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(I forgot) the key to your heart

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College was something that Stiles struggled with. Not academically; in fact, class was one of the only things that kept him grounded. His lessons were stimulating and entertaining and gave him a comfortable routine of required attendance and study. In fact, he was giving it so much of his time that he dropped the ball on pretty much everything else besides partying. Nights out with Scott and the others became messy, drunken affairs at frat houses, making out with pretty strangers in dark corners and coming home covered in glow paint and beer. If he came home at all. 

Stiles loved college, he really did. He was just so tremendously bad at everything else at the same time. 

He habitually forgot to eat. And even if he remembered, he rarely had the money for it. But there was a pink flamingo-shaped beer bong in his room and a new glass pipe and shot glasses and really, those were more appropriate college essentials than square meals. 

Stiles forgot to do laundry, and forgot to pick up his laundry. He forgot casual birthday invitations, he forgot society and club meetings, and he forgot things in practically everyone's room, which became awkward when he couldn't remember who and what and where. 

'I really liked that belt,' he said mournfully to Scott, kicking at the legs of Scott's chair from his position on the floor. 

'So go get it,' Scott said reasonably, from where he was highlighting passages in his textbook. 'You know where this guy lives, right? What building?’

Stiles shook his head. 'Nope,' he admitted. He was sitting on the floor because Isaac was lying in a bad state of the hangover shakes on Scott's bed. 'I can't remember who it was, or what building. Only that he was amazing, it was very dark, and I left without my belt. My wonderful batman belt that was but two weeks old. Man, I was so drunk that night,' he said, rubbing a hand over his face. 'Thirsty Thursday. My downfall.'

'Please,' groaned Isaac, head muffled by the pillow. 'Don't.'

Stiles and Scott grinned at each other. 

'Sorry babe,' Scott apologised, still smiling as he leaned forward to squeeze Isaac's ankle sympathetically. 

'I just, I need to stop drinking vodka!' exclaimed Stiles, frustrated, running his hands through his hair. 'It wipes my memory, dude. No more.'

'I'll hold you to that,' Scott said, raising his eyebrows. 'I mean, I won't actually do anything to stop you, but I'll sure make your hangover a whole lot worse if you do.'

'You're a bad friend, you know that?'

'Could you please stop talking?' Isaac was sounding borderline nauseous, and Scott threw him a worried glance. 

'Hey, if you're gonna get sick again, you gotta -'

'I sleep in this bed more than you do,' Isaac said quietly, turning his head to face Scott. 'I'm not gonna ruin it. Just so long as Stiles and his annoying whiny voice leaves this room immediately.'

Scott's expression became tormented - the age-old competition between BF and BFF - so Stiles decided to make it easy on him.

'I'm going, I'm going,' he muttered, throwing up his hands. He hoisted himself up, ignoring the slight spinning of the room - last night's Thirsty Thursday hadn't resulted in anything worse than bruises and probable loss of pride, but he wouldn't get any sympathy for his hangover with Isaac here - and grabbed his jacket off the end of the bed. 

'Bros, until next time,' he said, aiming finger guns at the unresponsive Isaac. 

'Dinner tonight?' asked Scott hopefully. 'Malia and Kira said they should have their mid term composition pieces finished by then.’ Malia was a concert pianist, Kira a violinist, and they usually accompanied each other on assignments. They lived off campus together, because no reasonable college building could handle their instruments and the sheer amount of noise they could generate.

'If the delicate prince can stomach it,' Stiles remarked, raising his eyebrows at Isaac, who bristled. 

'Stiles, why don't you go figure out which one-night stand's room you left your stupid Superman belt in before you bend over for someone else and end up leaving a trail of possessions right across campus.'

Stiles bristled. 'It's Batman, Isaac. What, did all that alcohol fuck with your hearing too?' He squinted. 'Hey, with a mouth like that you'll definitely be up for dinner, right Isaac? Greasy fries, maybe a few hamburgers. Milkshakes, or sodas. Your choice. We could make them Irish. What's your poison for tonight, Isaac? Whiskey? No wait, Jack. Yeah, some JD and coke. Or maybe just skip the coke and knock it right back from the bottle - '

Isaac bolted off the bed and ran to the bathroom, sounds of vomit hitting the toilet bowl almost drowned out by Stiles's satisfied laughter. 

'If he breaks up with me because of you, I'm gonna seriously have to review our friendship!' Scott said sternly. 

'See you fine upstanding gentlemen tonight,' Stiles said airily, still laughing as he waved goodbye. 

He wasn't laughing, however, when he got to his room and discovered that, to literally no one's surprise, he'd forgotten his key. Again. 

He pounded on the door. 'Lydia!' he yelled. 'Lydia, let me in. I forgot my key, again. Lydia, you there?'

It took him an additional four seconds to remember that Lydia had chemistry labs until 7 on Fridays. It was barely four, he was exiled from Scott's room, and Malia was still doing whatever musical thing she did with Kira. 

'Balls,' he muttered. He dialled Scott's number.

'Its not here,' Scott said, after a minute. 

'How did you - '

'Lucky guess,' replied Scott.

'This isn't funny.'

'I'm not laughing!'

'Oh don't give me that,' scowled Stiles. 'I can hear it.'

'I'm laughing,' called Isaac, ignoring Scott's shushing noises.

'Well, thanks so much for all your help,' said Stiles, sarcastically. 'My wallet's in there. Ugh, this is the third time this week.'

'You can come back here - uhhh, no you can't,' said Scott hastily, suddenly sounding under a lot of pressure. Stiles rolled his eyes.

'Your brain is in your dick, McCall,' he snapped, before hanging up. 

'This sucks,' he said again, out loud. It was four on on a Friday. Everyone was either nursing hangovers or out chasing them, and here Stiles was in an empty hallway until at least 7, when Lydia would be coming back to change before dinner. At least, he hoped she would. 

He slid down the wall grumpily, folding his arms. It was kind of cold, and Stiles was feeling intensely sorry for himself, to the point where he felt like taking it out on the wall opposite. 

The corridor's were narrow, and Stiles had long legs. He kicked the skirting board on the opposite wall exactly sixty times before a door four rooms down banged open. Stiles jerked his head up to see a dark haired, unreasonably beautiful guy glaring down the hall at him. 

'What the hell are you doing?' he snapped, eyebrows knitting together in a confused scowl that was absolutely adorable. Stiles immediately perked up. 

'I'm locked out,' he explained, suddenly conscious that two thirds of his clothing were from last night. 'Cold. No money. Etcetera.' 

The guy's frown deepened. 'And you're taking it out on everyone else on this floor?' he asked, sounding exasperated.

Stiles shrugged. 'Didn’t think anyone was here, to be honest,' he admitted. 'All my friends are out.'

'You're here,' the guy pointed out.

Stiles shrugged again. 'Fine. I guess I'm a little annoyed. I keep forgetting my key. But it's so small and forgettable, you know? I used to make copies like twice a week now, and I still lost them.'

The guy rolled his eyes. 'Right. Well, that doesn't happen to me, and it's not my problem. I'm actually trying to study, so can you please stop beating up the wall?'

'What are you studying?' asked Stiles, interested. 

The guy sighed. 'Archaeology. Goodbye.'

'Wait, seriously?' Stiles scrambled up. 'Dude, I study Classics! We might have classes together. Well, I mean,' Stiles faltered, as he saw up close that the guy was a lot more muscled and intimidating than he'd looked from the floor, four doors down. 'I guess you're a bit older than me, huh.'

The guy quirked an eyebrow. 'Guess so,' he commented. 

'So, no classes together,' Stiles surmised, hands in his pockets.

'Guess not.'

Stiles had the feeling he was the butt of some joke here. 

'Right,' he said. 'Well. Any advice for me?'

The guy smirked, giving him a once over. 'Maybe do laundry more often,' he said. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. 'I meant with classics. And, hey!'

The guy looked amused at Stiles' indignant tone. 

'Not really,' he shrugged. 'Don’t you guys just look at stuff? Read Homer, stare at the Pantheon, jerk off over ceramic ancient porn on the side of vases?'

'Ouch,' Stiles said, wounded. 'I'll have you know that vase stuff is better than anything you find online. Which is probably what you're doing right now, yeah? I mean, archaeology.' Stiles wrinkled his nose. 'You got a bunch of clay in there? What, do you just bury a bunch of Tupperware and coffee mugs in a flower pot, then dig around and practise your surprised face when you unearth the Keep Calm mug?' 

The guy looked irritated, but leaned against the door with an expression of grudging respect on his face. 

'Ok,' he allowed. 'I mean, I was going to invite you in, since you're stuck out in the hall with none of the pizza that I have inside, but maybe I'll just go back to digging around in my flower pot again.'

Stiles's mouth dropped open against his will; his belly chose that uncomfortable moment to rumble hungrily. 

'Dude,' he said weakly. 'Harsh.' 

The guy shrugged. 'Enjoy the hallway.'

The door shut in his face. 

Stiles glared at the offending door. 

'Jerk,' he muttered, and not too quietly. He plonked himself down against the opposite wall, and settled into kicking the skirting immediately to the right of the door particularly hard, leaving long intervals of silence in between. Just when it seemed like he was going to stop, he delivered another kick, harder than the last. 

He wondered how many times archaeology guy had nearly dropped his stupid pizza. 

Finally - much longer than Stiles himself would have held out - the door banged open. Archaeology guy looked even better from this angle. 

'You gonna stop that?'

Stiles shook his head. 'Nope.'

Archaeology guy sighed. 'If you come in will you promise not to kick the wall the next time you get locked out?'

Stiles narrowed his eyes. 

'What makes you think this will happen - ok ok, I promise,' he stammered, as the guy gave him a look. 'Is there still pizza?' 

'You think I could eat with that fucking noise?'

Stiles grinned. 'Ah, my plan worked.'

The guy looked incredulous as Stiles staggered to his feet. 'Who the fuck are you, anyways? I feel like I know you.'

Stiles smirked. 'You think you could ever forget me?'

Archaeology guy made a face. 'Why do I feel like I'm gonna regret this?'

'That's just the impending loss of pizza talking,' Stiles said cheerfully, pushing past him, making sure he brushed up good and firm to get a feel of that hot as all hell body. Stiles felt like painting that sinful mess all over a damn vase. He'd study the shit out of that. 

'I didn't get your name,' archaeology guy said, idly, as he shut the door pointedly. 

Stiles was examining the room. It was a carbon copy of his, but in reverse, it being on the other side of the hallway. Incredibly neat, what was immediately noticeable was that clearly only one person lived here, despite the two beds.

'It's Stiles,' he said, distractedly. 'You live here by yourself?'

There was a pause as archaeology guy didn't immediately answer. 

'Stiles,' he repeated. 

Stiles turned around. 'Yeah?'

Archaeology guy looked like he was having something removed from his ass but having to stay quiet about it.

Stiles raised his eyebrows at him. 'I presume you have a name?'

Archaeology guy blinked, swallowed. 'Derek,' he said. 'I'm Derek.'

Stiles smiled. 'Oh good,' he said. 'I was worried I'd have to make up a clever nickname based on your major and, well.' He shrugged. 'It was gonna be cracked skull or flower pot. I guess Derek will do.'

They shared pizza in an oddly tense silence. Stiles would have made a crack about the choice of toppings - chicken and beef, really - but it weirdly worked. He guessed both of them liked their meat. 

‘I really shouldn’t be eating this much,’ Stiles commented. ‘I’m going to dinner later. But the hangover wants what the hangover wants.’

Derek rolled his eyes. ‘Somehow I feel like that’s a permanent state for you.’

‘What, hungover? I guess, kinda.’

‘I meant eating as much as you can, but that too.’

Stiles grinned across the table at him. ‘I forget to eat a lot,’ he explained. ‘So when food is presented, I eat, no questions.’

‘You forget a lot of things,’ Derek commented, leaning back in his chair and wiping his fingers idly on one of the napkins he’d so thoughtfully provided. ‘Keys, meals. Classes?’

Stiles shook his head. ‘I never miss class,’ he said firmly. ‘I just seem to miss everything else.’

Derek frowned. ‘You don’t strike me as a workaholic,’ he commented. 

Stiles shrugged. ‘I’m not, really,’ he said honestly. ‘But I work hard and play hard. I enjoy college, dude. Class is fun. I like learning.’

‘You’re probably the first person to describe classics as fun,’ Derek snorted.

‘You take archaeology,’ laughed Stiles. ‘You’re one to talk.’

‘I never said it was fun,’ Derek pointed out, touchily. ‘It’s a major, whatever.’

Stiles shook his head, mock disappointed. ‘Such a shame,’ he said. ‘Young people today not enjoying their majors. What is the world coming to.’

Derek threw a napkin at him. 

After pizza they played Xbox for a while. Stiles wasn’t sure who suggested it. One minute they were at the table, then they were migrating to the sofa. Suddenly controllers were in hand, the Xbox was on, and he was playing Titanfall. Derek had an impressive collection of games. 

They talked while they played, about nothing really, and it was easy and pretty much effortless and punctuated with shouts like “SHIT THERE’S ONE ON THE ROOF” and “My titan’s literally ten seconds away HANG ON”. They whupped each other a pretty even amount of times, but worked better on the co-op missions. 

‘Shit, I love this game,’ Stiles sighed happily, sitting back as the mission ended. Then he glanced at the clock on the Xbox. ‘Oh no. Lydia’s probably home, and I still need to get changed. How is that the time?’

Derek looked surprised too. ‘Oh yeah, you have that dinner. Uh …’

Both seemed unsure. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was a simple reluctance to leave the warmth of the couch, or if Derek didn’t actually want him to go.

Stiles didn’t always cop on to the “outstayed your welcome” feeling, but when he did, he hauled ass. It was better to be safe than sorry, he felt. 

So he stood up, stretched luxuriously, and rounded the couch to get his coat. It was so toasty in Derek’s room, he’d taken it off almost immediately. 

‘Enjoy your dinner, I guess,’ said Derek, following him around to the door. 

‘Will do,’ said Stiles cheerfully, shrugging on his coat. ‘Hey, if I ever get locked out again at least I know where company can be found.’

Derek snorted. ‘You say that like it won’t happen again,’ he said, leaning against the wall and letting his eyes roam over Stiles as he patted himself for phone and wallet and keys, of course finding only one of them present.

Stiles smirked at him. ‘Well, with that attitude maybe I’ll be tempted to do it on purpose.’ Then he paused. ‘Seriously though, it’ll probably happen again.’

Derek laughed, looking almost surprised at himself. He regarded Stiles, looking interested. 

‘We’ve definitely met before,’ he said, knowingly. ‘You leave an impression.’

‘Deja vu, maybe,’ suggested Stiles, because he was seriously still drawing a blank there, and he’d definitely remember Derek. 

Derek shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said, looking a bit bothered. ‘Anyways …’

Stiles took the cue. ‘Ok, thanks again man, you saved my life,’ he said sincerely. He stepped out into the chilly hallway, scowl instantly forming on his face as he wrapped his arms around him. ‘Pizza’s on me next time.’

Derek laughed again. ‘Yeah, right.’ 

Stiles savoured the sound of that rich, warm laugh, almost like a snuggly scarf, all the way down to his room. He kind of felt like he spent the rest of the evening wearing it, a secret scarf that no one could see.

Lydia was flinging clothes around the room, looking for a blue skirt, which Stiles assured her he hadn’t seen. Ordinarily they were the perfect pair of roommates - Lydia was neat, and fierce enough about it to keep Stiles on his toes, and Stiles had just the right amount of pep and energy and ability to bring breakfast pastries to make sure Lydia got through all her late nights and early starts. But sometimes Stiles’s haphazard ways caused problems. 

‘It’s probably under all your junk,’ Lydia hissed, hands on hips as Stiles cowered over on his side of the room. ‘You said you’d clean today, Stiles!’

‘Lydia, I would have,’ Stiles pleaded. ‘But see, here’s the thing …’

He related the whole sorry story, shortening Derek’s involvement to “some guy with pizza”, because Lydia didn’t look very impressed. 

‘I seriously think you should have that key implanted,’ she said, glaring at him. ‘Stiles, what if you were running late and needed money, or if you had an urgent homework assignment, or forgot an urgent homework assignment - ‘

‘Trust me, all of that has occurred to me,’ Stiles assured her. ‘I don’t do it on purpose, Lydia.’

She sighed, sitting down on the bed. ‘I know you don’t,’ she said. ‘Anyways, it’s over there on the table. I found it as soon as I walked in. Now are you going to help me find my skirt?’

The elusive blue skirt eventually turned up at the back of Stiles’s closet, of all places. 

‘Must have thought it was a shirt,’ he said, handing it over.

‘You do wear a lot of blue,’ Lydia agreed, shimmying off her dark skirt and putting the blue one on in its place.

‘Yeah, blue’s just pretty,’ Stiles agreed, thinking longingly of the blue t-shirt Derek had been wearing. Then he shook his head. ‘I mean, what?’

Lydia eyed him thoughtfully as she gathered up her handbag and warm coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

‘So, where exactly did you go today?’ she asked casually, as they prepared to leave. ‘Some guy’s room?’

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yeah, he, um, had pizza. Let me hang out. It was no big deal.’

Lydia hmm’d. ‘Stiles, with you, it’s always a big deal. Name?’

Stiles shrugged as she locked the door. ‘Just Derek. Didn’t get a last name. It wasn’t speed-dating, Lydia.’

She rolled her eyes, waving her key at him as she tucked it securely into her pocket. 

‘Right,’ she said, skeptically. ‘Just Derek. Describe.’

Stiles did his best as they headed out of the building and down to the car park. They were running late, so there was no point waiting for anyone else. 

‘Sounds familiar,’ Lydia said immediately. ‘Hang on …’ She dug her phone out of her handbag as Stiles sighed, exasperated. 

‘Seriously, I don’t know him,’ he said, getting into the jeep. ‘He thought I was familiar too, but trust me, I’d remember him.’

Lydia eyed him. ‘Oh, would you?’

Stiles blushed, and she smiled, returning to her phone, where she was presumably on Facebook.

‘Stiles, you underestimate just how blackout drunk you can get,’ she continued, idly. Stiles turned the key in the ignition irritably, and turned up the heat. 

‘For instance, do you remember dancing on the bar at Hydrogen last Thursday?’

Stiles rolled his eyes. ‘Stop making stuff up, Lydia,’ he said.

She laughed lightly. ‘Oh, that’s not made up. Malia has photos.’

Stiles frowned, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. ‘Wait, seriously? Um …’

‘See what I mean?’ She was still scrolling her phone, but now she paused. ‘Ok, here. Derek Hale. Is this him?’ She thrust the phone in Stiles’s face. 

Crap. It was him. 

‘No, that’s not him,’ Stiles said defiantly. Unfortunately he was blushing too much for that lie to carry any weight.

‘Knew it,’ murmured Lydia, looking back at the phone. ‘Stiles, I am delighted to inform you that you went home with this man last Thursday. Congratulations.’

The jeep stalled badly, and they both jerked in their seats. 

‘Stiles!’ Lydia exclaimed. 

‘What did you just say?’ Stiles demanded, ignoring the honking horn from the car overtaking them.

Lydia sighed, struggling to adjust her seatbelt as it was obviously hurting her now from the jolt. 

‘I said you went home with him last Thursday,’ she said irritably. ‘We all noticed because he was so hot, and you bragged about making out with him on the dance floor incessantly, until he came over and you were all over him, and finally dragged him outside.’

‘And how do you know that I went home with him, though,’ demanded Stiles, reluctantly starting the jeep up again. It was harder to argue with Lydia when he couldn’t give it his full attention.

‘Because you text me to tell me. Actually, I think I still have that text.’

‘You’re just a reservoir of information aren’t you,’ grumbled Stiles, pulling out on to the road.

‘And where would you be without me,’ Lydia replied. ‘Here we go. So, in abbreviated fashion, because a lot of this doesn’t make sense, you said “In archaeology guy’s room. Two beds but no roommate, yay. Don’t wait up, love you lots, xoxo etc”.’ Lydia put the phone down and looked at him severely. ‘Are you telling me you remember none of this?’

Stiles wanted to bash his head off the steering wheel. 

'I can't believe I didn't recognise him,' he whispered. 

'You're going pale.'

'It’s the hangover.'

'You sure?'

Stiles sighed. 'No, it's because I didn't recognise the totally hot guy who I totally banged and who totally recognised me and - ' Stiles froze, tirade cutting off abruptly.

'Stiles?' Lydia sounded a little concerned now; her hand hovered near his on the wheel, in case he was about to pass out or something. 

'Stiles - ?'

'My belt,' he hissed incredulously. 'That jerk has my belt!'

 

'But aren't you even just a little annoyed that you don't remember any of it?' Malia asked, gesturing at him across the table with a French fry. 

Stiles shrugged mournfully, taking a bite out of his burger. 

'I am,' he said, chewing slowly. 'I mean, you can't miss what you never had, but I had that and I can't remember it!'

'Maybe he wasn't that good,' Kira suggested, from where she was pressed up beside him, delicately cutting her pizza slice into tiny triangles. 

Stiles nudged her. 'Trust me, he looked good.'

'Maybe his penis was really small.'

'Lydia, he's not a small-dick kind of guy,' Stiles replied acidly. 'Trust me, I've seen enough to recognise the type.'

'How can you tell?' Malia asked, intrigued. She was still bundled up in her scarf, nose red from her cold. She was opposite Stiles, with Lydia and Scott to her left. Scott was playing footsie with Isaac, who was beside Kira, and being totally obvious about it. Kira kept laughing quietly to herself; Stiles could feel her shaking beside him. 

'Well, Malia,' Stiles explained. 'It's mostly experience. And recognising certain personality types. Guys with small dicks tend to be jerks, in general. They're sad about their under-endowed lot in life, and feel the need to overcompensate with abrasive personalities, or wear excessive accessories, like, I dunno, scarves, even when they live in California and it's 95 in the shade.'

‘Uh huh,’ Malia said, leaning across the table and faking intense intrigue. Lydia and Kira were laughing quietly into their sleeves. 

'Big dick guys,' continued Stiles, 'are nice and sweet and all around good guys, who occasionally help their best friends out with certain sexual favours, before getting hopelessly ensnared by the small dick guy, who seeks a big dick guy to fulfil all his -'

His lecture was interrupted by the girls' now raucous laughter, and Isaac's attempts to get around Kira and strangle Stiles. 

'I seriously question our friendship,' Scott muttered, head in his hands, ears adorably pink, as Kira squealed between Isaac and a laughing Stiles. 

'What were these sexual favours, Scott?' Lydia asked, folding her arms and looking at him with a sneaky smile on her face. 

'I'm not comfortable discussing that with my boyfriend present, and in this lovely family restaurant where we are surrounded by children,’ Scott said with false cheeriness. 

'Fine,' said Lydia. 'Every night is a slumber party with Stiles anyways. After I braid his hair and paint his nails he'll tell me all the details.'

'It's true,' said Stiles solemnly. 

Dinner deteriorated into laughter and sordid jokes and an eventual decision to go for drinks. It was Friday, after all, and Isaac had decided that his hangover had progressed to such a stage that only more alcohol could help.

'The cure,' said Malia firmly. 'The age old tradition of curing a hangover by beginning a new one. Besides, Kira and I have been composing all week. Let's go.'

The memory - vague though it was - from the previous night, and of course the apparent drunken catastrophe of the week before, still fresh in Stiles' mind, meant that he was careful when he accepted his first bottle from Scott. Beer, he decided, was much safer than hard liquor. He'd need at least, like, five beers before he lost his mind. More, even. He'd just have a quiet one. No pressure. Just a few quiet beers with his friends. 

'It's the weekend!' Malia yelled, elbowing past him and banging on the bar. 'Shots!'

Ah well, thought Stiles. 

 

One round of shots rolled into several, and the night became hazy enough for Lydia to catch his arm and yell ‘No more!’ until he got the message. Stiles had a feeling she’d stolen his wallet, but he didn’t care because Malia was plying Kira with drink, and Kira was stealthily passing them off to Stiles because she wanted to look like she could keep up with Malia, when really she couldn’t. Stiles mumbled a few times that she should just tell Malia, but Kira always shook her head and just kept handing Stiles brightly coloured cocktails until Stiles felt like he weighed about five times what he did. 

‘Feel so heavy,’ he mumbled, slumped on his chair. ‘I want my belt.’

‘Oh my god, if I hear you talk about that damn belt one more time,’ groaned Isaac, cuffing Stiles around the head. ‘Just go get it. You know where it is now.’

This dimly registered in Stiles’s befuddled brain. Yeah, it was in Derek’s room. He didn’t know exactly where, but that’s definitely where it was. But he couldn’t turn up there like this. He wanted to remember this encounter; what if he saw the belt, but was too busy sucking Derek’s cock to get to it?

He shook his head. Now there was a thought. It was time to act. He realised he was falling off his chair a little too late, and was only saved from faceplanting the sticky bar floor by Malia’s quick reactions. 

‘You came out of nowhere!’ he said, dazed, as Kira ducked under his other arm. Together they hoisted him up and walked him to the door. Stiles felt the heat of their bodies and the scent of their perfume and sweat and smiled happily, Derek already forgotten. 

 

‘You’re sure you’re ok here?’ Malia asked, as they propped Stiles up against the door of his building. You had to scan in after midnight and visitors were only allowed by the resident’s say so. And at the moment Stiles’s say so was severely impaired. 

‘Just come in,’ Stiles pleaded, dancing from foot to foot in the cold, swaying slightly. He hiccuped pitifully, and Kira smiled, her arm around Malia’s waist.

‘Sorry Stiles,’ she said. ‘We’re not allowed. And we kinda have plans.’

Stiles scowled. ‘Plans,’ he scoffed. ‘What’s better than - hic - coming in with me?’

Malia rolled her eyes. ‘Stiles, you have too much penis and not enough boobs for either of us to prefer going in with you to going home with each other.’

Stiles squinted. ‘Wait, seriously? Ok now you have to come in and tell me - hic - all about this.’

Malia just laughed, and they turned to go.

‘Bye, Stiles,’ Kira called over her shoulder. ‘We’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘You’d better,’ grumbled Stiles, realising that although he was drunk enough not to feel guilty about jerking off over the thought of them together, he was also probably too drunk to manage it. Maybe he should do it standing up? Though he might fall over that way.

These were the thoughts that sustained him all the way up the three flights of stairs to his hallway, and by the time he found his door he was considering waiting up for Lydia and making her tell him all about that time she and Allison got drunk in France and Chris caught them putting whipped cream to very creative use. He could trade her with stories of how he and Scott used to jerk each other off (it started because Scott broke his jerking hand falling off his bike and Stiles was a top class bro about it). He could even Skype Allison in France, who was due back in two weeks, on Halloween, and make her tell him. What time was it in France? Would she be interested in “Scott and Stiles got dirty a few times” stories?

He leaned against his door frame, fumbling around for his wallet. He’d put his key in there, just to be safe. A very good plan, because Stiles needed his money to buy drinks, very important drinks, of which he was very fond of consuming. It took him a solid five minutes of patting down his pockets repeatedly to remember that Lydia had taken it.

‘Nooo,’ he moaned quietly, slumping against the doorframe. He needed to get inside. He needed his laptop, his bed - there were leftover Cheetos in Lydia’s cupboard! He punched the door angrily, then yelped as he realised that he was weak and frail. 

‘This is a - hic - disaster,’ he grumbled. ‘Why are you locked? Why is this locked? I need to get in. I hate this, how do I - ‘ He dug his phone out of his pocket, but texting Lydia proved to be virtually impossible. His fingers slipped all over the screen and refused to go where he told them to. Eventually he gave up, phone falling from his fingers to the floor. He didn’t realise just how much angry, feeble racket he was making until a door slammed open.

‘What the - Stiles? Are you ok?’

Another door opened, and Stiles heard murmurs and reassurances, and it closed again. Footsteps approached; Stiles could hear them from where his face was pressed into the scratchy hall carpet.

‘Are you alive?’ Derek’s voice sounded a tad unsure, and maybe unsteady too, although that might just have been because the whole world was spinning, Stiles wasn’t too sure.

‘I’m fine,’ he tried to protest, as best he could from his position.

'Well, you don't sound fine,' grumbled Derek, making an attempt to get Stiles up. 'You don't look fine either.'

'Thats a lie, I'm fine as hell,' protested Stiles. He would have helped Derek out with the whole standing thing, but he quite liked how firm Derek's hands were on him. Yes very nice, very strong, more of this would be good, he felt. 

'No, let's not stand up,' Stiles stage-whispered, tugging on Derek's sleeve, trying pathetically to tug him down to his level. 'I can't go inside right now so how about we just sit - hic - right here and talk, let's just talk, we never talk, Derek.'

'Are you forgetting our three hour conversation today?' Derek's brow was furrowed, and his eyes were slightly red. Stiles squinted. 

'Your eyes are red,' Stiles pointed out. 

Derek looked exasperated, even from way down on the ground where Stiles was still lounging. 

'I might be drunk,' Derek said. 'Not as drunk as you though. Are you sexiled?'

Stiles let his head thud back against the door. 'Ow. I wish. Then I could hear at least. Lydia has my wallet.'

'So?'

'It has my key.'

'Oh.'

'Guess I'm sleeping on the floor,' sang Stiles quietly. 'It's ok, it's a nice floor. No one to cuddle though. Not even a pillow.' He blinked up at Derek. 'Cuddles are great. Do you wanna cuddle, Derek?'

Derek looked to be considering it, but then again it also looked like there was two of Derek. 

'Lets just get you up,' Derek said quietly, and Stiles was upright much quicker than he probably should have been.

'Woah, that was fast,' he murmured, swaying.

'Its cold out here,' Derek said, getting an arm under Stiles. 'C'mon.'

Derek's room was just as toasty as last time. Stiles could smell alcohol and food and all that sexy man smell up in his business.

'You smell great,' he mumbled.

'Yeah I've heard that before,' Derek said, in an odd tone of voice that Stiles lacked the brainpower to understand. 

'Right, what are we drinking,' Stiles said, happily spotting the bottle and single glass on the table and lurching towards it. 'We can share a glass, I totally don't mind.'

'I have other glasses,' said Derek, catching up to him. 'But I don't think you should be drinking anything else. You're cut off, Stiles.'

'You're cut - hic - off.' The effect of his witty comeback was ruined slightly by Stiles stumbling around the chair and needing Derek to catch him again.

'You wanna lie down?' asked Derek, all close and warm and smelling so good. Stiles let his arms wrap around his neck. Cuddling, he decided, even the random almost-hug snuggle variety, was way underrated. 

'If you lie down with me,' he said, into Derek's neck. Really nice neck. Firm and stubbly. 

'That tickles,' said Derek, but his limbs were loose around Stiles, all tension leeching out of him as Stiles nuzzled against him.

'Yeah, you like it?' Stiles was sleepy, but he would take absolutely anything from this encounter. Was he sobering up? Or was his thirst so strong it literally defied intoxication when the occasion called for it?

'I - mmm,' Derek trailed off, leaning back against the table. 'We probably shouldn't. You're drunk.'

'You're drunk too,' Stiles reminded him, rubbing his body up against Derek and letting his mouth trail over his neck. 'And we're all alone in your big old empty room cos you apparently have no roommate. Seems kinda - hic - perfect.' 

His hands were tugging Derek's crotch against his own by his belt loops, and it seemed like everything was progressing nicely on both sides. But then he felt Derek stiffen, inexplicably. 

'I guess,' he said, but he didn't sound so up for it now. Stiles started getting worried because it felt like there was a lot of dick behind those jeans that Stiles sure would love to get his hands on. 

'Man, I should get locked out more often,' he said, hands fumbling now with Derek's belt because why wait around? 'All day I've been thinking about you. You and your stupid archaeology jokes and your lame Xbox skills and - seriously what the fuck is with this thing?' he exclaimed, looking down at where his hands were utterly failing at undoing Derek's belt. 'Fucking magic fucking belt or something, Jesus.'

Derek was laughing softly, and Stiles smiled up at him, enchanted by the sound of it. Surely, he thought distantly in the back of his mind, surely he wouldn't forget this. 

'Hey,' he said softly, taking Derek's face between his hands. 'Hey, hey. You wanna play with me?'

Derek looked at him from beneath his eyelashes. He looked shy and blushing, but there was a small smile forming on his face. 

He nodded, still a little unsteady, but his arms were wrapped more firmly around Stiles now. 

'Yeah?' Stiles asked, stroking his cheek with his thumb, slowly. 'Kiss me, Derek.' 

Derek exhaled, a breath he seemed to have been holding for a while. Still holding his face, Stiles smiled as Derek leaned in, finally, to kiss him. Their lips were clumsy and soft and Stiles felt that special jolt of electricity in his tummy as he melted into the kiss. The thrill of kissing someone new, someone so fucking beautiful, was a better stimulant than anything Stiles could have put into his system. They kissed tentatively, messily, bumping noses, teeth and tongue getting in each other's way. 

'You taste like whiskey,' Stiles mumbled, when he came up for air, reluctantly. 

'You taste like tequila,' said Derek, reproachfully, but he hugged him closer, snuggling into his neck before planting a chaste kiss to Stiles' exposed skin. Stiles shivered beneath his touch, carding his hands through Derek's hair as the press of his lips became firmer, more insistent. 

'Fuck, that feels good,' Stiles hissed, as Derek began work on a devastating hickey. Stiles had very sensitive skin, and a rough hickey could have the same effect as an average handjob sometimes. Particularly when he was this horny and the hickey-giver was this hot. 

Derek's hands were roaming up and down his back under his shirt, blunt nails scraping against his skin, making Stiles hiss and press against him. His fingers tugged on Derek's hair as Derek's fingers slipped down his pants, grabbing a handful of Stilinski property and squeezing. 

'Holy shit, dude, you can have me,' Stiles gasped, writhing beneath Derek's expert touch. For a drunk guy, he sure knew his way around a Stiles. 'Literally, take me I'm yours.' 

Derek lifted his lips from their sinful business to look Stiles in the eye (or the mutually-inebriated equivalent). 

'You said that already,' he said unsteadily, lips red and wet and fucking tempting as shit. 

Stiles frowned. 'I did? I don't, uh, remember ... Guess I am pretty drunk though. It's still true. Hey, hey.' His hands found Derek's face again. 'Keep kissing me.'

Derek obliged, and they spent another happy few minutes making out. Derek just felt so amazing. Stiles could have kissed him for a hundred years and still have a boner from it.

Something seemed to be circling in Stiles’ brain, something bothersome that wouldn’t just leave him be to kiss the heck out of this major hottie. It was nagging at him, distracted as he was by his very dizzy, drunk brain, and Derek’s beautiful hands and lips and long, hard body pressed up against him. 

‘I’ve been here before,’ he mumbled against Derek’s mouth. His body was tilted backwards slightly as Derek’s kiss became more hungry, more insistent. 

‘Yeah, this afternoon,’ Derek reminded him, barely breaking the kiss to answer. ‘Didn’t you do enough talking then?’ He dived back in, and Stiles couldn’t even figure out how to not kiss him back. What kind of a defence could you possibly have against that? 

‘Wait though, wait,’ he said a few minutes later. ‘Have - have we done this before?’

He pulled back, suddenly very confused, thinking about Lydia, of all people. Derek didn’t look much more coherent. Stiles’s thoughts were sluggish, crawling through his mind in a haze of arousal and intoxication and really, really good kissing. 

Derek’s expression cleared somewhat as Stiles blinked at him, confused. 

‘Maybe you might remember it this time,’ he said, looking, disastrously, quite unhappy. Stiles was crushed as the memory of his conversation with Lydia came crashing back.

‘No, nonono,’ he stammered. ‘No, hang on, I’ll make it good, I - I don’t know what happened, I can’t remember - fuck, I really want to remember.’ His lip trembled, mood abruptly plummeting. Derek was glancing down now, body pulling away, and suddenly everything was terrible.

Stiles’ hands rested uselessly on Derek’s shoulders. He bit his lip, not sure what to do, brain firing on approximately half a cylinder, when suddenly Derek looked up at him. 

‘I’ll make you remember, then,’ he said, determination and arousal colouring his voice. Stiles didn’t have time to ask what he meant before Derek was dropping to his knees, unzipping Stiles’s pants and pulling them down. Stiles gasped as he felt rough fingers touching his cock, pulling him out, and stroking quickly down the length of him. Derek worked him expertly, thumb sliding over the slit, fingers sliding down the shaft to brush his balls. Stiles’ mouth fell open, and he grabbed Derek’s shoulder for leverage, his other hand gripping the table behind Derek’s back because he was in no way shape or form equipped to handle this in his current state. 

‘Fuck,’ Stiles breathed, as Derek’s soft lips kissed the head of his cock, before spreading deliciously for him, letting Stiles push into that hot, wet mouth. He stared down, incredulous, wondering how he could have ever forgotten those eyes blinking up at him as he swallowed Stiles’ cock, those lips stretched around him, that beautiful fucking body kneeling beneath him, every inch of him striving to please Stiles. 

‘You are fucking beautiful,’ he said, hands caressing Derek’s face, stroking through his hair. ‘So beautiful. How could I ever have …’

Derek swallowed that thought too, dipping his head down further over Stiles’ cock until it was bumping at the back of his throat. Stiles’ brain was exploding, his whole body was tightening up and non-functionary; all he could do was cling to Derek and moan senselessly as Derek worked him up, stroking and sucking and licking until Stiles’ orgasm rose up inside of him, consuming all thought and feeling in a blinding rush of heat and pleasure. His head fell back, a wordless cry escaping his mouth as he came, Derek’s mouth sucking him through it, his hands soft and gentle on him now, rather than rough and persistent. Stiles felt weak and heavy and sleepy but more than ready to reciprocate. 

Derek kissed his thigh. ‘Now do you remember?’ he asked, quietly. 

‘Not sure,’ Stiles mumbled, through lips that felt like rubber. ‘We might have to do that a few more times before I really get the picture.’

Derek’s laugh ghosted across Stiles’s bare leg. He rose smoothly, only staggering a little bit, and they smiled sheepishly at each other. 

‘I never meant to forget you,’ whispered Stiles, gazing at Derek’s sweet face and stroking his cheek, slowly. ‘God, I’m such an idiot. I just want to - ‘

Stiles’ profession of lust was interrupted by a rapid succession of knocks on Derek’s door. They both jumped, automatically clutching each other, and Stiles was startled to hear Lydia’s voice.

‘Stiles,’ she yelled, sounding surprisingly upset. ‘Stiles, if you’re in there, please come out. If you’re not, well, I’m sorry Derek Hale, but I really need to find Stiles so this is what I’m doing.’ There was another flurry of knocks, and Stiles was suddenly frantically zipping up his pants.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I think something’s wrong,’ he babbled, attempting to press hasty kisses to the startled Derek’s lips. ‘She’s never upset, oh god - ‘

‘It’s fine,’ said Derek, slowly. Stiles was in agony, post-blowjob and in dire need of reciprocal love and snuggles, but it was Lydia out there, and she was crying. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Stiles whispered again, eyes wide. ‘Derek, seriously, I’m not ok leaving like this.’ He bit his lip. ‘God, I want to stay.’ He drifted in again for a kiss, and Derek let him, but his mouth was largely unresponsive. Stiles’ chest tightened. 

‘Go,’ Derek said. ‘It’s fine.’

Stiles stepped back, stricken, watching Derek self-consciously wipe his lips, ducking his head so Stiles couldn’t quite see. 

He could have stayed there forever, watching him. 

Instead, he crossed to the door and wrenched it open, gathering a teary Lydia in his arms, and shutting the door before he could dare look back at what he was leaving behind. 

 

Lydia was more drunk than upset, but Stiles knew there was something definitely wrong, so he guided her back to their room (not an easy task; he was drunk and horny and trying desperately to control himself) and used her key to let them in.

‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed, wiping her eyes. Somehow her makeup was still perfect? Stiles shook his head, then regretted it, staggering. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘It’s ok,’ Stiles said, shrugging off his coat, letting it fall to the ground. He’d barely put it on right after tearing himself from Derek’s arms. ‘What’s up? Are you ok?’

She nodded, already composing herself. ‘I’m fine, really. I just tripped and fell outside and hurt my knee.’ She pointed down to her bare knee which was, indeed, bleeding, and quite profusely too. 

Stiles blinked down at her knee. ‘Wait, you what?’

‘I fell down.’

'You fell down,' he repeated, slowly, sure that his poor brain must be deliberately misleading him.

'Yes,' Lydia said, a touch of impatience in her voice. 'I fell down, and felt sorry for myself, and I miss Allison.' She paused, her lip trembling slightly, and Stiles abruptly felt very bad.

'Ok, I'll get - something,' he stammered. 'You sit down. There, on the bed.'

In the bathroom, under the pretence of getting the first aid kit, Stiles took a very long minute to lean against the sink and calm himself down. He was feeling very dizzy and tired and confused, and it took him a while to grasp that this wasn't entirely just because he was drunk. 

 

Lydia was easily placated. Stiles cleaned the cut and put a pink bandaid over it, and gave her a little kiss on the knee to make it all better. The smell of the antiseptic had a sobering effect on both of them, and they ended up sitting side by side on Lydia's bed, in their pyjamas, swaying slightly. 

'I miss Allison,' Lydia said quietly. 'I know she's coming home soon. But it's no fun, looking around to tell her something and she's not there.'

Stiles nodded. 'Sorry. I should have been there.'

Lydia shrugged. 'I don't need my hand held. You're a very nice roommate, Stiles.'

Stiles smiled at her. 'But I'm not Allison,' he said, softly. 

She paused, then smiled back. 'Right,' she said. Then, ‘You were in Derek Hale's room.' 

Stiles hesitated, and looked down at his hands. 'Yeah,' he said, slightly unsteady. 'You have my wallet, with my key.'

Lydia nodded, pointing at her purse by the door. 'Ah, yes. I believe it's in there.'

'Right,' Stiles agreed, nodding at it. 

There was a silence.

'So...?'

Stiles sighed. 'Yeah, he sucked my dick. It was great. It was life-changing. And he remembers me. And he knows I don't remember him. So, not so great.'

'Did the blowjob happen before or after he remembered you?'

'Um, after.'

Lydia patted his knee sympathetically. 'Don’t worry Stiles. That means he likes you.'

'Still feel like an asshole, though,' Stiles mumbled. That was an understatement. He couldn't stop thinking about Derek putting his drunk self to bed, come on his lips and none on his dick. Stiles had been in a position like that before. It wasn't fun. He remembered feeling cold and dirty and alone, sneaking back to his room because the guy had to "go somewhere". Knowing that he’d probably just made Derek feel like that gave Stiles a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go. 

Lydia seemed to sense his distress, in that uniquely soft and sensitive manner that she had under all those brains and scathing wit. Lydia had thorns, but she also had petals. 

'Wanna sleep in my bed tonight?' she asked, blinking tired eyes at him. Her lips were bitten and pale, but her eyes were kind. 

Stiles nodded. 'Ok,' he said, in a small voice. 

So Lydia tucked them both under the blankets and wrapped her arms around Stiles' waist and pulled him to her. Her body was soft against his, and she slipped a leg between his and rubbed his cold ankles.

'Thanks, Lydia,' he murmured, snuggling into her, feeling her nestle her forehead against his back. He didn't feel bad about acting like such a baby. Partially because he was too drunk to care. But also because they'd gone through stuff like this before. 

He'd never felt this bad before though. Stiles held Lydia's hand in one of his own and tried not to think about how he wasn't the one who deserved comfort and cuddles tonight. 

 

Stiles wasn't sure if he deliberately forgot his key the next day or not. He sure as shit left it on the table all morning where he could see it. Every time he stalked past it, he thought about putting it in his pocket. Next time, he thought vaguely, sipping coffee and looking for clean socks. 

He shut the door quietly behind him, letting Lydia sleep. The key was still on the table. But there was no point in waking her. 

His own hangover was vicious, but he deserved it. He had some classes to go to, and was already planning on sitting at the back with his head down where he could sulk in peace, but he dragged his heels the whole way and had to sit down the front as a result. He spent 50 minutes staring up at pictures of male fellatio painted on pots, and bolted at soon as the lecturer moved on to speaking about next week's lecture. Stiles barely made it to the bathroom in time to be noisily sick, feeling like the scabby hand of death himself was crawling up his throat. 

'This is pathetic,' he muttered, wiping his mouth on toilet paper. He'd forgotten to bring water with him, of course, so he had to deal with the taste in his mouth until he could get his hands on a bottle. 

The rest of the afternoon was miserable, and was instantly compounded when Stiles returned home, cold and laden down with research books for a surprise assignment in his etymology class, to discover that of course he didn't have his key.

'Lydiaaaaa,' he groaned, knocking with his head, arms full. 'Please be home. Please be home.'

The door opened. 'Of course I'm home,' Lydia said, flowery pen tucked through the bundle of hair on top of her head. She was pale and tired-looking, but had ink on her fingers. 'I never go to class on a hangover. It's not productive.'

'Aren’t you afraid you'll miss stuff?' Stiles asked, allowing her to help him with some of his books. She shook her head, carrying them over to his desk. 

'Nope,' she said lightly, dumping them with a this beside his laptop. 'My professors know I'm good for the work. And I don't drink often.'

'Ah, tolerance,' sighed Stiles. 'Meanwhile I have to stare up at painted dicks all day because my professor takes attendance.' 

'Speaking of which,' Lydia said, looking pointedly at the door. 'You need to sort that out. I need quiet to work in here, and you are both clearly miserable about last night.'

Lydia rarely left room for argument when she had all of her facts straight. She fixed him with a stern look and chivvied him out into the hall, key in hand. Stiles found himself looking down the hall at Derek's door, feeling like he's rather be doing anything else than knocking on it. 

It's like a snake bite, he thought, as he approached the ominous door. You've gotta suck the poison out. Or suck his dick. Are they the same thing? An eye for an eye.  Or was that vengeance? Stiles shook his head wearily and leaned against the wall, staring mournfully at the door handle. He probably couldn't manage this on a good, non-hungover day. He was too scattered for an apology of this magnitude. 

'Stiles?'

Stiles jumped back from the door. Busted. Derek was standing at the top of the stairs, carrying two bags of groceries. He was wearing an orange bobble hat and his nose was red from the cold. Stiles felt his own expression soften before he could catch himself. 

'Hey,' he said, quietly. He's so lovely, he thought sadly. Hard on the heels of that came You're fucked, Stilinski. 

'Don’t tell me you're locked out again,' Derek said, clutching his bags of groceries a little protectively, as though Stiles might see what was in them and tease. 

'No,' Stiles said, shaking his head. 'I just wanted to talk to you. Is that ok? Can we talk?'

Derek considered it, frowning slightly. Stiles figured he fully deserved the rejection, and braced himself. 

But Derek only nodded. He let them both into his room and immediately started unpacking the groceries, even before he's taken off his hat or coat. Stiles watched uncomfortably from beside the table where Derek had given him a blowjob the night before, until Derek gestured rather irritably for him to sit down. Stiles nearly knocked over the chair in his haste to comply. 

Finally Derek was finished bustling around. Stiles, the master avoider, recognized stalling tactics when he saw them. Derek sat down on the chair furthest from Stiles; he jigged his leg nervously. 

'So listen,' Stiles said, hands already raised to explain. But Derek cut him off.

'Its fine,' he said abruptly. 'You had to go. It's not a big deal.'

Stiles' expression fell. 'Yeah but... I mean it was still pretty shit of me to just, I dunno, leave like that.'

Derek shrugged, and there was an unbelievable amount of resignation in the gesture that made Stiles clench his fists. 

'Look, this isn't just about last night,' Stiles continued, trying his best not to sound as frustrated as he felt. 

‘Right, right, the other time,’ said Derek, waving the incident away like it was nothing, when even the dogs on the street could tell it was something. Derek’s expression had visibly darkened, and his whole posture looked like he wanted to leave. Or wanted Stiles to leave. 

‘Yeah, that,’ said Stiles, squirming uncomfortable. ‘Derek, no one’s more annoyed about that than I am. I mean, look.’ He gestured incredulously at Derek. ‘Why would anyone want to forget that?’

It was the wrong thing to say. Derek’s mouth tightened. 

‘Great, well, now that you’ve confirmed that all you wanted was sex, maybe you’ll leave since you got a repeat last night. I mean, unless you can’t remember that either?’ 

This, Stiles reflected, was going terribly. But he didn’t feel right about leaving, no matter how much Derek wanted him to go.

So, with the feeling of a someone forcing a cat to walk on a leash, he cast around for another topic. 

‘Hey, why don’t you have a roommate?’ he asked, rubbing his knees as though he was trying to warm them up and not because they were trembling slightly. 

Derek’s eyebrows flew up. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting the change of topic. 

‘Why are you asking that?’

Stiles shrugged. If Derek didn’t recognise a desperate deflection when he heard one, then Stiles was definitely not going to point it out to him. ‘Just curious. I mean, I have to put up with Lydia and her clothes and her hair in the sink all the time and all her lotions and potions in the bathroom and sometimes she even lets me use them when my skin is feeling sensitive or if I have acne or just feel like smelling special - ok she’s not that bad,’ Stiles said hurriedly, blushing as Derek quirked an eyebrow. ‘But the question remains. Why no roommate?’

Stiles had thought this was a safe subject, but Derek didn’t look happy about it.

‘I had one,’ he said, quietly. ‘Last year. But he, uh, died.’

Stiles swallowed. 

‘Oh,’ he said, uselessly. ‘Shit. I’m sorry. Were you guys close?’

Derek looked away. ‘Best friends,’ he said, quietly. ‘After Boyd died, his girlfriend Erica moved to the east coast. So, with my two best friends gone, I didn’t really feel like another roommate. Or hanging out with anyone, really.’

Stiles felt like an enormous elephant in the room. All Derek wanted was privacy and here Stiles was, practically kicking down his door, having sex with him then leaving, making out with him then leaving again, and now blustering in wondering what the problem was. 

‘How did he die?’ he asked, because he literally couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

Derek shrugged. ‘Just fell,’ he said. ‘Fell down one night, outside a bar. We were out of town for Erica’s birthday, and drunk. And he just … fell. Cracked his head on the pavement. We thought he was kidding …’ Derek looked down at his hands. ‘That night at the bar, when we first met - or whatever. That was the first time I’d been out in a year. And I kept wanting to leave, to just stop drinking and leave before something bad happened.’ Derek looked up, eyes bright and piercing. Stiles felt pinned to his chair.

‘But every time I tried, you’d be there. You’d pull me back, or nudge against me and pretend to be offended, or drag me on to the dance floor, or just catch my eye across the room and suddenly I was hooked again. And when you suggested leaving, I knew it was ok to go. Because you were there with me.’

Stiles’s throat was dry.

‘And then I left,’ he croaked.

Derek nodded. ‘You left,’ he repeated. ‘And forgot. And I know that happens - I kind of forgot too, until you stepped inside, all sorry for yourself, calling me Archaeology guy again - but it felt like someone else had just kind of wandered out of my life, like you were just kidding too.’

Stiles’ chest felt tight. Was he panicking? He might be panicking. Because right now he didn’t feel able to deal with any of this, and Derek was still staring at him with those bright eyes like he expected him to say something that would make everything ok. And Stiles wanted to - he wanted to say the right thing so badly, but his brain was tripping over every possibility and running them all down and leaving tire-tracks everywhere and suddenly nothing felt right. Everything felt wrong. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I’m sorry, I - I have to go.’

He stood up abruptly, and Derek looked down at his hands again.

‘Of course you do,’ he said quietly. Stiles didn’t even bother arguing that. He stumbled to the door and practically ran down to his room, then past it, until he was outside and down the street, breath misting in front of him in desperate pants, wondering how he could have fucked up this badly without even realising it. 

 

Stiles spent the whole night lying on Scott’s bed and not talking about it. Scott sat on his desk chair and typed half-heartedly at his essay, also not talking about it. 

‘Do you want to talk - ‘

‘No,’ Stiles said, flatly. ‘If I talk, I’ll disrupt my thinking. I need to think.’

Stiles wanted Derek. Derek (probably) wanted Stiles. But Stiles couldn’t even manage to keep track of his room key, let alone a boyfriend. College was the biggest thing he’d ever committed to in his life, and he was barely treading water with everything else. Apart from stressing himself out, Derek needed someone reliable. Someone who could juggle a room key and classes and a boyfriend without dropping two of three. Stiles would miss dates, and forget anniversaries. He’d forget to leave a message, he’d forget to tell Derek he had a message, he’d forget to buy milk and he’d forget to do any small favour Derek asked him to do. He’d be utterly terrible at boyfriending. And Derek needed stability. He needed someone who’d turn up, who’d remember his birthday and have the foresight to plan something romantic and special. 

‘I forget my own birthday,’ Stiles mumbled aloud, miserable. 

‘Yeah, but you never forget mine,’ Scott piped up, from where he was bent over his laptop.

Stiles raised his head, frowning. ‘What?’

Scott glanced over his shoulder. ‘My birthday,’ he said. ‘You’ve never forgotten one of mine. Remember last year, when you had like three exams and your taxes to file? And you still surprised me at work with a cake and those Blink 182 tickets. I didn’t even know they were touring at the time.’

Stiles let his head fall back down to the pillow as Scott turned back to his essay, feeling strange. It was true, he’d never forgotten one of Scott’s birthdays. But that was years of practise, surely. It wasn’t the same thing. 

‘You wouldn’t forget Derek’s, either,’ Scott added. ‘If that’s what you’re thinking. You might forget stupid stuff like your laundry and room key, but you’ve never let any of us down, Stiles.’

Stiles didn’t have anything to say to that. 

 

Stiles, of course, forgot to get a costume for Halloween. On the morning of the 31st, he skipped etymology and flew into town, managing to scrape together a half-hearted Peter Pan costume in under two hours. Lydia was going as Marie Antoinette and would upstage him no matter what he wore, so he wasn’t too bothered anyways. And he was a bit curious about the tights. 

Before he’d even made it up the stairs he knew he’d forgotten his key. He wrestled with the idea of knocking on Derek’s door, knowing he’d be there because he had no classes on Fridays, but he couldn’t just turn up without telling Derek how he feels, or at least apologising for literally everything, and both of those things would be utterly impossibly while carrying green tights, a tunic, elf shoes, and a fake sword. 

But as he stared down the hall at Derek’s door, he felt himself gravitating towards it. He wondered what Derek was wearing for Halloween. He wondered if he was going out at all, or if Stiles’ accidental twofold rejection of his affections had forced him further back into his reclusive habits. It had been almost two weeks since Stiles had bolted. Too long for it not to be hideously awkward.

Stiles wanted to barge in and dress him up and drag him out and kiss him senseless beside a pumpkin somewhere, but he knew he had no right. 

He stood outside his own door, holding his bags, and prayed with all his might that Derek would open his door. 

‘Stiles?’

Stiles whipped around, knowing the voice wasn’t Derek’s, heart leaping nonetheless. 

‘Allison!’

She was standing there, looking gorgeously tan, holding her suitcase and bundled under about five coats. Her dimple winked at him and suddenly Stiles felt himself melting. Allison was back!

He ran at her, both of them colliding in a messy, cumbersome hug that had both of them laughing and falling over, possessions tumbling to the ground along with them. Allison smelled like peppermint and coffee, and she laughed as Stiles stammered about how much everyone had missed her. 

‘It’s a good thing I’m back, then,’ she said, sitting up and pushing her hair back from her eyes. ‘Lydia’s in class, right? What are you doing out here all by yourself?’

Stiles nearly glanced down to Derek’s door, but restrained himself. 

‘Forgot my key,’ he explained, and Allison rolled her eyes. 

‘Typical,’ she smiled, tweaking his ear gently. ‘Well, it’s a good thing I have a spare. And that I decided to come straight here.’

Ever since Jackson had won a scholarship to Harvard, Allison had lived alone, in the next building. She and Lydia had been considering moving in together, but nothing had come of it, and then Allison had gone off to France. 

‘Got your Halloween costume?’ Stiles asked excitedly, holding up his own bag. ‘I’m going as Peter Pan.’

‘Of course,’ she said, kicking her suitcase lightly. ‘My dauphine needs her dauphin.’ 

Stiles laughed. ‘Wait, wasn’t Marie Antoinette Queen of France?’

Allison nodded. ‘She was, eventually. But why rush into being old before our time? Besides, crowns are heavy to wear all night.’

‘Can’t argue with that,’ Stiles agreed, grabbing Allison’s suitcase. She let them in, but just as Stiles was shuffling through the doorway, he heard a click of a door opening down the hall. He hurried the suitcase in, getting stuck, nearly dropping it, finally setting it down beside the couch, then poked his head back out to see if it was Derek. But the door had already closed by the time he looked out. 

 

Even though Lydia’s joy at seeing Allison again made Stiles’ heart soar, by the time 8pm rolled around, he felt more like curling up under the bed with a bottle of vodka than going out to play with everyone. 

He sat on his bed mournfully in his Peter Pan outfit, while Allison and Lydia swanned around in their elegant, expensive costumes, looking utterly regal and gorgeous. Allison’s ass in those tight white breeches was generously admired by both Stiles and Lydia, and much time was spent fixing Lydia’s wig until she looked suitable Kirsten Dunst-like, but Stiles still couldn’t muster up the energy to even smile. 

He waved them off at 9pm with attempts at smiling and promises to turn up when his mood improved. The last thing he felt like doing was drawing attention away from how goddamn happy the girls looked, and Lydia seemed to sense that he was about two steps away from crying every time he saw them holding hands. 

Stiles felt brutal. He sat down heavily on his bed once they’d gone, and all he could think about was how both he and Derek were sitting in their empty rooms, four doors away from each other. Stiles’s arms ached because Derek wasn’t in them.

He wasn’t sure where this sudden, almost life-threatening need to hold Derek had come from, but it had snuck up on him so gradually while he was hanging out with the girls and suffering the extent of their mutual affection for each other that right now he felt cold and aching and alone. 

He needed Derek, but Derek didn’t need him.

Stiles had just taken his fourth swig from the bottle of Absolut, when there was a knock at the door. 

Derek was standing in the hall and looked very uncertain, either about standing in front of Stiles, or about the pirate hat on his head. 

‘I’m locked out,’ he said, unconvincingly. ‘Can I come in.’

Stiles stepped back, utterly wordless, allowing the abashed pirate into his room.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ Stiles mumbled. ‘Allison and Lydia were getting ready.’

‘Why aren’t you out?’ Derek asked, turning to face him. He hadn’t even glanced around. 

Stiles shrugged. ‘Not feeling the Neverland vibes tonight.’

‘We match,’ said Derek, quietly. ‘I, uh, heard you talking about yours earlier. I don’t know why I …’ He trailed off, blushing. Stiles wanted to bite something. 

‘You look very, um, good’ he admitted, just as quietly. The two of them shuffled from foot to foot, neither really knowing what to say. Stiles noticed that Derek was also wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, and brown boots over his dark pants. It was practically a full pirate costume. He’d gone to effort

‘I should have said something,’ Derek confessed, in a rush. ‘I knew you didn’t remember me, and I said nothing about it. I should have said something. I shouldn’t have let you in, but I did, because I couldn’t help but fall for you again, Stiles, even though I knew it was going to hurt me. And then you …’ He swallowed. ‘You did come back. You kept coming back. So I locked myself out and came over here because I knew you were in. And I wanted to see you. And I have a pirate hat.’ Derek stopped abruptly, looking very confused and embarrassed. Stiles couldn’t have spoken a word if his whole goddamn life depended on it, which it kind of did.

‘I’m gonna go,’ said Derek, vaguely. Stiles was literally too stunned to do anything but watch as Derek turned and left, the door hanging open behind him. He didn’t turn left down to his room, but right towards the stairs. Stiles couldn’t understand what was happening, but when his brain finally kicked in, he was grabbing his sword and sprinting out of his room, slamming the door behind him.

It was freezing outside. Stiles was wearing a damn tunic and tights but he didn’t care because Derek hadn’t disappeared, he was standing on the edge of the street in his pirate costume - there was a sword like Stiles’ tucked into the back of his belt - and he turned when he heard the door crash open.

‘Wait!’ Stiles coughed out, breathless. ‘Wait, Derek!’

He hurried down the path, not knowing what he was going to say to make this better but just kind of hoping that something smart would come out of his mouth by the time he got to Derek.

He needn’t have worried. As the distance closed, both of them seemed to figure out what to do. 

Stiles broke into a run about halfway there. Derek caught him in arms and their mouths crashed together like it was the first time. Heat and excitement flooded Stiles, eclipsing every thought he’d ever had about how this wasn’t worth fighting for. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him as his feet struggled to keep him upright. The thin material of his costume fluttered in the breeze, but Stiles barely felt it. Derek’s mouth was soft and insistent and time had no meaning as they relaxed into each other, bodies promising what their stupid brains could never have managed. 

‘Let’s go inside,’ Stiles murmured, the promise of Derek’s warm, naked body the only thing strong enough to persuade him to break the kiss. 

‘Your room,’ Derek replied, lips still finding their way around Stiles’. ‘In a strange turn of events, I’m the one who’s locked out.’

That made Stiles pause.

‘Uhh ….’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Derek groaned. 

‘Where on this costume do you see room to store a key?’ Stiles demanded, and Derek laughed, a delicious rumbling in his chest that made Stiles beam despite his indignation. 

‘Well, what now?’ Derek asked. ‘The party?’ 

Stiles didn’t really understand at first because Derek was smiling at him like he was the party.

‘I guess,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I can’t exactly go alone. What’s Peter Pan without his Captain Hook?’

‘Did they ever fuck? I forget how the story goes.’

Stiles snorted, and pointed with his sword. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

The party was literally booming by the time they got there. Stiles could feel the music thudding through Derek’s hand, which he was holding tightly. He saw Scott immediately, and waved, but didn’t feel like going over. He didn’t feel like sharing Derek right now. 

‘Don’t you want to go over?’ Derek asked, as Scott waved back. 

Stiles looked at him, smiling secretively. ‘You bored of me already?’

Derek’s grip on his hand tightened. ‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘Lets find a spare room.’

‘That sounds like a good plan,’ said Stiles. 'However, I feel like it's in our best interests to grab a lot of alcohol and Allison’s spare key and run.'

'Oh no,' said Derek quickly. He grabbed Stiles by the wrist to stop him from making a beeline towards the drinks table. 'If we're doing this, we're doing this sober. Got it?'

Stiles felt a little tremor run through his body as he looked at Derek. His expression was determined and excited and god damn if it didn't get Stiles' blood up. 

'I mean, you're really gonna have to make me feel it,' Stiles said, allowing the crowd to jostle him back towards Derek. He took a hold of the material around the collar of Derek’s shirt and licked his lips, just imagining. ‘I can’t account for the alcohol that may or may not already be swimming around inside me. You’re gonna have to work extra hard to make me really remember.’

Derek considered that while his hands ran up and down Stiles’ back. The crowds of drunken Halloweeners around them might as well not have existed. 

‘We could do it that way,’ he agreed, shrugging, eyes drifting over Stiles’ face. ‘Or we could do it … the other way.’

Stiles blinked a few times, as Derek looked at him meaningfully. 

‘I’m not following,’ he confessed. Derek rolled his eyes. 

‘I mean,’ said Derek, ‘that last time I fucked you, it clearly didn’t make an impression. No, I know what you said, and it’s fine,’ he continued, talking over Stiles who was attempting to interrupt. ‘We’re past it. But I’m just saying, maybe to shake things up, we could turn things around.’

Stiles frowned. ‘As in, do it upside down?’

Derek’s expression flickered, like he wasn’t sure if Stiles was making fun of him or not (which he was).

‘Derek, I’m not following,’ Stiles said, shaking his head. 

Derek glanced around furtively. There were literally people pressed on them from all sides, and no one was paying attention. It was dark too, which was a shame, as Stiles was absolutely positive that Derek was blushing. 

‘I mean,’ he said, leaning in, ‘that, if you want, you can fuck me. Like, you can be on top.’

Stiles’ eyes widened. ‘Like, I can ride you?’

‘No, Stiles!’ Derek exploded. ‘I mean you can literally put your dick in me, oh my god.’

Stiles kissed his cheek. ‘I know, baby, I was just fucking with you.’

Derek’s eyes widened, and for a moment Stiles thought he was going to flip. But then his face relaxed into the oddest combination of exasperation and fondness, and he tugged in Stiles for a hug.

‘Asshole,’ he muttered in his ear, pinching his ass kind of hard, but Stiles deserved it. He yelped, but snuggled into Derek’s neck, and they swayed back and forth to the motion of the dancing masses. 

‘Get used to it,’ Stiles mumbled happily, rubbing Derek’s back. It was an odd feeling, being both intensely horny, and ready to settle down and have kids with this guy, but if that was a legit state of mind then Stiles was there right now.

Getting the spare key off Allison was more difficult than Stiles expected. He’d thought the two would be easy to find - Lydia’s costume took up enough room for five Allison’s - but they had to do a solid two laps of the house, upstairs and downstairs, before they found them in the garden. Lydia’s wig had disappeared, and so had half a bottle of cake-flavoured vodka between the two of them. And their makeup was suspiciously smeared. 

‘I’m not trying to interrupt, I’m just trying to get laid,’ Stiles explained loudly. There had been a lot of confusion as they both giggled and stumbled around him, eyeing Derek approvingly, as Stiles in vain tried to remind Allison about the key.

‘But where are we going to sleep,’ Lydia pointed out. ‘We have a lot of sleeping to do.’

‘Yeah, the same kind of sleeping me and Derek are trying to do?’ Stiles asked, cryptically. Allison giggled, and Lydia pointed a severe finger at him, but didn’t attempt to correct him. 

It was cold in the garden, but the girls didn’t seem to feel it. Allison was digging around in her pants, though where a pocket was supposed to exist on those things, Stiles had no idea.

‘Here it is,’ she said, finally. ‘You’re just lucky there’s no Jackson at my place.’

‘Don’t trash our home,’ Lydia reminded them, before tipping the vodka down her throat. 

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Stiles sweetly. Derek was already pulling him away. 

The stumble back to their building was a hurried affair due to the fact that it was freezing and Stiles was kind of worried about the girls getting hypothermia, and he reflected on the fact that he wouldn’t get to see Malia and Kira’s costumes, but the cute ass running in front of him kind of took precedence. 

Once they were inside, Derek literally couldn’t get Stiles’s clothes off fast enough.

‘Are these tights?’ he asked, getting his hands under the waistband.

‘They are - ah, your hands are cold - and they’re actually hell to wear so can you kindly get them off me.’

There was a ripping sound, and finally Derek’s hand was around his cock.

‘I hope you weren’t too fond of them,’ Derek muttered, stroking Stiles slow and perfect. 

‘Can you shut up?’ Stiles hissed, pressing Derek back against the door. 

‘Make me,’ replied Derek, holding his gaze. His fingers stalled on Stiles’s cock, pointedly.

Stiles licked his lips. ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ he breathed. He pushed Derek back towards the bed, both of them tripping over shoes and books and various other obstacles until Derek was sitting back on the bed and pulling Stiles down on top of him, hands wrestling with clothes and buckles and tossing pesky clothes aside until they were both naked and wild. 

Feeling a bit like the score was Derek two and Stiles a big fat zero, Stiles stretched himself over Derek’s hot, hard body and pressed a kiss to his lips. He thrust in with his tongue, making it filthy, licking into Derek’s mouth as his hands caressed his body. Derek arched up underneath him, cock hard and nudging at Stiles’ hip. Repeatedly. 

‘I’ll get there,’ Stiles promised, smile tugging at his lips. 

‘Get there faster,’ Derek gasped, fingers clutching Stiles’ hips. 

Stiles hummed contentedly as he trailed his lips down Derek’s body, enjoying the taste of him, and they way his body jolted when he barely breathed over his nipples. 

‘This is interesting,’ Stiles commented, licking one experimentally and watching Derek contort. 

‘How did it only take you about four seconds to figure that out,’ Derek groaned, covering his eyes with one hand. The other was clutching the pillow desperately. 

‘Spooky, huh?’ Stiles grinned, licking the other one happily. God, what a beautiful fucking reaction. Derek’s whole body jumped, like he was being electrocuted or something, every time Stiles so much as grazed one of his perfect, pink nipples. Stiles could have spent hours doing just that, seeing how tightly he could wind Derek from just that - could he come untouched from nipple play? Could he? - but his own cock was aching for release too, and torturing Derek only got Stiles so far in the way of orgasms and tight, wet places. 

Going down on Derek was like a religious experience. Stiles let his hands roam over Derek’s thighs and slip under the curve of his ass. His fingers probed at his hole, and he couldn’t not grin every time Derek tensed. Which was literally every time Stiles was in the same zip code as his butthole. 

‘Relax, dude,’ Stiles said, pressing Derek’s legs back down for the third time. ‘I’m not going near it yet. You’ve done this before, right?’

There was an ominous silence.

‘Uh … no?’

Stiles froze, tongue hovering over the tip of Derek’s very erect cock.

‘Oh,’ he said, stumped. 

There was another silence. 

‘Is that ok?’

Stiles didn’t really feel comfortable having this conversation with Derek’s penis. So he crawled back up Derek’s body, all strung out and tense as it was, and kissed all the little tensed spots as he went. He smoothed his hands over Derek’s chest, massaging his pecs and sliding up over his shoulders. His mouth trailed gently over his skin, softly kissing him until Derek was more relaxed beneath him, and making little happy noises as Stiles touched him. 

‘That’s better,’ Stiles said appreciatively, as he nosed Derek’s neck. ‘Now, listen. It’s great. And it’s super easy. I can do it, and I can barely tie my own shoelaces on a good day.’

Derek snorted, hands stroking Stiles’ arms. His eyes were crinkled with amusement, and so unbearably kind and gentle that Stiles bit his lip and genuinely considered knitting him a scarf or something. Or a little hat for his dick, because that was where his brain was at right then. 

‘Just relax,’ Stiles said, smoothing back Derek’s hair. He let his eyes rest on Derek’s face, drinking him in. It seemed like at every moment he was catching his breath, trying not to become overwhelmed at just how goddamn lucky he was to be right here, with this man in his arms. ‘I’ll go slow, ok?’

Derek nodded, but he still looked doubtful.

‘Look, do you trust me?’ Stiles asked, not thinking. But to his surprise, Derek nodded. 

Stiles blinked. ‘Wait, you do?’

Derek frowned. ‘Yeah. Should I not?’

Stiles raised his eyebrows. ‘No - I mean, you can totally trust me. I just … no one’s ever actually said yes to that question. Besides, like, Scott, or whatever. But he doesn’t count in this scenario.’

Derek shrugged. His fingers grazed Stiles’ cheek, soft and careful. ‘Well, I do. I trust you, Stiles.’

No pressure, Stiles thought, faintly. He made his way slowly back down Derek’s body, the weight of his trust now firmly on his shoulders. He picked up a bit once he got a look at what he was working with again - and there was a lot to work with - and went and got the condoms and lube out of his drawer. 

‘Are you ok?’ Derek asked, frowning up at him. 

‘I am about to fuck the hottest person I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life, including in porn,’ Stiles said, popping the cap. ‘Please don’t ask me if I’m ok.’

Somehow this seemed to have the most calming effect on Derek out of everything Stiles had said. He settled back down on the pillows and allowed Stiles to spread his legs without even tensing like Stiles was gonna shove a poker up there.

Stiles meanwhile was slicking his hand up to the wrist (just to be safe), and was jerking Derek off slowly with his left hand while figuring out the best way to go about this. 

He probed tentatively with one well-lubed finger, and was thrilled to discover that it actually went in. Derek acted like it was a legit penis he was putting in there, arching his back right up and moaning. Stiles’ eyebrows flew up and he abruptly felt super confident again.

‘Well that was positive,’ he commented.

‘No shit,’ Derek gasped. ‘Do it again.’

Between their breathless back and forth, Stiles managed to get his finger in as far as he could go, working a rhythm that felt pretty good to both of them, if Derek’s wrecked voice and Stiles’ leaking cock were anything to go by. 

He pulled out almost to the tip, and tried to slide the next finger in, watching as Derek’s breath caught in his throat, his hands curling in the bedsheets again.

‘Fuck,’ Derek breathed. ‘Oh, god.’

‘That feel good?’ Stiles asked, pressing the two together and working them gently just inside Derek’s entrance, stretching him out slowly.

‘Yeah.’ Derek was nodding. ‘Go harder. Fuck, Stiles, come on.’

Stiles’ lips quirked up as he started to give Derek what he wanted. Neither of them was very nervous, now. 

When Derek was about as loose and ready as two fingers could get him, Stiles started to feel around with a third. Derek, who’d been swearing brokenly for about ten minutes, made a startling noise of frustration.

‘No, hang on,’ he said, firmly. ‘Fuck this. I want to really feel it. Just put it in me.’

Stiles sucked in a breath. His hand strayed to his own cock, which twitched at Derek’s words. He was so fucking ready to the point where he worried that he wouldn’t put up much of a fight when it came to actually burying himself inside all that tight, wet heat. 

‘Alrighty,’ he said, voice trembling stupidly. He fumbled the condom out of its wrapper and slid it on over his dick like he’d done only twice before in his life. 

‘You wanna turn over?’ Stiles asked. ‘It’s easier that way, I think.’

‘Derek shook his head. ‘Nope,’ he said, voice tight. ‘I wanna see your face. I want to remember this.’

Stiles snuck up to kiss his neck. ‘We can do it again,’ he reminded him. ‘And again, and again, and again …’

Derek wriggled underneath him, ticklish, as Stiles’ lips grazed his skin.

‘Only one first time, though,’ he said, sneakily trying to rub off against Stiles’ hip. Stiles lifted his hips up quickly, smiling at Derek’s attempts. 

‘Rude,’ he murmured, admonishingly. ‘And I was just about to fuck you, too.’

Derek looked so goddamn depraved and desperate that Stiles couldn’t hold out any longer. He was but a man, a very weak man, and what Derek was offering was testing his limits just thinking about it.

Coating up his dick probably more than was necessary, Stiles pushed a pillow under Derek’s hips - ignoring his hisses at being manoeuvred roughly, the poor baby - and positioned himself at his entrance. He was breathing hard, trying to resist plunging in because Derek had clearly shown restraint with him before, but it wasn’t easy.

‘Are you waiting for the right moment?’ snapped Derek. ‘Because the right moment was about - ‘

Stiles shut him up by pushing the tip of his cock into this impossibly small, tight hole, fully believing that it wouldn’t work, and Derek’s mouth fell open. Stiles tried to breathe, because Derek certainly wasn’t.

‘Breathe, Derek,’ Stiles reminded him, reaching up to touch his face. The movement caused him to slide in further, and thank god for all the lube because tight wasn’t even the word. Stiles’ brain felt like it was being squeezed right out of his cock as he pushed further in, one hand keeping Derek’s leg down, the other on Derek’s chest, grounding them both as heat and sensation and sheer, brain-melting arousal threatened to overwhelm them. 

‘Fuck,’ whispered Derek, eyes screwed up tight. ‘Oh god, fuck.’

‘Hey.’ Stiles caressed his face, his lips, sliding his hand down his neck. ‘You’re doing so well. God, you feel fucking amazing, Derek.’ 

Stiles bottomed out, and for a moment they just paused there, panting, trying to get used of the sensation of too much and not enough all at the same time. Stiles was stroking Derek’s cock, trying to get him to relax again.

‘Derek,’ Stiles said, and Derek finally opened his eyes. ‘You ok?’

Derek nodded, jerkily. ‘Yeah - why aren’t you moving?’

Stiles smirked, rolling his eyes, and kissed Derek’s kneecap. ‘Oh yeah, almost forgot.’

Derek loosened up once Stiles started to fuck him. Stiles nearly loosened up too much, and had to concentrate on not slipping out the first few times in his eagerness to thrust back in. 

‘Oh my god, oh god, oh fuck,’ he panted, as he worked out a rhythm that had Derek’s head thrown back, hands fisting the blankets and wrapping his legs around Stiles’ hips, drawing him closer, trying to push him further in.

‘Come on, harder,’ Derek demanded, as his cock rubbed off on Stiles’ chest. ‘I can take it.’

Can I, though? thought Stiles wildly. He didn’t know how he hadn’t come already. All those handjobs he had to abort because Lydia had come out of the bathroom sooner than expected were suddenly paying off.

The bedsprings were squeaking; it hadn’t gotten this good a workout in months. Stiles grabbed the headboard for leverage and pistoned his hips into Derek’s thighs as hard as he could without falling on top of him. Derek was making the best kind of noises beneath him now, little moans and gasps that were literally being fucked out of him. Stiles heard his name a few times, and nearly had to end it every time. 

His thrusts were becoming uneven, and erratic, as he concentrated on making Derek yelp louder, rather than more frequently. Each thrust he tried to target, aim at that sweet spot he’d hit a few times, until he was hitting it with force every time, and Derek was shouting, voice raw and wrecked, hands grabbing at Stiles’ ass and holding him inside.

‘I’m close,’ Stiles forced out. ‘Can I - ?’

Derek stammered his agreement, barely coherent, but his stumbling over Stiles’ name at the end had Stiles coming loudly, emptying himself into Derek. His orgasm filled every part of his wrung out, exhausted body, as he thrust slowly into Derek, spunk spurting out in throbbing, hot pulses. 

Derek was still stretched out and taut beneath him, trembling with desire. With difficulty, Stiles started to pull out, and Derek whined at the sudden, uncomfortable feeling of being empty. Stiles took off the condom and tossed it, already concerned with how Derek was feeling. This was never a fun part. His hands automatically went down to survey the mess, and he slipped two inside Derek, who immediately arched against his touch. Stiles added a third, and Derek moaned for it.

‘You close, Derek?’ Stiles asked, thrusting roughly inside with his fingers, trying to recreate the motion of his cock. His other hand strayed up to grasp Derek’s shaft, stroking slowly up and down. ‘You gonna come for me?’

Derek was past speech. Stiles’ hand fucked him hard, the other stroking him slowly, thumb slipping over the tip, until Derek stiffened and came with a hoarse cry, come shooting out and dotting Stiles’s hand. He eased off on the fingering and stretched up to lick some of it off the shaft of Derek’s cock, and Derek’s body jolted, but Stiles was gentle, and avoided the head. He just really wanted to know what Derek tasted like. 

There was a significant mess to clean up, but they were both heavy-limbed and useless. Stiles wiped his hand on the end of the bedsheets, and grabbed a spare to clean up Derek, gently wiping the lube off his hole and legs, pressing sleepy kisses to his skin, until Derek pulled him up to the top of the bed with him. 

Stiles was kind of expecting to be the big spoon, and was pleasantly surprised when Derek wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close to his chest until Stiles was snuggled in against him, feeling incredibly warm and safe and secure. 

‘Is it weird if this kinda feels like the best part?’ Stiles whispered, wrapping his fingers around Derek’s wrist. Derek’s face was pressed against Stiles’ neck, and Stiles felt him laugh quietly. 

‘I’ve heard that before,’ he murmured, kissing Stiles’ gently. 

That was embarrassing, Stiles thought mildly. He couldn’t bring himself to care too much, though. Post-orgasm and with an insanely hot archaeologist wrapped around him - yeah, he hadn’t done too badly for himself. 

He was never fucking Derek drunk again, though. He dedicated himself to to committing every second of their sex to memory, and probably would have popped another boner if he hadn’t fallen asleep. 

 

A few weeks later, Stiles was sitting up in Derek’s bed proof-reading his essay, while Derek threw things out of his wardrobe.

‘I swear it’s in here somewhere,’ he promised, sounding a little frantic. 

‘Keep looking,’ replied Stiles mildly, without glancing up. 

‘This isn’t fair,’ retorted Derek. ‘You’re the one that got drunk and lost it!’

‘Yes,’ said Stiles evenly. ‘And I know you’ve been holding it hostage here ever since. I want my belt, Derek, and you’re not going near this ass until you find it.’

Derek made a noise of frustration. It probably wasn’t fair that Stiles had gotten him all wound up in the shower that morning, and then dropped the belt bomb, but Stiles felt he’d waited long enough.

‘Are you making this up?’ Derek demanded. Stiles raised his eyebrows, but only underlined a sentence in red and said nothing. 

‘You’re making this up.’

‘I am not,’ Stiles said, indignantly. ‘Derek, would I withhold sex from myself if there wasn’t something important at stake?’

‘It’s a belt.’

‘It’s a Batman belt,’ Stiles said. ‘And it’s very important. Please return to searching.’

Stiles watched fondly as Derek bent over to look under the chest of drawers, growling softly. He would tell him eventually that he’d found the belt after their second date, wedged down between the couch cushions. But Stiles had an idea that the longer he pushed Derek, the better it would feel when he finally admitted that there was no belt to find, and Derek pounced. Derek, Stiles felt, could probably pounce like no one else. 

It was a bit cruel, especially to someone that Stiles secretly loved like no other, someone who made five copies of Stiles’ room key and his own, and made one for around both of their necks. Stiles hadn’t been locked out in ages. Despite the fact that he’d lost three of the five keys, somehow they kept getting replaced. Derek, of course, denied all knowledge. But they keys kept turning up, and Stiles was kind of ok with it.