It's something about the eyes. Stiles doesn't know why that's the flint that shoots the spark, but it is. They've all felt like brittle, dry tinder since Derek slashed his uncle's throat and took up his mantle, but they'd left him alone for fear of what a push might do. Sure, Derek had helped them ever since the bite was forced onto Scott, but they could never be sure why, could never get a read on what he wanted, if he was just using them to further himself.
They still don't know that, but they can't keep on with this attrition that they've established anymore, because now he's making moves. Now he has a pack. Derek isn't just this lone guy caught creeping around corners anymore. He's out in the open and he's showing that he's not just going to go away. His uncle may have lured him back into Beacon Hills, but now that he's here, he's gonna stay.
The tension breaks when Stiles comes across him creeping around the police station, eyeing all of his father's deputies and stalking the second largest threat to his presence behind the Argents. But they're a neutral party, they're on the outside of this, and Stiles wants to keep it that way. The only real reason the men and women he grew up around are being targeted is just that-- because of him, and his attachment. He's the only reason they might ever be involved.
Derek doesn't even try not to get spotted, doesn't give up his position when Stiles snarls and starts to stalk towards him from across the parking lot. The older boy is nothing but cocky when he smirks and leans up against the wall-- shoulder holding him up as he crosses his arms and cocks his hips, amused-- tickled, even.
“What in the fuck do you think you're doing here?” He doesn't even try to come at this with a blank slate, try to be friendly to the guy that's taking over his town, threatening his friends and family. The smirk on Derek's face slips into vicious and he flexes, making Stiles take a step back just from the sheer virtue of accentuating his frame.
“You maybe want to rethink that attitude?” he throws back, calm, but with an edge. “I've been bending over backwards to cover you dumbasses at every turn, you should show some appreciation.” Derek can't resist, can't just keep this to a trade of jabs. He smiles wide, showing off the charm and endearment of his buck teeth before his lips split wider and the canines take prominence with their length and point. He pushes forward, puffs out his chest, flashes those red, hothead eyes.
And Stiles doesn't know where it comes from, never even thought the thought, but his body is responding. His nostrils are flaring and his chest is heaving and he steps into it. Derek might have the thicker build, but Stiles is just as tall and just as reckless-sharp. His hand flies up and it's so unexpected that all Derek can do is flinch before Stiles' long, sure fingers wrap around his throat and hold, just firm enough to make a statement. “I don't think you've bent enough.”
Derek's eyes flash again, but this time there's a different heat behind them, a different intensity. This isn't violence, and it definitely isn't about dominance. Because Derek's body goes slack, like a pup snagged by his scruff, and his arms drop away. Those red eyes gloss over and his mouth hangs laxly open and Stiles can seethe outline of his dick twitch in his jeans.
He must be freeballing, because Stiles can tell that he's thick, but his unfounded confidence surges, because shower or grower, he'd bet his left nut that he's longer. Much longer. It's something he's always had in his back pocket, but nothing he ever let on to. He didn't want to be like a guy like Jackson, didn't want to take what he was given and use it to hold other people down.
Stiles uses his hold to walk him back, only barely out of sight of anyone that might be pulling up to the station, but close enough that they can still hear the scuffle of shoes and the muffle of conversations. It sets about a thrilling itch all across Stiles' skin as he carefully, but firmly forces Derek to his knees and steps forward, so the wolf's nose is just starting to brush against the denim of his seam.
“Maybe you're the one that needs to learn his place.” It comes out low, slow as a honeyed drizzle in a tone he's never even heard out of his own mouth before. He repositions his hands just enough to get his thumb up and over the jut of Derek's chin, rubbing it against the grit of his stubble before pushing it at his lips, fingering at the prick of his canines before coming forward to the wetter, plush of his mouth.
Derek yields without a second of hesitation, opening up and flattening is tongue against the pad of Stiles' finger, letting him explore. Stiles' other hand comes up to run through Derek's hair, luxuriating in the softness before gripping at it, tugging him forward by it so Derek's rubbing his cheeks against Stiles' jeans. “This what you want?” He whispers, all husk.
Derek doesn't even have it in him to nod his head, but he does turn his eyes up, sending a silent plea up. And it's only then that Stiles wonders if maybe he isn't what he presents, if the aggression might just be a show because he's just as afraid as the rest of them. It makes his breath catch in his chest and his fingers grip tight enough to turn a little painful.
He's facing down an alpha werewolf, a creature that's no more afraid of him than he is of an ant, and yet--. Stiles lets go of his throat to work at his jeans, struggling for just a second with the button before wrenching the fly open. Derek's nuzzling at his hand and making low, hungry noises before Stiles can even fish his cock out of his boxers, ready and eager to please.
Pulling him back by his hair, Stiles makes just enough room to rub the head of his dick against Derek's lips, holding his mouth open by hooking a thumb against his bottom jaw and ushering it down. He slides into the warm, silky heat, running the length of his shaft against Derek's tongue and pushing just far enough to reach the back of his palette.
“There,” Stiles murmurs, eyes hooded as Derek starts to slowly bob, taking his time to wrap his tongue all along Stiles' girth and purse his lips right enough to give a sucking pressure, “now we both know where you belong.” He doesn't even have to push for Derek to take him deeper, the wolf opening his throat with an obvious, practiced ease as he makes his way down to the wiry hairs at the base of Stiles' cock, nuzzling happily into the cushion of his bush.
Stiles doesn't need to set up a punishing rhythm, doesn't need to yank Derek's hair or fuck his hips hard to keep him in line. The alpha knows exactly what he is, exactly what he needs, and Stiles lets him have it. He doesn't even try to fight it, just waits for the wave of his arousal to build and then pushes Derek back, let the wolf lick at the cleft of his cockhead until he groans and gushes his seed along the length of Derek's tongue, making sure he tastes it.
The last few dribbles overflow and run down his lips, getting caught in the beard on his chin. Stiles gathers it all up with his thumb, letting Derek scent his musk, eyelids fluttering, before he pushes it back into the wolf's mouth, cocking an eyebrow and licking at his own lips as Derek sucks, getting all he can off Stiles' skin.
The older boy's cock is rock hard and straining in his jeans, and he's done so well, bent so good, Stiles gives in. He lets go of Derek completely just to plant a foot in the center of his chest, letting Derek realize that before he puts his weight on it. He doesn't kick at the wolf, but is rough enough for Derek to like it, to make a noise as he hits the ground and stays on his back, body kept open for the boy above him to take.
Stiles keeps his soft, wet cock out as he steps forward to straddle Derek, settling just over his hips before he starts to lower himself down. Derek lays his head back, giving up the opportunity to watch Stiles so that he can bare his throat, his breath loud in the lack of safety in their position. Anyone could catch wind of their restrained noises, an errant suck or moan, and turn the corner, find them out. Stiles grins.
His hands are rough and greedy, not an ounce of patience in them as he reaches for Derek's jeans, eyebrow cocking at the tightness of them as he tries to yank them down. “You've been begging for it this whole time, haven't you? Showing off to try and get someone to hold you down and give it to you. That what you want? Big bad wolf looking to get himself fucked?”
Derek whines. His hips strain up and his torso squirms and his cock flexes as Stiles frees it from his clothes. It's beautiful, masculine, animal. He's dusky skinned, uncut, thicker than anything Stiles has ever seen, and buried in a thick, soft bush that only barely thins out as it spreads to his thick thighs and taut stomach. Stiles chew on his bottom lip as he watches precum gather and overflow from the loose folds of Derek's foreskin, running sluggishly down his shaft and gathering in the warm skin of his oversized ballsack.
This is a man that was made to breed, and he's just begging to have it turned on him, to have a young, lithe boy push him down and make him take it. Stiles slides back to grab at him behind his knees, letting Derek get tied up by his own jeans around his ankles, and pushes them forward while spreading him as far apart as he can. Derek's ass is as hairy as the rest of him, deliciously thick and not toned too much so it still has a jiggle and shake.
Stiles grins as he slaps it, not giving a damn if anyone hears the ring of flesh across the empty space of the parking lot. Derek answers with a groan, brows drawn together, mouth hanging open, dick drooling on the inside of his thigh. “You might be an alpha now, but you'll always be a bitch.” Derek keens, as held back as he can, and Stiles smacks him again, hitting the flesh right where it meets his thigh.
He doesn't give any preamble, doesn't let Derek anticipate for a second, as he keeps his hand there to mash his thumb hard against the tender spot behind Derek's balls while his fingers press at his hole. The ring of muscle is tight, untested, but Stiles caught Derek off guard and manages to slip in-- dry and just this side of abrasive-- to the first knuckle on his middle finger.
Derek gasps, fingers scrabbling at the cement sidewalk, hips straining as high as he can get them. He doesn't even seem to know how to process it as confused, stuttered growls drop out of his mouth and his hole alternates between clenching tight against him and then trying to pull him deeper. Stiles doesn't pull back, but instead uses his other hand to get a finger in and underneath Derek's foreskin, swirling around the slick, swollen, heated head of his cock to gather up his precum.
The meat of Derek's thighs quake with the strain of being held up and his own excitement, and Stiles idly thinks they'd look good with sucking bruises and dull teeth marks as he uses his slicked up finger to get Derek to relax with the other stretches and pries him open a little faster than he should, wanting to make Derek gape for him, even if just a little.
Leaning harder over him, Stiles bends the larger boy in half, pressing down with all of his weight and reveling in the fact that Derek lets him, that he just lays back and takes it. He breathes hot against Derek's bared throat as his fingers work, rough and greedy. He's not hard yet, but Stiles presses the length of his soft cock against Derek's ass regardless, even thrusts his hips to let Derek feel the slap of his balls just so he knows that Stiles could fuck him if he wanted.
He scissors, prods and delves, relentless as he doesn't give Derek time to adjust. The alpha is moaning for it, drooling his arousal all over himself and matting his body hair with it. “You're going to come for me,” Stiles states, even breathed and with a light tone. He's sweating at his hair line, his fingers are just starting to shake, and his heart is thundering, but he doesn't let his voice waver. “I'm not going to touch that fat cock or breeder balls-- but you're going to gush anyway, soak yourself in it-- because they're useless and we both know it.
You're the thick, hairy alpha wolf, but you still want to be bred like a bitch, wanna be knocked up by a hot cock and claimed. Don'tcha, big boy?” Derek's eyes flash as he lets out a high, pained whine and Stiles shoves his fingers forward, crooking them rude and rough to mash at his prostate. He does as he's told and Stiles watches in awe as Derek's cock drools out a lethargic, thick orgasm, balls jerking and pumping the ample seed out to soak into his dark bush and stick to his skin.
His ass seizes up and traps Stiles' fingers as he rides his orgasm, dick pumping pulse after pulse of semen-- ten, eleven, twelve gushes to overflow his loose foreskin, making the puddle of it slide past his pubes and drip down the slope of his hip to the ground. The second he can withdraw, Stiles stands and tucks himself away, zipping up and wiping at his forehead, breathing deep.
Derek lays beneath him, content in his daze, fingers twitching and thighs jumping as his cock softens and the cum starts to cool. Stiles smirks and leans down to gather some of it up, cupping a generous amount in his fingers to transfer down and then smear in Derek's hairy crack-- a consolation prize for not being fucked like he wanted. And the wolf just lets him, watches and licks the corners of his lips, whimpers softly as Stiles gives him one last, condescending slap on his ass, accompanied by a wink and blown kiss with exaggeratedly smacked lips.
“Better not catch you sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, or I'll have to remind you of your place again.”
Stiles is bringing his dad lunch a week later and spots Derek around the corner, wearing a flimsy tank and nylon shorts pulled low enough to flash the top of his bush and crack of his ass. He grins.