Chapter Text
“Oh come on Derek, give me a freaking break dude!” Stiles flops bodily backwards, sagging into the slightly faded cushions that are haphazardly littering Derek’s matching grey arm chair, sighing dramatically as he throws his hands up in exaggerated frustration.
“No. Just. No,” Derek frowns so hard that Stiles genuinely worries for a second that he’s going to potentially strain his eyebrows. Is that a thing? Eyebrow strain? If it is, Derek will probably manage it. “You need to ask Scott to go with you.”
“Are you kidding me right now? Malia would actually castrate him. You know as well as I do that the last Saturday of the month is their date night. Der... come on. Der... Dereeeek,” Stiles decides to play to his strengths and god knows he could have an Olympic medal in being tenacious. “Der bear... Derry, Der Der, pretty please with a cherry...”
“No!” Derek snaps his teeth, cutting him off, shaking his head and he folds his arms across his broad chest.
Stiles tries not to stare at the way it makes Derek’s black henley strain taught over his biceps but alas, Stiles’ gaze wanders; his eyes get caught on a hint of Derek’s dark chest hair, peeking out at his collar and nope! He’s not going there, not this time good Sir. He’s got a new agenda today thanks, he’s not letting himself get sucked into the Derek Hale orbit of sexiness, like he always does.
Some things never change for him, at least not when it comes to Derek Hale.
Except some things kind of do change, because he’s not a childish, lovelorn teenager with a stupid crush anymore.
He’s a grown up, twenty six year old, lovelorn FBI agent with a stupid crush now, thank you very much and mind your damned business.
Stiles frowns and he sits forward in the chair, leaning his elbows on his knees.
“Now you listen here, Derek Mysterio Hale,” Stiles narrows his eyes and he points.
“Obviously not my middle name,” Derek sighs rubbing his forehead, as if Stiles’ presence is physically painful to him. “Plus, I actually fell asleep in that movie. It sucked. And you can stop sending pic collages to Scott comparing me to him, Scott showed me. I look nothing like James Gyllenhaal.”
“James Gyllenhaal? You shut your stubbly face. You’ve done it now you reckless, unappreciative, Marvel hating heathen,” Stiles says standing up and he brushes his hand across the air like he’s mapping out the horizon. Derek’s eyes follow his hand confusedly to where Stiles is pointing into the distance, at a blank brick wall in Derek’s apartment. Stiles puts an arm around Derek’s shoulder. “Let me paint you a picture here... I am single Derek. So hopelessly single. Help a buddy out. You’re single too, or did you forget that little fact? This could actually be fun! You’re going to be thirty next month. That’s so old. Maybe it’s time to get your werewolfy rocks off with someone other than your good friend Lady Palmer for change.”
Stiles wiggles his fingers suggestively, winks ludicrously and he waggles his eyebrows, grinning somewhat maniacally at Derek.
“You’re so much more annoying than you were before. I didn’t think it was possible, but here we are. I’m fine as I am Stiles. I don’t want to get my ‘rocks off’ as you so maturely put it,” Derek shuffles from foot to foot and he actually bares his teeth, shrugging Stiles’ arm off him.
“Ok. Right. That’s enough out of you Sourwolf,” Stiles grips Derek by the collar and he looks him right in the eyes. “I’m going to this thing. With or without you. And if it is going to be without you, I’ll tell my dad, who is also co-incidentally your boss, that you let his much beloved, only child go all alone to a supernatural speed dating night.”
Derek pales and he unfolds his arms.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Derek states flatly.
“Just you watch me buddy,” Stiles crows gleefully, sensing imminent victory and he pokes Derek in the chest.
His finger just crumples against him, because Derek’s made of marble, naturally.
“You’re not even supernatural, why do you want to go to this thing?” Derek protests a little desperately. “Go to a normal speed dating night.”
“Excuse you, it’s for humans in the ‘know’ too. Also, screw you dude. I could totally throw a ring of mountain ash round your little Werewolf ass right here, right now, if you want to see just how supernatural I can be. Try me,” Stiles jabs at him again then he sighs, deflating when Derek just stares at him, totally unimpressed. “Alright. Fine. If you really don’t want to go, I guess I can’t force you. I’ll go without you. Alone. All alone, in the alone zone.”
Derek’s eyes flick down to Stiles’ hand still poking him, eyes flashing red.
Stiles gulps and he nervously pats Derek’s chest, smoothing down his shirt.
“I’m taking my hand off,” Stiles swallows, palm vibrating with Derek’s growling.
Derek grips him lightly by the wrist before he can fully retreat.
“Fine,” Derek’s face closes off, eyes bleeding back to his normal bizarre and captivating mix of grey and hazel. “I’ll come to your stupid thing.”
“Really?” Stiles brightens.
Despite his bravado he’d never actually go to something like that alone, he’s not a complete idiot.
Scott’s out, for Malia related reasons, Lydia’s too busy at MIT lecturing to come home at the moment and Liam still can’t handle his wolfsbane infused booze. Stiles could really do with an evening without any drama for once.
Frankly, Stiles needs a stress free night out like Derek needs some colourful throw cushions in his monochrome apartment. Desperately.
Stiles has only been back in Beacon Hills permanently for less than a month, but his apartment hunt isn’t going all that well and he’s had a long and tiring assed two weeks, filled with flying back and forth to DC for work.
At least his boss is letting him base half of his time in Beacon Hills now. He’d really been missing everyone, working away so much had started to take its toll, so it’s well worth the travel. However, despite him being much happier, his new schedule is definitely not leaving much room for any kind of social life or any opportunity at all in fact to meet someone.
He’s mostly just been hanging out with Scott and Derek, which is fine and good but he needs to decompress.
Derek’s literally the only choice he has to accompany him to the speed dating night, despite the fact that it’s probably going to be actually torturous watching a load of people hit on Lord Broody Handsome Pants himself.
Truth is, he’d rather take anyone but Derek with him.
But Stiles can’t do this dance with Derek anymore. He needs to get himself back out there, back on the horse and all that jazz.
Derek’s never going to make a move on him because he’s just not into him and Stiles needs to face that. Derek’s not an option for him.
Stiles has joked so much with Derek, tested the waters between them, pushed him, flirted with him way more than he likes to admit over the years and he’s just done with it. It’s not going anywhere.
He’s over it. Ready to move on. Derek’s his friend and that’s all he ever will be.
Single and ready to mingle, that’s Stiles.
“Yes. Really. I’ll come if you’re really going to go alone,” Derek huffs, fight gone out of him. “But only because you’re literally a magnet for trouble on your best day and your dad’s really enjoying the fact you’re staying with him right now. Besides, I like being in John’s good books. He buys cookies for us from Meg’s bakery on Fridays when you’re home. We share them at lunch and talk about all the stupid things you do and how annoying you are. I really like working Fridays.”
“I’m going to ignore that cookie thing because you’re doing me a solid. I resent that, I’m not a magnet for trouble! It’s not exactly my fault that Beacon Hills aspires to epic, hell-mouth levels of shit fuckery Derek,” Stiles makes his way to the door of Derek’s apartment and throws him a positively sassy look over his shoulder. “Bit rich coming from you, don’t you think? I seem to remember from the second I met you, your life has been a menagerie of chaos. You were wanted for murder, then you got shot and nearly needed me to cut your arm off... Not to mention you got pretty cosy with a Darach soon after that. Ooo, ooo, plus you got attacked by an Alpha pack and then to top it off, you actually made the FBI’s most wanted list at one point and I had to save your ass by dragging you out of that building in Brazil remember? Good times.”
“You know you’re not allowed to count the fact that I was wanted for murder in the first place, considering that it was your fault. You want to do this? Your best friend got bitten and turned into a Werewolf just from you dragging him on a walk in the woods with you, you were possessed by an actual Nogitsune, then you got abducted by the wild hunt all in the space of three years,” Derek offers with a raised eyebrow, smirk playing on his lips. “And I carried you out of that building... you shot off your own toe. Which you keep conveniently forgetting to mention when telling that story.”
“Eh. Touché. Fine. Just pick me up at eight, it starts at half past. Wear the shirt you wore to Scott’s birthday party last week, the dark green one. You look... well you know what you look like. It’s a good shirt,” Stiles feels his face heat.
He ignores Derek’s raised eyebrows and his almost smile and Stiles internally fist pumps at his victory.
It’s not ideal he’s going to an event to help him get over Derek with Derek, but safety first and all that.
He’s got a good feeling about tonight.
Looks like he may not have to spend the next god knows however long thinking of all the ways Derek Hale isn’t into him after all.
—————
At seven thirty Stiles finds himself standing in his old bedroom at his dad’s house, approximately five hundred of his discarded shirts littering the floor.
He yanks another one off his body and he runs his hands frustratedly through his hair.
“Hey kiddo. What’s with the fashion show?” His dad pokes his his head into his room and Stiles can see he’s dressed for a night shift.
Stiles checks his watch distractedly.
“Dad, thank god, you need to help me,” Stiles flops down and he starfishes on his bed.
“What’s wrong?” The Sheriff steps fully into the room.
“Derek’s picking me up in half hour and I don’t know what to wear,” Stiles rubs his forehead.
He stands up and he rifles through his wardrobe again, as if the closet fairies have snuck in and magically replaced all his shirts since five minutes ago, back when there was nothing he liked in there.
“Ohhh. Derek’s picking you up huh?” His dad smirks knowingly.
“Yeah,” Stiles answers distractedly, head in his closet. “He’s obviously going to show up looking great, because you know, it’s Derek, and I’m going to be there like a scruffy street urchin.”
“If Derek finally got his head out of his ass to ask you out then I don’t know why you’re worried Son, he clearly likes you. He already knows you dress like a scruffy street urchin,” John sits down in Stiles’ desk chair. “He was so happy when he found out you were moving back here, I swear he didn’t even frown for an entire week.”
“Excuse me what?!” Stiles stops rummaging and he turns to face his dad, mouth open.
“I’m just saying Son, I’ve seen the way Derek looks at you. I really don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about,” John continues talking, picking up shirts and folding them nonchalantly and simultaneously blowing Stiles’ mind. Stiles feels his mouth open and close repetitively, struck dumb. His dad looks up. “Sorry, have I got it the wrong way round? Did you finally ask him out?”
“What the hell are you even talking about Dad? Derek’s picking me up because he’s taking me to that speed dating thing I was telling you about? We’re going as two single bros!” Stiles gapes at his father who’s now cocking a sceptical frown at him. “Derek’s not into me?”
“Oh. Ohhh. Right. No. Of course he’s not. Well... my mistake then,” John’s face goes carefully neutral and he stands up and makes haste toward Stiles’ door. “Oh look at the time, I’d better go. I’m going to be late for work. Be careful tonight then. Say hi to Derek for me. Tell him I’ll see him at lunch on Friday and I’ll bring the chicken salads. Love you kiddo.”
“Dad! No! What the hell?” Stiles chases after him, but his dad’s surprisingly sprightly for an old timer and it doesn’t help that he gets his feet tangled in all his discarded shirts and he falls over. “Oh haha, I get it. It’s April fools right? That was last week. Haha. You’re so hilarious Dad, you got me... Dad? I KNOW ABOUT COOKIE FRIDAYS!”
He pushes up to his feet with a groan, but his dad’s long gone.
He fires a quick text off to Derek, a little unnerved.
Tonight’s cancelled, you’re off the hook. I have literally nothing to wear that doesn’t make me look like a nerd or a total virgin.
—————
At seven fifty Derek texts him back.
On my way. Wear the dark maroon shirt you wore to Scott’s wedding, no tie. Roll your sleeves up.
Stiles digs it out from his old suit bag with a triumphant cry and he shrugs it on, cramming himself into his old, black skinny jeans and his black converse. The shirt’s a little snug around the shoulders, he’s been training a little more lately with Derek and Scott, but mostly it still fits.
Derek’s clearly a secret fashion genius. He checks himself out in the mirror and he’s happy to see he looks pretty good, very smart casual.
He damps his hair down a little and he pats his cheeks in the mirror, finishing just when he hears the noise of Derek’s Camaro pulling into the drive.
——————
The car ride is uncharacteristically silent. Well, uncharacteristically silent on his end.
Derek’s about as quiet as he always is, unless Stiles is the one drawing him into conversation.
They haven’t spoken at all since Stiles gave him the address of the bar hosting the speed dating event, two towns over.
“You’re sort of quiet tonight,” Derek mumbles when they stop at a red light, eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Sorry. Just a little nervous I guess,” Stiles says back, knee bouncing erratically.
“Why?” Derek side eyes him and he frowns.
“I don’t know. I guess I just haven’t dated anyone for a while, probably about a year ago now,” Stiles offers.
It’s a half truth, about why he’s so in his own head tonight. He can’t get what his dad said about Derek out of his mind. He must have been messing with him.
He wishes more than anything that Derek was really driving him to a real date, just the two of them, but it’s not going to happen.
In fact, the more he deludes himself, the more he struggles being around Derek as his friend, because he just gets all uptight and too in his head in Derek’s presence, like he’s doing right now.
He tries to relax and he takes a few deep breaths, forcing himself to still his knee.
“You look really good tonight,” Derek offers softly as the light changes.
Stiles can feel himself flush.
“Oh. Thanks. You do too. But you always look good. Hot I mean. Not just hot,” Stiles fights the urge to facepalm. “You have a nice face, is what I mean, objectively. And when you’re not being all grr and grumpy, you kind of have a cool personality too. So. Yeah. Good for you. Good. For. You. Derek.”
He’s interrogated actual serial killers without so much as a flinch, yet with one compliment, Derek Hale can reduce him to a blushing, rambling mess. He needs to get it together.
Derek’s mouth is turning up ever so slightly at the corner, in a small, amused smile though, so Stiles guesses he might be kind of used to him or something. Maybe Derek’s immune to Stiles’ rambling after all these years.
They’re silent for another few miles, but it’s more comfortable now than awkward, until Derek pulls up outside an expensive looking bar.
Derek grabs a spot right outside when someone pulls out of a parking space.
“This place looks sort of fancy,” Stiles peers out of the window, eyes wide, palms flat against the glass, as Derek parks up.
“Where did you even hear about this thing anyway?” Derek takes his keys out of the ignition and he leans over to grab his leather jacket off the backseat.
“Lydia sent me an invite. I think she said that Danny sent it to her or something, one of his exes organised it and they needed a few more people,” Stiles shrugs, stepping out of the car and onto the sidewalk.
“Did it say what type of supernaturals would be here?” Derek asks warily, locking up the car and following Stiles as he pushes open a heavy door, revealing a generous lobby.
“Nope,” Stiles heads up to a tall, skinny guy with a clipboard, standing behind a podium.
The guy asks for ID from both of them and he compares their names to his list.
“Derek Hale. From the Hale pack?” Tall and skinny asks, eyeing Derek’s card. His British accent is heavy, a look of curious admiration on his face.
Derek just grunts an affirmation but Stiles sticks his hand out for the guy to shake as he gives him his driver’s licence.
“Yeah dude and I’m Stiles,” Stiles says. “Also of the Hale pack.”
“Ah yes, you’re Danny’s friend. Well, welcome Stiles. Derek. I’m Simon,” Simon writes them out two name tags and he hands them both to Stiles. Stiles sticks one to his own shirt and he pats Derek’s chest as he sticks his on his for him, ignoring how Derek just easily lets him into his space. Simon takes Derek’s jacket for him and he hangs it up behind him on a series of hooks. “Do you both want me to put anything down for your sexual preferences?”
“I’m open,” Stiles says easily, ignoring the heat of Derek’s gaze on the back of his neck. “Need as much help as I can get.”
“And you Derek?” Simon smiles easily.
“Is there a box for None?” Derek grouches.
“Ignore him,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “He’s just grouchy because he usually likes to be tucked up in bed by nine on the weekend.”
Derek rolls his eyes.
“Is that so? Well hopefully this will be worth your while! Okie dokie then. Well I’ll pop you down as open too then Derek, shall I?” Simon is undeterred.
“Whatever,” Derek sighs.
“So, we’re expecting a few others still,” Simon nods, indicating the closed double doors behind him. “The event starts in five minutes if you want to grab a drink first when you go in there, but then you need to take a seat. Stiles you’re going to be team blue and Derek, you’re team red for the first round. The chairs are all coloured to make it easier for you.”
“Why aren’t we both team blue?” Derek sounds pissy.
“It’s just so everyone gets a turn talking to everyone else. There’s a system,” Simon explains, not at all put out by Derek’s less than sunny demeanour. “You get three minutes with everyone who has a tag of the opposite colour, there’s about ten people assigned to each colour, four colours total.”
“That’s two hours,” Derek starts to look panicked.
“Oh calm down Der, you’re going to pull something,” Stiles nudges him with his elbow.
“Right. So when the bell goes after three minutes, your opposite colour tag moves a seat to the right. Everyone else on the inside just stays seated until we switch it up. We’ll let you know when it’s time to change colour,” Simon grins. “All you have to do is mark down the name of anyone you're interested in on this sheet here and at the end you just hand your sheets in to us. We’ll tally up any matches at the end and give you your sheets back. Then you get some time to mingle with your matches and have some drinks, exchange any details, that sort of thing at the end of the night. The only rule is you can’t ask people what species they are, unless they offer up that information themselves. We’re trying to break down some supernatural stereotypes! Fun way to meet new people huh?”
“I died. I died and I actually went to hell,” Derek says deadpan, staring Simon down.
“You’re hilarious Derek. We got it Simon, thank you,” Stiles jiggles nervously, stilling when Derek puts a steadying hand on his arm.
“Cool. Take these prompt cards in too, they have some “emergency questions” you can ask the other person if you get a little tongue tied,” Simon hands Stiles one card and then he hands an unamused Derek a whole stack of the things, along with the sheets to mark off any potential matches and a couple of pens. “My sister Viv is inside to help with any questions anyone has as we go through the evening, she’ll let you know where to sit when the event starts.”
Stiles nods and he smiles encouragingly at Derek.
“Ready?” Simon grins.
“Nope,” Derek mumbles and Stiles says “Totally!” at the same time.
Simon pushes open the doors and they’re immediately assaulted with the subtle, sultry sounds of Barry White, dimmed lights with a disco ball over head and the noise of approximately forty people crammed into a small function room, all chatting animatedly.
There are seats upon seats lined up along the walls, every duo of chairs separated by a little divider to give an illusion of privacy to each would be couple and every table is decorated copiously with pink heart confetti.
Derek tenses next to him as he takes in the room, nostrils flaring wildly, so Stiles links arms with him and tugs him in close to his side until he feels Derek sag against him.
Simon shuts the doors behind them.
Derek not so subtly sticks his face right behind Stiles’ ear and Stiles knows Derek’s just trying to ground himself with the scent of pack in a room full of strangers, but it still makes him shiver when Derek’s sharp nose tickles his sensitive skin there.
As they make their way to the bar, Stiles notices with grim satisfaction that more than a few heads turn to watch them walk by. Maybe coming in with Derek will give him a few extra cool points or something.
“Everyone’s staring at you,” Stiles leans in close and he whispers right into Derek’s ear as they reach the bar, knowing there are probably a lot of people here with supernatural hearing.
Stiles orders two beers and the bartender offers them a wolfsbane infused version, which they both refuse.
Derek’s staring at him, Hale eyebrow intensity level cranked to a hundred when Stiles hands him the beer. Derek leans over Stiles’ shoulder to hand the barman a note and he waves off the change.
“Thanks dude. Cheers,” Stiles tips his bottle for Derek to clink. “Here’s to us, two single Pringles, ready to mingle.”
“You know they’re not looking at me,” Derek says it slowly, head cocked like Stiles is stupid or something.
“Ha. Who else are they looking at?” Stiles answers, gaze flitting around and he takes a long swig of his cold beer, if only to break eye contact with Derek, who’s being a bit intense right now.
Derek’s distracting on his worst day, let alone when he’s dressed up all nice and when he’s pressed against him in a hot line, hip tucked in tight against Stiles’ side, like he is now.
Stiles is having trouble thinking at all.
The bell goes and a lady who Stiles assumes is Viv indicates where they should all sit.
Stiles tries not to be too disheartened when he and Derek get sent to opposite sides of the room, Stiles seeing him off with an encouraging little salute.
Derek keeps looking back over his shoulder at him as he goes, gripping his beer tightly like it’s personally offended him and Stiles regrets making him come for just a second; then he remembers how many times Derek has dragged him out of bed for midnight research over the years, crawling through his window and taking glee in startling him awake, how Derek still does that some nights now actually and Stiles feels his guilt just drift away. It’s very freeing.
The bell goes again as soon as everyone’s seated and the room bursts into a hub of noisy conversation and laughter.
Stiles finds himself sitting in his little booth across from a blond girl wearing dungarees and thick, jam jar glasses.
She looks horribly underdressed and Stiles immediately likes her.
“Hey! I’m Stiles,” he shakes her hand.
“Lolly,” She grins.
“Cool name,” Stiles says.
“My parents were stoners,” Lolly offers.
“Oh right,” Stiles fights the urge to glance over and see how Derek’s doing.
“I like your converse,” Lolly says.
“Thanks. I like your dungarees,” Stiles smiles kindly.
She seems nice but there’s no spark. They manage to get into an argument about Pokemon though and when the bell goes, Stiles is feeling a bit more confident.
It’s not a match with Lolly, but he can definitely do this. The next two people to move into his booth fare the same, easy to talk to but he doesn’t write down either of their names on his sheet.
Stiles looks down, fiddling with his pen when the bell goes again and he’s startled when Derek sits down opposite him.
“Go sit at that empty seat over there,” Derek looks up and tells the guy whose chair he just rudely stole.
The guy looks down at Derek like he wants to argue but Derek stares him down (stares him up?) until the guy walks off muttering something about rules being there for a reason under his breath.
“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles says incredulously. “Where did you even get those?”
In the nine minutes they’ve been apart, Derek’s managed to acquire two wine glasses and an expensive looking bottle of red.
Derek pours them both a drink.
“This whole set up is awful,” Derek tells him pointedly, holding a glass out.
“No it’s not. You’re not making the best of it,” Stiles frowns but he takes the glass that Derek’s offering him regardless.
What? He’s rather into his red wine lately, he’s not about to cut off his nose to spite his Derek. His face. He means his face.
“A girl, who I think may be a fairy, just said the words ‘Howl are you doing?’ to me. Howl. Are you doing.” Derek huffs. “I didn’t even tell her I was a Werewolf, so that was a very presumptuous pun.”
Stiles snorts into his wine.
“Oh man. Points for trying go to the fairy,” Stiles touches Derek’s wrist, just to help calm him down a little, soothe him a bit and he leaves his hand there when he feels Derek relax. “Also, you’re the most obviously werewolfy Werewolf I’ve ever met dude.”
Derek glances at Stiles’ hand resting on top of his but he doesn’t move away.
“Do you really think you’re going to meet someone like this?” Derek asks him dubiously.
“I don’t know,” Stiles sit back. “Truthfully, the Beacon Hills dating pool is looking pretty slim at the moment.”
“It’s not that slim,” Derek mumbles.
“Oh yeah? Who’d you have in mind for me big guy?” Stiles nudges Derek’s foot with his. “You been holding out on me?”
Derek stares at him.
“Come on then genius. Any suggestions?” Stiles prods, ignoring the way his heart is hammering under Derek’s intense gaze.
The bell goes and they both startle.
“Was that even three minutes? Ok... well thanks for the input Derek, super helpful,” Stiles waves him off.
Viv taps a scowling Derek on his shoulder.
“Derek is it? We’ve had a complaint. Can you please go back to your seat, you’re messing up the system,” Viv asks sweetly but her eyes flash violet, a warning.
Derek reluctantly does as he is told with a scowl, taking his bottle of wine with him.
Derek passes the guy who he forced to switch seats with him on his way back and the guy looks kind of smug.
Stiles has to smother a laugh into his hand when Derek snaps his teeth at the man and the poor dude almost falls over in his haste to pass by unharmed.
“Did you actually come to this thing with your boyfriend? You into sharing or some kinky shit?” Distracted by Derek, Stiles hadn’t noticed the twenty something gym bro in a salmon coloured t-shirt sit down opposite him, a t-shirt so tight that Stiles suspects that the guy may have bought it at baby gap.
“What? Derek? No. Oh god no. We’re just friends. He’s just looking out for me,” Stiles says, off guard.
“That’s okay then. I’m Brad,” Brad says, adding with a ridiculous wink, as if Stiles should be awesomely impressed, “I’m a Werewolf. I don’t like to share my toys.”
“Wow. Ok. Hey Brad. I’m Stiles,” Stiles nods politely, not offering his hand.
He may be human but he’s pack in every way that matters and every instinct tying him to Derek and Scott is screaming at him not to touch a strange wolf. So he doesn’t.
The silence lingers between them.
Brad gets out his question prompt card and for the first time that evening, Stiles feels immensely uncomfortable.
“What’s your ideal date?” Brad reads, finger tracing over the words.
“Oh. Erm... anything that doesn’t involve being covered in the blood of my enemies,” Stiles answers seriously. “Oh! Or something that doesn’t involve me being kidnapped. Or me having to kidnap anyone, although truthfully, that was just the one time, and it doesn’t really count because we were trying to help Liam really and it was Scott’s fault anyway for biting him in the first...”
Brad’s looking at him like he’s insane.
“Bowling and a movie?” Stiles tries weakly.
Brad’s face relaxes.
“Totally, I like bowling,” Brad says, sniffing the air, trying to scent him.
It’s very poor etiquette for an unfamiliar Werewolf.
Brad potentially doesn’t know just how rude or obvious he’s being but Stiles thinks maybe Brad does know and he just doesn’t care.
The silence stretches out awkwardly again between them.
“So....” Stiles starts at the same time Brad says, “This is bull.”
“Excuse me?” Stiles frowns.
“This whole thing, you know,” Brad sits back in his chair with a petulant pout and he waves his arm about. “We’re all here to just get laid really right? Get it on with some like minded freaks. I don’t see why we have to spend ages asking each other about our favourite foods and whatever. It’s a bunch of crap.”
“I think it’s about finding a connection,” Stiles snorts disbelievingly at Brad’s words, chuckling wryly at his luck at getting stuck with this asshole, even if it is only for three minutes.
“Huh. Connecting my dick to someone else’s is what I’m really interested in,” Brad smirks, thinking Stiles is laughing with him, not at him. “You know what I mean?”
“Wow. Ok. So where’s that bell ring when you need it?” Stiles sobers quickly and he looks around for Viv.
“Look, Steve was it? Let’s get out of here. You clearly want me. You smell great. Human though, right? I don’t bite. Unless you want me to. Let’s do this,” Brad licks his lips.
The bell trings.
“Thank god. Would you look at that,” Stiles stands, intending on making his way to the next booth, Viv’s system be damned. “Thanks for the stimulating conversation Brad, try not to choke anyone with your ego, all the best.”
Brad grabs Stiles’ wrist hard, yanking him toward him, pulling him off balance.
Instead of landing in Brad’s lap, Stiles goes with the momentum as naturally as breathing, this ain’t his first Werewolf manhandling, not even close. He socks Brad straight in the nose reflexively.
Brad’s cartilage crunches satisfyingly under his knuckles and Stiles dances out of his grip, shaking his hand out.
Brad lunges over the table for Stiles, enraged and wolfed out in beta shift and Derek’s just suddenly there, when he wasn’t second before, sharp claws around Brad’s throat, stilling him.
The entire room goes suddenly silent, everyone watching them, only the sound of Elton John crooning “can you feel the love tonight?” over the speakers.
Stiles isn’t feeling the love right now, that’s for sure. Stiles places his hand flat against Derek’s trembling back.
Derek’s literally vibrating with rage, Stiles can feel it.
“Brad was just leaving,” Stiles says pointedly, noticing Simon and Viv coming over. “Isn’t that right Brad?”
Brad whines and his meaty fingers scrabble uselessly at Derek’s locked, straight arm. Stiles sees Derek’s bicep muscles flex as he effortlessly squeezes Brad a little harder.
Brad sags after a minute of trying unsuccessfully to escape Derek’s solid grip, face turned an unattractive purple that clashes nicely with his bright t-shirt and his eyes water.
Stiles had correctly suspected Brad was a Beta and now Brad’s correctly realised he has no chance against Derek, an Alpha.
Brad wouldn’t actually have a chance against Stiles either, but Stiles doesn’t like to broadcast that, especially not in company like this.
Better to be underestimated he’s come to learn.
“Where are you from Brad?” Derek growls, voice low.
Derek’s eyes flash red when Brad doesn’t answer straight away.
“Nunez pack,” Brad chokes out finally, aware Derek isn’t asking for his place of birth.
“I know Alpha Maria. She won’t be happy about your behaviour,” Derek assures him, voice so loaded with threat that Stiles’ arm hairs stand up.
Brad nods, eyes wide and panicked now.
“Go,” Derek snarls and he shoves Brad backwards. “See if you can make it home to give your side of the story, before I call her later.”
Brad scrambles for the door, clutching his throat and nodding.
“Ok, well that seems like a good time for a break! Everyone take five, resume on the bell, get some drinks,” Viv claps as she announces cheerily to the room.
“I’m so sorry, I saw what happened,” Simon starts, when everyone starts reluctantly moving. “I’ll just go see if any of the latecomers are here and I’ll make sure Brad’s actually gone. Are you both ok?”
“Hey, all good man. No harm done,” Stiles shrugs and he waves Simon and Viv off.
Derek takes his hand and he runs his thumb over Stiles’ red knuckles.
“It’s not too bad. He had a surprisingly soft face,” Stiles chuckles, leaning into Derek’s touch with a smile.
“What a dick,” Derek mumbles.
“Ah, Werewolves eh, what can you do? I’m like were-nip, clearly,” Stiles chuckles.
Derek leans into him, pressing a stubbled cheek to Stiles’, rubbing back and forth and Derek takes a long, ragged breath at his neck.
It’s an over familiar liberty that Stiles shouldn’t allow Derek to take for his own sake, but if it helps Derek calm down in any way, Stiles won’t refuse him. Even if it makes Stiles wish he was marking him for a different reason.
Derek steps back after a few seconds, eyes a little glazed.
“See,” Stiles feels like his whole body is on fire and his voice cracks, “I’m irresistible.”
Derek swallows and he licks over his bottom lip, Stiles’ eyes involuntarily tracking the movement.
“I don’t see it myself,” Derek says, voice a little rough and his pupils a little wide.
“No?” Stiles shifts from foot to foot and he tilts his head back a little. “Eau du Stiles not doing it for you?”
“Nope. I’m unaffected,” Derek breathes through his mouth, teeth grit together, nostrils flaring.
“Huh. Whatever you say,” Stiles smirks, ducking his head and he doesn’t know why he’s so goddamn warm all of a sudden.
“You want to stay?” Derek asks him and it feels like he’s maybe asking him something else, something else that Stiles desperately wants.
“Do you want to stay?” Stiles cocks his head.
The door reopens as Derek opens his mouth to answer and the bell goes, indicating they’re resuming.
With a jolt, Stiles recognises the newcomer that Simon is leading through the doors.
“No fucking way!” Stiles exclaims staring over Derek’s shoulder.
Derek turns around with a frown.
“Parrish!” Stiles waves him over. “Look Der, it’s Parrish.”
Jordan Parrish beams when he sees them and he jogs over. He pats a stiff Derek on the shoulder and gives Stiles an easy one armed hug.
“Derek. Stiles,” Parrish nods in greeting. “Danny sent me a link to this thing, I didn’t realise you two would be here?”
“Take your seats everybody,” Viv calls. “Derek, back to your assigned section please.”
Derek goes, dragging his feet, face like thunder.
“You may as well jump in this seat with Stiles then Jordan, we’re repeating the last round because everyone was a little distracted,” Simon says with grim smile, indicating a chair to Parrish.
“Dude, I haven’t seen you since I’ve been home, I keep missing you at the station when I call in. What’s new man?” Stiles sits back down excitedly.
He’s always liked Parrish best out of his dad’s deputies. Well, until Derek had become a deputy that is.
“Nothing much,” Parrish smiles easily, then he nods his head subtly to where Derek’s ignoring his new speed date in favour of glaring at them across the room. He lowers his voice. “What’s eating Derek?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just had to deal with a handsy beta before you came in,” Stiles shrugs offering his wine glass to Parrish, who takes it.
“All sorted?” Parrish frowns.
“Yeah, I broke his nose,” Stiles chuckles.
“Ha. Surprised Derek didn’t break his whole face,” Parrish laughs.
“Yeah, he can be so protective over the pack,” Stiles nods in agreement. “It’s not a bad thing though.”
Parrish cocks his head and he looks suddenly amused.
“Yeah, the pack. That’s what really gets under Derek’s skin alright,” Parrish sips the wine. “You met anyone decent here yet then?”
“Nah, not really. A few nice people but you know, they’re not De... Deserving of my attention,” Stiles shrugs off his initial choice of sentence because that way lies madness.
“Ah, I see,” Parrish nods, then he adds with a frown, “I wasn’t going to come when Danny sent me the link, but I thought it was about time I got back out there after Lydia dumped me out of the blue last month.”
“Yeah well, you’ve been going out for six years and she can’t do the long distance thing any more,” Stiles says, defending his friend. “What did you expect her to do?”
“No, she said she wanted space and it wasn’t working for her anymore,” Parrish sits up, confusion etched on his face.
“Yeah, because she sees you like once a month dumbass. She wants more,” Stiles shrugs.
“Are you kidding? She makes out she’s not even bothered when I offer to come see her at MIT,” Parrish frowns.
“Only because she doesn’t want to put more pressure on you. She knows that Dad’s busier than ever and he’s training you up to take over when he retires,” Stiles tells him.
Lydia’s going to fucking kill him but it’s like his mouth has a mind of it’s own. He knows she misses Parrish desperately and she’s too proud to ever admit she needs him.
“She never said...” Parrish looks lost. “I would have... you know... moved for her. If I thought she wanted that. If she’d ever asked. I could get another job. Or we could have visited more. The job’s not as important as her. Nothing is.”
“So call her,” Stiles says with a shrug.
“Easy as that huh?” Parrish drains his drink.
“Why not?” Stiles offers. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out.”
“Maybe you’re right. Yeah. Ok. Thanks. Guess I need to go,” Parrish stands up before the bell goes.
Viv looks like she’s about to have a meltdown when Parrish makes his way toward the exit.
Parrish turns as if he has a thought, walks back over and he bends down to talk into Stiles’ ear.
“I’m going to do you a huge favour because you just did me one,” Parrish whispers.
“Okay?” Stiles says confusedly.
And then Parrish kisses him straight on the mouth.
It’s closed mouth, chaste and quick and Stiles is too shocked to move but Parrish pulls back and with a grin and a wink, he walks out.
The bell goes and Stiles dazedly notices a pretty young girl with bright red hair sit down opposite him.
“Move,” Derek growls from behind her and Stiles looks up at him.
Derek’s eyes are blazing and he is not happy at all. Stiles fights the urge to tilt his neck in the face of his fury, to submit.
Derek sits down when the girl wisely goes scurrying away.
“Viv is going to kick us out in a minute,” Stiles tells him with a sigh.
“Parrish just kissed you,” Derek states the obvious.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Stiles agrees.
“I... I don’t...” Derek’s whole face goes red.
“Christ, don’t pull something. I don’t know why he did it either,” Stiles is quickly getting to a point where he just wants to go home.
No one in this room will ever date him now anyway, he’s just been macked on by a hellhound, Derek’s acting like his Alpha bodyguard and sabotaging all his speed dates and Stiles broke a guy’s nose.
He’s not making a great first impression, he feels.
Derek runs his hands through his hair frustratedly.
Stiles sighs.
“Ok. You know what. You win Der. Lets go home,” Stiles throws his hands up in defeat.
“I don’t want to go home,” Derek grits out, like it pains him.
“Could have fooled me. Look, it’s fine. You didn’t want to come in the first place, you’re not exactly taking this seriously,” Stiles gets up and he throws an apologetic look at Viv before heading for the doors, Derek in tow.
He makes it to the car before Derek catches up to him, after stopping to get his jacket off Simon.
Derek doesn’t unlock the car for him.
Stiles leans his ass back onto it, just to be a dick, but Derek doesn’t complain about that for once.
Derek just stands in front of him, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.
“Take me home,” Stiles sighs.
“No,” Derek growls.
“You’re being a royal pain in the ass,” Stiles huffs.
“You’re being deliberately obtuse,” Derek fires back.
“You’re such an asshole Derek,” Stiles steps into his space.
“Yeah well, takes one to know one,” Derek growls, not backing up any.
“Real mature. God, you’re so annoying. I hate you sometimes,” Stiles frowns but he can almost feel his heart trip with the lie.
Derek’s face softens visibly.
“Yeah, well, I hate you all the time,” Derek fires back, voice soft, zero heat behind it.
“Liar,” Stiles shakes his head.
“You a Werewolf now or something?” Derek asks quietly, eyes on Stiles’ mouth.
“You offering?” Stiles pushes.
Derek’s eyes bleed red.
“Only if you were dying,” Derek says solemnly.
“Wow,” Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Way to lighten the mood.”
“It’s true. You’re... good. Just the way you are,” Derek offers sincerely, face unusually vulnerable.
“Oh. Well. That’s... really nice,” Stiles melts.
Stiles is going to kiss him, consequences be damned. Screw it.
Just as he’s leaning toward Derek, Derek’s phone rings shrill in his pocket.
Derek steps back clearing his throat and he angrily flips open his phone.
Stiles makes a mental note to try him with an iPhone again for Christmas. He doesn’t even know where Derek keeps finding flip phones, seriously.
“Maria,” Derek greets and he unlocks the car for Stiles, shooting Stiles a pained glance.
Stiles gets in and he sits with his cheek pressed against the window until Derek finishes his call and gets into the driver side.
“Take me home?” Stiles says, suddenly exhausted from a night of doing this ridiculous thing they do, this hopeless dance he does with Derek.
“Yeah. Alright,” Derek starts the car, looking defeated.
They don’t speak at all on the ride back.
——————
When they pull up at the Sheriff’s house it’s getting dark and Stiles dejectedly goes to get out of the car, but Derek finally speaks up.
"Please wait," Derek says quietly.
"Oh, it speaks!" Stiles grumps, but he settles back into the passenger seat regardless.
"You know I’m not good at... words," Derek announces, gripping the steering wheel.
"No kidding," Stiles grumbles and Derek rolls his eyes.
"Do you like Parrish? Like, you know... are you attracted to him?" Derek asks.
"What?! God no,” Stiles shakes his head. “I told you, I don’t even know why he kissed me. Lydia’s going to kill him. Or me actually. Probably me.”
Derek nods, satisfied.
Stiles sighs, gets out of the car and he slams the door, about to call it a night.
He feels more tense than before he went out.
“I know why he kissed you,” Derek says, calling after him.
“Oh? Enlighten me then, oh wise one,” Stiles says, coming back to lean on the car window frame, on Derek’s open side.
“He kissed you because he knew it would make me jealous,” Derek looks him straight in the eyes, face tense and guarded.
“Erm. I really don’t think so man. What’s the point in that? You wouldn’t be jealous,” Stiles laughs but it trickles off into a strangled choke when Derek doesn’t say anything. “Would you?!”
Derek rubs a hand nervously over his stubble.
“You were jealous. Oh my god. You were jealous. So what are you saying here Der, you’re into Parrish then?” Stiles frowns unhappily. “Well I’m sorry he kissed me, but you’ll have to take that up with him.”
Derek bangs his head on the steering wheel.
Instead of speaking, Derek leans into his jacket pocket and he takes out a crumpled up scrap of paper.
He passes it to Stiles and Stiles leans up off the car, taking the paper with him.
“Stiles,” Derek growls. “You’re either an actual idiot or you’re trying to let me down gently. I really can’t tell any more.”
He opens the piece of paper that Derek handed him and he realises it’s the sheet from the speed dating event, the one where you write your matches on.
It says “Derek” at the top.
Underneath where it’s lined, and headed “I’d like to match with...” It just says one word underneath, written in Derek’s scratchy handwriting.
Stiles.
Stiles clutches the piece of paper and his mouth goes dry, blood rushing with adrenaline and building excitement.
He is an actual idiot, Derek’s completely right.
“Oh thank god,” Stiles breathes and he leans into the car, grabs Derek by the collar and he presses his lips firmly to Derek’s, before he can chicken out.
Derek lets out this surprised, little grunt but then he’s opening his mouth on a groan, tongue pressing between Stiles’ lips as he tries to pull Stiles through his car window.
Stiles elbowing the car horn and Derek managing to flick on the windscreen wipers with his knee finally breaks them apart long enough for Stiles to realise they should maybe take this inside.
Stiles scrambles upright and Derek’s out of the car and on him in a flash, crashing their lips back together, tongue hot and demanding as he licks back into him, Stiles’ face cradled in his strong, large hands.
Stiles groans loudly, because now that he’s not hanging assways out of a car window, Derek can press him against the car and Derek feels so good against him, so very right and Stiles wants.
Derek sets his teeth against Stiles’ neck and he’s breathing heavily, hands moving to Stiles’ waist, pinning him in place as he bites and marks him.
Stiles becomes distinctly aware that he’s blatantly dry humping a growling Sheriff’s deputy on his dad’s driveway when he sees Mr. Sousa from next door in his peripheral vision, the guy walking very slowly past the bottom of their drive, with his old, black Labrador Beans in tow.
Stiles reluctantly tugs on Derek’s hair to get him to stop mauling him quite so publicly, to try to alert him to the fact that they’ve got company and with an unhappy growl Derek steps back to give him a little space, but it’s honestly not much.
Derek’s dark hair is sticking up wildly where Stiles had been tugging on it and his teeth look a little too sharp to suggest he’s still fully in control. He’s breathing heavy and staring Stiles down like he might just throw him over his shoulder any second and run off with him.
Stiles gulps, clears his throat and smooths down his own shirt, putting his back to Derek.
“Hi Mr. Sousa,” Stiles calls out awkwardly to the neighbour, who’s stopped walking altogether now. Stiles tries to keep his hands in front of where he’s very obviously and inappropriately tenting his jeans. “Hi there Beans. Nice evening for a walk right. Tell Mrs. Sousa that her begonias are coming along lovely!”
Derek offers a half hearted little wave down the drive, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Stiles.
Mr. Sousa gives Stiles a scandalised look and he tuts loudly at them before tugging an unenthusiastic looking Beans away.
“Great. That’s just great. He’s so going to tell my dad on us,” Stiles complains as he walks to the front door, fumbling his house keys out of his pocket. “Knew we should have gone inside.”
Derek presses him up against the door as he tries to get the key in the lock and he’s proud to say it only takes him fifteen tries, which frankly, considering the way Derek is nuzzling the back of his neck and grinding into his ass, is a nothing short of an actual miracle.
Stiles tries to tug Derek down the hallway and straight up the stairs, because he’s got a feeling the next time they get their mouths on each other, neither of them are going to be able to stop.
His dad is working the night shift, but Stiles doesn’t feel like tempting fate by getting caught fucking on his dad’s living room rug or anything.
Derek turns out to be non compliant in his plan, because halfway up the stairs, Derek tackles him.
Stiles ends up with a step digging into his ass, one leg out of his jeans and the other thrown over Derek’s shoulder and his dick in Derek’s mouth in the space of around ten seconds.
He tries to tell Derek how impressed he is, but instead, he just lets out a shameless moan as Derek swallows him down.
Derek blows him like he can’t get him deep enough and it’s so them that Stiles feels like it’s the most familiar thing he’s ever done, but so new at the same time.
Derek sucks on his dick fast, desperate, demanding and intense and when Stiles tries to pull him off to warn him he’s going to come, Derek just glares up at him from under dark lashes, pins him down by the stomach with one arm and opens his throat around the cut tip of Stiles’ cock as he pushes down.
It’s messy, spit leaking out of the corners of Derek’s mouth as holds himself there, mouth stretched, choking himself on Stiles.
Stiles is done when Derek swallows around him, throat fluttering furiously, eyes watering and he’s helpless to do anything but come, shooting straight down Derek’s throat.
Derek swallows everything he’s got, grips the base of his dick and licks off him with a final pop and he grins.
“Fucking hell,” Stiles throws a hand over his eyes. “Fucking. Hell.”
Derek laughs and tugs him up, helping him kick his jeans and shoes off, leaving him in in just his shirt and boxers.
Derek pins him to the inside of his bedroom door with his body as soon as they make it inside but Derek doesn’t kiss him again right away, although he looks like he really wants to.
“Tonight was too much,” Derek strokes his hand down Stiles’ chest. “That’s why I didn’t want to go with you in the first place. I feel... if you don’t feel... you make me fucking crazy Stiles. If this is just about sex, god, I’ll take it anyway but I need to know going in...”
“I have feelings for you. All the feelings,” Stiles says cutting him off, eyes wide, nodding furiously.
“Seeing you trying to get a date, when all I wanted was to have you to myself was so... wait, what did you say?” Derek frowns.
“I. Have. Feelings. For. You. Dumbass,” Stiles grins.
“What kind of feelings?” Derek asks a little suspiciously, guarded, like it costs him something.
“Big ones. Nice ones. Lasting ones. Mostly. Sometimes I do dream about shaving your eyebrows off, but only when you’ve really pissed me off,” Stiles smirks at him.
“You dream about me?” Derek’s face breaks out into a pleased grin and up this close, he’s dazzling.
“That’s what you’re taking from that?” Stiles laughs, stroking his hands down Derek’s arms.
“What do you want me to take from it?” Derek asks.
“I’m saying that I like you. Like, I like you, like you, in case it’s not obvious. I have for ages. And I think you like me, like me too, which is frankly unbelievable but I’m going to go with it,” Stiles says, proud of how steady his voice is. “So we should maybe have more sex, if you want, because I’ve wanted to do this for literally years. Or we can table the sex, making out is good too. I don’t want you to think I’m in it just for the sex. Which I’m feeling pretty confident is going to be awesome, if not a little fast on my end, given your earlier demonstration of skills... I could take you to dinner first? You want to go to dinner? Let me take you to dinner. I’m gonna date your ass off. You deserve everything Der.”
Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck and he makes a happy rumbling sound that makes Stiles laugh.
Derek growls against his jugular when he wriggles and Stiles shivers at the feel of Derek’s teeth against his neck.
Derek presses feather light kisses there.
“I do want to go to dinner,” Derek confirms against his skin, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations, instead beginning to unbutton Stiles’ shirt.
“Oh my go-nnngh,” Stiles chokes out when Derek starts biting a livid mark into his collarbone. “If you want to go to dinner, I’d suggest you quit undressing me.”
Derek lifts his head and he pointedly undoes the last of Stiles’ shirt buttons, pushing it off his shoulders, leaving Stiles’ chest bare.
“I want to go to dinner with you. That sounds nice. But not right now,” Derek says, reaching the waistband of Stiles’ boxers and he hooks a finger into the front of them. “Right now I kind of want to come all over you.”
“Fuck,” Stiles breathes. “Ok yeah. Holy shit. Yeah. Who needs food? Not me. A man can live on sex alone. I think I read that once, somewhere.”
Derek chuckles and he tugs gently on the waistband again, trailing his fingers lightly down through the dark hair under Stiles’ belly button, leading into his boxers.
Stiles feels his stomach contract and he marvels at his own cock. It feels like he could chop wood with how hard it has managed to get again in such a short amount of time, still covered and straining under Derek’s heated gaze. His recovery period hasn’t been this good since he first figured out what his dick was for, but if anyone can get him in a state like this, it’s definitely Derek.
Stiles leans in and he kisses him, gripping the back of his neck and pulling him to him. Stiles gets a hand between them, fingers trailing lightly over the denim covering Derek’s thick, generous feeling dick.
Derek’s growl vibrates through him and Stiles shamelessly rocks forward, pressing them together.
It goes from hot to frantic the second Stiles manages to get Derek’s belt off and his hands down the back of Derek’s jeans, his long fingers digging into Derek’s bare flesh.
Derek manhandles him to the bed, narrowly avoiding tripping over all of Stiles’ discarded clothes from earlier and Derek pushes him down, leaning over him.
Derek’s kisses turn desperate and filthy as he moves up enough to yank Stiles’ boxers down his thighs, exposing him hard and leaking to the air, cut dick glistening with precome.
Derek’s pounces, fist closing tight around Stiles’ dick and he pumps him once, watching Stiles’ cock wrapped in his hand.
“Fuck, you’re hard again already,” Derek stares, licking his lips.
“Well yeah. Have you seen you? What do you expect? Please Der,” Stiles begs shamelessly, for god knows what, but Derek seems to understand.
Derek stands up reluctantly and he quickly strips out of his own shirt. He takes off his jeans, his sharp teeth set in his lower lip, concentrating.
Stiles is mesmerised by his face. Derek looks flushed, cheeks ruddy and his eyes are almost all pupil, ringed with red as he angrily takes off his clothes, like they’ve somehow offended him.
Stiles shimmy’s further up the bed and he drags Derek back down as soon as he’s down to his boxers. Stiles puts his hands on his hips to steady him, Derek’s strong, hairy thighs now straddling him.
Stiles decides he wants to touch, so he runs his hands down Derek’s bare torso, fingers trailing over his nipples, not lingering, but still teasing and he keeps going down until Derek’s stomach is a taut line of clenching muscle, his hips pushed out eagerly towards Stiles.
Stiles can see Derek’s dick tenting his tight, black boxers and Stiles hasn’t even seen it yet, but he’s never wanted anything inside him quite so bad.
“What?” Derek strokes his thumb over Stiles’ lower lip.
“Nothing. Well... everything... you’re so fucking beautiful Der,” Stiles murmurs looking back up to his face, awed.
Derek falls forward on a groan and he places his palms on Stiles’ chest as Stiles trails his fingers around his waist and over his lower back.
Stiles hooks his hands into the back of Derek’s boxers, this time using his thumbs to push them down, exposing Derek’s ass.
Stiles grips each of Derek’s cheeks in his hands and he squeezes, pulling him apart gently, imagining what Derek’s hole looks like and he rocks his hips up with a moan, this time, his dick catching the underside of Derek’s balls.
Derek lets out this choked whimper, a sound that Stiles wants to hear every fucking day for the rest of his life, when Stiles free’s his dick from his boxers and Stiles grips him, fingers barely able to meet around Derek’s thick, uncut shaft.
Stiles doesn’t know what he wants first, trying to sit up, but Derek thankfully seems to have it under control.
Derek quickly kicks off his boxers and stalks back up Stiles’ body.
“I need you to fuck me,” Derek says a little desperately into his mouth, tipping Stiles onto his back, placing his hands either side of Stiles head and pressing him down into the bed.
Derek’s all naked flesh now against him, hot and inescapable.
Stiles gets a hand around both of their cocks and Derek starts thrusting into his fist and it’s all wet, thick pressure as their dicks slide together.
“I need you to fuck me,” Stiles kisses him frantically.
“Yes. God, yes, I want that too,” Derek bites Stiles’ lip and his thrusts become erratic.
Stiles can feel his second orgasm pooling low and hot in his gut as they grind together.
Derek’s dick is steadily pulsing messy beads of precome, making his hand slip over them faster and he really wants Derek to come at least once before he blows his load again, so he takes his hand off them both.
Derek growls in protest.
“Don’t stop!” Derek complains.
“Up, up, up,” Stiles grips Derek’s bare ass again with his hands, encouraging him up Stiles’ torso, until Derek’s thighs are straddling his face.
Derek looks down at him with this ridiculously shy look on his face, but his cheeks are so pink and he smells so fucking good, Stiles wants to ruin him.
“I want to lick you open,” Stiles confesses, stroking his hands over Derek’s hips and running his tongue over the head of Derek’s uncut, leaking cock, twitching tantalisingly in his face. “You’ve no idea how much I want that. To taste you. Let me do that to you.”
Derek swallows and his legs are trembling a little where he’s kneeling in line with Stiles’ face.
“I’ve never... no ones ever...” Derek flushes, but then he looks down at Stiles and whatever he must see on his face, probably earnest want and adoration if his face is mirroring how he feels inside, Derek kneels up and he grips Stiles’ headboard. “Fuck. Ok. Do it.”
“You’re sure?” Stiles wriggles down flat on his back a little more, so that his shoulders are between Derek’s knees and he’s got better access to him.
“Yeah. I’ve thought about you doing that to me,” Derek whispers his confession, watching down on him with eager eyes, his teeth worrying his lower lip.
Stiles grips his ass and pulls him open above him and he groans at the sight of Derek’s tight hole, his hair there as dark as on the rest of him.
“You thought about it like this Der?” Stiles’ voice is so low, so raw, it feels almost foreign to his own ears. He doesn’t remember ever being this turned on in his entire life before.
Derek actually shivers and he nods, but he otherwise holds completely still for him, kneeling, legs spread, while Stiles tilts his face up and he licks over Derek’s hole.
Stiles moans desperately as he starts to suck on Derek’s rim, pressing his tongue up and into the tight muscle, rewarded when he hears the crack of his headboard under Derek’s hands.
Smirking, he eats into Derek faster, pulling him apart with his hands, fingers digging in so he can get as much of his mouth onto him as possible, worshiping him with deep, laving presses of his tongue.
Derek starts growling and pushing his hips down to meet him, so Stiles presses a finger slowly in alongside his tongue, earning him a guttural snarl from above.
Derek keeps rocking demandingly above him until Stiles ends up finger fucking him harder on two spit slicked fingers, tongue pressing between them against his rim.
When Stiles dips his head and sucks Derek’s balls into his mouth, Derek’s all his.
Derek jerks back off him suddenly, leans over Stiles’ face and he grips his own dick hard, not even moving his hand as he comes, body taught. He shoots all over Stiles’ neck, some of his come catching him on the chin.
Derek roughly licks him clean before collapsing to the side of Stiles with a satisfied grunt, laying on his front.
Stiles follows after he recovers from Derek coming on him, the thing which he’s now dubbing the hottest thing that’s happened to him in his life so far, and he rolls onto Derek’s back. He gently rubs his dick along the cleft of Derek’s ass.
“You can still do it,” Derek rumbles and he pulls his knee up so Stiles has better access. “You should fuck me.”
“Jesus. I think you’re giving me too much credit,” Stiles groans at the sight of Derek’s hole, shiny and loose with his spit, trying not to move because he’s on a trigger just from the sight of him.
He fumbles open his bedside drawer and grabs his bottle of lube, coating his fingers quickly. He pushes two straight back into Derek and he just takes them beautifully, arching up underneath him.
Three is more of a stretch and Derek groans into his pillow, arms tucked underneath his head.
Stiles sits back and he watches his fingers disappear into Derek’s hole.
“You’ve got no idea what I want to do to you... What I’d do for you,” Stiles tells him a little brokenly, too honestly, leaning over him, fingers still working deep inside him.
Derek clenches down on his hand and he groans.
Derek rolls over onto his back and Stiles leans down to kiss him slowly, propped up on his hands.
Derek looks like a perfect mess, hair disheveled, pupils blown and his eyes are still tinged red. Stiles can’t help but feel a little proud that he’s done that to him.
Stiles takes his time with him, running his hands over Derek’s thighs and pushing his legs up, encouraging him, until Derek’s strong legs are wrapped around Stiles’ waist.
Stiles still takes it slow, mainly because he’s trying to edge back from orgasm, because he really wants to fuck Derek and he’s not even inside him and he feels like he could come at any second.
Derek sighs under him, letting Stiles set the pace, until he doesn’t.
Derek grips him by the back of the neck, encouraging him to come closer and Stiles’ cock head catches on Derek’s wet, puckered entrance where his legs are spread, impossibly tight and fucking inviting.
Derek nods, sure, and Stiles is helpless but to push forward, Derek’s body opening around his cock head.
He inches inside him slowly, Derek’s eyes on him the whole time and when he’s fully seated, balls against Derek’s ass, Derek tips his neck back and lets out this punched out little groan as he clenches down.
“Fucks sake,” Stiles says eloquently, fingers biting into the underside of Derek’s thighs.
He pulls back out of Derek’s tight heat and he rocks back into him on instinct, hard.
“Yeah. Fucking move Stiles,” Derek challenges and Stiles thought he’d be able to go slow, but the feel of Derek around him is just so insanely good and he wants to make it so amazing for him, but he feels half possessed with the need to give him what he’s asking for.
Stiles pushes up, roughly grips underneath Derek’s knees, hitching Derek’s hips up so he can get deeper and he sets a punishing pace, fucking him hard, the sound of their skin meeting loudly, punctuating Derek’s groans.
His new angle means he notices Derek’s cock is hard again already, slapping against his stomach and fuck if that isn’t doing something for his ego.
Derek’s holding onto the broken headboard now, his muscles taught and inviting, neck thrown back.
Stiles can feel his impending orgasm burning in his stomach, heat building fast and moving low.
With a broken grunt he falls forward, letting go of Derek’s legs and bracing himself on one hand, placed at the side of Derek’s head, his other wrapping around Derek’s cock.
Derek locks his ankles around his waist as Stiles buries his face in Derek’s neck and he bites him hard, not breaking skin, but enough that Derek whimpers and Stiles feels Derek’s dick jerk in his hand.
Derek clenches down hard as he comes and that’s what pulls Stiles over the edge, the feel of Derek’s ass clamping down on him, demanding around him.
Stiles comes apart as he feels his dick pulse and he buries himself inside Derek, surrounded by him, coming deep inside.
“Gnumf,” Stiles punches out, wrecked, collapsing on top of him.
“Yeah,” Derek agrees weakly, mumbling into Stiles’ hair.
Stiles rolls to his side after a moment and he carelessly flings a leg over Derek. He cards his hands through Derek’s hair until Derek cracks open one sleepy eye.
“Mmm?” Derek says.
“I can’t believe we just had sex,” Stiles whispers into the quiet. His room is lit up a bright grey and fading orange, with the last of the dying daylight giving way to the moon and it feels safe, warm and calm there. He never wants to get up. “I can’t believe you like me.”
Derek opens both eyes at that, frowning and he rolls onto his side to face Stiles, propping his head on his arm to look at him properly.
“You’re ridiculous,” Derek looks annoyed.
“Well alright, no need for name calling,” Stiles chuckles.
“Every single person in that room tonight was looking at you when we walked in,” Derek grumps. “You still don’t get it...”
Stiles flushes.
“Even if they were, which they weren’t, cos they were too busy looking at you Sexywolf, what I meant was, I can’t believe we finally got here. I thought it would never happen. I thought you didn’t want me,” Stiles explains, running fingers over Derek’s brow until it softens.
“You’ve no idea about all of the things I want from you,” Derek says seriously and he grabs Stiles’ hand and presses it to his chest.
Stiles gulps. Derek leans in and kisses him softly, their hands trapped beneath them and Stiles tilts his jaw up, sighing happily as Derek pulls him closer.
“You want me to stay?” Derek murmurs against his mouth.
“I thought that much was sort of obvious?” Stiles whines when Derek gently bites at the tendon in his neck.
“Good,” Derek nods pulling back, smile small and genuine.
“Ok. Good,” Stiles smiles back against Derek’s mouth, kissing him again, then he frowns. “Aw no. You didn’t get to fuck me.”
“It’s still early,” Derek’s eyes flash red and Stiles laughs unabashedly as Derek runs his hands up Stiles’ leg, ticking him.
“You’re going to kill me with sex and I’m so cool with that, you don’t even know,” Stiles swats at Derek’s hand when it sneaks around to cup his ass.
“Can you go again?” Derek rumbles, biting Stiles’ lower lip.
“Fucking Werewolf sex stamina. Is that a thing? Fuck, I hope it’s a thing... I’m gonna need a coffee first I think. And possibly a recovery sandwich. Definitely need a shower, I’m super messy thanks to you,” Stiles faux complains, rolling back and out of Derek’s grip.
Derek growls playfully and he makes a grab for him and Stiles tries to extract himself from the bed but he falls off, bare ass landing with a thud on his rug.
Derek looks down at him with a snort.
“You’re such a dork,” Derek smirks.
“Yeah. Well I’m your dork now,” Stiles gets to his feet, stretching and making for the door.
“I’m very much ok with that,” Derek says, his eyes running over Stiles’ body as he gets to his feet, tall, brooding, naked and frankly, fucking glorious. “For as long as you want me.”
“Yeah? That could be a while. If that’s cool with you,” Stiles feels his mouth go dry and his heart hammers in his chest, his body crying out a danger warning as Derek stalks toward him, wolffish and focused. But he knows his reaction to Derek is not from fear.
It hasn’t ever been from fear.
Derek’s solid and sure answering nod, his eyes focused right on Stiles, feels like something more than any spoken promise, something much more final than anything Derek could ever say out loud.
—————