Stiles gaped, torn between
stepping away in fear or forward in awe. But, the man suddenly looked
repentant, eyes and mouth normal, and at a loss for words. "I - You need to
forget you saw that too."
"Gotta say," Stiles said, recognizing and taking his momentary upper hand. "I
can't say I think you're suited for the job." he paused and then added. "Suited
may have been the wrong word. You're suited very well, actually. Tell me,
Santa," Stiles asked, his eyes raking over the man's physique and attire, "Why
are your pants so tight? Did the elves have to sew them on?"
The man was unamused. "What." And the word that was normally question seemed
more like an accusation or a threat.
"God, how do you even get these off?" Stiles asked, taking a step closer. "I'd
love to know how to get you out of them."
"I'm leaving." the man stated and turned to pick up his ridiculous sack.
"I'll tell everyone I saw you if you go." Stiles stated.
"Be my guest. No one who matters will listen to you."
"I'll tell them you robbed us, then."
"Nothing was taken from the house."
"I'll tell them you broke in, then. I scared you off."
"They won't find me." and the man's hand was on the doorknob.
Stiles scrambled for something to say that would make him stay. It seemed
important - and he didn't want to be left right then. "You made it seem like
this has happened before. Don't you think that's significant?"
"I think it means you're a significant pain in my ass. Go to bed, Stiles.
Goodnight."
"Come on." Stiles practically whined, pouting a little. His tone made the man
pause. "It's Christmas and my dad's at work. I'm all alone. Keep me company."
"Stiles..." the man sighed, turning to look back at him.
"Besides," he added, "There very well could be an actual band of robbers loose
and I think I've demonstrated just how inept I am at keeping people out of my
house. It'd be a real shame if some thugs broke in and stole all the nice
things you brought me."
The man set the pack on the ground and looked at him evenly. "I have a lot of
houses to go to tonight."
Stiles waved him off. "You have to have some kind of time magic thing, don't
you? Besides, after working so hard, it'd probably be nice to have a breather.
Take a break. Relax. I'm sure I can find you some milk and cookies if you
want." Stiles winked.
"I think I'll pass on that." the man stated, moving into the living room with
Stiles trailing after him. Without so much as a make yourself at home, Derek
sat down heavily on the couch like he was more tired than functionally
possible.
"You want a beer?" Stiles asked.
"Fine."
"Great. Can do. Two beers. Coming right up." Stiles said, giving him a little
salute, about to run off.
"One beer." the man growled. "I know how old you are."
"God, such a spoilsport." Stiles rolled his eyes, leaving the room for the
kitchen. "One beer. Gotcha." Under his breath, in the glow of the open fridge,
he muttered, "Good God, what a dick. How the hell does someone this grumpy
bring joy to the world every year?"
"I heard that." the man growled from the other room. Stiles groaned and asked
himself a mad, muted how is that shit even possible and walked back to the
room.
The man was seated on his couch, leaning back, knees spread, and an arm
extending the length of the arm rest. He looked more like a Playgirl model,
with a nicer face, than a Christmas icon. He had taken his Santa hat off and it
was resting by his side, the red velvet standing out vividly against the brown
of the couch. In all honesty, though, everything about the man was vivid and
eye-catching to Stiles, and he stood over him, gazing at him thoughtfully for a
moment too long. The man raised a fantastic, terrifying eyebrow at him and
Stiles blushed and flailed.
"Here's your drink." he said, shoving it at him quickly. The man sent him a
deeply put upon glare as he took the bottle. Stiles sat down at the opposite
end of the couch, the Santa hat between them as a buffer.
Stiles fiddle with the fraying fabric of the couch's armrest. "So, what do I
call you? Santa? Mr. Claus? Nick?"
"Derek." the man gruffed.
"...Derek." Stiles repeated.
Derek didn't respond, just drank.
"But, like - That's not Santa's name." Stiles pointed out.
"Well, it's my name and I'm Santa, so." Derek gave him a raised hand and a
raised brow and a raise in tonal sass levels.
"Are you really, though?" Stiles pried. "You sure you're not just one of his
helpers?"
Derek looked at him a long time and then bit out, "I'm sure."
Stiles paused, letting the man drink. "Is it like a title? Did you apply for
the job? Oh! Is it a family thing - passed down from generation to generation?"
Derek didn't reply, just have him another look. Stiles deflated and narrowed
his eyes. "You're a real conversationalist, aren't you?"
"It's not my job to be one." the man snapped.
"No kidding." Stiles huffed. They were quiet for a moment. "You said this
happens every year?"
Derek eyed him warily. "Yeah."
"And that's odd? I mean, kids are bound to wake up from time to time."
He didn't seem like he was going to respond, but Stiles just kept looking at
him and he finally sighed. "I've been doing this for a very long time. Most
kids - they never wake up once in all the years I deliver to them. Some kids
might wake up once or twice, but only when they're young. A rare handful of
kids might wake up a few more times than that. I had this one girl - a few
years back - wake up fifteen times.
"But, you. Ever since you could walk down those stairs and pester me, you have.
And, you're the only one to have consistently done that in my all years of
doing this."
"And how many years is that?" Stiles ventured. Derek gave him a stern look and
drank and didn't answer. Stiles exhaled and tried again. "So, does that mean
something?"
"No, I just have bad luck. This could have happened with some quiet, respectful
kid."
"Thanks." Stiles bit out. "And, I don't remember you because of - what? This
Forget-Me-Now stuff? What even is that?"
"Doesn't matter." Derek shrugged.
Stiles aggressively groaned. "God, you are the worst! It's not like I'm gonna
tell anybody - I just want to know stuff! It's gotta be annoying, having all
those secrets and no one to tell."
Derek shrugged again, the corners of his lips twitching, like he thought this
was funny. "Not really." Stiles glared. "I'm not alone." Derek offered. "I've
got people to talk to."
"Mrs. Claus and the elves?" Stiles asked, drolly.
"My assistants are not elves. That's ridiculous. And there's no Mrs. Claus."
"Ah, a bachelor, I see." Stiles said, "Not that I'm surprised. I can't see
anyone putting up with your grouchy bullshit for long."
And Derek frowned at him, which was disconcerting because it wasn't a glare. He
didn't look mad, he looked upset. "This was a stupid idea." he said sharply.
"Don't know why I thought this wouldn't go terribly. I'm going. Thanks for the
drink." and he put his hat back on and made to get up, but Stiles caught his
arm to hold him there.
"No, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't know - I didn't mean it. Stay for a little bit
longer."
Derek eyed him. "Why is this so important to you?"
Stiles bit his lip, Derek's eyes flashing at the movement, like he was nervous.
Stiles wasn't totally sure of the answer, so he guessed. "This is the last year
you're going to come here." he said, "And, because you don't have your Forget-
Me-Whatever, I'm going to remember this. So, like, I want to not feel
completely lost wen I think about this later." He quickly added "I watch Dr.
Who - I know chance encounters with strange, powerful men can leave a mark."
And, he almost winced at the phrasing because, wow, that sounded suggestive.
Derek didn't seem to pick up on it.
He had expected him to gruff out that this wasn't his problem and pick up his
things and go. Instead, there was a softening around his eyes and he sighed.
"Fine." he allowed. "But, I'm not promising to answer any of your questions."
"Awesome." Stiles fist pumped the air. "That's fine, dude. I get you." and,
fixing a full smile at him, he said, "Thanks."
Derek looked a little unsure of how to respond to the boy's expression so he
just said a shaky, "Yeah," and sat back down. He hid his face by taking another
drink. He proceeded to get distracted by the label on the bottle, becoming very
invested in peeling it off.
"So," Stiles started. "If you're Santa and you're bringing me presents, why
does my dad take all the credit? Doesn't that piss you the fuck off?"
"Not really." Derek said softly to his beer bottle. He cleared his throat and
gazed back at the boy. "When kids stop believing in Santa, it easier for
parents to just say it's them. It's all about convenience, and it benefits
everyone."
"So, parents know."
"Of course." Derek said. "Once you become a parent, you receive a letter with
all the necessary paperwork attached."
Stiles balked. "Paperwork."
Derek looked confused. "Yes." he said, like it was obvious. "I can't deliver to
a house that hasn't submitted all the proper forms. It's been against the law
since the sixties."
"International law?" Stiles clarified.
Derek shook his head. "Every participating country has their own set of rules
and delivery service. I'm US-based."
"Oh, that..." Stiles blinked and licked his lips. "That makes no sense."
Derek shrugged. "I've had time to adjust."
"So, the other Santas," Stiles began, "Have they had anything like this?" He
gestured between him and the man. "Have any of them had kids wake up each
year?"
And Derek looked uneasy. He shot a glance away from Stiles and then set the
beer bottle a little too hard on the side table. "No." he said finally.
"Wow, yeah. Don't believe that for a second."
"Okay, yes. A majority of them have, but... It's not very interesting." he
said. "It's probably all a coincidence."
"What is?"
Derek shifted a little and would only look at him with quick, darting glances.
"Most of them - The ones that have been in similar situations - They ended
up... With them."
"And by "with" you mean?"
"Together." Derek gruffed, looking displeased with having to share this
information. "I don't think it means anything. I'm sure it just happened. Freak
coincidence."
Stiles blinked, He gaped. He stared very intensely at the man until he started
squirming. Finally he said, "I feel like this is information I would have liked
sooner." Derek said nothing. "So, what?" Stiles spat. "We're soulmates?"
"No." Derek growled adamantly. "Didn't you just hear what I said? It's a fluke.
It doesn't mean anything. You just asked and I-"
"Don't worry, dude." Stiles said, forcing calm. "I get it. Who'd want to be
destined to have to date me? I'm just some obnoxious, gangly teenager and
you're, uhm, decidedly not. I sure wouldn't want to, so, yeah, don't worry."
Derek set his his jaw and gave the boy a seething look. "That's not what I
meant."
"It's probably a fluke, like you said." Stiles went on. "I mean, when you think
about it - people in your line of work probably don't get much time to meet
prospective, uhh, partners. It only makes sense that the first person they see
on an annual basis catches their eye."
His lips a tight line, Derek nodded once. "I'm sure that's it."
"Yeah." Stiles said, lamely, and felt a little hurt. Derek was beyond
attractive, and, even if he was kind of a butt, Stiles sort of really liked
him. But, he always aimed too high. It was a flaw. This was just another one of
his little infatuations.
"I should go." Derek told him. "I took a break around eleven and lost too much
time. I'm running behind schedule."
"How does the time thing work anyway? Is it even possible for you to run out of
time? Would little Bobby and Suzy have no Christmas this year?"
Derek shook his head. "It's confusing. Maybe I'll tell you about it next time."
"This is the last time, remember?" Stiles reminded him. "This is my own and
only interview with The Mr. Claus." He then added. "Only one I won't forget."
Derek nodded again and Stiles couldn't really read the expression on his face.
On anyone else, Stiles would have said he looked guilty or sad - which didn't
make sense in this context, and so Stiles ignored it. He said, "I guess so,"
and that was all. he didn't make to get up and leave, just sat quietly on
Stiles's couch. Stiles wanted desperately to keep him there for as long as he
could and frantically tried to think of one last thing to say.
"So," he blurted out. "What did you get so sucked into on your break?"
Derek's eyes widened and, to Stiles's utmost surprise, he seemed to be
embarrassed. He looked caught as he said, "That's none of your business," which
suddenly made it feel like all of his business.
Stiles perked up as if re-energized. "Dude, you gotta tell me - we're bros now,
aren't we? Is it sex? Were you doing sex? With who?"
"I wasn't "doing sex" with someone." Derek snapped. "And it's none of your
business."
"Ah, that's so unfair!" Stiles cawed. "At eleven last night I was - oh." Stiles
cut himself off, just then remembering what exactly he'd been doing. "Oh. Um.
Oh."
Derek looked supremely uncomfortable.
"Uh..." Stiles said. "You know how you know what I had for dinner last night?
You didn't, uh... Do you see everything I do?"
Derek looked like he might explode or implode or die on the spot. "I'm not
discussing this."
"Oh my God - do you have to watch everyone in the US masturbate? Oh, Jesus
Christ, how do you get anything done? Oh, God, that's so awful."
"No," Derek cut in. "No, I don't watch you - you know - or, I mean, I don't
automatically watch - I mean, shit - It's just - We have - Channels, right?
They're like channels and we can tune in or out - and I don't watch other
teenagers - you know - because that would be wrong."
Stiles stared at him blankly, trying to process for a moment. "Okay, I have two
things to say. One, you have no game and you're the most awkward person I
know." which is adorable was left unsaid. "Two, why does it seem like you're
vaguely trying to gloss over the fact that you could and quite possibly do
watch me touch myself?"
Derek didn't answer that. He finally stood and Stiles followed him up. "I'm
going. Merry Christmas, Stiles."
"Santa - Derek - wait. Please." and, for the last time, Stiles caught his arm
and held him there. "What were you doing last night on your break?"
"I swear I was just checking to see if you were asleep. I was close to your
house and if you were asleep I could have delivered then but you weren't."
"Yeah. I really wasn't." Stiles said. He let go of Derek's sleeve and ran a
hand over his face. "So, what? You threw your magical viewing screen away in
shock and horror and had to wash your brain with bleach for an hour?"
"I don't have a magical viewing screen." Derek grumbled.
"Not the issue."
Derek looked down at his feet and then at the Christmas tree and then at the
wall, but pointedly not at Stiles. "I didn't have to... Wash my brain or
whatever. I just - You were - Touching yourself." Derek said, finally glancing
at him and sounding a little too raw.
"Well, yeah, I was touching myself. This has been established."
Derek looked away. "No. No, on the inside."
Stiles blinked. "Oh... I... I do it when I've got a little extra time." and he
could feel himself growing increasingly defensive. "It's not that weird. Plenty
of people do it."
"I've accidentally seen many teenage boys masturbate and very few of them do -
That."
"You've never seen someone finger themselves before?" Stiles grinned, feeling
just upset enough to want to tease.
"No, I - Of course I have."
"Uh-huh." Stiles rolled his eyes. "So, you accidentally walked in on me getting
down with my bad self. Big whoop. My dad's done that. Multiple times. One time
ain't gonna kill you. The images will fade with time and a bombardment of
opposing, pleasant replacements."
"You really don't see yourself, do you?" Derek remarked as if amazed.
"Huh?"
"You don't - Never mind. I have to go."
"No." Stiles ordered, sounding like a whiny child. He controlled his voice and
emotions as Derek looked at him with discomfort and awe and something like
confusion. "You can't just - You can't say stuff like that and then go. What
did you mean?"
"Nothing." Derek hissed.
"Bullshit." Stiles returned. "Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. I'm calling
bullshit, because you're acting weird - and not weird like before with the
growling and the brooding and the general sense of deep-seated social issues."
and Derek shot a glare at him, so Stiles had to relent and allow, "I mean, not
that it's not all very charming."
"I-" Derek began, looking at the boy with more focus than Stiles felt like he
should have directed at him. He waited a moment to let him spit it out and then
started to get impatient.
"You-? You what, dude? You had to run to the strip club to flush out the
unsavory picture? You fell into an hour-long depression? You yaked all over the
place and had to get your magical elf helpers to clean it up but the
maintenance crew was given the night off? Fucking what?"
"I watched."
Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. "You... watched?"
Derek compulsively swallowed. "I need to leave."
"You need to sit the fuck down." Stiles told him, which, to Stiles complete and
utter surprise, Derek did immediately with no question. He just sat back and
looked up at Stiles with no small amount of visible nervousness. The boy stared
back at him.
"I'm sorry." he finally said and looked down at his hands.
"You're sorry?" Stiles repeated, sitting down next to him.
"Yes. I - It's wrong." he grit out, jaw set. "It's completely inappropriate."
"But you said that you don't watch kids play with themselves." Stiles blinked.
"If you were lying - if you do - then, shit, dude, but I think this might be
the wrong job for you."
"No, Christ, no. Don't say that." Derek said, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"It's not like that. I've never - You're the only-" and he cut himself off
again and groaned.
"So, it's just me?" Stiles raised an eyebrow. "The only boy who Santa watches
be naughty? That doesn't seem fair." He looked over at his stocking. "It
doesn't look like you brought me coal this year."
"That's because I didn't." Derek growled. "God," he bitched. "You're
impossible."
"I'm impossible?" Stiles let out a shocked laugh, sounding at least a little
bitter. Derek cringed as if waiting for a blow, and this action was duly noted.
What was most confusing to Stiles was how completely demolished any desire
Stiles had to be lash out was when he looked so vulnerable. "Whatever, Santa.
You're ridiculous."
"That's - it?" Derek asked, his shoulders dropping as if realized the boy
wasn't going to attack.
"Guess so." Stiles shrugged. "So you watched me finger myself while beating
off. Everyone - and I mean literally everyone I come into contact with - knows
I masturbate. And, so far, you haven't started to laugh or make fun of me for
having a stupid O-face or whatever - which, oh my God," Stiles ran a hand
through his hair. "You're the first person whose seen that, Oh my God. But,
like, it's four in the morning and I don't even care. At six or seven, yeah,
the shock and terror is going to set in but, you'll be gone forever by then,
won't you? I mean, it was just the once right?" Stiles asked nonchalantly,
feeling certain the answer was yes. Derek hesitated though and Stiles jaw
dropped. "No way. Twice?"
"More." Derek admitted to his hands on his lap.
Stiles sat back on the couch and rested his head back, looking up at the
ceiling. "How many - How many times have you seen me jack it?"
"I have no idea." Derek said, which - wow - made it seem like a lot.
"This is," Stiles exhaled through his mouth slowly, searching for the proper
description. "Weird and creepy and kind of totally flattering. Like, I'm taking
it that you like to watch me spank it and not that you do it to punish
yourself, right?" He turned his gaze to the man.
"How can you-" Derek flared. "How are you taking this so lightly?"
"Okay," Stiles said, nodding shallowly. "But, you didn't answer my question."
"This is horrible. What I did is completely out of line. No one should invade
your privacy like that, Stiles. It's a private thing. Me watching - it's a
complete violation of-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Stiles said, putting a hand up and turning a little so his
body was more inclined towards him. "Whoa. Dude. You're Santa. Violation of
privacy is part of your job."
"But, it's not anymore." Derek stressed. "Since the sixties, most of the
naughty-nice information is gathered from parents. There are strict limitations
on what and when I can and cannot observe children I'm delivering to. I
just..."
"You only watch me?" Stiles supplied.
"Not all the time." Derek assured him, "I just check up on you."
"And sometimes I'm fucking myself and you just hunker down for your own little
private show. Is that it?" Derek's lips tightened and Stiles sighed. "Why?"
Derek hesitated, before saying, "It started out as checking up on you. After
your mom - I remember that Christmas; how sad you were. I didn't want you to be
alone. So I kept checking on you... But, you got older and grew up and I -
Didn't stop. It was a habit by then."
"You do this out of habit?"
"I also like the way you - look."
"When I come?" Stiles ventured.
"When you do anything." Derek said quickly, and then looked more than
embarrassed. He tried to play it down by sending a half-hearted glare at him
and telling him, "Even if you're obnoxious and nosy and loud. I can't believe
I'm telling you any of this."
The insult didn't even register. Stiles just grinned. "Oh, you like it that I'm
loud?" he teased, leaning forward a little on the couch.
"Stiles, don't." Derek said. "Please. What I've done is - You should be furious
at me."
"Nuh-uh." Stiles shook his head, curling his legs up so he could crowd Derek
better. "You don't get to decide how I'm going to react to this."
"But-"
"I get that you feel bad." Stiles said. "Really, I do. So, I've got a way for
you to make it up to me."
Derek paused, seeming uncertain, but nodded. "If that's what you want."
"Yeah." Stiles said, wetting his lips.
"What is it?"
Stiles eyes deliberately caught on the crotch of Derek's tight, red velvet
pants. "You've seen mine. Show me your's."
"What?" Derek sputtered.
"You don't have to." Stiles said immediately, backing off. "If it makes you
uncomfortable, I don't want it. But, I'd like to watch you touch yourself, if
that's okay."
And Derek sucked in a breath and looked at Stiles, clearly flustered and
anxious. One hand fell to his own thigh and, eyes darting between the boy and
his own fingers, he started to undo his pants. He created a big enough gap for
him to pull out his half-hard cock without so much as another word from either
of them.
His cock was just unfair. It was thick and uncut and nestled in thatch of soft
looking curls and Stiles wanted it immediately upon seeing it. It looked heavy
and Stiles could only imagine how it would feel in his hands, in his mouth, in
him. It was coming to full attention under Stiles's gaze and Derek's firm grip.
Derek spat in his palm and brought that down, expectantly looking at Stiles,
who was too busy looking elsewhere to notice.
Not looking up, Stiles said, "You should probably take off all of your
clothes." And he finally glanced up to the man's face. "So you don't get them
dirty."
"Right." Derek rolled his eyes. He pulled his hat off and plopped it on
Stiles's head. "That's why." He started to shoulder off his shirt.
"You bet your fine ass it is." Stiles said absently, pulling the hat on to
secure it. Derek tossed his shirt at the boy and went back to peeling off the
too-tight pair of pants, kicking off his boots. He sat back down on the couch,
hard and completely naked and shining with sweat in the colored glow of the
Christmas tree lights.
"Goddamn, your body is unreal."
Derek huffed in amusement, getting a hold of himself again. "That's the second
time you've said I don't exist."
Stiles looked at him thoughtfully as he pumped his fist around his cock, his
half-lidded gaze settled on the boy's wet and open mouth. "Maybe if you let me
touch you," he said, one hand reaching up and forward, slow, expecting to be
stopped. "I could stop denying you your personhood."
"Oh." Derek panted out, his eyes snapping open to look at the hand. "Oh, yeah.
Okay."
"Are you sure?" Stiles asked, pulling back a bit. "I really don't want you to
say yes just because you feel like you owe me or something." but Derek was
scoffing and taking Stiles's hand in his own, placing it on his very firm
abdomen. On his abs. And Derek was still stroking himself, almost lazily now,
thumbing over his slit to catch a bead of precome and smear it over the head of
his cock.
"Oh my God." Stiles groaned - actually groaned, like he was the one being
touched. His fingers danced up the man's tight stomach and over the flat middle
plane of his chest and over a nipple, to flick and pinch as he settled his body
even closer to the man.
Derek was moaning softly, fucking his hips up into his hand, Stiles circling
his thumb over one perked, hard, dusky pink nipple. After a moment's
hesitation, he leaned forward all the way and brought his mouth to the other.
Derek, hissing and swearing, bucked up as Stiles laved up his chest and to his
neck, kissing and licking lightly.
"This okay?" he asked. Derek nodded fervently and Stiles bit down a little too
hard. He would have felt bad and apologized if it hadn't made Derek moan loud
and hot into his ear and spill all over his hand. Stiles pulled back and Derek
was flushed, looking around for a Kleenex or something to clean up with.
Without really thinking, Stiles caught his wrist and brought Derek's hand to
his mouth.
In one long swipe, his tongue covered the expanse of Derek's palm and middle
finger, which Stiles sucked into his mouth along with come and salt and sweat.
The man was moaning wordlessly, quietly, as Stiles flashed his eyes to the man
and bobbed his head up, taking the man's index finger into his mouth as well
and sucking.
"Stiles," Derek finally harshed, and the boy returned his hand to him, wet but
come-free.
He asked, "Have you ever had sex with a guy before?'
Derek rubbed his wet hand on his naked thigh. "Yeah."
"Can we have sex?" Stiles furthered, looking hopeful and sitting up a little.
"I get it if you don't want to but, like, I'd really like to fuck you."
And Derek blinked, seeming blindsided by the comment. He was very quiet for a
second, and Stiles thought that maybe his brain had exploded or he was about to
kill Stiles for presuming that Derek would ever want to have sex with someone
like him. But, he finally sputtered out a tight, "Yeah, okay."
"Yeah?" Stiles repeated.
"Yeah." Derek agreed.
Stiles beamed. "I've got lube upstairs." He made to get up. "I might have some
condoms if they haven't expired. Just hold tight and-"
"I have lube and condoms." Derek said.
Which was unexpected, because why would Derek need lube and condoms to deliver
Christmas presents at ridiculously early o'clock in the morning. "Oh," Stiles
said, lightly, "You do?"
Derek stood to retrieve his satchel - naked. He was naked and built and just
walking around Stiles's living room like it was nothing. Stiles could barely
comprehend it. "I think the guys put them in when they took out the Forget-Me-
Nows." The boy raised and eyebrow and Derek came back to the couch with a
string of condoms and a few packets of lube. He had the decency to look mildly
uncomfortable as he handed them over. "They may have been hoping this would
happen."
"Aw, you talk to them about me?" Stiles teased. Derek didn't say anything.
"You should at least take your pants off." he said, eyeing him evenly.
"Right." Stiles said, rushing to do just that, tugging his pajama bottoms and
boxers down so his still erect and close to leaking cock sprang into view. Even
while talking to Derek, it hadn't really had enough time to to switch gears and
go down. "How do you want to do this?" he asked while pulling his shirt over
his head. He tossed that aside too but fixed the hat in place, determined to
keep it on.
Derek tried not to laugh at he gesture. "How do you want me?"
"Oh, uh." Stiles stalled, and then blurted out. "Face down, ass up." He
immediately felt embarrassed, his face heating up as Derek stared at him with a
schooled expressionless face which kind of made Stiles feel even more childish
than if Derek had been offended. "I mean, hands and knees, oh my God." But,
Derek was suddenly laughing - not outright laughing, but chuckling. Stiles
sighed in relief. "You don't get to make fun of me. You can't even say
masturbate without getting squeamish."
"I do not get squeamish." Derek told him, eyes narrowed a little.
"You totally do. It's okay. I like it." Stiles said.
"Oh?" Derek smirked. "Do you?" and Stiles froze under that look because it was
hot and intimate and, sure, they were gonna fuck, but that seemed like a look
you would give someone you knew better. Although, Stiles supposed, as the man
turned over on the couch, his hands coming to curl at the armrest and his legs
towards Stiles, Derek may have actually known Stiles pretty well - considering
all the spying and whatnot.
"Like this?" Derek was saying, his hips pushed up, his shoulder down as he rest
his turned cheek on folded arms in front of him. "You want me like this?"
"Uh..." Stiles said eloquently, his brain unable to get past the display in
front of him. Derek was presenting himself to Stiles, which was making less and
less sense because Stiles was inexperienced and scrawny and far less
attractive. Derek was an easy ten out of ten - if not an eleven - and Stiles
didn't really get how this was happening to him. "Yes, I think that's fine." he
rasped out.
Derek quirked his head back. "What wrong?" he asked, and he sounded so
genuinely concerned that Stiles felt even more inadequate. He was about to fuck
a hot like burning guy with more experience who also, for some reason, cared
about him.
Stiles just shook his head and groped at his side for the for one of the little
pouches of lube. Holding the packet between his teeth, he brought his hands to
Derek's ass, spreading him open just to look. Derek's skin was warm, and he was
breathing easy enough, considering the tension shaking and straining down his
back and thighs, his cock slowly filling again. Stiles shifted his hold just a
little, one thumb dipping in just enough to catch and tug his hole open.
Pulling out, he pet the digit over, watching the muscle flutter. He took a hand
away to hold the lube.
"I could kiss you here." Stiles said, stroking over Derek's rim. "Do you want
that?"
"Yeah." Derek groaned automatically, pushing his hips back. Stiles hummed,
bringing his mouth down until Derek corrected himself, rushing, "Wait - we
can't. I have to get going soon."
"Oh, you're still on that?" Stiles asked, trying to sound easy and keep the
dismissed, embarrassed feeling that was flooding over him from being too
apparent. He tore the lube open and coated his fingers with slick. He brushed
them over the man's hole, wiping any excess from the packet directly onto him,
nudging just the tip of his finger in, listening to the hitch in the man's
breathing. He felt a little overhot at the idea of being inside of him. He
started to slide one finger in.
"Fuck." Stiles bit out, nearly whining, his other hand coming to tug at his own
too-hard cock. Being inside of Derek was completely different from fingering
himself, and his mind was clouding and he was pretty sure he was going to spill
within the next thirty seconds. "God, Derek. You're tight. And warm. And soft."
He curled one finger and started to slip in another. "Fuck. I'm gonna - I need
to come now or I'm not gonna last in you."
"Okay," Derek gruffed, pressing back into the touch as Stiles started to
scissor and stretch his fingers. "Yeah." And with a few more strokes, Stiles
was coming, shooting white hot onto Derek’s ass, painting over the man’s hole
and taint and his own fingers.
Derek groaned like he liked it but started bitching, “Did you really have to-”
which was cut off as Stiles leaned close to eat the come off of him. He licked
upwards, just behind Derek’s balls, up his bridge, and over his hole, where his
fingers were still curling and stretching. Derek was moaning mindlessly,
burying his face in his arms and rocking his hips back.
"Stiles, oh, fuck."
"Shh, I got you." Stiles said before running his tongue up another track of
come and then wiggling it inside of him along with another finger. He kissed
and fucked in sweetly, his fingers prodding, rubbing, hooking until they
founding something that had Derek a jolting, whining, shuddering mess,
clenching around Stiles's tongue and fingers and rock hard. He couldn't even
form words anymore, just bitten off little syllables. Stiles just kept
massaging over that spot, trying to get him to whine his name out again.
Finally, pulling back, "Gonna fuck you now. That okay?" Stiles asked, reaching
for a condom and unpackaging it and rolling it onto his cock. He felt Derek's
hole again to make sure he was ready enough, which he definitely appeared to
be. "You think you need more slick, baby? You wet enough for me?" Derek groaned
and nodded yes and Stiles pulled out so they could figure out how to do this.
If Stiles was sure of one thing, he was pretty sure the couch wan't the right
place for doggy style - and the carpeted floor would be way too uncomfortable.
"Shit," Stiles said. "Maybe we should have moved this to a bed. Might have been
easier to fit us." Derek didn't seem to care, sitting up shakily. Stiles fixed
a lazy grin at him. "You could sit on my lap. Tell me what you want for
Christmas."
Derek huffed. "Sure." he said, and Stiles knew his voice would be dripping with
sarcasm if it wasn't just a little wobbly and harsh. He turned just enough to
rearrange Stiles so he was sitting flat on the couch, his feet on the ground.
"I think I know already." Stiles said solemnly, absolutely transfixed as Derek
got up and into his lap, facing away. "It's The D, isn't it?" he asked. "You
want my cock."
Derek growled. "If you don't shut up, I'm going to leave you like this. I'll
just go."
"Uh-huh." Stiles said, one hand on Derek's hip and the other on the brim of his
hat, making sure it was still secure. "You're such a liar."
In response, Derek pulled up, one hand braced on the armrest next to them, and
started to gently ease Stiles's cock into him, sitting back into the boy's lap,
his other hand between them, keeping him spread open. Stiles didn't - couldn't
- say anymore because Derek was tight and warm and Stiles was achingly hard
inside of him. Derek sat all the way down, his shoulders tense, and Stiles was
resting his forehead on Derek's back, trying to breathe, feeling overwhelmed.
He was heavy in his lap, and it was kind of perfect. Stiles brought his other
hand to Derek's other hip to just touch his hot, smooth, sweatslick skin. Derek
rocked his hips to get a feel for it, moaning softly, and then bounced once.
"Oh." was all he said as he bounced again, and then, "Oh, fuck, Stiles." which
had the boy gripping his hips tightly and rolling his hips up to try and meet
him and fuck him harder and make him make more of those punched out, raw,
grateful little noises. Stiles wanted Derek to say his name again, to scream
it, because having the man say Stiles like that, like he was begging for
something, was the best thing Stiles had ever heard. He was pretty sure it was
the best thing he'd ever hear.
It was almost as good as the sensation of filling him up like he was. The man
was obviously feeling it, his head lolling to the side, just a little, as he
pulled up and beared down and Stiles held on for dear life, thrusting back as
best he could.
"Oh, Derek, oh my God." he panted, asking, "Oh, God, you're so good." One of
Derek's hands came to lace with his on the man's hips and the other came to
vice around his cock. "You wanna come for me? I want you to come first."
"Oh, shit." he groaned.
"Come on, Derek." Stiles whined, fucking up into him. His face was still buried
in Derek's neck and he could feel something prickling into the hand covered by
Derek's - and it vaguely registered that it was Derek's nails, but he didn't
remember them being so sharp.
The angle was changing a little as Derek's back arched and he slammed his hips
down more erratically. His head was falling to the side, his neck long and
strained and Stiles thought he'd like to put his mouth on it. To put his teeth
there. His free hand came to join Derek's on his dick and suddenly the man was
spilling, coming all over their tangled hands and sitting down abruptly on
Stiles's cock and clenching down hard around him. Stiles groaned into the firm
muscle of the man's shoulder and filled the condom.
They caught their breath and Derek didn't move. It was nice but a little
problematic because he was heavier than Stiles and that was slowly becoming an
issue. Stiles was about to open his mouth to tell him so, but he was already
pulling off and rolling to the side to sit next to him. His eyes drifted shut
and he looked so completely wrecked that Stiles quickly got up to give him a
little space and dispose of the condom and bring in some wet tissues for clean-
up.
"Next time," he said, handing a tissue to the man, who looked at him with a
calm, half-lidded expression that made Stiles swell with pride. "You can fuck
me."
"Mmm," Derek said, lazily taking the tissue and wiping off his hand and
stomach. Stiles had expected Derek to remind him that they would never see each
other again. In fact, Stiles had mostly offered to give him an incentive to not
leave his life completely just yet. Shockingly though, the man concluded with a
quiet, "Whatever you want."
Stiles grinned and settled close to Derek on the couch, practically on him.
Derek didn't push him away. Actually, he snuggled a little closer and
repositioned them so they were lying lengthwise on the couch, tucking Stiles
into his chest and working an arm around him. "You should give me your number.
You have a cellphone, right?"
"A car too." Derek mumbled. "I'm the picture of suburban normalcy."
"Oh yeah?" Stiles grinned. "I bet you've got a real Fuck-Me Speedster."
Derek grinned a little to himself. "Mm-hm." His eyes blinked shut slowly.
"Are you gonna fall asleep?" Stiles snerked.
"No." Derek assured him, his eyes still shut and, Christ, but he was gorgeous.
"I have work to do and your dad should be home soon. I just haven't been this
relaxed in a while."
Stiles full on beamed, feeling more than smug. "Well," he said, like he had
expected no less, "That's what you get with the Stiles Stilinski Special. Total
relaxation. I don't mean to brag but-"
"Shh." Derek said, pulling the boy in tighter.
And Stiles quieted, happily even. He just watched Derek relax before asking
softly, "Hey. Would it be weird if I asked you to kiss me?"
Derek opened his eyes very slowly and looked back at the boy cuddled against
him. "No." he said. "No, I don't think that would be weird."
"Oh." Stiles nodded. "Okay, then. Would you please kiss me?" but the words died
off, gasping to silence, because Derek was already tipping his chin up and
kissing him very softly, very tenderly, like he expected to do it again and
again for a very long time and there was no rush. Stiles didn't see any reason
to complain.
When they broke apart, Stiles settled back down and buried his face in Derek's
chest to hid his blushing, because it was sch a immature thing to get all
worked up over. Especially considering how he had just fucked a guy in the ass.
"You should get dressed and go back upstairs." Derek rumbled, a hand petting
down the boy's shoulder and side. "I really do have to get going soon."
"I'm going to see you again, right?" Stiles asked, peeking up at him.
Derek looked a little thrown but he nodded and threw in a weak, "If you want."
Sitting up, Stiles added. "And, we need to work out a set time when you can
check on me and when you can't."
And Derek pushed himself up on his elbows and nodded adamantly, looking guilty
again. "Of course. I-" Stiles leaned forward to brush lips with him again,
trying to keep him from losing all of his cool.
He stood after that, picking up his clothes as Derek watched him closely from
the couch. Once the boy was dressed, Derek got up to to started easing himself
back into his way too tight pants. Stiles still didn't really get how he did
that. Christmas magic, probably.
Stiles couldn't really make up any more reasons to linger. Derek knew his way
out and he didn't need Stiles hovering over him. "I..." he started, and Derek
looked up at him but Stiles couldn't think of anything to say. "Merry
Christmas, Derek."
Derek smiled at him, which made him feel a lot less like an idiot. "Merry
Christmas, Stiles."
And Stiles wanted to kiss him again but hesitated too long because Derek was
already fishing around the the floor for his shirt. Stiles turned and mounted
the steps and went to his room, listening carefully to all the soft sounds
coming from his living room, in case he was called.
But, he wasn't and the door opened and shut and Derek was gone. Stiles sighed,
leaning heavily against his door and then pushing off to get to his bed. Before
he flopped down, though, he heard the jingle of bells just outside and
scrambled to his window to look out.
He didn't know what exactly he had expected, but Derek was riding off in a
sleigh - a flying sleigh - that was being pulled by wolves - flying wolves. He
was still visible through the window and, eyes catching on the figure inside,
waved one last time at the boy. Stiles raised his own hand in goodbye as Derek
and his team of flying wolves flew into the distance.
Stiles dropped his hand. "This is some fucked up shit right here."
===============================================================================
The Sheriff was home when Stiles woke up at eight. He'd set an alarm for
himself because eight was the time you were supposed to wake up on Christmas
morning - tradition - and groaned because it didn't feel like enough sleep. He
dozed in bed for a little while, figuring that if his dad was gone he didn't
really need to get up. But. as consciousness slowly took hold of him, he could
hear his dad padding around the kitchen and got up to meet him.
Downstairs, he yawned and watched his dad pour himself a cup of coffee.
"Morning."
"Morning, buddy." the Sheriff said, turning to look at him. "Merry Christmas.
That's a nice hat. I didn't know we had one of those. Where'd you find it?"
Stiles reached up to see that, yes, he was still wearing Derek's Santa hat and
had to tamp down on the smirk that was pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, uh, around. Just found it, I guess. Is that coffee?" and he helped himself
to a cup as his dad settled down in the living room - on the couch, no less.
The sex couch. The couch where Stiles had sex. Stiles didn't tell him that.
He joined his dad and grabbed their stockings. Handing his dad's off to him, he
saw a folded piece of paper tucked into the very top of his. Sitting down, he
flicked it open and, inside, there was a scribbled phone number and Derek's
name and three XOs, which Stiles thought was a cute touch. He didn't really
notice how stupidly he was grinning until his father asked, "What is that?"
"Nothing." Stiles hurried, pocketing the paper. "Don't worry about it."
He dad let is slide and looked over at the tree. "Good haul this year, huh?
Looks like Santa came."
"Oh, yeah." Stiles said. "Twice."
"What?"
And Stiles balked. "Uhm, nothing. I meant, ugh, yay." And the word was said
lamely, with forced enthusiasm. "Santa."
End Notes
     So, like, Derek just left his team of flying wolves outside for the
     whole thing? Wow, Derek. Rude.
     But, seriously, guys. Happy holidays. I hope things are going really
     well for all of you and that you're safe and happy. Thank you so much
     for reading.
     Shameless tumblr plug: My_Blog
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