Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1137308.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Shotgunning, Underage_Drinking, Underage_Sex, Underage_Drug_Use, PWP
  Collections:
      Teen_Wolf_Full_Moon_Challenge
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-15 Words: 4694
****** breathe you in ******
by forpony
Summary
     How Stiles and Derek become weed buddies.
Notes
     i can't write porn but that doesn't stop me from trying.
     rushed a bit, to get it posted for the full moon challenge.
     season 3a canon!au. ignores dennifer and a lot of other things.
     this is for fun, guys, huehue.
     no beta.
Stiles is doing absolutely nothing when he receives the text. Or well, he’s
doing homework but in the grand scheme of things, homework really does equate
to nothing when there are Alpha werewolves out there and people getting killed
left and right.
The text seems urgent, only two words ‘come here’, from a number he doesn’t see
often. Immediately he thinks of Scott, Lydia, Melissa, his dad – he thinks of
danger and death and he pretty much throws his chemistry textbook to his left
as he jumps off the bed, pocketing his phone, wallet and keys before leaving
his house.
On the way over to the loft, he texts Scott and Lydia, both of them replying
quickly to his ‘u okay??’ with ‘ye, y?’ and ‘Is this going to be a daily thing,
because I’ll block your nr if you keep bothering me for no reason’
respectively, easing his mind somewhat.
He also calls his dad, has to deal with the awkward explanation that nothing’s
wrong and he just wanted to check up on him, stop with the cop-voice, dad, I’m
not a suspect in a murder case.
So when he pulls up in front of the building Derek lives in, he’s nonplussed.
Why the hell is he here?
To be on the safe side, he goes in anyway, despite fearing that it was Peter
who sent that text and he’ll be either the first victim or his leverage for
whatever fucked up plan he has now. Because no, Stiles doesn’t buy the ‘I’m
back and I’m all about family now’ shtick; the believability of that act was
destroyed when Peter killed Laura for power.
He slides open the heavy door and his trepidation melts away into shock as he
takes in the figure standing a few feet from him, obviously having expected and
probably heard Stiles. He clears his throat, stepping in and turning to slide
the door back. He pauses to take a deep breath, screaming inside his head.
“You coming?” Derek asks, before Stiles hears him moving further away.
He’s not mentally or emotionally equipped to handle a barefoot, shirtless,
loose jean-clad Derek, who’s holding a half-empty bottle of Russian vodka, what
the hell!?
Stiles clears his throat and turns and swallows a ‘What!?’ because now Derek is
lounging on his bed, lighting up what looks like a joint. Stiles moves closer
to be sure and when Derek starts breathing out smoke and the smell hits him, he
muffles a very confused moan because that is most definitely cannabis he’s
smelling.
“What the hell kind of alternate universe did I just step into?”
Derek laughs. Derek laughs.
Stiles is very close to having a heart attack. 
“Do you want some or not?” Still on his back, he holds up both hands high in
the air, arms wavering drunkenly as he offers up the bottle and the joint.
“Of course I do, I’m way too sober for whatever is happening here,” he admits
and accepts the bottle first. Derek’s smiling at him as he takes a sip. Stiles
grimaces but enjoys the burn and drinks some more before he stops because he
can feel it starting to come back up. He hands the bottle back, tries to ignore
Derek’s dirty half-lidded gaze, he’s in the twilight zone, he’s hallucinating,
he’s dead, and swallows convulsively, accepting the joint next.
He breathes in too deep, having expected the usual mellow sting, not the hard-
core burn that makes him feel like he’s combusting in his throat. He coughs and
hacks, tears spilling from his eyes.
“Holy shit, what is that,” he cries out, or well – wheezes.
“There are some herbs mixed in, so I can actually get high,” Derek informs him,
sitting up and therefore coming intimately close to Stiles’ crotch and navel.
His eyes seem stuck there as he takes the joint back and takes a really long
drag.
“Seriously though, what the hell is going on? And I don’t see any herbs in that
bottle but you are most definitely drunk. And where are the others?” he asks as
he takes a few steps back because Derek’s face in close proximity to his dick
is just a situation he doesn’t want to be in unless it actually involves a
blowjob. Ha, as if.
Derek blinks up at him sluggishly, “Cora’s out, Peter’s out, Isaac’s out,
Boyd’s out, it’s powder and I just felt like getting high. Any more questions
or will you shut up and join. in.”
That felt more like an order than a question so Stiles dutifully albeit
awkwardly sits on the spot Derek gestured at, right next to Derek on Derek’s
bed. His brain has shut off completely at this point.
 Derek hands him the bottle with a harsh drunken movement, making Stiles jump.
When he accepts it, Derek moves back on the bed until his back meets the wall.
He gestures for Stiles to do the same.
When they’re both settled in, shoulder-to-shoulder and Derek’s knee resting
very distractingly on Stiles’ thigh, Stiles dares to speak up again.
“So is it some kind of wolfsbane? Should I be afraid of poisoning?”
“Nope.”
“There are other herbs that can affect werewolves? Dude, what is in this?” He
asks, taking another sip of vodka, trying to get a sense of taste from it. But
the harsh sting of alcohol hides anything he could recognise.
“Not telling,” Derek says, grinning. He’s finishing up the joint and Stiles is
disappointed. It was strong and he can feel the effects already but he’s not
properly high yet and was actually looking forward to getting there. Derek
surprises him again by leaning over the bed – oh god, back, ass, waist, those
jeans are riding a little low there, no sign of underwear, jesus – and coming
up with another joint and a lighter.
“Oh my god, how many have you got under there?”
Derek huffs out a laugh, “Enough.”
“Can I get another try?”
Derek side-eyes him as he lights the joint up. “Sure, open your mouth,” he says
when it’s lit.
Stiles blinks, startled.
“What?”
A raised eyebrow is his only reply.
“No, seriously are you- Are we- You mean shotgunning?”
Derek’s slow, wide smile and that dirty half-lidded gaze again make Stiles
squirm.
“You gotta understand, man, that’s like a kink for me, I think- I mean, I’ve
never done it before but the idea of it is a kink for me and I won’t be
responsible for any boners that may make an appearance during this, got it?”
Derek licks his lips, eyebrow quirked and finally nods. So Stiles opens his
mouth and watches intently as Derek breathes in deep before leaning in. Their
lips brush together, his dry and cracked and Derek’s wet and soft. He does his
best to breathe in everything that Derek’s breathing out and when it’s done he
closes his mouth to hum at the pleasant feeling spreading in him. Derek is
still right there though and he leans in further, lips fully pressing against
Stiles’. His eyes widen and he freezes in shock. The kiss, more of a slow peck,
goes nowhere though. Derek leans back and licks his lips again, eyes dark
and completely blown, holy shit-
“Man, was this some kind of a booty call because-“He can’t continue because
Derek’s open mouth is on his again, breathing out sweet smoky bliss and he
accepts it all greedily. After the smoke is gone, neither of them closes their
mouths immediately and Stiles gasps when Derek’s tongue touches his lower lip,
a slow lick before Derek draws back again.
Stiles is breathing like he’s just run a race, staring at Derek in open-mouthed
surprise. The weed is doing its work on him, though, and he slowly starts to
lose all the reasons why this is a bad idea as well as memories of actual Derek
which do not correlate with the person in front of him, meaning Derek’s
probably just drunk, high and horny and Stiles is the only one stupid enough to
actually say ‘yes, please, anything’ rather than ‘you’re not a nice person, so
no thanks’.
Derek leans his head back against the wall, neck a long inviting stretch of
muscle, veins, skin and stubble-
Stiles takes another swig from the bottle before leaning over to place it on
the floor. When he comes back up, Derek’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing
out a strong billow of smoke, the joint half-gone. He waits ‘til Derek’s lungs
seem empty before he lunges in for another kiss. It’s awkward and all mushed
up, almost painful for his nose but then it isn’t as Derek makes a muffled
noise before placing a warm, steady hand on Stiles’ jaw, tilting his head and
sliding their mouths together in a perfect angle.
It’s warm and soft and then it’s wet as Derek slowly licks his way into Stiles’
mouth.
His hands are grabbing at the other’s shoulders, neck, hair. He kisses with a
fervor that comes out of nowhere but doesn’t feel embarrassed because Derek’s
responding in kind, hands moving over his sides, forming fists in his shirt to
pull him in closer. He never thought a mouth could feel so good against his,
that a tongue could make him want to crawl out of his skin, he’s so turned on.
It only lasts a few moments before Derek pulls away, breathing harsh and
uneven. Stiles whimpers, unashamed, trying to dive back in but Derek pushes him
and follows until Stiles is resting his back against the wall again with a
lapful of muscle and stubble.
“We finish this before we go on,” Derek holds up the tiny piece of joint left,
making Stiles frown because who cares about weed right now? But Derek’s already
breathing in and when he finishes he just throws the rest away.
“Dude, that’s a fire-hazard,” he manages to say before Derek shushes him with
his mouth again. He rather likes getting shut up like this, Derek should
definitely continue shutting him up like this.
This time it gets dirty fast, Derek’s tongue sliding firmly into his mouth
along with the smoke. He coughs a little, not that great at multitasking but
quickly loses any discomfort because there are big hands sliding up his shirt,
a hot mouth moving against his and a very nice ass grinding against his rock-
hard erection.
His drugged brain is pretty convinced he’s in heaven right now.
The hot-wet make-out turns into soft yet firm pressings of lips as Derek speaks
in-between kisses.
“If you want to stop, just say so and I’ll stop.”
“Are you kidding me?” Stiles probably sounds way more outraged than appropriate
for the situation. “Stopping is bad, stopping is so bad,” he moans pitifully
against Derek’s mouth, sitting up to remove his plaid button-up before Derek
leans back to drag his T-shirt off as well.
Naked chests and naked arms and hair and muscle and Stiles feels like he’s
suffering from a sensory overload because how can everything feel just so damn
good. It’s such a heady feeling, having someone’s hands on him, grabbing and
squeezing as if they can’t get enough and it’s Derek, Derek, Derek-
He whines, terribly high-pitched, when Derek stops kissing him but then
sighs, moans, when the other’s mouth starts travelling on his skin, pressing
hot wet kisses onto his neck, tongue sliding over his collarbone, lips brushing
against his nipple - holy shit, he thinks and arches up, his erection straining
against the confinement of his jeans - before reaching his stomach. Derek moves
backwards, a little clumsily, to be perfectly aligned face-crotch wise.
Just a few minutes earlier, Stiles laughed at the possibility of getting a
blowjob from Derek Hale.
He thinks he might really die tonight, if not from a heart attack then from the
fact that all of his blood has seemingly flown into his dick, leaving nothing
left for his brain. He feels lightheaded, a bit dizzy, a lot giggly but so
good and so fucking horny he might die if he doesn’t get a hand on
himself soon.
Derek grabs his thighs and pulls him down until he’s splayed out on Derek’s
bed, under Derek, as if an offering to Derek, Jesus H. Christ, he’s doing this
with Derek. Yeah, Stiles is never getting over that fact.
The display of strength is also not exactly helping Stiles in the head-rush
department.
“Fuck, just help me get my pants off already,” he whines, patting at Derek’s
head. He laughs softly, turning to nip at Stiles’ wrist before unbuttoning
Stiles’ jeans and pulling down the zipper, finally.
Stiles groans loudly when the jeans are pulled down along with his underwear.
He then realizes it’s actually chilly in the loft but the cold air feels so
good against his hot skin, he decides he doesn’t mind one bit. If the need
should arise he’ll just convince Derek to let Stiles use him as a human-
blanket. He’s had experience with Scott, he knows they run hot and not just in
the attractive sense.
Derek moves back up, on his knees in between Stiles’ spread legs and he knows
that if he was stone-cold sober, he’d probably be self-conscious as hell, but
he feels so good and mellow and sexy right now. Not to mention, from the way
Derek’s staring at all the nakedness displayed out before him, he agrees. So
they’re on the same page. Stiles is sexy. Wonderful. Now someone should do
something about his dick, because pre-come has been flooding out for a while
now – his underwear is probably going to be very icky afterwards, better to go
commando, just like Derek, learn from the best and all that.
His thoughts are all over the place but they quickly zone in on the present
when Derek leans down to mouth at his inner thighs, because holy hell, that’s
hot.
“Ngnah!” He shouts, thinking belatedly that he planned to shout actual words
not whatever the hell just came out of his mouth but fuck, who cares, Derek’s
stubble is rubbing against his thighs, and then his hipbone and then holy shit-
against his dick; Stiles twitches upwards reflexively, throwing his arm over
his mouth and hiding the sight below from view because he’s about two seconds
away from coming just because Derek breathed on him.
“You okay?” Derek’s voice is so low and rough that for a second Stiles
misinterprets it as his alpha voice- but no, just Derek. Incredibly turned on
Derek. If Stiles wasn’t currently going out of his mind, he’d feel flattered.
“So okay I think I’m gonna burst a blood vessel somewhere, somehow. Jesus
Christ. This is gonna be so short though, soooooo short because I almost just
came already from your stubble- holy fucking shit-“ he cries out because his
dick. Is in Derek’s mouth.
The dirty twirly thing he experienced first in his mouth is now being done to
the very sensitive tip. The suction he felt on his tongue, he now feels all
along his dick because Derek’s head is moving. And he’s going all the way down,
to breathe in, to choke before coming all the way back up again to do things
with his tongue Stiles can’t describe with any other words
besides amazing and wet.
It isn’t a neat or even a rough blowjob like he’s seen in porn; it’s sloppy and
slow, Derek’s drunkenness becoming more and more obvious as he slurps, mouths,
licks and sometimes just presses his nose into the hair above Stiles’ dick,
breathing in his scent. Stiles is brain-dead and very proud at himself for his
self-control. In the end, he lasts for about five minutes, until Derek noses
down to his balls and sucks them in, tongue doing the twirly thing again-
“Ah god, I’m coming, fuck,” he grunts out before his dick starts twitching,
come flying up and onto his stomach in short bursts. Derek quickly wraps his
mouth around the tip, teasing more out with his tongue.
“Holy shit!” Stiles shouts, body twitching and hips jerking in sensory overload
as Derek sucks him dry. Derek just lets him jerk upwards, to thrust his dick
deeper, throat open and loose, welcoming. Stiles moans brokenly. Because he’s
broken. He really is.
“You broke me, Hale,” he mutters weakly, both arms flung over his face. He’s
gasping, probably flushed so red he could cosplay as Red Skull. Derek staggers
upwards and gently sits on Stiles’ stomach, thighs caging him in. Stiles moves
his arms up and under his head so he can stare at those thighs. They are nice
thighs. Would be a lot nicer without the jeans.
“You should take off your jeans,” he mutters weakly.
Derek grins, “Wanna get into my pants that bad, huh?”
Stiles blinks sluggishly, confused. “No, I want you out of them,” he whines,
head thumping against the mattress as his hands go to Derek’s waist, making
swift if a little clumsy work on the button and zipper. He reaches in to grab
the hard dick Derek’s been hiding from him and pulls it out carefully, noting
the size and thickness and whimpering out loud when he finally sees it. He’s
fascinated with the foreskin, already sliding his hand up and down to move it.
The head is fat and purple and glistening with pre-come and Stiles just wants
to taste.
He grabs at the other’s thighs, loving the feeling of muscles flexing against
his hold.
“Dude, come up here and put that thing in my mouth,” he breathes out, needy.
Derek’s moan is surprisingly high-pitched and Stiles’ gaze flies up, amazed at
how wrecked Derek looks. His eyes are focused on Stiles’ mouth, though and he
licks his lower lip as an invitation, liking the way Derek breathes in harshly,
nostrils flaring and eyes burning red.
“Come on,” he needles softly. “Fuck my mouth,” he knows it’s a stupid thing to
say as soon as it’s out because he’s never given a blowjob before, Christ,
before this very night he hadn’t even held another guy’s dick before. His gag
reflex is very much there, and it’sstrong. Getting his mouth fucked is
something he wouldn’t enjoy, no matter how hot it sounds.
Derek seems to get it though, chuckling and staring at him as if Stiles is the
most amusing thing in the world. One of his hands bats Stiles’ hand away and
leads it upwards, gesturing for Stiles to put his other hand up as well. He
crosses them and holds them together at the wrists while his other hand palms
Stiles’ jaw, thumb sliding up to press at his lower lip, forcing his mouth to
open wider. Stiles feels a sudden thrill at being restrained and forced to just
take whatever Derek plans to give him. Strangely, he still trusts Derek. Even
in his inebriated state.
He flicks his tongue against Derek’s thumb, enjoys the guttural moan it causes.
Derek shuffles towards his face, dick hanging low and heavy, the purple tip
taking all of Stiles’ attention again. He draws his hand away from Stiles’ face
to pull back his foreskin and hold his head on level with Stiles’ open mouth.
His breaths hit the tip and he watches, fascinated, as more pre-come trickles
out of the slit.
“Fuck,” Derek mutters, voice raw from having Stiles’ dick in his
throat earlier.
He presses down on Stiles’ wrists, almost painfully so, but it makes Stiles
moan readily. Finally the head touches his lips and he quickly latches on, a
pitiful whimper escaping him as he gets his first taste. He tries to get more
than the head in but Derek doesn’t move, keeps holding him down, keeps staring
with an expression of blown-away-beyond-belief so Stiles moves as much as his
awkward position allows, neck growing sore very quickly.
He tries to re-enact the twirly thing, entirely sure he doesn’t get it right
but it still makes Derek let out a noise that sounds like it was punched out of
him, so he continues doing it. His lips are frantically moving over the head,
occasionally getting caught behind the tip so he has to turn down the suction.
It only takes less than a minute before Derek’s hand is around the base, not to
hold himself back but to stroke, to come.
“Can I- Stiles, can I?”
Even if he wasn’t so hungry for it, he would have said yes because Derek’s
voice, Derek’sface. God, he feels like an amazing, sexy, experienced person aka
the exact opposite of how he usually feels and it’s overwhelming as hell. So he
nods, moaning around his mouthful, making Derek’s hips twitch.
Come spurts into his mouth suddenly, hitting his throat and making him seize
up, choking. He clamps his mouth tight and holds his coughing in, eyes blurring
with tears as he swallows convulsively, trying to fight against his gag reflex.
The taste is strong and a bit unpleasant, but the thought of what it is
and whose it is, is enough to officially make it the best thing he’s ever had
in his mouth.
Derek whimpers pitifully and Stiles feels invincible as the roles have been
switched. Finally, his wrists are released and his mouth is empty, Derek weakly
slumping to his side, a leg still thrown over Stiles’ chest.
He giggles lightly, “Can’t believe we just did that, what the hell,” he says
and then continues giggling, throwing his arms back over his face.
Derek’s laughter is music to his ears, seriously.
“Wasn’t exactly what I had planned, but it was good, yeah?”
He lifts his arms to stare at Derek incredulously, “What exactly did you plan?”
“To get you drunk and get you to trust me so you could convince Scott to join
my pack,” he frowns, smiling, “or something like that.”
“Dude, I should be so mad at that.” Stiles tries to focus, holding a stern face
for a few seconds before guffawing, “Ah I can’t, I’ll be mad later,” he swats
at Derek’s leg. “Get off me, even just your one leg is like heavy, man.”
Derek complies and then snuggles right up against Stiles’ side, making him
squeal.
“Wow, you’re a cuddler. Is this your high thing? This and the constant
smiling?”
“Shut up.”
“Ah, it’s wearing off already? Knew it wouldn’t last.”
“Stiles,” Derek groans into his neck, making Stiles squirm.
“Dude, I rather preferred your earlier method of shutting me up, you know?”
Derek raises his head, a wicked look on his face, “Which one, my mouth or my
dick?”
“Oh, you think you’re so witty, don’t you?”
“I think I’m witty enough.”
“How about I change the subject?”
Derek raises an eyebrow, bringing an arm up so he can lean on his elbow, his
other hand busy brushing against the mess on Stiles’ stomach.
“Go ahead.”
“I thought you didn’t like me,” he manages to not make it sound as pitiful as
it could have, instead going with confusion and shock.
“Ah,” Derek says.
Stiles’ eyes go wide, “That’s not a reply.”
“I like you just fine,” he shrugs.
“Just fine. Be still my heart,” Stiles mutters.
“Am I supposed to woo you now?”
“No. Just, would be nice to know I’m not here because I’m the only one who
knows what you are and is still willing.”
Derek frowns, looking absolutely befuddled, “That’s not why you’re here.”
“Then why?” He prods.
“You’re cute,” Derek grins, wide and gorgeous and evil.
“I have this strange urge to knee you in the balls.”
“Oh, come on,” Derek laughs, holding Stiles down as he starts to get up,
“You are cute, as well as a mouthy little shit, which is why it took me a while
to notice.”
Stiles relaxes, returning the grin, “You like it when I’m mouthy.”
Derek’s eyes glaze over as he stares at Stiles’ mouth which is probably still a
little swollen and puffy. At least it feels sensitive as hell.
“Yeah, I do,” he breathes out before leaning down to make Stiles’ lips even
puffier.
He doesn’t really mind.
===============================================================================
Hours later when the weed and alcohol have pretty much worn off, when they’ve
both gotten off three times and the loft has become colder than ever – it’s
awkward.
Until Stiles says, “So you’re my personal drug dealer now. Like, weed is
something I desperately need more of in my life, especially now that I’m
constantly worrying about people dying and werewolves and all kinds of shit
that is causing major stress on top of school and senior year getting closer
and closer, which means colleges and life decisions and becoming an adult-“
“Fine, Stiles, I’ll give you weed,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. No smiling
anymore, Stiles kind of misses it already. “I won’t give it to you for free,
though,” he adds, crossing his arms. He’s definitely back to being his usual
self. Stiles still kind of digs it. There’s something really wrong with his
brain.
“I don’t have any money,” Stiles shrugs and then is hit with an idea, “but if
you just share your weed like you did tonight, then there will probably be
orgasms in it for you.” He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully.
Derek smiles, it’s a small one but it’s definitely a smile and Stiles does a
little mental fistbump.
“I’ll text you, then,” he says as he walks with Stiles to the door, still
shirtless, still barefoot – Stiles slides the door open and then just stands
there for a moment, taking in the sight of the person he just had sex with. His
brain is still muddled, both from weed and vodka as well as multiple orgasms,
so he can’t process it properly yet. But he’s oddly happy.
“You do that,” he nods, eyes lingering over nipples. He absolutely didn’t play
with those nipples. He didn’t even lick them, how could he not have licked
them. He makes a mental note to lick them thoroughly the next time they do
this.
Jesus, the next time. There’s actually gonna be a next time.
Stiles has a fuckbuddy.
And a weedbuddy.
He really is happy. Alphas and murders be damned.
Or maybe he’s still high. He’ll know for sure tomorrow.
He does an awkward finger-gun, goes to turn away and then, at the last minute,
like a friggin movie hero, Derek swoops in and gathers him up in his big, beefy
arms – at least he licked those – to kiss the shit out of him.
As goodbye kisses go, well… this isn’t really how they go. This is more like
a hello kiss. And Stiles’ dick is definitely getting the message, ready to say
hello again, albeit slowly. Fuck.
He pushes Derek backwards and closes the door again before flinging off his
shirts, toeing off his sneakers and socks and pulling down his jeans. Derek
just watches, eyebrows raised high.
“I ain’t going anywhere ‘til I see what you look like when you come sober,” he
rushes to say before rushing at Derek, yelping when he’s lifted from the floor,
Derek’s hands on the backs of his thighs and his arms quickly wrap themselves
around Derek’s neck to hold on for dear life.
Derek leans in to catch his mouth into a slow kiss that smolders him from head
to toe.
“Alright, when’s your curfew?”
“Oh, I’ve still got hours, buddy. Let’s make them count.” He feels Derek
chuckle against his mouth and feels something in him thaw. This’ll probably
hurt him in the end, he’s in way over his head. But god damn it, he deserves
something that makes him feel this good after everything he’s been through.
Not to mention, he’s a dick, Derek’s a dick – they both have dicks, it’s
perfect. They deserve each other.
===============================================================================
A few days later, Derek happens to be scrolling through Stiles’ contact list in
post-orgasm haze for no real reason and he stops when he gets to Not A Drug
Dealer and recognizes his number.
He’s high enough to laugh instead of glare, so Stiles laughs with him until
they shut each other up with kisses, Stiles’ new favorite method of shushing
someone.
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