Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/880107.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Loss_of_Virginity, Humor, Crack, Angst, Porn, Bad_Sex, Bottom_Derek
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-12 Words: 4536
****** Yahtzee! ******
by callievalpoli
Summary
     Who knew a dice game could be so much fun?
Notes
     So this is what happens when I write while I’m drinking. A flimsy
     little 1000 word pwp turned into an almost 5000 word cracky pwp.
     Sorry D: Unbeta’d. Concrit welcome.
     (The working title for this was 'Lightning Striking Again.' So, yes,
     it actually could be worse.)
See the end of the work for more notes
It's raining out, lightning flashing through the night.
Derek shivers.
"Oh my god," Stiles says, grin slowly forming. "Are you...? You are. You are
totally afraid of thunderstorms, aren't you?"
Derek shoots him an eyebrow-heavy look.
"That's not a no," Stiles says with a smirk.
"Just roll already," Derek says, only it totally comes out a command instead of
anything acceptable.
"Don't rush the master." Stiles applies his special Stiles Stilinski shake to
the cup. Shake-shake. Shake-shake. Shake. SHAKE. And then he blows on the dice.
Oh yeah. He's got this.
He looks up, and Derek is staring at him, like the totally creepy creeper he
is.
"Dude!" Stiles says, for, like, the fifth time tonight.
Derek just arches his eyebrow and looks all superior. As he often does.
"Fine, whatever," Stiles says and blows on the dice one more time for luck. He
throws them down, hard. He lifts the cup--slowly. And.... "Yahtzee!"
"You cheated. I don't know how, but you cheated," Derek grumbles and looks at
Stiles' five glorious fives.
"Dude," Stiles says. "Don't even. You know I won. Fair and square."
Derek just shrugs his shoulders like the creepy mountain man he is and pretends
to be above it all.
And then the lightning strikes. Again. And this time there's thunder, too. It
sounds like a fucking tree collapsed. Even Stiles startles a little.
But Derek? He jumps. He honest to god jumps, eyes wide and face going white-
white-white.
"Hey buddy," Stiles says, patting Derek's arm in an abstract manner. "It's
okay. The big, bad, non-corporeal lightening won't get you." He smirks.
Derek sends him a dirty look. "Shut. Up."
"Why?" Stiles says with a twisted little smile. "Hitting a sore spot or
something? Did all the other little werewolves on the playground use to made
fun of you for your irrational fear of thunderstorms?"
Derek's eyebrows are so furrowed Stiles is a little worried they'll jump off
and attack him or something. And his nostrils. Are flaring. Like a fucking
bull. Stiles isn't gonna lie. It's fucking awesome. "SHUT! UP!" Derek says,
eyes flashing briefly red.
"Yeah, that's gonna work on the human component," Stiles says. "Oh, wait. I
know. You totally used to crawl into mommy-wolf and daddy-wolf's bed every time
there was a storm, didn't you? It's okay widdle dewick. It's oookay."
Derek's totally gone, now--wolf form totally taking over. "SHUT UP! I NEVER WAS
AFRAID UNTIL AFTER THE FIRE!"
And like that, all the wind's gone out of Stiles' sails. He's windless, okay.
Fucking, windless. He holds his hands up in penitence. "Dude. My bad. I totally
wet the bed for, like, a month after mom died." He stops for a second, because-
-"Dude, I've totally never talked about that. To anyone. Not even Scott. So, if
anyone finds out about it, heads are gonna roll."
He looks at Derek, really looks at him, and the wolf's totally gone. In its
place is a shaking man who looks--miserable actually. "Dude, I just told you
total blackmail material. You need to, like, lord it over me. Like you ought to
do. I mean, I kind of deserve it."
Derek just looks away.
And this? This calls for drastic measures. "It's okay, man," Stiles says, sort
of patting him on the shoulder-slash-bicep area. "It's okay. Everything will be
alright."
"No," Derek says. "It won't." He stares at Stiles and his eyes are so lost.
"Everything good in my life dies. Hell, you shouldn't even be here."
Stiles rolls his eyes, because, "Okay, martyr much? Dude, I'm not good. I've
never been good. I'm bad. To the bone!" He makes an appropriate gesture with
his fist.
Derek snorts.
"No," Stiles says. "I am. For realsies."
Derek eyebrows him.
"Okay, whatever. I don't have to prove my badassery to you," Stiles says.
"That's because you aren't a badass, Stiles," Derek says with a superior little
smirk.
"I'm bad," Stiles says. "I'm so bad. Dude, I'm so bad that Jesus wept when I
was born."
"Right," Derek says in this way that means wrong!"You're totally a badass. I
mean, you've totally stolen before."
Stiles scoffs. "All the time. I mean, I cannot tell you the amount of my
father's police equipment I've stolen."
"And where is that equipment now I wonder," Derek says, all fake thinky.
"Back at the police station," Stiles explains. Derek smirks. "Shut up," Stiles
says.
"And then there were all those people you killed." Derek's mouth tilts up. "Oh
wait, never mind."
"Oh please," Stiles says. "Murder is so 2010."
"And, obviously, there was that time you messed with the chick your best friend
was totally interested in." Derek pauses, putting a finger to his cheek. "Oh
wait. Wasn't that Scott?"
"You are a dick. A massive, massive dick."
"I think you have your verbs confused. You meant 'have' there," Derek says.
"Jerk," Stiles says.
"And you've totally done drugs before," Derek says. "Obviously. I mean, you're
the next Lindsay Lohan."
"Okay," Stiles says, throwing his arms up in a 'hold the presses' gesture. "I
may not have done any illegal drugs. But I have totally used and abused the
prescription drugs. Like, hardcore. I mean, I'm on truly massive amounts of
adderall right now."
"I can tell," Derek says.
"Okay, fine. Whatever. I haven't been using it lately. But it's just because I
haven't needed to. And every time I have used it, it felt weird. So..."
"So," Derek says, with a tilt of the head. "We've obviously been avoiding the
truly massive elephant in the room. I've been meaning to talk to you about
this. In fact, we all have." He holds Stiles by the shoulders. "It's okay to
admit you have a problem. Just because you're a sex worker, doesn't mean we
don't love you."
And that's dirty pool right there. Derek can't mention Stiles' virginity. No
one mentions Stiles' virginity and gets away with it. Including Lydia. And
Danny.
"Well," Stiles says, sending Derek his own smirk. "I mean, I learn at the feet
of the master. Considering your conquests have been so prolific since you've
been back."
"I could be sleeping with people," Derek says, back suddenly up.
"Sure," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "You could be sleeping with people. And
I could be Genghis Khan."
"You may be wrong about the badass thing, but you're right about something.
You're not good. You're just a little shit." Derek shrugs as if trying to shrug
the conversation away.
"I'm so hurt," Stiles says. "Watch me weep silent tears." He mimes wiping away
a tear or two. He thinks about stopping there, but he never does the smart
thing, okay. That's why he's Stiles. "You're just being a dick because you have
blue balls."
Derek gives him a dirty look. "Like you're one to talk. It's been almost a year
for me. How long has it been for you? Oh wait, I remember. You're entire life."
He fake-laughs like a pro.
Stiles fake-laughs along. For, like, half a second. "Well, considering the fact
that it's illegal for me to have sex..."
Derek snorts. "That's not stopping any of your friends."
"Well, maybe I'm waiting for my one true love," Stiles says, tilting his head
up. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"Or maybe you're just scared to let someone in," Derek says all superior. And
then his face goes super serious.
"And maybe," Stiles says, pushing at Derek's chest, "so are you."
They stare at each other for an endless second.
And then they pelt themselves at each other, mouths devouring each other's and
bodies twining together in a tale older than time.
"This is so wrong," Derek says.
"Wrong," Stiles says. "Way wrong. Very, very wrong."  His dick could pound
nails it's so hard.
Derek's wrestling with Stiles' hoodie. After a second he manages to tug it off,
and then he's growling in frustration. "How many layers do you wear?"
"Like, five," Stiles says, tugging Derek closer to maximize body contact. He
licks Derek's neck.
Derek shivers. "Why the hell do you wear five layers, Stiles?"
"Because of reasons. Very important reasons!" Stiles says, tugging on Derek's
hair. He bites Derek's lip, then sucks on it. Derek gives up trying to remove
Stiles' clothes and just tugs him forward until they're as close as they can
physically be.
Which means--
Stiles ends up in his lap.
"Uh, dude," Stiles says, squirming a little, "I think we have the positions
reversed here."
"I don't think so," Derek says with a dastardly (sexy) smirk. "I'm pretty sure
this is exactly where you belong."
"Ha. Ha. No, really. You're cracking me up here. But really. Let's switch."
Stiles braces himself back on Derek's shoulders.
"Why would I want to do that?" Derek says.
"Because, it's only fair," Stiles says. "I mean, I totally won at Yahtzee. That
means I am in charge of events. Whatever I say goes. And I say, I get to put
the lime in the coconut."
Derek gives him a deeply, deeply betrayed look. "Why do the things that come
out of your mouth even exist in this world?" But he totally gets up (which ends
up with Stiles sliding off his lap onto the floor, but no plan's perfect) and
gives Stiles a look of expectation. "Well? You want to be in charge? Be in
charge."
And Stiles smiles a smile. A wicked, wicked smile. He hops onto the Sofa of
Lovin' and pats his lap. "Now who's been a good little boy?" he says, wiggling
his eyebrow.
Derek sighs the sigh of 'why me?' and looks at Stiles for a second. And then
he--there's no other word for it--pounces on him. "I have no idea who's been a
good boy. But I've got a pretty close connection to a bad one."
"Oh really," Stiles says, staring up at him. His face is all shadows from this
angle. It makes him look almost skull-like.
"Yes," Derek says, leaning down until their noses are almost touching. "Want to
prove me right?"
And Stiles? Who's Stiles to resist a challenge. He tugs on Derek's shirt until
Derek is completely in his lap, and this time when he goes for Derek's neck, he
bites down, hard.
Derek moans and clutches the back of the sofa.
Stiles runs his hands down Derek's ridiculous ridiculous back and grabs his
ass. Hard. It's a good ass. It's a fantastic ass. Stiles would be busily
proclaiming all the wonders of said ass if he weren't too busy concentrating on
the tongue in his mouth. Stiles starts kneading said ass. It's just such an
amazing handful, Stiles can't help himself.
Derek jerks upright, and, for a second, Stiles is worried about a slap in the
face. But instead Derek just gasps, and grinds into Stiles' movements. And if
Stiles thought he was hard before, it's nothing in comparison to how hard he is
with a moaning writhing Derek on top of him.
Derek pulls Stiles forward by the seat of his pants. Stiles is about to launch
a complaint, when Derek jerks himself forward and is suddenly riding Stiles'
body like a fucking stallion. It's so hot, Stiles honestly thinks he doesn't
have any words. Other thank maybe asdlkadlfdja, or something similar.
Derek starts grinding himself against Stiles' dick. And that's it. Stiles
seriously can't take any more. If Derek does anything else, at all, Stiles will
come in his pants like a teenager. Which, he happens to be one, so go figure.
He tugs on Derek's hips until their lower halves are no longer in contact.
Derek looks down at him with a smirk. "Really?" he says.
"Shut up," Stiles says. He takes a second to cool down a little, just staring
at Derek and--yeah, that isn't helping matters any. It's time to move on with
things, before he ends this party early. "Come on stud. Let's get a move on.
Time to earn your keep," he says, and slaps Derek on the ass.
Derek gives him a dirty look, but gets up like a good little werewolf. Stiles
just stares at Derek, standing there all debauched and, like, messy as hell.
And Stiles isn't sure he's ever seen something sexier in his life. His brain
gets sort of involved in this image of Derek just fucking his own fist for
Stiles' pleasure. It's not until Derek says, "Stiles," in a totally aggrieved
tone that Stiles remembers he can have that. Or, actually, he can have
something even better.
The walk to Derek's bed seems to take forever, not the least because his boner
is making itself known in a big way. (Ha. Big.) It might also have something to
do with how Stiles just has to stop Derek and maul him a little when he sees
how the mark he left on Derek's neck is totally disappearing. (Werewolf
healing--so unfair.) But finally they get to the bed.
"Okay," Stiles says, "let's do this!"
Derek arches his eyebrow. "Are you planning on 'doing this' dressed?"
"No," Stiles scoffs, and starts stripping his clothes the way god intended. As
fast as fucking possible. He gets sidelined a bit, though, when he looks up
only to see Derek stepping out of his jeans. And of course he isn't wearing
underwear, of course he isn't. But eventually Stiles gets his head back in the
game and then he's naked. Totally naked. Gloriously naked.
He panics.
He kind of forgot about how he would have to be naked in front of another human
being. He makes an abortive grab for a pillow, but then he realizes how
ridiculous he would look holding a pillow to his crotch versus just standing
there naked. He'll take the nakedness, although he's seriously considering
whether or not he should just put his clothes back on and make a hasty retreat.
He looks up, though, and Derek is just sprawled on the bed like a fucking
centerfold (not that he's seen any of those--centerfolds--he just has a good
imagination, okay?). And like that, Stiles' plans to leave just disappear. He
can't think about his own modesty (or embarrassment-slash-fear) when faced with
the undeniable sexiness of Derek's naked body in all its glory.
"Hey," Stiles says. It comes out lower than his voice has ever come out before.
Derek just smiles coyly. Like the coy little fucker he is. God he's a dick.
He's such a dick. And--wow, he was right. His dick is really... "Why aren't you
in porn?" Stiles asks, incensed.
"Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?" Derek asks, stretching in a way
that's clearly meant to show off his many, many muscles.
"No!" Stiles throws his hands on his hips. "You're supposed to take it as a
complaint. You are depriving thousands, thousands of people the sight of your
naked body.
Derek just tilts his head back. "I'm not denying you anything." He gestures
down his body. Stiles' eyes inadvertently track the whole way down. And that
image. That's something that he's going to be bringing up on many a long cold
winter's night to keep him warm.
Derek's legs are a little splayed, and even the hint of what's to come has
Stiles suddenly back to the 'going to come any second' stage of the
proceedings.
Derek clears his throat. "If you're done objectifying me, want to get on with
it? I wanted to catch Hannibal."
Stiles snorts. "Figures," he says, giving Derek his most judgmental eyebrow.
"Do you, uh, have anything for, like... Or condoms? Condoms would be..."
Derek bends over the side of his bed, and magic happens (and Stiles doesn't
just mean the sight of his ass in all its glory). Derek hits something that
looks like it's just the side of the bed, only, secretly, it's a magic drawer.
And, when Stiles walks closer, inside there are magic sex supplies. "Why didn't
you tell me you were magical?" Stiles says.
Derek turns to him with a questioning look on his face. "I thought that would
be something you would be saying a little later in the evening."
"Hahaha. Right. Because you're such a master at sex and all." Stiles crosses
his arms across his chest. And then he remembers he's naked. Probably not the
best naked positioning ever.
"Oh, I forgot. This is your show." Derek puts his hands behind his head and
spreads his legs more. And that sight...
"Stiles," Derek says, impatiently.
"Yeah," Stiles says, and then he's grabbing (hopefully) everything he'll need
and hopping on the bed next to Derek.
"Hey," he says to Derek's face. Derek's face doesn't deign to respond. "So, uh,
how do you want to do this, then?" Stiles says, nervously rubbing a hand
through his hair.
"Up to you," Derek says, looking down at himself. "I'm pretty flexible." Stiles
watches Derek's legs spread further and further until he's gotta be hurting
something.
Stiles throws a hand on one of Derek's thighs, hopefully preventing any other
displays of flexibility. "Okay, well." And Stiles hasn't done this before,
okay? He has no clue what way works best. Pretty much all he can say is that he
knows more about gay sex than Scott, and that's not exactly saying much. And
then he has a thought. "What way do you like it best?" he asks. (Not only does
he not have to make a fool out of himself by asking for something that's
physically impossible, he can also totally look like the better person. Who's,
like, taking his partner's feelings into consideration. Like his dad told him
during 'the talk.' And the next 'talk.' And the next 'talk.' Pretty much all
the 'talks.')
But Derek doesn't look appreciative, the dick. He totally has this smirk on his
face. And then he says, "I like being on top. But, maybe not this time. I'm
pretty sure you couldn't handle the experience."
And, okay, Stiles will admit to a small, small (huge, okay) competitive streak.
But that's perfectly acceptable. Normal even. It's, like, just a part of being
human.
"Okay, you riding me it is then," Stiles says. And then he totally mimics
Derek's pose from earlier, down to the hands behind his head. "Go on. Sex me
up."
Derek turns on his side, leaning up on one arm. He throws something at Stiles.
It lands on his stomach. Stiles looks down and sees--lube. Oh, right.
And here's another one of those times where some experience would be a good
thing. "Uh..." He looks at the lube. And then he looks up at Derek with a shit
eating grin. "You know what would be super hot? If you did it. So. Sooo. So
hot."
Derek huffs out a sigh that sounds like 'lazy,' and grabs the lube. He twists
the cap open and coats his fingers, and then he's just reaching behind himself
and--
Well, actually Stiles has no fucking clue considering the fact that the jackass
is turned away.
"Dude, this is totally a spectator sport. Or, at least, it should be. Come on.
Nothing against the view." Stiles eyes quickly track down arms and chest and
just, guh. "But. Butt!"
Derek heaves a huge sigh like the world is conspiring to make his life the
single most difficult thing possible, and flips to his other side. And then
Stiles has a view, a totally unimpeded view, of Derek just fingering the fuck
out of himself. There are already two fingers. Two! That's two more than a few
seconds ago.
Unintentionally, Stiles finds his hand slipping down to trace the rim. It's so
red and vulnerable like this. Derek stills as soon as he feels Stiles. "Dude,
don't stop," Stiles says, slipping the tip of his own finger right next to
Derek's fingers. "That is so unbelievably hot."
Derek growls, total wolf-growl growls, and pulls his fingers out. And then he's
wrestling the condom pack open. He drops it and tears it funny, and when it's
out, he has to stare at it a second to figure out which side is right, and--
It's funny. It's really hilariously funny. Stiles should be laughing, right
now. Instead, he's trying his damnedest not to come. He resorts to the old
standby of Coach Finstock making out with Mr. Harris as Derek slides the condom
down. It snaps in place with an odd finality.
And then Derek's holding Stiles' cock with a lubed hand and sinking slowly,
slowly down. Derek's eyes close. Stiles' eyes should close too, but he just
can't stand the idea of missing a single second of this. It feels-- God, it's a
revelation. Nothing against his hand. His hand has been his good friend these
seventeen years (or, okay, for sexy times, more like four). But Derek is going
to make his hand look absolutely useless in comparison.
Derek has this look on his face that's almost like pain. Stiles grabs his hips
to, like, heroically throw Derek off himself for his own good or something when
he hears this moan. This ugly-beautiful totally involuntary moan. And that?
That seems like a good sound.
"That's a--ah, a good sound. Right?" Stiles says.
Derek opens his his eyes to give him this total disbelieving look. With red
pupils. Yeah, Stiles is pretty sure he's never going to have a sexual
experience like this one again.
Stiles waits. And waits. And waits. And then Derek closes his fricking eyes and
goes down another inch. And, whatever. Stiles is being sensitive here. He is an
amazing, sensitive man. He grabs Derek as hard as he can. "Is that a good sound
Derek? If you don't answer, I'm totally pulling the plug. Right here, right
now."
Derek tilts his head back and moans out a 'jesus, stiles, yes' and sort of
shoves himself down the rest of Stiles' cock. And, okay? What was the question
again? Stiles sort of lost track of it what with the mind-melting good time
happening in his nether regions.
His grip tightens on Derek's hips and he involuntarily rocks up. Hard.
Derek whimpers.
Stiles wants to mock him. Badly. He's just too distracted to right now with the
amazing sex he's having.
Derek starts a jolting rhythm, slamming down hard on Stiles' cock and then
bucking back up. After a few minutes of this, Stiles starts pushing in every
time Derek's rocking down. It's amazing. It's glorious. And Stiles is close,
he's so close.
He starts picking up speed, but Derek's rhythm is off from his. After the third
time he just slips out, he makes a little growl himself, and grabs hold of
Derek's hips. And then he's pumping up, faster and faster and faster, until--
Derek's eyes snap open and his back arches and he comes all over his chest.
Without a hand on his cock. There's come everywhere, and the whole thing is so
hot that Stiles just thrusts one more time and falls over the edge. And it's
nothing like when he's alone in his bed. Then it's just relieving a need. But
now? This? This is paradise, complete with shining white lights.
He lets himself pass out a little.
He comes back to himself a few minutes later.  Derek is in the process of
pulling off. Derek winces, and Stiles winces right with him. Because, nothing
against the wonders of sex, but that whole legs bent in weird positions thing
looks like it hurt like hell.
Derek gets off the bed and starts walking away. And Stiles--well it wasn't like
he went into this thinking they would be together forever for the rest of their
lives, amen. But he would kind of like to talk a little after. Clear the air.
Find out if it was as good for Derek as it was for him.
Actually, speaking of good for Derek...
"Did you come without being touched?" Stiles says. His voice sounds like he
might have some frog in his family tree. "I mean, it might have been a
hallucination from the amazing sexytimes, but I kind of remember you coming
without being touched."
Derek freezes. Looking at him standing like that, back to Stiles and legs a
little splayed so Stiles can see how used he looks, Derek looks nothing so much
as vulnerable. Well, not physically. Physically, Derek's a mountain lion of a
man who can be bested by no one. But. Totally emotionally. Derek's
totally emotionally vulnerable right now.
Derek doesn't turn around, but he does say, "yes," and then he just starts
walking again. Like that's at all acceptable. (It isn't, clearly. Stiles was
trying to have a conversation here.)
It's just unfair, is what it is. It is totally, completely, unspeakably unfair.
Which... Speaking of... "Wait a second. Wait just a second, mister," Stiles
says. And, when that doesn't stop Derek, he throws the nearest thing to hand at
him. (It happens to be a shoe. It hits Derek on the hip.) Derek turns around,
face totally pissed. Like he has any right to that emotion. That emotion
belongs solely to Stiles here. "You," Stiles says, pointing at Derek, "were
holding out on me."
Derek rolls his eyes. "Yes. Fine. I can come without my cock being touched. I
love a good dicking. So sue me."
"You," Stiles says, pointing again, completely barreling over everything
Derek's saying, "did not tell me it was even better being the coconut."
Derek has a confused look on his face for a second before it clears up and he
sends Stiles a dirty look. (Which, hey. Stiles is pretty damned impressed it
only took a second. Those are some excellent powers of memory Derek has there.
Stiles hopes he uses them only for good.)
Derek opens his mouth to say something. What exactly will never be known,
because Stiles cuts him off. "I want a rematch."
Derek pauses mouth hanging open. It's not a very attractive look on him. Then
again, there are no unattractive looks on him, so it's not exactly saying much.
"We play another game of Yahtzee. Or any game of your choosing. If I win, you
fuck me," Stiles says with a truly manic grin.
"What about if I win?" Derek says, and somehow, in that second, his posture
goes from super-defensive to almost approachable. At least for Derek Hale.
Stiles isn't asking for a miracle here.
"Well," Stiles thinks about whether or not he wants to show his hand here. He
thinks he does. He's pretty sure he does. He looks up at Derek with, like, the
single most honest expression he can muster, and says, "That's entirely up to
you."
"Pretty strong words," Derek says, an almost-pleased look hovering over his
face.
"What can I say," Stiles says. "I trust you."
Derek blinks. He looks away for a second. And when he looks back, he says, "How
are you at Jenga?"
Stiles grins and mentally victory arms. "Well, not to disappoint, but locally I
am known as the Jenga king."
Derek gives him a slightly superior look. "That's just because you've never
played me."
"Oh it's on, buddy," Stiles says.
"I'm counting on it," Derek says with a smile.
End Notes
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