Stiles remembers Derek Hale from when Derek was still in high school, of course he does. Derek was probably the best lacrosse player Beacon Hills high had ever had (much to Stiles’ joy because that means Jackson isn’t the best player of all time, even if he is the best player at the moment). Derek had been a senior when Stiles was a freshman and Derek was so cool at that time. He was popular and gorgeous and everyone fawned over him. Then Derek’s parents died in a horrible fire set by Derek’s crazy ex-girlfriend. Derek and his sister Laura had left town to stay with their uncle, according to most rumors they moved to New York, but Stiles knew rumors weren’t to be trusted.
The thing is, Stiles remembers Derek from back then even if Derek was a senior (or maybe because he was a senior) and he knows, the moment he sees the dark-haired leader of the biker gang that just stepped into the bar that it’s Derek Hale. Stiles’ jaw might or might not drop and he might stare a bit. Years did absolutely nothing but good things to Derek. His shoulders are broad, a grey shirt stretching over nice, firm pecs and his tight, dark jeans show off thigh muscles that should be illegal. Stiles really wants Derek to turn around so he could get a view of his ass, because he knows that ass is to die for, especially in those tight pants. On both of Derek’s sides, but slightly behind him like some kinds of bodyguards, are three other people. To his right there’s a blonde woman in tight leather with a huge cleavage and blood-red lips. If her smirk is anything to go by she knows exactly what she does to the male occupants – and most likely the few women as well – of the sketchy bar. She seems to be taken though, if the hand around her waist by the big, dark guy to her side is anything to go by. He seems unfazed by the fact that everyone is staring at his girlfriend. The fourth member of the gang is a tall, lanky guy. He doesn’t seem to have the same muscles as Derek and the dark guy, but he’s no less gorgeous with his high cheekbones, blue eyes and blond curls. Stiles wonders if Derek picks the members of the gang based on their looks.
As one, the gang moves up to the bar, the girl gives a wink to one of the patrons who moves out of their way, her boyfriend’s hand curling slightly against her hip.
Stiles is too far away sat at the other end of the bar to hear what they order. He should’ve sat in the corner so he could’ve been able to see Derek’s ass, he thinks sullenly, and drowns the rest of his foul-tasting whiskey. Stiles isn’t anywhere near twenty-one and this is the only bar that will serve him and even if this isn’t Stiles’ first choice to be on a Friday night he has little choice as Scott choose his girlfriend over Stiles (yet again) and Stiles wants to get wasted and wallow in self-pity (Stiles’ father has taken to hiding his booze in his safe and no matter how many times Stiles has tried he can’t figure out the code). The gang of bikers gathers around the pool table and when they start talking and playing, the other patrons of the bar slowly relax and get back to what they were doing before the newcomers arrived.
Stiles turns his back to the gang after staring and trying to get even a tiny glimpse of Derek’s ass, but the guy just wouldn’t turn his back to Stiles, and shows his glass to the bartender for a refill. The bartender grabs the bottle of his cheapest whiskey and is just raising the bottle to fill Stiles’ glass when a large, warm hand is covering Stiles’ hand that is still holding the glass.
“Last time I checked he wasn’t legal,” someone says and Stiles can feel the warmth of someone muscular against his back. He wants to lean back but sits perfectly still on his stool. The bartender lowers his bottle.
“Are you a cop? He has an I.D.”
The person by Stiles’ back scoffs, the exhale is warm against the side of Stiles’ neck.
“I do,” Stiles says, because he does. He fumbles with his wallet to get his out his fake I.D. to show the newcomer, who isn’t a cop because Stiles knows all the cops in this town and when they’re going to raid this particular bar. Stiles turns slightly on the stool – shivering at the sudden cold that hits his back where the stranger had felt warm and solid – to show his I.D.
“Look, it says here I’m-”
Derek is gorgeous this close – probably the hottest person Stiles has ever seen and there’s less than a foot between them, Stiles could stretch out his hand and he would touch those fine muscles on the chest or the abs that he knows are hiding underneath that shirt. His eyes are some kind of green color, but they may also be blue and brown – Stiles has no idea, no matter how long he may stare into them.
Stiles never shuts up, it’s one of his more charming qualities – according to Stiles himself, according to Scott and his father, it’s more annoying than anything – but now, facing this gorgeous man he can’t make a sound.
“But I know that you’re not anywhere near-” Derek glances at Stiles’ (very fake) I.D. and his eyebrows quirk in a clearly amused way, “twenty-two, really? You look not even close to twenty.”
“I’m eighteen and three months!” Stiles finally finds his voice and then wants to hit his head against the counter because knowing how many months above eighteen one is really isn’t cool (Stiles knows how many months solely because he’s been a consenting adult for three freaking months and still has been nowhere near losing his v-card!)
“I know,” Derek’s eyebrows do some kind of dance on his forehead, a smirk tugging on his lips. Stiles gapes – Derek knows how old he is. “You’re the sheriff’s kid, everyone knows that.”
Stiles’ heart plummets to the filthy floor, for a moment he had thought Derek remembered him being something other than the sheriff’s kid, but of course Derek knows him only as that. Sometimes Stiles likes pretend that the only reason he doesn’t get invitations for parties is because he’s the sheriff’s kid and it makes him feel slightly better – he also ignores that Jackson always get invited despite being the kid of a district attorney.
Stiles turns his back to Derek, angry for letting himself hope that maybe Derek had recognized Stiles from school (not that Stiles as a senior now recognizes any of the freshmen this year). He suppresses a shudder as Derek leans in close to his back.
“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t know who you were anyway,” he says, low enough for the bartender not to hear. Stiles does not whimper and his eyes do not roll back into his head as Derek’s stubble scrape ever so slightly against his ear.
“You want to play with us?” Derek then asks and Stiles finds himself nodding, getting down from the high stool, his legs unsteady as Derek places one warm, large hand against the small of his back and leading him over to his friends by the pool table. Stiles swallows.
“I’ve never really played,” he says. Derek smiles slightly at him, still with his arm at Stiles’ back, their sides pressed together.
“I’ll show you.”
Stiles sucks at playing. He might have been slightly better if Derek hadn’t showed him how to play, because Derek stands behind him, sometimes almost bending Stiles over the pool table to show him how to stand when he shoots (Stiles would love for Derek to bend him over the table doing other things to him), his hands on Stiles’ hips or over Stiles’ hands, his chest a persistent warmth against Stiles’ back. Derek doesn’t even move away when the others – Erica, her boyfriend Boyd, and Isaac – shoot, instead he presses his chest to Stiles’ back even closer, his arms holding Stiles there, and sometimes talking to Stiles, his voice low and hot in Stiles’ ear, his stubble scraping against Stiles’ ear or neck (Stiles can’t concentrate at all at Derek’s words and ends up only nodding).
Stiles, unsurprisingly, loses. Erica – the winner – gives his cheek a kiss and offers a “you did good for your first time” even though Stiles knows that’s a lie. Derek’s arm tightens across his midsection.
“You want to get out of here?” Derek asks in his ear as Boyd makes his way to the counter to order drinks for them.
For the first time since they started playing, Derek moves away from Stiles’ back, he doesn’t let go entirely though, but keeps a hand on Stiles’ back, steering him out of the door. Stiles hears Erica catcalling just before the door shuts behind them. The night air is cool against his flushed skin. Derek stops him by stepping in front of him.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he tells Stiles seriously, his eyes flickering over Stiles’ face. Stiles frowns.
“Oh, I want to,” Derek says, his hands warm against Stiles’ hips as he steps closer. “I want to do so many things to you, Stiles.”
Stiles shudders at the way Derek says his name. He wouldn’t mind Derek doing all those things to him. He hesitates just a moment before stepping close to Derek, their chest flush against each other. They’re basically the same height, Stiles doesn’t know if he or Derek is tallest. Derek’s eyes flick to Stiles’ lips as Stiles licks them. He can see the want in Derek’s eyes and knowing that someone as hot as Derek wants him, wants Stiles of all people, is a heady sensation.
He puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders and presses his lips to Derek’s. It’s not his first kiss, he and Heather kissed a few times when they were fourteen before Stiles figured out that he might like boys a bit more than girls. Derek feels amazing against his lips, and he smells amazing this close. He smells of his cologne but also leather and maybe motor oil or something. Stiles turns his head slightly to the side, opens his mouth and licks against Derek’s lips. Maybe that was the cue Derek was waiting for because he immediately takes charge of the kiss. His hands cup Stiles’ cheeks, not so Stiles couldn’t move away if he wanted to (he don’t), but only holding him there, caressing his cheeks softly as his tongue explores Stiles’ mouth. Stiles has to break away to gasp for air, his head lent back – he clearly hasn’t gotten the hang of breathing and kissing at the same time – and Derek takes that as a sign to start kissing Stiles’ neck. He presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to his pulse point before sucking hard, making Stiles moan out loud. He feels goose-bumps over his whole body and his dick is already achingly hard. Derek’s stubble graze against his skin and it feels all kinds of amazing.
Derek takes his cheeks in his hands to tilt his head down and then they’re kissing again. Stiles could probably kiss Derek for the rest of his life without getting bored.
Derek leaves a few soft, lingering kisses to his lips before he pulls away, smiling at Stiles.
“You want to come with me to my apartment?”
“Your apartment? You live here?”
“Yeah, moved here a couple days ago.”
Stiles nods. He wonders what this is for Derek, if it’s just a one-time thing, if he’s used to pick up people at a sketchy bar and taking them home. Stiles isn’t really surprised when Derek leads him to a black and red motorcycle that sit next to two other motorcycles on the parking lot outside the bar. Derek hands him the one helmet and when Stiles tries to push it back at him, but Derek only rolls his eyes and shoves it down on Stiles’ head. He straddles the bike, starting the engine and Stiles takes a moment to try to control his excitement before he sits down behind Derek. Derek takes one of his hands and places it around his waist.
“Hold on tight and lean the same way I do in the curves, okay?”
Stiles nods, the helmet feeling heavy and maybe a bit too big on his head. Derek drives off and Stiles tightens his grip on Derek’s waist. The ride is over way to soon and Stiles recognizes the neighbourhood as one of the sketchier areas in the town. He feels quite safe with Derek though. Derek parks in a garage, carefully locking the door and leads Stiles up a few stairs and then shows him into an elevator. He asks Stiles about school, about lacrosse and Stiles feels himself relax as he tells Derek about being a constant benchwarmer for the lacrosse team, about the ass they have as a chemistry teacher – Derek says he had the same one and that he doesn’t miss that one at all – and that Scott often leaves him to hang out with his girlfriend. At that, Derek frowns at Stiles.
“I’m totally fine with being left alone. I’ve mastered the art of playing with myself- No, I didn’t mean-!”
Stiles feels his cheeks burn and Derek smirks at him before stepping closer.
“I kind of hope you meant what it sounded like.”
Stiles blushes, but also feels aroused and a bit weak in the knees at those words. Derek smirks and steers him out of the elevator and to a large door. Derek’s apartment is huge and Stiles spots a large bed by the large windows in the other end of the room. Derek locks the door behind them and places his hands at Stiles’ hips, kind of like he did when they played earlier, except it’s a lot more intimate this time. He presses his hand against Stiles’ stomach and kisses his neck. Stiles doesn’t know where to put his hands at first and ends up putting his left over Derek’s left on his stomach, and his right on the side of Derek’s neck as he tilts his own head to kiss Derek’s lips. The kiss is wet and filthy and Stiles moans when he feels something hard against his ass. That’s Derek’s dick, he thinks to himself. Oh, my god, Derek Hale’s hard dick is pressed against my ass. Derek’s hand rucks up his shirt and then caresses over Stiles’ bare stomach, dips his thumb into his bellybutton as his hips grinds softly against Stiles’ ass. The hand on his belly sneaks higher up under his shirt and Stiles breaks the kiss, moaning loudly, when Derek pinches his nipple.
“Oh, god, oh, god, fuck-” he swears breathlessly and Derek’s answering chuckle sounds a bit breathless as well.
“Can I take off your shirt?” Derek asks and Stiles has no idea why Derek is asking, Stiles would let him do anything.
“Yes, I’m all aboard on that happening. Like totally on board. One hundred percent okay with-”
“Shut up.” Derek doesn’t sound annoyed but only amused.
“Sorry, I have a habit of rambling whenever I’m- oh!”
Derek bites his neck, a bit harder than he’d done earlier, and then soothes the bite with his tongue. He pulls Stiles’ shirt off over his head and then presses in close again, his hands roaming over Stiles’ belly and chest, rubbing at the hair under his bellybutton and pinching his nipples. He’s stopped thrusting his dick against Stiles’ ass and Stiles fears he might have lost his erection. He breaks away from Derek and turns around, he wants Derek to have a good time too. The front of Derek’s jeans is tented in an obvious way, showing that Derek clearly hasn’t lost interest. His dark hair is ruffled, as if someone has been pulling at it and dragged their hands through it (Stiles might have been the one doing that).
He kind of attacks Derek with his mouth, arms uncoordinated until they find their way around Derek’s waist. He drags his hands over Derek’s broad, muscled back, tugging a bit on Derek’s shirt, but forgetting what he’s doing when he gets in contact with skin and kind of just moans into Derek’s mouth instead. Derek breaks away from him and in one swift movement pulls off his own shirt. Stiles thinks that if Michelangelo had seen Derek’s body, he might’ve wept at the perfection. Stiles might stare and drool a bit. Derek tugs him close and their naked chest being pressed together is definitely something Stiles enjoys. Derek’s hands roam over his chest and back as they kiss passionately.
Stiles hadn’t noticed that they had moved until the back of his knees hit something and he realizes that they’re by Derek’s bed.
“We don’t have to-” Derek begins, but Stiles smiles at him in what he hopes is a sexy manner and sits down on the bed. His bouncing from the force might be a bit unsexy, though. He pulls Derek in by the belt loops and kisses his stomach. He thinks of opening Derek’s pants and taking his cock into his mouth, but he’s never done anything close to that. Okay, that’s not true, Stiles has been practicing fellatio at all kinds of things since he first discovered that sucking dick was something some people enjoyed doing. Stiles thinks he’d really enjoy sucking a real cock instead of practising on a dildo. Yeah, he’d really like that.
He kisses Derek’s stomach, nuzzling at it a bit, revelling in the scent of man, and starts to unbutton Derek’s pants.
“You don’t have to,” Derek stops him with one hand on Stiles’ hand and the other on Stiles’ chin, tilting his head up to look into Derek’s eyes. Derek looks kind of broken, his mouth open, lips wet and red, and his hair ruffled. It’s his eyes that get to Stiles though. He’s looking at Stiles as if Stiles is god’s gift to men, which only proves that Derek’s a tad crazy.
“I know I don’t have to,” Stiles tells him earnestly. He have been scared of being forced to do things he wouldn’t be comfortable with, and that’s the main reason he hasn’t let anyone just drag him to their place, but he knows Derek won’t force him to do anything, he knows that if he asked for it, Derek would let him leave right now. “I want to. Is that okay?”
Derek exhales harshly, his pupils dilating and he rubs his thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip. Stiles doesn’t think but just acts as he takes Derek’s thumb into his mouth, just the tip, circling it with his tongue.
“Fuck,” Derek exhales and he looks a bit like he might faint. Stiles smirks at him, not breaking eye contact as he takes the digit deeper into his mouth. He sucks and licks on Derek’s thumb for a while before Derek pulls it out of his mouth, eyes dark and hooded. Stiles smirks and keeps unbuttoning his pants. He pulls them down to Derek’s knees and Derek kicks them off along with his boots and socks. He wears black boxer briefs, his erection even more prominent through the thin fabric. He seems completely unashamed. Stiles touches the erection softly through the fabric, rubs his thumb over the tip and strokes his hand along the sides. Derek’s hand is in his hair but he doesn’t pull at it, doesn’t push Stiles against his crotch, merely rubbing his thumb in small circles on Stiles’ cheek. Stiles swallows and then pulls the underwear off, Derek’s cock springing free. It’s dark-red at the tip, glistening a bit with precome and Stiles wonders what it tastes like. He closes his fist around it – it’s both longer and wider than his own and points slightly to the left. It’s beautiful. Derek steps out of his underwear as Stiles stares at his dick.
“Wow,” Stiles breathes out, which makes Derek chuckle. “Sorry, I’ve just never seen a penis before. Well, I have, my own, obviously, and others in the locker-room because I can’t not look, you know? Just a peek, I’m not some creep ogling my team mates. But I’ve never seen a hard penis- Well, of course I’ve seen my own. And porn star’s. I’ve watched a lot of porn, but it’s not the same, you know? I've never seen a hard penis live and-”
“Stiles?” Derek sounds amused and Stiles sucks in a breath, breaking eye contact with Derek’s cock to look up at him. “You don’t-”
“No!” Stiles almost shouts, Derek’s eyebrows rise on his forehead in surprise, and probably confusion. “If you say I don’t have to, I might cry. Because I do. I do have to. I have to suck your cock, if I don’t I might die and then you’d be responsible for my death – and did I tell you my dad’s the sheriff? He’d be-”
Stiles fall silence when Derek’s places his forefinger across his lips.
“Feel free to do whatever you want.”
Stiles nods, a bit breathless from his ramblings and a bit dizzy because of the probable lack of blood in any other body parts than his own dick.
“I might suck-” Stiles glares at Derek to not saying anything about what could be the obvious pun and Derek smirks at him, but to his credit he doesn’t say anything. “I- I’ve never done this, so just- go easy when you fill out the evaluation rapport, okay?”
Stiles really likes the way Derek says his name. He wonders if Derek’s going to moan it when he’s sucking Derek’s cock. He hopes so. He turns his eyes to Derek’s cock again, it’s big, not like, whoa, watch the ceiling lamp-big but still maybe a bit bigger than average.
“Here goes nothing,” Stiles mumbles before taking the cock into his mouth. He almost chokes on it and pulls back quickly, eyes watering.
“Easy,” Derek murmurs and Stiles nods and then takes it a bit more slow the second time. He sucks at the tip and Derek groans so he guesses he’s doing something right. It tastes salty and bitter, but it’s not that bad. He presses his tongue to the tip before circling it. He opens his mouth a bit more, taking more of Derek’s dick into his mouth. He looks up at Derek who’s looking down at him, his eyes hooded, a lips parted.
“You’re doing great, Stiles, so great.”
Stiles preens a bit at the praise as he sucks on the cock in his mouth. He can’t take it all in, and when he tries to work his hand around the base he kind of loses his coordination and either forgets to move his hand or forgets to suck.
“It’s okay,” Derek says and grabs at the base of his cock, jerking it slowly as Stiles continues to suck on the tip. “You’re doing great. Fuck. You look so good like this. You’re made for this. You like it, huh? You like sucking my cock?”
Stiles nods and hums in affirmative, not wanting to stop because Derek’s jerking himself quicker and Stiles thinks he might be close. He wants to taste Derek’s orgasm on his mouth.
“Fuck, your lips,” Derek moans and suddenly tugs almost painfully on Stiles’ hair, his cock slipping out of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles makes a sound of disappointment and hurt, but understands Derek’s actions a second later when something hot and wet hits his chin and neck. Derek keeps one hand on Stiles’ head, his other jerking his cock a few more times, before he lets it go.
“Fuck, that was hot,” Stiles whispers, staring at Derek’s dick that’s softened slightly, come still dripping out of the tip. Derek releases Stiles’ head and cups his hand under his dick as he leaves for what probably is the bathroom.
Stiles can feel the come cooling and drying on his skin. He licks his slightly chafed lips and wipes at the come on his chin. His fingers come away with the sticky, white mess. He ponders for just a second before he stretches out his tongue and licks at it. It doesn’t really taste like anything. A sudden sound makes him look up. Derek’s standing in the door to the bathroom, still stark naked, his dick still half-hard, staring at Stiles. Stiles blushes and wonders how he should explain away this one.
“It’s hot,” Derek interrupts him and crosses the distance between them. He sinks down to his knees and wipes at Stiles’ chin and chest with a wet towel. Stiles holds out his come-sticky fingers silently for Derek to clean them and chokes on air when Derek takes his two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them, licking between them and then releasing them with a sexy grin.
“You’re amazing,” Stiles tells him honestly and Derek raises himself enough so he can kiss Stiles. He pushes Stiles onto his back and they move a bit uncoordinatedly up the bed until Stiles’ head is on a pillow. Derek’s body is pressed against his side and he’s kissing Stiles with passion.
“Can I suck you off?” Derek asks, as he presses kisses down Stiles’ chest, sucking one of his nipples into his mouth.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” is Stiles’ answer.
Derek makes quick work on Stiles’ pants and underwear and Stiles barely has any time to feel exposed or embarrassed before his cock is engulfed in wet heat.
“Fuck,” he swears, grabbing Derek’s hair, before remembering himself and grabbing the sheets instead. “Oh my god. Jesus fucking Christ. God.”
Derek lets go off his cock with an obscene wet, popping sound, his hand gripping the base of Stiles’ dick.
“Religious much?” he smirks.
“Less talking, more sucking,” Stiles commands breathlessly and Derek – bless him! – complies. He’s working Stiles’ cock with a renewed vigor, swirling his tongue over the head and sucking him into his mouth. Stiles doesn’t know what to expect and he’s moaning loudly, gripping the sheets hard as he mindlessly thrusts his hips upwards. Derek holds one hand over his stomach, keeping him in place, his fingers rubbing at the hair under Stiles’ bellybutton and his other cupping his balls.
“Fuck, Derek, I’m- Oh- Jesus.”
Derek’s mouth leaves his dick and is replaced by his hand as Derek jerks Stiles quickly, his movements made easy by saliva and precome. He licks at Stiles’ balls instead, taking them into his mouth and when Stiles spreads his legs, giving Derek more room, Derek mouths below his balls, his hand still jerking Stiles expertly. Stiles comes with a shout of what might be Derek’s name. Derek jerks him just until it’s the right side of too much before he lets go. He kisses the inside of Stiles’ thigh and then the weight of him is shifting around a bit. Stiles understands why when he feels the wet towel against his belly and his cock. Derek drops the towel on the floor with a disgusting-sounding, wet flop before he crawls up Stiles’ body and lies down close by his side, his fingers caressing Stiles’ sweaty forehead.
“You’re amazing,” Stiles tells him. “I might have to build a church for you. At least an altar.”
“Yeah?” Derek mumbles and kisses him softly, the heat from earlier gone. “You’re pretty amazing, too.”
Stiles smiles at him and lets Derek arrange him so he’s lying on Derek’s arm, their faces close together. He yawns and feels his eyelids drop.
“I’m pretty tired, maybe I should-?”
“Stay,” Derek says, his eyes searching Stiles’ face. “If you want to. I want you to.”
Derek kisses his lips softly and pulls him even closer, their legs tangling together.
“I knew who you were the moment I saw you,” Derek tells him in a soft voice. “Even back in school, I knew who you were. Laura used to tease me about my crush on you.”
“Yeah?” Stiles feels giddy at the thought of Derek Hale, the best lacrosse player Beacon Hills had ever seen, having a crush on him.
“You were too young back then-”
“The age difference is still the same,” Stiles tells him and Derek hums.
“Yeah, but you’re legal now.”
“Yeah,” Stiles smiles against Derek’s skin. “Yeah, I am.”
They talk about school a bit more, the sun rising, covering the apartment in an orange glow.
“I don’t want to ever leave your bed,” Stiles tells Derek’s neck.
“Then don’t,” Derek says and presses a kiss to the top of his head.
“Yeah, how would I survive? I need to eat.”
“We can order take-out.”
“My dad would kill me if I dropped out of school.”
Derek’s silent for a long moment and Stiles wonders if he’s fallen asleep. He raises his head to look at Derek. Derek’s eyes look like gold in the light.
“I mean, you could come over whenever you want,” Derek says.
“Like fuck-buddies?” Stiles asks. Stiles likes the general idea of fuck-buddies, like always having someone who wants to have sex with you, but he doesn’t really like the thought of being just a fuck-buddy for Derek.
“Like dating,” Derek says, his voice sounds calm but his hands are clammy on Stiles’ back and his eyes flicker nervously across Stiles’ face.
“Like boyfriends?” Stiles inquires, a smile growing on his lips.
“Like boyfriends,” Derek nods, a smile tugging at his lips as well.
“I’d like that.”
“Good. Now get some sleep. I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”
“You’re already turning out to be the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” Stiles tells him and turns around, tugging Derek close to his back.
He doesn’t tell Derek that he’s his only boyfriend but he thinks Derek might know anyway. Derek kisses his neck and Stiles smiles as his eyes drift shut.