No-Tell Paradise (gift for Community)
Title: No-Tell Paradise
Author: lenfantsavage
Recipient:tw_holidays - Gift to Comm!
Pairings: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: R
Word Count: 2276
Warnings: Barebacking, under aged character (Stiles is older than current cannon, but not quite 18), mentions of switching and toys.
Summary: The boys sleep together because they want to. It’s not destiny or anything, but it’s what they need.
Author's Notes: Uh, I think I hit on two things asked for. Haha, I hope you like it anyway. I don’t know why I keep signing up to write things when the retail Christmas season is about to start, but no matter that, I had a lot of fun!
Stiles’ friends are kind of snobby. He doesn’t mind, honestly he kind of is too and is just self aware enough to realize it. Most days it doesn’t matter (it only sometimes embarasses him), Jackson and Lydia are rich enough to think used clothing stores are fashion statements. Stiles doesn’t know what Scott’s (and Allison’s too, actually) problem is exactly, but he’s always acted like driving through Beacon Hills’ “bad side of town” was akin to trekking through some harsh Brazilian slum or something. Boyd’s from old money, Erica just couldn’t give a shit, and Stiles’ has no idea what Isaac's deal is exactly.
The point is none of the young people who care enough about Stiles to wonder what he might get up to when he isn’t pulling their wolf-y asses out of the frying pan wouldn’t think to look for him out there. Not where some of the stores are closed, and you might just come across some graffiti. The Bad Side is sleepy in different ways than the rest of town; a little greyer maybe, like it’s always about to rain. It’s like crossing into a different world, and he likes it.
The others wouldn’t ever think to try and find him there simply because they usually forget it exists. It’s useful. Stiles parks his jeep in the motel’s parking lot behind the building proper, and heads to their usual room.
The door is unlocked; it’s dark inside and a little muggy. Derek stands by the bed, naked except for the towel draped over his head to catch drops of water from his hair. Squeaky clean and ready to go. Stiles’ll bet there isn’t an ounce of hot water left; for a guy who looks like he lives rough he’s surprisingly dedicated to taking care of his body. Everything from strict workout routines, to hour long showers, and well, if Derek is a closet diva about the whole thing Stiles can’t really complain.
Not when he gets to run his hands all over the results. Derek’s presence is so large most of the time Stiles forgets that they’re just about the same height. It’s true though. Stiles can mouth soft kisses against the back of Derek’s neck without having to crane his own neck. With his posture relaxed he can suckle the soapy sweet damp from his hairline, his fingers fanning wide against Derek’s strong stomach.
Derek doesn’t say anything, never one to mince words when actions really do speak louder. He pulls the towel from his head; it falls heavily to the floor.
“Sorry I’m late.” Stiles murmurs against the back of Derek’s ear. He knows the older man isn’t mad. It’s more time to use up all the No-Tell’s hot water. Stiles wonders if Derek pulled one off in the shower like he himself had wanted to do in the jeep driving over. The anticipation is practically half the fun.
Except that it really isn’t. Not when Derek is finally kissing him after a week of bad timing and homework and lacrosse drama. Derek’s tongue is hot and agile inside his mouth, and Stiles has so had enough of anticipation. His knees hit the edge of the bed and they fall onto it like it’s the most natural thing. Virtually surrounded by wet, hot, naked beefcake Stile would love to know just which orphanage he saved in a past life to deserve the reward he’s getting now. Derek’s hand snakes under Stiles’ shirt, and it’s searing against his skin.
For his own part Stiles never quite knows where to touch first. Strong shoulders, bulging biceps, rock hard abs... Derek’s body is a veritable feast for the fingertips. Stiles grins into the kiss as his hands find the pert roundness of Derek’s ass. Humming his approval Derek presses down with a firm roll of this hips. Stiles opens his legs wide, and they shift together with little promising thrusts, Stiles’ jeans the only barrier between them.
Stiles pouts as he loses his handful, but he can’t complain much, not when Derek’s moving lower to nibble at his skin. Stiles archs up as his lover bites at his nipples. It isn’t so much the sensation of it, really, as the idea of it that’s so thrilling. Just thinking of it: Derek’s mouth and hands all over him, it’s so fucking hot he can’t handle it.
Stiles runs his finger through Derek’s hair as he shifts lower, biting kisses all over his belly. He pops the button on Stiles jeans, and pulls down the zip with tongue and teeth, and Stiles sits up so he can watch.
Who knew the one person to rival Stiles’ oral fixation would be Derek freaking Hale? Derek’s got his face buried in Stiles’ crotch (the dude is fucking shameless, and he couldn’t love it more), he can feel the scratch of stubble on his thigh through his briefs, the wetness of Derek’s mouth on his aching dick. It’s awesome and unfair. Stiles is very quickly falling apart, and Derek looks like he’s completely at peace with his place in the universe. If the man looks like that while doing something that isn’t having sex with Stiles, he hasn't witnessed it yet.
“Me or you babe?” Stiles isn’t a position exclusive kind of fellow, and (much to Stiles surprise and delight the first time Derek had laid back spread his legs and murmured “you gonna fuck me or what?”) neither is the werewolf.
They don’t necessarily take turns topping and bottoming, but they do take turns choosing which position they’d like to be in. It means Stiles has been fucked more times than he’s done the fucking, but he can’t be blamed for that. Werewolf stamina is incredible. Seriously. Derek is like a machine pistoning into him steadily for so long Stiles can sometimes come without needing his dick touched.
(It’s no wonder Allison flutters around like a Disney princess most days. Stiles makes a mental note to bro-fist Scott later. Because sex.)
Derek takes his time; tugging down Stiles’ pants to reach more skin. The heavy denim if his jean are still hanging from his ankles when Derek shifts up to press kisses against Stiles’ ear.
“You...” It’s almost a question. Derek may be Mr. Pushy Alpha Pants most of the time, but he’s a real gentleman in bed.
“Me.” Stiles grins
“I really want to fuck you.”
Stiles huffs a laugh, wriggles his jean completely off and lays back. Derek grabs the lube from the bedside table, but it’s a moment before he puts it to use. He’s kneeling over Stiles, just touching, petting his belly, his chest. Stiles lets him take his time. Derek is always a little vulnerable when he’s topping. It’s not what he’d expected. Stiles had sort of associated topping with the physically stronger, more domineering person, and bottoming with the smaller or weaker person.
It had been Danny, actually, who’d set him straight about that. Not intentionally, the teen seemed to find Stiles’ curiosity, maybe, a tad bit invasive. No, Stiles had overheard a conversation he’d been having. Apparently sweet, nice, soft spoken Danny was a major power top.
Derek always kind of looks like he can’t believe this is happening, like Stiles is something special that he gets to have. Except what if it’s a trick and he’s taken away just like everything else?
Right before he puts his fingers in Stiles’ ass, that is.
Stiles pulls his legs up, spreading himself wide for Derek, and just like that the moment is gone. Derek grins, all teeth and just a little sunshine.
They make out while Derek fingers him, because the werewolf is talented like that. It isn’t rushed, not like the first time when it felt like it had to be all or nothing. Hard and fast and right fucking now, or god knows what will come bursting through the door to ruin it. And knowing their luck? It’d be a fucking wendigo or something. They’ve met like this enough times to trust, just a bit more, in the possibility of next time.
“So... I went shopping with Ginger the other day.” Stiles gasps when they part for air.
“That is very sexy.” Derek replies without missing a beat since he’s Mr. Sarcasm today.
“Hush you. This is important. She knows the best places, FYI. I bought a vibrator.” that has Derek’s attention.
“Did you bring it?”
“No- ah, shit that feels good... it’s for next time. Something we can both look forward to all week.”
Stiles ends up with his knees hooked over Derek’s shoulders, and the man rips open a condom. (Werewolf healing means if Stiles is getting an STI in his lifetime, it won’t be from Derek, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys cleaning jism out of his ass after. Except for that one time Derek did it for him. That was awesome.)
“I got one for you too.” Stiles cackles when the condom slips from Derek’s fingers and lands uncurled and useless on the bed.
“Brat! You didn’t.”
“Oh baby I so did.” the image of Derek fucking him while a vibrating plug does naughty wonderful things against his own prostate was too hot for Stiles to ignore.
(The look Ginger gave him as the cashier bagged a ‘his and his’ set of grown-up toys was both salacious and approving. They went back Ginger’s later to watch Rupaul’s Drag Race while Stiles tried on wigs and Ginger brain stormed ridiculous drag names for him.
“You can’t be my tran-prentice without a suitably divalicious name, sweetheart. Oooh, what about ‘Little Red’?”
“Oh my god no.”
“I will think of something. Now come sit, they’re about to make someone Sashay Away.” )
“You are a tease.” Derek swats a pink handprint into the meat of Stiles’ left butt cheek.
“Hey! You brute!” Stiles laughs, unhooking his legs so he can lift his hips up. Shoulders on the pillows and ass in the air in an obscene parody of a bridge pose, his dick bobbing between them, Stiles attempts to wiggle enticingly, and probably doesn’t completely fail since Derek grasps his hips and lines himself up.
There isn’t much talking after that. It’s not like Derek has a monster dick or anything, but he’s still pretty big. It’s weird, and good, and invasive, and satisfying, and a thousand other things at once. Stiles’s legs are nothing but jelly as he gasps and mewls with the push and pull inside him. It’s way more intense than usual and it takes Stiles a moment to realise why the searing throb of Derek’s dick inside him is so much more vivid.
“H-hey! You asshole, you didn’t suit up!”
“Dropped... the condom...”
“There...there’s more than one...” Derek slings Stiles’ left leg back over his shoulder and fucks into him harder. Stiles grabs onto the pillows under him and holds on for dear life.
“N-no fair..!” but the fight’s all gone. Not that it was difficult to lose it, when his lover feels so damn good. He’ll be mad at Derek later.
So much for being a gentleman.
Stiles can’t quite thrust back, but he can roll his hips, never one to just take it. Derek starts thrusting with purpose, aiming for Stiles’ prostate as much as possible. The teen knows he isn’t going to last much longer, so he starts clenching, squeezing and releasing around Derek’s dick. The pulsing constriction of his inner muscles driving the werewolf wild.
“God..! Stiles. Love it when you do that...”
Derek’s voice always goes higher, rather than deeper, the more into it he gets. Guttural grunts giving way to more honest keening (which still has nothing on Stiles who tends to literally scream half way through the third round when his body is oversensitized, but he’s still not ready to stop.)
Time doesn’t really exist during. At least not as far as Stiles cares to tell. Derek could fuck him for a minute or an hour, and it’d all be the same haze of pressure, pleasure, and dopamine goodness. Soon enough though Derek’s got his fingers curled around Stiles’ aching dick, and it doesn’t take much to push him over that ever loved edge. Derek lets go of the teen’s legs and pulls out just in time to shoot a fat load all over Stiles’ chest.
The bed dips and bounces them as Derek tosses himself down beside Stiles, too hot to snuggle just yet, but still wanting to be close. Stiles is blissed out from his orgasm when he drags a hand down his own stomach, and right through the sticky mess his lover’s just made.
“Damnit Derek!” Stiles whacks him with a pillow and flops onto his stomach, determined to pout.
“Stiles-”
“Nuh-uh, not talking to you. You didn’t ask first. You’re a non-asking jerk!
“Sorry...”
Stupid Derek and his sad voice. Stiles rolls over grudgingly, and curls himself against Derek’s side. The werewolf’s cooling cum sticky between them. Derek tucks his arms around Stiles, unconcerned about the mess.
“I didn’t come inside you at least.” Stiles swats Derek’s (insanely ripped, jeez) belly.
“I don’t like it when you pull out, dummy. I like it when you’re inside me when you come...”
Derek flips them over easily, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles’ neck. “You can’t just say shit like that!”
“I think you’ll find I can.”
Derek reaches for the box of condoms, and Stiles laughs anger forgotten with the unspoken promises of what the werewolf will do to make it up to him. There’s a reason they pay by the day and not the hour, after all.
Author: lenfantsavage
Recipient:tw_holidays - Gift to Comm!
Pairings: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: R
Word Count: 2276
Warnings: Barebacking, under aged character (Stiles is older than current cannon, but not quite 18), mentions of switching and toys.
Summary: The boys sleep together because they want to. It’s not destiny or anything, but it’s what they need.
Author's Notes: Uh, I think I hit on two things asked for. Haha, I hope you like it anyway. I don’t know why I keep signing up to write things when the retail Christmas season is about to start, but no matter that, I had a lot of fun!
Stiles’ friends are kind of snobby. He doesn’t mind, honestly he kind of is too and is just self aware enough to realize it. Most days it doesn’t matter (it only sometimes embarasses him), Jackson and Lydia are rich enough to think used clothing stores are fashion statements. Stiles doesn’t know what Scott’s (and Allison’s too, actually) problem is exactly, but he’s always acted like driving through Beacon Hills’ “bad side of town” was akin to trekking through some harsh Brazilian slum or something. Boyd’s from old money, Erica just couldn’t give a shit, and Stiles’ has no idea what Isaac's deal is exactly.
The point is none of the young people who care enough about Stiles to wonder what he might get up to when he isn’t pulling their wolf-y asses out of the frying pan wouldn’t think to look for him out there. Not where some of the stores are closed, and you might just come across some graffiti. The Bad Side is sleepy in different ways than the rest of town; a little greyer maybe, like it’s always about to rain. It’s like crossing into a different world, and he likes it.
The others wouldn’t ever think to try and find him there simply because they usually forget it exists. It’s useful. Stiles parks his jeep in the motel’s parking lot behind the building proper, and heads to their usual room.
The door is unlocked; it’s dark inside and a little muggy. Derek stands by the bed, naked except for the towel draped over his head to catch drops of water from his hair. Squeaky clean and ready to go. Stiles’ll bet there isn’t an ounce of hot water left; for a guy who looks like he lives rough he’s surprisingly dedicated to taking care of his body. Everything from strict workout routines, to hour long showers, and well, if Derek is a closet diva about the whole thing Stiles can’t really complain.
Not when he gets to run his hands all over the results. Derek’s presence is so large most of the time Stiles forgets that they’re just about the same height. It’s true though. Stiles can mouth soft kisses against the back of Derek’s neck without having to crane his own neck. With his posture relaxed he can suckle the soapy sweet damp from his hairline, his fingers fanning wide against Derek’s strong stomach.
Derek doesn’t say anything, never one to mince words when actions really do speak louder. He pulls the towel from his head; it falls heavily to the floor.
“Sorry I’m late.” Stiles murmurs against the back of Derek’s ear. He knows the older man isn’t mad. It’s more time to use up all the No-Tell’s hot water. Stiles wonders if Derek pulled one off in the shower like he himself had wanted to do in the jeep driving over. The anticipation is practically half the fun.
Except that it really isn’t. Not when Derek is finally kissing him after a week of bad timing and homework and lacrosse drama. Derek’s tongue is hot and agile inside his mouth, and Stiles has so had enough of anticipation. His knees hit the edge of the bed and they fall onto it like it’s the most natural thing. Virtually surrounded by wet, hot, naked beefcake Stile would love to know just which orphanage he saved in a past life to deserve the reward he’s getting now. Derek’s hand snakes under Stiles’ shirt, and it’s searing against his skin.
For his own part Stiles never quite knows where to touch first. Strong shoulders, bulging biceps, rock hard abs... Derek’s body is a veritable feast for the fingertips. Stiles grins into the kiss as his hands find the pert roundness of Derek’s ass. Humming his approval Derek presses down with a firm roll of this hips. Stiles opens his legs wide, and they shift together with little promising thrusts, Stiles’ jeans the only barrier between them.
Stiles pouts as he loses his handful, but he can’t complain much, not when Derek’s moving lower to nibble at his skin. Stiles archs up as his lover bites at his nipples. It isn’t so much the sensation of it, really, as the idea of it that’s so thrilling. Just thinking of it: Derek’s mouth and hands all over him, it’s so fucking hot he can’t handle it.
Stiles runs his finger through Derek’s hair as he shifts lower, biting kisses all over his belly. He pops the button on Stiles jeans, and pulls down the zip with tongue and teeth, and Stiles sits up so he can watch.
Who knew the one person to rival Stiles’ oral fixation would be Derek freaking Hale? Derek’s got his face buried in Stiles’ crotch (the dude is fucking shameless, and he couldn’t love it more), he can feel the scratch of stubble on his thigh through his briefs, the wetness of Derek’s mouth on his aching dick. It’s awesome and unfair. Stiles is very quickly falling apart, and Derek looks like he’s completely at peace with his place in the universe. If the man looks like that while doing something that isn’t having sex with Stiles, he hasn't witnessed it yet.
“Me or you babe?” Stiles isn’t a position exclusive kind of fellow, and (much to Stiles surprise and delight the first time Derek had laid back spread his legs and murmured “you gonna fuck me or what?”) neither is the werewolf.
They don’t necessarily take turns topping and bottoming, but they do take turns choosing which position they’d like to be in. It means Stiles has been fucked more times than he’s done the fucking, but he can’t be blamed for that. Werewolf stamina is incredible. Seriously. Derek is like a machine pistoning into him steadily for so long Stiles can sometimes come without needing his dick touched.
(It’s no wonder Allison flutters around like a Disney princess most days. Stiles makes a mental note to bro-fist Scott later. Because sex.)
Derek takes his time; tugging down Stiles’ pants to reach more skin. The heavy denim if his jean are still hanging from his ankles when Derek shifts up to press kisses against Stiles’ ear.
“You...” It’s almost a question. Derek may be Mr. Pushy Alpha Pants most of the time, but he’s a real gentleman in bed.
“Me.” Stiles grins
“I really want to fuck you.”
Stiles huffs a laugh, wriggles his jean completely off and lays back. Derek grabs the lube from the bedside table, but it’s a moment before he puts it to use. He’s kneeling over Stiles, just touching, petting his belly, his chest. Stiles lets him take his time. Derek is always a little vulnerable when he’s topping. It’s not what he’d expected. Stiles had sort of associated topping with the physically stronger, more domineering person, and bottoming with the smaller or weaker person.
It had been Danny, actually, who’d set him straight about that. Not intentionally, the teen seemed to find Stiles’ curiosity, maybe, a tad bit invasive. No, Stiles had overheard a conversation he’d been having. Apparently sweet, nice, soft spoken Danny was a major power top.
Derek always kind of looks like he can’t believe this is happening, like Stiles is something special that he gets to have. Except what if it’s a trick and he’s taken away just like everything else?
Right before he puts his fingers in Stiles’ ass, that is.
Stiles pulls his legs up, spreading himself wide for Derek, and just like that the moment is gone. Derek grins, all teeth and just a little sunshine.
They make out while Derek fingers him, because the werewolf is talented like that. It isn’t rushed, not like the first time when it felt like it had to be all or nothing. Hard and fast and right fucking now, or god knows what will come bursting through the door to ruin it. And knowing their luck? It’d be a fucking wendigo or something. They’ve met like this enough times to trust, just a bit more, in the possibility of next time.
“So... I went shopping with Ginger the other day.” Stiles gasps when they part for air.
“That is very sexy.” Derek replies without missing a beat since he’s Mr. Sarcasm today.
“Hush you. This is important. She knows the best places, FYI. I bought a vibrator.” that has Derek’s attention.
“Did you bring it?”
“No- ah, shit that feels good... it’s for next time. Something we can both look forward to all week.”
Stiles ends up with his knees hooked over Derek’s shoulders, and the man rips open a condom. (Werewolf healing means if Stiles is getting an STI in his lifetime, it won’t be from Derek, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys cleaning jism out of his ass after. Except for that one time Derek did it for him. That was awesome.)
“I got one for you too.” Stiles cackles when the condom slips from Derek’s fingers and lands uncurled and useless on the bed.
“Brat! You didn’t.”
“Oh baby I so did.” the image of Derek fucking him while a vibrating plug does naughty wonderful things against his own prostate was too hot for Stiles to ignore.
(The look Ginger gave him as the cashier bagged a ‘his and his’ set of grown-up toys was both salacious and approving. They went back Ginger’s later to watch Rupaul’s Drag Race while Stiles tried on wigs and Ginger brain stormed ridiculous drag names for him.
“You can’t be my tran-prentice without a suitably divalicious name, sweetheart. Oooh, what about ‘Little Red’?”
“Oh my god no.”
“I will think of something. Now come sit, they’re about to make someone Sashay Away.” )
“You are a tease.” Derek swats a pink handprint into the meat of Stiles’ left butt cheek.
“Hey! You brute!” Stiles laughs, unhooking his legs so he can lift his hips up. Shoulders on the pillows and ass in the air in an obscene parody of a bridge pose, his dick bobbing between them, Stiles attempts to wiggle enticingly, and probably doesn’t completely fail since Derek grasps his hips and lines himself up.
There isn’t much talking after that. It’s not like Derek has a monster dick or anything, but he’s still pretty big. It’s weird, and good, and invasive, and satisfying, and a thousand other things at once. Stiles’s legs are nothing but jelly as he gasps and mewls with the push and pull inside him. It’s way more intense than usual and it takes Stiles a moment to realise why the searing throb of Derek’s dick inside him is so much more vivid.
“H-hey! You asshole, you didn’t suit up!”
“Dropped... the condom...”
“There...there’s more than one...” Derek slings Stiles’ left leg back over his shoulder and fucks into him harder. Stiles grabs onto the pillows under him and holds on for dear life.
“N-no fair..!” but the fight’s all gone. Not that it was difficult to lose it, when his lover feels so damn good. He’ll be mad at Derek later.
So much for being a gentleman.
Stiles can’t quite thrust back, but he can roll his hips, never one to just take it. Derek starts thrusting with purpose, aiming for Stiles’ prostate as much as possible. The teen knows he isn’t going to last much longer, so he starts clenching, squeezing and releasing around Derek’s dick. The pulsing constriction of his inner muscles driving the werewolf wild.
“God..! Stiles. Love it when you do that...”
Derek’s voice always goes higher, rather than deeper, the more into it he gets. Guttural grunts giving way to more honest keening (which still has nothing on Stiles who tends to literally scream half way through the third round when his body is oversensitized, but he’s still not ready to stop.)
Time doesn’t really exist during. At least not as far as Stiles cares to tell. Derek could fuck him for a minute or an hour, and it’d all be the same haze of pressure, pleasure, and dopamine goodness. Soon enough though Derek’s got his fingers curled around Stiles’ aching dick, and it doesn’t take much to push him over that ever loved edge. Derek lets go of the teen’s legs and pulls out just in time to shoot a fat load all over Stiles’ chest.
The bed dips and bounces them as Derek tosses himself down beside Stiles, too hot to snuggle just yet, but still wanting to be close. Stiles is blissed out from his orgasm when he drags a hand down his own stomach, and right through the sticky mess his lover’s just made.
“Damnit Derek!” Stiles whacks him with a pillow and flops onto his stomach, determined to pout.
“Stiles-”
“Nuh-uh, not talking to you. You didn’t ask first. You’re a non-asking jerk!
“Sorry...”
Stupid Derek and his sad voice. Stiles rolls over grudgingly, and curls himself against Derek’s side. The werewolf’s cooling cum sticky between them. Derek tucks his arms around Stiles, unconcerned about the mess.
“I didn’t come inside you at least.” Stiles swats Derek’s (insanely ripped, jeez) belly.
“I don’t like it when you pull out, dummy. I like it when you’re inside me when you come...”
Derek flips them over easily, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles’ neck. “You can’t just say shit like that!”
“I think you’ll find I can.”
Derek reaches for the box of condoms, and Stiles laughs anger forgotten with the unspoken promises of what the werewolf will do to make it up to him. There’s a reason they pay by the day and not the hour, after all.