Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/517057.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Voyeurism, Lingerie, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-09-20 Words: 2840
****** i turn my camera on ******
by sunsetpanic
Summary
     Kinkmeme fill:
     Stiles does online porn shows in his bedroom, broadcast on his
     webcam. People pay money to subscribe to his show in order to type
     requests/commands on what they want Stiles to do to himself during
     the live-feed. Derek either A) stumbles across Stiles' webshow and/or
     B) climbs through Stiles' window when he's in the middle of a show.
     Any and all kinks welcome, take it from there!
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Stiles starts doing it almost accidentally; he needs money for car repairs, and
jerking off on camera for some faceless, nameless guy seems like a pretty easy
way to do it. Besides, the money’s good, and it beats tutoring (which is what
he tells his dad he’s doing, when he tells him anything at all). He’s just
doing what comes naturally, right?
He doesn’t expect to enjoy it, though, is the thing. Before long he’s spending
most of his paychecks on toys—clamps, plugs, dildos, whatever he gets the most
requests for. Eventually he even finds himself ordering a pair of panties from
Victoria’s Secret and stalking the tracking number until they arrive so his dad
doesn’t find out and sit him down for another horribly awkward, eye-contact-
avoiding sex talk.
Somewhere along the line he ends up listed as the site’s number one star. It
does wonders for his ego, honestly; before he began doing this, he never heard
anything about his looks from anyone, let alone specifics. It’s a little weird
the first time he sees someone wax rhapsodic about his cocksucking lips, but
hey, Stiles takes his compliments where he can. And if he sometimes (okay,
constantly; he’s seventeen, okay?) thinks about what it would actually be like
to do the things he talks about, there’s no one to judge him.
Mostly he’s just glad that he’s managed to keep this from everyone else; he
loves Scott like a brother, really, but discretion isn’t really one of his best
features. It would come out somehow. In the most embarrassing way possible for
Stiles, probably. There would be mockery. There would be GIF sets (Erica’s way
too good at Photoshop, it’s an issue) and he’d never be able to look anyone in
the eye ever again. Including Derek. Especially Derek, fuck.
He’s ten minutes into an hour-long session with one of his regulars—that’s the
other thing about the webcam porn business, you get regulars, which would be
weird if it wasn’t a chat-based service—when things go horribly, horribly
wrong.
It’s pretty much the worst possible night for anyone to show up, let alone
someone who Stiles has incredibly embarrassing dreams about. This particular
regular (DildoCalrASSian, because of course Stiles gets the nerdy ones, it’s
his lot in life) has a thing for lingerie. Specifically, he has a thing for
Stiles in lingerie. So Stiles is sprawled out on his bed, the silk of the
panties he bought the other week sliding teasingly against his cock, when his
window opens.
And probably because Stiles did something really, really awful in a past life
(and because everyone else in his life uses the front door) it’s Derek Hale.
Who just—stands there, staring at Stiles like he thinks an explanation is going
to show up if he squints hard enough.
“So this is kind of awkward,” Stiles says to the ceiling. It doesn’t answer
him. Derek doesn’t either; Stiles isn’t particularly surprised on either count.
“So, uh, hypothetically, what would it take for you to pretend this never
happened?” He chances a look down at his erection; humiliation definitely isn’t
his thing. “This is so killing my reviews,” he sighs.
Derek finally moves, and it’s not at all in the direction Stiles thought he’d
go (namely far, far away like a sensible person). “You—” He gestures at Stiles,
apparently at a loss for words.
“Seriously, though,” Stiles says. “Money? A kidney? Do werewolves even need
organ donations? I guess you could sell it.” His brain’s on strike, clearly.
“I don’t want your kidney,” Derek somehow manages to sound cranky about it,
which is actually kind of hilarious. Stiles’s laptop pings, and Derek swivels
towards it like he’s on autopilot. “He wants to know why I’m not joining in,”
Derek says slowly. He turns back towards Stiles and oh, good, the Hale stare is
back. Super.
“Of course he does,” Stiles mutters, ignoring the warmth that’s spreading
through him at the idea. “You should probably go,” he says, waving in the
general direction of the window.
Derek’s gaze drags down Stiles’ body, leaving him shivering, and really, this
is just unfair. No one should have to deal with this, let alone Stiles. He has
no idea why Derek hasn’t fled already; probably he’s just staying long enough
to gather blackmail material. But Derek’s already shrugging off his jacket and
moving towards the bed. Towards Stiles.
“Can I?” he asks hesitantly, moving carefully towards the bed. Like there was
ever any chance Stiles would say no.
Stiles musters up a nod in response. “I—yes, god, obviously,” he says, because
even if this isn’t exactly how he imagined it going, he’s definitely on board
with any and all Derek Hale-related sex.
Apparently that satisfies whatever moral question Derek needed answered—he nods
like Stiles just said something earth-shakingly profound and toes off his
shoes, moving closer in. He drags his shirt off in one smooth movement,
settling on the bed behind Stiles. Stiles jumps as a warm arm curves around his
shoulders and Derek’s legs hook around Stiles’ ankles, forcing his legs even
further apart and leaving him sprawled against Derek’s chest.
“Jesus, Derek,” Stiles says shakily. “Way to just jump right in.”
Derek’s laugh vibrates against Stiles’ neck. “You want to put on a good show,
don’t you?” he murmurs in Stiles’ ear. And Stiles means to answer, he really
does, but then Derek slides a hand to the chain that’s linking the clamps on
Stiles’ nipples and tugs, and whatever Stiles had to say gets lost in a moan.
Derek glances at the monitor. “He wants us to talk. Is that normal?” he says,
keeping his voice low.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, once he’s rediscovered speech. “They like that.”
“What do you usually say?” Derek undoes the clamps, then drags his hand down
Stiles’ chest, thumbing a circle around his nipple as he goes. Stiles rears
up—he forgot how sensitive he gets after having the clamps on, and he can feel
every ridge on Derek’s thumb as it drags against the skin.
“Um, how whatever they’re having me do feels.” Stiles shrugs. “Or sometimes
what I’m thinking about when I’m jerking off.” He’s not so sure he wants to go
into details, fantasy-wise.
Derek hums in his ear. “What do you say to them?” he asks, running his nails up
Stiles’ thighs.
Stiles twists a little in Derek's arms. “This is incredibly weird,” he says
conversationally. “Just so you know.”
“Looks like it’s working for you, though,” Derek points out, sliding up to palm
at Stiles’ cock, which is definitely back in the game. Stiles lets out a low
groan and arches up into the touch. He makes a heroic try at a resentful glare,
but the curl of Derek’s lips says that he failed spectacularly. “You look good
in these,” he says, tracing around the edge of the silk.
Stiles almost doesn’t answer—he’s too busy watching Derek’s hands, big and
possessive on the pale spread of Stiles’ thighs. He turns his head, meaning to
say something; ‘thank you,’ maybe? How is he supposed to even answer that? but
Derek’s mouth is on his before he can think too much about it. It’s a bare,
careful smudge of a kiss, almost chaste, and Derek pulls back almost
immediately. It’s Stiles’ first kiss, though, and that’s more than a little
weird, too—one of the many, many weird things in Stiles’ life right now.
“Glad you like ‘em,” Stiles manages finally. He was shooting for cool, maybe a
little flirty—it comes out wavery, almost uncertain. Stiles hasn’t ever been as
good an actor as he is a liar.
Derek pulls back and looks at him narrowly. “You don’t have to,” he says, and
now it’s his turn to look unsure. Or as unsure as Derek ever looks, anyway.
Maybe Derek’s only running on bravado, too. The idea shores up what’s left of
Stiles’ courage.
“No shit,” Stiles says. He twists himself around enough to manage another kiss,
this one hard and deep and as filthy as he can make it. Which isn’t very; he’s
running off some very detailed fantasies and a lot of porn-watching, here.
Derek isn’t exactly helpful at first, either. His mouth is still, open against
Stiles’, and he only moves when Stiles hisses in exasperation and nips at his
slack bottom lip.
Derek finally gets the idea, then, and it gets so, so much better. His
breathing goes ragged and he kisses Stiles like he’s been waiting for it, like
he’s desperate for it.
“Gotta make it a good show,” Stiles reminds him. He grins at the eyeroll Derek
gives him in response; there’s something comforting about the familiar
exasperation in the expression. It evaporates, though, when Stiles has a moment
of inspiration and flips around so he’s straddling Derek’s thighs. He settles
his hands on Derek’s shoulders and grinds down, manages to make the movement
smooth and almost graceful.
“If that’s how you wanna play it,” Derek says, arching an eyebrow. He settles a
deliberate hand on Stiles’ thigh and slides the other up to tease at the lace
hem of the underwear.
“What—” But Stiles doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t want to, because
Derek’s curling long fingers around Stiles’ cock through the silk. “Nngh,”
Stiles finishes, and he’s pretty proud he manages to get that much out.
“Anyone ever fucked this pretty little mouth of yours?” Derek asks, dragging
his thumb along Stiles’ bottom lip.
“No,” Stiles says, letting his eyes fall shut. “But you could, if you wanted,”
he adds, and why the hell is he blushing now? It’s not like he doesn’t say
filthier things every time he turns on his webcam. But this is real. This is
Derek.
“I could?” Derek’s still rubbing his thumb idly across Stiles’ mouth, but his
eyes are intent and dark when he lifts his gaze. “Do you want to? I’ve thought
about it, you know,” he says. “You on your knees for me.”
Stiles swallows hard and lets his eyes drop down to Derek’s spread legs, the
unmistakable bulge of his cock. He’s thought about what it would be like; the
weight of Derek on his tongue, the taste of him. Derek’s hands on Stiles,
urging him on.
He scrambles off the end of the bed, wincing a little at the stretch in his
newly-freed muscles. Derek stares at him for a second until he gets where
Stiles is going with this and scoots down so he’s sitting on its edge, legs
sprawled wide and inviting. Stiles sinks to his knees, twisting around quickly
to face his laptop. “Is this okay?” he asks. He feels a little bad; if
DildoCalrASSian’s been typing anything, Stiles definitely hasn’t been paying
attention. There’s nothing new on the chat window, though, and he sighs with
relief when a YES pops up, followed shortly by ARE U KIDDING ME KEEP GOING.
“Guess we got the go-ahead,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles’ breath catches a little
at the look in his eyes: they’re all pupil right now, intent and questioning.
He gathers his courage, reaches up and unzips Derek’s fly; he’s never done this
before, never even come close, but he’s described it plenty. That’s gotta count
for something, right?
Stiles settles his hands high up on Derek’s thighs and just looks for a second,
drinks in the dull red flush that’s spreading down his chest, the clench of his
hands in the bedclothes. He drags his eyes down to Derek’s cock, straining
against the thin cotton of his briefs, and reaches out to run a cautious finger
up its length.
“Stiles,” Derek says, not quite begging. Stiles wets his lips and pulls out
Derek’s cock, thumbing over the head before leaning forward to mouth
tentatively at it. Derek breathes in sharply and reaches out to curve an
encouraging hand around Stiles’ neck, and that’s more than enough: Stiles wraps
his lips around Derek’s cock and sinks down as far as he can, casting a covert
look up through his eyelashes to make sure he’s not, like, committing any
blowjob cardinal sins here. Not that he has any idea what would constitute a
blowjob sin, really, but Stiles is really sure he doesn’t want to find out.
Apparently he’s doing fine so far—Derek groans, surging up quickly and then
murmuring what Stiles thinks might be an apology.
It’s a little awkward at first; Stiles’ head isn’t angled right, and he has no
idea what to do, really. But he does what he always does—wings it, and the
noise Derek makes when Stiles flutters his tongue against the underside of his
cock makes it so, so worth it.
He pulls back after a while, more to rest his jaw than anything else; Stiles is
pretty sure nobody in porn ever mentions the fact that blowjobs are fucking
exhausting. He’s not complaining or anything, but seriously. Ow.
“Come up here,” Derek says, tugging at Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles would be
worried, but Derek’s still hugely, undeniably hard, so Stiles figures he’s
probably doing okay.
Stiles is about to climb back up onto the bed when Derek (exhibiting more of
his characteristic patience) pulls him up, rolling them around so Stiles is
sprawled on his back with Derek nosing up his neck and moving his hands in
long, careful sweeps down Stiles’ chest.
Derek mouths up Stiles’ jaw, dragging a moan out of him. “Jesus, Stiles,” he
murmurs. “Do you have any idea what you sound like right now?”
Stiles has no idea, and he’s not so sure he cares. “Please,” he groans.
“Just—Derek, c’mon.” He slides up and grabs blindly for the toy and lube he
stashed on the bedside table before the session started. He’s definitely not up
for getting fucked live on webcam—that seems extreme even for tonight—but he
needs something. He lifts his hips up and wriggles out of the (ruined) panties,
making a note to go hunting for them later.
Derek’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He pulls the bottle out of Stiles’
hands and pools the lube in his palm sliding his hand down the delicate skin
behind Stiles’ balls. Stiles gasps at the first press of Derek’s fingers
against his hole; it’s not like this is new, but it’s never been anyone else’s
hand. He wants more, though, and he pushes down, taking in a deep breath when
Derek’s fingers curl inside him in a way Stiles has never quite been able to
manage by himself.
“Ready?” Derek runs a hand up Stiles’ side and leans down to bite up the curve
of Stiles’ jaw. “So fucking gorgeous like this,” he says quietly. Stiles knows
the look on Derek’s face; he’s seen it on Scott when he looks at Allison,
sometimes, and it’s always pulled a sort of uneasy envy out of him. He didn’t
think anyone—much less Derek—would ever look at him like that, like Stiles was
something rare and precious, and a pang goes through him at the thought that
this is getting broadcast. It’s something he wants to think about, something
that deserves a lot of consideration, but later.
For now Stiles just arches up and spreads his legs, opening himself up even
more to Derek’s eyes, his hands, and Derek seems to take that as the answer it
is. He slicks his hand over the toy and slides it in, starts fucking Stiles
with long, sure strokes. Stiles drives back into it, hard and desperate and
shameless, grinding down breathlessly. He’s never needed to come this badly in
his life.
“Like that?” Derek asks lowly. His eyes are fixed on Stiles, pale and intent.
“Wish it was you,” Stiles grinds out. “In me, god, Derek, want you so bad—” He
watches in fascination as Derek’s eyes darken in response.
“It will be,” he promises, pulling the dildo out and setting it aside, and
that’s it, that’s all she wrote, Stiles’ brain is officially offline forever.
Derek’s other hand is wrapping around his cock, huge and warm, and Stiles
drives up into it blindly again and again.
Orgasm whites out his vision, and Stiles comes to with come—his and Derek’s,
apparently—splattering his chest. Derek’s mouth on his comes as a sweet
surprise, lingering and careful.
“So, uh.” Stiles nestles back against Derek’s chest. “Would you maybe be up for
a repeat sometime?” He’s doing an awful job at sounding casual, and he thinks
that’s kind of the point: Stiles wants Derek as a regular. A costar, even, if
he’s getting sentimental. In the distance, he thinks he hears the ping of
DildoCalrASSian logging off.
Derek’s arms tighten around him. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and then, “Wait, was
this an audition?”
“Yes,” Stiles says, straight-faced. “It was all part of my master plan.
Somehow.” He’s tired, and filthy, and he and Derek are seriously going to have
to shower at some point soon, but for now— Stiles decides not to think about
it. It’ll all get done.
End Notes
     Thanks to the lovely halffizzbin for an excellent beta, and to
     scikopathik for cheerleading and nitpicking and to both of them for
     being generally awesome <3
     And the usual note: I post bits and pieces of things on my tumblr
     sometimes, come hang out!
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