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The worst thing about being an eighteen-year-old virgin and loser is, well – being an eighteen-year-old virgin and loser.
The second worst thing is Saturday nights.
“Scott, please don’t do this to me,” Stiles whines down the phone. “You promised you wouldn’t cancel on our plans tonight. We pinky-swore and everything!”
“Shit, I know, dude. I really am sorry.” Scott does, at least, sound very contrite. Stiles still kind of wants to clock him in his stupid, crooked jaw. “It’s just – Allison’s dad invited me for dinner tonight. Like, he specifically told Allison to tell me I could join them. Do you get how huge of a deal that is?”
Stiles rolls his eyes. Chris Argent’s long-held hatred for Scott over dating his only daughter isn’t anything like news to Stiles. The fact that he’s beginning to thaw just a few months shy of their high school graduation has been all Scott has talked about for the last couple of weeks, too.
“You’re the worst,” Stiles mutters anyway.
“I know I am,” Scott agrees easily. “But I’ll make it up to you. Next month, the Dodgers game – my treat.”
That’s a pretty good apology, in all honesty. Stiles still lets himself grumble a little more. There’s no harm in seeing just how much he can get out of Scott for being ditched.
“I want a foam finger,” Stiles demands. “And all the hot dogs I can eat.”
“I’ll get you more hot dogs than you can eat, buddy. Have you throwing up the whole way home.”
Stiles grins. “I’ll be sure to aim for your shirt.”
Scott laughs. “As long as it’s not my hair again.”
“That was one time,” Stiles points out, rolling his eyes. “Fine, go, leave me to waste away in my loneliness. Try not to dry-hump Allison so hard you fall off the bed and get caught by her father again.”
“That was one time!”
A fond smile sits on Stiles’ face as he hangs up, but it lasts only as long as the silence around him really starts to kick in. The house is empty, his dad picking up an overnight shift to help cover Deputy Weaver’s maternity leave, and before Scott bailed, he’d been looking forward to a night of junk food, video games, and friendly trash talk. Now, though, he sits cross-legged on his bed, with no plans and few prospects.
He could call Lydia, maybe, see what she’s up to. Ever since he got over his ridiculously obsessive crush on her back in sophomore year, they’ve become sort-of friends. They hang out sometimes, and she even acknowledges him in the school hallways now. But she probably has plans with Jackson tonight, and – ugh. There is no way in hell that Stiles is subjecting himself to an asshole like Jackson on his precious weekend.
Other options could be Heather, or Danny, or Isaac, though he’s not as close with the guy as Scott is. But if Stiles is being honest with himself – they probably all have plans. They probably all have dates. Sometimes he can’t help but feel like the last single guy in all of Beacon Hills High. It kind of really fucking sucks.
His phone lies just beside his socked foot, tauntingly devoid of any notifications. He finds himself scowling down at it as he chews on his lower lip and wonders if perhaps tonight is the night where he can set his new personal best for number of jerk offs in a single evening, with all the free time he now has stretching in front of him.
A half-baked thought on whether it’s worth donning a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses to drive the fifteen minutes to the pharmacy for a new bottle of lube runs through his head. It’s interrupted when his phone does something unexpected – it flashes with a text.
He blinks down at it for a long, dazed moment. It’s not from Scott, or his dad, or anyone else he could maybe expect to reach out to him. It’s from a number he doesn’t recognise, a number he doesn’t have saved. Without thinking too much about it, he thumbs his phone and swipes to open it up.
“Oh,” he says out loud in his empty room.
It’s… a dick. A photograph of a real, human dick. And it’s a nice dick, truth be told, lit up right there on his unassuming phone. Stiles’ tongue swipes out to run unconsciously over his lips and he keeps on staring at the dick taking up his screen.
It’s hard, obviously. Long and thick and clearly uncut. Dark hair curls at its base, and large fingers are wrapped around it, holding onto it with a loose grip. Strong, muscular thighs are just within range of the camera lens, cutting off about halfway down, the waistband of a pair of black briefs just about visible.
Stiles hasn’t yet had the chance to become intimately acquainted with any real dicks – other than his own, of course – but he has put in the hours of study to become familiar with them through the means of porn. And he feels that he can say, with all sincerity and wisdom, that this – this is a really, really great dick.
Now how the fuck has it ended up on his phone?
He should delete it, he thinks. Whoever this dick was supposed to go to, it definitely wasn’t him, so he shouldn’t be looking at it. He does keep looking at it, though. He’s finding it pretty hard – ha – to stop.
Palming the half-chub building in his sweatpants, he swallows thickly and starts typing out a message.
Who is this?
That feels like a fair response to an accidentally unsolicited dick pic, right? A man has a right to know whose erection is staring him in the eye through a phone screen, after all.
It feels like an agonisingly long wait for the reply to come through.
Derek. From Grindr.
Stiles’ stomach swoops. Okay. So this… dick… was looking for a male recipient, at least. Score one for Stiles feeling ever so slightly less like a creeper.
Hi, Derek from Grindr, Stiles types out. I think you have the wrong number
Another minute or two passes without a return message. Stiles taps a restless rhythm against his leg with his index finger, the text conversation open on his phone the whole time, scrolled far enough down that he can’t see the photo anymore.
Eventually, a response comes through.
This isn’t Craig?
Nope, Stiles sends back. This is Stiles
Fuck, is received quickly. I’m so sorry. Please just… delete that.
Stiles does so, immediately. Even goes so far as to remove it from his recently deleted straight after.
Like it never happened, dude
The skin of Stiles’ bottom lip feels bitten raw, so he releases it from between his teeth and gets to gnawing on a hangnail on his thumb instead. The owner of the nice dick doesn’t send anything back to Stiles’ last text, and Stiles lets it hang a few more minutes before relenting and tapping out another message.
So… Grindr. You’re gay?
Bi, comes the reply. Do you have a problem with that?
Oh, right, yeah. Homophobes. They’re a thing. Asking a complete stranger their sexuality could quite easily be… misconstrued. Stiles hurriedly sets the record, uh – straight.
Not at all! he sends. Me too. I’m also bi.
He draws in a deep, steadying breath. He sends his next text quickly before he can lose the courage.
You have a really nice dick btw
The clock ticking on the wall out in the hallway feels deafeningly loud, all of a sudden. Seconds turn into minutes turn into panic coiling churningly in his stomach, and all he can do is stare down at his phone and wonder if rejection will sting quite as much when he doesn’t even know what the guy’s face looks like.
He’s worked himself up into an anxious frenzy, mind running through every worst-case scenario, from the messages somehow finding their way to being taped to every locker in school come Monday, right up to his dad busting down the door to arrest him for perversion. After what feels like forever, the phone lights up again with another message.
Stiles blinks down at it. It’s… an address. On the other side of town, but still not too far of a drive away.
“Well,” he announces to himself. “You snooze you lose, Craig.”
*****
An hour later, following a thorough shower and a riling pep talk in the mirror, Stiles finds himself standing in the hallway of an impressive, industrial-looking building. It’s all high ceilings and metal walls, cold and slightly unwelcoming, and Stiles palms are a little sweaty as he flexes his fingers by his sides, mustering up the bravery to knock.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, opening the conversation between him and Scott. He’d sent him a text just before he climbed into his Jeep back at home, letting Scott know what he was doing and the address he was going to. He knows going to a stranger’s house is a risky idea, so he’s at least trying to do it as safely as possible.
Scott doesn’t seem to agree all that much, going by his response.
Dude wtf you’re going to get murdered????
Stiles lets out a faint huff of laughter. He’s not going to get murdered. Probably.
He tucks his phone back into his pocket. Fits it in there snuggly, right beside the travel-size can of pepper spray he’d made sure to grab from the drawer of his nightstand before he left, just in case.
Say what you want about Stiles’ usual recklessness – but the Sheriff didn’t raise no fool.
Taking an unsteady inhale, he raises his closed fist, shakes his head jerkily to steel himself, and knocks on the door three times.
It takes a few, stretching seconds before the sound of a lock turning hits Stiles’ ears, then a few moments more before the sliding door begins to crack open. Stiles blinks as he takes in the person standing on the other side, and he must have done something really, really right in a previous incarnation, because when the door pulls fully open, it reveals the single hottest person he has ever seen in his goddamn life.
Dark, soft-looking hair. Strong, sloping nose. Sharp, chiselled jawline. Well-kept stubble covering the contours of his face, light eyes staring at Stiles beneath raised, expressive eyebrows. Red mouth held straight and firmly closed.
And that’s not even getting to this guy’s body, which is – unfairly impressive. Broad shoulders and huge biceps and a muscular chest, all visible through the loose cotton of his grey t-shirt. Most definitely a spectacular set of abs hidden beneath the fabric, those muscular thighs that Stiles had gotten a peek of in the photograph just slightly on show where his basketball shorts cut off.
A fine dick to go with a fine man, Stiles thinks.
“Holy shit,” he can’t help but say.
Eyes travel down and up Stiles’ body, pausing around his torso, lingering around his mouth. He kind of wants to give the guy a spin, show off his ass in these carefully chosen jeans, but he holds himself back and just waits quietly for those gorgeous eyes to reach his face again.
“Stiles?”
“Derek.” Stiles grins when the guy nods. “You gonna invite me in?”
After a few slow blinks, Derek takes a sweeping step to the side, giving Stiles the space to amble over the threshold. He lets himself peer curiously around the apartment as he walks in; it’s a loft, with a giant floor-to-ceiling window on the far wall and little in way of decoration other than that.
There’s a squishy looking couch over on the right, a patchwork blanket thrown over the back of it. Before it sits a solid, wooden coffee table, various propped open books strewn atop it. A huge flat-screen TV hangs on the wall, and a glance to the left tells Stiles there’s a small kitchen area just beyond an archway.
Tucked away in the back corner is a bed; large and messy with dark sheets. Stiles swallows thickly before dragging his eyes back to Derek, who is observing him with his head tilted slightly to the side.
“Nice place,” Stiles breaks the silence.
“Is Stiles your real name?” Derek asks.
It’s a total non sequitur and it’s also the first time Stiles has really paid attention to Derek’s voice. It’s nice; soft and sort of lilting, not as gruff as you might expect just from looking at him. Stiles lets himself take a moment to imagine that voice choking out his name as Derek fucks him, before clearing his throat to respond.
“A nickname,” he says. “Would it matter either way?”
Derek just shrugs, turning his back to Stiles and making his way across the apartment and through the archway carved into the wall. Stiles follows behind because it feels like the right thing to do, pausing with his hip leaning up against the island in the centre of the room. Derek pulls the fridge open and glances at Stiles over his shoulder.
“Beer?” he offers.
Stiles has only been eighteen for a couple of months at this point, so part of him still kind of feels like even being in this guy’s apartment, gearing up to have hot, vaguely anonymous sex, is all sorts of illegal – even though it isn’t. If he accepted the alcohol, though, he would end up tipping the scale that way after all.
His mind drifts to his father. He also doesn’t really want to get this guy in trouble.
“No thanks,” he says with a tight smile. “I don’t drink.”
Derek nods faintly, letting the fridge door swing back closed without taking anything out of it for either of them. He stands back up to full height and turns, resting his back against the closed door and looking at Stiles with narrowed eyes.
“Don’t – or can’t?”
Stiles winces before he can help it. Derek catches it with a sharp exhale through his nose, face closing off instantly, frown tugging the corners of his mouth down. He moves quickly over to Stiles, grasping him by the shoulder and beginning to bodily push him through the apartment, back towards the front door.
“Hey!” Stiles protests, hands flailing as he stumbles under Derek’s strength. “Quit it with the manhandling!”
“You need to get your underage ass out of my apartment,” Derek growls. “Now.”
Stiles shoves at Derek’s chest, pushing hard enough that Derek pauses, only for a moment, but long enough that Stiles can yank himself further out of Derek’s reach. He adjusts the collar of his t-shirt, feels his cheeks heating up despite his best efforts to stay cool in this situation, glares at Derek with everything he has in him.
“I’m not underage,” Stiles snaps. “I’m eighteen.”
Derek folds his arms over his chest. “Prove it.”
Muttering under his breath, Stiles digs his wallet out of the back pocket of his pants, pulling out his ID and handing it over with a scowl still on his face. Derek snatches it out of his fingers, a deep crease between his brows as his eyes scan over it. After a short while, he looks back up to Stiles, passing it back over with a twist to his mouth.
“It doesn’t look fake,” he says. “Nobody would pick that first name if they were going for realistic.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Because it’s not fake, you asshole. I really am eighteen.”
Derek’s face twists up even further. “I should have asked your age before I invited you over.”
“Hey, I agreed without knowing anything more than what your dick looks like.” Stiles’ eyes dart instinctively down to Derek’s crotch. He shrugs one shoulder as he looks back to Derek’s face. “Seems like we’re pretty even on the low standards front.”
A slightly awkward beat of silence follows. Derek has his arms crossed in front of him again, and he’s still frowning. It looks deliriously handsome on him, truth be told, but Stiles kind of feels like he needs to turn that frown upside down if he’s got any chance of actually losing his v-card tonight.
Now that he’s seen Derek, in all of his insanely hot and grumpy glory, Stiles is absolutely certain that he must – must – lose his virginity to this guy. He may never get the chance to score with someone this good-looking ever again. He might as well start on the high, if he can.
Slowly, so slowly, like he’s approaching an easily spooked animal, Stiles inches closer to Derek. He gives the guy all the time in the world to back off, back away, move himself well out of Stiles’ reach. But he doesn’t, he just keeps letting Stiles get closer, close enough until Stiles can wrap slightly shaking, slightly clammy hands around each side of Derek’s neck, fingertips brushing around his nape.
Derek’s hands slide up Stiles’ sides, curving around his ribcage and tugging him that last pace forward, pressing them together, chest to chest and knees knocking against knees. They’re basically the same height, Derek maybe an inch or two taller than him, and it gives Stiles the perfect opportunity to lean in, pausing just before their mouths touch, breathing out hot and trembling.
“Your face is just as nice as your dick, by the way,” Stiles murmurs.
He is still grinning at Derek’s eye roll when the guy presses forward and loses that final bit of distance between them.
Stiles doesn’t exactly have a huge frame of reference on the topic, but he’s had a few make outs with a few people enough to know that Derek is a good kisser. A damn good kisser, actually; applying exactly the right level of pressure, using exactly the right amount of tongue, the delicious burn of his stubble as it scratches against Stiles’ skin. His fingertips dig into Stiles’ waist and he rolls his hips against Stiles’, only a little, at the same time he bites down lightly on Stiles’ bottom lip. It’s a fantastic move.
There’s nothing Stiles can do to stop the helpless sigh he breathes into Derek’s mouth, a hitching exhalation just before Derek trails kisses along his jawline, an open press of mouth to the sensitive skin just behind his ear, dipping his head to press hot, wet kisses up and down the side of Stiles’ neck. When he lightly grazes his teeth over Stiles’ hammering pulse-point, Stiles feels it zip up his spine and his knees begin to give way.
It’s a good thing Derek is there to hold onto him, or his limbs would be meeting the floor, real quick. Derek pulls their bodies completely flush together, keeping Stiles upright with quick reflexives and impressive muscles.
“We should…” Stiles trails off on an embarrassingly reedy moan when Derek bites at the curve of his jaw. He pulls himself back together after a few seconds, fingers threading through Derek’s hair. “Bed. We should – the bed.”
Derek must agree, because Stiles finds himself being shoved firmly but carefully in the bed’s direction. What Stiles said earlier, about the manhandling? He takes it back. Absolutely no need to quit it any time soon, no need at all.
Solid hands on Stiles’ shoulders sit him down on the edge of the mattress, and Stiles feels his knees part reflexively, making space for Derek to stand in between. Stiles watches with wide eyes and a dry mouth as Derek makes quick work of pulling his shirt over his head, giving Stiles a front-row seat to the kind of body most people would assume can only be the work of photoshop.
To Stiles’ delight, though, this is one hundred percent real and one hundred percent within touching distance.
He reaches out, sweeps faint fingertips over the undulating ridges of Derek’s ridiculous body. Derek’s breathing is heavy, his skin warm and tanned. There’s a light fuzz of hair across his chest, a thicker and darker trail leading down into his shorts. Stiles has to fight back the almost overwhelming urge to lick the guy’s abs.
A hand cups Stiles by the jaw, tilting his face upwards until their eyes meet.
“Top or bottom?” Derek asks.
Stiles licks his lips. In the vast majority of his fantasies, he’s been the catcher. Not to say he can’t see himself pitching every once in a while, but ever since his ass met his fingers a couple of years back, he’s been pretty certain he is going to absolutely love getting fucked by a real, live cock.
Especially for his first time. Especially after already getting a glimpse of Derek’s big, amazing dick. He knows exactly what he wants.
Except, instead of saying any of this, he finds himself nervously asking, “Uh… what do you prefer?”
Derek’s thumb catches the corner of Stiles’ mouth, pulling his bottom lip down ever so slightly. Stiles brings his own hands back to rest on the bed either side of him, supporting his weight and holding him up, albeit a little shakily.
“I prefer to top,” Derek says, “but I can do either.”
Stiles smiles, possibly a little manically, if Derek’s quirked eyebrow is anything to go by. He nods wildly, jerkily, knees squeezing a little tighter as he instinctively imagines getting fucked, imagines Derek fucking him. His tightened grasp against Derek’s legs nudges him that bit closer.
“Yeah, that’s – I’m good with that.”
There must be something, something in Stiles’ words, or maybe his tone of voice, or maybe even the anxious vibrations running up and down his legs – something that screams inexperience. Because the next thing he knows, Derek is leaning away slightly, hand dropping back to his side as he squints down at Stiles suspiciously.
“You have… done this before,” Derek checks. “Right?”
Stiles tries to scoff confidently. “Tons of times.”
Derek’s eyes narrow further, completely disbelieving, and Stiles can already feel him trying to pull away, remove himself from the space between Stiles’ legs. Stiles darts quick hands out to curl around the backs of Derek’s thighs, capturing him, holding strong and firm to keep Derek where he is.
Stiles is under no illusion that Derek couldn’t almost definitely get away if he really wanted to. He’s got more than a fair few muscles on Stiles, could probably pick Stiles up and hold him there if he really wanted to – and isn’t that an interesting thought – but he stills in Stiles’ grasp, standing frozen and just frowning down at Stiles now.
“Stiles,” Derek says slowly, deliberately. “You need to tell me the truth here. Are you – a virgin?”
“Um.” Stiles debates lying again, just for a second. Derek’s unwavering gaze destroys that notion quickly enough, and Stiles’ shoulders slump a little bit. “Yes. I – yes, I am.”
Derek exhales sharply. His muscles tense, going rigid right before Stiles’ eyes. He doesn’t renew his efforts to pull away, but he doesn’t exactly feel comfortable any of the places where Stiles is touching him; his thighs between Stiles’ knees, his hips beneath Stiles’ hands.
“But I want to,” Stiles says, voice holding steady and strong. “I am eighteen and legal and enthusiastically consenting, and, yes, I am also a goddamn virgin, but you are the hottest person I have ever seen in my life, and I really, really want to get fucked. So, please – will you fuck me?”
A slightly strangled noise comes from Derek at that, his eyes falling closed as he chokes on his next breath. His hand comes back to rest lightly against Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles lets himself lean into the touch, blinking up at Derek from underneath his lashes, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
It’s a completely intentional move, and appears to be working, because Derek looks fucking wrecked when he opens his eyes again.
“I’m not sure this a good idea,” Derek says, but it sounds weak; like crumbling resolve. “First your age, now this…”
“Eighteen is legal,” Stiles points out again quickly.
“Barely,” Derek counters, just as fast.
Stiles huffs, clambering gracelessly to his feet, knocking Derek back a few paces with the flailing movement of his limbs. He loops Derek back in by winding his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling their bodies together and revelling in the feeling of Derek’s hot, naked skin pressed against him.
It takes a moment of Stiles scowling at him silently before Derek puts his hands back on Stiles’ waist.
“You’re probably not even that much older than me,” Stiles says.
Stiles punctuates his argument by dipping in for a quick, bruising kiss. Derek makes a soft, surprised noise into his mouth, eyes only fluttering closed as Stiles pulls away.
“I’m twenty-four,” Derek answers the question Stiles half-asked, sounding a little dazed.
“See,” Stiles says, like it’s final, decided. “What’s a measly six years between friends?”
“Are we friends?” Derek asks, a smirk touching the corners of his mouth.
“I’m hoping we can be something,” Stiles answers with a grin.
Derek keeps smiling back for a second, but then it turns, a furrow appearing between his brows, his features twisting into something unhappier. Stiles leans back in hastily, kissing Derek’s mouth, sucking on his tongue and biting at his lip, kissing him and kissing him until Derek is kissing back just as fervently, just as desperately.
When Stiles eventually allows Derek to pull back for breath, he keeps them close, their foreheads tipped together, Stiles’ hands carding through Derek’s hair.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait?” Derek asks quietly. “Wait, and – with someone your own age?”
“Nobody my age is interested in me,” Stiles says, only a little bitter. “I’d be waiting forever.”
Derek scoffs. “That can’t be true. You’ve got fuckable twink written all over you.”
Stiles smiles, lazy and lopsided. “You think I’m fuckable?”
Derek arches an incredulous eyebrow, glancing pointedly down at where his dick is hard and straining against the soft fabric of his shorts, barely an inch away from Stiles’ own erection, trapped in the denim confines of his jeans. Stiles catches his tongue between his teeth and looks Derek in the eye again.
“I’m sure,” Stiles says. “I am so, so sure.”
A mixture of emotions flicker across Derek’s face. Stiles can’t parse all of them, can’t keep track of them all either, but he can latch onto the last one that stays at his features – acceptance. A wide smile spreads slowly, filthily across Stiles’ face and he leans in to kiss Derek again, because he can and because it’s awesome.
“Have you done anything before?” Derek asks against Stiles’ mouth. “Handjobs? Blowjobs?”
“Nothing,” Stiles says, and he won’t feel embarrassed about it. “Just making out, a little grinding. Nothing else.”
Derek groans, pushing against Stiles until they tumble back onto the bed, and Stiles hastily kicks his shoes off just before Derek gets a palm splayed against his chest, pushing him until he’s lying back on the mattress. Stiles gets his socked feet flat against the bed and bends his knees, leaving a gap between them for Derek to crawl into, kissing him deeply with two forearms denting the pillow either side of Stiles’ head.
“You’ve never come with another person?” Derek presses.
Stiles shakes his head, tipping it backwards so the crown dips into the soft cushion, giving Derek all the room he needs to latch onto the bared column of his throat with teeth and tongue.
“Never,” he admits. “Heard it’s pretty great, though.”
Derek smiles against his skin; Stiles can feel the soft curve of it against his hammering pulse.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, kissing a sticky trail up Stiles’ neck until he can kiss at Stiles’ mouth softly, almost sweetly. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“I know I’ll enjoy it.” Stiles lets his hands run up and down the broad expanse of Derek’s back. “Can we get naked now? I feel like we should be naked.”
Derek arches an eyebrow. “You’re pretty confident for a virgin.”
“Believe me, dude, I’m not,” Stiles says with a small scoff. “It’s just that my need to see your dick in real life outweighs any butterflies.”
Derek rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing slightly as he leans up and away to begin shoving his shorts down his thighs – so Stiles counts it as a win all the same.
Stiles beams, hastily ripping his own t-shirt off and throwing it to the side of the bed, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and pushing them down his legs and past his feet as quickly as he can, all so that he can get his eyes back on where Derek is shuffling out of his tight, black briefs. Stiles’ mouth waters as Derek’s dick slaps up against his stomach as soon as it’s freed, long and thick and uncut, even more incredible to look at up close and personal.
Derek sits up on his knees, a hand curled loosely at the base of his dick, and Stiles pauses in his movements, propping himself up on his elbows and down to just his underwear and socks. He licks his lips and lets his eyes trail from Derek’s strong, hairy thighs, to his gorgeous cock, roaming over his insanely muscled torso and landing on his absurdly handsome face.
Looking at Derek, Stiles can’t help but feel like he’s won some kind of sex jackpot.
“Okay,” Stiles says slowly, letting a smile tick up one corner of his mouth. “You do have a really nice dick. A – really, really, really nice dick. Can I – suck it?”
Derek draws in a quick, unsteady breath. Stiles watches in utter fascination as his fingers tighten minutely, briefly around his dick, squeezing for a second before loosening the hold again as he blows out a slow exhale. He shakes his head stiffly, a touch of regret present in the slight hesitance of the movement.
“No,” Derek says. “Tonight – this is going to be about you.”
The low, quiet, intense timbre of Derek’s voice makes Stiles shiver. The way that Derek shifts a little further down the bed, dropping his shoulders and running his hands up Stiles’ calves to stop just shy of his thighs – that doesn’t help either.
“Oh,” Stiles starts, voice squeaking until he clears his throat and carries on with, “I mean – that sounds… yeah. Let’s do that.”
Derek smirks, moving Stiles’ legs until they’re sticking out straight in front of him, keeping them spread open with the broad expanse of his shoulders. Stiles spies what looks like a dark tattoo, a painted swirling of lines right there between his shoulder blades, and Stiles watches as it moves with the flexing rolls of Derek’s back as he tugs Stiles’ socks off.
He presses a light, brief kiss to the tender skin at the inside of Stiles’ knee after; a barely there touch of pressure that still makes Stiles’ thighs tense immediately. His fingers clench into the sheets bunched around them and his breath catches in his throat, painfully loud in the quiet of the apartment.
“You’re sensitive,” Derek mentions casually, running his nose up the inside of Stiles’ thigh until it meets the hem of Stiles’ boxers.
Stiles lets out a choke of a laugh, his leg trembling slightly until Derek stills it with a gentle, flat palm against his knee. Derek’s eyes flick up to meet Stiles’, Derek’s face barely an inch away from where Stiles’ dick is harder than it’s ever been before and still contained within his underwear.
“I’m a virgin,” Stiles points out, a little breathless, a little indignant. “I think me having a hair trigger is a given, no?”
Derek just hums, tracing his closed lips back over the path his nose just took, skimming up Stiles’ thigh, going a step further to push Stiles’ boxers up and switching to a graze of teeth at the crease. Stiles chokes again.
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
Stiles doesn’t have a chance to respond before Derek roughly yanks his underwear down and takes the head of Stiles’ leaking dick into mouth.
“Oh fuck,” Stiles basically yelps, hands flying up from the bedsheets to dig fingers into the meat of Derek’s shoulders. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”
Derek huffs a laugh through his nose, and Stiles feels it, hot and breathy against the sensitive skin of his cock. Stiles screws his eyes shut tightly and rakes his nails across Derek’s shoulders, sweeping fingers over the nape of his neck before he can bury them into Derek’s soft hair.
Tight, wet heat slides down the length of Stiles’ dick as Derek sinks his mouth further, hands curling around the backs of Stiles’ thighs until he can pull them up and heave them over his shoulders. The movement bucks his hips, pushes him deeper into Derek’s inviting mouth, and Stiles lets out an embarrassingly reedy whine when Derek’s fingers begin to knead into the fleshy swell of his ass.
He continues to move up and down, again and again and fucking amazingly again, and Derek’s mouth is seriously the source of all happiness in the freaking universe. Stiles feels his toes curl when he takes one hand from Stiles’ thigh to wrap around the base of Stiles’ dick, jacking in time with the fluid motions of his constantly moving and sucking mouth. Stiles’ fingers hold just that little bit tighter onto the strands of Derek’s hair.
“Holy shit, that feels fucking incredible,” Stiles says breathlessly, using every bit of willpower in his body to keep from thrusting deeper. “Are you like a – oh god – a, a fucking dick sucking genius or something?”
Derek pulls off Stiles’ dick with a noisy pop, and it bounces wetly against Stiles’ stomach as Derek furrows his ridiculous eyebrows at him.
“How am I supposed to answer questions with my mouth full?” Derek asks.
Stiles laughs, an unattractive snort of amusement, but Derek still lets Stiles pull at him until they are chest to chest again, until Stiles can kiss his reddened mouth, hands still buried in that soft hair and legs wrapping tightly around his hips. The hot slide of their dicks together makes Stiles hiss with pleasure, and he grins at the small groan that falls past Derek’s lips too.
“Full of my dick,” Stiles says delightedly, lifting to kiss Derek’s frown until it tugs up into a small smile. “It was mostly rhetorical anyway, you can feel free to just ignore whatever I say for the remainder of this endeavour.”
Derek arches an eyebrow. “Endeavour?”
Stiles waves a vague, uncoordinated hand in the air just beside Derek’s temple. Derek has to duck his head a little to avoid getting smacked by it.
“Hook-up, booty call, tryst, whatever you wanna call it.” Stiles grins, arching his spine to roll their hips together. “When are you going to fuck me?”
“No patience,” Derek says, shaking his head faintly, a small smile touching his mouth.
“Virgin, need I remind you,” Stiles huffs in return, but he still kisses back when Derek leans down to kiss him again.
“We need to get you ready for me first,” Derek sensibly points out.
Stiles scrunches his nose up, catching his tongue between his teeth and letting his eyes crinkle.
“Sure do,” he agrees, tipping his chin pointedly at the space – or lack thereof – between their bodies. “No way I can take that freaking monster dry.”
Derek frowns. “You don’t see me insulting your dick.”
“Oh, that absolutely wasn’t an insult, big guy,” Stiles says quickly, squirming happily when Derek kisses a path down his chest, lingering at his nipples, tonguing around his navel. “I – shit, that feels good – I feel honoured that I get to lose my virginity to your humungous cock.”
Pausing with his teeth set lightly against Stiles’ hipbone, Derek looks up at him from beneath his lashes, smirking slightly as he moves Stiles’ legs back over his shoulders.
“Any objections to hickeys?” he asks, putting on casual.
“None at all,” Stiles confirms instantly.
He’s had them before. Mostly – okay, totally – of the neck variety, given by a sloppy high schooler at a house party. Somehow, he doesn’t think Derek’s current intentions match anything like his previous experience.
Proving Stiles completely right, Derek presses his mouth against the inside of Stiles’ thigh. At first, it’s no more than a dry touch of closed lips, but then he opens up, starts to suck with teeth and tongue. The hot scrape of Derek’s stubble against the oversensitive skin of his thigh, combined with the sharp bite of his incisors, it’s enough to have Stiles arching, squeezing his thighs around Derek’s head and moaning as pleasure-pain wracks through his body.
Derek pulls away, surveying his handiwork with narrowed eyes. Stiles cranes his neck to get a look too, and he finds that the mark is red and splotchy, almost obscene looking against the pale skin of his leg.
When Stiles pulls his eyes back to Derek, he looks absurdly pleased with himself, a smug smile sitting at his mouth. Stiles kicks lightly at his back with the heel of his foot.
“As nice as that was,” Stiles starts, “I don’t think marking up my thigh is getting me any closer to being able to take your mammoth dick.”
The self-satisfied smirk on Derek’s face doesn’t fall at all, but he does roll his eyes, shuffling further down the bed until he is breathing hotly over Stiles’ painfully hard cock.
“You really need to work on your patience,” Derek mutters under his breath, then louder, “Pass me the lube. Top drawer of the nightstand.”
Stiles doesn’t hesitate at all before twisting his torso, feeling the burning stretch in his side with the movement as he yanks the drawer open and rummages inside blindly. He hitches out a loud, gasping moan when Derek wriggles his hands in between Stiles’ ass and the mattress, getting a good handful of each cheek and squeezing, hard, at the exact same time he swallows Stiles’ dick all the way down to the root with one mouthful.
The tip of Derek’s nose meets the thick of hair at the base of Stiles’ dick, and Stiles flings the lube down towards Derek without a single thought, mostly because Derek is sucking every single coherent notion from his brain with that skilful tongue.
There’s a slight thud of noise when the tube connects with Derek’s skull via his forehead. Stiles throws a hand over his own face, snickering into his palm and sneaking a gap between two fingers to see Derek pulling off his dick and looking at Stiles with an entirely unimpressed expression on his face.
“Sorry?” Stiles offers, biting his lip to hold back any more laughter as he moves his hand away. “You only have yourself to blame, to be honest. It’s your own fault for sucking my dick so good.”
“Maybe I should get a helmet for this next part then,” Derek says drily.
“Why, what’s nex–“
Stiles’ words choke off into a startled sob when Derek uses his firm hold on Stiles’ ass to lift him up and spread him open, exposing Stiles’ hole to the wet, hot flat of Derek’s tongue.
There aren’t words to describe it. Stiles has had fingers in his ass before, as well as a few of the lubed-up toys he stashes at the very back of his wardrobe and prays his dad has never stumbled upon. But neither of those things compares to the feeling of a live tongue licking broadly over him, poking eagerly into him, coaxing sounds out of him that he’s never heard before in his life.
“That’s – that’s – oh god, I think I’m gonna die.”
If Derek is at all concerned for Stiles’ good health, he doesn’t do much to show it. He simply keeps on going, humming low in his chest, the vibrations of it travelling straight from Derek’s lips to Stiles’ ass to Stiles’ cock, which jumps and slaps against his taut stomach as Stiles writhes and squirms.
Stiles’ feet are planted firmly against Derek’s back, a sole either side the dip of his spine, and Stiles reaches back to grab a hold of the headboard, fingers wrapping tightly around the wooden slats and holding on with everything he’s got as Derek thrusts his tongue inside him again and again and again.
Derek’s large fingers press into the flesh of Stiles’ ass cheeks, dimpling into the supple skin, lifting him with such strength that Stiles is only still touching the bed from his shoulders upwards. There’s a slight shake to Derek’s biceps that Stiles can feel, but he doesn’t let up one bit, holding Stiles firmly in place and fucking into him with his tongue.
“Jesus Christ, Derek,” Stiles hisses, feeling blissfully at Derek’s mercy. “You’re gonna make me come before you’ve even fucked me, fuck.”
Another strong stroke of Derek’s tongue against Stiles’ hole, and then he’s leaning away, leaving Stiles feeling open and vulnerable, the not altogether pleasant sensation of saliva cooling against his hot skin.
“Good,” Derek says, lowering Stiles back onto the bed and rubbing his scratchy cheek against Stiles’ navel. “You’ll be more relaxed.”
Stiles lets out a manic breath of laughter, shifting into a high-pitched shout when Derek slides strong hands down to Stiles’ thighs and bodily flips him over. Stiles’ chest is pressed flat against the bed, his legs still spread, bent at each knee to give Derek the space to fit in between them, and he squirms as he settles, groaning at the sensation of his hard dick grazing against the soft sheets.
He twitches when teeth bite into the round of his ass, a faint sting before a sweep of tongue over the skin, and then Derek is kissing a path up his back. He pauses to leave another deep hickey at the dip of Stiles’ spine, tonguing at the sheen of sweat that covers each notch of his spine, following them up to the nape of his neck.
“Pretty sure I’m never going to be relaxed so long as you’re naked and touching me like this,” Stiles says, a breathy tremble to his words as his arms slip under the pillow he rests his cheek against. “You’re, like, a freaking sex god, dude.”
“Thanks, dude,” Derek mocks, deadpan.
Stiles grins into the pillow as Derek’s mouth moves hotly over the shell of his ear, blunt teeth nipping at an earlobe briefly before a trail of wet, sticky kisses take Derek from the side of Stiles’ neck to the jutting bone of his shoulder blade, where he sucks yet another bruise, much to Stiles’ vocal delight.
Derek is holding himself above Stiles with a palm either side of Stiles’ elbows, barely allowing their bodies to touch beyond a quick brush of skin as Derek begins to move back down Stiles’ body. He settles back between Stiles’ spread thighs, and Stiles cracks an eye open and twists his neck to see Derek kneeling there, the uncapped lube in one hand as he squeezes to slick up three fingers of the other.
“Finally,” Stiles breathes, twitching his legs a little further apart.
Derek smirks, quirking an eyebrow. “You haven’t been having fun?”
“Just eager to be filled by that –“
“Monster cock, yes, you said.”
Stiles doesn’t need a full view of Derek’s face to know he’s rolling his eyes. He presses the side of his face deeper into the pillow, doing his absolute best not to completely tense up when Derek manoeuvres him until he has his knees tucked a little bit under him, ass presented slightly up in the air, stiff dick still trapped between his stomach and the plush mattress.
A palm finds the small of his back, thumb sweeping briefly over the blood-sensitive skin of the mark left there. Stiles sucks in a shaking breath when one cool, slick fingertip begins to rub over his hole, only a light touch for long seconds before Stiles starts wriggling, rocking his hips and not-so-silently begging for more.
Relenting, Derek pushes the first finger inside, slowly up until the first knuckle. Stiles sighs, a half-happy and half-impatient breath, tilting backwards until it slips the rest of the way inside.
“You don’t have to be gentle with me for this part,” Stiles says. “I usually start with two.”
“Maybe I want to take my time,” Derek says, mouthing at Stiles’ hipbone.
“I’ve got school Monday morning, would be great if we can wrap this up by then.”
“Please don’t remind me you’re in high school while I have my fingers in your ass.”
Stiles smiles wickedly. “Finger. That means singular. Wanna get on making that plural, big guy?”
“Brat,” Derek mutters, but he dutifully presses another in alongside the first.
The stretch is good, familiar in one sense and completely brand new in another. It’s immediately clear that Derek is prone to using a lot more lube than Stiles typically does.
Maybe that’s because the guy is a fully grown adult who doesn’t have to disguise himself to buy it from the local pharmacy, lest the frequency of how often he needs to replace it travel back to his father. Or maybe it’s just because Stiles is virgin and Derek is a bit of a worrywart, Stiles has worked out already.
Either way – it feels fucking phenomenal. Derek’s fingers are thicker than his own, and he can come at it from an entirely different angle than Stiles is used to, stretching and crooking to get Stiles moaning shamelessly, bucking back to get more, deeper, harder.
“There!” Stiles all but shouts as Derek’s fingertips skate over his prostate. “Oh, god, yes, right fucking there, oh my god.”
“That hair trigger’s back,” Derek murmurs, lapping up Stiles’ spine with an eager tongue and sounding far too amused. “I’m barely even touching it.”
Derek eases up a little, just enough for Stiles to catch his breath back, yanking one arm from underneath the pillow to fling it backwards until it can make contact with any part of Derek’s body. He thinks he gets the guy’s shoulder. It’s hard to tell when every single part of him feels like pure muscle.
“How many more times am I going to need to say this,” Stiles says snappishly, breathlessly. “Virgin, dude.”
Derek grabs at Stiles’ flailing hand and stills it, holding it and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the centre of Stiles’ palm.
“Not for long,” Derek whispers, and Stiles beams. “Just need to make you come first.”
He punctuates his sentence by doubling down his efforts.
The third finger presses in quickly, and where before he had been merely glancing against Stiles’ prostate with light, almost tentative fingertips, he now rubs over it relentlessly, not letting up as Stiles writhes and moans and begs. A hand curves around the nape of Stiles’ neck, pressing him down into the bed as three fingers pump inside him, holding him while his restless hips grind his dick into the sheets deliciously.
It’s on the brink of too much, the constant movement, the scissoring and curling, meshing hotly with the rubbing of his dick against the soft sheets. Sensation burns up and down Stiles’ spine, heat pooling low in his belly.
So far tonight, Stiles has been sucked and licked and finger-fucked, and the feeling of it all, the stretching burn inside his body and the friction against his leaking cock, it all gets too much, building to a crescendo until he comes, spurting messily, stickily between himself and the bed, Derek’s name and a cuss tumbling from his lips as his skin crackles with electricity.
Blood roars in his ears as he shakes through the last of his orgasm, and he’s distantly aware of Derek rolling him over until he’s flat on his back, blinking up at the too bright overhead lights as Derek quickly wipes over his chest, stomach, and dick with a warm, damp cloth.
Stiles feels a little more down to earth by the time Derek flops down beside him, turned on his side and close enough that his front covers Stiles from shoulder to thigh. His dick is still mostly hard, nudging into Stiles’ hip, and Stiles turns his head on the pillow to grin at him.
“I’m happy to report that I enjoyed coming with another person as much as we thought I would,” Stiles says, eyes crinkling with his smile.
One corner of Derek’s mouth ticks up slightly. “Glad to hear it.”
Stiles slides an arm around Derek until it can loop around his neck, shifting onto his side as well and tugging Derek closer until their chests are pressed together, their legs all tangled up. Stiles lets his eyes fall closed as he starts to lean in, tilting his head to slide their mouths together, but before he can make contact, Stiles feels Derek resist the pull.
“What?” Stiles asks, eyes opening abruptly.
His mind races instantly.
Maybe Derek won’t want to fuck him now, a horrible, anxious corner of his brain mutters. Maybe he sounds weird when he comes, maybe he looks weird when he comes, maybe he’s doing something really fucking peculiar and Derek is calling it here and regretting everything already.
“You don’t have to kiss me,” Derek says, a slight crease between his eyebrows.
Stiles frowns. What – why wouldn’t he want to kiss Derek? Kissing Derek is fantastic. Stiles has been indulging himself in it a fair bit tonight. Does Derek just not want to kiss him anymore?
But then it hits him. Derek has had his mouth and tongue all up in Stiles’ ass tonight. Some guys must be squeamish about that sort of stuff.
Luckily, Stiles isn’t one of those guys.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Stiles asks, because his brain is still spiralling a little bit and he feels the need to check.
“Yes,” Derek answers instantly.
“Then we’re kissing.” The wide smile is back on Stiles’ face. “C’mere, big guy.”
The kiss is a lot softer, a lot sweeter than you might expect, with Derek’s hard dick still an insistent presence against Stiles and Stiles still feeling a drying, tacky patch of come that Derek missed just underneath his navel. Derek’s hands wander up and down Stiles’ sides, roam over his back, squeeze at his ass, and Stiles buries his hands back into Derek’s soft hair.
A hot tongue slips into Stiles’ mouth and Stiles happily sucks on it, scratching his fingernails through Derek’s hair while Derek hums approvingly.
“Will you fuck me now?” Stiles mumbles into the bow of Derek’s lip.
Derek pulls back an inch to choke a laugh. “Don’t want to give yourself five minutes to recover?”
Stiles grins, shrugging one shoulder before wriggling himself under Derek, getting Derek settled in the vee of his legs and pulling him down for another long, lingering kiss.
“I’m eighteen, man,” Stiles says, matter-of-factly. “I’ll recover while you’re fucking me.”
Derek groans, dropping his head to bite at the curve of Stiles’ jaw. Stiles tips his face to provide full access, tucking the heels of his feet against the backs of Derek’s thighs and rolling his soft (for now) cock against Derek’s hard one.
“How do you want to do this?” Derek asks quietly, peppering kisses over Stiles’ cheek.
“Like this,” Stiles says, tightening his hold on Derek to indicate what he means by this.
“Are you sure?” Derek pulls back just far enough to look Stiles in the eye, an expression of concern clear in his features. “It’s easier if we do it like we were before, with you on your front. For your first time.”
Stiles shakes his head. “I want to look at you.”
Derek pauses a moment before a slow smile curves up his mouth. Stiles feels heat crawling up his chest, up his neck, burning his cheeks red while Derek just looks down at him so softly, and Stiles can’t help but shift a little in embarrassment at the admission that fell from him without thought.
“You just – you’re nice to look at,” Stiles adds hastily, eyes darting up to the ceiling to the side of Derek’s head. “Don’t act like you don’t already know that, asshole.”
Derek’s hand comes up to rest lightly against Stiles’ cheek, just holding there until Stiles pulls his focus back to Derek’s face with a slight twist to his mouth. It evens out when Derek leans down to slot their mouths together again, kissing him like time isn’t something that exists within the walls of this apartment.
“You’re nice to look at too, Stiles,” Derek says quietly.
“I probably look even better when I’m being fucked,” Stiles retorts, shifting his hips pointedly.
Derek laughs softly against his ear, pressing another kiss to his temple before leaning up and away to grab a condom from the nightstand. He rolls it over himself before applying a liberal amount of lube to slick it up further, and Stiles shoves a spare pillow underneath his hips and gets a hand on each of his own knees, pulling them up towards his chest, spreading himself open and waiting.
“Bear down when I start to push in,” Derek tells him as he lines himself up with one hand and takes over one of Stiles’ knees with his other.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “I do have access to the internet, Derek. I have researched how to get fucked.”
Derek smirks, a wicked glint to his light eyes as he dips down quickly to kiss Stiles soundly.
“Trust me,” he breathes into Stiles’ mouth, “research has nothing on the real thing.”
The fucker is absolutely right, because when Derek leans back, grabs onto Stiles at both knees, and begins pushing the large, blunt head of his cock past Stiles’ tight ring of muscle, Stiles suddenly feels like there’s not enough oxygen in the universe for him to catch his breath.
It – hurts. More than just a little, he won’t lie. The stretch, the burn, is more than he’s ever had before from fingers or toys. Even if he’d been hard when Derek started, he knows for sure any erection would have flagged from this, and it lies, soft and a bit disinterested, against his thigh.
He scrambles for purchase against Derek’s sweat slicked chest, fingernails dragging through the fuzz of hair there to ground himself as he screws his eyes shut, grits his teeth, tries to force his body to get used to this, fast.
Derek is completely still, barely just the head of his cock inside Stiles right now. His fingers are curled around the backs of Stiles’ knees, his thumbs sweeping lightly over the tight skin, and Stiles can feel the barely-there rise and fall of his own stomach where his thighs are pressed firmly against it.
“Breathe, Stiles,” Derek is saying over the pounding of Stiles’ heart against his ribcage. “You need to breathe.”
“I am breathing,” Stiles bites back on a whoosh of held breath.
“You’re close to snapping my dick in half with how tightly you’re clenching.” Derek’s voice is irritatingly steady, and Stiles cracks one eye open to glare at him. “I won’t go any faster than you’re ready for, I promise. You can trust me.”
And weirdly… weirdly, Stiles does.
This is a guy he met in person for the first time, what – less than an hour ago now? A guy he only came to know because of a pornographic photo sent to completely the wrong number, at that.
Yet, Stiles finds himself trusting Derek. Trusting him so implicitly, almost instinctively, enough that Stiles feels his body untensing, anxiety uncoiling from his belly as his limbs relax until breathing doesn’t feel like such a chore, until his body starts to open up more easily, readily, letting Derek in.
Derek skims warm, calming palms up and down Stiles’ legs, hips still motionless, meeting Stiles’ eyes straight-on, unwavering and something in there that looks an awful lot like affection.
“Okay,” Stiles says, keeping one hand over the beat of Derek’s heart and threading the other through his own hair. “Okay, you can move. Just – slow?”
Derek quirks a small, brief smile, just a second before he begins to sink in deeper, slower than even Stiles thought he would go. There’s still pain there, of course, but it’s no longer flaring quite so brightly underneath his skin, now more of a dull kind of ache as he stretches, accepting the feeling inch by slow inch.
“You’re doing so good,” Derek murmurs, and it should be annoying, it should have Stiles rolling his eyes at how freaking corny it is, but instead it makes his heart skip a beat, makes a warmth spread right through him. “Almost there, halfway.”
“That’s half?” Stiles bursts out incredulously.
Derek huffs a laugh. “What happened to feeling honoured to lose your virginity to my giant dick?”
“That was easy to say when it wasn’t splitting me open, oh my god.”
Stiles chokes when Derek pushes that final way inside, his balls slapping lightly against Stiles’ ass, thumbs still rubbing soothing patterns into his skin. He pauses once again, giving Stiles time to adjust, squirm a little to feel the grinding movement of an actual, human dick all the way inside him for the first time.
An instant, inane grin spreads across his face.
“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes. “So not a virgin anymore.”
Derek laughs softly again, leaning slowly forward to press their mouths together, closed-lips and all sweetness. The movement of it makes Derek’s cock push even further into him, and Stiles gasps into Derek’s mouth, winding his arms around Derek’s neck to tug him closer, a half-confident roll of his hips to chase the feeling of Derek moving minutely inside him.
“Can you stay down here?” Stiles asks, quiet, almost shy. “I – this feels good, I think.”
Derek nods, short and a little out of control, almost like he’s being affected by this as much as Stiles is, which is just – straight up impossible.
“Whatever you want, baby.”
That word, that term of endearment, it rattles around in Stiles’ skull; it’s the first time it’s been directed at Stiles by another person and it’s not at all unwelcome. Derek kisses him again, carefully running his hands down Stiles’ thighs until he can slip them just underneath, a soft grip on Stiles’ ass to help lift him, tilt him for a better angle.
The jostling means that the tip of Derek’s cock rubs against Stiles’ prostate, just for a second, and Stiles lets out the loudest, most shameless noise he’s ever made. Derek definitely likes it from the way he deepens the kiss between them, groaning into it, and Stiles’ dick is starting to fatten up, past the point of pain and more than ready to join the party.
Stiles hooks his ankles around Derek’s thighs, arching his back as Derek begins to move slowly out, then back in again, eating at Stiles’ mouth as he fucks him smooth and steady.
“Fuck,” Stiles breathes, arms looped so tightly around Derek, barely giving him any room to move, wanting their mouths pressed together at all times. “Yeah, yes, oh my god, Derek.”
Their harsh, panting breaths mesh with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin as Derek quickens his pace, hips snapping into Stiles faster and faster with each moan of approval that falls past Stiles’ lips. Derek’s fingers dig deeper into the flesh of Stiles’ ass, and Stiles bites down on Derek’s bottom lip, grinding his hips to meet each of Derek’s thrusts.
Any pain is completely gone from Stiles’ mind, his body begging for the steady, fervent roll of Derek’s hips, the feel of Derek’s cock sliding in and out of him. Stiles’ dick is fully hard again now, stiff and trapped tightly between their undulating stomachs, and if he wasn’t sure he was into being fucked before, he is absolutely, one thousand percent certain now.
Derek doesn’t say a word, just breathes hotly, wetly into Stiles’ mouth as he drives into Stiles at a perfect pace, using his hold on Stiles to angle and re-angle until Stiles is crying out, fingernails raking red marks down Derek’s back as Derek knocks into his prostate over and over again.
“I was fucking right,” Stiles gasps, clawing up Derek’s back some more, and if the guy minds he’s doing absolutely nothing to show it. “You really are a sex god, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”
There’s no indication that Derek is planning on stopping anytime soon – but Stiles just wants to be sure.
Stiles’ dick is leaking against his stomach, and he fumbles a hand in between them to wrap around it, jerking in time with Derek’s relentless thrusts. Already, he can feel his orgasm building again, heat rushing through his body, eyes shut and mouth open as Derek’s huge, perfect dick pushes into him, dragging across his prostate, making him feel better than he’s ever felt before.
“Derek,” Stiles says, a strained breath of warning. “Derek, shit, I – I’m gonna come, I’m close.”
No verbal response comes, but Derek tips his head in a slightly frantic nod, nosing over Stiles’ cheek to kiss along the line of his jaw, keeping the same pace that’s pushing Stiles closer and closer to the edge. It’s all the go ahead Stiles needs to double down in his efforts to finish with a bang.
Stiles is letting out a string of essentially unintelligible noises, things that could be harsh cusses or blissful breaths of Derek’s name. Could be, if his brain wasn’t leaking out of his ears at the feeling of getting fucked with his hand stripping away at his dick.
It’s some time later, Stiles has truly no idea how many minutes may have passed, and then he’s choking, spilling wetly between them, mouth open to Derek’s tongue as he comes for the second time, somehow no less intense and incredible than the first as it rolls through his twitching body.
Derek slows the roll of his hips as Stiles comes, fucking him through the sensation but giving him breathing space so he doesn’t get overwhelmed. It’s nice of him, Stiles is vaguely aware of, but mostly he’s focusing on the way his body feels alight with pleasure in an incredibly new way.
“You okay?” Derek asks.
Stiles grins, blinking until he can focus on Derek’s face hovering just above his.
“I’m fucking fantastic.” He slides a hand up to cup Derek at his jaw. “I want you to come, too.”
Derek smirks. “Glad to hear we’re on the same page.”
With that, he rears back, wrapping his arms securely around Stiles’ middle to pull him up with him. He gets them settled with Derek sitting back on his knees, Stiles in his lap with his legs still wrapped loosely around him, completely without leverage and complete at Derek’s mercy as he starts to roll his hips again, fucking up into him with his face buried in Stiles’ neck.
Simply pathetic noises are pushing out of Stiles with each of Derek’s thrusts, whimpers and moans and the occasional panting gasp as he holds onto Derek’s shoulders. He tilts his head to let Derek suck one last hickey onto the side of his throat, way too high up to be hidden by anything, but Stiles doesn’t care, can’t find it in him to care one bit, not when Derek is making him feel like this.
“Fuck,” Stiles pants, feeling oversensitive in all the best ways. “God, you are fucking amazing, can’t believe this is my life, so fucking lucky you sent me that photo by accident, god.”
Derek chokes a laugh, the rhythm of his hips beginning to falter, becoming more erratic with each thrust up and in, squeezing his arms so tightly around Stiles’ waist like he’s trying to crush every last breath out of his lungs.
Stiles tilts his head down to attach their mouths again, sucking harshly on Derek’s tongue, and then Derek is making this sound like a dying animal, deep and guttural as his hips snap once, twice, three more times before he stills, coming with his eyes screwed shut and Stiles kissing every part of his face his lips can reach.
An incredibly pleasant feeling of being utterly boneless resides in Stiles as Derek does all the hard work of pulling out, laying Stiles back against the bed in a pile of uncoordinated, lazy limbs. Stiles watches with slowly blinking eyes as Derek disposes of the condom into the trash nearby, returning with the damp cloth to wipe Stiles down once again until he’s clean enough.
Derek leaves him with barely a second to panic about any awkwardness that might ensue, because as soon as he’s tossed the cloth aside, he eagerly dives back onto the bed. He manhandles Stiles until they are all tangled up together, Derek’s arm around his middle and his head pillowed Derek’s broad, strong, slightly sweaty chest.
Stiles hums happily, contentedly. “That was nice.”
“Just nice?” Derek presses, and Stiles can imagine the arched eyebrow even if he can’t currently see it.
“I already called you a sex god twice, man. Quit fishing.”
Derek drops a kiss to the crown of Stiles’ head. Stiles does not preen. He doesn’t.
They lie in silence for a little while, one that is entirely comfortable, for some baffling reason. Stiles traces circles over Derek’s incredible abs, Derek’s fingers sweeping back and forth over Stiles’ shoulder blade, occasionally travelling far enough up to brush lightly over the hickey left on the side of his neck.
“Hey,” Stiles cuts into the quiet after a while, “what’s your last name?”
Derek huffs. “Bit late for formal introductions, don’t you think?”
Stiles pinches Derek’s nipple, biting at his chest. Derek laughs softly in return, cuffing him lightly around the back of the head.
“Excuse me for wanting to know the full name of the first guy who ever rocked my world,” Stiles says primly. “How am I supposed to tell this story to my grandkids if I can’t give them the whole picture?”
“You’re going to tell your grandkids about sleeping with the first guy who sent you a picture of his dick?”
“What, you don’t think it’s romantic?” Stiles says sarcastically, grinning when Derek snorts. “Anyway – stop deflecting. Just tell me. I promise I won’t stalk you.”
“I wasn’t worried you’d stalk me until you said that.” Derek smirks when Stiles tips his head up to scowl at him. “Fine. It’s Hale. Derek Hale.”
That’s… okay. Stiles feels a little bit like he can’t breathe for a second.
“Hale,” he repeats slowly. “Like – Deputy Hale?”
Derek immediately freezes. “How do you know my sister?”
“Uh, my dad,” Stiles starts sheepishly, grimacing at Derek’s expression of pure terror. “He – he’s the Sheriff.”
Derek pauses, hand completely still at the centre of Stiles’ back, that deer in headlights look only intensifying as Stiles delivers the news. Stiles tries at a reassuring smile, but he’s not sure how well it does its job.
“Are you telling me – I just de-flowered the county Sheriff’s eighteen-year-old son?”
Stiles pulls a face. “De-flowered? Who the fuck says de-flowered?”
“I do, when I’m freaking out about screwing around with the Sheriff’s barely legal son.”
“I’m also his only son,” Stiles points out cheerfully, biting back a laugh at the new wave of horror that washes across Derek’s face. “Look, it’s really not a big deal. I’m sure he’d high-five me for getting some. Maybe. Okay, probably not.”
“Laura is going to kill me,” Derek says, covering his face with one large hand.
“Laura loves me,” Stiles says confidently.
And – it’s the honest to god truth. She may have only joined the department from New York a few months ago, but she’s made it known that she finds Stiles absolutely adorable. The proof is right there in how much she loves to pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair.
Clearly, the Hales as a whole are big fans of a certain Stilinski Junior.
“Precisely,” Derek mumbles into his palm. “She’s going to kill me.”
“Maybe she and my dad can tag-team you.” Stiles grins when Derek removes his hand to glare at him. “They do both have access to legal firearms. And I am very precious.”
“That’s not funny, Stiles.”
“Look,” Stiles sighs, “you can relax. Seriously. I bet they’ll be a lot cooler about it than you expect.”
Derek makes a wild, disbelieving noise, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling. Stiles makes a low, irritated noise in return, clambering up until he’s leaning just above Derek, right in front of his face to force Derek to meet his eye.
The guy does, eventually, somewhat reluctantly, that deep frown still tugging at his features. Stiles jabs a harsh finger into his chest and kisses him until that frown is lifted, replaced by a breathless, sort of dazed look. The hand on Stiles’ back starts to gently move again.
“I have an idea that could save your life,” Stiles suggests when he pulls away.
“Go back in time and send that picture to the right guy?” Derek teases.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Stiles says sharply, melting when Derek instantly presses up to give him a completely repentant kiss. “You could, you know. Make it more than a – a de-flowering.”
Derek’s eyebrows scrunch together. “What?”
“You could, I don’t know,” Stiles starts, trailing off a little, eyes studiously focused on the pillow just beside Derek’s head. “Date me?”
Now, Derek’s eyebrows shoot way up his forehead. Very expressive, that particular feature of his.
“You’d want to… date me?”
Stiles drags incredulous eyes back to Derek’s stupidly handsome face.
“Are you kidding me? What – who wouldn’t want to date you.” Stiles’ eyes are a little (a lot) wide, his voice a little (a lot) intense. “You’re crazy hot, you’re funny, you’re weirdly sweet, and I’m really not exaggerating when I say this, dude – your dick is awesome.”
A beat passes. Stiles begins to panic that he’s blown any infinitesimal chance he may have had with Derek beyond just tonight with his weird, no-filter ramblings. But then, Derek cracks a smile, small at first, but growing, until it splits across his face, reaching his light eyes and making them sparkle.
“Well, when you put it like that.” Derek grabs onto Stiles and rolls them, gets Stiles onto his back again and hovers above him. “Your tight ass is pretty dateable, too.”
“Hell yeah it is.” Stiles beams up at him. “You can pick me up from school on Friday.”
“There is no fucking way I’m picking you up from school.”
Derek does, in fact, pick Stiles up from the school parking lot for their official first date.
Laura laughs so hard she almost bursts a blood vessel.