Derek pulled into his driveway and rested his head on his steering wheel. He shouldn't have gone out tonight. He should've just canceled the date and stayed home with Mia. Celebrated turning 30 by letting his daughter dump glitter in his hair during a tea party instead of sitting at a restaurant with a douchebag who thought he was God's gift to men and women. Derek had faked an emergency phone call halfway through just to get the hell out of there.
Five disastrous dates in less than two months. He was deleting his profile off that damn site first thing tomorrow morning.
Derek sighed and finally got out of the car. The sooner he got inside, the sooner he could see Stiles, and getting to see Stiles was the one bright spot to this whole birthday date thing.
Of course, he would just pay Stiles and see him safely on his way home, because Derek did not need to be lusting after his daughter's sinfully sexy babysitter, who also happened to be the barely legal son of the county sheriff. Not that Derek's libido gave a damn about that.
"You're going to the special hell," Derek told himself before he opened the front door.
He expected some level of chaos to greet him. He did not expect to see Stiles standing shirtless in the living room, wearing a sparkly tiara on his head and a pink tutu over his jeans, holding Mia's tea set in one hand and a plastic sword in the other.
Stiles flushed, pink splotching his cheeks and spreading halfway down his pale, toned chest. Derek wanted to bite it, wanted to pinch those puffy nipples and tease them with his tongue, wanted to shove Stiles up against the wall and make him flush everywhere.
Stiles juggled the tea set. "I swear I can explain."
Derek just raised his eyebrows, hoping Stiles would take the hint to continue, because standing face-to-face with a shirtless Stiles had broken every part of his brain that handled speech.
Special hell, Derek reminded himself.
"Finger paints," Stiles said. "We were playing with finger paints earlier, and when I was putting them up I tried to carry one too many things and they spilled on me, so I took my shirt off to soak because I thought I had another hour until you got home. I swear, I wasn't running around shirtless while Mia was awake."
Stiles gestured as he spoke, each movement settling his jeans lower on his hips, giving Derek a perfect view of his hip bones and the band of his underwear and his dark, narrow happy trail.
Derek wanted to lick.
He made himself look back at Stiles's whiskey-colored eyes—not that they were any less distracting than his hips.
If possible, Stiles flushed even pinker. "Anyway. Sorry. I'll finish cleaning up and be on my way."
Derek shook his head and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt so he could roll up his sleeves. "No rush. Sorry I startled you."
Stiles smirked and carried the tea set into the kitchen. "Like I said, I thought I had at least another hour before you got home."
Derek could pick up the living room, which was still a minor disaster area, or he could follow Stiles into the kitchen and continue this conversation. He went with door number two. "Yeah, well, sometimes it's better to quit while you're ahead. That's the last time I spend my birthday on a first date."
Stiles winced sympathetically and stuck the tea set into the dishwasher, along with the dinner dishes soaking in the sink. "That bad, huh?"
Derek busied himself wiping down the kitchen counters. "Guy was a douche. I called it a night after the second five-minute rant about how much he did not want kids."
Something clattered in the sink, and Stiles cursed. "Sounds like he was a prince. He know you have Mia?"
Derek nodded. "It was on my profile. He was very quick to assure me he was positive my daughter was an angel, so of course I told him about the time I came home and found her making a paper mache Princess Leia head out of my book collection."
Stiles spluttered and nearly dropped the pan he was holding. "That was—those were old magazines and newspapers, and you said we could!"
Derek chuckled. "Yeah, but my version made him turn pale and vaguely green."
Stiles huffed. "Like you wouldn't have done the same. I see how you look at your books."
Derek looked back over at Stiles, watched the play of the muscles in his back as he scrubbed the dishes, ass half-covered by that ridiculous tutu, tiara still perched on his wild brown hair. Before he could stop himself, Derek walked over and plucked the tiara from Stiles's hair, letting his fingers linger in the dark strands for slightly longer than necessary.
"What are you doing?" Stiles asked.
Derek waggled the tiara in front of him. "Just dethroning you, Your Highness."
"Joke's on you. A true princess doesn't need a crown," Stiles said pompously. "They just like to wear them at tea parties."
Derek tapped him on the head with the tiara, and then tossed it back on the kitchen table. "So, princess tea party this evening?"
"Yes." Stiles turned to face Derek and clutched the dishrag dramatically to his chest. "I was the princess, and Mia was the dashing werewolf ninja knight joining me for tea."
Derek blinked in surprise, and then wondered why he was surprised. This was Mia. "A werewolf ninja knight."
Stiles grinned, blindingly bright. "Yup. She was a very brave one, too."
"I'll bet." Derek let his eyes drop to the tutu before jerking them back up again. He was unaware a tutu could do it for him, but apparently that was the case. "I take it that's why you're wearing her dance tutu?"
"When you're a princess, dude, you gotta look the part." Stiles dropped the dishrag back on the sink and settled his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, Mr. Hale, what do you want for your birthday?"
Derek's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn't answer. Stiles was standing there, just an arm's length away, and the only thing Derek could think was you, I want you.
Stiles speared him with a calculating gaze, and finally, Derek had to look away. "I, uh...I don't know. I don't really need anything."
"I didn't ask you what you needed." Stiles stepped closer to him. "I asked you what you wanted."
His tongue darted out to lick over his pink lips, lips Derek had spent way too much time staring at, imagining kissing them, imagining them stretched around his cock, imagining them slack with pleasure.
Derek leaned back against the table, because his knees were starting to weaken. "Why are you asking?" Wow, his voice came out a lot rougher than he meant for it to. Derek cleared his throat. "Planning to get me a present?"
"Hm, maybe." Stiles grinned wickedly. "Close your eyes."
Derek felt his eyebrow go up again, and Stiles flailed a little. "Dude—Mr. Hale—I'm not going to give you your present while you're looking."
His heart started beating faster, and that time, Derek obediently closed his eyes.
He knew the moment Stiles stepped fully into his personal space. The heat from his body, the smell of him, mixed a little bit with the smell of dish soap, each soft inhale and exhale—it was like Derek was so completely tuned to him he knew every little shift Stiles made. Blood pounded through his body, anticipation stretching out like a tightrope.
And then he felt the softest of breaths against his face, and lips press against his own.
Derek's eyes flew open, and he couldn't stop the shocked intake of breath. Not for one moment had he imagined Stiles might actually want him back.
Stiles pulled back a little, smiled like the cocky little shit he was. "Happy birthday, Mr. Hale."
Whatever tenuous control Derek had maintained since he'd walked in the door snapped. He wasn't a saint, was so far from being a saint, and if this was a test, he'd fail it gladly.
He shoved off the table and backed Stiles up against the counter, caging him there. Stiles's breathing was shallow and quick, but he didn't look afraid. Far from it. His amber eyes fairly glowed with excitement.
He licked his lips again, and Derek didn't even bother to hide how he watched the movement.
"Did you like your present?" Stiles asked, voice soft and a little hoarse.
Derek nodded and leaned in, dragging his nose over Stiles's cheek, and grinned at the way Stiles gasped and grabbed at his shirt. "Good present. Could think of a few ways to make it better."
He paused then, waiting for Stiles's reaction. No matter how much Derek wanted, he wouldn't, he couldn't, unless—
Stiles fisted his hands in Derek's shirt. "Oh my fucking God, yes."
The enthusiastic consent wiped away the last vestiges of doubt, and Derek claimed Stiles's mouth in a thorough kiss. He wanted everything, wanted to taste and touch and bite until Stiles was fucking wrecked, wanted to kiss Stiles until his pretty smartass mouth was good for nothing but moaning Derek's name.
God, he tasted so good, so much better than any fantasy. Stiles opened his mouth like he knew Derek wanted to explore, twisted Derek's shirt like he was afraid to let go. Derek left his hands where they were, digging into the counter, because as soon as he touched Stiles he would be gone, and right now he wanted to savor.
Derek only broke away because he needed oxygen, but still couldn't bring himself to move any farther than he had to. He trailed kisses along Stiles's jaw, pressing one to each of the moles there, until he reached Stiles's earlobe and could suck on it.
"It's your birthday," Stiles whispered, and God, he already sounded fucked-out. "What do you want me to do? Or, you know, what do you want to do to me? Whatever you want."
Derek hid his undoubtedly feral grin in Stiles's neck, and sucked lightly at the skin there, licking away the salt of sweat. "You sure want that? Whatever I want?"
He pressed his leg between Stiles's, and Stiles shuddered. "Yeah. Whatever you want. Boss me around. I got a feeling that gets you off."
Derek finally pulled his hands off the counter and ran them slowly up Stiles's sides, and Stiles made the sexiest, most desperate noise Derek had ever heard in his life. "It might," Derek agreed. "But I got a feeling it gets you off to be bossed around."
Stiles laughed, high and breathless. "I think you might be right."
For a moment, Derek contented himself with running his hands over Stiles's sides and back, feeling the muscles twitching under his touch, the way goosebumps prickled over Stiles's skin. He rubbed his thumbs over those goddamn hip bones that had been taunting him since he'd walked in the door.
"We're going to go to my bedroom," Derek said. "And then you're going to suck my cock while I tell you about everything I want to do to you."
Stiles's amber eyes widened and his full mouth dropped open. "Fuck."
Derek ushered Stiles out of the kitchen and down the hall to his bedroom, then closed the door and locked it so Mia couldn't just barge in if she woke up. Derek doubted she would—no matter how much fight she put up, she was out like a light once she was asleep—but better safe than sorry.
He hooked his fingers in the elastic of the tutu Stiles was wearing and tugged it down over his jeans, until Stiles could step out of it. Derek tossed it across the room, but didn't straighten up from where he'd knelt. He was face-to-face with Stiles's denim-clad erection, after all, and didn't see any need to move at the moment.
Derek shifted forward, just close enough to run his nose along the zipper, and Stiles sucked in a stuttering breath. "Holy shit. Um. I thought you wanted—I mean, I'm totally down for this, if you changed your mind—but I was under the impression that you wanted me to be the one doing the cock sucking?"
Yes, yes he did. Derek had to steady himself with a grip on Stiles's thighs before he finally stood up. "So eager to get your mouth on my cock?"
Stiles let out a semi-hysterical laugh. "You have no idea."
It did something to Derek, knowing that Stiles was as excited about this as he was. He smirked and backed up to the wall, unbuckling his belt and slowly unzipping his pants. He didn't miss the way Stiles's eyes dropped, the way his tongue darted out to lick over his kiss-swollen lips.
Stiles staggered over to him and dropped to his knees, reached out to pull Derek's pants down, but Derek grabbed his hands before he got the chance. "Wait," he said, and his voice didn't even sound like his own anymore. "You'll get your chance."
Stiles whined a little, like Derek was the worst, but settled back and watched, eyeing Derek's cock like it was a feast he couldn't wait to devour. Derek wasn't quite fully hard yet, but with Stiles kneeling before him looking like that, it wouldn't be long.
He didn't take off his boxer briefs just yet; rather, he ran a hand over himself and watched Stiles track the movement. "Have you ever done this before?" Derek asked.
Stiles finally tore his gaze from Derek's crotch. "I'm a college freshman."
Derek just raised an eyebrow and waited.
"Ugh, fine, okay, it was only once," Stiles admitted. "And I liked it, but I don't think he wanted to do it again. At least, not with me."
On the one hand, Derek thought the guy was an idiot for not wanting Stiles's mouth on him at all times. On the other hand, that meant Stiles was here now, and by God, Derek was going to make sure he enjoyed this.
He reached out and trailed his fingers through Stiles's hair, down the side of his face, felt his heart clench when Stiles leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering. "If your jaw hurts, pull off." Derek cupped Stiles's head. "Take it slow at first. Don't try to take the whole thing at once. And if I get too rough, pinch my thigh. Understand?"
Stiles smiled beatifically. "Yes, Mr. Hale."
Fuck. Derek was unaware that was a kink he had, but apparently Stiles on his knees, calling him "Mr. Hale" did it for him. "Good, very good. And that's how I want you to answer me when I ask you a question. 'Yes, Mr. Hale.' 'No, Mr. Hale.'" He brushed his thumb over Stiles's lips. "And when you ask me for something, you say 'please, Mr. Hale.' Is that understood?"
Stiles's eyes went wide and dark, and his breath ghosted over Derek's thumb. "Yes, Mr. Hale."
With a growl, Derek jerked down his underwear.
Stiles whimpered and lurched forward, then seemed to remember himself at the last second and looked up at Derek with a plea in his eyes. "Please, Mr. Hale, let me suck your cock."
Something twisted at the base of Derek's spine, and he felt it, the way the possessive heat jolted through his muscles, curling in his gut. He rubbed his thumb over Stiles's lip again. "Perfect. You're such a fast learner. Now suck me."
Stiles lunged forward again, wrapped one hand around the base of Derek's cock, and fit his mouth around the head and started sucking.
Derek nearly choked with how good it felt. It had been a long fucking time, and the sight of Stiles's mouth stretched around his cock, sliding down to meet his hand wrapped at the base, was even better than Derek had imagined. He dropped his head back against the wall and groaned, a sound that apparently encouraged Stiles to try and take him deeper. It felt like heaven, slick and sloppy, with the barest scrape of teeth that sent electricity up Derek's spine and had him arching forward for more.
He trailed his fingers through Stiles's hair, rested his hand on the back of Stiles's head. "I've thought so much about this," Derek said. "About you just like this, on your knees for me. Thought about pushing you up against a wall and fucking you till you can't move, fucking you so hard you'll be sore for a week. So that every time you move, you think of me."
Stiles moaned around his cock, but didn't stop moving.
It felt so good Derek almost couldn't think. Luckily, rambling about his fantasies of Stiles didn't require much brain power. "I've thought about marking up that pale skin of yours, making sure everyone knows I've claimed you. Thought about shutting you up with my cock every time you talk back to me. I've thought about eating you out, rimming you until you come without being touched."
Stiles whined a little, and Derek nearly brained himself on the wall. He flattened his free hand against it, trying to keep himself from fucking into Stiles's mouth. He wanted to last a little longer.
"I've thought about watching you get yourself off. Maybe see you fuck yourself with a dildo, see how good you can take it. Watch you get ready for me." He brushed his thumb along Stiles's cheek. "Would you like that? Would you like to put on a show for me?"
Stiles looked up at him then, pupils wide and dark and surrounded by a bare rim of amber, and nodded slowly.
Derek had to force himself to breathe. "Of course you would. Look at you now, sucking my cock like it's what you were made for. You're so fucking good at this. Are you going to be a good boy and swallow my come?"
Stiles pulled off with the filthiest pop Derek had ever heard in his life, and said, "Yes, Mr. Hale," before sliding his lips slowly back over the head of Derek's cock. His eyes didn't leave Derek's until they fluttered closed in pleasure.
This kid was going to be the death of him.
Stiles ran his tongue around the head and over the slit, the wet movement making Derek's balls draw up and his toes curl—he was so fucking close—and then he found the spot underneath the head that made Derek see stars. He barely had a chance to choke out "Stiles" before he was coming, Stiles swallowing it easily, practically milking him for more. Derek grabbed for something to hang on to, but all he had was the wall and Stiles's head.
Stiles's free hand moved to rest over Derek's, pressing it more firmly into Stiles's hair, and those golden eyes looked up at Derek knowingly.
Fuck, this kid really was going to be the death of him.
"Stand up," Derek rasped out.
Stiles did, never breaking eye contact, hair wild from where Derek had grabbed at it and his lips shiny and red and—
Derek dragged him into a hard kiss, chasing the taste of himself in Stiles's mouth. Stiles dug his fingers into Derek's shoulders and made a little noise, and Derek swallowed it before pulling away. "That was amazing," he said, and traced his thumb from the corner of Stiles's mouth across the moles dotting his cheek. "I think I'd like to eat you out, now. Would you like that, Stiles?"
Stiles nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Mr. Hale."
Derek smiled and kissed him again. "Good. Get undressed, then," he cupped Stiles's cock through his jeans, "and get on the bed. Hands and knees. I want you to spread yourself for me."
Stiles stumbled back toward the bed, and Derek went to the bathroom to get a washcloth ready.
There were tiny, tiny voices in his head telling him what a bad idea this was—Stiles was eleven years younger than he was, and his father owned lots of projectile weapons—but it was too easy to push it away right now. Derek had been good, had spent two years keeping his feelings to himself. Now it was his birthday, Stiles was just as into it as he was, and dammit, he was going to indulge.
Derek wrung out the washcloth and went back into his bedroom. As requested, Stiles was on the middle of his bed, naked, all that pale, mole-speckled skin on display. His face was mashed into the comforter, his knees spread, ass in the air and hands gripping it on either side, spreading it open for Derek. His cock hung hard between his legs, pre-come glistening on the head.
God. It felt like all the air had been pressed out of his lungs, and all Derek could do was gape. He had to remember how to breathe.
Stiles wiggled a little, and then he was blinking at Derek. "Mr. Hale?"
Derek stepped forward and ran a hand up Stiles's thigh, smiled at the shudder that ran through him. "You're so fucking beautiful," Derek murmured, kneading just below Stiles's ass. "Look at you, presenting yourself to me. I can't wait to taste you."
He crouched on the bed and brushed the washcloth over Stiles's exposed hole, and Stiles let out a whimper half-muffled by the bed. Derek continued cleaning him, stroking his free hand up and down Stiles's thigh, occasionally moving high enough to brush his fingers over Stiles's balls. Each movement was greeted with a hiss, then a curse. Derek grinned and tossed the washcloth to the side. "You can move your hands away now."
Stiles grunted a little and let go of his ass, and Derek leaned over to kiss everywhere but Stiles's hole. "I don't want you touching your cock. And while I'm back here," he nipped at Stiles's cheek, "I want to hear everything you've ever fantasized about me. Understood?"
He watched Stiles's fingers flex against the comforter, heard the muttered curse before Stiles said, "Yes, Mr. Hale."
God. Derek's stamina wasn't what it had been ten years ago, but his cock was doing its level best to get hard again. "Good." He rubbed his thumb around Stiles's hole, watched in fascination as it clenched at him. "Good," he said again, then licked all the way up Stiles's ass.
"Fuck!" Stiles burst out. "Fuck, oh my God, you have no idea, Mr. Hale, I—the first time I came here, I saw you, and I went home and jerked off thinking about you bending me over your desk. I thought about you spanking me because I mouthed off. Thought—thought about riding you on—on the desk chair, God fucking dammit."
Derek took his time, licking around the rim before pushing his tongue inside, just a little, getting Stiles's ass wet and sloppy, listening to what made Stiles curse and what made him sigh and what made him choke. He rubbed his stubble all over, determined that Stiles would feel the burn of it for days. Every time he shifted his weight he would remember Derek doing this, taking him apart with his tongue.
"Also...also thought about you fucking me over the kitchen table, tying me up and—holy shit do that again—God, I just want—I just want—"
Derek sucked on his finger, getting it good and wet, and pressed it in, just past the rim. Before he could say a word, Stiles let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob, and pushed back. "Fuck yes, De—Mr. Hale, please, please—"
Well, that answered the question he'd been about to ask. Derek hid his smile against Stiles's ass, and obligingly slid his finger in a little farther. "It's all right." He licked around his finger and eased it in to the next knuckle. "You've been so good. You can call me Derek."
Stiles whined, and his ass clenched around Derek's finger. "Derek, please."
Derek laved around his finger, pushed the tip of his tongue in beside it, crooking his finger and pressing, listening to Stiles come apart.
"Fuck yes, this, Derek, I thought about this, I thought about—oh my God, that's so much better than—I—fuck, 'm so close."
Derek pressed a second finger in, and then reached between Stiles's legs and ran one finger over his balls, drawn up so tight. "Do you want to come?"
Stiles practically sobbed. "God, yes, please, Derek, please."
Derek closed his hand around Stiles's cock and stroked as he pushed in with his fingers. It was an awkward angle, but it didn't matter. After only a few seconds, Stiles was clenching around his fingers and coming, dripping hot down Derek's hand, his shouts muffled against the bed. Derek continued to stroke him until his body went boneless, and Stiles collapsed.
Next time, Derek wanted to do this with Stiles on his back, so he could watch as Stiles fell apart.
"I think you broke me," Stiles said into the comforter.
Derek chuckled and rubbed his face over Stiles's hip. "Then how are you still talking?"
Derek shook his head and smoothed his hand over Stiles's ass. "I'll be right back. I'm going to get stuff to clean us up."
He staggered into the bathroom for another washcloth, brushed his teeth and rinsed with mouthwash, and filled a glass of water for Stiles. He was hard again, but it wasn't as insistent this time. He could take care of Stiles first.
Derek stepped back into his bedroom and once again eyed Stiles's naked body, sprawled gracelessly across the bed. Something tightened inside him, and Derek was struck by how much he wanted more of this.
The tightness turned to a sharp pang. There was no guarantee Stiles would want to do this again, no reason to believe this was anything other than a one-time thing. A birthday present.
He wouldn't think about that now. There would be time for that later. Right now, he had other things to worry about.
He went to the bed and pulled Stiles into sitting upright, tucked him against his side and gave him the water. Stiles made a little murmur of approval and drank, and Derek held him close while he wiped Stiles clean of sweat and come. Stiles nestled closer, and Derek pressed a brief kiss to his hairline. "How are you feeling?"
"Fantastic," Stiles said, with feeling. "I mean, holy shit, that was amazing. I don't think I've ever gotten off that hard in my life. Your tongue should be declared a national treasure."
The enthusiasm warmed him, and Derek smiled into Stiles's hair.
"Did you...like your birthday present?" Stiles asked.
If Derek didn't know better, he would've sworn Stiles sounded shy about it. "Very much," Derek said. "Best birthday I've had in years."
Silence settled between them, not awkward yet, but trying to be. Even though he'd been able to ignore it before, Derek was now having a very hard time justifying to himself why he'd just had sex with his daughter's favorite babysitter.
Fantasies were one thing, but this—this was something he couldn't take back. Not that he wanted to, but the fact remained they'd crossed a boundary tonight, and Derek wasn't entirely sure where that left them. He was still a single father with a job and a mortgage and a life that was settled, and Stiles was still a college student with a future he couldn't even begin to fathom.
"Hey," Stiles said from where he was still curled up next to Derek.
Derek never wanted to let him go. "Hm?"
"We should do this again sometime," Stiles said, far too casually. "I mean, I totally understand if you'd rather have drinks with douchebags than have guaranteed mind-blowing sex with the awesomeness that is me—"
Derek choked on a laugh, on the stupid bubble of hope in his chest.
"But I, for one, would like to knock a few more items off my sexual bucket list. With you." Stiles fidgeted. "If you'd want to."
A good man would say no. A good man would make sure this was a one-time thing, would send Stiles home safe and sound, and then back to college to be with people his own age, with less baggage. A good man would be able to resist the temptation that was Stiles.
Derek was not a good man.
He rubbed his nose along Stiles's temple. "Think you can keep up with me, kid?"
Stiles grinned back at him, amber eyes alight with mischief. "Just try me, old man."