Derek nervously adjusted his bowtie for the fifth time and tugged at the bottom of his sweater vest. Erica had sworn up and down it was completely fine for him to wear his regular clothes ("You'll be more comfortable and besides, you look like a hot professor"), but he still wondered if maybe he should've sprung for a suit and tie. Or at least bitten the bullet and worn his contacts. He was pitching his dissertation, for God's sake. It wouldn't have hurt to dress a little nicer.
Oh well, there was nothing for it now. If he ran back to his room, he'd miss his appointment, which was in—he double-checked his watch—five minutes.
He wiped his glasses one last time, put them back on, and finally left the bathroom. His appointment was at ten with an M. P. Stilinski, and Derek really didn't want to be late.
His heart beat harder the closer he got to the hotel's conference rooms, and Derek wiped his palms on his slacks and forced himself to count his breaths. He knew his dissertation inside and out; it would be a perfect fit for Stilinski's publishing house, but Derek was well aware he tended to be awkward at the best of times, especially when he was talking to people he didn't know well. He just hoped he wouldn't stick his foot in his mouth or trip over his words.
For the hundredth time, he pulled his notecards out of his pockets and skimmed them, trying to remember his talking points. It was going to be fine, it was going to be fine, it was going to be—
Derek entered the conference room, spotted the table with "M. P. Stilinski" on it, and stopped short.
It most definitely was not going to be fine.
Sitting on the other side of the table was the most attractive man Derek had ever seen, with whiskey-colored eyes and pale skin with dark moles speckled across his jawline, moles Derek was very familiar with because he'd spent two hours last night drunk out of his mind and licking them.
Stilinski—no, Stiles, he'd said his name was Stiles last night—somehow looked even better now than he had the night before, with a sharp suit and artfully styled hair and a tie patterned with freaking Stargate symbols. Of course, last night he'd been in a thin T-shirt and sinfully tight jeans and grinding his ass right on Derek's crotch.
So you know. It was a toss-up.
Feeling light-headed and a little bit dizzy, Derek made his way to the table. How did he even begin to broach this topic?
"Hi, remember me, I spent two hours at a bar last night licking salt off your neck and doing tequila shots. Would you like to hear about my dissertation on modern media theories?"
"Hello, I'm Derek Hale, we danced at a gay bar last night, but please don't let that prevent you from listening to my pitch?"
Or maybe he should just ignore it entirely, pretend this was the first time they were meeting and that Derek absolutely had not pictured Stiles naked when he'd masturbated in the shower this morning.
He thought he'd done a good job drinking water in between shots, and he hadn't had a hangover when he'd woken up, but right now Derek was pretty sure he was a few seconds away from being sick all over the floor.
He got to the table and cleared his throat. "Um, hi, I'm—"
Stiles looked up from his phone, and his face did a complicated dance of expressions before settling on one that made his eyes twice as large as usual and had his pink lips hanging open. "Derek?!"
Well, so much for pretending last night hadn't happened. Derek felt heat race up his cheeks and he knew, he knew, the tips of his ears were turning bright red. "Uh. Hi. Stiles."
He wanted to smack himself at his awkwardness.
Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. "Holy shit. Holy shit, dude. And I'm sorry, that's totally not professional, but..." He trailed off and snorted. "This is kind of ridiculous, huh?"
"What, that we spent last night grinding at the bar and doing tequila shots, and now I'm pitching my book to you?" Derek said dryly. "No, this isn't awkward at all."
Stiles threw back his head and laughed. "No, not awkward in the least. Well, come on, sit down and tell me about your book, dude."
"I..." Derek blinked, not really able to process what he'd heard. "You still want to hear about it?"
"Well, yeah." Stiles's face scrunched up. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you saw me drunk!" Derek's face flamed again when he uttered the words. "It's not...professional."
Stiles covered his face with a hand. "Oh my God, you saw me drunk, too. Are you telling me you want to work with a publisher who'll do no less than six tequila shots with a hot guy he'd just met?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Derek clenched his fists and then forced them to relax. "I mean, as long as you're good at your job, why would I care what you do in your off time?"
Stiles shot finger guns at him. "Bingo! That goes both ways. You're here on time and you don't look like you've been drinking all night, so that puts you one up on at least three other people I've had pitch to me this weekend." He shrugged. "Besides, I remember at least part of your drunken ramblings about your dissertation, and I liked what I heard. So sit down and give it to me while we're both sober."
Derek sat, more out of shock than anything else. "I...uh..."
Stiles frowned at him, and then his face cleared in realization and he thudded his head against the table. "Oh my God, I meant give me the dissertation. Not...anything else." He snapped his head up again. "Although I'm not opposed to anything else! But, you know, later, not when I'm supposed to be pitching. Hearing pitches!" He buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God, seriously, kill me now."
Derek burst out laughing, his own awkwardness and fears subsiding in the absolute wave of relief that they were both terrible at this. "I've been freaking out about this meeting for two weeks. I'm really not good at pitching, so this...makes it a little easier."
"Oh yeah?" Stiles lifted his head; his cheeks were splotched pink. Derek probably shouldn't have found it as attractive as he did. "I'm surprised, man, you would not shut up about your diss last night. And I don't mean that in a bad way!" he hurried on. "Seriously, it's really sexy when someone is so passionate about a field of study. It's one of the reasons I love this job. You can tell within about three minutes of talking who's in love with their work and who's just trying to get letters after their name. And if last night's any indication, you are in love with your work."
Derek ducked his head at the praise. The awed way Stiles said it made it sound much better than when Laura complained he spent too much time with his head in his books. "Well, we learn so much about other cultures from the art they've left behind. And there's always the question of whether art imitates life or life imitates art. And with the massive technological innovations that have been made in the past century, the way we share and consume art has changed so much—it's fascinated me since I was in high school and every day I study it just makes me fall in love with it more."
Stiles clapped his hands once and pointed right at Derek. "See, that? That's the kind of stuff I love to hear. Now, Mr. Hale," Stiles linked his fingers on the table and grinned, "tell me more about your book."
Derek sat at the bar after his last panel of the day, nursing a beer and still trying to overcome his shock. Stiles had loved his pitch, had asked him to send over a complete outline and a sample chapter as soon as he got home from the conference. And then both of the panels he'd been on had been very well-attended, with a ton of excellent questions from the audience.
He'd texted Erica as soon as he'd gotten out of the panels to tell her the good news, and had gotten back something with a bunch of exclamation points and capital letters, followed by the information that she and Boyd were taking him out to a fancy dinner the moment he got back to California.
"Steak and champagne, Derek!" had been her last message, followed by a celebratory emoji.
He shook his head fondly. There was a reason he and Erica had been best friends since tenth grade.
But right now, he intended to enjoy his beer, order a burger, and head up to his room to chill for the rest of the night. Going out to the bars in New Orleans had been fun, but after that and all his panels today, he was ready for some recovery time with his books.
"Hey, great job on the panel today."
Derek looked up to see Stiles sliding into the seat next to him, a smile spreading easily across his face. "You were watching?"
"Thought I'd check it out." Stiles raised his hand and motioned at the bartender. "I heard at least one panelist really knew his stuff."
Derek nodded sagely. "Oh, so you were there for Dr. Deaton. Excellent speaker. He's been studying this stuff for decades."
Stiles barked out a laugh. "I meant you, you dork. You were fantastic."
Derek ducked his head at the praise. "You're just saying that."
"Psh." Stiles waved his hand and grabbed the full beer the bartender set in front of him. "I never 'just say' anything."
Derek took another drink to cool his blush. "So how did the rest of your pitching sessions go?"
"Good!" Stiles said. "Good. I mean, I only heard like two more that I actually wanted to read more of, but I always enjoy a good pitching session."
He waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, and Derek almost snorted beer up his nose. He didn't know if it was the beer, or the fact that it had just been an excellent day, or if it was just leftover courage from the night before, but he took a deep breath and responded, "Honestly, I prefer a good catching session myself."
Stiles choked on his drink, hard enough that Derek sprang out of his chair to pat his back and flagged the bartender down to bring some water.
"Holy shit," Stiles said a second later. "Holy shit, warn a guy."
Derek wanted to melt into the floor. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Was that just you being, like, flirty?" Stiles asked, the red in his face slowly fading. "Or was that an actual indication of how you'd like tonight's events to go?"
"I, um." Derek cleared his throat. His heart was beating too fast. Was it possible to have a heart attack in this kind of situation? "I was just planning on a quiet night, but if you want...I really wouldn't mind changing those plans."
"Oh, I want." Stiles slid out of his chair and into Derek's space, just a bare inch between them. "Believe me, I want."
Some part of Derek couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe he'd practically propositioned Stiles, couldn't believe Stiles had said yes. He swallowed twice, trying to wet his mouth enough to speak. "My room?"
Stiles grinned. "Lead the way."
They'd barely stepped into the elevators when Derek found himself crowded against the back wall, Stiles's arms on either side of him and his mouth a scarce few inches from Derek's own.
"Is this okay?" Stiles whispered.
Derek nodded and rested his hand at the nape of Stiles's neck, closing the gap between them and pulling Stiles into a kiss.
He'd thought maybe the alcohol was coloring his memory, making the previous kisses he'd shared with Stiles more than they'd actually been, but if anything alcohol had dulled his recollections. Stiles's lips were even softer than he'd remembered, warm and insistent and skilled, dragging lazily against Derek's and then coaxing them open.
He hadn't expected this. He'd thought it would be harder, more desperate, with more of a focus on chasing their release. But Stiles kissed him like they had all the time in the world, like there wasn't anything outside the elevator, like they didn't have anywhere else to be.
Derek sank into the kiss with a sigh, letting his hands fall to Stiles's hips and pulling him forward just to feel the solid heat of him all against his body.
The elevator dinged twice, breaking the spell, and Derek cursed.
Stiles chuckled against his jaw and nuzzled his beard. "Come on, let's get somewhere more comfortable."
He pulled back, flashing Derek a small, genuine smile that lodged somewhere in his chest by his heart, and for just a second, Derek couldn't breathe.
He cleared his throat and threaded his fingers through Stiles's, leading him out of the elevator and down the hall. Derek didn't run, exactly, but he definitely walked a lot faster down the hall than he normally did. It took him three tries to swipe the keycard, and he could have cried when the little green light finally blinked up at him and he could open the door and get Stiles inside.
The door clicked shut, leaving them in the dim room, lit only by a single lamp in the corner. Derek wanted more light, wanted to better see Stiles, but at the same time he was afraid turning on any more lights would make this all fade away.
Stiles's brow creased, and he rubbed his hands on Derek's arms. "Everything okay?"
"Fine." Derek bit his lips, trying to think of how to explain. "This is just..."
"Too much?" Stiles's face fell, but he stepped back. "If you changed your mind, man, that's fine. We can just—"
"No, that's not it. I just still get surprised when people want to sleep with me when they've seen the," Derek waved his hand over himself, "professor getup."
Stiles's eyes bugged out. "There are people who don't have fantasies about hot professors?"
"My ex said the sweater vests were dorky. She hated them," Derek admitted.
"Dude." Stiles shook his head and practically jumped on Derek, kissing him soundly. "The vests are sexy as hell. I would say you should always wear them, but I really really want to see you naked."
Derek laughed and kissed him again. "Same."
Stiles's answering grin was blinding, and he stepped back and shrugged out of his jacket. The sleeve caught on one arm, and he flailed, sending the jacket sailing into the wall with a soft whump.
He looked back to Derek sheepishly, cheeks flushing. "Yeah, 'graceful' is never a word that's described me."
Derek bit his lip to keep from laughing again, but he could feel his amusement on his face, the way it bubbled inside him right alongside his attraction to Stiles. He didn't think he'd ever had fun during sex. Not like this.
He grabbed the bottom of his vest and yanked it off, unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall. Stiles's eyes danced over his chest, and he licked his lips. "Yeah, I have to say, you naked is even better than I thought it would be."
"You thought about me naked?" Derek asked.
Stiles laughed and unbuttoned his own shirt. "After last night? Dude, I spent my whole shower this morning thinking about you naked."
Derek thought back to his own shower, which had been filled with visions of mole-speckled skin and the taste of lime and salt. That he had Stiles in front of him now, in the flesh, still boggled his mind.
As soon as Stiles discarded his shirt, Derek stepped forward, ran his fingers up those pale, surprisingly defined arms. "You're beautiful," he murmured.
Stiles flushed again, but this time he looked pleased. "You're just saying that."
"I never 'just say' anything," Derek said, repeating Stiles's own words back to him. He put two fingers under Stiles's chin to tilt his head to the right angle for a deep kiss.
It felt even better than in the elevator, now that he could slide his hands down Stiles's bare arms, over his sides, up his back. Stiles made a happy noise in the back of his throat, his own hands exploring Derek's body, leaving trails of warmth in their wake.
"At the risk of wrecking the really fantastic moment we've got here, do you have condoms and lube?" Stiles asked.
Derek kissed his way over the moles on Stiles's jaw until he could bury his face in his neck and just breathe for a moment. "Yeah. In my bathroom, hold on."
It took everything in him to peel himself away, run to the bathroom and dig the lube and condoms out of their hiding place. He rarely did this, rarely had casual sex and never had one-night stands, but Stiles was intoxicating, and Derek's body thrummed with attraction and excitement and nerves. It would be worth it, he thought, even if they never saw each other after this weekend, just to have this night.
No, don't think about that, he scolded himself, and headed back into the bedroom.
Stiles splayed across the bed, fully naked now and all his pale skin on display, one hand tucked behind his head and the other idly stroking his rapidly hardening cock.
God, he was gorgeous. Derek could spend all night memorizing every single inch of him, how he smelled and felt and tasted, where to touch to make Stiles sigh and sob and shout his name.
He tossed the lube and condoms on the bed and crawled over Stiles, dropping kisses as he went, until he reached Stiles's mouth.
Stiles nipped at his lower lip. "I think you're a little overdressed for this party."
Derek looked down between them, where his denim-clad legs bracketed Stiles's naked ones. "Looks like I am. Want to help me meet the dress code?"
He winced at how terrible that line was, but Stiles laughed and popped the button on his fly. "I will gladly help you get out of these."
Derek groaned at the sensation of Stiles's fingers so close to his cock, separated from his skin by two thin layers of clothing. Stiles kissed him again, sucking on Derek's lip as he divested him of his jeans and boxers. The first skim of those long fingers against his cock had Derek shuddering, panting out Stiles's name.
Once he was naked, Derek pressed against Stiles, rolling their hips together and savoring the sensation. Stiles's hips arched up, and he moaned into Derek's mouth, dragging his nails up Derek's sides. "Oh my God, that's..."
Derek could only nod in response. "Yeah."
Stiles's hands trailed down his back to his ass, and Derek had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering. "Do you want to open yourself up for me?" Stiles whispered. "Or do you want me to?"
Derek tried to drag enough blood back to his brain to think, forced himself to pull away from Stiles and grab the lube. He could do it faster, and he wanted Stiles's cock in him as soon as possible. "I will."
He squirted the lube on his fingers and reached back, opening himself with one, then two in quick succession.
"Whoa, slow down there," Stiles said, eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on Derek's hand. "We've got all night."
Derek worked a third finger in, gasped at the burn and stretch of it. "The sooner you fuck me, the sooner we can get to round two."
Stiles laughed breathlessly. "Well, I can't argue with that logic."
Derek waited until the burn faded, and then pulled his fingers out. "How do you want me?"
Stiles whined and gripped the base of his cock, now flushed a dark red. "Oh my God, don't say things like that. I'd like to last more than thirty seconds."
Derek grabbed the condom and rolled it onto Stiles's cock, and then he wrapped his still-slick hand around it. "Fine. I'll ride you, then."
Stiles's eyes went wide. "Oh my God, yes please."
Derek scooted forward just barely and positioned himself over Stiles's cock, easing his way down. It was wider than his fingers, just enough that he felt a faint burn, and then he lowered himself inch by inch. Under him, Stiles's whole body tensed, his fingers digging into Derek's thighs like he was clinging to a lifeline.
Derek finally seated himself, and took a few breaths to marvel at how utterly full he felt with Stiles's cock buried all the way inside him.
"Oh my God," Stiles gasped, his fingers twitching. "Oh my God, you feel so good, so—"
Derek rolled his hips and Stiles cursed. Derek smirked and did it again. "I thought I told you to fuck me."
"Oh, fuck," Stiles groaned, and his hips surged up, striking a point that made Derek see stars.
Derek rocked his own hips, meeting Stiles thrust for thrust, each movement driving deeper and hitting Derek at an absolutely perfect angle. He couldn't form words any more, could barely make sounds, couldn't do anything but let his mouth drop open and breathe.
Stiles sat up, the motion driving his cock even deeper, and Derek's vision blurred with pleasure. The next thing he knew, Stiles was pulling him into a deep, filthy kiss, fucking his tongue into Derek's mouth.
Stiles's hands were everywhere—his legs, his back, his chest, his ass—trailing over him like they couldn't stop touching, couldn't bear to be off his skin for even an instant. They blazed like brands, sliding over Derek's sweat-slick skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake that made him shiver.
"You're so pretty," Stiles murmured, kissing his way down Derek's jaw to his neck. "So fucking hot. You feel so good."
"You—" Derek started to respond, but Stiles bit down on his neck, sucking hard at the skin there, and any attempt at speaking vanished from his mind.
He dropped one hand to his cock and jacked himself, his knuckles dragging across Stiles's stomach with each stroke. It was utterly heady, being so thoroughly wrapped around Stiles like this, every single twitch of his hips sending sparks through Derek until he could do nothing but pant nigh-incoherent encouragement.
Stiles moaned next to his ear, pressing open-mouthed kisses on his neck, breath hot and wet on his skin, and God, Derek was close. He felt like he was teetering on the edge, wanted to stay on it forever and wanted to tip himself over at the same time, wanted Stiles there with him either way.
"God, you're so fucking perfect, wanna see you come," Stiles murmured, and that was what pushed Derek over the edge. His ass clenched around Stiles and he cried out, his cock spilling between them, painting their chests with white streaks.
He sagged, boneless and loose, against Stiles, his muscles still trembling from his orgasm, and that was when Stiles whined and clutched him closer, burying his face in Derek's neck and shaking his way through his own climax.
Derek stayed where he was, his sweaty forehead resting on Stiles's equally sweaty shoulder, struggling to breathe normally again. "Wow."
Stiles laughed weakly and rubbed his hands up and down Derek's back. "Wow is right."
He didn't really want to move, but his legs were seconds away from giving out and making him, so Derek raised himself off Stiles's cock and rolled to the side, splaying on the bed. Stiles flopped back next to him, resting his head on Derek's outstretched arm.
The sight made Derek's stomach flutter.
"I feel like I should get up and get us something to clean off with," Stiles said, "but I think you fucked my ability to move out of me. I will be here forever."
Derek laughed, his whole body feeling light and loose, relaxed in a way he hadn't been in what felt like forever. "We're going to be gross soon."
"Mm, well then maybe we'll just have to shower together." Stiles rolled on his side and waggled his eyebrows at Derek. "Get all nice and clean before we get dirty again."
Derek turned his head to look at Stiles, at his bright amber eyes, at the beard burn marring his pale face and neck, the other, darker marks Derek had left from teeth and nails. It stunned him, how much he wanted to keep this, left him a little breathless with its intensity. "You still want to hang around for round two?" Derek asked, trying to keep his voice light, but he was sure the hope was evident in his face.
Stiles grinned. "Yeah. Round two, and round three, if you're up for it. Or sleep, round three, and breakfast. Or round three and four and brunch. You know." Stiles bit his lip and his eyes flicked down, like he was suddenly nervous. "If that's something you'd like."
The words lifted a weight from his chest that Derek hadn't realized was sitting there, and he laughed with the sudden lightness he felt. He reached over and threaded his hand through Stiles's, brought it up to his lips for a brief kiss. "Yeah. I think I'd like that a lot."