Fic: A Road That's Built To Last, Derek/Stiles, NC-17 (3/7)
Title: A Road That's Built To Last (3/7)
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Additional tags: sharing a bed, road trips, if-your-fandom-was-in-Canada, language, hitchhiking AU, first time, first kiss, Derek is still a werewolf, Vancouver, past canon character death, vague references to Derek's sexual history (i.e. past dubcon), safer sex, unrepentant romance, Supernatural references, bottom!Derek, top!Stiles, explicit sexual content, wolfing out a bit during sex, brief mention of prostitution.
A/N: This started out as a prompt here, and then grew madly and wonderfully out of control, until it became a full-fledged 23,000 word road trip AU, in which Stiles and still-a-werewolf-hitchhiker!Derek gradually fall in love while traveling across Canada together. Also, title comes from Gordon Lightfoot. ♥
Summary: Stiles is driving the Trans-Canada highway, all the way from Toronto to Vancouver. He's always been told that it's a bad idea to pick up hitchhikers, but, somehow, he's still got someone riding shotgun with him, and he's starting to think it might be one of the best decisions he's made in a long time.
- - -
An hour later, Stiles is reconsidering his original optimism. Because first aid kit and cell phones notwithstanding, his jeep’s pulling to the side in a way that’s making him uneasy, and he’s already kicking himself for not bringing a spare tire. He gives it a few more minutes after he first notices it, just to make sure that he’s not imagining things, and then he mutters a curse and pulls over, turning the key just as Derek gives him a look.
“Problem?”
“Tire, I think. I’m just gonna -”
But Derek’s already sliding out of the passenger seat, and Stiles can’t quite stop himself from rolling his eyes - if Derek turns out to have a mechanic’s knowledge to go with his leather jacket and stubble and general bad boy look, then Stiles is definitely going to tease him about being a walking stereotype - before he yanks a flashlight from his backpack and gets out of the jeep himself. It only takes a few seconds of kneeling in the gravel to figure out that, yeah, they definitely should not be driving anywhere, and Stiles gnaws on his lip for a moment before he gets back to his feet again.
“We shouldn’t - if it’s going flat -”
“CAA?”
“Yeah. Really should have renewed that one.”
Derek makes a noise that sounds like a snort, and then he leans up against the jeep and crosses his arms across his ridiculously muscled chest, suddenly looking for all the world like some statue carved to perfection and then left there to shine in the moonlight. After a hesitant second, Stiles leans up beside him, the jeep cool against his back through his sweater, and there is - yeah. That’s literal crickets, right there. There is literally nothing but the sound of crickets, mixed with Derek’s slow and steady breathing beside him, and Stiles runs his tongue across his dry lips, and has to breathe through the low burn of heat that seems to be rising from somewhere deep inside him.
"So, uh - we wait, then? Flag down some help?”
“Better than trying to drive on it.”
“Yeah, that’s what - I like how you think. Honestly, cause, I’ve watched too many road safety 101 videos, and someone always thinks it’s a good idea to keep driving, and then there are explosions and things get messy, and -”
His voice cuts out when Derek shifts beside him, their arms brushing together, and when Stiles opens his eyes again - he didn’t even realize he’d closed them - Derek is watching him, his expression visible enough by the moonlight, and Stiles thinks he sees something hesitant there. Stares right back, wishes he could find something to do or say, some way to push them to where they both seem to be trying to get, and then Derek makes a noise that sounds frustrated and brings a hand to rest against Stiles’ hip, and Stiles barely stops an actual shiver. Can’t quite bite back the harsh exhale of breath - so over his head, he is in so over his head, here on the side of the road with some gorgeous guy he still barely knows - and then Derek’s moving in a bit closer, and Stiles has to close his eyes again. Can’t quite meet Derek’s eyes anymore, not when they’re so close.
“Stiles.”
“Um. Right. Look, I - um -”
“How old are you?”
“I - what?”
He gets his eyes open again, and sees the way Derek is looking at him. Like he’s just barely holding himself back, his fingers tightening against Stiles’ hip, and Stiles feels the rush of power when he licks his lips again and Derek’s eyes follow the movement. Lets that reaction move him in closer, and he somehow manages to speak over the suddenly choking speed of his heartbeat.
“Dude. I’m legal as of last month. So if that’s what you’re -”
His words get cut off on a noise that sounds, even to his own ears, rather strangled, when Derek leans in to press their mouths together, a barely there touch before he’s pulling back again, and Stiles is - yeah. In so much trouble. Because Derek’s looking hesitant, again, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s not the only one who’s nervous here, and he doesn’t know what hurts more - the tightness in his chest, or the warm ache that’s spreading low through his body, making him want more, please, more, and right fucking now.
“Are you - is that okay?”
Derek strokes a thumb across Stiles’ hipbone as he speaks, still looking so fucking unsure of himself, and Stiles is just gone. Only realizes he’s dug his hands into the front of Derek’s jacket and yanked them together when Derek’s kissing him back, hands going tight against his hips as Stiles is - fuck, he’s being turned and pressed up against his own jeep, and the way he’s already damn near panting for it should really be humiliating, but Derek’s kissing him like he wants to swallow the air right out of his lungs, and Stiles can’t be bothered to care. Goes with it - twists against Derek, tries to get closer, groans at the way Derek shakes when Stiles slides his hands across his chest - and lets Derek kiss him until he can barely breathe, and he wants, god, he wants -
Suddenly, Derek’s gone, muttering a curse as he pulls away, and Stiles is about to protest when he realizes there are headlights coming in their direction. For a long moment, all they can seem to do is stare at each other, and then Derek steps further onto the road to raise his hand, and Stiles closes his eyes and just tries to fucking breathe, his entire body feeling like it’s about three seconds away from catching fire.
- - -
In the end, Stiles supposes he has to thank the mechanic gods, or something, because their rescuer turns out to be an honest-to-god tow truck - complete with spare tire, and everything - and they’re soon under way again, Stiles’ wallet a bit lighter and his jeep a much happier vehicle. He gives it about two minutes of furtive glances in Derek’s direction - sees the way he’s staring down at the dashboard, and looking all conflicted, like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling - before he clears his throat and decides that they can both at least aim to use their words.
“So, um - that. That was - can we -”
“I haven’t done this in a long time.”
Derek’s voice is low, and Stiles might not know what this means, exactly, but - judging by the way Derek seems even more hesitant than Stiles - he thinks he gets the gist of it, at least. Saves the questions on how and why someone like Derek could ever be alone for any length of time, and swallows around the wave of nerves before he manages to speak.
"Yeah, well - I’ve never done this. Ever. So. You’re still one up on me.”
There’s no response to that one, and Stiles can’t even glance at Derek anymore. Gives it a few moments of incredibly awkward silence, and then he’s biting back something that tastes like regret as he reaches for the volume button - only to have Derek catch his hand in his, and tangle their fingers tightly together. They stay there awkwardly, for a moment, and then Derek tugs on his hand until they’re both resting against his thigh, Derek’s fingers still tangled up in his, and Stiles just - absolutely cannot fucking look at Derek right now. Breathes through the way everything inside him is getting all tangled up, tightens his fingers around Derek’s, and does his best to not drive them off the road as he tries to think over the suffocating pace of his heartbeat.
- - -
Once they finally get to Swift Current, they barely manage to close their motel room door and turn on the beside lamp before Derek’s looking all uncertain and hesitant again, standing there and damn near shifting in place as Stiles drops his backpack on one of the chairs and turns to face him. His heart’s beating so quickly it’s almost choking him, but Derek looks almost as rattled as Stiles feels, as though Stiles isn't the only virgin here - and for a painfully long and awkward moment, they simply stare at each other, until Stiles sucks in a deep breath and somehow makes his legs work. Steps forward to put a hand on Derek’s chest, loving the way Derek sucks in a sharp breath, and then he just stares up at him, taking in Derek’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks and trying to ask the question without speaking. When that doesn’t seem to do it - when Derek just stares at him, looking almost lost, like he has no idea what to do or say next - he licks his dry lips and manages to make actual words happen.
“Yes?”
Or, well - word, at least. But it’s better than nothing. Verbal acknowledgement of what they’re doing, and all that. And it seems to be enough, before Derek stares at him for a bit longer before he nods - slow and still hesitant, but a nod, nevertheless - and Stiles - sucks in a breath that does nothing to steady himself, and then curls his hands into Derek’s leather jacket and leans up to kiss him. It’s slow, this time, and still a little hesitant, as though Derek’s having second thoughts again - and then Stiles tries to think about every porno he’s ever seen, and drags his teeth across Derek’s lip; and it’s like he hits some kind of switch in Derek’s brain, because Stiles is suddenly being spun around and pressed against the motel wall, and he can’t be blamed for the helpless laugh that tears out of him as his back makes contact with the wallpaper. Grins madly into the kiss as Derek - amazingly - grins back against his mouth, breathing out a laugh of his own as he hoists Stiles up and kisses him like he needs him to breathe, and this is - this is actually the best Stiles has ever felt, in his entire life. They’re both smiling and he’s on fire from the inside out and Derek wants him, and Stiles - never wants this to end. Clutches tight to Derek and lets Derek lift him off the floor; wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and holds tight to his shoulders and lets Derek kiss him until the room is spinning; and then there’s a thumb sliding across one of his nipples through his thin t-shirt, and Stiles can’t help the way he squirms into the touch, even as it comes to him, distantly -
“Dude, are you actually holding me up with one hand?”
He sounds, to his own ears, absolutely wrecked; but he’s not too far gone to notice the way Derek goes still against him, for a moment - but then Derek’s thumb moves again, a bolt of heat streaking across his chest, and Stiles hisses and lets his head slam back against the motel wall. Does his best to not squirm so badly he knocks them both over, and then Derek’s voice is a low rumble against his neck as he gets his mouth there, warm and wet and so fucking perfect it hurts.
“Do you want me to put you down?”
“I - christ, I don’t care what you do as long as you do something -”
That gets another laugh against his neck, but it sounds more than a little strained, and Stiles is pretty sure Derek isn’t shaking from the exertion of keeping him in place. Scrapes at his neck with his teeth for an aching moment, and then he’s spinning them away from the wall to dump Stiles down onto the bed, Derek crawling down after him to lie on top of him - and then Stiles can’t think anymore, because Derek’s kissing him again, and Stiles gets lost in it. Never wants to stop. Can’t hold back a fucking pathetic whine when there are suddenly hands underneath his shirt, spanning across his sensitive stomach, massive and warm and feeling like every touch is connected to his dick, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his own hands. Latches onto Derek’s back and just holds on, twists up into the touch and just lets Derek kiss him, gasps and shakes and -
Somewhere along the way, it registers that he’s getting serious stubble burn. That he’s barely even breathing anymore - his breath stolen away into Derek’s lungs. That he doesn’t even know, anymore, how long they’ve been kissing, Derek’s hands going no lower than his belt, sliding over his shirt and then under it again but never actually taking it off, his lips and teeth and tongue making a mess of Stiles’ mouth and then dropping down to leave bruises across the skin of his throat, and - jesus. Stiles is pretty sure he’s never been this hard in his entire life - wants his jeans gone, like, yesterday - but Derek’s just - kissing him. Like the kind of high school making out that Stiles never got - like Derek could do this all night, with no thought for more, for all that he feels just tightly wound as Stiles; for all that he’s damn near vibrating against him - and Stiles is horrified to feel the way something in the back of his throat is suddenly starting to itch. Feels something inside him getting all twisted up in a way that he’s pretty damn sure has nothing to do with lust, and he swallows hard, slides his hands down to Derek’s hips, and tries to make words happen.
“Um - not that I don’t appreciate… this… but sometime before I die, you know, would be -”
There’s a huff that sounds like amusement, sharp against his mouth, and then Stiles is biting down a gasp as Derek drags his teeth - lightly - against his collarbone, before pulling back to look at him, and - wow. Stiles has to swallow, and can’t help the way he puts a hand on Derek’s cheek. Doesn’t give a damn if it’s dangerously close to sappy, because Derek looks - wow. Flushed cheeks and dilated pupils and messy hair, and it’s for Stiles¸ and the thought is enough to punch a groan out of him. Makes him close his eyes, and then bite down a whine when Derek shifts under his palm, his mouth sliding around until his teeth are scratching against Stiles’ wrist.
“Jesus, Derek. You with t-the biting.”
“You don’t mind?”
He sounds hesitant, again, even as he twists his mouth to rest his teeth against Stiles’ palm, and all Stiles can do is squeeze his eyes shut tighter and clutch a bit harder to Derek, new heat spreading out inside him - and he can’t stop the honest answer, spilling out all low and way too shaky.
“Starting to get the feeling that I’d give just about anything a try where you’re concerned.”
For a moment, there’s silence - and then Derek makes a noise that sounds almost pained, and Stiles’ shirt is being stripped off so quickly it makes his head spin. He gets his arms up - tries to help as best as he can - and then pretty much swallows his tongue when Derek drops Stiles’ shirt to the floor and then strips off his own, leaving him half-naked and absolutely gorgeous, kneeling over Stiles and looking like some kind of Greek god. He’s aware, suddenly, of how fucking tiny he is in, in comparison - has a stupid, stupid moment of wanting to cover himself up - but Derek’s already sliding down the bed to yank off both their boots, tossing them to the side before he returns to strip Stiles’ jeans and boxers clean off him, leaving him naked in the middle of the bed, and - wow. Stiles has never even imagined that anyone could ever look at him like that - like he’s something worth looking at; like Derek actually, truly wants him, and not just another body to get off with - and it’s enough to make something inside him feel like it’s breaking apart.
“See something you like, big guy?”
He doesn’t quite get the humour he was going for, and Derek doesn’t say a word. Just kneels there for a moment longer, puts a giant hand on Stiles’ stomach as he sweeps his eyes up and down the length of him, still looking at him like Stiles is beautiful, or some such insanity - and then he’s damn near tripping over himself as he gets off the bed, gorgeous in nothing but his jeans, fumbling for his backpack and cursing until he yanks out a box of - oh, god, Derek has condoms. He has no idea why Derek has condoms, if, indeed, he hasn't done this in a long time, but the box isn't even opened yet -
Suddenly, though, the full implications of the condoms hit him, and Stiles’ brain seems to stall - because, alright, sure, alright, anal sex is maybe something he could get on board with, eventually; a thing he could do, possibly; but just - not quite yet - and he opens his mouth to babble something, but then Derek’s back on the bed, kneeling between Stiles’ legs and using two huge hands to push them apart; and then he`s rolling a condom down over Stiles’ dick, and Stiles barely has time to freak out before Derek’s puts his mouth on his cock, and Stiles’ mind just - goes blank. Wipes white, nothing but wetness and heat, and he’s distantly glad that Derek is holding his hips still, because Stiles - can’t. Can’t stop squirming into the touch, can’t stop trying to buck into Derek’s mouth - gets his hands down into Derek’s hair, then realizes he’s going to fucking tear it all out, and curls his fingers into the blankets instead - and then Derek takes him in deeper, and Stiles just gives up on thinking completely. Can’t do anything but let Derek spiral him higher and higher and higher, until he’s making frantic noises and scrabbling at Derek’s shoulders, babbling something desperate - but Derek just holds him down and sucks harder, and the entire world goes gray at the edges, his orgasm ripping out of him. He can hear himself shouting, and it’s like every muscle in his body pulls tight and then snaps free all at once, so suddenly it hurts, and by the time he manages to get his eyes open again, the condom’s gone, and Derek’s got his own jeans undone, flushed and panting as he stares at Stiles, his hand stripping the length of his own cock - and the minute Stiles meets his eyes, Derek closes his own on what sounds almost like a whine, his cock shooting all over the blankets, and his face twisted into pretty much the most gorgeous thing Stiles has ever seen, Derek’s teeth slamming down into his own lip and his chest heaving for air.
For a moment, then, everything seems to go still - and then Derek damn near topples, sprawls out beside him, gasping for air nearly as badly as Stiles is, and Stiles just - desperately needs to touch, suddenly. Breathes through an unexpected wave of crushing affection, and finds himself rolling over to wrap his arms around Derek before he even realizes what he’s doing; feels Derek go perfectly still against him - and he’s just about to pull away when Derek slings an arm around him, pulling him in even closer, and Stiles closes his eyes and just holds on tight, every inch of him hurting in the best way possible.
He loses track of time a little bit, after that - just floats on the post-orgasm haze and enjoys the feeling of Derek’s warm skin against his, gradually coming to the decision that he never, ever wants to move again. Eventually, though, Derek stirs beside him, pulling his face out his own arm and finally turning to look at him, and - oh, god, post-coital is a really goddamn good look on Derek. Just the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair has Stiles’ dick making a valiant effort to go again, but he’s pretty sure the ache in his stomach has nothing to do with lust, and everything to do with how uncertain Derek suddenly looks.
“Was that… okay?”
For a moment, Stiles just stares at him, only distantly realizing that his mouth has dropped open. He’s just had the best orgasm of his entire life, and he got to watch Derek jerk off like something out of his own personal porn collection, and Derek is actually asking him like it’s a serious question - like he has absolutely no idea how damn good he just made Stiles feel - and it takes Stiles more than a bit of gaping before he finally pulls his brain back online long enough to speak.
“Okay? Dude. That was easily the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You even have to ask?”
Derek’s only response is to stare at him for a moment longer, way too damn intense with such little space in between them - and then it’s like Stiles can see the last remaining tension seep out of him, as his lips turn up ever so slightly at the edges, the concern morphing into an expression that looks pleased and fond and genuinely happy, and, oh god, Stiles has the sudden realization that he might already be in serious trouble, here, because he really, really likes that little smile. He barely has time to freak out, though, because Derek’s suddenly sliding off the bed, dropping his jeans and boxers to the floor - Stiles barely stops a whimper at the sight of all of him on beautiful display - and holding out his hands for Stiles to take; something that Stiles doesn’t do immediately, because as nice as a shower sounds, he’s not sure he has the capacity to walk yet.
“Are you kidding? You just killed me. Death by orgasm. You actually expect my legs to work?”
“I could always carry you.”
For a second, Stiles considers protesting - considers making a quip about how this isn’t a Harlequin romance, and about how he’s not some swooning maiden - but then he thinks about being pressed up against all that wonderfully naked skin, and he just shrugs and raises his eyebrows, wiggling them in a way that has to look ridiculous; and then he ends up grinning so hard it hurts when Derek huffs out a laugh and tugs him up off the bed like he weighs nothing. Scoops him up against his chest, holds him there in his arms like it’s something he does every day - Stiles puts up a token struggle, but he’s smiling too hard for it to be anything but ridiculous; and, god, he hopes they can blame the post-orgasm endorphins for this later; because he might be new to this whole casual sex thing, but he’s pretty sure that this is not normally how it goes - and then Derek’s carrying him towards the washroom, cradling him close to his chest and huffing out another laugh as Stiles squirms around some more, and all Stiles can do is bury his face into Derek’s neck and grin.
- - -
After that, they have a rather glorious six days.
They drive. They stay in crumby little motels. They eat scrambled eggs and bacon at crappy diners. They alternate between listening to nineties pop and classic rock and Gordon Lightfoot. They take photos of trees and rivers and lakes and rock formations. They have sex as often as they can - anything that can be safely done with a condom, at least, and Stiles is already having dangerous fantasies about getting his mouth on Derek with nothing in between them - and Stiles learns very, very quickly just how much he loves to make someone else feel good. Learns very quickly that being in between Derek’s legs and having the power to make him fall apart with his mouth is one of the headiest things he’s ever felt; and as they spend hours exploring each other’s bodies and learning how to make each other feel good, Stiles has the realization that he’s probably never been this happy. He can’t imagine having a more considerate lover than Derek, and while they don’t go for the full deal yet - Derek doesn’t so much as hint as anything more, and Stiles is too chicken shit to bring it up - they spend the week making out like teenagers, leaving each other shaking with a series of handjobs and blowjobs all throughout motels along the Trans-Canada Highway; and between the sex and the scenery and the music and the way Derek seems to be gradually relaxing into more smiles and laughter, it’s definitely the single best week of Stiles’ life.
The only real hiccup they have, at any point, is when Stiles finally finds the guts to ask Derek why he'd been carrying around an unopened box of condoms - whether Derek had been planning all along to do something about, I haven't done this in a long time, and whether Stiles just ended up being the really lucky guy - and then ends up feeling his pleased little smirk slide away when Derek's face does something pained, before he mutters something about not knowing what, exactly, he'd have to do to get across the country; and that's the point at which Stiles is pretty sure he feels something break in his chest. Hates that idea so much it actually hurts; and there's an incredibly pained few moments of mostly silence - nothing but the radio to break it - before Stiles pulls over, getting an eyebrow raise out of Derek as he puts the jeep in park; but it's not enough to deter him. Not enough to stop him from saying something sappy about how he's really damn glad, then, that he picked Derek up; and they end up making out there on the side of the highway, and following it up with something that might possibly be considered cuddling, right there in the front of the jeep. It's not exactly the most comfortable situation, what with the fact that the passenger seat isn't exactly built for two people; but he's got Derek's arms wrapped around him and Derek's mouth on his, and nothing that Stiles has ever found that even comes close to comparing to how incredible he feels when he's in Derek's arms.
He also, at some point, at the days go by, realizes that Derek is actually staring to tell him things about his life - little details, even; the kind that don’t normally come up, unless you’re truly comfortable with someone - and Stiles surprises himself when he starts doing the same thing. By the end of the week, he ends up telling him about some of the bigger stuff, too - tells his about his mom, even, when they’re sitting at a picnic bench by some gorgeous cliff; and Derek stares at him for a moment, before he takes his hand, apologizes for Stiles’ loss, and then tells him, in halting words, about his own family, lost in a fire when he was a teenager - and it’s really no surprise that later that night, after an afternoon spent driving mostly in silence, they end up curled up together on the hood of Stiles’ jeep. Stiles ends up wrapped up tight in Derek’s arms, held tight against his chest, as they both stare up at the stars; and not only is it the safest that Stiles has ever felt, but he also realizes that he suddenly and desperately wants to be able to do the same for Derek. Wants to make Derek feel safe and cared for the same way he’s doing for Stiles; and maybe he should be terrified by this, but judging by the way Derek starts curling around him while they sleep at night, Stiles might not be the only one who’s crossed over from casual sex into something more. Doesn’t ask, though, but he knows what he wants - knows that, despite having not even known the guy for two full weeks, he wants to have Derek in his life for as long as Derek wants to be there - and while he has no idea what will happen when they reach Vancouver, for now he’s found someone he can talk to about the big stuff - someone who knows how to listen, and who also knows what loss feels like, and who seems to have been looking for someone he can care for, judging by the way he goes out of his way to do little things to make Stiles happy - and Stiles is just going to cling to this for as long as it lasts.
- - -
Chapter Four
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Additional tags: sharing a bed, road trips, if-your-fandom-was-in-Canada, language, hitchhiking AU, first time, first kiss, Derek is still a werewolf, Vancouver, past canon character death, vague references to Derek's sexual history (i.e. past dubcon), safer sex, unrepentant romance, Supernatural references, bottom!Derek, top!Stiles, explicit sexual content, wolfing out a bit during sex, brief mention of prostitution.
A/N: This started out as a prompt here, and then grew madly and wonderfully out of control, until it became a full-fledged 23,000 word road trip AU, in which Stiles and still-a-werewolf-hitchhiker!Derek gradually fall in love while traveling across Canada together. Also, title comes from Gordon Lightfoot. ♥
Summary: Stiles is driving the Trans-Canada highway, all the way from Toronto to Vancouver. He's always been told that it's a bad idea to pick up hitchhikers, but, somehow, he's still got someone riding shotgun with him, and he's starting to think it might be one of the best decisions he's made in a long time.
- - -
An hour later, Stiles is reconsidering his original optimism. Because first aid kit and cell phones notwithstanding, his jeep’s pulling to the side in a way that’s making him uneasy, and he’s already kicking himself for not bringing a spare tire. He gives it a few more minutes after he first notices it, just to make sure that he’s not imagining things, and then he mutters a curse and pulls over, turning the key just as Derek gives him a look.
“Problem?”
“Tire, I think. I’m just gonna -”
But Derek’s already sliding out of the passenger seat, and Stiles can’t quite stop himself from rolling his eyes - if Derek turns out to have a mechanic’s knowledge to go with his leather jacket and stubble and general bad boy look, then Stiles is definitely going to tease him about being a walking stereotype - before he yanks a flashlight from his backpack and gets out of the jeep himself. It only takes a few seconds of kneeling in the gravel to figure out that, yeah, they definitely should not be driving anywhere, and Stiles gnaws on his lip for a moment before he gets back to his feet again.
“We shouldn’t - if it’s going flat -”
“CAA?”
“Yeah. Really should have renewed that one.”
Derek makes a noise that sounds like a snort, and then he leans up against the jeep and crosses his arms across his ridiculously muscled chest, suddenly looking for all the world like some statue carved to perfection and then left there to shine in the moonlight. After a hesitant second, Stiles leans up beside him, the jeep cool against his back through his sweater, and there is - yeah. That’s literal crickets, right there. There is literally nothing but the sound of crickets, mixed with Derek’s slow and steady breathing beside him, and Stiles runs his tongue across his dry lips, and has to breathe through the low burn of heat that seems to be rising from somewhere deep inside him.
"So, uh - we wait, then? Flag down some help?”
“Better than trying to drive on it.”
“Yeah, that’s what - I like how you think. Honestly, cause, I’ve watched too many road safety 101 videos, and someone always thinks it’s a good idea to keep driving, and then there are explosions and things get messy, and -”
His voice cuts out when Derek shifts beside him, their arms brushing together, and when Stiles opens his eyes again - he didn’t even realize he’d closed them - Derek is watching him, his expression visible enough by the moonlight, and Stiles thinks he sees something hesitant there. Stares right back, wishes he could find something to do or say, some way to push them to where they both seem to be trying to get, and then Derek makes a noise that sounds frustrated and brings a hand to rest against Stiles’ hip, and Stiles barely stops an actual shiver. Can’t quite bite back the harsh exhale of breath - so over his head, he is in so over his head, here on the side of the road with some gorgeous guy he still barely knows - and then Derek’s moving in a bit closer, and Stiles has to close his eyes again. Can’t quite meet Derek’s eyes anymore, not when they’re so close.
“Stiles.”
“Um. Right. Look, I - um -”
“How old are you?”
“I - what?”
He gets his eyes open again, and sees the way Derek is looking at him. Like he’s just barely holding himself back, his fingers tightening against Stiles’ hip, and Stiles feels the rush of power when he licks his lips again and Derek’s eyes follow the movement. Lets that reaction move him in closer, and he somehow manages to speak over the suddenly choking speed of his heartbeat.
“Dude. I’m legal as of last month. So if that’s what you’re -”
His words get cut off on a noise that sounds, even to his own ears, rather strangled, when Derek leans in to press their mouths together, a barely there touch before he’s pulling back again, and Stiles is - yeah. In so much trouble. Because Derek’s looking hesitant, again, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s not the only one who’s nervous here, and he doesn’t know what hurts more - the tightness in his chest, or the warm ache that’s spreading low through his body, making him want more, please, more, and right fucking now.
“Are you - is that okay?”
Derek strokes a thumb across Stiles’ hipbone as he speaks, still looking so fucking unsure of himself, and Stiles is just gone. Only realizes he’s dug his hands into the front of Derek’s jacket and yanked them together when Derek’s kissing him back, hands going tight against his hips as Stiles is - fuck, he’s being turned and pressed up against his own jeep, and the way he’s already damn near panting for it should really be humiliating, but Derek’s kissing him like he wants to swallow the air right out of his lungs, and Stiles can’t be bothered to care. Goes with it - twists against Derek, tries to get closer, groans at the way Derek shakes when Stiles slides his hands across his chest - and lets Derek kiss him until he can barely breathe, and he wants, god, he wants -
Suddenly, Derek’s gone, muttering a curse as he pulls away, and Stiles is about to protest when he realizes there are headlights coming in their direction. For a long moment, all they can seem to do is stare at each other, and then Derek steps further onto the road to raise his hand, and Stiles closes his eyes and just tries to fucking breathe, his entire body feeling like it’s about three seconds away from catching fire.
- - -
In the end, Stiles supposes he has to thank the mechanic gods, or something, because their rescuer turns out to be an honest-to-god tow truck - complete with spare tire, and everything - and they’re soon under way again, Stiles’ wallet a bit lighter and his jeep a much happier vehicle. He gives it about two minutes of furtive glances in Derek’s direction - sees the way he’s staring down at the dashboard, and looking all conflicted, like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling - before he clears his throat and decides that they can both at least aim to use their words.
“So, um - that. That was - can we -”
“I haven’t done this in a long time.”
Derek’s voice is low, and Stiles might not know what this means, exactly, but - judging by the way Derek seems even more hesitant than Stiles - he thinks he gets the gist of it, at least. Saves the questions on how and why someone like Derek could ever be alone for any length of time, and swallows around the wave of nerves before he manages to speak.
"Yeah, well - I’ve never done this. Ever. So. You’re still one up on me.”
There’s no response to that one, and Stiles can’t even glance at Derek anymore. Gives it a few moments of incredibly awkward silence, and then he’s biting back something that tastes like regret as he reaches for the volume button - only to have Derek catch his hand in his, and tangle their fingers tightly together. They stay there awkwardly, for a moment, and then Derek tugs on his hand until they’re both resting against his thigh, Derek’s fingers still tangled up in his, and Stiles just - absolutely cannot fucking look at Derek right now. Breathes through the way everything inside him is getting all tangled up, tightens his fingers around Derek’s, and does his best to not drive them off the road as he tries to think over the suffocating pace of his heartbeat.
- - -
Once they finally get to Swift Current, they barely manage to close their motel room door and turn on the beside lamp before Derek’s looking all uncertain and hesitant again, standing there and damn near shifting in place as Stiles drops his backpack on one of the chairs and turns to face him. His heart’s beating so quickly it’s almost choking him, but Derek looks almost as rattled as Stiles feels, as though Stiles isn't the only virgin here - and for a painfully long and awkward moment, they simply stare at each other, until Stiles sucks in a deep breath and somehow makes his legs work. Steps forward to put a hand on Derek’s chest, loving the way Derek sucks in a sharp breath, and then he just stares up at him, taking in Derek’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks and trying to ask the question without speaking. When that doesn’t seem to do it - when Derek just stares at him, looking almost lost, like he has no idea what to do or say next - he licks his dry lips and manages to make actual words happen.
“Yes?”
Or, well - word, at least. But it’s better than nothing. Verbal acknowledgement of what they’re doing, and all that. And it seems to be enough, before Derek stares at him for a bit longer before he nods - slow and still hesitant, but a nod, nevertheless - and Stiles - sucks in a breath that does nothing to steady himself, and then curls his hands into Derek’s leather jacket and leans up to kiss him. It’s slow, this time, and still a little hesitant, as though Derek’s having second thoughts again - and then Stiles tries to think about every porno he’s ever seen, and drags his teeth across Derek’s lip; and it’s like he hits some kind of switch in Derek’s brain, because Stiles is suddenly being spun around and pressed against the motel wall, and he can’t be blamed for the helpless laugh that tears out of him as his back makes contact with the wallpaper. Grins madly into the kiss as Derek - amazingly - grins back against his mouth, breathing out a laugh of his own as he hoists Stiles up and kisses him like he needs him to breathe, and this is - this is actually the best Stiles has ever felt, in his entire life. They’re both smiling and he’s on fire from the inside out and Derek wants him, and Stiles - never wants this to end. Clutches tight to Derek and lets Derek lift him off the floor; wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and holds tight to his shoulders and lets Derek kiss him until the room is spinning; and then there’s a thumb sliding across one of his nipples through his thin t-shirt, and Stiles can’t help the way he squirms into the touch, even as it comes to him, distantly -
“Dude, are you actually holding me up with one hand?”
He sounds, to his own ears, absolutely wrecked; but he’s not too far gone to notice the way Derek goes still against him, for a moment - but then Derek’s thumb moves again, a bolt of heat streaking across his chest, and Stiles hisses and lets his head slam back against the motel wall. Does his best to not squirm so badly he knocks them both over, and then Derek’s voice is a low rumble against his neck as he gets his mouth there, warm and wet and so fucking perfect it hurts.
“Do you want me to put you down?”
“I - christ, I don’t care what you do as long as you do something -”
That gets another laugh against his neck, but it sounds more than a little strained, and Stiles is pretty sure Derek isn’t shaking from the exertion of keeping him in place. Scrapes at his neck with his teeth for an aching moment, and then he’s spinning them away from the wall to dump Stiles down onto the bed, Derek crawling down after him to lie on top of him - and then Stiles can’t think anymore, because Derek’s kissing him again, and Stiles gets lost in it. Never wants to stop. Can’t hold back a fucking pathetic whine when there are suddenly hands underneath his shirt, spanning across his sensitive stomach, massive and warm and feeling like every touch is connected to his dick, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his own hands. Latches onto Derek’s back and just holds on, twists up into the touch and just lets Derek kiss him, gasps and shakes and -
Somewhere along the way, it registers that he’s getting serious stubble burn. That he’s barely even breathing anymore - his breath stolen away into Derek’s lungs. That he doesn’t even know, anymore, how long they’ve been kissing, Derek’s hands going no lower than his belt, sliding over his shirt and then under it again but never actually taking it off, his lips and teeth and tongue making a mess of Stiles’ mouth and then dropping down to leave bruises across the skin of his throat, and - jesus. Stiles is pretty sure he’s never been this hard in his entire life - wants his jeans gone, like, yesterday - but Derek’s just - kissing him. Like the kind of high school making out that Stiles never got - like Derek could do this all night, with no thought for more, for all that he feels just tightly wound as Stiles; for all that he’s damn near vibrating against him - and Stiles is horrified to feel the way something in the back of his throat is suddenly starting to itch. Feels something inside him getting all twisted up in a way that he’s pretty damn sure has nothing to do with lust, and he swallows hard, slides his hands down to Derek’s hips, and tries to make words happen.
“Um - not that I don’t appreciate… this… but sometime before I die, you know, would be -”
There’s a huff that sounds like amusement, sharp against his mouth, and then Stiles is biting down a gasp as Derek drags his teeth - lightly - against his collarbone, before pulling back to look at him, and - wow. Stiles has to swallow, and can’t help the way he puts a hand on Derek’s cheek. Doesn’t give a damn if it’s dangerously close to sappy, because Derek looks - wow. Flushed cheeks and dilated pupils and messy hair, and it’s for Stiles¸ and the thought is enough to punch a groan out of him. Makes him close his eyes, and then bite down a whine when Derek shifts under his palm, his mouth sliding around until his teeth are scratching against Stiles’ wrist.
“Jesus, Derek. You with t-the biting.”
“You don’t mind?”
He sounds hesitant, again, even as he twists his mouth to rest his teeth against Stiles’ palm, and all Stiles can do is squeeze his eyes shut tighter and clutch a bit harder to Derek, new heat spreading out inside him - and he can’t stop the honest answer, spilling out all low and way too shaky.
“Starting to get the feeling that I’d give just about anything a try where you’re concerned.”
For a moment, there’s silence - and then Derek makes a noise that sounds almost pained, and Stiles’ shirt is being stripped off so quickly it makes his head spin. He gets his arms up - tries to help as best as he can - and then pretty much swallows his tongue when Derek drops Stiles’ shirt to the floor and then strips off his own, leaving him half-naked and absolutely gorgeous, kneeling over Stiles and looking like some kind of Greek god. He’s aware, suddenly, of how fucking tiny he is in, in comparison - has a stupid, stupid moment of wanting to cover himself up - but Derek’s already sliding down the bed to yank off both their boots, tossing them to the side before he returns to strip Stiles’ jeans and boxers clean off him, leaving him naked in the middle of the bed, and - wow. Stiles has never even imagined that anyone could ever look at him like that - like he’s something worth looking at; like Derek actually, truly wants him, and not just another body to get off with - and it’s enough to make something inside him feel like it’s breaking apart.
“See something you like, big guy?”
He doesn’t quite get the humour he was going for, and Derek doesn’t say a word. Just kneels there for a moment longer, puts a giant hand on Stiles’ stomach as he sweeps his eyes up and down the length of him, still looking at him like Stiles is beautiful, or some such insanity - and then he’s damn near tripping over himself as he gets off the bed, gorgeous in nothing but his jeans, fumbling for his backpack and cursing until he yanks out a box of - oh, god, Derek has condoms. He has no idea why Derek has condoms, if, indeed, he hasn't done this in a long time, but the box isn't even opened yet -
Suddenly, though, the full implications of the condoms hit him, and Stiles’ brain seems to stall - because, alright, sure, alright, anal sex is maybe something he could get on board with, eventually; a thing he could do, possibly; but just - not quite yet - and he opens his mouth to babble something, but then Derek’s back on the bed, kneeling between Stiles’ legs and using two huge hands to push them apart; and then he`s rolling a condom down over Stiles’ dick, and Stiles barely has time to freak out before Derek’s puts his mouth on his cock, and Stiles’ mind just - goes blank. Wipes white, nothing but wetness and heat, and he’s distantly glad that Derek is holding his hips still, because Stiles - can’t. Can’t stop squirming into the touch, can’t stop trying to buck into Derek’s mouth - gets his hands down into Derek’s hair, then realizes he’s going to fucking tear it all out, and curls his fingers into the blankets instead - and then Derek takes him in deeper, and Stiles just gives up on thinking completely. Can’t do anything but let Derek spiral him higher and higher and higher, until he’s making frantic noises and scrabbling at Derek’s shoulders, babbling something desperate - but Derek just holds him down and sucks harder, and the entire world goes gray at the edges, his orgasm ripping out of him. He can hear himself shouting, and it’s like every muscle in his body pulls tight and then snaps free all at once, so suddenly it hurts, and by the time he manages to get his eyes open again, the condom’s gone, and Derek’s got his own jeans undone, flushed and panting as he stares at Stiles, his hand stripping the length of his own cock - and the minute Stiles meets his eyes, Derek closes his own on what sounds almost like a whine, his cock shooting all over the blankets, and his face twisted into pretty much the most gorgeous thing Stiles has ever seen, Derek’s teeth slamming down into his own lip and his chest heaving for air.
For a moment, then, everything seems to go still - and then Derek damn near topples, sprawls out beside him, gasping for air nearly as badly as Stiles is, and Stiles just - desperately needs to touch, suddenly. Breathes through an unexpected wave of crushing affection, and finds himself rolling over to wrap his arms around Derek before he even realizes what he’s doing; feels Derek go perfectly still against him - and he’s just about to pull away when Derek slings an arm around him, pulling him in even closer, and Stiles closes his eyes and just holds on tight, every inch of him hurting in the best way possible.
He loses track of time a little bit, after that - just floats on the post-orgasm haze and enjoys the feeling of Derek’s warm skin against his, gradually coming to the decision that he never, ever wants to move again. Eventually, though, Derek stirs beside him, pulling his face out his own arm and finally turning to look at him, and - oh, god, post-coital is a really goddamn good look on Derek. Just the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair has Stiles’ dick making a valiant effort to go again, but he’s pretty sure the ache in his stomach has nothing to do with lust, and everything to do with how uncertain Derek suddenly looks.
“Was that… okay?”
For a moment, Stiles just stares at him, only distantly realizing that his mouth has dropped open. He’s just had the best orgasm of his entire life, and he got to watch Derek jerk off like something out of his own personal porn collection, and Derek is actually asking him like it’s a serious question - like he has absolutely no idea how damn good he just made Stiles feel - and it takes Stiles more than a bit of gaping before he finally pulls his brain back online long enough to speak.
“Okay? Dude. That was easily the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You even have to ask?”
Derek’s only response is to stare at him for a moment longer, way too damn intense with such little space in between them - and then it’s like Stiles can see the last remaining tension seep out of him, as his lips turn up ever so slightly at the edges, the concern morphing into an expression that looks pleased and fond and genuinely happy, and, oh god, Stiles has the sudden realization that he might already be in serious trouble, here, because he really, really likes that little smile. He barely has time to freak out, though, because Derek’s suddenly sliding off the bed, dropping his jeans and boxers to the floor - Stiles barely stops a whimper at the sight of all of him on beautiful display - and holding out his hands for Stiles to take; something that Stiles doesn’t do immediately, because as nice as a shower sounds, he’s not sure he has the capacity to walk yet.
“Are you kidding? You just killed me. Death by orgasm. You actually expect my legs to work?”
“I could always carry you.”
For a second, Stiles considers protesting - considers making a quip about how this isn’t a Harlequin romance, and about how he’s not some swooning maiden - but then he thinks about being pressed up against all that wonderfully naked skin, and he just shrugs and raises his eyebrows, wiggling them in a way that has to look ridiculous; and then he ends up grinning so hard it hurts when Derek huffs out a laugh and tugs him up off the bed like he weighs nothing. Scoops him up against his chest, holds him there in his arms like it’s something he does every day - Stiles puts up a token struggle, but he’s smiling too hard for it to be anything but ridiculous; and, god, he hopes they can blame the post-orgasm endorphins for this later; because he might be new to this whole casual sex thing, but he’s pretty sure that this is not normally how it goes - and then Derek’s carrying him towards the washroom, cradling him close to his chest and huffing out another laugh as Stiles squirms around some more, and all Stiles can do is bury his face into Derek’s neck and grin.
- - -
After that, they have a rather glorious six days.
They drive. They stay in crumby little motels. They eat scrambled eggs and bacon at crappy diners. They alternate between listening to nineties pop and classic rock and Gordon Lightfoot. They take photos of trees and rivers and lakes and rock formations. They have sex as often as they can - anything that can be safely done with a condom, at least, and Stiles is already having dangerous fantasies about getting his mouth on Derek with nothing in between them - and Stiles learns very, very quickly just how much he loves to make someone else feel good. Learns very quickly that being in between Derek’s legs and having the power to make him fall apart with his mouth is one of the headiest things he’s ever felt; and as they spend hours exploring each other’s bodies and learning how to make each other feel good, Stiles has the realization that he’s probably never been this happy. He can’t imagine having a more considerate lover than Derek, and while they don’t go for the full deal yet - Derek doesn’t so much as hint as anything more, and Stiles is too chicken shit to bring it up - they spend the week making out like teenagers, leaving each other shaking with a series of handjobs and blowjobs all throughout motels along the Trans-Canada Highway; and between the sex and the scenery and the music and the way Derek seems to be gradually relaxing into more smiles and laughter, it’s definitely the single best week of Stiles’ life.
The only real hiccup they have, at any point, is when Stiles finally finds the guts to ask Derek why he'd been carrying around an unopened box of condoms - whether Derek had been planning all along to do something about, I haven't done this in a long time, and whether Stiles just ended up being the really lucky guy - and then ends up feeling his pleased little smirk slide away when Derek's face does something pained, before he mutters something about not knowing what, exactly, he'd have to do to get across the country; and that's the point at which Stiles is pretty sure he feels something break in his chest. Hates that idea so much it actually hurts; and there's an incredibly pained few moments of mostly silence - nothing but the radio to break it - before Stiles pulls over, getting an eyebrow raise out of Derek as he puts the jeep in park; but it's not enough to deter him. Not enough to stop him from saying something sappy about how he's really damn glad, then, that he picked Derek up; and they end up making out there on the side of the highway, and following it up with something that might possibly be considered cuddling, right there in the front of the jeep. It's not exactly the most comfortable situation, what with the fact that the passenger seat isn't exactly built for two people; but he's got Derek's arms wrapped around him and Derek's mouth on his, and nothing that Stiles has ever found that even comes close to comparing to how incredible he feels when he's in Derek's arms.
He also, at some point, at the days go by, realizes that Derek is actually staring to tell him things about his life - little details, even; the kind that don’t normally come up, unless you’re truly comfortable with someone - and Stiles surprises himself when he starts doing the same thing. By the end of the week, he ends up telling him about some of the bigger stuff, too - tells his about his mom, even, when they’re sitting at a picnic bench by some gorgeous cliff; and Derek stares at him for a moment, before he takes his hand, apologizes for Stiles’ loss, and then tells him, in halting words, about his own family, lost in a fire when he was a teenager - and it’s really no surprise that later that night, after an afternoon spent driving mostly in silence, they end up curled up together on the hood of Stiles’ jeep. Stiles ends up wrapped up tight in Derek’s arms, held tight against his chest, as they both stare up at the stars; and not only is it the safest that Stiles has ever felt, but he also realizes that he suddenly and desperately wants to be able to do the same for Derek. Wants to make Derek feel safe and cared for the same way he’s doing for Stiles; and maybe he should be terrified by this, but judging by the way Derek starts curling around him while they sleep at night, Stiles might not be the only one who’s crossed over from casual sex into something more. Doesn’t ask, though, but he knows what he wants - knows that, despite having not even known the guy for two full weeks, he wants to have Derek in his life for as long as Derek wants to be there - and while he has no idea what will happen when they reach Vancouver, for now he’s found someone he can talk to about the big stuff - someone who knows how to listen, and who also knows what loss feels like, and who seems to have been looking for someone he can care for, judging by the way he goes out of his way to do little things to make Stiles happy - and Stiles is just going to cling to this for as long as it lasts.
- - -
Chapter Four