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If he hadn't already bounded down the front steps, Melissa McCall would have scolded Stiles for sneaking another cookie. His best friend's mother smiled and shook her head as she shut the door behind him; her expression plain — "Boys."
Stiles settled into the front seat, jammed his keys in the ignition and munched happily as he started off down the street. He'd barely cleared two blocks before the vehicle slowed to bring attention to his Jeep's desolate steel stomach.
His seatbelt disconnected with a sharp click. Stiles hopped from the drivers seat. Excessive might to swing the door shut cause the car to quiver. The trunk held numerous fast food wrappers, a spare tire, and —of course— a predictably empty gas jug.
Stiles sighed deeply as he raked a hand through his loose-fop hair, dropping his chin. Like the time he'd snuck the Sheriff's credit card and forgotten to return it, Stiles knew he'd be harangued for this. He slumped against the open door, massaging his eyes with his hand's heels.
"Problem?" Normally Derek Hale's voice could lift the heaviest mood. This time pain replaced pleasure; the shooting kind like a sharp smack to the funny bone. Stiles reached for his elbow instinctively, his fingers came back dotted red from its connection with hard metal.
"Oh my go— Derek!" Stiles waved off Derek's concern as he wiped at the blood blots. "The fact that you know where I am every minute of every day …Gotta admit … A little alarming."
Derek shrugged into an apologetic smile. Stiles eyes raked over his body. The thick, leather jacket he wore religiously hung open over a navy three-quarter sleeve, and his slacks matched his plain, black shoes. Stiles subconscious had always held greater will, whereas his body immediately reacted to Derek; like a starving puppy pawing its owner.
"You want me to go?"
Stiles grabbed at Derek's shirt-front to stop him walking away, eyeing the streets for the Camaro, coming up empty. The movement went entirely too smoothly to be unanticipated. When Derek turned back a smile brightened his otherwise sullen face. Stiles shook his head.
"Nuh uh," Stiles pulled Derek closer, his grip loosening to flatten against the man's broad chest. Stiles slid his hand over the tanned flesh peeking beneath several unfastened buttons. The heat soaked Stiles' palm as he hooked his fingers around Derek's nape. Stubble prickled his thumb as Stiles traced Derek's jaw.
Bruising pain coupled with the metal's coolness seeping through Stiles' thin camo-plaid shirt went nearly unnoticed. Derek's clutch wrinkled Stiles' underlying royal-blue tee as he slammed him against the vehicle's flank, muffling an impact groan with his mouth. Derek's hips pinned Stiles in place and both arms flanked his head, caging the younger male with palms flat against the windows.
After a quick breather Stiles swept in again to sample Derek's bottom lip with his tongue before nipping it. An anticipated grumble started low in Derek's throat, finishing more like a feral cat's purr.
"Your place, or mine?" Derek asked, driven by his swirling stomach and the painful need to sweep his hands over Stiles body free from the neighbourhood's prying eyes.
"Yours," Stiles said, pulling from Derek before he could kiss him again, abandoning his jeep and walking down the street.
——
Stiles dawdled in the locker room after gym class, somehow expecting Derek's arrival precisely when Scott left to meet Kira. When the door clicked and the elder male stepped from behind neighbouring lockers, Stiles smiling face drifted up to meet him. He renounced his shoelaces with a kick, shooting his untited sneakers under a fronting bench.
Stiles absorbed the other male's body when he stopped before him like a greedy sponge soaking water. His hands came to grip Derek's popliteals before sliding upwards, extending his arms fully above him to push Derek's t-shirt over his abdomen in request for its removal.
When the charcoal material hit the floor, Stiles fingers tugged Derek closer by his belt-loops as he admired hard musculature. He swallowed back jealousy stemming from his own much slighter frame before beaming, delighted no other knew the taut stomach as intimately. Derek's pulse quickened as Stiles leaned in blindly to place delicate kisses above his belly-button whilst his fingers traced the definition.
Derek dropped to a squat before Stiles could unbutton his jeans —an action he regretted soon after. In this new position Stiles had several inches on him rather than the usual reverse. To avoid strain on his neck, Derek settled onto his knees and rose to put them face-to-face, taking Stiles head in his hands, thumbs hard against the teen's temples. He smiled, the action contagious to the other male, pulling Stiles closer to claim his lips in a heated kiss.
While Stiles mouth kept busy moving in time against him, arms wrapping around the elder male's neck to pull him impossibly closer, Derek's hands fall down Stiles body to find his hips. The deeper the kiss grew the harder Derek's fingers pressed into his skin beneath Stiles' sweats; there'd be bruises in the morning.
Stiles fought the urge to let his eyes slip shut; inevitably he failed in the attempt. Derek's low chuckle found his ears whilst he tugged Stiles' pants lower. Stiles dropped his head to face the ceiling. Derek took the opportunity to lick a line up his throat.
Tinted glasses clatter to the floor, revealing luscious green eyes beneath thick dark brows, for once knotted with frustration in regards to control maintenance rather than anger. Stiles breaks contact with Derek's mouth with a faint smack, licks the man's lip and smiles, pressing their foreheads together, Dark hair nearly obscuring Stiles fingers as they slide over Derek's crown.
"Your place, or mine?" Derek pressed a kiss aside Stiles pulse-point and swabbed the area with his tongue before suckling the skin. If the sudden irregularity in Stiles' heart were inaudible, he'd certainly catch the jump beneath his lips.
"Yours."
For some reason, this time, Stiles answer left Derek disappointed.
——
The brick wall scratched harshly at Stiles knuckles as he pulled closer on Derek's lap. A fresh mark joined the hickeys on Stiles chest and jaw when Derek's mouth vacated below the teen's collarbone. Stiles would normally scold him —convincing Scott he'd been swatting bees with a hot skillet hadn't passed for an acceptable excuse— however, the increasingly cold weather warranting bulkier garments might work for him. At least until Stiles could take the plunge and publicize their relationship.
Unbridled moans slipped from Stiles lips as Derek's mouth worked wonders and he relished the fact he'd no reason to bite back. Even with Scott's super-sonic werewolf hearing, there's no way Stiles would be discovered unless Scott were in the vicinity. Last Stiles checked, rousing cinema captured Scott and Kira's attention. If the movie finished they'd likely be partaking in a similar activity anyway sure to keep Scott's focus from assessing his best friend's pursuits.
Stiles willed away the charlie horse threatening his thighs awkwardly spread over Derek's pelvis and extended legs. He rose higher, his knees denting the comforter beside Derek's hips, fingertips massaging the elder male's nape absentmindedly. Derek mouthing down Stiles' chest drew immediate attention. Stiles eyed the descent with ernest like a kitten watching intent as someone trailed a laser pointer along the wall.
Derek's electrifying lips jolted Stiles from his nipple direct to his groin, as his hands moved trailed up and down his lower back. The strength of Derek's close hold accentuated by the animalistic qualities ingrained into into his DNA made Stiles lips curl into a smile he hoped Derek didn't notice. Sometimes his body betrayed his feelings in embarrassing ways.
"Ahh… God!" If Stiles hadn't distinctly remembered opening his mouth he might not have said anything at all. Wouldn't be the first time Derek had rendered him speechless and certainly wouldn't be the last. Stiles pressed his short nails into Derek's neck to grab his attention, his entire body pulsing at the vibration coming from Derek's murmuring into his skin.
Stiles slid one hand from Derek's neck, down his muscled chest, and grasped his stubbly chin with his fingers. When their lips met Stiles let himself melt in Derek's hold, focussing his attention for several moments on his upper lip before resigning to the bottom.
At one point Derek's 5-o'clock shadow left Stiles with an uncomfortable burn following an intense make-out session such as this. Now the rough tickle and pinky tinge to his skin made Stiles giddy in unimaginable ways, sometimes carrying over to breakfast with the Sheriff. Stiles' quickly learned to ignore his father's puzzling looks.
As the pair kissed, Stiles body began to move, rocking his groin against Derek gently to create delicious friction and pull gratified sounds from Derek's throat.
Trapped beneath Stiles, Derek's body sat virtually idle which left Stiles leading the charge, pushing his hips forward, slightly upwards and back down again to repeat the motion in a steady roll against the obvious strain in Derek's jeans.
Soon Derek's hands, which had worked Stiles jeans down enough to enjoy the flesh of his ass, began to aid Stiles by giving his backside a firm push into the motion. Lost in his rhythm, Stiles' —unable to glimpse anything but the backs of his eyelids— missed Derek's solemn eyes.
"Stiles?" Derek ended kiss though dove right back in for more upon realizing his mistake, little pecks, like a chicken pecking at the ground repeatedly for grains. Stiles irresistibility grew in moments like this this. The wait from his seventeenth birthday to legality had been absolute torture, and Stiles throwing himself at Derek whenever possible didn't help either. In the end Derek would've been the one incarcerated if he had given in to temptation — a fact which Derek would constantly remind the teen even against his baser urges.
"Stiles," Derek repeated, louder, bringing his hands up to Stiles back again to resist temptation, his eyes still wandering uncontrollably over Stiles pale flesh littered with brown moles Derek had come to enjoy connecting with his fingers or tongue.
"Mm?" Stiles acknowledged Derek without removing his mouth from Derek's jaw, nor his hands exploring countlessly discovered paths on his body. His round biceps, his jutting collarbone, the ridiculous six-pack marked deep into his abdomen. Derek groaned loudly as Stiles fingers slipped lower still, past his happy trail, tucking into his waistband. He reached for Stiles wrist and growled again, this time angry at himself for stopping him.
Stiles pulled back immediately, as if he'd touched something forbidden despite non-existent objections when he'd delved between Derek's thighs countless times in the past. "Der? Wha— What is it? Something wrong?" Derek swallows hard seeing Stiles lips slick with saliva and bruised from their ministrations against his body he desperately wished would continue. Though initially he'd been unbothered, now he had to get this out. Derek caught onto the forming pattern, and he wanted answers.
"Can I ask you something?" said Derek, his brows tightly furrowed enough to convince Stiles they'd freeze in place.
Stiles widened his eyes and scoffed. He brushed a hand over his head to scratch briefly at the dark, messy waves, as he did when anxious, uncomfortable, or confused.
"Dude, I'm constantly trying to get you to talk. You're choosing now to start up a rousing discussion?"
Derek sought a non-accusatory response, hoping the silence didn't produce the idea Stiles had overstepped his bounds at any point. He didn't appear self-deprecating as the younger male's hand massaged Derek's pectoral absentmindedly, the other dropping to Derek's jean zipper after scootching back a few inches.
Derek took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to focus instead on filling up his lungs with oxygen and collecting his thoughts rather than Stiles fingers sliding a squiggly pattern down his sternum.
Derek tilted his head slightly to the side staring directly into Stiles eyes, and Stiles slumped back into Derek's hold as if completed deflated. He recognized the look as the one Derek would give to him when pleading or being apologetic; the kicked-two-weeks-from-sunday puppy dog look.
"All right, What is it?"
"Does your father hate me?"
Stiles snorted, his brows shooting up into his hairline. "You're asking me, about my father... now?" he inquired, sliding backward to where Derek's legs had automatically parted to make room for the teen between them. Derek hissed as a hand bobbed over Derek's groin. Stiles long arms hung down from where both elbows rested on Derek's bent knees, legs clamped him on either side.
Derek bit his bottom lip. "Stiles, seriously."
Stiles cocked his head to the side slightly to take in the view. If possible Derek's face held anxiety, panic even, which cause Stiles to whip his head momentarily over his shoulder as if expecting to find Sheriff Stilinski shooting Derek daggers.
"My father doesn't hate you," Stiles said matter-of-factly. "Although, he's got not clue your schtooping me, so…" he shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose some highly negative feelings towards you might stem from that if this...," Stiles waggled his index finger between them from Derek to himself, "...ever became public knowledge. Why do you ask?"
Derek dropped a leg, Stiles' arm falling to lay awkwardly over the other man's knee. Starting at the teen's wrist Derek slid his strong fingers up Stiles' arm and over his shoulder, to stop at Stiles neck and brush his thumb over a sparse mole spattering.
"Why don't we ever … you know … at your place?"
"What?"
"When I ask, 'Your place or mine,' you always insist we come here. Why?"
Stiles gave Derek his trademark goofy grin, unable to fight off the trailing half laugh, as if he couldn't believe Derek had even asked the question.
Sitting up to tuck his knees temporarily underneath him, Stiles leaned forward to his boyfriend, using Derek's bare chest to support his weight and to lean against, wrapping his arms behind Derek's back. He turned his head to the side and rested his face against Derek's pectoral. His grip tightened almost immediately after Derek's own hands followed Stiles lead to lay flat against Stiles spine.
"Der…" Stiles eyed the massive divided windows tiling the back wall, separated in three sections by two thick beams placed directly before them. Though anyone else might have trouble deciphering the teen's muffled voice, Derek's werewolf hearing didn't make this an issue. Derek's arms tightened around Stiles to keep Stiles warmth close.
"It's …it's not that I don't want you there. Cause I do. Believe me." Stiles lips moved against Derek's skin as he spoke; his warm breath sweet like the strawberries and french vanilla he'd earlier devoured. Derek licked his lips at the memory and he could have sworn he could still even taste the creamy dessert on them.
"I know you've had it rough. You lost your home, your family… any semblance of happiness has quite literally come back to bite you…"
Derek couldn't stop the smile despite the awful recollections. "Killing the mood, Stiles; your point?"
Stiles turned his head to face Derek, carefully pulling his arms under him to take most his weight —they'd certainly end up falling asleep if he lay like this for too long— and his palms were flat against Derek's chest. His finger curled inward slightly, massaging the skin there, before flattening and repeating the motion absentmindedly.
"Since I can't go back and fix your past. Tear out those horrid memories. I want to make sure the good ones you make now…stick." Stiles manoeuvred awkwardly to pull up his legs and Derek ended up reaching down to grip his ass and pull him up to spread his thighs again over Derek's lap, touching their cheeks together, Stiles lips at Derek's ear and hands on Derek's shoulders to avoid paralyzing them under his body.
"I want you to enjoy the good times…," Stiles prodded lightly at Derek's temple with his finger. "…when I'm gone. Here, in your home."