Stiles stands in front of a nondescript door, trying to ignore the uncomfortable squeeze of his too-tight leather pants and the black t-shirt he’s wearing. He’s pretty sure every article of clothing he has on at the moment is at least two sizes too small.
“The clock’s running, Stilinski,” Lydia says, her voice tinny through the comm.
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes. “Excuse me for being reluctant to go flirt with a drug lord who wants to chain me up and do god knows what to me.”
“Actually, you should know what, if you did your research like you were supposed to,” Lydia replies, sounding a little exasperated.
“I still think we should have gotten actual books instead of just using the internet,” Stiles grumbles, trying to ignore the way the couple across the street are giving him strange looks.
“Well, we didn’t exactly have much time, now did we?” Lydia retorts, making Stiles sigh, because she’s right. They need that drive back ASAP. Still, it’ll all be for nothing if he does something to blow his cover.
“Fine, whatever,” Stiles says, running a hand through his overly-gelled hair. “I’m going in.”
“About time,” Lydia mutters. Stiles rolls his eyes, wishing she could see him.
He steels himself and walks on through the door. The entryway is as nondescript as the outside of the building, and if Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think that he was in the wrong place. It certainly doesn’t look much like he thought a BDSM club – dungeon, sorry Lydia – would look. It’s discreet – tasteful, even. Then again, it’s not like he’s seen the actual interior yet.
“Good evening. Welcome to the Nemeton,” the woman at the front desk says, her eyes tracking down his body appreciatively. “May I see your ID, please?”
“Sure,” Stiles replies, fumbling to remove his wallet from his very tight pants. “Here you go.”
She takes a moment to appraise it, before handing it back with a pleasant, but slightly sharp, smile. There’s something predatory about her, and Stiles is pretty sure that she’s a Dom at this point.
“Our cover charge is fifteen dollars, but before you pay, it’s required that you read our rules and sign the liability waiver,” she continues, sliding a sheet of paper and a pen over the counter to him. Stiles can’t help but feel knots twisting in his stomach as he wonders what he’d need a liability waiver for. “Also, please note that guests are required to leave their cell phones with me in order to insure that no one is filmed or otherwise recorded against their will.”
“Right,” Stiles says, already reading through the club rules.
They’re nothing particularly outlandish or even unexpected. There’s the rule against recording devices, and another one against touching anyone without explicit permission – sub, Dom, or switch. Nudity’s apparently only permitted in specified ‘play’ areas and DMs, ‘Dungeon Masters,’ are to be obeyed if they safeword, whatever that means.
“Uh, sorry, I’m kind of new to the scene,” Stiles says, looking up from the rule sheet, his cheeks a little flushed. “But could you explain the whole DM thing?”
“Sure,” the woman replies, although she’s smirking in a way that tells Stiles that it must be pretty obvious that he’s new. “DMs are a little like lifeguards. They patrol and make sure everyone’s playing safely and following the dungeon rules. If they see anything unsafe going on, they’ll use a generic safeword to stop the scene.”
“Generic safeword?” Stiles asks a little tentatively. From the way her expression softens slightly, he must be more unprepared than he thought.
“You weren’t kidding about being new, baby,” she laughs, and Stiles feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Generic safewords are either the typical stoplight colors – green, yellow, and red – or simply ‘safeword.’ If you have more questions, though, you should talk to Marin when you get inside. She’s the owner.”
“Thanks,” Stiles mutters, looking back down at the rule sheet and signing the waiver in a single practiced movement.
“The locker rooms are on the left if you want to come in street clothes and change here next time. There are also play areas upstairs and downstairs, but the ground floor lounge is for socializing only,” the woman explains, accepting Stiles’ cell phone as he hands it over. “And remember, this is a safe space, okay? As long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual, anything goes.”
“Yeah, okay,” Stiles replies, forcing a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Have fun,” she says and winks.
Stiles takes in a slightly ragged breath as he pushes past the red velvet curtain and into the dungeon. The weight of the comm in his ear is comforting.
“You’re in?” Lydia asks, her voice a little static-y, but the connection doesn’t waver.
“Yeah,” Stiles murmurs as he walks down the dimly lit hallway towards what must be the bar and lounge.
“Good,” Lydia says, her tone crisp and professional. “According to our sources, Deucalion normally is at the bar at this time. Remember, he likes inexperienced subs, so look uncomfortable but excited. It shouldn’t be hard for you.”
“Thanks, Lyds,” Stiles mutters, rolling his eyes. “I’m cutting out now.”
“Stiles?” Lydia says right as he steps into the surprisingly well lit lounge. “Don’t forget that your safety’s our primary concern.”
Stiles can’t reply, but Lydia must know he’s heard her. He’ll try to keep that in mind, but he’s always been known for being a little blasé about his personal health and safety. He’ll do his best to be safe, but he’ll also do his best to get the job done. And if those two conflict, well…
He pushes those thoughts from his mind as he spots a man who must be Deucalion lounging against the bar. It’s his sunglasses that give him away. After all, it’s well known that he’s blind – not that that makes him any less dangerous.
Stiles makes his way over to the bar.
“I’ll have a rum and coke, please,” Stiles says to the bartender, leaning against the dark red-brown wood of the bar, right next to Deucalion.
“Looks like we have a newbie here,” the bartender, a black woman with three long scars down her neck who’s wearing more PVC than Stiles had ever seen (outside of porn), says, giving him a dangerous smile. Stiles is pretty sure he’s never felt more like prey before, and that includes the time he got caught by the mob while working in NYC.
In this context, though, it somehow doesn’t feel like a bad thing.
“What?” Stiles asks, confused, as he words register.
“Our dungeon’s sober, honey,” she says, leaning forward, her forearms braced on the counter. “If you’re too drunk to drive a car, then you’re certainly too drunk to drive a whip.”
“Oh,” Stiles replies awkwardly. It looks like his rudimentary, ‘get Deucalion drunk’ plan is out.
“Braeden does make a lovely non-alcoholic Sangria, though,” Deucalion adds, surprising Stiles. “I’ll buy you one, if you like.”
“Sure,” Stiles says, tongue darting out to sweep over his lower lip – not that Deucalion can see it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Deucalion replies, his tone switching to something a little smoother, more seductive. “Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you mind if I ask you what your orientation is?”
“Uh, bi?” Stiles answers, a little tentative. Hopefully he’s not playing up his inexperience too much.
“Excuse me for not clarifying – I meant your BDSM orientation,” Deucalion says, and Stiles is immensely glad that Deucalion’s blind, so he can’t see how red Stiles’ cheeks have just turned.
“Sub,” Stiles answers immediately. “And you?”
“I am of the Dominant orientation,” Deucalion replies, his smile now distinctly predatory. However, unlike with Braeden’s earlier one, Stiles finds himself more on edge than aroused.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Stiles says, ducking his head slightly and looking up at Deucalion through his eyelashes. “I’m – ”
“Stiles!” he hears someone bark, making him freeze. The person’s voice is familiar – oh so familiar – but it can’t possibly be who he thinks it is.
Stiles glances over his shoulder to find that it is, in fact, Derek Hale. Special Agent Derek Hale who’s supposed to be on vacation right now.
Stiles is trying really hard not to think about what sort of ‘vacation’ Derek’s having.
“I thought I told you to wait for me outside,” Derek growls and what the ever loving fuck is going on? Has there been some sort of change in plans? Lydia hadn’t informed him that Derek was being called in.
“I – ” Stiles starts, but Derek cuts him off.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Derek demands, his tone all righteous fury, although Stiles has absolutely no idea what’s going on here.
“But – ” Stiles protests, but Derek’s having none of it apparently.
“We’re leaving,” he interrupts sharply before turning to address Deucalion. “I’m sorry if he was disturbing you.”
“I didn’t realize he was yours,” Deucalion replies, his smile casual, but distinctly dangerous nonetheless. “You’d do well to collar him.”
“He’s made it pretty clear tonight that he hasn’t earned it yet,” Derek says, his hard gaze landing on Stiles for a moment. For some reason, it makes Stiles want to apologize, makes his cheeks burn with shame even though Derek has no claim over him whatsoever.
“There’s no need to be quite so harsh,” Deucalion tuts, and Stiles can practically see Derek bristle at the comment. He also notices Braeden watching them coolly but carefully from the other end of the bar.
“He disobeyed a direct order,” Derek replies curtly before turning his gaze away from Deucalion and back to Stiles. “We’re leaving now.”
“Well, at least say you’ll be back sometime,” Deucalion presses, making Stiles feel like they’re playing tug-of-war and he’s somehow become the rope.
“We’ll come back when he’s been good enough to deserve it,” Derek replies, and Stiles is a little startled, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek’s temper this short before. Sure, the two of them banter and argue like it’s going out of style, but Derek’s never really lost his temper like this before that Stiles can recall.
With that, Derek starts steering him away from the bar, a possessive hand on the small of his back. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin material of Stiles’ t-shirt, and it’s all Stiles can do to keep from shivering. Stiles tries to slow down a little, to drag Derek off into a more secluded corner so that he can talk, explain, but apparently Derek’s having none of it, steering Stiles out of the dungeon with a single minded doggedness.
It’s not until they get outside that the yelling starts.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Derek snaps, capturing Stiles’ arm in a bruising grip and dragging him off to the side of the sidewalk. “Do you have any idea who that was?”
Stiles stares at him for a moment, shocked and open mouthed.
“Yes!” he yells, breaking away from Derek’s grip. “Fuck, of course I do!”
“Then you should know that ever single sub he’s ever had has gone missing!” Derek snaps, and Stiles is a little startled to hear an undertone of something akin to fear in Derek’s voice. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? You’re lucky that – ”
“Stilinski, what the ever loving fuck is going on?” Lydia demands over his comm, distracting him from Derek’s rant.
“Agent Hale tried to protect my virtue and fucked everything up,” Stiles replies into his comm, glaring pointedly at Derek, who promptly falls silent, his eyes widening minutely in surprise.
“Bring him in for debrief,” Lydia sighs, and Stiles can practically see her rubbing her temples, trying to prevent an oncoming headache. “And he better have a good excuse for this screw up, or I’ll be feeding him to the dogs.”
“Roger,” Stiles says before disconnecting his comm and turning his full attention back on Derek.
“Deucalion was a mark,” Derek clarifies, looking suddenly tense and uncomfortable.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Stiles snorts, shouldering past Derek and heading towards where his car is parked. “Thanks for everything you’ve contributed tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t – I thought – ” Derek says stiffly as he follows Stiles.
“Well, you thought wrong,” Stiles snaps, digging his car keys out of his pocket and unlocking the vehicle. “And even if the situation was what you thought it was, it would still have been none of your fucking business.”
“I was concerned for your safety,” Derek retorts, a hint of anger back in his voice.
“I’m a grown man and an FBI agent,” Stiles replies, sliding into the driver’s seat and slamming the door just a little too hard. “I can protect myself.”
“Not from a man like Deucalion,” Derek says grimly, getting into the car’s passenger seat.
“Please, like I haven’t dealt with worse people before,” Stiles snorts, because fuck if he hasn’t. He’ll take a drug lord over an arms dealer any day.
Derek gives him a long look, but doesn’t protest verbally.
The rest of the car ride passes in awkward, tense silence, and Stiles is almost relieved when they finally arrive back at headquarters. He’s still fuming, though. Derek’s still tense, too, but he seems a little more subdued as they make their way inside. The elevator ride to the tenth floor is pure torture, but somehow they make it without starting to argue again.
“Care to explain what the fuck just happened, Stilinski?” Special Agent Lydia Martin demands as soon as he and Derek enter the meeting room.
“Maybe you should ask Agent Hale that,” Stiles snorts, flopping down into an unoccupied chair, trying to ignore the uncomfortable way the leather pants he’s wearing stretch as he tries to bend his legs.
“Hale?” she asks, turning to Derek and quirking an eyebrow at him.
“I was at the club and was under the impression that Agent Stilinski had approached Deucalion voluntarily,” Derek admits stiffly, and although he sounds for the most part calm and composed, Stiles can detect a hint of tiredness in his voice. “I know of his reputation and attempted to remove Agent Stilinski from the situation with minimal conflict.”
“By insinuating that I somehow belonged to him,” Stiles adds, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Lovely,” Lydia sighs, rubbing the heel of her hand over her temple.
“Would either of you care to fill me in on the situation?” Derek asks, the sarcasm in his tone more than obvious.
“It was recently discovered that former Agent Daehler sold Deucalion FBI data encryption keys,” Lydia answers, slipping into a façade of cool professionalism. “We’re as of yet unsure which ones, but we do know that they’re stored on a flash drive, most likely kept at Deucalion’s private residence.”
“So you, what? Sent Agent Stilinski in to seduce him to get access to it?” Derek questions, his tone almost a growl.
“I had a sedative,” Stiles reassures him, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like I was actually going to have to sleep with him. I wasn’t even in that much danger.”
“Deucalion’s more dangerous than you think he is,” Derek retorts, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not sorry for messing up your shitty plan.”
“Well, now we have no plan, Agent Hale, and every moment we spend trying to come up with a new one is another chance Deucalion has to use the encryption keys,” Lydia says, apparently unwilling to deal with Derek’s protests.
“Looks like we’re going to have to send in someone else,” Stiles sighs, raking a hand through his overly-gelled hair. “Think Danny’s up to it?”
“It won’t work,” Derek butts in and it takes all of Stiles’ self-control not to glare at him, because why wouldn’t it work? Everybody loves Danny, and if Deucalion was practically falling over himself trying to get Stiles into his bed, then Danny’s totally got this down.
“Why not?” Lydia asks, but she doesn’t sound angry or defensive. Instead, she sounds legitimately interested, which, Stiles supposes, is probably not that bad of a reaction, considering how Derek seems to have the most experience with Deucalion if they’re both regulars at the same BDSM club. Dungeon, sorry.
Stiles is still trying to wrap his head around that, truth be told.
“When Deucalion sets his sights on someone, he’s ruthless about it,” Derek says, the tension back in his shoulders. “He’s not going to let Sti – Agent Stilinski go that easily.”
Stiles tries not to think too hard about how Derek falters on his name.
“So I should just go back in and tell him that we had a fight or something and that I actually want him to be my Dom or whatever?” Stiles asks, mind buzzing with thoughts as he tries to form a more through plan.
“No,” Derek replies, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. Deucalion will find it a turn off if he thinks you’re flighty. He wants someone that he can be sure will be loyal to him.”
“Then we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place,” Stiles sighs, slumping back in his chair. “Fuck my life.”
Silence descends over the room for a moment.
“There is one way we could do it,” Derek finally says, making both Stiles and Lydia perk up, looking at him expectantly.
“And that is?” Lydia pries when Derek seems reluctant to continue.
“If there’s anything that Deucalion likes more than dominating subs, it’s dominating other Doms,” Derek continues, an uneasy expression on his face as he looks over at Stiles. “If he thinks that you’re loyal to me, he’ll do his best to lure you away.”
“And you think I should let myself be lured,” Stiles concludes, frowning.
“You can’t make it too easy for him, but people already think that I’m having trouble…” Derek pauses, his face screwing up in an unhappy expression. “… satisfying you, due to our display earlier. He’ll think he has a chance, and he’ll also enjoy the idea of stealing you from me.”
“So I’d pretend to be your sub, we’d prance around the club a few times to rub it in Deucalion’s face, and then I’d let myself be seduced so I can break into his apartment,” Stiles summarizes, chewing on his lower lip as he thinks it over.
“You really think this will work, Hale?” Lydia asks, her tone entirely serious.
“Yes,” Derek replies, unwavering.
“Then you have my go ahead,” Lydia says, nodding. “Since you know the most about the situation, I’ll defer to you, but I expect regular updates.”
“When do I need to be ready to go back to the club?” Stiles asks, doing his best to avoid thinking about Derek in leather. He’s mostly failing.
“We’re not going back any time soon,” Derek answers, his gaze heavy and intense. “You have a lot of training to do, first.”
Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he butterflies in his stomach are from fear or anticipation.
Stiles stands in front of Derek’s apartment door, fist poised to knock. He hesitates, letting his fingers uncurl as he roughly rubs his hand through his hair, letting out a small noise of frustration. He considers walking away for a moment. Surely they could find a different plan which doesn’t involve him pretending to be in some weird, kinky relationship with the guy he’d been crushing on for the past few years.
Not that he’d be opposed to finally getting the chance to have sex with Derek. In all likelihood, it would ruin him for anyone else, but Stiles is starting to think that that might not be too bad of a thing.
He raises his hand again, but before he can knock, the door swings open.
“Are you going to come in or are you going to just stand there all day?” Derek asks, leaning against the doorframe.
“Shut up,” Stiles mutters, cheeks burning as he pushes past Derek into the apartment. “So, let’s get this over with. Just tie me down and fuck my face or whatever.”
“We’re not having sex,” Derek says evenly, making Stiles look over at him in surprise.
“We’re not?” he asks, unsure if he’s relieved or disappointed.
“Not unless it’s our only option,” Derek answers, closing the door behind him and moving fully into the living room.
“Then what am I doing here?” Stiles asks, folding his arms over his chest.
“There’s more to a Dom/sub relationship than just sex,” Derek explains, moving closer to Stiles, who’s suddenly struck by the feeling of being prey yet again.
But then Derek changes his course, moving over to the couch in the middle of the living room and sitting down on it before reaching over and placing a pillow on the ground in front of him, between his feet. Stiles frowns, confused, but moves to go sit beside him.
“Stop,” Derek orders, making Stiles freeze. “Kneel.”
Stiles glances down at the pillow and back up at Derek, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.
“Aren’t we supposed to have, like, a contract or something before you start ordering me around?” Stiles asks, staring at the pillow between Derek’s legs dubiously.
“If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can write one up,” Derek answers, his tone surprisingly free of judgment. “You don’t have to kneel right now if you don’t want to, but if you do decide to, that’s all I’m asking you to do at the moment. Nothing else.”
“Right,” Stiles says, a little wary and nervous. “Fine. Whatever.”
He tries to sink to his knees in one fluid movement, but instead it’s a little awkward and he has to squirm for a moment in order to find the most comfortable position. It’s not like he’s exactly unfamiliar with kneeling in front of a guy’s crotch, but he’s willing to admit that this is a very different situation than he’s ever been in before.
“Good,” Derek says, and Stiles feels a shiver run down his spine at the praise. “Now, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. Save your questions for when I’m finished.”
“But – ” Stiles starts, earning himself a glare.
“The first thing you’re going to have to learn is obedience,” Derek interrupts and Stiles scowls, but falls silent. “One of the worst things you, as my sub, can do is argue with me in public. My reputation’s already taken a hit because of how you were flirting with Deucalion.”
Stiles winces at that. Not that it’s really his fault – Derek was the one who decided to try and play knight in shining armor. He did it to himself.
“Obviously if there’s something that I’m doing which really, truly is bothering you, then you can indicate to me that you’d wish to discuss it with me in a more private setting,” Derek continues. “As for other basic etiquette rules, never greet another Dom before they greet you. Also, whenever we’re at the club, stay by my side unless I give you explicit permission to leave.”
Derek reaches out and threads his fingers through Stiles’ hair then, and it’s all he can do to keep from leaning into the touch shamelessly. He’s still not entirely sure what he thinks of this whole BDSM thing, and he’s pretty sure his legs are already falling asleep, but he can admit to himself that kneeling for Derek isn’t entirely unpleasant.
“Lastly, at the club you are to refer to me as ‘Sir.’ However, if any other Dom attempts to pressure you into using a title for them, you are to decline. I’m the only one who you should allow that privilege,” Derek concludes, his thumb tracing small circles on Stiles’ scalp. “Questions?”
“Can I stop kneeling now?” Stiles asks, wincing as he shifts slightly, his feet already tingly.
“No,” Derek replies, surprising Stiles. “That’s what I want to work on today, actually. Although not all Doms require their subs to kneel in attendance, I do. There are enough people at the club who know this that it’ll be strange if you don’t kneel, so you better start getting used to it.”
“I have no idea how I didn’t realize you were a sadist before this,” Stiles mutters, making Derek let out a little snort of laughter.
“Well, it’s not exactly something I advertise,” Derek says, removing his hand from Stiles’ hair, and Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from whimpering at the loss. God this is embarrassing. “I really am sorry about this, though.”
“What?” Stiles asks, confused about what Derek means by that.
“I’m sorry for putting you in this situation,” Derek sighs, and Stiles almost thinks he sees Derek’s fingers twitch, like he wants to bury them in Stiles’ hair again. “I know this isn’t what you want, and I’ll do my best to avoid making you submit.”
“Whatever. It’s fine,” Stiles replies, shrugging.
“No, it’s really not,” Derek says, shaking his head. “Forcing someone to submit against their will – it’s disgusting, to say the least.”
“Yeah, well, I’m making you dominate someone you never wanted to dominate, so we’re kind of in the same boat, aren’t we?” Stiles replies, smiling wryly.
Derek stares back at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face.
“So,” Stiles continues, breaking the now slightly awkward silence between them. “Are you just gonna have me kneel for forever, or are you actually gonna teach me anything?”
“You’re way too mouthy to be a sub,” Derek snorts, but he sounds amused instead of annoyed.
“I can be good for you,” Stiles finds himself saying, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can even think about them. Derek tenses for a moment and Stiles wonders if he’s overstepped some sort of boundary.
“We should watch a movie,” Derek says abruptly, throwing Stiles off guard.
“Okay,” Stiles replies slowly, still feeling a little disoriented as he watches Derek stand up from the couch. He starts to stand, too, but Derek motions for him to keep kneeling.
“If you can kneel through the entire film, we’ll call it good,” Derek explains, which Stiles supposes makes sense. “Do you have any preferences?”
Stiles pauses for a moment, considering it.
“I’ll watch whatever you wanna watch,” he finally answers, making Derek’s lips twitch up into a little smile.
“That’s the perfect answer for if we were in the club, but seriously, you’re going to be kneeling uncomfortably for the next few hours. I’m not trying to torture you too much,” Derek says, making Stiles abruptly aware that he’s already fidgeting on the pillow. “So, what do you actually want to watch?”
“Got any superhero movies?” Stiles asks, a small, slightly lopsided grin on his face.
“Is Batman Begins good enough?” Derek replies, making Stiles let out a little bark of laughter.
“You, Agent Hale, are a man after my own heart,” Stiles says, suddenly feeling much more relaxed than he was earlier.
“Derek,” he replies, confusing Stiles for a moment. “Call me Derek.”
“Sure,” Stiles says evenly, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest. “Derek.”
“Right,” Derek replies. “I’m going to go make some popcorn now.”
“Sounds good,” Stiles answers as Derek turns to head into the kitchen. “I’ll just… wait here.”
Once Derek’s out of sight, he lets himself slump back against the edge of the couch. He’s still kneeling, of course, because he knows Derek’s right about that much at least – that he’s going to have to get used to this. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, although he can’t help but think that it felt more natural when Derek was there, close enough that, if Stiles wanted to, he could have rested his cheek on Derek’s thigh.
Derek reenters the living room a moment later in order to set up the movie, digging through the bookshelf next to the TV and coming up with an actual disk, which he pops into a DVD player. Stiles watches on idly as Derek fiddles with the remote and navigates through the main menu before ducking back into the kitchen and reappearing with a large bowl of popcorn. He sits back down on the couch in the same position as before, one leg on either side of Stiles.
Really, this could almost be a normal date. If, you know, Stiles wasn’t required to kneel the entire time.
Of course, that would also require Derek actually wanting to date him.
“I hope you’re not planning on keeping all that popcorn for yourself,” Stiles says, tilting his head back to look up at Derek. It’s a little awkward, uncomfortable for his neck, and it makes Derek look like he’s upside down.
“I was thinking that I could feed it to you,” Derek replies evenly, although Stiles knows him well enough after working together for so many years that he’s able to detect the slight hint of uncertainty in his tone. “A lot of couples at the club do it.”
“Sure,” Stiles answers, shrugging, and Derek looks surprised, like he was expecting more resistance. But, hey, it’s not like Stiles is going to say no to having Derek’s gorgeous fingers in the vicinity of his mouth.
Not that Derek needs to know that. Ever.
Derek nods and glances away, fiddling with the TV remote and starting the movie. They’ve both gone back to being a little tense now and Stiles worries his lower lip with his teeth, wondering how to diffuse it. He settles on nudging Derek’s leg and bending his head back again to look at the bowl of popcorn pointedly. Derek rolls his eyes, but picks up a kernel and pops it into Stiles’ open mouth. Stiles also feels him relax minutely. Mission accomplished.
Things continue almost easily from then on. Derek continues to feed him popcorn as they watch the movie, and although Stiles’ lips accidentally catch on his fingers a few times, Derek doesn’t react beyond hesitating slightly. Briefly, Stiles entertains the idea of drawing Derek’s fingers deeper into his mouth and licking the salt and butter off them, but he figures that that would probably make him a little too obvious.
All in all, though, it’s not bad. Not bad at all.
He could almost get used to this. Almost.