Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1016082.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Sheriff_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Lydia
      Martin, Agent_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Consent, Consensual_Sex, Feels, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con,
      Body_Worship
  Series:
      Part 11 of Starts_with_"F",_Ends_with_"U"
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-24 Words: 11191
****** You were knocking me down with the palm of your eye ******
by RemainNameless
Summary
     part eleven after "You hollow out my hungry eyes"
     When Derek comes home, Stiles finds him.
Notes
     PART ELEVEN. IF U R NEW, THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR U.
     For everyone else, warnings...what can i say about warnings? There's
     like fuzzy reference to non-consensual acts and unsafe and
     inconsiderate sex practices, but consent is like super thoroughly
     discussed. Um *hugs*
     also i want to thank everyone for all the handholding that enabled me
     to write this chapter and like the massive patience <3 y'all are
     great, cuties!
See the end of the work for more notes
When Lydia wakes him, Stiles is riding on a wave of contentment. 
“I’m going to drive you home now, okay?” she says. “We’ll talk about what I
came up with later.”
He just sort of nods, fingers a little clumsy as he pulls his shoes back on.
His mind is a buzzing blank, too fresh from sleep to really form thoughts, so
he lets Lydia herd him to her car, buckles up out of habit.
It’s early evening, the sky just starting to turn in the east. They drive past
these houses with their lights on, houses with normal people inside, or maybe
they’re just people. It’s not like he knew his world was abnormal before
everything with Rafa. Sure, he’d been the kid with the dead mom, but part of
him still thinks she’s going to reappear, apologize for being gone so long. And
sometimes, it’s like she’s still there. He doesn’t feel abnormal about it. He
just feels like him. Maybe these people just feel like them, too. Maybe they
all have something missing.
“We’re here,” Lydia says. They’ve stopped. He’s staring out the window at his
own house and it’s like he’s seeing it the way strangers do for a moment. It
feels unfamiliar. 
“Thanks,” he tells her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”
She nods, agrees, “Tomorrow.”
His legs are a little stiff when he gets out of the car. The lights inside are
on and the cruiser’s in the driveway, so he knows his dad is home. He’s not
ready, really, but he’ll see what happens. His only option is to get through
it, and he will. 
“Good,” his dad says, sticking his head out of the kitchen as Stiles shuts the
front door behind him. “I was just about to call you to get your ass home.
Dinner’ll be ready in a few.”
“Sounds good,” Stiles says. He sits in his usual chair, watches his dad pour
pasta sauce into a pot, stir. 
“Derek’s going to be fine, by the way. You probably heard from Scott, but he’s
being released tomorrow. Agent McCall,” he says with a sneer, “got a little
rough during the interrogation. When I got out of there, it sounded like they
were going to discard most of the tapes because of leading questions.” His dad
snorts. “Derek did good, though. He stayed calm, he answered the questions they
gave him. I don’t think anyone particularly likes him for it. I think they’ve
got another lead, but I’m not sure what it is. But Derek’s fine.” 
“Cool. Awesome. He’s coming home tomorrow?”
His dad heaves a sigh. “I’m not going to be able to convince you to stay away,
am I?”
“Probably not, no,” Stiles says with a smile. 
“I figured as much,” he says, stirring the pasta. “It’s fine, I guess. I had a
talk with him. He knows what’s what. He’s a decent kid.” 
That reminds him of Scott’s texts, and he can’t help but ask, “What did you say
to him? Should I be embarrassed?”
“I just told him that if you can’t do something with the lights on, you
probably shouldn’t be doing it at all.” His dad shrugs. “And that you should be
going 50-50 on protection. Which, by the way, is coming out of your video game
budget. And I am not buying anything for you. I don’t need those sorts of
questions at the checkout.”
“I would give anything to not be having this conversation right now,” Stiles
tells him honestly. 
“Good, that means you’ll pay attention. By the way, I expect at least one
person’s foot to be touching the floor at all times when I’m home. All clothing
on. I will knock, but I’m only giving you fifteen seconds after that. If I see
something I don’t want to see, we’re negotiating your closed-door privileges.
Got it?”
“Loud and clear,” Stiles says, his head dropping to his arms on the table. “A
little too clear.” 
“Great. Now come get a plate. It’s dinner.” 
They eat in the living room, in front of the TV. Stiles manages about half of
his spaghetti, but he’s tired, so he checks out, cleans up and goes to bed. 
It’s been a horribly long few days, and his bones feel watery and loose. His
dad left his bedding on his mattress, so he has to make his bed, and he feels
wrong in here. It feels like there’s something lurking in the dark, so he
double checks the closet and his window, leaves a couple lights on when he
finally curls up in bed. 
He’s thankful for Lydia now, for suggesting the pills, because he knows that if
he were lying away now normally, he wouldn’t sleep for a long, long time. As it
is, he just kind of figures that what’ll happen will happen, that staring,
wide-eyed, at the ceiling won’t keep him any safer. He curls up tight under his
comforter, presses his face into his pillow, and wishes quietly that he weren’t
alone.
 
There’s a harsh buzzing sound, his phone, he realizes, and digs it out from
under his pillow. 
It’s not a number he wants to see, not right now, but he’s worried about
what’ll happen if he doesn’t answer. It’s late, really late, and his dad is
almost definitely asleep anyway.
“What do you want?” Stiles answers, looking around his room instinctively. 
“Aw, did I wake you up?” Rafa asks, and Stiles pulls his comforter tighter over
his shoulders. 
“Yeah, you fucking did, so make it fast. I have school tomorrow.”
“I know. Lacrosse too, right? I know you’ll be thinking of me, kiddo.” His
voice makes Stiles want to punch something or go crawl into bed with his dad
like he used to when he was young and had nightmares. “Look, I know you have a
better lead on Peter Hale than I do. Find him for me. Ask your little friends
or whatever. Just let me know when you do.”
“I will,” Stiles says, if only because this could actually be good. He’ll have
to talk to Lydia about it. 
“Good boy. I’ll let you go back to sleep. Dream of me.”
The thing is, Stiles does.
His dreams are a little blurry, but they grow sharper with each new chunk.
When he wakes for good, half an hour before his alarm, he remembers trying to
crawl under the roots of a tree to hide from a murder of crows flying overhead,
remembers finding something in that dark, airless place, a body, he thinks, and
it changes each time he looks at it, melting between people he knows, and
Rafa’s voice in the dark, falling in on him.
And then he’s awake and panting, shirt soaked in sweat. There’s light in his
room, a little from the window and from the lamps he left on, but he feels like
he can’t see his room. He throws his covers off and heads to the bathroom, gets
the shower running just shy of too hot, drops his clothes on the floor. 
Out of habit and to calm down, really, he jerks off fast in the shower. He lets
himself vaguely think about Derek, but it’s more about getting off than getting
a good fantasy going. A means to an end. After, he feels a little better, a
little more calm and clear of mind. 
He has school today. He’s going to go to school and be a normal person. He’s
going to see Scott and they’re probably going to talk about Derek being
arrested or whatever and Stiles is going to be totally normal when Scott
inevitably brings up his dad. He’s going to be totally fine. It’s just a normal
day. His friends are supernatural creatures and it’s a normal day. He’s just
the ambiguously virginal comedic relief to their main drama. He just has to
keep it all behind the scenes.
 
It’s not that hard. He’s kind of used to it, really. Walk tall, smile, make a
few jokes about conjugal visits and kinky prison roleplay. He catches Lydia’s
approving look, like she’s at once proud of him for being normal and wondering
just how long he’s been doing this for. Like he’s too good. 
He might be.
Truth be told, he wants Scott to sit him down and say, Dude, you’re not okay,
are you? But he fears it, too. Because Scott doesn’t need to worry about this.
He doesn’t need to know just how bad it is. Stiles can protecthim. 
In third period, his dad texts him that they’ve let Derek go, that he’s fine,
that after some more questioning this morning, they’re trying to find Peter. 
Stiles texts Lydia about that, just to let her know, because it’s more
dangerous to find someone the police are looking for, too. He deletes the text
from his phone immediately afterwards. No such thing as too careful, not with
what they’re apparently planning. 
Now, in his defense, Stiles actually does consider staying at school the full
day. He thinks really hard about it for all of fourth period, but who’s he
kidding? He knows what he’s going to do. 
When Stiles tells Scott in the hallway before lunch that he’s heading out,
Scott grabs his shoulder and says, very seriously, “I know you want to get the
D, but you don’t want to get more than one, if you know what I mean. It’s not
worth your GPA.”
“Don’t you know, buddy?” Stiles says with a lopsided grin. “I won’t let
anything get between me and the A.” He throws a wink at Scott’s considering
smirk before heading out, stealth-walking through the parking lot to his Jeep. 
 
“What are you doing here? You have school,” Derek says when he opens the door.
He doesn’t move out of the doorway. 
“I can’t fail lunch, dude. Calm down. I just wanted to see you.”
Derek looks at him, and Stiles can feel his resolve crumble the second before
he lets Stiles in. 
He looks tired. His place is a little bit of a mess and, looking around, Stiles
gets a little nervous for him.
“They didn’t really search your place, right? They didn’t go all CSI on it?
Because I have a feeling that would be bad. Really bad.” He doesn’t say because
the concrete is still a little off-color where Boyd was killed, or that he
heard from Lydia that Kali was killed here too, that Derek must have dealt with
the body before he left, even though it wasn’t his responsibility. He doesn’t
ask if he buried Boyd and Erica with Laura, either, or if Isaac helped because
he knows how to dig a proper grave, doesn’t ask if he buried Kali, if there’s
any special werewolf burial rituals. They’re a long way from being able to talk
about death like that. It’s all too fresh still.
“I’m okay,” Derek says. “I didn’t say anything stupid, are you proud?” He says
it with an edge of sarcasm, but his sarcasm never quite reaches his face when
he doesn’t mean it. 
“I am. I’m glad. I worried about you.” 
Derek shrugs. “It’s not the first time I’ve been in that interrogation room.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and Stiles rolls his eyes.
“It was one time,” Stiles complains. “I only got you arrested the once. You
gotta let it go, man.”
“I’m just messing with you.” It comes out like an awkward gesture, like a hand
messing up his hair, a bouncing leg. Stiles knows that, and Derek knows he
knows, but he’s filling the space between them, and Stiles knows they need to
talk. Derek’s pushing it off a little, and Stiles gets it, he does, because
there’s a million reasons to. But they need to get it out there.
“I’m not going back to him, you know,” Stiles says. “I’m not doing that again.
You don’t have to worry about it. It’s done.”
“Does he know that?”
Stiles shrugs. “It doesn’t fucking matter because it’s not happening. I’m done.
I shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place. It was stupid. I shouldn’t
have thought I could handle him.” 
“You’re a kid. You didn’t have to know you couldn’t. It wasn’t your
responsibility.” He sighs, shoves his hands in his pockets. “What happened the
other night….”
“I’d rather live my life never knowing than have to remember,” Stiles tells him
quickly. “And I’m not a kid. Not anymore.” 
“Yeah, you kind of are,” Derek says. “You’re still too young.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Too young for what? For what happened? Or for you?
Because I know you’re not feeding me that shit.” 
“That’s not…” Derek makes a pissed off noise, shakes his head. “In your room,
you didn’t tell him to stop. You’ve said you end up sleeping with him when you
don’t want to—”
“What are you—”
“I’m not saying that, I just...your track record for saying no to things you
don’t want to do isn’t great. And I can’t do this, whatever this is, if I can’t
be sure you’ll tell me no when you mean it.” 
Stiles shakes his head, touches Derek’s arm lightly. “I would say no to you
because I trust you to stop when I say it.” 
“Promise me,” Derek tells him. 
“I promise, okay?” Stiles asks, stroking his arm from wrist to elbow. “I
promise.”
Derek nods, eyes searching his face for the lie he can’t be hearing, and
touches his shoulder. His thumb runs over Stiles’ collarbone, makes him shiver
with goosebumps. 
“What do you want from me?” Derek asks after a moment. His eyes brush over
Stiles’ exposed skin, his neck and jaw, his temples, the curve of his ears, his
throat. 
Stiles shrugs, looking at him because he can’t look away, says, “I just want
you to love me.” It’s probably the most honest thing he’s ever said, will ever
say. He feels empty without the words nestled inside of him. 
“I can do that.” Derek nods once, then again and doesn’t really stop until
Stiles touches his face, pins him like a bird in a narrow cage. 
Stiles moves in slow, checking his eyes for permission before kissing him. It’s
weird, almost, unfamiliar, because Derek doesn’t do anything at first. He just
sort of lets Stiles kiss him. Gently, closed mouth to closed mouth, nose to
nose, chest to chest. There’s no pressure, no surprises, and that’s nice,
actually. He’s not sure he’s ever actually initiated a kiss before. It’s a good
thing to do. It makes him want to purr a little. 
Derek does kiss him back, though. When Stiles draws back a little, he follows
with his mouth. Soft. His hand cups the back of Stiles’ neck and he’s full of
these light little kisses that make Stiles buzz down to the soles of his shoes.
The scruff on his upper lip and chin is almost long enough that it’s soft when
it rubs against Stiles’ skin. 
But it’s going to Stiles’ head, makes it swim with longing and a strange sort
of desire. Strange enough that he doesn’t quite place it for what it is at
first, because there’s no guilt or shame in it. 
Stiles butts his nose against Derek’s, cradling his jaw in half-numb fingers.
“What are we okay with doing here?” he asks, just so he can have boundaries. 
“Don’t you have to go back to school?” He sounds sorry about it, but says it
like it’s important.
“I think it’s about time I took a mental health day,” Stiles tells him. “I
wasn’t really planning on going back by the time lunch is over.”
“I don’t want you cutting class for me,” Derek says. 
“I’m not.” Stiles pulls back a little to look him in the eyes without going
cross-eyed. “I’m doing it for me. I’m pretty sure if I told anyone everything
that’s happened this weekend, they’d let it slide.” 
Derek holds his gaze, wetting his lips like he’s nervous. “What do you want,
then?” His thumb traces the base of Stiles’ hairline from behind his ear all
the way around to the nape of his neck, his other hand wrapped around Stiles’
forearm like he’s trying to keep his hand in place without being pushy about
it. 
“I don’t really know,” Stiles says. “Maybe we could just make out a little, see
where it goes?”
“Is this— What does that mean? I just don’t want to do anything without talking
about it first. I don’t want to mess this up by going into it too fast.”
Stiles smiles at him because he can feel that Derek wants to do this right, and
he does too, it’s just that it’s uncomfortable. He’s not sure what he’s
supposed to want right now. What the normal thing is. Because he’d like to do a
lot of things for and with Derek in general, and he wants to show Derek how he
feels, what he means to him, because it seems easier than telling him
outright. 
But he’s not sure what normal people do. What people with normal relationships
do. 
“I don’t know what’s okay,” Stiles settles on. 
“Whatever you’re comfortable with. Whatever that is. We can just sit together
for a while, if you want.”
Stiles bites the inside of his cheek for a moment glancing at the couch. “I
mean, I wouldn’t mind that,” he says, “but I want more. I want to touch you. A
lot. Is that okay? I don’t even— If you don’t want to, we don’t have to or
anything. I just want to. And I don’t know if that’s, like, a slutty thing or
whatever, so you’ve gotta let me know because I’m kind of driving blind here.”
“It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do things, I just…” Derek
frowns at him, mouth pinched together. “I just don’t want you to think you have
to want to do things. Anything. With me. Or because of me.”
“I’m attracted to you. I want to be close to you.” He shrugs. “That’s all there
is to it.”
Derek nods. “Then what do you want to do?”
Stiles has to think about it, really. 
Because in a purely sexual way, there’s a lot of things he’d like to do to
Derek. Or with him. It’s not like that’s in question. It’s more about where to
start. And really, he’s not sure what he’s okay with. He doesn’t want to think
of his body in terms of a place someone else has been, but he’s not sure he
wants Derek traveling those same paths. Derek’s different, and he knows that,
it’s not up for debate, but, like, imagining getting fucked? That makes him
feel kind of weird. He’s not quite there yet. He doesn’t want to accidentally
forget it’s Derek.
“I’d like to touch you,” Stiles tells him. “And maybe look at you, if that’s
alright.”
“Yeah, that’s alright. Where do you want to…?”
Stiles looks around, says, “Your bed’s probably the most comfortable place. If
that’s cool.” 
It’s fucking weird is what it is, but he’s kind of excited, really. With Rafa,
it wasn’t so much about enjoying someone else’s body, more about Rafa enjoying
his, and Stiles hasn’t really gotten to just touch someone. For the hell of
it. 
Derek stands there, at the foot of his bed, looking over his shoulder with open
eyes and an open mouth like a slow-mo indie movie reunion. His hands hang at
his sides, curled with a strain that suggests readiness. He’s familiar in what
he is and unfamiliar in the guarantee of how Stiles will see him differently
after. Not a bad different, just zoomed-in. 
“What can I do?” Stiles asks, the pads of his fingertips buzzing. 
“Anything you want. I trust you.” 
Stiles moves to him, touches the hem of his shirt, close enough to his skin to
feel warmth. “Can I?”
Derek nods, reaches behind his head to pull the shirt off, but he lets Stiles
help him with it. When it hits the floor, he holds out his hands with his palms
up. Waiting. 
It’s clear enough permission, so Stiles starts slow, rubs his fingers over the
bony bump of Derek’s wrist, traces up the ridge of muscle to his elbow. The
little dip and the hard point of bone, the soft covering of hair and the spots
with none. And then up, the hard-soft curves of bicep and tricep to the dome of
Derek’s shoulder, smooth and almost pale. He traces the shape with his fingers
first, but somehow that turns into his mouth and the faint trace of soap over
the particular taste of skin. His hands slide in the imagined grooves of
Derek’s ribs, feeling him breathing slow as the muscle dips and rise under his
mouth, heading towards Derek’s neck. 
One hand runs up and down the valley of Derek’s sternum with two fingers while
the other maps out shoulder blade and spine, learning natural warmth of his
skin. Stiles brushes his lips against the line where Derek’s beard starts,
feels his breath jerk under his mouth. Going by that, he likes it when Stiles
bumps his nose under the line of his jaw to the hinge. It scrapes just a
little, more novel than painful. 
Derek lets out a little sigh when he continues to the soft patch of skin right
behind his ear, where the cords of his neck meet his skull, just before his
hairline. His hair is soft, a little damp, from a shower, probably, because
Stiles can smell shampoo when he inhales, sweet and clean.
Stiles pulls back, thumbs fitting neatly under Derek’s pecs. “Is it cool if we
make this horizontal?” he asks. 
Derek nods, and he means to watch his eyes, but he finds himself following the
arch of his brows around to his cheekbones to the sharp point of his nose, the
angular curve of his nostrils down to his mouth, his lips a little wet like
he’s licked them. 
So it’s a second before they move, before Derek sits at the edge of the bed,
hesitating for a second before lying all the way back. He makes room for Stiles
when he nears, between his knees. Stiles can’t really help but follow the dark
denim v of his legs inward, sees that his bulge is a little more pronounced
than usual. He kind of wants to do something about that, but not yet. Not until
he finds whatever he’s looking for on Derek’s body. 
He stares a little, bracing himself with hands on either side of Derek’s
ribcage, and that’s enough to convince him that it’s not a visual thing.
Derek’s body is beautiful in that it’s Derek’s, and it’s not unfamiliar like
he’d worried about. Stiles has seen and felt it probably a hundred times. There
aren’t any surprises under the surface of his skin. 
It might be touch. It doesn’t seem like it at first, but then he kneels between
Derek’s legs and trails his fingertips down his ribs to his hips, watching his
stomach jump with the effort to stay still, and maybe there it is. Not so much
the touch but the quality of touch. It’s the gentleness that’s unfamiliar.
Stiles has felt it through Derek’s hands on his own body, but it’s different
like this. With Derek still and open to his hands. Hands that tap and drum and
whisper instead of pressing dents, too light for a casual hold. 
Derek doesn’t say anything when Stiles climbs up him, knees settled at the
very, very slight concave of his waist. After a close pause for Derek to refuse
him, he leans down the last couple inches to kiss him on the mouth, slack and
unhurried. Derek nudges up his chin a little so Stiles doesn’t have to angle
his neck as much, and it’s just a simple, warm press of mouth to mouth for a
while. Until Stiles decides he wants a little more, adjusts a little, forearms
bracketing Derek’s head, and lets himself actually settle. 
It almost doesn’t feel like a new thing. In a lot of ways, kissing is on the
near side of the lines they’ve crossed with each other. It doesn’t have to be a
particularly serious thing, but Stiles doesn’t have a particularly normal track
record for kissing. Rafa, Heather, Lydia. 
Derek’s the first one he knows, right here right now, is going to be a part of
his future. He’s not going to make the jump to forever or anything, but it’s
definitely a prelude to something more. 
Stiles goes for it, mouth open, and Derek meets him. The first brush of tongue
makes something jump in his chest, mostly because he isn’t expecting it. Even
though Stiles is the one that makes it happen. Maybe that’s what surprises him
more than anything else. Or maybe it’s that it feels good. He’s not afraid of
anything.
The thought makes him smile, and Derek huffs a little, warm on his upper lip.
His arms wrap around Stiles’ waist, forearms crossing over his back, and there
we go. 
Maybe that’s what he was waiting for — Derek touching him back. Maybe he’s
still not 100% sold on Derek wanting him too, on all of this being more than
something in his head. But Derek has a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide and
Stiles isn’t convinced that, if he thought it would help him, he might go along
with all of this. 
To be honest, he’s only mostly convinced now. He gets someone wanting to fuck
him. That’s easy. And he gets someone caring about him because people do, but
the thing is, those two don’t really coincide where he’s concerned. 
Derek’s the one who breaks the kiss, eyes dark and confused. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Stiles says, moving back in until Derek stops him. 
“Am I supposed to buy that?”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, actually.” Derek’s not impressed. “I just— Why
are you doing this? Seriously.”
“Stiles…” Derek runs a thumb across his cheekbone, shaking his head. “Because
I— I feel for you. More than I know how to tell you. I’ll do whatever I can to
give you anything you need.” 
“But that’s not fair,” Stiles tells him, sitting up. Derek wiggles a little,
shifting him off his stomach as he says, “You do all this shit for me and it’s
not fair. To you, I mean. You shouldn’t have to…” he gestures half-heartedly
between them “whatever just because I want to. I don’t even know what you
want.” 
“I want to be with you. I don’t want you to try anything you’re not ready for
just because I want to.”
Stiles narrows his eyes. “Is that the classy way of saying you want to fuck but
you think I’m too, what? Emotionally damaged? Traumatized?” 
“It’s not about fucking,” Derek says with a sharp sigh. “It’s not just fucking.
And I don’t want to do anything until you’re ready.” Stiles rolls his eyes,
making a face. “What, is it really so wrong that I want this to be about us?
That I only want you to be thinking about me? That I don’t want you to even be
able to remember who he is?” 
Looking at him, Stiles slumps because oh. 
“Really?” he asks. “I mean, that’s why you— Okay. I mean, yeah. Well, no,
really, because you don’t have to worry about that. We’re good, you— You make
my head feel like a safe place.” 
Derek’s mouth curves a little, half a smile, and he just sort of stares. And
he’s always had a pretty killer intense stare, but this, this is almost
terrifyingly warm, almost enough to hurt a little. Stiles can’t really bear to
be on the receiving end of it, so he kisses Derek instead of looking at him. 
It’s a good idea, as it turns out, because Derek’s hand moves to the back of
his neck, keeps him close. Stiles just sort of stretches out on top of him,
kisses him long and slow. They’ve got hours and hours, really, so there’s no
rush. Stiles can experiment a little, figure out what Derek likes, figure out
what he likes. He knows he likes how it feels when he drags his tingling mouth
to Derek’s cheek, likes how it hurts but doesn’t. Derek seems to be pretty into
it when Stiles nips at his lower lip. His arms tighten around Stiles for a
second when he does it and he kind of shudders. He gets his revenge by sucking
at Stiles’ tongue, making his stomach burn hot and molten, sink low like it’s
trying to melt into his feet. 
For some reason, Derek’s hands stay at the middle of his back or higher. While
Stiles might have appreciated it at first, it kind of feels like Derek’s
holding out on him, so he moves Derek’s hands lower, just under his t-shirt.
They burn against the small of his back. It seems to spook Derek a little at
first, but he presses in against Stiles’ mouth, moves down to his jaw and
throat where he sucks. Stiles groans a little too loudly, clutches at Derek
shoulder because fuck, yeah, that’s a good thing. And it’s a good thing he
doesn’t have to worry about his knees buckling. 
“You’re going to leave a huge-ass hickey, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, shutting
his eyes when he feels the hot, wet swipe of Derek’s tongue. 
Derek releases him with a little pop. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh my God, don’t stop,” Stiles tells him. “That was not me complaining. That
was me getting a little inappropriately excited. I feel like such a teenager,
God.”
“You are a teenager,” Derek says before tracing patterns on his neck with the
point of his tongue. 
Stiles doesn’t reply to that, partially because anything he has to say involves
referencing the fact that Derek is who-knows-how-much older than him, and
partially because Derek’s mouth is a beautiful, beautiful thing. His whole
body’s going hot and he’s starting to think that maybe wearing clothes for this
was a terrible idea, but he can’t get his shirt off without sacrificing Derek’s
mouth, so he moves between the warm sweep of Derek’s hands across his bare back
and his body. That feels good, a little too good, but the idea of pretty much
humping Derek’s stomach makes him feel pretty pathetic.
It gets to be too much, though, so he pushes himself up, breathes. Derek’s eyes
dart from the half-heaving of his chest up to his eyes and mouth. His eyebrows
quirk up. 
“Gimme a second,” Stiles says, sitting back a little. 
Derek presses his mouth tight when he moves, looking up above his head, and
Stiles smiles to himself. It’s not like he can’t feel that Derek’s hard, and he
feels a little bad for teasing, but he’s thinking about doing more than that. 
“Don’t freak out,” Stiles tells him as he slides off his body onto the floor.
His legs are a little shaky, but it’s not enough to worry about, so he pulls
his shirt over his head. Derek props himself up on his elbows, watching in a
way that doesn’t feel like he expects anything. Just like he’s waiting for
Stiles to finish up and come back. He will, but first, he drops his jeans,
kicks them behind him and away. 
“Do you want me to jerk you off?” Derek asks. His eyes slip down to the front
of Stiles’ briefs. Stiles’ eyes follow and yeah, you can tell he’s interested,
but it’s not really a pressing thing right now.
“Can I do you instead?”
That catches Derek for a moment, but he nods. “If that’s what you want, go
ahead. But you don’t have to.”
“I know, but I want to,” he tells Derek, moving in to open up his jeans. He
pauses for a moment before undoing the button, though. His fingers are drawn to
the ridge of Derek’s cock under the taut fabric. When Derek’s hips jerk a
little, his eyes dart up. Derek’s lower lip is between his teeth and he’s
watching like he can’t look away. Stiles stares back for a moment, fingers
moving aimlessly, then drags them a little harder all the way to the tip. The
shaky breath Derek lets out makes him want to do it again, but he’d like to
actually see Derek’s junk sometime this century. 
He checks Derek for an okay before unbuttoning his pants, tugging down the
zipper gently, and hooking his fingers into the waistband to pull his jeans
down.
It’s fucking hard.
Derek has to lift his hips in a stupidly distracting way, do a little shimmy to
help, and it’s still a labor. And it’s not like Stiles is going to just leave
them halfway down his thighs to deal with later, because later, he’ll probably
have even less patience, so he might as well deal with them now. 
They might be sentient. Sentient and in love with Derek’s legs.
Stiles can’t really blame them, but still. Still.
“I’m going to fucking burn all of your jeans,” Stiles says when finally getting
Derek free lands him flat on his ass. Derek snorts and Stiles glares at him as
he gets up. “You think I’m joking but I’m not. You’re only going to be wearing
sweatpants from now on, so help me God. That should not have been so difficult.
I mean, they look beautiful, but at what cost?”
“Those are my tightest,” Derek tells him with half a grin. “Don’t worry about
it. You’ll have plenty of time to wage war against my wardrobe later.”
Stiles smirks, edging in between Derek’s legs so he has to spread them further.
“Getting a little antsy, are we?”
“I’m not saying you—”
“Relax. I like it. And believe it or not, it’s not my life’s mission to give
you blue balls.” He lifts his knee up to the bed, rubbing softly against the
not-yet-blue balls in question, smiles when Derek lets out a rush of breath,
tilting his hips up and grinding into it a little. 
It’s fucking hot is what it is. There’s something about Derek being turned on
that makes his head spin with want. Something about the idea of getting him off
that makes Stiles’ fingers numb and twitchy with desire. Making Derek come
might have just shot to the top of his list of priorities. Possibly. Right now.
“If I don’t get you out of these, I think I’m going to die,” Stiles says,
fingers playing with the waistband of Derek’s boxer-briefs. 
Derek nods, pushing his shoulders into the mattress as he shoves them down off
his hips. Stiles helps and it’s probably a lot of hands for something so simple
but he can’t not help. Somewhere in that, he finds himself on his knees between
Derek’s legs and it’s a beautiful place to be, judging by the view. Derek’s
dick is dripping a little on his stomach, the head gone dark. Stiles’ first
instinct is to lick, which is maybe a mistake, considering that Derek jerks
back like he’s been shocked. 
“You really don’t have to do that,” Derek says quickly, twisting like he’s not
sure if he wants to move away or not. 
Stiles pulls back, hands on Derek’s thighs. “I want to. I want to make you feel
good, okay?”
Derek nods once, eyes a little wide, and Stiles spits in his palm. Really, he
doesn’t feel up to a full blowie anyway, but the idea of jerking Derek off nice
and slow is devastating. 
His grip isn’t too tight or too loose, just getting a feel for how Derek’s cock
functions as an extension of his body. He twists a little at the top of his
stroke and Derek fists the sheets. The muscles in his thighs twitch with the
effort of staying still. 
“That’s pretty impressive,” Stiles tells him. “How long do you think you could
hold back until you try to fuck my fist?” Derek doesn’t say anything, but that
might be because Stiles is using his second hand to rub his thumb up and down
Derek’s frenulum, sticky-slick with precome. “You ever try edging? I did it
once and shit, I think every version of me in the multiverse came at once. I’d
love to see you come like that sometime.” 
Stiles is maybe humping the edge of the bed a little because that mental image
is too much for mere mortals and he wants ten thousand things all at once.
“Fuck, I gotta touch you all over,” Stiles says, getting up. He pauses, though,
asks, “Is that cool?” 
“Yeah, you can— You can do that.”
For a moment, Stiles stands there, trying to figure out whether to keep his
underwear on or not. It doesn’t take a lot of deliberation, really, because
looking down at Derek’s naked body makes him want to be naked, so. Decision
made, really. 
Derek’s eyes skip over his body like a smooth stone, not sure where to look. 
“You can look at me, you know. I want you to,” Stiles tells him as he climbs
onto the bed, straddles him. Derek nods, and for just a second, Stiles thinks
of the other times Derek’s seen him naked but pushes it away as quickly as it
comes up. He focuses instead on settling over Derek’s body in a good way, close
enough to kiss, the warm line of Derek’s cock notched against his hip. 
Derek’s breath moves through him heavily as his hands come up Stiles’ back,
kissing the corner of his mouth. It takes a second for Stiles to find a good
position for his lower body. He ends up basically sprawled across Derek with
his knees spread wide on either side of him so he can move, can grind against
Derek’s stomach with ease. 
These little noises are given to him through his mouth, little huffs and sighs,
groans that come from deeper in Derek’s chest, deep enough that he can feel
them through his ribs. Stiles gets it, he does, because he’s doing little more
than shamelessly humping Derek and damn. They should do this all the time. He
says as much, and Derek snorts against his cheek. 
It’s nice, and because Stiles is on top, he can keep it slow, make it last.
He’d like it to last. 
Derek’s a little reserved, though, toeing the line between respectful and
passive. That’s not really doing it for Stiles, so he moves Derek’s hands from
his waist to his ass, tries to show him what he wants. But Derek is Derek and
stops kissing him, presses their foreheads together. 
“You’re sure?” 
“Derek,” he says heavily, rolling his eyes, “just touch my fucking butt
already.”
There’s a moment where he can feel Derek making a face at him, but then his
hands squeeze Stiles’ ass, pull him against his body. The friction makes Stiles
groan, head falling down to Derek’s shoulder. Derek moves him. They get a
rhythm going that makes Stiles’ skin feel stretched and sensitive, makes him
acutely aware of the hot shapes of Derek’s hands on his ass. It makes him itch
a little, crave more, but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to get Derek to go for
it.
So instead of saying anything just yet, he bites at the hinge of Derek’s jaw.
Kisses his lips raw against Derek’s cheek, drunk on the sound of him panting in
time with the way he’s moving Stiles’ hips. 
Their bodies slick enough with sweat and precome that they slide a little,
Stiles’ cock moving right against Derek’s. The ridge at the head drags against
him so sweetly. It makes him desperate, makes him want to feel Derek’s cock
better, more, makes him want it inside of him, and that’s it.
Stiles reaches back, guides Derek’s hand to the crack of his ass. “Get
something in me,” he hisses. “Finger me or something, come on. And don’t
fucking ask me if I’m sure because I’m sure, okay? Cause I’m really fucking
sure.”
For a moment, it looks like Derek’s not going to go with it, but he nods.
“Lube. We need lube. Give me a second.” He helps Stiles off him, leaves him
sitting there while he heads to the other side of the bed, grabs a bottle of
lube off of what’s probably the floor. It’s only about half full, and for a
moment, Stiles pictures Derek jerking himself off right here, fucking his hand.
The image makes him let out a little noise.
Derek comes back, takes his place again, but he stays sitting up, pausing. “Can
I blow you, too?” he asks, soft and reluctant, like he thinks Stiles is going
to say no. Stiles stares at him a second, eyes narrowed.
“Wait, is that a serious question?” he asks. “I mean, yeah, you can do that,
fuck. What do you want me to do? Please tell me nothing that involves higher
brain function because that’s just not a possibility right now.”
“Is on your back okay?” Stiles barely nods before flattening himself out on his
back. Maybe it’s a little eager, but he’s a little eager.
“Seriously, anything is good right now. Basically anything.” 
Derek crawls over him, looking up at him through his lashes. “I’m still going
to ask first, you know.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Deal with it,” he tells Stiles
before dropping down to kiss the tops of his thighs. 
Seeing his dick pretty obviously twitch, Stiles tries to work himself backwards
from the most recent coach of the Mets. It kind of goes out the window when
Derek lifts his leg up onto his shoulder. He presses his lips right at the base
of Stiles’ cock, and he almost doesn’t hear the pop of a cap. 
“Shit, dude, I’m making no promises about how long I’m gonna last here,” Stiles
says. He looks down, groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Seriously, I can’t
even look at your face right now. It’s too fucking much.” 
“Don’t worry about it,” Derek tells him, his breath sizzling over the head of
Stiles’ cock. It’s the only warning before all Stiles can feel is hot and wet,
grabbing the sheets next to his hip so he doesn’t rip Derek’s hair out or
something. 
“Holy God, that’s—” Derek sucks a little, and his words turn into a high,
strained noise. 
His heel is probably digging into Derek’s back too hard, but he can barely even
think right now. Suddenly, blow jobs make so much sense. It’s fucking unreal.
A wet finger slides against his hole and he’s so fucking relaxed, Derek doesn’t
really have to try to get it in. His body just wants in, moves into it, down
until he can feel Derek’s knuckles against his ass. That pulls him out of
Derek’s mouth a little, so he tilts up, groaning when Derek’s finger twists in
him. 
“You better give me more than that,” Stiles pants. He doesn’t risk looking,
knows he’ll be fucking done if he does. Derek gives it to him, though, tucks
his second finger in so all he can feel is this warm, sweet stretch that he
needs more of. Biting his lip, he chases it, rocking up and down between
Derek’s fingers and mouth, fucking close. His whole body is pulled taut,
buzzing with it until there’s a little bit of pressure at his rim, not enough
to get inside but just enough to promise that he’ll be filled. 
He doesn’t even have time to warn Derek properly because he’s just gone.
Groaning at the hot, bursting feeling of Derek’s throat swallowing around the
head of his dick, the shuddery ripple of awareness of Derek’s fingers in him.
It’s silent, too much for him to make noise, at least until he’s mostly done
and Derek’s mouth is moving up and down him, slow. Then, he whimpers a little
until he has to fist his hand in Derek’s hair, pull him off. 
“Wowie,” Stiles breathes. Derek nuzzles the inside of his thigh and starts to
ease his fingers out, but Stiles moves back onto them. “Not yet. I like having
you in me.” 
Derek makes a pained noise, shutting his eyes. His thumb gently strokes Stiles’
taint. The sharp angles of his hair make Stiles smile. 
“Real talk, though? I don’t know why people don’t just suck each other off 24/
7. I mean, if it feels like that?” Stiles whistles. “Either that, or you’re
just, like, impressively good and setting impossible-to-beat standards for the
rest of the human race. And werewolf race.”
“Was that— Has no one blown you before?” Derek asks, then winces. “Nevermind, I
take it back.” 
“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles says, not really thinking about it, honestly.
“And no, I’ve never…thank you for doing that, I mean.” Derek looks at him, not
six inches away from Stiles’ dick, and he wants to die a little. “Sorry, it’s
not very cool to thank people for blow jays, is it? I’m really not sure why I
did that, I just don’t want you to feel bad about it. Because if I know you,
you probably are.”
“I’m just sorry that no one’s done that for you, that’s all,” Derek says, then
kisses his knee. He’s painfully gorgeous. He’s always painfully gorgeous.
“You haven’t come yet, have you?”
Derek shakes his head, shrugging with the shoulder Stiles’ thigh isn’t taking
up. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” He starts to move away, but
Stiles holds him in. 
“Just so you know, thanks to the Stiles Stilinski Gallon Challenge, I now know
that I can come eight times in an hour.” 
“I’m not going to ask what that is, but I am going to ask what that has to do
with anything,” Derek says.
“I’m just saying,” Stiles says, “I would be open to helping you out a little.
And if it’s mutually beneficial, you can’t get all pouty about it.” 
Derek’s eyes narrow. “What did you have in mind?” Stiles smirks, rocks down
onto his fingers, circles his hips a little. It makes Derek’s eyebrows shoot
up, then drop lower than before. “I don’t need that. It’s fine.”
“I need it,” Stiles says. “I mean, if you really don’t want to do it now, then
fine, whatever, but I need to do it sometime. Preferably with you. Just so I
can figure out if I really like it or if it’s just…if it’s not something I want
to do again.”
“I’m worried that it’s too soon. I want this to be just us. It should only be
about us.”
Stiles smiles at him, cards his fingers through his hair. “It is. It’s just you
and me. And I want it, I want you, you know that, right? I didn’t ask you to
put your fingers in my ass because I thought your hand looked cold, dude. I
asked you to because I thought it would feel good and I wanted you to be the
one to make me feel it.” 
It’s pretty clear the moment Derek folds. He blinks for a long time, then nods,
very small. 
“I want to face you,” he says slowly. “I want to be able to see that you’re
here with me. That’s all I ask.” 
That’s not much. Definitely doable. Beyond doable.
“Alright,” Stiles tells him. “I accept your terms. Let’s do this thing!”
One of Derek’s eyebrows quirks up. “Just to be clear, you can say the word
‘sex’, right?”
“Seriously, who are you, Nick Miller?” Stiles asks. “Yes. Sex. Sex sex sex. Now
let’s have sex already, come on.”
Derek rolls his eyes, nips at the inside of Stiles’ thigh, mouths all the way
back to his cock. His fingers start to move, twisting, rocking into him. They
feel comfortable in him. If there were any doubts in his mind that this is
something he’s into, they’re all gone. All gone. His dick had been a little
curious about the whole idea, but with Derek’s tongue laving over it and the
freakingvisual, he’s ready to go go go.
“Okay, seriously, you need to get your dick in me pronto,” Stiles says. “ASAP,
man.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek tells him. His ring finger nudges against
Stiles’ entrance, teasing until he pulls out both of his fingers and presses
all three back in. 
“You’re not, I—” He lets out a groan as Derek sucks one of his balls into his
mouth, fingers curling in deep. They spread and twist, just glancing off the
edge of his prostate too many times for it to be accidental. He moves on to
Stiles’ other ball, takes him apart like it’s nothing, like he’s not leaking
even though he just came a couple minutes ago. Derek laps it up, though, kisses
the head of his dick so sweetly Stiles whimpers a little. 
So Derek wants to take his time. That’s a little frustrating, but it’s kind of
nice. Derek’s just paying attention to him right now. Sure, Stiles has no idea
how his balls haven’t fallen off or something because seriously, but it’s nice.
It’s a hug for his feelings. 
His other leg ends up on Derek’s shoulder, and Stiles is trying to pull him in
without thinking about it, even though he’s pretty fucking close already. His
mouth wanders, stubble scraping over Stiles’ hipbones and stomach, nose
following down his happy trail, like Stiles isn’t burning all the way from the
fingers in his ass up to his chest. A good burn, though. It makes his lungs
ache a little from trying to drag in full breaths, too keyed up to inhale
properly. 
Derek leads him right to the edge and pulls him back, holds him, gasping, while
he tries to get ahold of himself. 
“I’m so fucking serious right now, I’m good,” Stiles pants at him.
“Alright,” Derek says, sliding his fingers out. “You want to be on top?” 
Stiles knows what he’s doing with that, knows he’s trying to give him some
control, and he appreciates it for what it is. “Yeah, sure. Let’s do that.” 
“Gimme a second.” Derek goes back to the side of the bed where he keeps the
lube, comes back with a condom. Stiles just kind of stares at it for a moment,
not really sure how he feels about it.
“Really? I mean, does it feel different?” he asks as Derek tears it open. He
stops when he registers that. Takes a deep breath or two. “Are you sure you
want to use it?”
“First of all, your father put the fear of God in me, so yes. If there were
such a thing as extra protection, I’d be using that too. And I’m assuming you
don’t really want to clean come out of your ass?” 
“No, I mean, that’s cool, I just…I guess I just got used to it.” He shrugs, and
Derek looks pained, but they’re not going to have that talk now. This is just
them. “Can I? I mean, I had the last period of health so they were out of
bananas by that point. Sue me, but it always looked kind of fun.”
Derek hands him the condom and stretches out a bit, feet on the floor. Feeling
young and weirdly inexperienced, Stiles pinches the slippery tip and rolls it
on like they showed in that fucking video from the 90s with the uncomfortably
phallic vegetables. He can still feel the heat of Derek’s cock through the
latex, feel the bump of veins and the beat of his pulse. Derek’s fingertips are
pressing into his own thigh and his breath moves his belly slowly. 
“Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” Stiles says, swinging a leg over
Derek’s body. Derek reaches out on the bed, grabs the lube and squirts some
into his hand. While Stiles kneels above him, watching, he spreads it over his
dick and rubs the rest into Stiles’ hole. That’s a little much, makes him have
to drop down onto his hands to hold himself up. 
“Whenever you’re ready,” Derek says gently, tossing the lube away. “And if
you’re not, we don’t have to, it’s okay—”
“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” Stiles tells him. He lowers
himself, not quite sure how he’s gonna make it all happen, really, but Derek
touches his thigh with one hand, reaches between them with the other. When
Stiles sinks down a little more, he can feel the head of Derek’s cock right
against him, a nice sort of pressure, and he lets his weight ease it in. 
It feels good. Obviously, thicker and rounder than Derek’s fingers, but his
body accepts it. There’s no burn, just this warm, pleased feeling like
stretching after a run. The rest of the way is a controlled drop, slowing when
he gets to the untouched point where Derek’s fingers couldn’t reach.
There’s something really satisfying about knowing that he’s doing this at his
own pace, that it’s all up to him. Derek’s fingers are twisted in the sheets,
but he’s not moving, just biting his lip. When Stiles settles all the way, his
full weight on Derek’s lap, he sits there for a moment, just feeling the warmth
of Derek in him, watching him breathe, the thin sheen of sweat on his chest. 
Stiles touches his hands, watches them relax immediately, uncurl for him. “This
was a good idea,” he says, threading their fingers together and moving them up
above Derek’s shoulder, leaning over him. 
It changes the angle in his ass, a little less resistance. It makes it easier
to move. Just a little at first, a minute rocking of his hips, just learning
how it feels to have Derek moving in him. It’s an easy movement. They just kind
of slide together, and he can feel the shape of Derek acutely, but it doesn’t
really feel like an intrusion. It kind of feels like they’re meantto fit
together, and he knows that’s equal parts his boner and his heart talking, but
it does. It really fucking does. 
Their hands slide back against Derek’s sheets as Stiles leans down to kiss him.
The way he’s moving, it’s more just their mouths brushing against each other
than anything else. Derek’s breath is warm against his face, his little whines
and groans getting swallowed up between them. 
“You feel so good. Fuck, Stiles, you feel so good,” Derek pants, and Stiles
moves back into him a little harder to hear the slap of their skin. 
“God, I want you so much, you know that?” He works his hips faster, drunk on
the feeling of Derek’ filling him up and the little sounds coming out of his
mouth.
“You have me, I— Shit— Yeah, you have me,” Derek tells him. “You’ve always had
me.” 
Stiles makes an embarrassing noise at that, resting his forehead against
Derek’s. “You’re so fucking good, I don’t even know, fuck, I don’t know where
I’d be without you. I don’t wanna know.”
“It doesn’t matter, you’re with me now,” Derek says. He moves into Stiles’ body
a little, rolls with him. “Can I touch you? Can I hold you?” 
“Yeah, shit,” Stiles says, sitting back so he can let go of Derek’s hands. He
braces himself on his thighs, rocks his body slow, grinding Derek deeper into
him. Derek’s hands find his hips and they skim up his ribs and around his back
as he sits up, draws Stiles into his arms. 
“I don’t wanna let you go. I never wanna let you go,” Derek says into his neck.
Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, shifts his legs around to wrap
them around Derek’s waist. 
“Yeah, you’re gonna have a real hard time with that one,” Stiles tells him with
a little smile. Derek huffs half a laugh into his skin, pulls Stiles tighter
around him. 
They have to move together like this, can’t rely on just one of them for it,
and something about that makes Stiles’ head spin in a good way. It feels
fucking great, Derek’s cock just barely nudging at his prostate, just enough to
make him dizzy-drunk on sensation, and their bodies sliding together in sweat
that’ll be gross later but feels good now, lets him rub his cock against
Derek’s stomach beautifully. He drags his nails up Derek’s back to hear him
whine, to feel him hold him tighter. 
“Fuck, you can pretend I don’t mean it later, but I think I’m fucking in love
with you,” Stiles says.
Derek pulls back a little to meet his face, a hand wrapped around the back of
his neck. “I hope you mean it, fuck, Imean it.” 
Grinning, Stiles kisses him hard, a little too hard, with too much teeth, but
Derek pours himself messily into his mouth anyway. It’s a fucking beautiful,
too-good thing until Stiles can’t kiss him back anymore, until he’s getting too
close to work his mouth properly, ends up panting against Derek’s lips,
grinding against him. 
“I can’t,” he breaks out, “I’m gonna—”
“Good, I wanna see you,” Derek says, pulling back but ducking right back in to
press little kisses against his face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Stiles.”
He scrabbles at Derek’s shoulders when it hits, moving against Derek like he
wants to fall inside him, like he’s trying to make a space for himself in his
body, and Derek just lets him. Just welcomes him right in, holding him close
when he chokes out half a noise, pressing his face against Stiles’ neck. 
Stiles is left a little dizzy when the rush of it fades, but he strokes up and
down Derek’s back while he pants against him, coming down. Slow, soothing.
Kisses his hair because he can.
After a while, Derek’s head comes up and he kisses Stiles deeply, cupping his
face with both hands. His taste is half familiar already, and Stiles fucking
loves it. Loves how well they know each other, how well they’re going to know
each other, loves how comfortable he feels wrapped around him. 
“Can we stay like this forever?” Stiles asks him. “What if I just refused to
move and we stayed like this permanently? Because that’s sounding like a really
good plan to me.” 
“Mmm, maybe,” Derek says, smiling against Stiles’ cheek. 
Stiles scritches his fingers in his hair. “I’m totally serious, you know. What
if we just never get out of bed?”
“Don’t tempt me.” Derek almost kisses him but doesn’t, rubs their noses
together instead. He wraps his arms around Stiles again, stroking his back.
“You’re so cuddly, I love it,” Stiles says. 
Derek huffs softly. “Shut up.” 
“I would cuddle you all day if I could, you know.”
“I would let you,” Derek says, and Stiles kisses him for it, just the once, and
it feels weird, for a second, that they’re here, now. It feels weird until he
reminds himself of where he is, of what it means that Stiles is in his arms
right now. And then it just feels right, like this is where he belongs. Where
he should be. 
“Holy shit, dude, did we just make love?” he asks after a second, when it all
clicks into place. 
Derek’s still for a second, then shrugs. “Maybe a little bit.” 
“Good,” Stiles tells him, “because I think we should do it again in a little
while.”
Derek opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by a low growl from
Stiles’ stomach.
“Wow, mood killer, much?” Stiles says, not particularly embarrassed. 
“When was the last time you ate?”
Stiles shrugs, thinking about it. “Last night, I guess. Shit. I think I might
be hungry.”
“Well,” Derek says with a snort, “why don’t we get you some food, then?” 
“Do we have to?” Stiles whines, grinning. “But actually, yeah, that’s something
we should do.” 
“Come on. Let’s get up.” Derek taps his hip, smacks a kiss on his nose. “If we
don’t go now, I’ll probably fall asleep on you.” 
“Fine.” With a pointed sigh, Stiles unwraps himself, takes a moment to get up,
off Derek’s lap, his dick slipping out of him easily. 
Derek heads to the bathroom to deal with the condom while Stiles gathers their
clothes up and starts getting dressed. He takes a look at Derek’s jeans, makes
a face at them before tossing them to the other side of the room. Fuck those
jeans. They may be hot as fuck, but Stiles isn’t going to fuck around with
trying to get them off again. 
“You’re gonna need some other pants,” Stiles says when Derek comes back into
the room, getting an eye roll. He’s dressed first with his head start, gets to
watch Derek pull his shirt over his head a little indulgently. “My feelings
towards you and clothes are so complicated. They look so good on, but they look
so good off, too.” 
“Later. You need to eat. Come on.” He hooks his elbow around Stiles’ neck,
pulls him in to kiss the side of his head before leading him out the door. 
 
They end up at In-N-Out, Stiles sprawled in a booth with a couple empty burger
wrappers in front of him. He’s not sure he really consciously remembers eating
them, but he has an impression of ketchup and delicious and his stomach is
full, so that’s something. 
“Is this a date?” he asks, shoving a couple fries in his mouth. “Are we dating?
Is that a thing we’re doing?”
“Is that okay?” 
“I’m into it. If you are. I mean, everyone kind of thinks we are, so that would
be cool. I just didn’t know if you were feeling weird about ‘labelling’ it.” He
uses the scare quotes because he feels like a teenage girl on the CW saying it,
but that’s the easiest way to put it. 
“I’d like that,” Derek says, “but that means you owe me brownies.” 
Stiles grins. “Greedy. Did you seduce me for my brownies?” Derek’s smile has a
little edge to it, like he’s not quite comfortable finding it funny. “Relax, we
can pick you up some Cosmic Brownies on the way home.” 
“Or school,” Derek corrects. “I believe you’re technically supposed to be in
school.”
“God, man, what’s with you and valuing my education? Why can’t you value my
body like a normal person?” 
“Don’t talk like that. You’re better than that.” 
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Don’t make a big thing about it. It was a joke.” 
“Well, it’s not funny,” Derek says, and when Stiles snorts, “I’m serious. I
like you, all of you. Don’t belittle yourself.” 
“It’s not— I just wasn’t sure if we were talking about it. The whole…I meant
it, what I said. And it’s okay if you didn’t, it’s fine. But I do.” 
Derek squeezes Stiles’ ankle where it’s propped on his knee. “I did. I do. And
that’s why I promised your dad I wouldn’t let you skip school for me. You’ve
got enough going on. You don’t need to worry about your grades on top of it.
And you can come over later, you know. You can come over whenever you want.” 
“Fine, whatever. I’ll go to my last two periods or whatever. I’ll be a real
boy.” It’s fine, he can do it, even though he doesn’t want to, and he feels
better, he does, like he’ll be able to look Scott in the eye later. Speaking
of… “They’re going to be able to smell you all over me, aren’t they?” He nudges
the inside of Derek’s knee with his heel, smiles when Derek’s gaze drops. 
“You think you can win by playing dirty, but it’s not going to work,” Derek
says. “Maybe I want them to.”
“Maybe I do too.” 
Derek meets his eyes, dark, holds it until he can’t. “You’re a menace. I can’t
take you anywhere, can I?”
“I know somewhere you can take me.”
Rolling his eyes, Derek’s gaze shifts out the window. He’s smiling and it looks
good on him, fits his face. It gorgeous and then it drops, his postures
stiffens. 
“What’s wrong?”
“We should get out of here,” Derek says, getting up. Stiles looks out the
window, sees nothing spectacular, just a black SUV parking…Wait. 
He grabs Derek’s wrist, not sure if he’s keeping him from going or holding onto
him. 
“That’s him, isn’t it? It’s him.” His suspicion is confirmed when Rafa gets out
of the car, shades on. His nose looks a little weird, and when he gets closer,
Stiles picks out bandages. “We should go,” Stiles agrees. “We’re going to run
into him either way. Might as well get it over with.”
Derek nods, takes care of the trash in the bin right behind them, and when
Stiles reaches for him, he takes his hand. Squeezes. 
“I’m here, you know,” Derek says. 
“I know. It’s okay.” 
When Rafa comes inside, he pushes his glasses up, and shit. Stiles remembers
what Scott said about his face, but there’s a difference between hearing about
it and seeing a pair of black eyes. 
The second he spots Stiles and Derek, Stiles feels it. He squeezes Derek’s
hand, leans into him.
“Let’s go,” he says. They’re fine here, since Rafa can’t do anything, even
though he can tell, Stiles sees that much. Maybe he would’ve preferred for Rafa
to not know, would’ve preferred it for Derek’s sake, but he feels safe standing
next to him. Stiles tugs at Derek’s hand, towards the door, the one opposite
where Rafa came in. 
Rafa stares him down until his eyes move to Derek, and fuck. He’s never seen so
much open hate before. 
But then they’re out of there, and it doesn’t fucking matter anymore. He’s
fine, and he can breathe, and he’s okay. He’s okay. It’s all okay. 
They make it to the car before Stiles lets out the breath he’s holding. It’s
very still for a moment and Derek’s watching him like he’s a glass about to
fall off the counter. Like he wants to catch him before he hits the ground. 
Stiles laughs. 
It falls out of him and he sees Derek stutter over it. It’s not a long laugh,
but it’s enough to settle everything in him.
“Are you okay?” Derek asks gently, touching his arm.
“I’m fine,” Stiles says, grinning. “I just…did you do that? Scott said he
thought you might have and holy shit, dude, you fucked him up.” 
Derek’s face is still for a moment, then the corner of his mouth quirks up.
“I’m not saying I did. But I’m not saying I didn’t, either.”
Stiles pulls him in by his ears, kisses his smug little smile. “Thank God
you’re an asshole. Never change.” 
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Derek tells him, fingers brushing against his chin as
he leans in to kiss him right back. 
End Notes
     u can come find me on tumblr @ majestic-beard
     (btw the gallon challenge, if u r curious, was something v strange
     and kind of hilarious that i heard about from someone i knew.
     basically, the aim is to fill a gallon jug in a single day. with
     jizz. do not ask me why. bc i'm p sure it's just an attempt to make
     masturbation a challenge.)
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