Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1120392.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Drug_Use, Shotgunning, Frottage, Hand_Jobs,
      Minor_Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall, Derek_and_Scott_are_Brothers
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-05 Words: 3058
****** breathe me in and let me stay ******
by alakewood
Summary
     It's the first day of summer vacation and Stiles and Scott are
     supposed to have a bro-date to gorge on pizza and marathon all the
     Marvel movies. Then Allison texts Scott and Scott bails and Stiles is
     left to share the pizza they've already ordered with Derek. But
     that's not all they share.
Notes
     This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine. Also, I've never
     experienced a drug-induced high so if any of the drug use here seems
     off, that's why. I've never written a shotgunning fic before but
     Derek and Stiles sometimes just make me want to write things.
See the end of the work for more notes
Half an hour into their game of Call of Duty, ten minutes before the large
meat-lovers pizza Stiles ordered is supposed to be delivered, Scott's cell
chimes with a new text. He abruptly hits the pause button just as Stiles was
about to ambush a trash-talking twelve-year-old that's already taken Stiles out
once. Just a glance at the dopey grin on Scott's face lets Stiles know who the
text is from. It's the first real day of summer break and it's supposed to be
just them and pizza and junk food and a Marvel movie marathon and no Allison
because Allison's supposed to be on a flight to New York before heading off to
summer in France again, but no.
Scott's already standing, dropping his controller onto the couch while he taps
out a text with this thumbs. “Hey, um, Allison missed her flight because of an
accident on the freeway and she's not leaving until tomorrow now, so I, uh, is
it cool if I-” He hooks a thumb towards the door as he turns his stupid puppy-
eyes on Stiles.
“What about the pizza?” Stiles asks not entirely shocked by Scott wanting to
ditch him.
“Ummm...” Scott shoves his phone into one of his front pockets and digs his
battered duct-tape wallet out of his pack pocket, fishing a ten-dollar bill
from it. “Here. I think Derek's upstairs in his room. He probably hasn't eaten
yet.”
Stiles arches an eyebrow at Scott. “You expect me to go initiate conversation
with your brother?” Derek's been home from college for two weeks and he hasn't
said a word to Stiles. He did, however, grunt at him last Sunday. It may have
possibly been in greeting.
Scott's eyes somehow turn even more pitiful. “Just tell him there's pizza.” He
pats down his pockets, checking that he's got his phone and wallet, shoving his
feet into his sneakers, and fixes Stiles with a sheepish smile. “Can I ask a
favor of you?”
Rolling his eyes, Stiles tosses his controller onto the cushion beside him and
waves his had at Scott in a go on gesture.
“Can I borrow your car? I'll bring it back tomorrow and I'll fill up your
tank.”
With a shake of his head because Scott's the worst best friend ever, Stiles
shoves his hand into the pocket of his hoodie and retrieves his keys, holding
them out to Scott. “Fine. But,” he says, pulling the keys just out of Scott's
reach, “instead of a Marvel marathon, we're watching all the Star Wars movies.”
Scott makes a face but snatches the keys from Stiles' hand. “Deal. See you
tomorrow. I owe you!”
Stiles watches Scott leave, listens to his Jeep's engine turn over with a
pleasing rumble and slowly quiets as Scott backs out of the driveway. Not
really in the mood to play CoD by himself, Stiles turns off the Xbox and starts
flipping through channels on the TV, waiting for the pizza and going over how
he's going to approach Derek in his head. He's got it narrowed down to three
scenarios by the time the delivery guy rings the doorbell, only one of which
has him walking away unmaimed.
Steeling himself with a deep breath, stretching his neck side to side, Stiles
slowly makes his way upstairs to the room at the end of the hall to the right
and knocks on the door with false confidence. “Uh, Derek? It's Stiles. Scott
kind of, he bailed but we already ordered pizza, so. Um, there's pizza
downstairs if you're hungry.” He literally face-palms, shaking his head as he
listens for any kind of acknowledgment or response, backing away from Derek's
door when neither seems forthcoming.
Stiles grabs a couple paper plates, some paper towels, and a can of Dr. Pepper
from the kitchen before grabbing himself a couple pieces of pizza and resuming
his channel surfing. He bypasses an episode of American Pickers, a really old
rerun of Mythbusters, some college rowing competition on ESPN2 that momentarily
sidetracks his train of thought when the announcer reads the profile for UCLA
crew's coxswain and seriously – who came up with that title. Coxswain. The
person that sits up at the front of the shell hollering at the oarsmen to
stroke. Of course, his brain's hung up on cock and stroke and he doesn't hear
Derek coming down the stairs until he's right there asking, “The hell are you
watching?”
Stiles shrugs, takes an overly large bite of pizza, mumbling, “I dunno,” and
changing the channel again.
Derek startles the shit out of Stiles by dropping down onto the couch beside
him, leaning forward to pull a couple slices of pizza from the the box while
keeping his half-lidded gaze on the TV. “So Scott ditched you, huh?”
“Allison missed her flight so she's not leaving until tomorrow. He took my
Jeep.” Beside him, Derek scoffs. “What?”
“He took your Jeep or you let him take it?” Derek asks with a quirked brow.
“Well, I gave him the keys,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at Derek. “You
know Scott. He would've whined and begged and not-so-subtly hinted until I gave
in. I just avoided a couple angst-filled hours, a guilt-trip, and a migraine.”
The corner of Derek's mouth turns up in the faintest likeness of a smile. “What
did you guys have planned?”
Stiles shrugs, chews and swallows the bite he'd just taken. “Nothing too
important. Pizza and movies.” It's kind of bizarre, sitting here with Derek,
having a conversation. Stiles is pretty sure this is the most they've said to
each other since before Derek graduated high school. There was a time – a long,
long time ago – that Derek didn't mind Scott, and Stiles by default, trailing
after him like puppies. He used to be cool. Or cooler. Or maybe he just didn't
used to care that Stiles and Scott weren't cool. Whatever it was, something
changed, then Derek went off to college and that was that.
“...next year,” Derek says. Or finishes saying.
“What?” Stiles asks, because he kind of got lost in his head thinking about how
things used to be.
Derek rolls his eyes. “I said, it's kind of hard to believe that you guys are
going to be seniors next year.”
“I can't wait to graduate. Get the hell out of the cesspool that's BHHS.”
“It won't be so bad with Jackson already gone, though, right?” Derek says as he
reaches for his third piece of pizza.
Stiles turns another narrow-eyed stare at him. It makes sense that he'd know
about Jackson being an utter tool and making his and Scott's – but not so much
Scott's anymore since he doesn't ride the bench nearly as constantly as Stiles
does – lives on the lacrosse team hell. “With Jackson graduated and not having
to take any more science classes from Harris, it'll be easier, yeah, but I
guess I'm just ready for something else. Different.”
Derek hums in agreement, scarfing down the last remaining bites of his slice.
“Something different, huh?”
“Uh huh,” Stiles affirms slowly, feeling like Derek has more to say.
Grabbing a napkin from the coffee table, Derek wipes the orange grease from his
fingers and tilts his head back towards the stairs. “Do you know where Scott
keeps his weed?”
Well, that's not where he was expecting Derek to go with something different.
“Um, yeah?”
“Good.” Derek slaps a large hand down on Stiles' knee as he stands. “Show me.”
“As much as Scott is my least favorite best bud right now, I'm not showing you
where he keeps his stash. I'll get you it – well, some of it – but that's all.”
“Mmno,” Derek says with a shake of his head. He drags a fingertip along the DVD
case spines where all the movies are alphabetized – courtesy of Stiles – and
stops at The Avengers, tilting it away from the back of the shelf and
brandishing it at Stiles. “Go get Scott's weed and meet me in my room.”
Stiles watches Derek climb the stairs as his brain tries and fails to figure
out how he got here from there. There being half an hour ago when Derek didn't
speak more than two words to him at any given span of weeks, and here being
something distinctly conversation-like and having him swipe part of Scott's
meager pot-stash and inviting him into his room to, what? get high and watch
The Avengers? Which, okay, if Stiles were one to get high, The Avengers would
probably be interesting to watch while in such a state.
In all honesty, though, Stiles doesn't really care how he came to be here,
because here has Derek Hale inviting Stiles into his room. And that's something
Stiles has been fantasizing about since he hit puberty. Or thereabouts. It was
definitely at an awkward time of his development. Which, okay, Stiles has never
not had an awkward stage of development.
He finds himself starting up the stairs before he's really thought through what
he's doing because, hello, his father's the sheriff and weed's illegal. But so
is underage drinking and he and Scott have been doing that since sophomore
year. Not regularly, but on occasion – i.e., every time Allison broke up with
Scott again or Lydia got back together with Jackson. So Stiles isn't a stranger
to doing things he's not supposed to, but this is a line he never really
planned on crossing. Mostly because he's never really had the opportunity to
and he can only imagine how much trouble he and Scott could get into if they
were both stoned out of their gourds at the same time.
It doesn't take long to find the few small baggies shoved down inside the toe
of one of Scott's lacrosse cleats at the bottom of his equipment bag, then
Stiles is knocking on Derek's door that was left slightly ajar.
“'s open,” Derek says from inside.
Stiles pushes the door open and steps into the dim room, getting pelted in the
face with a slightly damp towel the moment he's fully inside. “Dude, what-”
“Close the door and wedge that in the crack underneath,” Derek interrupts from
where he's lounging on his bed.
Stiles does as he's told before walking over to Derek and holding out the
baggie that contains two joints. “Here.”
“Sit,” Derek says. Then, “Was this it?”
“No,” Stiles tells him, gingerly settling himself on the edge of the mattress
because this is Derek Hale's bed. “But that's all you're getting.”
The only word to describe the grin Derek flashes at Stiles then is wolfish.
“We'll see,” he says. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Stiles complies, scooting back until he's leaning against the headboard beside
Derek, the TV on top of the dresser across from the bed already on the main
menu screen. He's wound so tight that when the slight breeze outside rustles
the leaves of the tree near Derek's windows above their heads he startles,
making the whole bed jolt. He feels his whole face go red as he watches Derek
light one of the joints and take a slow, deep breath.
Derek exhales the pungent smoke towards the windows and hold the weed out to
Stiles. “Here. You could totally use it.”
Stiles waves his hands at Derek. “No, it's- I'm good. I'm not-- I haven't, so.”
Derek hums, a considering sound, and turns more towards Stiles. “Come here.”
“I am right here.”
“Closer.”
Stiles shuffles closer, close enough his and Derek's knees are touching.
“Open your mouth.”
“What?”
“Open. Your. Mouth.”
“Why?”
“Just do it, Stiles,” Derek growls.
That sends a thrill down Stiles' spine, but it doesn't stop him from feeling a
little – a lot, rather – self-conscious with his pizza breath as he opens his
mouth as instructed.
“More,” Derek demands.
Stiles lets out a quiet growl of his own as he opens his mouth wider, glaring
at Derek with an expression he hopes asks sarcastically, are you happy?
“You're gonna wanna breathe in when I exhale into your mouth,” Derek tells him.
And wait, what? What's happening? But Derek's taking another drag, eyes closed
at the paper at the tip burns red, then his ridiculously green eyes open,
locking right on Stiles' as he leans in, mouth opening over Stiles', then he's
breathing out and Stiles is breathing in. The smoke burns his lungs and he's
not sure if that's what's making him feel light-headed or if it's the graze of
Derek's lip catching his as he pulls away. Stiles holds his breath a couple
moments longer, exhales towards the window just like Derek did, coughing a few
times like Derek didn't.
Derek's eyes seem darker as he leans in. “Again?”
Stiles' heartbeat stutters over itself in his chest and he nods, opening his
mouth wide without any prompting.
This time, when Derek breathes out into Stiles, he lingers close, hand not
holding the joint gently curling around the side of Stiles' neck, fingertips
scratching across the shorter hairs at his nape while Derek's thumb traces the
hinge of his jaw.
Stiles' breath hitches at the touch, catches in his throat when Derek's tongue
grazes his bottom lip purposefully. He only coughs once when he exhales.
“C'mere,” Derek says, voice low and rough before putting the joint in his mouth
so he has both hands free to reach for Stiles, grabbing at his hips and
manhandling him with a surprising show of strength until he's straddling
Derek's lap.
Stiles would feel a hundred times more embarrassed if Derek wasn't sporting a
similar erection. He opens his mouth as Derek takes a final pull from the
nearly burned-out joint, watches him stub out the smoldering tip in the ashtray
on his nightstand, breathes in as Derek breathes out, lets his head swim with
the way he feels.
Derek's hands sweep up Stiles' side, rucking up his t-shirt before sliding back
down to grasp his hips, pulling Stiles down as he rocks up, and-
Stiles gasps in a short breath he barely has enough room in his aching lungs
for, exhaling as he lifts his own hands to bury his fingers in Derek's hair. He
trails the tip of his nose up the bridge of Derek's and back down as he lets
Derek manipulate his hips however he wants.
Derek moans, breathless and broken, tilting his chin up to catch Stiles' mouth
in a hard, bruising kiss. He bites at Stiles' bottom lip, catches it between
his teeth and tugs before letting it go just to draw it back into his mouth,
sweeping his tongue over the hurt.
Stiles isn't a stranger to kissing, but he's never been kissed like this, he's
never been touched like this. He's never felt like this and he's ninety-seven
percent sure it's not all because of Scott's cheap pot. He kisses Derek back,
turns his dirty tricks back on him and gets the best little noises to fall,
muffled, from Derek's mouth.
Derek licks at Stiles' teeth, sucks on his tongue, digs the tips of his fingers
into the muscles of Stiles' ass as he grinds them together before finally
flipping them over, stretching himself out along Stiles' side, never letting
their mouths part for long as he successfully unbuttons and unzips Stiles' fly
one-handed and dips said hand beneath the elastic band of Stiles' underwear.
Derek's palm slides over the slick head of Stiles' dick and he squeezes gently,
gives a little tug, and enough precome blurts from his slit to give Derek's
hand this perfect friction as he starts jacking Stiles off. It doesn't take
long – it's almost embarrassingly fast – before Stiles is rolling his hips up
to meet Derek's fist, the sweet drag of skin on skin just a little painful,
then he's coming all over Derek's hand and his own belly, panting hard into
Derek's mouth.
With this vaguely wounded sound, Derek brings his hand up to his mouth, licks
across the back of his knuckles, then shoves his hand back down between them to
get his own jeans undone. Stiles is just aware enough to be able to help, curls
his hand around Derek's as Derek starts to stroke himself, using Stile's come
for lube. “Jesus Christ,” Stiles breathes, nosing at Derek's stubbled jaw then
kissing him again. “Derek. Derek, shit.”
Derek throws his head back against the pillow, biting at his lip and breathing
harshly through his nose as he spills over his and Stiles' hands where they're
tangled together around his cock.
Stiles holds Derek's hand loosely, keeps stroking him through the aftershocks,
finally lets go when Derek makes a small noise of discomfort. He watches
Derek's face, waits until they're making eye contact again before lifting his
hand to taste Derek's come on his fingers. Derek groans at the sight, rolls
over on top of Stiles to chase his own flavor from Stiles' tongue.
They trade lazy kisses for awhile before settling, Stiles curled against
Derek's side, head resting in the curve of his shoulder. “So,” he says after a
few minutes or cuddling. “That just kind of came out of nowhere.”
“Not really,” Derek disagrees, trailing his fingertips along Stiles' elbow.
“I've been wanting to do that for a while. Couldn't wait anymore.”
Stiles tilts his head back to look Derek in the eye. “Does that mean that this
wasn't a random, one-time thing?”
Derek shrugs his shoulder, jostling Stiles' head. “Do you want it to be more
than a random, one-time thing?”
Stiles pushes up onto his elbow, tightens his hold on Derek with the arm he's
got thrown over his waist. “Uh, yeah I want. Like, for a really, really,
embarrassingly long time.”
Stiles' confession seems to make Derek relax even more. “Good. That's-- that's
good.”
“Good,” Stiles repeats with a smirk. “But first, I think we should finish the
rest of that pizza. Then, maybe, we could share that other joint.”
Derek grins and tugs Stiles higher up his body, kisses him slow. “Sounds good
to me.”
“Good,” he repeats again, fighting a laugh and hiding his smile against Derek's
mouth. “Great, even. Awesome. Wonderful. Stupendous.”
Derek shuts him up with a kiss. And another. Then another. And, well, it's a
while before they make it back downstairs to finish the pizza, but it's still
pretty good eaten cold in a warm bed.
End Notes
     I've got a tumblr, but I have no idea what I'm doing - I just like
     and occasionally reblog pretty, Teen Wolf-y things.
     Title taken from "Breathe Me In" by Jared & the Mill.
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