Tattoos make Stiles think about sex.
He doesn’t know if it’s because of the sharp pain as the needle goes through skin – Stiles is a fan of a little pain during sex, of that fine line when one leaves room for the other and you can’t really tell which one is which – or because he lost his virginity to a guy with a tattoo of a dragon wrapped around his arm. It doesn’t really matter if it’s letters, symbols, or drawings. Just the idea of permanence – of someone inking their mark on you, even if you’re the one to decide on the design and what part of your body you want the tattoo to begin with – makes him think of hot, sweaty, mind-blowing, amazing sex.
Scott gets this constipated look on his face every time Stiles spends a little too much time staring at the two black bands inked on his left arm, and Stiles has to reassure him that he’ll never see Scott that way. There’s too much puke and blood and Scott eating glue when they were in kindergarten and Stiles rolling around in the dirty and dead leaves in the woods for it to ever be anything other than brotherhood. Stiles just can’t help it, really. He likes tattoos. It’s not his fault Scott decided to get one.
He also very much likes having sex with anyone who has ink somewhere on their body. It didn’t matter where the tattoo was or what kind of design it was as long as it was there and he could stare at it while being fucked or while fucking someone. Scott tells him one time that maybe the only way to cure him of this is to get inked himself, and Stiles says that maybe that’s a good idea.
Stiles, sometimes, is stupid that way.
And that’s how he meets Derek Hale.
Stiles decides to do it on a Friday because, well, if he can’t go out tonight and get plastered like every other person he knows at Berkeley because his workload is a joke, then he might as well do this. And also that way he won’t have to lie to his dad when the Sheriff calls and asks him if he left his room this week.
Going to classes doesn’t count.
What Stiles isn’t expecting as he pushes open the door to the first tattoo parlor he finds - one that looks like a legitimate establishment that won’t give him any diseases - is to be greeted by the hottest piece of man he has ever laid eyes on. In reality he’s not so much greeted as he is stared at while he stands in the middle of the shop with his mouth opened.
It’s not like anyone can blame him.
Black hair, stubble, light green eyes, tight black t-shirt stretched across what Stiles bets are perfect toned chest and shoulders. And it’s a testament to this guy’s hotness that Stiles is set to break the record for the quickest boner when the guy doesn’t even have any apparent tattoos.
Now that Stiles thinks about what kind of ink this guy might be hiding, it takes all his strength not to shove his hand down his pants and get himself off right there.
Hot Guy drops the pencil he’s holding and closes what Stiles guesses is a sketchbook, before turning back to him and raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
“Holy God, yes,” is what comes out of Stiles’ mouth without him meaning to. It’s not so much because of his lack of brain-to-mouth filter as it is because of his uncanny ability to embarrass himself in front of people he’d like to have down on their knees and sucking his dick.
It’s a problem, really.
Hot Guy stands up, crosses his arms in front of his chest, and scowls at him. Stiles’ dick twitches in his pants – something he’s not willing to think about right now, the fact that apparently hot guys giving him the stink-eye is what does it for him -, and he thinks it should be illegal for someone to look that hot while trying to glare him to death.
“I… I mean…,” and Stiles is again distracted by the specimen in front of him. The more the guy quirks his stupidly amazing eyebrows in annoyance, the more Stiles wants to jump over the counter and climb him like a tree.
A very sexy tree.
Who’s now coming out from behind the counter and walking towards him.
Stiles thinks he must have swallowed his tongue.
“Are you going to just stand there?” Hot Guy asks.
Stiles shakes his head no, more to clear his head of thoughts of Hot Guy bending him over the counter and fucking him senseless than to give him an actual answer.
“Are you planning on getting a tattoo?” Hot Guy does this weird eyebrow motion that makes him look a little less scary and a little more amused by Stiles.
Stiles who is still standing in the middle of the shop with his mouth opened and staring.
“How did you know that?” is what decides to come out of his mouth.
Hot Guy tilts his head to the side and his eyebrows are moving in a way that Stiles think might be saying are you being serious or are you really this stupid. He must go with stupid route because he says, “That’s what most people want when they come in here.”
That’s not right. Because Stiles wants Hot Guy a whole lot more than he ever wanted a tattoo in the first place. He’s actually surprised that there are not that many people hanging around waiting to get a look at all that, or waiting to get up in all of that. It’s a shame, really. All the money Hot Guy must be losing while working at a tattoo parlor instead of porn.
“Right,” Stiles nods his head. “Right,” he says again, like the embarrassing little fuck he is. “Of course. Yes, I’m planning on getting a tattoo. That’s why I’m here. To get a tattoo. Not to do other things. Right.”
Hot Guy goes back to looking kind of amused by Stiles making a fool out of himself, and if Stiles wasn’t so flustered and trying really hard to keep his dick in check he might even take a little time to be mad about it.
Hot Guy - and Stiles really needs to know what his name is so he can to stop calling him that in is head, or let it slip out loud, because that’s the kind of embarrassing thing he’d do – nods and goes back to his place behind the counter, Stiles trailing behind.
“What do you have in mind?”
What Stiles really wants to say is your cock in my ass, but he knows better than to be that forward with someone who looks like they could beat him to a pulp and not even break a sweat. “I have no idea, really. My best friend told me I should get one, and here I am.”
Hot Guy goes back to scowling and looking at him like he’s stupid, and Stiles has no idea why. Hot Guy sighs before leaning his elbows on top of the counter display, and Stiles’ brain immediately goes arms. Oh my god all these muscles. I wonder if he can hold me up while fucking me against a wall.
“You shouldn’t get something just because your best friend told you to,” Hot Guy tells him. “It’s not something to be taken lightly.”
Stiles frowns a little bit because he knows this, okay? He knows it’s a permanent mark on his skin, knows he needs to choose something with a meaning behind it, and a design that won’t make him get sick of it. He knows.
“I know that,” Stiles says, a bit put off. “I just thought I’d come by to talk to someone who knows their shit before I make my choice.”
That’s a lie, but no one needs to know that.
Hot Guy stares at him with something like surprise - and what Stiles will chalk it off as pride for his concern when it comes to marking his skin forever – on his face before nodding again.
“You can look through the portfolios on the shelf by the door,” Hot Guy tells him, opening his sketchbook and going back to what he was doing before Stiles disturbed him. “If you find something that interests you or have any questions you can come to me.”
“Okay,” Stiles says, and goes to where the portfolios are. There are about five of them stacked neatly side by side, each one with a name written on the spine. Stiles figures one of them must belong to Hot Guy, so he asks, “Which one is yours?”
“Derek,” Hot Guy, Derek, says without looking up from his sketchbook. Stiles is surprised when he keeps going, “I’m good with portraits and anything black and white. Erica is the one to go to if you want something in color. Boyd is the body piercer, so unless you’re looking to get one or stretch your ears you should skip his. Isaac is the best for anything involving scripts. And Laura can pretty much do all of the above.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, trying to process the information and thinking about what would interest him. He picks up Derek’s portfolio because it’s Derek’s, but he also grabs Erica’s. He’s always been a fan of colors, so he figures he should take a look at it. He hesitates at Isaac’s, but ends up grabbing that one too. His mother had been a huge bookworm, something she passed down to him, so if he ever wants to get something written on his skin he figures he should know if Isaac is as good as Derek says he is. He decides to leave Laura’s behind, choosing to focus on people’s individual works instead of going through someone’s who’s able to do a little bit of everything.
Stiles sits on one of the black leather couches positioned against the wall, and starts going through Erica’s portfolio first. He’s instantly impressed. The way she uses and combines colors makes the drawings stand out, as if she was painting with watercolor instead of tattooing someone’s skin. Stiles knows that a crappy coloring has the ability to make the tattoo look cheap and wrong and downright ugly, so he’s very happy with what he’s seeing here.
Isaac’s is next. He looks through pages and pages of script, each one looking a little more complicated than the other, all of them done perfectly - from the simplest ones to the letters full of loops, turns, and intricate patterns. Stiles finds himself tracing the letters with his fingertips, and he closes the album feeling a little bit dazed.
The last one is Derek’s. Stiles thinks he must look like an idiot, gaping at page after page of portraits of the most various things – people, animals, places, plants. It’s like Derek is capable of recreating whatever image he sets his mind to, and that only makes Stiles even more attracted to him. Not only Derek is hot, but he’s also an artist.
Stiles gets up from his place on the couch and puts all the albums away. He walks back to where Derek is still sketching and taps his fingers on the counter to get his attention. When Derek looks up at him with those ridiculous light green eyes, Stiles blurts, “I want you to do me.”
Derek looks stricken for a moment before letting his eyebrows climb up almost to his hairline. He doesn’t say anything, and it takes about three seconds for Stiles to realize what he said.
“Oh my God. No. That’s not what I meant,” he sputters, feeling his cheeks redden. It really wasn’t what he meant, expect that he totally did. “I meant I want you to tattoo me. Not do me. I went through your stuff and I’m seriously impressed, and it’d be an honor to have your art somewhere on my body. Yeah. Right.”
Derek flips to a new page on his sketchbook, looking at Stiles expectantly. “What do you have in mind?”
Stiles stalls because he doesn’t have anything in mind, not really. All he wants is to have something of Derek’s in him, and since it can’t be his dick, Stiles will settle for a tattoo. An idea strikes him, and he leans a little bit closer to where Derek is. “If I show you where I want to have it, will you draw something for me?”
Derek tilts his head to the side, as if considering him. “Are you willing to do that? It’s a very dangerous thing to give free rein to your body to a tattoo artist. We tend to look at it as a blank canvas, and we might get a bit carried away.”
Stiles shrugs his shoulders, because he doesn’t really mind if Derek gets carried away. He knows that whatever Derek comes up with will be worth it, and it will be fucking awesome, so he says, “I’m okay with it. What do you say?”
And that’s when it happens. Derek smiles at him. It’s not really a full blown smile, but it’s still enough to make Stiles’ stomach flip.
“Show me,” Derek says.
Stiles purses his lips and lifts his shirt up, using a finger to gesture to entire span of his ribs and the skin down to his hip. He stares at Derek as Derek rakes his eyes over him, and Stiles has to fight the urge to squirm. Derek comes back from behind the counter again, and this time when he walks towards Stiles he crunches down a bit and places his hands on Stiles' skin.
“How big do you want it to be?” Derek asks casually, head down and staring at the skin in front of him.
Stiles tries really really really hard not to react to the feel of Derek’s hands on him, and he promises that as soon as he gets out of here he’ll buy himself a congratulatory apple pie and eat it all by himself for not coming in his pants.
“What do you have in mind?” Stiles asks, trying to maintain his voice steady and doing a mental victory dance when he manages it.
Derek opens his palm, placing it flat on Stiles’ skin. Derek’s thumb just a little bit inside of the line of the waistband of Stiles’ jeans, his pinky resting against his ribs. “About… this big.”
Before Stiles can say anything, Derek leans back to reach for a stencil and pencil and Stiles is rewarded with his first few of Derek’s ass. And can he say, holy shit.
Derek has the most perfect ass Stiles has ever seen. And all Stiles wants to do is burry his face in it and kiss it and possibly even bite it - if Derek’s into that, of course.
Stiles starts to conjugate Latin in his head to keep himself in check.
“I’ll sketch it for you,” Derek murmurs, placing the stencil on Stiles skin and circling the area he had marked with his hand before. “You should come back Monday morning so I can show it to you. Then you can tell me if you like it and we can schedule your appointment.”
Stiles rearranges his shirt and nods his head. “Any time Monday?”
“Any time Monday morning,” Derek tells him. “I don’t have a shift in the afternoon.”
“Oh, right,” Stiles says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “So I’ll be back Monday.”
Derek grunts in response, eyes already back at the stencil in front of his. Stiles is almost at the door and he hears Derek call him back. “Hey, you.”
Stiles looks over his shoulder, “Yeah?”
“What’s your name?” Derek asks, making Stiles laugh out loud.
“Stiles,” he says. “I’m Stiles.”
Stiles spends the entire weekend cursing the heavens above for making him think it’d be a good idea to double major and jerking off to thoughts of Derek. Stiles can’t stop thinking about the guy - about him on his knees, about him fucking him, if he has any secret tattoos covered by those ridiculously tight clothes of his, or just generally thinking about him completely naked.
When Monday morning finally arrives, Stiles is a bundle of nerves and excited energy. Scott even asks him if he is high on something because he’s never seen Stiles this way.
“I’m not high, Scott,” Stiles says. “I’m just excited.”
“What could you possibly be excited about on a Monday morning?” Scott whines from his place on the bed, trying to curl himself into a ball and disappearing under his blankets.
“You’ll see,” Stiles says, smiling wickedly.
Scott opens one eye to stare at him and groans. “No, Stiles. No. Last time you said that and smiled at me that way I woke up with purple hair and star glued to my ass.”
Stiles throws his head back and laughs, ducking sideways when Scott throws a pillow at him.
“I promise that won’t happen this time,” Stiles says, hitting Scott in the face when he throws the pillow back. “In fact, this doesn’t involve you at all.”
Scott stares at him, clearly not convinced, before sighing and burring himself into the mattress. “Then get out and let me sleep,” he mumbles. “You’re too hyper this morning.”
“Ugh, fine,” Stiles says, slipping into his shoes. “I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep.”
Scott mutters something intelligible as Stiles closes the door behind him.
Stiles stops to grab some coffee on his way to the tattoo parlor, deciding against eating anything other than a bagel in case Derek decides to tattoo him today. Depending on the level of pain, Stiles gets sick. This is something he learned in case of being a hyperactive child, always getting himself into trouble and, more often than not, hurt.
He pushes the door to the tattoo parlor open and is graced by someone saying, “So you’re Stiles.”
Startled, Stiles looks up to find a girl sitting on top of the counter, a magazine opened on her lap. She has curly blonde hair, and possibly the scariest smile Stiles has ever seen. She hops off from the counter and comes to stand in front of him, giving him a once over with her eyes. She purses her red lips together before smiling again and sticking a hand out, “I’m Erica.”
Stiles stares from the hand back at her face before shaking it. “You’re the one who works with colors,” Stiles says, and Erica’s smile widens. “You’re really good. I mean, the tattoos don’t even look like tattoos. They look like watercolor paintings. It’s amazing.”
Erica still hasn’t let go of his hand, and Stiles is glad when a guy comes up behind her and pulls her against him. “Stop scaring the costumers,” he says, and nods at Stiles. “I’m Boyd.”
“Nice to meet you,” Stiles nods back. “Uh. I’m looking for-”
“You’re looking for Derek,” says a voice behind the counter, and Stiles looks over to where a guy with the most perfect bone structure in the world stands. “I’m Isaac.”
“Stiles,” Stiles says, and then shrugs. “But I guess you all already knew that.”
Erica outright laughs at that, while Boyd and Isaac merely smirk at him. None of them offer any information about where Derek is, so Stiles asks, “Is Derek here?”
“Nope,” Erica says, going back to her place on top of the counter.
“Okay…” Stiles trails off, waiting for her to continue.
When she doesn’t, Isaac says, “He and Laura are running late.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, rocking in place. “I’ll just… wait here then.”
“You do that,” Isaac nods.
Stiles goes sit on the couch, grabbing his phone and deciding that if he has to wait he might as well try to break his record playing Angry Birds. It’s about ten minutes later when Derek and a woman Stiles guesses must be Laura step into the shop.
“I told you to gas up the Camaro, Derek,” Laura says, sounding annoyed. “If you’re going to use it you’re going to take care of it.”
Derek grunts, not bothering to answer her. Laura obviously being used to this reaction from him continues as if nothing had happened. Stiles is kind of impressed.
“I’m serious. You should be thankful I even let you borrow it. You should be so thankful that you bring me coffee and muffins for breakfast every morning for being the amazing sister that I am. But do you do that? No. And you also don’t fuel up the car.”
Derek rolls his eyes at her, and Laura looks like she’s about to smack some sense into him when she finally looks down at Stiles. Stiles smiles sheepishly and waves at her.
“You’re Stiles,” she says, and with that Derek’s head snaps to him.
Stiles turns his eyes to Derek and frowns. “Should I be worried or flattered that everyone here knows who I am?”
“Worried,” Derek says, as everyone else says, “Flattered.”
Stiles purses his lips and makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat before putting his phone away and standing up. “So what do you have for me?”
Laura and Erica snicker, and Stiles can’t help but think he’s missing some important piece of information here. Derek sighs and moves to pick up something from behind the counter, coming back with a stencil and presenting it to Stiles.
“What do you think?” Derek asks, looking at him expectantly.
Stiles looks down at the stencil in his hands and his eyes widen. “Ooohhh pretty,” he says without meaning to, earning a laugh from Laura.
“Do you like it?” Derek asks, voice gruff.
“Yes, dude, I like it,” Stiles says, smiling down at the howling wolf’s head Derek drew. “It looks amazing.”
The look on Derek’s face when Stiles glances back at him is incredibly smug. Stiles tries not to laugh at the way he looks like a pleased five-year-old, as if he’s proud with the way Stiles reacted to his drawing.
Stiles hands him back the stencil and bites down on his lip. He expects Derek to take back the drawing and step back, but suddenly there are hands under Stiles’ shirt, tugging it up, and Derek is placing the stencil against Stiles’ skin. The action is so unexpected that Stiles stumbles back a little and has to grab hold of Derek’s shoulder so not to fall on his ass. Derek doesn’t seem to mind the contact, he only directs Stiles so that he’s standing sideways in front of one of the full-length mirrors in the shop.
“You can see how it’ll look on your skin,” Derek says.
Stiles has a perfect view of what the tattoo will look like, and he finds himself nodding in approval. Derek takes back the stencil, one of his hands lingering on Stiles’ ribs, making him shiver slightly.
“You’re not ticklish, are you?” Derek asks, misunderstanding Stiles reaction. And thank fuck for that. “Otherwise this might be a little hard.”
Stiles snorts, because Derek has no idea how hard this will be. Stiles shakes his head, letting his shirt drop. “Nope. Not ticklish.”
Derek nods in approval, before letting his eyes wander around the shop. A few people came in while they were talking, and Stiles can see that Laura and Erica are already working - Laura on some girl’s sleeve, both talking animatedly, while Erica colors something on a guy’s leg. Isaac sits behind the counter reading the magazine Erica left behind, and Boyd is sitting on the couch messing with his phone. When he turns back to Derek, Derek is staring directly at him.
“I have a couple of hours opened right now,” he says. “If you want to do this today.”
“I… Yeah?” Stiles asks, feeling suddenly really really really nervous about this.
“Yeah,” Derek says. “Or we can schedule it for later this week. Your call.”
“Today’s good,” Stiles says, licking his lips. “Really good.”
“You sound nervous,” Derek raises an eyebrow at him.
“I kind of… am?” Stiles looks at the ground and rubs the back of his neck with one hand.
“Don’t worry,” Derek says, and when Stiles looks back up Derek’s smirking. “I’ll make this as painless as possible.”
Stiles lets out a sigh. Somehow, he thinks his dick will disagree.
“You’re acting more cagey than usual,” Scott says, about two weeks later.
“No, I’m not!” Stiles protests.
Scott just looks at him like he’s terribly disappointed at Stiles’ attempt of lying to him. They all know that never works. “I thought getting a tattoo you’d make you feel better.”
Stiles snags a pillow from his bed and tries to suffocate himself with it.
It doesn’t work.
“It’s not that,” Stiles says. “It’s the guy. The tattoo artist.”
Scott just shakes his head. “Of course you’d be hard for the tattoo artist guy. How did we not see this coming? I bet he has all these tattoos on his arms and a dragon on his ass.”
Stiles throws a pillow at him. “He doesn’t have a dragon on his ass. Jesus, Scott.”
“And how do you know that?” Scott asks, raising an eyebrow.
Stiles thinks about jumping from his place on the bed and strangling his best friend. “He was…,” and Stiles trails off at thinking about Derek. “He didn’t have anything, actually. At least he didn’t have any ink I could see.”
In Scott’s rush to get out of his own bed and sit by Stiles on his, he gets a foot tangled on his sheets and falls to the ground with a thump. Stiles snickers at the ceiling and makes no move whatsoever to help him stand up.
“He didn’t have any tattoos?” Scott asks in surprise when he finally manages to sit at the edge of Stiles’ bed. “Dude, this is, like, progress.”
“I don’t know Scott,” Stiles shrugs. “He might have something hidden.”
Scott’s eyes widen. “Like, on his dick?”
The thought of Derek having a tattoo on his dick or anywhere near it makes Stiles whimper. Scott, in turn, makes a disgusted sound and jumps from the bed to fall on his ass on the floor again.
“Dude! Not cool! No sex noises when I’m in the room!”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles groans, flopping on his stomach on the bed to hide his quickly-filling hard-on. “I just. I have to-”
“Ride his dick off to the sunset?”
And this is why they’re friends.
“Yes,” Stiles says, only it comes out more like a moan.
Scott throws his shoe at him.
Stiles is kind enough not to throwing it back in his face.
When Stiles goes back to the parlor, he finds Derek talking to an older man in a suit. If Stiles was the kind of guy who went for hot older guys, he’d probably be drooling right now. But he isn’t. Instead he focuses on how Derek is staring at the man, a mixture of fondness and annoyance, kind of like he was staring at Laura the morning Stiles got the tattoo.
When he sees Stiles something flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone too fast for Stiles to make it out what it was. He nods at Stiles, before turning back to his conversation. Only the man is now staring at Stiles, a smirk on his face.
Stiles doesn’t know if he should feel flattered or creeped out.
“You must be Stiles,” says the man, looking from him back to Derek. “How nice it is to meet you. I’m Peter Hale, Derek’s uncle.”
“Uhm…” Stiles blinks, not knowing what to do. “Hello.”
Peter’s smile widens, and he turns to find Derek glaring at him. “Well, I must be going. I hope you and Derek have a lovely time. Goodbye, Stiles. Derek.”
Stiles stares at Peter’s retreating back as he walks out of the shop, feeling confused. He turns back to Derek, who is still glaring, and clears his throat.
“Your uncle is creepy,” he blurts out, and mentally cringes. To his surprise, Derek laughs, the sound and the way Derek’s face transforms making Stiles melt a little inside.
“You should laugh more,” Stiles says, and widens his eyes at the startled look on Derek’s face. “I mean, it sounds nice. And it looks nice too. Your face. When you’re laughing.”
Derek shakes his head at him, clearly amused, the ghost of a smile still playing on his lips. “You here for another one?” and then he goes back scowling. “Or is there something with wrong with the one you have?”
Stiles almost whimpers at the thought of the tattooing session two weeks ago. Derek’s fingers gentle but firm against his skin, the steady pain of the needle as Derek marked him.
“No,” Stiles finally says. “I… yeah, I’m not sure, but the wolf looks a little puffy? I don’t know if I should be worried about it or not.”
“Puffy?” Derek questions, scowling deeper. “Like swollen?” and then he’s turning his back and gesturing for Stiles to follow him. “Let’s go to the back so I can take a look without disturbing anyone.”
By ‘back’ Derek actually means an office. He closes the door behind both of them and goes to lean back against the table. “Come on, let me see.”
Stiles swallows hard and turns so that his side is facing Derek, pushing his shirt up to reveal the patch of skin he claimed to be puffy. Derek looks down at his work and up at Stiles before raising an eyebrow, pushing Stiles’ shirt up even more, and hooking a finger on the waistband of his jeans and tugging it a little bit down. None of it was necessary, considering not a piece of clothing was touching the tattoo to begin with, and Stiles is torn between feeling embarrassed and really fucking turned on.
Derek traces a finger over the inked skin, taking the way it looks against Stiles’ pale skin, how it shifts when Stiles’ moves a little. Stiles can feel little puffs of breath depending on how Derek angles his head to stare at the wolf, and he really wants to grab Derek by the hair and position his head where he wants it.
Right on his crotch.
“Well,” Derek says, casually. “It looks like it’s healing well.”
“That’s… that’s good,” Stiles swallows again, because Derek hasn’t moved and his thumb is brushing circles against the skin of Stiles’ ribs.
“It really is,” Derek says, and moves his hand to cup Stiles through his jeans. “Anything else I can help you with?”
“Fuck, dude,” Stiles hisses.
“We can get to that later,” Derek says, sounding completely unaffected. “But don’t I get a kiss first?”
Stiles isn’t ashamed of how he launches himself at Derek.
He’s really not.
Because Derek is attacking Stiles’ mouth like he’s personally offended by it, sucking hard on Stiles’ bottom lip and fucking Stiles’ mouth with his tongue. It feels glorious. And at some point Stiles gets rid of his hoodie and shirt, and Derek unzips Stiles’ jeans, tugging it down only so he can have enough room to get his hand wrapped around Stiles’ dick. Stiles is trying desperately to get Derek out of his own shirt, or maybe his pants, but he keeps getting distracted by Derek’s abs and the feel of Derek’s hand on him and the way Derek is licking and biting at his neck.
Just as Stiles thinks he’s about to fucking die Derek pushes him away and against the desk before getting down on his knees in front of him. Derek mouths against the head of Stiles’ dick and Stiles fucking whimpers and Derek runs a flat tongue over the slit before swallowing him down. Stiles can’t believe this is happening, and if it wasn’t for the firm grip he has on Derek’s hair and the way Derek is staring up at him while sucking him off, he’d think this is all a dream.
“Need to…” Stiles gasps, rocking his hips forward and tightening his hold on Derek’s hair. “I’m going to come. Derek. If you keep. Doing this. I’m going to-”
Derek only sucks him harder, moaning around his dick, and when Stiles looks down he can see that Derek has a hand down his own pants, jerking himself off. Knowing that Derek is getting off on this as much as he is, is enough to make Stiles come, the only warning being the way he moans Derek’s name as it happens.
Derek swallows it all down, pulling away with a wet pop, and he looks fucking beautiful like this. Lips red and fucked out, eyes heavy, hair sticking up in all directions from the way Stiles held on to him. He stands up and disappears through a door at the far right corner of the office, and Stiles can hear the sound of water running. Stiles tucks himself back in his pants as Derek is busy in the bathroom, and he’s about to put his shirt back on when he feels a hand just under his wolf.
“My place is a couple of blocks away,” Derek whispers against his ear. “I get out in an hour.”
Stiles throws his head back and nods.
“How come you only have one tattoo?” Stiles asks, as he traces the pattern of the triskele against Derek’s back.
“Never wanted more than one,” Derek answers against his skin, nipping at the skin of Stiles’ neck.
Stiles makes a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat and tilts his head to give Derek more access. Derek moves from his neck and down his chest, stopping to nuzzle at the wolf on Stiles’ side, and then moving to stick his tongue down Stiles’ bellybutton.
Stiles arches his hips up, hitting Derek in the side of the head. “Will you just fucking fuck me already?”
Derek’s brows shoot up, and he smiles predatorily. “Whatever you want,” he says. “But I was really looking forward to riding you.”
Stiles sits up so fast he almost knees Derek in the face. “What?”
Derek shrugs, reaching under one of the pillows and coming up with a bottle of lube. He coats two fingers with it before kneeling on the bed, reaching down and fingering himself open.
And stares some more.
And then he makes a sound much like a dying animal before deciding that there’s no way Derek is going to keep him out of this.
Derek smirks when Stiles pushes him down on his back and bats his hand away from himself, handing him the lube so Stiles can get on with the fun. He gets two fingers inside of Derek easily, so he pushes for a third, and he has to palm himself to keep from coming at the sounds Derek is making as he fucks himself against Stiles’ fingers.
Stiles is four fingers in before Derek takes his hand away, pushing Stiles down on the bed and straddling his legs. Derek grabs a condom they left on the nightstand and slips it on Stiles, before moving again and positioning himself so he’s right where Stiles wants him. Stiles hands come up to Derek’s hips and Derek lowers himself into him, all the while watching Stiles with lidded eyes. Derek wiggles his hips and moans, so Stiles take that as his cue to move, arching up into him and feeling as Derek clenches around him.
Stiles thinks he’s going to die.
And he’s not even sad about it.
Derek runs his hands against the skin of Stiles’ chest, nails dragging across his nipples every once in a while. Stiles knows he won’t last very long, not with the feeling of Derek so fucking tight and hot surrounding him. So Stiles gets a hand around Derek’s dick - thanking the gods for finally being able to - and starts jacking him in time with his thrusts. It only takes a few flicks of Stiles’ wrist for Derek to come between them, muscles clenching around Stiles and in turn tipping him over the edge too.
He comes back to it to find Derek lying on top of him, face smashed against his neck, Stiles’ dick still buried inside of him.
Stiles thinks he could get used to this.
“You’re crushing me,” Stiles says, tapping Derek on the shoulder.
Derek gets up, Stiles pulling out of him, and flops back down on his side of the bed. He grabs his discarded shirt and wipes the come off his stomach as Stiles ties the condom and throws it in the trash. When Stiles lies down on the bed again and glances sideways at him, Stiles smiles at the smug look on Derek’s face, much like the one he had when he showed Stiles the drawing of the wolf.
“So…,” Stiles says, because he doesn’t really know what to do now that they’ve had sex. If it was up to him, he’d vote for them to keep doing this.
All the time.
In a lot of different positions.
Derek looks back at him and raises and nudges him with a knee. “I remember you telling me to fucking fuck you already,” Derek says. “Give me a couple of minutes and we can get on with that.”
Stiles gapes at him, before letting a smile spread over his face. “So we’re totally doing this.”
“We’ve been doing this since you came into the shop and stared dumbly at me for five minutes,” Derek waves a hand in the air, as if proving a point. “And then asked me to do you.”
Stiles sputters and hits Derek across the chest. “It was not five minutes!”
“Sure it wasn’t,” Derek smirks, grabbing hold of Stiles hand and pushing him so that Derek is on top of him.
“It was more like two,” Stiles says, hands coming up to rest on Derek’s shoulder as Derek licks a stripe on his collarbone.
“Five,” Derek says, sucking Stiles’ earlobe into his mouth.
“And asking you to do me was a slip of the tongue,” Stiles says breathlessly as Derek nips at his jaw.
Derek pulls back to stare at him. “Stiles.”
Derek leans back down, lips brushing against Stiles’ own, “Shut up.”
Stiles only does because then Derek is kissing him.
Later, when they’re both spent and curled up around each other on the bed, Stiles asks, “Can I ask you something?”
“No,” Derek mumbles.
“I’m going to, anyway,” Stiles lets him know, poking Derek in the ribs.
“I know,” Derek says. “But hope springs eternal.”
Stiles snorts and pokes Derek again. “Why did everyone knew who I was when I came back that Monday morning?”
Derek tenses and suddenly everything clicks into place.
“Oh my God!” Stiles shrieks, making Derek tense even more. “You told them about me!”
Derek tries to untangle himself from Stiles, but Stiles can be a sneaky little shit when he wants to, so soon Derek finds himself pinned to the bed, Stiles holding his wrists above his head and straddling his legs.
“You did,” Stiles says, beaming. “You had a crush on me. And you told everyone on the shop about it. Oh my God.”
Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “I only told Laura.”
Stiles buries his face in Derek’s neck and laughs until Derek decides he’s done with being made fun of and promptly shuts him up.
Later that week when Stiles gifts Scott with the biggest chocolate cake he can find - the words thank you for my sex life written across it - he can’t help but think that maybe he should listen to Scott more often.