Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, NC-17
Title: Two Years
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Summary: Stiles is eighteen when the eyes start watching him. Sequel to Happy Ending Yoga.
Warnings: Exhibitionism, voyeurism, unsafe sex, explicit sexual content.
Author: blacktofade
Words: 2,999
Rating: NC-17
A/N 1: Written for the Exhibitionism square of THIS kink bingo card. Please feel free to point out any mistakes/offer concrit.
A/N 2: I am having a fic giveaway HERE on Tumblr, so feel free to take part if you'd like to try to win a fic and make me write whatever you want! :)
Disclaimer: I am not associated with the Teen Wolf or any of their affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
Stiles is eighteen when the eyes start watching him.
The first time it happens, he's coming down from a high, body still thrumming from his orgasm, limbs splayed loose and boneless. The red glint catches his attention and his heart lodges somewhere in his throat when he realises it's Derek. Derek is actually sitting on his window ledge like the peeping tom Stiles has always imagined him to be. In a flash, they're gone and Stiles is left cold and sticky, cock twitching feebly against his thigh.
The second time it happens, Derek appears before he even starts, as though knowing what Stiles has in mind. Stiles is stretching and limbering up, only glancing towards the window when something thuds against the roof. The glowing red eyes hover just beyond the glass in the darkness of the night, tracking the movement of his legs as he folds himself in two without skipping beat. It’s even more difficult to breathe than usual with Derek as his audience, but Stiles comes harder than he ever has in his life thus far.
When he uncurls his body, licking come off his lips, the eyes are gone, but there’s a smudge on the glass of his window like a clammy handprint.
*
Stiles begins to expect Derek to be outside whenever he sucks himself off. It’s a little unnerving, which is a gigantic understatement when he thinks about it too much, but Derek seems to show up precisely when he’s getting ready to jerk off. It isn’t until he’s lying in a tangle of sheets, breathing in the stale scent of sweat and come that it dawns on him. Derek can smell everything.
The next time he has the house to himself, he props the window open an inch or two and he’s sure he doesn’t imagine the heavy breathing outside that follows his orgasm. He can’t see through the darkness, but he pictures Derek with his chin on the windowsill, mouth slightly open as he scents the air inside Stiles’ bedroom. He knows there’s nothing normal about their relationship, if it can even be called that, but when they pass outside of their little moments, whether it’s in the local grocery store or whenever Derek’s pack calls in for reinforcements (namely Scott and Stiles), he never says a word. It’s something that’s theirs and theirs only.
*
Stiles doesn’t mean to start talking, it just sort of happens. He’s too exhausted after spending the day raking leaves in the back yard to do anything more than shove his pyjama pants and briefs down to get a hand around his cock. He needs something quick and easy to take the edge off before he sleeps and he doesn’t expect to last long.
“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly, pushing up into the tight ring of his fingers. “Feels so good, Derek.”
There’s a faint rumble beyond the glass of his window, but he can’t tell if it’s Derek or thunder from the storm that’s rolling in. He really hopes it’s the former.
“Wish this was your hand. I bet you’d make me come so hard.”
It’s easy to let it all roll off his tongue when he has his eyes shut, picturing Derek kneeling between his splayed legs. There’s a loud crack outside that sounds exactly like a roof tile breaking in two and Stiles can’t help but groan at the thought of Derek listening in.
“You could tease me or make me beg. I’d be completely at your mercy, Derek. Christ.”
He’s already leaking over his knuckles, balls drawing up close to his body, and he’s sure he’s going to come as quickly as he used to when he was sixteen.
“I’m so hard for you, Derek. It’s the thought of you that’s going to make me come.”
His voice breaks embarrassingly, but he doesn’t care because when he opens his eyes he’s met with a glowing red gaze and his breath hitches.
“Oh god,” he whimpers, hand speeding up until it’s almost a blur. “Derek.”
He comes messily all over his hand and up his arm, his heart threatening to beat straight out of his chest. He knows he only lasted a few minutes, but he’s boneless and satiated, and finally ready to sleep. After he cleans himself up and shuffles back under the covers, he rolls onto his side and stares out the window, offering up a crooked smile to the darkness.
“Goodnight,” he mumbles into his pillow and after that night it’s impossible for Stiles not to talk, to tell Derek exactly what he’s doing to himself, even though he’s sure Derek can see. Each time, he comes hard and fast and falls asleep to thoughts of Derek leaning against his window ledge and jerking off.
*
It’s a warm evening at the end of August when Stiles finally breaks. The comforter is in a messy heap on the floor and Stiles is naked, slowly stretching out his muscles, eyes focussed outside, where the light is quickly fading. There’s a familiar thud just beyond the window and Stiles wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, hoping he doesn’t go into sudden cardiac arrest, despite his heart beating two to the dozen.
“The window’s unlocked,” he murmurs quietly, knowing that Derek is listening. “If you want to come inside, now’s your chance. Actually, no, scratch that. You should just get in here and make me come.”
He doesn’t truly expect Derek to do anything other than ignore him or maybe slip away into the night, but after a drawn out moment, the wooden frame of his window creaks as it slides up, letting in a breeze and two hundred odd pounds of werewolf. Stiles’ heart is no longer in his chest, it’s jammed somewhere behind his back teeth instead. Derek doesn’t bother shutting the window behind him and Stiles’ mouth hangs open in shock at the sight of him actually standing in his room.
He almost covers himself up with a hand before he realises that Derek’s already seen everything. Multiple times and in various positions. It’s strange to have Derek where he can watch him in return. He doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to touch or if they’re just bringing their strange, voyeuristic relationship inside.
Stiles sits up and tangles his hands together on top of his knees for a lack of anything better to do. He’s half-hard still, but his dick seems unsure whether it should harden further and draw attention to itself or not. With only the bedside lamp on, most of the room is in shadows, but Derek’s eyes are bright as they slowly trail down Stiles’ body. He takes a step closer to the bed and Stiles tenses in uncertainty.
He doesn’t know what to think when Derek stretches out a hand and brushes his thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip. It’s intimate and a little suggestive since they both know the things Stiles can do with his mouth. For a second, Stiles debates whether to dart his tongue out and taste Derek’s skin, but ends up keeping it in check behind his teeth because Derek leans in a little closer and Stiles gets distracted.
Derek’s hand shifts to cup his jaw and Stiles parts his lips expectantly, waiting for Derek to kiss him. Instead, Derek slides his nose along Stiles’ cheek, breathing deeply as though memorising his scent now that he’s closer and it’s so much stronger. When he draws back, his eyes are darker and filled with enough promise that Stiles’ cock twitches in interest. Derek’s eyes catch the movement and his palm slips down to the centre of Stiles’ chest, where it pushes lightly.
“Lie back,” Derek orders and Stiles bites back a moan because it’s so much better than anything he’s ever fantasised. He does as he’s told and reclines at a skewed angle down the length of his bed. When Derek nudges his thighs apart and kneels between them, Stiles actually does make a quiet noise because the touch fuels his erection and shuts down most of his higher brain function.
He wonders for a moment if Derek is going to blow him or maybe bite his way up the inside of his thighs while ordering him to touch himself. Both, in Stiles’ opinion, are perfectly good options. When Derek hooks his thumbs behind Stiles’ knees, Stiles thinks it’s going to be the former, but then he pushes gently, raising Stiles’ hips and carefully urging him to fold in two.
Stiles definitely knows where it’s going.
He shifts his shoulders into a more comfortable position then lets his legs drop either side of his head, the tip of his cock nudging against his mouth. It’s harder to see Derek from the new position, but then Derek straightens up and stares down at him with hooded eyes that say everything that Derek doesn’t.
Stiles darts his tongue out, mostly to wet his lips, but partly to see Derek’s reaction and he isn’t disappointed. Derek leans forward as though he doesn’t want to miss a moment and Stiles sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks for maximum effect. Derek slides a large, warm palm along the back of Stiles’ thigh, rubbing softly and almost unconsciously.
When Stiles lets more of his length slide between his lips, Derek seems to snap back to attention, bringing both hands up to Stiles’ waist to hold him in place. Stiles continues sucking himself off, waiting for Derek to do something, anything, which is when Derek begins laving wet, open mouthed kisses in a long trail down, starting at the sensitive spot behind Stiles’ knee.
Stiles grunts around his mouthful, trying to spread his legs further apart because Derek is heading in a direction that he’s very onboard with, but he knows he won’t last two seconds. Either Derek doesn’t notice the squirming - which Stiles is sure is impossible - or he just doesn’t care because his tongue is hot and unforgiving when it slides over the soft skin of his entrance. Stiles bucks and almost chokes himself, but Derek’s hands are steady, keeping Stiles from rolling right off the bed at the feeling.
There’s saliva everywhere, which seems to be the only thought his brain can latch onto. It’s dripping down the side of his face and the narrow space between his asshole and his balls. It’s hot in a way that he never thought it could be and he actually shoots a hand out to grab Derek’s shoulder for a lack of anything better to hold onto.
He can’t verbally tell Derek how turned on he is or how he’s definitely going to come in the next thirty seconds, but he digs his nails into Derek’s skin and it seems to do the job. The mattress dips as Derek moves, but he only seems to shuffle closer, enough that Stiles can feel the hardness of Derek’s cock nudging against his back through the tight stretch of denim. Stiles definitely wants that.
Stiles’ other hand drops into the awkward gap between them, thumb and forefinger clumsily tugging at the buttons of Derek’s fly until they eventually give way out of sheer force. The position makes his arm ache, but Stiles keeps shoving at Derek’s jeans, sliding them down just enough that he can pull Derek’s cock free from the confines of his briefs. The noise Derek makes is one of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
Stiles can’t jerk him off unless he wants to break his elbow, but Derek seems more than okay with just rubbing his cock against the long expanse of Stiles’ back anyway. Stiles drops his hand to grip at the sheets instead because the tip of Derek’s tongue wriggles its way inside him and he’s a lost cause, has been from the get-go. He holds Derek close, which Derek doesn’t seem to mind at all if the way he’s inhaling Stiles’ heady scent is anything to go by.
He wants to - needs to - tap out because no one has ever made him feel so alive and his nerve endings are on fire. If Derek doesn’t stop, he’s going to come before Derek can even get close. He meets Derek’s stare, eyes begging for mercy, and for a second Derek’s mouth relents, draws back enough to let Stiles momentarily catch his breath. When he leans back in, Derek licks a line from his entrance, over his balls, and down the length of cock Stiles can’t reach, until he gets to Stiles’ mouth. He flicks his tongue against his upper lip and then moves to suck at a prominent vein at the base of Stiles’ cock, worrying it with soft licks.
Derek’s hips break their rhythm and Stiles can feel precome dripping down his back, but he wants more. He wants Derek to mark him, brand him with his own scent. He digs his nails into Derek’s shoulder sharply twice in warning because the end is looming ahead and there’s nothing he can do about it.
“Don’t swallow,” Derek murmurs against his skin as Stiles slips inescapably towards orgasm. For a second he doesn’t remember how to think because he’s tensing and clinging to the bed and Derek for dear life before he comes, shuddering through it as Derek rocks against him. He does as Derek orders, using his tongue to gather up his come and hoping he doesn’t end up choking on it. Thankfully, Derek shifts backwards, carefully unfolding Stiles until his cock slides from between his lips and his legs drop either side of Derek’s body. He’s propped up awkwardly on Derek’s thighs, but he forgets to care when Derek dips down and kisses him.
Stiles doesn’t know if can actually be called a kiss because it’s mostly just Derek licking the come out of his mouth and sucking at his tongue for every last drop. Stiles makes a soft sound and shifts his hips, feeling Derek’s cock nudging into his thigh as a reminder that he’s still hard, not that Stiles could ever forget.
He slides a hand between them, his limbs loose and heavy, but Derek pushes into his palm when Stiles grips his cock firmly, jerking him off with short, sharp strokes. Stiles tries his best to keep kissing him, but Derek’s mostly just mouthing at his lips, licking at his chin and his teeth, and the flat plane of Stiles’ tongue, and it doesn’t seem to bother him one bit.
He nips at Stiles’ bottom lip when Stiles squeezes the head of his cock, tugging faster as the noises Derek keeps letting out turn breathier and more urgent. Stiles rubs his free hand the wrong way through Derek’s hair from the nape of his neck upwards, fingers clutching at the crown of his head and tugging just hard enough to draw Derek’s mouth away from his own. Derek stares down at him as though he wants to be angry, but doesn’t have the willpower to do anything more than glare, which is mostly Stiles’ plan.
“C’mon,” Stiles whispers in the space between their mouths. “How long have you been watching me? How long have you wanted to make me yours? C’mon.”
Derek reacts almost immediately to Stiles’ words, his body freezing, but his eyes dart over Stiles’ face as though he can’t get enough. Stiles tugs once, twice, and then Derek comes over his softened cock and the taut skin of his stomach. It’s hot and filthy and so perfect that Stiles has to kiss him to stop from admitting anything aloud. Things like how he wants them to do this every day for the next three years, or how he wants to be the only one that Derek comes all over.
Derek lets out a long breath when Stiles finally pulls back, sprawling out against the mattress while Derek holds himself up over him. Stiles really wants to sleep forever, but Derek’s staring down at him as though they have unfinished business, which is pretty accurate because there’s an elephant in the room that’s threatening to crush them both. With a huff, Stiles slides himself further up the bed until he can collapse backward into his pillows. He grabs a couple of tissues from the box behind his shoulder and attempts to clean the worst of the mess off. It’s a sticky job and he ends up giving in halfway through, tossing what’s left of the Kleenex over the side of the bed.
“Two years,” Derek mumbles, apropos to nothing, and Stiles blinks at him.
“Huh?”
“I’ve been watching you for two years.”
“I’m almost nineteen. One of those years was definitely illegal,” Stiles points out and Derek glares as though he already knows, as though he’s already spent countless nights berating himself over it.
“I never acted on it.”
“Until now,” Stiles replies, trying to keep the smile off his face, but failing.
“You invited me in.”
Stiles curls a hand behind Derek’s neck and tugs him closer.
“If I knew that’s all I had to do, I would have done it a lot sooner.”
Derek sighs and shifts to sit in the space beside Stiles, legs draped over the edge of the mattress. His jeans are still open and his cock is hanging out, which means Stiles can’t take him seriously, but he just snorts and leans in to nip at Derek’s shoulder through his shirt.
“We’re not going back to just watching each other,” Stiles says, forcing himself to turn it into a statement, not a question. Derek stares at him as though he hasn’t quite made up his mind yet. “I mean, we still have to find out how flexible I am in other positions.”
Stiles grins and shifts forward to catch Derek by surprise with a filthy kiss, but it’s not even two beats later that Derek responds with enthusiasm of his own. With a hand on Derek’s arm, Stiles pulls him back down, and counts it as a win.
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Summary: Stiles is eighteen when the eyes start watching him. Sequel to Happy Ending Yoga.
Warnings: Exhibitionism, voyeurism, unsafe sex, explicit sexual content.
Author: blacktofade
Words: 2,999
Rating: NC-17
A/N 1: Written for the Exhibitionism square of THIS kink bingo card. Please feel free to point out any mistakes/offer concrit.
A/N 2: I am having a fic giveaway HERE on Tumblr, so feel free to take part if you'd like to try to win a fic and make me write whatever you want! :)
Disclaimer: I am not associated with the Teen Wolf or any of their affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
Stiles is eighteen when the eyes start watching him.
The first time it happens, he's coming down from a high, body still thrumming from his orgasm, limbs splayed loose and boneless. The red glint catches his attention and his heart lodges somewhere in his throat when he realises it's Derek. Derek is actually sitting on his window ledge like the peeping tom Stiles has always imagined him to be. In a flash, they're gone and Stiles is left cold and sticky, cock twitching feebly against his thigh.
The second time it happens, Derek appears before he even starts, as though knowing what Stiles has in mind. Stiles is stretching and limbering up, only glancing towards the window when something thuds against the roof. The glowing red eyes hover just beyond the glass in the darkness of the night, tracking the movement of his legs as he folds himself in two without skipping beat. It’s even more difficult to breathe than usual with Derek as his audience, but Stiles comes harder than he ever has in his life thus far.
When he uncurls his body, licking come off his lips, the eyes are gone, but there’s a smudge on the glass of his window like a clammy handprint.
*
Stiles begins to expect Derek to be outside whenever he sucks himself off. It’s a little unnerving, which is a gigantic understatement when he thinks about it too much, but Derek seems to show up precisely when he’s getting ready to jerk off. It isn’t until he’s lying in a tangle of sheets, breathing in the stale scent of sweat and come that it dawns on him. Derek can smell everything.
The next time he has the house to himself, he props the window open an inch or two and he’s sure he doesn’t imagine the heavy breathing outside that follows his orgasm. He can’t see through the darkness, but he pictures Derek with his chin on the windowsill, mouth slightly open as he scents the air inside Stiles’ bedroom. He knows there’s nothing normal about their relationship, if it can even be called that, but when they pass outside of their little moments, whether it’s in the local grocery store or whenever Derek’s pack calls in for reinforcements (namely Scott and Stiles), he never says a word. It’s something that’s theirs and theirs only.
*
Stiles doesn’t mean to start talking, it just sort of happens. He’s too exhausted after spending the day raking leaves in the back yard to do anything more than shove his pyjama pants and briefs down to get a hand around his cock. He needs something quick and easy to take the edge off before he sleeps and he doesn’t expect to last long.
“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly, pushing up into the tight ring of his fingers. “Feels so good, Derek.”
There’s a faint rumble beyond the glass of his window, but he can’t tell if it’s Derek or thunder from the storm that’s rolling in. He really hopes it’s the former.
“Wish this was your hand. I bet you’d make me come so hard.”
It’s easy to let it all roll off his tongue when he has his eyes shut, picturing Derek kneeling between his splayed legs. There’s a loud crack outside that sounds exactly like a roof tile breaking in two and Stiles can’t help but groan at the thought of Derek listening in.
“You could tease me or make me beg. I’d be completely at your mercy, Derek. Christ.”
He’s already leaking over his knuckles, balls drawing up close to his body, and he’s sure he’s going to come as quickly as he used to when he was sixteen.
“I’m so hard for you, Derek. It’s the thought of you that’s going to make me come.”
His voice breaks embarrassingly, but he doesn’t care because when he opens his eyes he’s met with a glowing red gaze and his breath hitches.
“Oh god,” he whimpers, hand speeding up until it’s almost a blur. “Derek.”
He comes messily all over his hand and up his arm, his heart threatening to beat straight out of his chest. He knows he only lasted a few minutes, but he’s boneless and satiated, and finally ready to sleep. After he cleans himself up and shuffles back under the covers, he rolls onto his side and stares out the window, offering up a crooked smile to the darkness.
“Goodnight,” he mumbles into his pillow and after that night it’s impossible for Stiles not to talk, to tell Derek exactly what he’s doing to himself, even though he’s sure Derek can see. Each time, he comes hard and fast and falls asleep to thoughts of Derek leaning against his window ledge and jerking off.
*
It’s a warm evening at the end of August when Stiles finally breaks. The comforter is in a messy heap on the floor and Stiles is naked, slowly stretching out his muscles, eyes focussed outside, where the light is quickly fading. There’s a familiar thud just beyond the window and Stiles wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, hoping he doesn’t go into sudden cardiac arrest, despite his heart beating two to the dozen.
“The window’s unlocked,” he murmurs quietly, knowing that Derek is listening. “If you want to come inside, now’s your chance. Actually, no, scratch that. You should just get in here and make me come.”
He doesn’t truly expect Derek to do anything other than ignore him or maybe slip away into the night, but after a drawn out moment, the wooden frame of his window creaks as it slides up, letting in a breeze and two hundred odd pounds of werewolf. Stiles’ heart is no longer in his chest, it’s jammed somewhere behind his back teeth instead. Derek doesn’t bother shutting the window behind him and Stiles’ mouth hangs open in shock at the sight of him actually standing in his room.
He almost covers himself up with a hand before he realises that Derek’s already seen everything. Multiple times and in various positions. It’s strange to have Derek where he can watch him in return. He doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to touch or if they’re just bringing their strange, voyeuristic relationship inside.
Stiles sits up and tangles his hands together on top of his knees for a lack of anything better to do. He’s half-hard still, but his dick seems unsure whether it should harden further and draw attention to itself or not. With only the bedside lamp on, most of the room is in shadows, but Derek’s eyes are bright as they slowly trail down Stiles’ body. He takes a step closer to the bed and Stiles tenses in uncertainty.
He doesn’t know what to think when Derek stretches out a hand and brushes his thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip. It’s intimate and a little suggestive since they both know the things Stiles can do with his mouth. For a second, Stiles debates whether to dart his tongue out and taste Derek’s skin, but ends up keeping it in check behind his teeth because Derek leans in a little closer and Stiles gets distracted.
Derek’s hand shifts to cup his jaw and Stiles parts his lips expectantly, waiting for Derek to kiss him. Instead, Derek slides his nose along Stiles’ cheek, breathing deeply as though memorising his scent now that he’s closer and it’s so much stronger. When he draws back, his eyes are darker and filled with enough promise that Stiles’ cock twitches in interest. Derek’s eyes catch the movement and his palm slips down to the centre of Stiles’ chest, where it pushes lightly.
“Lie back,” Derek orders and Stiles bites back a moan because it’s so much better than anything he’s ever fantasised. He does as he’s told and reclines at a skewed angle down the length of his bed. When Derek nudges his thighs apart and kneels between them, Stiles actually does make a quiet noise because the touch fuels his erection and shuts down most of his higher brain function.
He wonders for a moment if Derek is going to blow him or maybe bite his way up the inside of his thighs while ordering him to touch himself. Both, in Stiles’ opinion, are perfectly good options. When Derek hooks his thumbs behind Stiles’ knees, Stiles thinks it’s going to be the former, but then he pushes gently, raising Stiles’ hips and carefully urging him to fold in two.
Stiles definitely knows where it’s going.
He shifts his shoulders into a more comfortable position then lets his legs drop either side of his head, the tip of his cock nudging against his mouth. It’s harder to see Derek from the new position, but then Derek straightens up and stares down at him with hooded eyes that say everything that Derek doesn’t.
Stiles darts his tongue out, mostly to wet his lips, but partly to see Derek’s reaction and he isn’t disappointed. Derek leans forward as though he doesn’t want to miss a moment and Stiles sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks for maximum effect. Derek slides a large, warm palm along the back of Stiles’ thigh, rubbing softly and almost unconsciously.
When Stiles lets more of his length slide between his lips, Derek seems to snap back to attention, bringing both hands up to Stiles’ waist to hold him in place. Stiles continues sucking himself off, waiting for Derek to do something, anything, which is when Derek begins laving wet, open mouthed kisses in a long trail down, starting at the sensitive spot behind Stiles’ knee.
Stiles grunts around his mouthful, trying to spread his legs further apart because Derek is heading in a direction that he’s very onboard with, but he knows he won’t last two seconds. Either Derek doesn’t notice the squirming - which Stiles is sure is impossible - or he just doesn’t care because his tongue is hot and unforgiving when it slides over the soft skin of his entrance. Stiles bucks and almost chokes himself, but Derek’s hands are steady, keeping Stiles from rolling right off the bed at the feeling.
There’s saliva everywhere, which seems to be the only thought his brain can latch onto. It’s dripping down the side of his face and the narrow space between his asshole and his balls. It’s hot in a way that he never thought it could be and he actually shoots a hand out to grab Derek’s shoulder for a lack of anything better to hold onto.
He can’t verbally tell Derek how turned on he is or how he’s definitely going to come in the next thirty seconds, but he digs his nails into Derek’s skin and it seems to do the job. The mattress dips as Derek moves, but he only seems to shuffle closer, enough that Stiles can feel the hardness of Derek’s cock nudging against his back through the tight stretch of denim. Stiles definitely wants that.
Stiles’ other hand drops into the awkward gap between them, thumb and forefinger clumsily tugging at the buttons of Derek’s fly until they eventually give way out of sheer force. The position makes his arm ache, but Stiles keeps shoving at Derek’s jeans, sliding them down just enough that he can pull Derek’s cock free from the confines of his briefs. The noise Derek makes is one of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
Stiles can’t jerk him off unless he wants to break his elbow, but Derek seems more than okay with just rubbing his cock against the long expanse of Stiles’ back anyway. Stiles drops his hand to grip at the sheets instead because the tip of Derek’s tongue wriggles its way inside him and he’s a lost cause, has been from the get-go. He holds Derek close, which Derek doesn’t seem to mind at all if the way he’s inhaling Stiles’ heady scent is anything to go by.
He wants to - needs to - tap out because no one has ever made him feel so alive and his nerve endings are on fire. If Derek doesn’t stop, he’s going to come before Derek can even get close. He meets Derek’s stare, eyes begging for mercy, and for a second Derek’s mouth relents, draws back enough to let Stiles momentarily catch his breath. When he leans back in, Derek licks a line from his entrance, over his balls, and down the length of cock Stiles can’t reach, until he gets to Stiles’ mouth. He flicks his tongue against his upper lip and then moves to suck at a prominent vein at the base of Stiles’ cock, worrying it with soft licks.
Derek’s hips break their rhythm and Stiles can feel precome dripping down his back, but he wants more. He wants Derek to mark him, brand him with his own scent. He digs his nails into Derek’s shoulder sharply twice in warning because the end is looming ahead and there’s nothing he can do about it.
“Don’t swallow,” Derek murmurs against his skin as Stiles slips inescapably towards orgasm. For a second he doesn’t remember how to think because he’s tensing and clinging to the bed and Derek for dear life before he comes, shuddering through it as Derek rocks against him. He does as Derek orders, using his tongue to gather up his come and hoping he doesn’t end up choking on it. Thankfully, Derek shifts backwards, carefully unfolding Stiles until his cock slides from between his lips and his legs drop either side of Derek’s body. He’s propped up awkwardly on Derek’s thighs, but he forgets to care when Derek dips down and kisses him.
Stiles doesn’t know if can actually be called a kiss because it’s mostly just Derek licking the come out of his mouth and sucking at his tongue for every last drop. Stiles makes a soft sound and shifts his hips, feeling Derek’s cock nudging into his thigh as a reminder that he’s still hard, not that Stiles could ever forget.
He slides a hand between them, his limbs loose and heavy, but Derek pushes into his palm when Stiles grips his cock firmly, jerking him off with short, sharp strokes. Stiles tries his best to keep kissing him, but Derek’s mostly just mouthing at his lips, licking at his chin and his teeth, and the flat plane of Stiles’ tongue, and it doesn’t seem to bother him one bit.
He nips at Stiles’ bottom lip when Stiles squeezes the head of his cock, tugging faster as the noises Derek keeps letting out turn breathier and more urgent. Stiles rubs his free hand the wrong way through Derek’s hair from the nape of his neck upwards, fingers clutching at the crown of his head and tugging just hard enough to draw Derek’s mouth away from his own. Derek stares down at him as though he wants to be angry, but doesn’t have the willpower to do anything more than glare, which is mostly Stiles’ plan.
“C’mon,” Stiles whispers in the space between their mouths. “How long have you been watching me? How long have you wanted to make me yours? C’mon.”
Derek reacts almost immediately to Stiles’ words, his body freezing, but his eyes dart over Stiles’ face as though he can’t get enough. Stiles tugs once, twice, and then Derek comes over his softened cock and the taut skin of his stomach. It’s hot and filthy and so perfect that Stiles has to kiss him to stop from admitting anything aloud. Things like how he wants them to do this every day for the next three years, or how he wants to be the only one that Derek comes all over.
Derek lets out a long breath when Stiles finally pulls back, sprawling out against the mattress while Derek holds himself up over him. Stiles really wants to sleep forever, but Derek’s staring down at him as though they have unfinished business, which is pretty accurate because there’s an elephant in the room that’s threatening to crush them both. With a huff, Stiles slides himself further up the bed until he can collapse backward into his pillows. He grabs a couple of tissues from the box behind his shoulder and attempts to clean the worst of the mess off. It’s a sticky job and he ends up giving in halfway through, tossing what’s left of the Kleenex over the side of the bed.
“Two years,” Derek mumbles, apropos to nothing, and Stiles blinks at him.
“Huh?”
“I’ve been watching you for two years.”
“I’m almost nineteen. One of those years was definitely illegal,” Stiles points out and Derek glares as though he already knows, as though he’s already spent countless nights berating himself over it.
“I never acted on it.”
“Until now,” Stiles replies, trying to keep the smile off his face, but failing.
“You invited me in.”
Stiles curls a hand behind Derek’s neck and tugs him closer.
“If I knew that’s all I had to do, I would have done it a lot sooner.”
Derek sighs and shifts to sit in the space beside Stiles, legs draped over the edge of the mattress. His jeans are still open and his cock is hanging out, which means Stiles can’t take him seriously, but he just snorts and leans in to nip at Derek’s shoulder through his shirt.
“We’re not going back to just watching each other,” Stiles says, forcing himself to turn it into a statement, not a question. Derek stares at him as though he hasn’t quite made up his mind yet. “I mean, we still have to find out how flexible I am in other positions.”
Stiles grins and shifts forward to catch Derek by surprise with a filthy kiss, but it’s not even two beats later that Derek responds with enthusiasm of his own. With a hand on Derek’s arm, Stiles pulls him back down, and counts it as a win.