“What’re you…” Stiles started, heart fluttering in his chest as Derek pressed up against him, trapping him against the rough brick wall.
“Shh!” Derek hushed sharply, bringing a finger up to silence Stiles. But his attention was elsewhere, somewhere past the corner of the building, his brow forming that ‘I’m a big bad Alpha’ tension thing it did as his eyes narrowed. If his ears weren’t currently human, Stiles was sure he would have seen them standing to attention and moving in the direction of whatever sound had spooked the wolf.
Silence settled, so absolute that Stiles could hear the blood pumping loudly in his ears, his heart continuing to hammer hard. Then he heard it too, footsteps and low voices. He only had time to catch the briefest glimpse of the two men rounding the corner before Derek was right there... Pressing further onto him, one hand resting on the wall by Stiles’ head, the other gripping Stiles’ shirt by the shoulder, fingers wound tight in the fabric.
And his mouth…. it was, oh God, it was pressed against Stiles’ neck, working its way up to his lips, rough but gentle in a way that shouldn’t have been possible and yet, apparently was because that was exactly how Derek felt.
If Stiles forgot how to breathe and could only focus on not allowing himself to cry out, then that was all Derek’s fault and really, how was Stiles supposed to react?
Then it was all gone. Derek was gone. Only the sensation remained. It still crawled across Stiles’ skin as if Derek’s lips were still there, tingling in a way that pins and needles might if it were pleasant and not so damn annoying.
He was vaguely aware of Derek standing there, little over a foot away, dark eyes searching the equally dark alley for the two men that had passed by. He was also vaguely aware that he was still pressed up against the wall, held there by an invisible force.
“We’re safe,” Derek murmured after another breath, though he didn’t look wholly satisfied, as if he expected the men to return any moment. “They’re gone.”
Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but his voice seemed lost somewhere within his throat and he wondered for a moment if Derek had somehow stolen it. Mouth closing, he tested the movement in his shoulders instead, and Jesus, he could still feel Derek’s hand there even though he knew it wasn’t.
Derek’s eyes snapped to him and narrowed, flicking up and down before meeting Stiles’ gaze. Confusion sat silently within the depths. A man of few words, who had reduced Stiles to a man, or teenage boy at least, of none.
“What?” he questioned, all mysterious in that monosyllabic way that Derek always managed to pull off.
Stiles opened his mouth, searching for his voice once more and feeling like he deserved a pat on the back, or a Scooby Snack at least, when he found it and it didn’t waver… much. “Aren’t you supposed to buy me dinner first?”
Derek very nearly rolled his eyes. There was a distinct tension there that told Stiles he was fighting the temptation with almost every ounce of strength he had. He lost. Stiles would have felt a small sense of triumph at that, if it wasn’t for the small fact that he still had yet to move away from his position against the wall or even straighten his shirt out.
“I’ll bear that in mind next time two hunters come strolling out of nowhere.” Both eyebrows raised, Derek didn’t quite glower at him, but it was close… and yet, somehow, a little more playful, almost mischievous. “Or maybe I’ll just let them shoot me instead.”
“Yeah, well…” Stiles spluttered, tripping over his words in an attempt to form coherent thought. “Seriously? That… that was the best plan you could come up with? A fake-out, make-out?”
Brow burrowing, Derek tilted his head to the side, and right there, when he did that, Stiles was reminded of the way the dogs at the station reacted when tortured by squeaking balls or high pitched opera – with extreme bewilderment and a hint of curiosity. He raised an eyebrow and his lip twitched… his God. Damn. Lip twitched.
Stiles’ mouth dropped open and he gaped, his shoulders sagging. “You’re mocking me. You just stole my first kiss and you’re actually mocking me about it.”
That seemed to shock Derek, if the slightest wavering of his usual brooding (and yet, now mocking) mask was anything to go by, eyes widening barely a fraction but a fraction all the same. He took a step back and damn, there were those eyes again – the ones that made him look like a kicked puppy, the ones Stiles hadn’t seen since the pool incident.
He looked like he was about to apologise but the words didn’t make it out.
It was Stiles’ turn now… His turn to press his lips against Derek’s; his kiss uncertain, almost the exact opposite of Derek’s.
“They could come back,” Stiles breathed out when he pulled back a little.
He felt Derek smile, devilish and predatory. “They could be watching right now.”
“Then maybe we should…”
Derek answered by pushing him back against the wall again, and Stiles was thankful for the support it offered.
“Yeah,” the wolf breathed out, before once more claiming Stiles’ lips and stealing away his voice – and quite possibly his sense of reason too. “Just in case.”