Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6571324.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Voyeurism, Self-Denial, Come_Eating
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-16 Words: 2156
****** This Is What You Do (To Me) ******
by verushka70
Summary
     Derek's surprise visits usually involve shaking Stiles down for
     research. Anything else is an afterthought (chain-yanking). Stiles is
     fed up with it. So when he finds Derek in his room again, he shows
     him the door. Or, rather, window. At least, that was the plan.
Notes
     Unbeta-ed, all mistakes mine.
See the end of the work for more notes
Exhausted from lacrosse practice, Stiles climbs the stairs up to his room
slowly, his bookbag feeling like a ton of bricks. Walking down the hall to his
room, he sees his bedroom door shut. Did he leave it like that this morning? He
isn't sure but he doesn't think so, and the last time this happened...
In hurrying to his room, Stiles almost trips and bangs into the door, opening
it wide.
There, in Stiles' desk chair, thumbing through his phone, is Derek in all his
tightly clothed mystery and glory. He looks up, startled, as Stiles bursts
through the door.
Stiles' book bag hits the floor about the same time he kicks the door shut
behind him. A millisecond later, he straddles Derek's lap, his hands cupping
Derek's jaw, pressing their mouths together. The entire boring, annoying day
vanishes when Derek's lips part and let Stiles' tongue in. A triumphant joy
surges through him when he hears Derek's phone hit the carpet and Derek just
relaxes under him, leans back and lets Stiles kiss him.
Their tongues touch and Derek's arms wrap around Stiles, his hands sliding up
Stiles' back and then down to his hips. Stiles' mouth is greedy and needy and
he swiftly hardens, his jeans suddenly constrictive. The smell of Derek's
leather is Pavlovian. When he's close to Derek, it fills Stiles' head with
exquisitely filthy thoughts. Their kissing is loud and maybe it's sloppy and
hungry, but Stiles doesn't care because Derek's hands grip his hips hard as
iron and tight enough to bruise, like he doesn't realize he's doing it and
can't help it.
Derek's mouth works under Stiles', ardent and tender and strong, kissing Stiles
back. His tongue follows Stiles' back into Stiles' mouth, so Stiles holds
Derek's head, holds him there for more. He can't get enough of Derek's mouth or
his hands on him, can't stop thrusting his denim-bound erection against Derek's
lower belly and the edge of his leather jacket, can't stop grinding his taint
down on Derek's erection, even though there's not enough pressure or friction
through both their jackets and jeans--
Derek jerks his head back so hard, the chair moves a couple of inches.
"Slow down," he mutters.
He looks up at Stiles and pushes him off his erection and closer to his knees.
But his expression is calm, almost sweet: mouth a little slack, partly open
from kissing, the corners of his lips slightly turned up. His brow is smooth
and un-furrowed, eyes wide, pupils dilated. And even though he pushed Stiles
away a bit, Stiles felt how hard he was.
"Hey," Stiles murmurs. He presses his face into Derek's neck and wraps his arms
around Derek tight.
"Um, hi," Derek murmurs, his mouth against Stiles' shoulder.
"God, I didn't know how bad I needed that 'til it happened," Stiles breathes
into Derek's neck.
Derek doesn't say anything but his arms tighten around Stiles.
"I just forgot my whole day," Stiles says, muffled in Derek's neck. "You have a
slate-wiping effect."
"Yeah?" Derek asks softly.
It is so bizarrely humble and sweet that Derek questions his effect, like he
doesn't know what he does to Stiles. Maybe he doesn't... Or maybe he needs the
validation? Either way, Stiles can hardly stand it. But if this is how he
learns more of the unguarded Derek, clearly more surprise visits and attacks of
affection are needed.
"Yes," Stiles sighs deeply.
Derek's arms tighten around him further in response. They sit there for a
moment, Stiles straddling Derek's warm, strong thighs, Derek a firm but
yielding mass of muscle under him. Stiles could get used to this. But it never
lasts.
Then Derek mutters, "Um."
He shifts uncomfortably beneath Stiles and the moment is over.
"So what are you doing here?" Stiles sighs and climbs off Derek's lap.
Right in front of Derek's face, he reaches into his jeans and adjusts his hard
cock. Derek averts his eyes as he speaks.
"I was just wondering if you made any progress on research on Claiming," he
says.
"Oh, that," Stiles says, disappointed. "No, not really. Though I haven't really
been trying lately," he admits. "I thought the temporary lull in evil would
give me a chance to catch up on homework," he explains.
"Oh." Derek looks uncertainly up at him. "Okay."
"Anything else?" Stiles asks hopefully.
Derek looks a little startled. "No, I, uh--"
"Well, if that's all..." Stiles says, gesturing at the open window.
"I -- what?" Derek looks confused.
Stiles permits himself a moment of perverse joy that he is no longer the only
confused one.
"Better be on your way," Stiles continues. "I mean, isn't that why you came? To
get me all hot and bothered, then ask me how I can be of use to you?" He looks
at an imaginary watch. "Since I can't, next on your agenda would be leaving.
Right?"
He doesn't know why he's saying this, except that the possibility that Derek
only came over for research has crushed his excitement at seeing -- and
touching, and kissing -- Derek again.
"Stiles, I..." Derek looks truly baffled and a little chagrined. "Is that what
you think? That's the only reason I come here?"
"Chain yanking, I think they call it," Stiles nods.
"I--"
"Blue balls is another term," Stiles adds sharply.
Derek's brows come angrily together. "Look--"
"That is," Stiles adds, "unless you came here for some other reason." He chews
his bottom lip nervously, hopefully.
Color rises in Derek's cheeks and Stiles' heart leaps.
"Oh," Stiles breathes. He slides right back onto Derek's lap before Derek can
stop him. "You did, didn't you," his lips murmur into Derek's.
The only answer is Derek's lips moving under his own, and just like that, all
is forgiven. The tip of Derek's tongue tentatively enters his mouth, and Stiles
sucks it in hard. He unzips Derek's jacket, pushing it down over his shoulders.
Derek almost tips Stiles onto the floor as he quickly leans forward to shrug
out of his jacket. Stiles tears off his hoody, too.
Derek's big hands slide up Stiles' arms to his shoulders, then stroke down his
back to his hips. He drags Stiles closer onto his lap, and Stiles feels the
hardness under the fly of Derek's jeans.
Stiles' flagging erection pumps back into full hardness again as their kiss
gets wetter. He grabs Derek's hands and slides them from their mad clutch on
his hips down to cup his ass. Still kissing him madly, he releases them. They
hesitate a moment, lightly resting on his butt cheeks...
...and then grab them hard. Derek gropes and massages Stiles' ass and his
tongue continues to invade Stiles' mouth. Stiles sucks on it, already rocking
his constricted hard-on against Derek's stomach. He rubs up against Derek,
breathing hard through his nostrils, then drags his mouth sideways to the rough
stubble of Derek's cheek.
"Touch me," Stiles whispers. "Please touch me," he begs before he presses teeth
into Derek's neck.
Derek's hands grip his ass.
"Touch yourself," he growls into Stiles' collarbone, his breath hot.
Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, baring his neck to Derek's teeth. He peels his
hands from their leverage on Derek's big shoulders, and puts them to work
unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Derek licks his neck, then pulls back and
lets go of Stiles just long enough to swiftly tear his own shirt off over his
head. Then he grabs Stiles' ass and thrusts up against Stiles' taint.
When Stiles opens his pants and shoves his briefs down, Derek drags his mouth
from Stiles' neck and abruptly stops moving. His hands grip Stiles' ass so hard
there will be bruises later. Stiles looks down at the suddenly still Derek, and
feels the grip on his ass soften.
Derek looks down at Stiles' exposed cock. He slides a hand inside Stiles' shirt
and up over the hot skin of Stiles' stomach and chest, all while staring at
Stiles' cock. Stiles' trembling hands take his own shirt off, the air cool on
his feverish skin. His hands go to Derek's shoulders. He rocks on Derek once,
pressing his naked cock against Derek's warm belly, against the rough waistband
of Derek's jeans, where it cuts across his abs. Derek's gaze slides from
Stiles' cock up his body until he meets Stiles' eyes. His hands grab Stiles'
ass again.
"Jack yourself off," he orders Stiles hoarsely, his eyes going red.
Stiles obeys, one hand jacking himself frantically, the other in a death grip
on Derek's shoulder. He can't tear his gaze from Derek's until Derek slides one
hand from Stiles' ass, up his back, to the nape of his neck and brings his
mouth down for a rough kiss. He closes his eyes as Derek's mouth surges against
his own. Derek sucks Stiles' tongue into his mouth and, his other hand still on
Stiles' left butt cheek, rhythmically and forcefully thrusts up behind Stiles'
balls.
The chair they're in begins to move, banging into the desk. Stiles wonders
briefly, if they'll break it. But it's a dim, far away concern compared to the
feel of Derek's bruising fingers kneading his ass, his hard thrusts up into
Stiles' taint, Derek sucking on his tongue.
Stiles jacks off faster, his stomach fluttering with a combination of fiery
arousal at their strange, hot connection and anxious vulnerability at showing
Derek how much he needs this, how much Derek affects him. Humming with need,
his strokes grow shorter and more abbreviated though no less fierce in the
tight space between them. It's unbearably thrilling, this exhibitionism for
Derek and Derek alone. He jacks off harder, the tip of his cock now wet with
pre-come, the slappy sounds, his helpless grunts and pants muffled in their
sloppy, jerky kiss -- all of it with Derek, for Derek, it's all about Derek.
This is what you do to me, he wants to tell Derek. But he only breathes hard
through his nose.
Suddenly, sweetly, Derek lets him have his tongue back and the intensity of
their kiss lessens so he can speak.
"Come for me," Derek whispers into his lips. "Now."
It is not an order. It is a plea, a provocation. It gets under Stiles' skin and
inside his head and makes a mess of him. His lips tremble against Derek's and
he comes, an iron hand on his ass holding him down hard on Derek's erection
while the tight grip on the nape of his neck keeps their mouths together.
He spatters both their stomachs and chests with hot white spurts, panting and
groaning helplessly into Derek's lips. When he finally stops spurting and
jerking, Stiles melts bonelessly down on Derek, still gripping his softening
cock loosely.
But then Derek grabs his ass even tighter with both hands and stands up. He
picks Stiles up as he stands, straddled around his hips. Stiles grabs his
shoulders and Derek takes a few steps, carries Stiles to the bed. He throws
Stiles down on it and Stiles bounces on the mattress, looking up at Derek,
panting, a little bewildered.
Derek stands over him for a brief second and his red-eyed gaze rakes over
Stiles before he bends to snatch his shirt off the floor. He balls it up and
swipes it down his chest and stomach, wiping off Stiles' come. Then he tosses
the shirt down.
Their eyes meet again, but Derek's aren't red anymore. He climbs onto the bed
and onto Stiles and bends his head to lick Stiles' semen off his chest and
stomach. Stiles shivers under Derek's tongue, feeling cool air where Derek's
saliva evaporates until the heat of Derek's body takes over the small space
between them. As Derek licks up Stiles' chest, he pauses to slowly kiss and
suck each of Stiles' nipples, making Stiles arch up involuntarily.
After he licks off all of Stiles' come, he nuzzles Stiles' jaw for a moment
before he gives him a brief kiss. Then he settles heavily on Stiles. He slides
his arms around Stiles and rests his cheek on Stiles' chest in a way that makes
Stiles swallow hard.
Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders and lets his legs slide apart so
Derek lies between them. They lie there for a while, feeling each other's
chests heave and hearts pound until their breathing finally synchs.
"Did you...?" Stiles whispers, pressing his lips into Derek's hairline.
"No," Derek murmurs, pleasantly heavy on top of him. His voice is strangely
dreamy, a deep vibration against Stiles' chest.
"Oh," Stiles sighs into Derek's hair. He pauses. "Should I...?"
"No," Derek replies quietly. "It's fine."
Stiles is vaguely surprised. "Yeah?" he asks quietly.
"Yes," Derek replies. "Just..." He hesitates. When he speaks again, his voice
is quieter. "Can we just stay like this for a while?"
"Yeah, sure," Stiles replies, a little stunned.
Derek's cheek presses harder against his chest, his unmoving mass a warm,
welcome weight.
End Notes
     Excerpt from a much longer WIP sequel to The_Devil_You_Know, where
     Derek takes a huge step back from the intimacy of That Night, despite
     intimating that it could be repeated, because Stiles is underage.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!