Mornings have never been Derek’s thing. Like, ever. Not even Christmas morning. Which is why, at 6:58 AM on a Monday morning, a scowl is taking up residence on Derek Hale’s face as he walks into the school, a death grip on his coffee.
“Heyy, Hale! Wanna write something nice on the board?” Derek turns his head to find fellow senior, Stiles Stilinski, standing behind a table with a group of his friends. Derek raises an eyebrow, which Stiles apparently takes as a cue to keep talking. “It’s no-name calling week, and we want to promote positive thought. So, anything to write?” Derek huffs and mumbles something about it being way too early to think about this before heading to his locker. If Derek had known how much pain the next week would cause him, he might have just filled out the damn card.
The thing is, Stiles is really smart. Like, genius levels of smart. So, naturally, he’s in all of Derek’s AP classes. It’s not like Derek hates him, really, he just...talks a lot. Especially in first period AP Calc.
Derek is still drinking his coffee when the bell rings and Stiles charges into the classroom, his cheeks flushed as he bends over to take a breath. “Not late!” He yells like it’s some kind of touchdown, and Derek rolls his eyes (but smiles a little anyways because maybe he’s got a giant crush on Stiles. Maybe.)
The teacher says something Derek can’t care about as Stiles makes his way to the back of the classroom, where Lydia Martin sits, filing her nails. It also happens to be directly behind Derek.
Almost as soon as he sits down, Stiles starts talking a mile a minute. It’s not loud, and Derek almost gets used to it, but fifteen minutes into the period Stiles gets excited and his voice suddenly becomes loud enough to hear and holy shit is he talking about the history of the male circumcision. Derek takes a deep breath, then turns around in his seat.
“Hey, asshole–” before he can finish, however, Stiles cuts him off with a smirk.
“Hale, don’t be mean, it’s no name calling week!” He taps the little button that he’s wearing, his smile growing bigger.
Derek clenches his jaw, but for whatever reason he goes along with Stiles. “Fine then. Honeybear, can you shut up?” Derek relishes in the way Stiles’s jaw drops before he turns back around and starts listening to the teacher again. He doesn’t even complain when he hears the frantic whispering behind him again, because this time he knows he caused it and hey, it’s a little fun to get Stiles flustered.
That is, until they’re walking out of class and Stiles claps him on the shoulder and whispers, “Hope I wasn’t too loud, Cuddlypoo.” Derek gulps and thanks the lord that his next class is a free period.
For his third class of the day, Derek is in a slightly better mood, having finished his coffee and worked out his frustrations in the school weights room during his free. He’d almost forgotten about that morning, that is, until he walked into the classroom and found Stiles sitting in his seat. His assigned seat. “Uh, Stiles, I don’t think Harris is gonna let you get away with that.” Stiles raises his eyebrows, and Derek thinks that it’s just not normal for that to be sexy.
“Two things. One, Snugglebug, my best friend sits right next to you so I rather like this seat. And second, Sweetiepie, Harris isn’t here today, so we can do whatever the hell we want!” Stiles throws up his hands, and Derek briefly considers ripping his throat out. But hey, two can play at that game.
“Hey, Pumpkin, you might want to check your grammar. Then again, you are in AP Language, so you should probably know that saying ‘One’ first, then saying ‘Second’ after is grammatically incorrect.” Derek smirks and sits down directly behind Stiles.
“Is that really the best you can do? Really? My grammar? Well, Buttercup, you’ll have to think of something more creative than that if you want to play in my leagues,” Derek snorts and tries not to look at the positively illegal way Stiles’s adams apple bobs.
“Cupake, your flannel doesn’t match your t-shirt,” Derek says, and watching the way Stiles’s face forms into something so offended is incredible.
“My t-shirt is Captain America, and everything matches justice.” Stiles momentarily forgets himself, but tacks on a, “Dearest” at the end.
“Alright, Doll Face, do you think they’re gonna kill him off in Civil War then? Because if Cap stands for justice, why does he keep going above the law?” Derek is so here for this discussion, and he can practically see the little ‘challenge accepted’ in Stiles’s eyes.
They take up the entire period exchanging view on Captain America, with derisive ‘Doodle bug’s and ‘Gum drop’s thrown at each other whenever they disagree. It’s the most fun Derek’s had since Halloween (which, coincidentally, involved Stiles dressed up as Bucky and yelling at his best friend for not going as Cap, choosing instead to do a couples costume with his girlfriend).
When the bell rings, it’s all Derek can do not to groan, because now he has two periods without Stiles and he was just getting to a good point. It sort of makes up for it, though, when Stiles whispers “Gorgeous” in his ear before running out the door like a manic giraffe.
Lunch and Psychology are uneventful (unless you count that Jackson Whittemore throws a note at Lydia Martin that she doesn’t bother to look at, just tosses directly in the recycling. But Derek doesn’t count it, because it’s sort of a daily occurrence). Derek is surprised to find himself counting down the minutes until AP Chem, but something inside him is itching for the chance to see Stiles again, which is the only feasible explanation for the twenty-four hideous pet names he wrote in the margins of his Psych notebook.
When the bell rings, Derek grabs his stuff and almost sprints out the door. He’s the first to arrive in the first floor chem lab, dropping his books on the table and trying not to look like he’s waiting for anyone. This is his smallest class, with only twelve students, and when Stiles walks in the door (loudly, as always), it’s like the classroom gets a little bit brighter. For Derek, anyways.
Of course, the light dims a little when Stiles shouts across the room, “Hey, Hot Lips!” Derek snorts in disbelief.
“Hot Lips? Really? That’s the best you can do?” Stiles’s lips pull into a smirk that has Derek wishing he’d never been born.
“Ah, no, sweetpea, it’s that we’ve got the entire lab to work up to the good stuff. I mean, we are lab partners, right?” Stiles raises an eyebrow, and it’s challenge, and hell yeah Derek was going to win.
“No problem, Sweetheart.”
Chem is unbearable. Two periods of Stiles handling chemicals while doing things with his mouth that make Derek want to cry, just a little. He comes up with names that, Jesus, Derek didn’t even think you could say stuff like that in public. The rest of the class thinks it’s hilarious, of course, but it’s all Derek can do to not lose it right then and there.
Instead, he focuses on coming up with creative nicknames for Stiles, because Derek is determined not to lose this one to Stiles. Even when Stiles calls him “Love Face” without cracking up. Derek, instead, fires back a well-timed “Peanut” while pouring hydrochloric acid into a flask.
It’s like an unspoken competition between the two of them, and whoever laughs first loses. It lasts through all of Chem, and even into Lacrosse practice. Derek yells across the field,
“Hey, Pooky, heads up!” approximately .04 seconds before he throws the ball at Stiles’s head. Not surprisingly, Stiles goes down and Derek starts to feel bad before Stiles shouts back,
“Jesus Christ, Snookums!” and stands back up, sending a ball Derek’s way with zero warning whatsoever.
They both have to do suicides, because according to Coach they were ‘distracted’. Their punishment doesn’t really work, though, because they’re yelling at each other even as they run across the field.
Derek doesn’t let himself notice the way Stiles’s tank top sticks to his chest or the way his shorts ride down just enough.
It’s late by the time they get back to the locker rooms, the sun already starting to set. It’s just the two of them, and they’re both panting heavily because Coach made them keep running until they’d shut up. Eventually, Finstock had given up.
Derek pulls of his sweat-soaked shirt in one swift movement, dropping it on the bench. He leans back and rests his head against the lockers in an effort to avoid watching Stiles strip. It doesn’t work. His eyes track the other boy’s every movement, traveling up his lithe figure to rest on the back of his head. When Stiles turns around, he grins at the sight of Derek looking at him.
“So, was it worth it, Twinkle Toes?” Derek, exhausted, lets out a huff of air that could almost be classified as a laugh at Stiles’s persistence.
“I dunno, precious. What do you think?” He lets his eyes rest on Stiles’s face. He has a weird expression, like he’s considering something. Then, all of a sudden, Derek can’t care what Stiles’s face looks like because he’s moving forward and pressing his lips to Derek’s.
Stiles’s lips are chapped and the kiss is messy, but Derek automatically shuts his eyes and presses his hands to Stiles’s waist and tugs. It’s everything Derek had always imagined it would be. He relishes in the soft sound Stiles lets out when Derek pulls him flush against his chest. Stiles slowly hooks his arms around Derek’s neck while Derek’s hands roam Stiles’s back.
They break from the kiss and Derek looks into Stiles’s lust-blown eyes. His lips are obscenely red and his hands are warm on Derek’s skin. Apparently, the look on Derek’s face is enough of a confirmation for Stiles, because he leans in again and kisses him once more. This time, he’s prepared, and the kiss is warm and wet and perfect. Stiles lets his hands travel into Derek’s hair as the kiss heats up.
Soon, Stiles is gasping for air through the kiss as Derek’s hands come to rest on his ass. When the kiss ends, Derek looks at Stiles for confirmation, and a slow smirk stretches across Stiles’s lips. He looks up at Derek before slowly dropping to his knees in front of Derek’s basketball shorts.
“Der, tell me you want this,” Stiles says, and it’s breathy and beautiful and Derek decides this is the best way he’s ever heard his nickname.
“God, yes, please Stiles. Like, now,” Derek groans, and Stiles grins before pulling down both his pants and boxer briefs in one swift motion. He whistles his appreciation and Derek can feel a blush rising high on his cheeks.
Before he can comment on it, however, Stiles has taken Derek’s cock into his mouth and it’s all Derek can do to keep from braining himself on the lockers behind him.
“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek moans, drowning in the sensation of Stiles’s mouth on his cock. Stiles pulls nearly all the way off, licking around the tip, before unexpectedly sinking down so that his nose is nestled in Derek’s short pubic hair. Derek nearly comes then and there. It’s clearly not Stiles’s first time doing this and Derek doesn’t know if he should be grateful or jealous.
Without thinking, Derek places a heavy hand in Stiles’s hair, urging him to stay in place. Stiles moans so loudly it should be illegal. It sends vibrations through Derek’s entire body, and when Derek glances down, Stiles’s eyes are wide and his lips are stretched obscenely around Derek’s cock. He nearly comes from the sight alone.
Stiles pulls off Derek’s cock with a loud pop that has Derek tilting his head back again, unable to hold it together when he looks at Stiles’s face.
“Come in my mouth, Derek. Please.” Stiles doesn’t even give Derek any time to process his words, just takes his cock back into his mouth and sucks.
Once Derek realizes what Stiles said, however, it takes him approximately twenty three seconds of Stiles’s mouth covering his cock and Stiles’s hand around his balls for Derek to feel his orgasm coming on.
“Fuck, fuck, Stiles, I’m coming!” Derek shouts, tightening his grip in Stiles’s hair. He thrusts a few times and lets himself come down Stiles’s throat. Feeling the boy swallow around him is indescribable.
Slowly, Derek comes back, recovering from what was probably the best blowjob of his life. When his eyes focus, he notices Stiles jacking himself off, still on his knees. Derek shakes his head and joins him, kneeling on the cement floor.
“Stop, I’ll do it,” Derek growls, and Stiles pulls his hand from his dick. With one hand, Derek cups Stiles’s jaw and leans forward to kiss him senseless. With the other, he reaches between the two of them and grabs a hold of Stiles’s cock.
Stiles groans into his mouth as Derek starts rubbing him off, trying to give Stiles something even nearly as good as the blowjob he had received. Within minutes, Stiles was coming on the ground between them, and a little on Derek’s hand and torso. Stiles’ breath was coming in short gasps, and Derek looked down and smiled at him.
They didn’t leave the locker room until it was well after dark, having gotten...distracted in the shower. But any remaining doubts that Derek may have had were resolved when Stiles kissed him against the Jeep before asking him to dinner on Friday.
The next morning, Derek fills out a card and pins it to the board behind Stiles.
Some people really know how to use their mouths.