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Derek felt uncomfortable. The suit, the bloody suit that Erica had somehow managed to blackmail him into wearing, made him feel unnaturally self-conscious.
Granted, he wasn’t the only superhero at this particular Halloween party. There were at least two guys in Batman suits, a particularly well suited Wonder Woman and a Captain America but so far Derek was the only one wearing a Superman suit.
The suit itself was top quality, not one of those cheap dime store pyjama deals. Derek wasn’t sure where Erica had managed to get the suit but it looked like it was stolen from the set of a big budget Hollywood movie or TV show. It was textured and almost armour-like, surprisingly heavy to wear (especially with the cape that attached to the suit on the shoulders). It was also more Henry Cavill Superman, not Christopher Reeve Superman, which is to say it did not have the embarrassing red underpants on top.
But that left that whole - area - more prominent and on show. At least that’s what it felt like to Derek and that was the source of his uncomfortable feeling. Out of the corner of his eye, he had caught more than a few party goers - women and men - giving him the once over.
Turning away from another not so subtle look, Derek cleared his throat and tried to find the other pack members. “Safety in numbers,” he thought to himself. At least he could count on Boyd and Isaac not to check him out. Well, maybe not Isaac, if he was completely honest but at least Isaac would try to hide it from him.
He caught sight of Erica’s Harley Quinn ponytails by the kitchen and took a sharp turn that way. Unfortunately his sudden movement caused his cape to tangle with the handle of the door he had been leaning against, and the force of his determined step toward the kitchen caused one of the buckles, that held the cape on his shoulders, to open and yank him by the other shoulder.
Cursing silently and vowing to never ever let Erica talk him into one of these things again, Derek turned and bent slightly to untangle the cape from the door handle. Before he could get it unwound, he was startled by a loud crash somewhere behind him.
Werewolf reflexes had Derek spinning around to face whatever danger might have intruded the party. To his relief he quickly identified the source of the commotion to be one Stiles Stilinski, face blotchy red, sprawled amongst the remains of the side table that had held snack bowls and empty paper plates.
Fight with the non-existent big bad avoided, Derek huffed in relief and unbuckled the remaining cape buckle to go help Stiles to his feet. He saw the other pack members snickering and whispering by the kitchen door but paid them no heed. The close-knit group of betas and humans (and a banshee) had been particularly furtive these last few weeks and it was starting to tickle Derek’s curiosity. But not enough, not yet. For now he had more important things to do.
His eyes scanned Stiles’ form quickly to find any apparent damages. Checking for Stiles’ wellbeing had become a habit Derek hadn’t even noticed he’d acquired.
The young man was dressed in an off-white shirt paired with a black vest, tight black pants and boots, and had a futuristic looking gun in a thigh-holster. The shirt was open a good way down his chest and Derek saw no cuts or bruises with his intense inspection. Judging by the flailing of Stiles’ arms and legs as he slipped on some chips and made a grasp for Derek’s outstretched hand, all his limbs remained unbroken as well. Just to make sure, Derek let his eyes linger on Stiles’ thighs and arms as the man pulled himself up with Derek’s help. Stiles’ lean but mouthwatering muscles moving under the cloth of the shirt and trousers, the blush still colouring his chest and neck, up up up his cheeks and to the roguishly tousled mop of brown hair…. What?! Yes, Stiles appeared to be a-okey.
“How did you manage this?” Derek barked out roughly to hide his momentary lapse into ogling. “And who are you supposed to be anyway?”
“Harsh, man! First off, I am obviously Han Solo, the greatest space smuggler known to man and second.. my hand slipped… distracted by that thing on your ba— … So, Superman, eh?” Stiles rambled quickly, scratching the back of his head as he so often did when caught in an embarrassing situation.
“Ah, yeah, it was all Erica’s doing. I don’t know where she got the suit but she made me wear it. Actually she said there’d be some sick kids here who were promised superheroes, but I haven’t seen any yet”, Derek mumbled as he scanned the room again for a sighting of said poor children.
“Yeah, she did good,” Stiles murmured, eyes roaming quickly over Derek’s body. “Where is that little vixen anyway?” he continued, dragging his eyes off Derek to scan the room himself.
Derek’s eyes turned toward the kitchen but there was no sight of the pack anymore. “They were all just here. C’mon, let’s go look for them.” He motioned for Stiles to follow him as he started to walk along the edge of the room, avoiding the throngs of people.
“You do realise there’s not gonna be any sick children at this party, right?” As soon as Derek heard Stiles’ question, he knew he’d been had. No, of course there was not going to be children at what was clearly an adults only house party.
“The suit is awesome, don’t get me wrong,” Stiles continued, “it really suits you. Suits you, hah, that was totally unintentional by the way. I mean no-one else could pull off that thing but on you it looks really… It fits you is what I’m saying. Like really fits you. I mean your arms and thighs and your bu-uh….. Did Erica get it made for you? How did she get your exact measurements? Did she measure you? Did she get a measuring tape all up in your - “
“Stiles!” Derek gritted between clenched teeth. He shot a sharp look over his shoulder and caught the way Stiles’ eyes flickered up from somewhere on his lower back to his face. “I know Erica tricked me and no she did not have this suit made. I don’t think. Now stop babbling and help me find the others.”
Stiles was acting weird, his face kept twitching and he was rambling with a speed that made it clear he was not in any control over what his mouth spewed out. Derek glanced at Stiles just in time to catch the other man who seemed to trip over his own feet, eyes once again flying up to Derek’s as he gripped Derek’s arms.
Derek steadied Stiles back on his feet but didn’t let go of his arms. In case he stumbles again, he told himself. “What is with you tonight? Why can’t you stay on your feet?” Derek searched Stiles’ face for anything that might indicate a cause for the younger man’s erratic behaviour. Stiles’ cheeks were still blushed, his pupils slightly dilated and his breath came out in pants from his open mouth. Derek’s eyes followed the way Stiles’ tongue flicked over his lower lip in a nervous tick.
Derek took a step closer to Stiles, his hands tightening their grip on the other man’s arms. He opened his mouth to -
“Yooooo Superman! Did you fly in to save me from this party?” Derek blinked and took a step back when the voice rung out behind him. He turned to give an inquisitive look at the man dressed as a football player. The jock was clearly on a mission as he continued: “Loooove the outfit. What say you and I ditch this shindig and you can show me how it looks on my bedroom floor?”
Derek only had time to raise one eyebrow even higher and open his mouth to decline the smarmy offer when he felt a hand on his shoulder and Stiles wedged himself between Derek and the jock.
“Hey buddy! What say you take your tacky proposition and shove it where the sun don’t shine.” Stiles tilted his chin up and crossed his arms in a defiant stance. Standing behind him Derek’s mouth twitched up into a small smile and he felt absurdly pleased and happy by Stiles’ outburst. Even more so when he saw the jock give them both an appraising look, then shrug and turn away. He seemed to set his sight on another target, one of the Batmen, and headed confidently across the room.
“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?!” Stiles turned to face Derek, huffing in annoyance. “Who does he think he is, trying to swoop in like that? I mean he didn’t know we’re not dating. Or you know, that we’re not an item or something. Did he just assume that since you look like you do, that there’s no way that you’d be with a guy like me? He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know you’re not just into people’s looks. That you actually care about people, the way they are. Not that you’d care that way about me. But he doesn’t know that!” Stiles stopped to take a breath and seemed to realise he’d gone on another rant. His eyes shifted to the floor and he scratched the back of his head again. He hazarded a cautious look from under his eyebrows at Derek, who was once again looking at the young man with worry.
“Stiles, seriously, what’s going on with you? Are you drunk?”
“No, I’m not drunk! I’ve had two beers! Well, one and a half, the second bottle dropped from my hand when the side table tripped me. There’s nothing wrong with me. What’s wrong with the furniture in this house, is the real question. Why is the furniture here trying to kill me? And you! Stop looking at me like I’m crazy. I didn’t come to a party dressed in something that is clearly just paint on skin, you did! Why would you do that? Why?! Are you trying to kill me? Because let me tell you, big guy, the way your ass looks in that costume is a health hazard. You can’t just go around walking and killing people with the way your ass looks all perfect and tasty. Making people want to bite it because it looks like the most sinful piece of forbidden fruit ever. And don’t even get me started on your biceps because what the fuck, man?! And your thighs! Jesus Christ, give a guy a chance to breathe! You with your perfect everything, how are you real?!”
Derek’s eyes grew larger with each new revelation from Stiles until the younger man finally took a breath. Derek felt the tips of his ears burn as the meaning of Stiles’ words sunk in. He narrowed his eyes with new determination and let his breath out through his nose.
Seemingly unable to stop himself now that the floodgates had opened, Stiles rambled on, “You’re not really real, are you. No, you’re a comic book character because no-one looks like that in real life. Your eyes and your hair and your bunny teeth. Come on! And your stubble, God I love your stubble. You’ve clearly shaved for the whole Superman experience but I can already see the stubble and all I can think is how it would feel on my skin but that’s really neither here nor there as YOU ARE NOT REAL. But God, wouldn’t it be great if you were. And if you were mine to touch. And I could just touch and touch and kiss and caress and hold you and give you nice things like cuddles and blowjobs because I would, you know. I would give you so many nice things.”
And that finally broke Derek from his trance. He had always known Stiles was someone who cared deeply for his friends and loved ones. He’d watched the mutual devotion of Stiles and the Sheriff with fondness and even a bit of envy. He’d let himself daydream what it would’ve been like if someone like Stiles cared for him as deeply as Stiles cared for the people he loved. If someone with Stiles’ golden brown eyes looked at him with love and desire. If someone with Stiles’ hands touched him. If someone who was, quite frankly, exactly like Stiles, held him tight and whispered sweet things to him in the midst of ecstasy.
Derek grabbed Stiles’ arms and pushed him against the wall with his own body. A low growl of “Stiles” was all the warning he gave before he crushed his mouth to Stiles’. A needy sound escaped from Stiles as Derek explored his mouth and pushed one strong thigh between his.
Stiles’ hands sprinted to action and he grabbed onto the globes of Derek’s ass like it was his lifeline. He lifted his leg slightly and pulled Derek tightly against his crotch as his hips stuttered into a frantic motion against Derek.
Derek’s hand gripped the back of Stiles’ head as his other hand slid down Stiles’ back. His hips responded to Stiles’ movements without his conscious decision and his head swam in the muddled thoughts of “Stiles - more - need - now - skin - oh god right there”.
And even in the midst of his frantic grinding and groping Stiles couldn’t keep his mouth from making all his thoughts known. “Oh God, this is it. This is really happening. You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered against Derek’s neck, hungrily scraping his teeth against Derek’s jaw.
Stiles’ words and the increasingly constricting feeling of the cup on the front of his Superman suit cleared Derek’s head enough for him to remember that they were acting out his well kept secret wet dream in plain view of any and all party-goers who happened to glance their way. Reluctantly he removed his hand from the back of Stiles’ tight pants and straightened Stiles’ shirt back into a semblance of decency. He took a deep and shuddering breath and used what little he had left of his willpower to step away from the human magnet that was even now trying to find purchase in his suit to pull him back in.
“Stiles,” Derek leaned in to whisper in the younger man’s ear while he took his hand in his own, “we need to leave this party, now. I’m going to drive us back to my loft and then you’re going to fuck me into tomorrow.” He took advantage of Stiles’ momentary brain freeze and pulled the man with him out the door.
Erica smirked at the high pitched whine Stiles emitted as the pair left the party in their rush to Derek’s car. She turned her gleeful face to Boyd and Isaac, “Time to pay up, boys.”
“Erica knows best. Erica is the queen mastermind who can fix the two idiots who are driving us all up the wall with their unresolved sexual tension,” Boyd and Isaac chorused obediently. “Damnit, I was sure it would take at least another year for them to finally break,” Isaac admitted.
“Never ever underestimate the power of Superman.”