Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1090157.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Slash, Smut, Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, Snowed_In, First_Time, Age_Difference
  Collections:
      Teen_Wolf_Holiday_Exchange
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-20 Words: 2470
****** The Sun Will Come Out ******
by Moit
Summary
     With his dad snowed in at the station, Stiles texts the only person
     he knows who can brave the storm to keep him from boredom: Derek
     Hale.
Notes
     Special thank you to Naemi for the beta and the cheerleading, as
     always.
     Also thank you to everyone in the Teen Wolf Holiday Exchange. You
     guys have certainly made the season brighter and more merry. <3
When Stiles' dad left for work—an overnight shift—one snowy evening, Stiles
hardly expected him to call less than an hour later.
“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said, balancing the cellphone between his cheek and shoulder
so he could keep two hands on his controller.
“Stiles!” The way his father said his name made him sit up and pay attention,
the game in front of him all-but forgotten. “Stiles, listen to me: I'm fine,
but my cruiser is in the ditch. Do not leave the house. They are predicting one
hell of an ice storm on top of this snow. I've got someone coming after me, but
I'll be spending the night at the station. Do not leave the house, not even to
go to Scott's—do you understand me?”
“Yeah, Dad, I'll be here,” Stiles promised. A quick glance outside told him
everything he needed to know. It had been snowing nonstop all day—big white
flakes that piled up in no time flat. Now the rain had started, and it would
soon turn to ice.
Knowing his father was out there gave Stiles no small measure of anxiety. Of
all the people in Beacon Hills, that the Sheriff was not only the most prepared
to take care of himself, but that he would be one of the first people dug out
of the ditch.
Reluctantly, Stiles went back to his game, though he kept one eye on his phone
until he went to bed.
*
When he woke up the next morning, there were no messages from his father, and
what he could see of his neighborhood was covered in a blanket of white.
Feeling optimistic, he plodded about the house, making coffee and amusing
himself; however, as night began to fall, Stiles grew nervous.
He dialed the Sheriff's Department, and his dad answered on the second ring.
His voice sounded tired and worn.
“Hey, Dad, it's me.”.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. I was just worried about you.”
The Sheriff sighed audibly. “I'm sorry, Stiles. I should have called, but it's
just been nonstop ever since.”
“It's cool, dad. I understand,” Stiles said, and he did. This was how he spent
his childhood, especially after his mom died, but it never got any easier. He
hung up the phone feeling simultaneously better and worse than he had before
the call. He did have an idea, and although it seemed frightening at best, it
was better than nothing.
He texted Derek.
heyyy buddy. can u come over?
why, was Derek's immediate response.
Stiles rolled his eyes. please? dads snowed in at the station and im bored.
ask scott
his mom wont let him out of the house. come on. u kno ur bored. He considered
writing 'lonely,' but figured that wouldn't score him any points.
Derek's reply soon followed: fine
Stiles fist-pumped the air in victory. Derek might be a completely sourpuss,
but at least he knew how to play Call of Duty.
The creepy werewolf couldn't even use the front door. He scared Stiles nearly
half to death, walking up behind the teen while he was in the kitchen making
some toast.
“I like jelly on mine.”
Stiles jumped a foot in the air and smeared butter all over his wrist. “Don't
do that to me! What did you do? Crawl through my window again, Edward?”
“You're the one who asked me to come over,” Derek said, reaching around Stiles
to pluck a piece of toast off the plate.
“You're getting my floor wet,” Stiles grumbled, lip curling at the puddle of
water rapidly forming beneath Derek's feet. The werewolf looked soaked to the
skin, but didn't appear to be shivering in the slightest. “Aren't you cold?”
The words sounded more like an insult than a question.
Derek shrugged his massive shoulders. He swallowed the rest of his toast, then
in one movement twisted and pulled his wet shirt over his head. As he kicked
off his shoes and began to unbutton his jeans, Stiles' brain kicked into gear,
and he stepped in.
“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”
“There's like three feet of snow outside, and I ran here. What do you think I'm
doing?” Derek bent over and peeled the jeans down his legs. His grey boxer
briefs left very little to the imagination.
“Stiles,” Derek hissed after a long pause. “Are you going to get me some
clothes, or do you want me to drip dry?”
“Right,” Stiles said, shutting his mouth with a click. He led Derek upstairs
and shut the werewolf in the bathroom while he trudged back down to throw his
wet clothes in the washer.
When Derek emerged, the clothes Stiles gave him—a pair of plaid pajama bottoms
and a white t-shirt—seemed to fit a little better than the shirt he wore during
the “Miguel” incident.
“Everything fit okay?”
“Not bad,” Derek said, rolling his shoulders.
Stiles heated up a bag of pizza rolls and carried their bounty into the living
room. Hanging with Derek was not like hanging out with Scott, but Stiles still
enjoyed himself. One-on-one, Derek wasn't half-bad. He had a decent taste in
music, and he could hold his own in a conversation, despite what he would lead
the others to believe.
When Stiles couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, he threw his controller
down. “I should probably go to bed,” he said, a yawn bisecting his words.
“Where am I sleeping?”
“You're spending the night?”
Derek raised his eyebrows in that 'are-you-fucking-kidding-me' look.
“Right,” Stiles said, forcing a smile. “Of course you are. No bigs. Uh, why
don't you take my bed? I can sleep in my dad's room.”
Unfortunately, he couldn't get comfortable. The pillows smelled like his dad's
cologne, and he hadn't slept in here since his mom died. His mind just wouldn't
settle. At one point, he must have fallen asleep, though, because he dreamt
Derek was standing next to his father's bed.
Wait . . .
“Come on,” he said gruffly.
“What?” Stiles asked, squinting into the darkness. “Is this the point where you
murder me in my own house as a sacrifice to your creepy werewolf gods, or
something?”
Derek growled, but it sounded more annoyed than angry. “Just get up. I can't
sleep because all I can hear is the sound of you thrashing around in the
sheets.”
“Well, excuse me,” Stiles said, sliding out of the bed. “I didn't realize I was
offending your precious supernatural hearing.” He followed Derek back down the
hall to his own bedroom, contemplating why he let the werewolf stay in the
first place.
Derek climbed back in bed while Stiles remained awkwardly in the doorway.
“Get in,” Derek said, holding the blankets up. When Stiles hesitated, he added,
“You obviously can't sleep in your dad's bed, and I'm not sleeping in there, so
we're going to have to share.”
Because he was starting to fall asleep on his feet, Stiles mentally compared
this to sharing a bed with Scott when they were kids. It was a tight fit.
Stiles wasn't as broad as Derek, but the two of them barely fit shoulder-to-
shoulder on the twin-sized mattress, and lying next to a werewolf was like
cozying up to a space heater. Sweat prickled against the back of Stiles' neck,
but most disconcerting was the low-level arousal he could feel surging through
his body. Undoubtedly, Derek could hear the thundering of his heart.
“Stiles,” Derek sighed, rolling towards him. “What's the problem now?”
“Sorry, I'm just—sorry.”
Derek's arms snuck around Stiles' body, earning a squick of surprise from the
teenager.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, as Derek's hand slipped below the waistband
of his pajama bottoms.
“I'm going to jack you off in the hope that it will put you to sleep.”
Stiles could do little more than stutter as Derek began to—very expertly—work
his cock. When faced with this kind of stimulation, Stiles could hardly help
himself. He was only 17, after all. Only a couple of strokes in, he came over
Derek's fist. He was too embarrassed to admit that Derek was the first person
other than Stiles to touch his cock. Usually, he couldn't sleep without jacking
off first, and doing that in his dad's bed was just . . . weird . . . so this
was a good idea on Derek's part.
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, fumbling on the nightstand for a box of tissues.
“That was kind of the point.”
“Do you, uh, want me to do you?”
“If you want,” Derek replied casually. He tucked one hand under his head,
causing the muscles of his bicep to bulge.
Swallowing convulsively, Stiles rolled back over. His eyes flicked down to the
sizable bulge in Derek's borrowed pants as he palmed the werewolf's dick. It
was bigger than Stiles', thicker, and probably longer, too. The biggest
difference was the heat rolling off it in waves.
He tugged at the waistband of the pants, and Derek shifted his hips upward to
help Stiles drag them down and off, but otherwise he kept to himself. His dick
flopped gently as he moved, which only served to draw Stiles' attention to the
organ. Up close, it seemed much more fragile than Stiles would have expected.
Uncut, the foreskin pulled away to reveal the pink glistening head underneath.
The shaft curved just slightly to the right. Thick and veined, it nearly
reached Derek's navel. The foreskin slid back and forth over the head of his
cock as Stiles jacked him. He had seen plenty of naked guys in the locker room
before and after lacrosse practice, but none of them had ever been in his bed.
Not to mention the fact that this wasn't a lanky high school boy—this was Derek
Hale, a fully grown adult male werewolf.
Stiles had to close his mouth because he realized he was beginning to drool.
His dick twitched in sympathy. At first, he merely trailed his fingertips over
the organ, watching as it twitched responsively. The base of Derek's cock began
to swell.
“That's my knot,” Derek explained, clearing his throat.
Nodding in understanding, Stiles ran his fingertips over that, too, but stopped
abruptly when Derek grabbed his wrist.
“Don't do that unless you're prepared for what it means.”
Stiles gulped audibly. He knew what a dog's knot was for, and that thought
alone was more than enough to frighten him away from the bit of swollen tissue
at the base of Derek's dick. Knot or no knot, his body was more developed than
Stiles' would be for several more years.
Moisture gathered at the tip of Derek's cock and curiosity got the best of him.
Leaning down, Stiles swiped the broad, flat expanse of his tongue over it.
Derek's hand shot out, fisting itself in Stiles' dark hair. He ground out the
boy's name like a warning, and Stiles' eyes flew to Derek's face. He braced
himself, preparing for a blow that never came. Those stormy eyes closed, and
Stiles puffed a relieved breath over the cock he still held. Derek's hand
became more of a steady presence than a punishment, and Stiles relaxed by
inches. He began in earnest with little kitten licks, lapping up the precome
Derek was leaking. It tasted slightly bitter, but the naughty part of the act
thrilled Stiles enough to keep him going. He dragged his tongue lower, tracing
the flared head and the ridge underneath where the foreskin gathered. Taking
the whole thing in his mouth wasn't bad, so long as Stiles didn't try for too
much and end up choking. He did choke a couple of times, and he had to pull off
completely, taking several deep breaths while his eyes watered. “Sorry.”
“It's okay.” Derek's hand moved to the back of Stiles' neck, twisting in the
short hairs there.
From there, Stiles focused more attention on taking only what he could handle.
The rest he made up for with his hand. Derek's knot swelled and visibly
hardened, so Stiles knew he was getting close. He redoubled his efforts, moving
as fast as he could without breaking his rhythm. The idea of swallowing seemed
pretty gross, at least from what he'd heard the girls talk about at school, but
he didn't want to piss Derek off, or something.
Luckily, the werewolf made the decision for both of them: pushing at Stiles'
forehead with his palm, Derek took his cock in hand, his pace so fast that it
all became a blur to Stiles' eyes. The first spurt caught him on the chin; the
second splashed across the bridge of Stiles' nose, and his eyes squinted shut
in surprise.
“You didn't have to—” Stiles started to say, when the last bit caught him
across the mouth, some of it landing on his tongue. Reflexively, he licked his
lips and swallowed. It wasn't as bad as he imagined, but he didn't plan to make
it a regular thing. “You came in my eye.” An uncharacteristic chuckle sounded
from Derek's throat and a moment later Stiles felt the werewolf press a tissue
against his face. “Thanks,” he said, wiping the rest of the cum away while
Derek took care of himself.
When they were both clean, Derek pulled the blankets up over them, wrapping his
arms around Stiles' body. “Would you be interested in doing this again?” Stiles
asked before he lost his nerve.
“Could be,” Derek replied, tightening his hold on the teenager.
The corner of Stiles' lip curled into a smile. Finally, he was able to sleep.
*
In the morning, the snow had finally stopped blowing and the sky looked mildly
clear. Plows had been down the road a few times laying salt. Beacon Hills was
slowly emerging from is snowy prison.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” Stiles asked, rubbing at the chill in his
bare arms as he watched Derek pull his freshly laundered henley on.
Derek shook his head. “I'll be fine.”
At Stiles' despondent look, Derek cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to the
teen's lips. “I'll call you, okay?” The serious look in his eyes did much to
assuage Stiles' fears. A moment later, Derek disappeared out the window.
The Sheriff arrived home not long after that. “Stiles!” he called.
“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said, thundering down the stairs. He threw his arms around
the man, hugging him tight.
“Good to see you too, Son. Is everything all right?” he asked when they parted.
“I'm just glad you're home,” Stiles said honestly.
“Me too.” The Sheriff glanced around at the plates in the living room and the
empty bag of pizza rolls on the counter. “What do you say we go out for
breakfast?”
“Let me get my coat,” Stiles said, racing back up the stairs. Things were
definitely starting to look up.
Fin
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