“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Stiles muttered through the curtain to Lydia, yanking up his jeans with a grimace. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in quite so many varied ways,” he complained, with heavy emphasis.
Lydia laughed that particularly evil tinkering laugh she seemed to reserve just for Stiles, and yanked the curtains open, earning her an outraged yelp as Stiles tried to cover himself with one hand whist simultaneously fumbling to do up his jeans with the other. She’d commandeered Stiles for a weekend away from Beacon Hills, and from the Pack and all responsibility. God knows they both needed it.
“Lydia! Privacy! Oh my god!” he all but shrieked, feeling heat flush up his neck to his face. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering, but hiding his nipples from sight made him feel a little less undressed. Lydia just scoffed at him and rolled her eyes, picking through the shirts that were hanging off to the side of the dressing room with a practised eye. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was grateful for her dismissal of his half naked body, or deeply offended. Maybe a bit of both.
He took the black shirt she handed him and wiggled in to it with a minimal of flailing, but he did have to work to get it down his body. It was tight. “Seriously Lyds? You think this is something I could pull off in a million years?” he asked, incredulity colouring every word. He tugged on the hem of the shirt, trying to miraculously make it looser. He failed, obviously, scowling as the material clung to his body again, moulding to the lines of his torso.
“You know Stiles, you didn’t grow up too bad,” Lydia said thoughtfully, eying his chest and shoulders in a way that made him want to simultaneously preen and hide in a hoodie. “You scream twink, but in a good way,” she shrugged, going so far as to reach out and skim her fingertips over his chest.
“Hey, hey. Personal boundaries,” Stiles chastised, flailing backwards and bumping in to the doorframe as he batted her wandering hands away. She levelled him with one of those looks, the special ones that said a million words about how ridiculous he was being without her even opening her mouth.
“You lost the bet Stilinski,” she said primly, shoving another shirt at him, this one white.
He mimicked mocking her as he struggled out of the indecently tight shirt, getting it stuck around his armpits with his arms tangled up. He made a few strangled sounds until Lydia assisted in yanking him free, a fond grin splitting her face. She didn’t even comment as he fought his way in to the white shirt, instead helping him jostle around until it sat straight. It was also indecently tight, but this one was cut a little shorter on his long torso, and if he so much as lifted his arms it bared the strip of skin above his jeans. That little strip of skin that would normally be covered by his boxers, if Lydia weren’t quite so evil.
“Stilinski,” she all but purred. “That’s definitely the shirt. There is no way we can fail to get you laid in that.”
“What? That wasn’t the deal!” he complained, crossing his arms. He could feel the shirt pulling tight across his shoulders as he did so, and it made him feel highly uncomfortable. He wondered idly if this is how Derek had felt all the damn time, in every item of clothing he owned.
“Stiles, I quote “I need to get laid Scotty. It’s been so long, I think I’m actually a virgin again. Can you become a virgin again? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what is happening to me.” Is that ringing any bells?” Lydia arched a brow.
“That was a private and personal conversation between bros!”
“I don’t think you know the meaning of private Stiles. Now get changed so we can go get milkshakes,” she ordered, leaving the dressing room. Stiles definitely didn’t pout at her retreating back, but he did come close.
“Stop wriggling about,” Lydia sighed, shoving the last of the basket of curly fries over towards Stiles. “You’ll make it worse.”
“Lyds, there is material in places there has never been material before,” he groused, wiggling his butt on the seat again. He had a sudden wave of sympathy for girls because lace was itchy. And nothing was getting anything close to support down there. “And back to your whole let’s-get-Stiles-laid master plan. You expect that to happen, when I’m in these?” he flailed in the general vicinity of his hips and lower half.
“Welcome to how every girl feels. And it’s kinky. I’m sure any potential bed mates would be very impressed. Really, the material-to-penis ratio probably makes you look quite gifted,” she grinned around her straw, sucking heartily on the shake for emphasis. Stiles tried for the same unimpressed glare he so often received from her, but judging by her laughter it fell flat.
“Why did I ever think I was in love with you?” he asked rhetorically. “You’re pure evil.”
“It’s your weakness Stiles,” she said sagely. “If someone attractive enough is consistently mean to you, you roll over and show your belly. Maybe even more now, after it worked on Malia.”
“I am king of the fear boner,” he agreed with a shrug, not even bothering to argue. They all knew it was true. The years long infatuation with Lydia, those brief but intense reactions to Derek, and then everything with Malia… Stiles couldn’t deny hot and mean were his version of catnip.
“So, Stiles. I can’t help but notice that you haven’t yet objected to the idea of trying to get laid tonight, considering I’ve been very clear that we are heading to a gay club. Something you want to tell me?” Lydia smirked slyly, playing with her straw.
“I, uh. I’m equal opportunity,” Stiles stammered, flushing slightly. He’d never actually come out and said he was bisexual before, but Lydia was a good place to start. Scott would just scrunch up his face in to that vaguely alarmed and confused expression he had mastered.
“Of course you are Stiles. Believe it or not, but the reaction to Derek wasn’t subtle. Nor was the reaction to Danny, but the best I can figure is that was you trying to decide where you fell on the scale.”
“I did not react to Derek!” Stiles hissed, far too vehemently to ever be truthful. “That was plain old fear with a dose of irritation and occasional begrudging tolerance.”
“Oh of course,” she nodded, so obviously humouring him.
“Well it doesn’t matter anymore now does it,” Stiles said flatly, and maybe a little grumpily. Derek had left before everything went down with the Chimaras, and Dread Doctors, and the Desert Wolf; even Braeden had been there for that, but Derek hadn’t shown hide nor hair. And Stiles got it, he really did. Beacon Hills wasn’t home to anything but bad memories and death for Derek, and God knows he’d never had friends there. Allies, maybe, but not friends. It’d been a shock to Stiles’ system, that first day of senior year when they scrawled their initials on the shelving as part of a historical Beacon Hills initiation rite, and he’d seen that D.H., how badly the pang in his chest had hit him and he’d missed Derek. And again when he’d killed Donovan. He hid it from his dad, from Scott… but he was sure that Derek wouldn’t have judged him for it. For that little part of him that still wasn’t sure if it was entirely self-defence. Derek wouldn’t make him feel ashamed of it. He’d always understood life happened in shades of grey, and that wasn’t something Scott seemed capable of understanding.
Lydia gave him a slightly sad smile; things had shifted so much in the past year. Lydia and Stiles had gotten closer, but in doing so had drifted from Scott and the others. They’d both gotten too close to darkness, had had their control ripped away from them, and they’d been pawns used for hurt and pain. They understood light and dark in ways that Scott never would. A small part of Stiles resented Scott for that, and it scared him. He’d never felt that way for someone he loved before, and he was terrified it would grow and consume him.
“Well,” Lydia reached over and squeezed Stiles’ hand. “We’ll have fun tonight. And we’ll find you a nice boy with a panty kink,” she grinned.
Stiles groaned and sat back, giving an exaggerated wiggle in his seat again. Fucking lace.
Lydia. Was. A. Genius.
No two ways about it, Stiles would forever let her dress him if it always got him reactions like this. He’d worn the tight white shirt as instructed, the washed out straight leg jeans that cupped his ass pretty well, and the look was working. He’d been on the receiving end of appreciative looks for a big chunk of the night so far, he’d danced his little ass off with multiple partners, he’d been plied with drinks… he’d even forgotten about the discomfort of the lace panties Lydia had made him wear for losing their bet over who would score better on the Chem quiz. He should have known better than to take the bet, but she’d called him a chicken and it’d just gotten out of hand.
Lydia was sitting with a group of remarkably stunning drag queens, all of them sipping crazy coloured cocktails in tiny dresses and shockingly high heels, cheering him on as he danced. He was flushed hot and grinning happily, his hair a haphazard mess thanks to how many times he’d dragged his hands through it. He lost sight of her for a little while as he danced with a pretty, slinky, guy whose hip movements should be illegal, and they both played up for all the eyes that were watching them, even though neither one was interested in the other. Stiles was smart enough, and had watched enough porn, to know what they looked like to their onlookers though.
Eventually Stiles extricated himself from the limbs wrapped around him, and boogyed his way over to the bathroom, making a detour past Lydia to brush a kiss on her cheek. She looked a little concerned, but she smiled quickly and scruffed a hand on the top of his head and swatted him on the behind as he went past.
He waited in the line for the bathroom, idly chatting with the guys on either side of him, and eventually he was at the urinal. He was focussing on not swaying as he stood there, and on trying to get himself out of the panties without flashing either himself or the panties. He regretted not using a stall, and thought he’d just about managed to successfully wrangle both himself and the underwear when he heard a strangled sound behind him. His shirt was rucked up from all the dancing and his jeans had slipped whilst he was fumbling about, and he was painfully aware of the deep red band of lace peeking out at the top of his ass. He figured he’d brazen it out, so he shot a grin over his shoulder, and ended up making his own strangled yelp.
Standing in the now empty bathroom behind him, blocking the now closed door, was Derek Hale. Derek fucking Hale who skipped out of town. Derek fucking Hale who looked amazing. Derek fucking Hale who was currently witnessing Stiles wearing a pair of red lace panties.
Stiles tucked himself away as best he could, trying frantically to right his clothes and get everything all done up and zipped away, his face and throat flushing as red as the fucking underwear.
“I, uh. Stiles.” Derek tried. His own face was a little flushed, and understandably so. He looked like he wasn’t sure where to look.
“Derek. Long time no see,” Stiles nodded, walking to wash his hands at the sink, refusing to acknowledge that anything weird was happening. He could be casual.
Silence reigned supreme as Stiles washed his hands and overly-casually made his was towards the door. The door Derek was still blocking.
“Well. Good talk big guy, as always” he muttered, clapping a hand on Derek’s shoulder and reaching for the doorknob.
“Stiles,” Derek gritted out, sounding exasperated and resigned all at once. It’d been a while since Stiles had heard that particular tone, and it made him nostalgic.
“What’s up dude?” he asked nonchalantly, pulling back out of Derek’s space to look at him. He looked good. Of course, he looked good, but he looked. Well, good. Rested and relaxed, slightly less like the world was on his shoulders and he was just bulling his way through without a fucking clue. “Wait. What’re you even doing here?”
“I thought I saw Lydia and I, uh. I guess I just sort of followed her in here.”
“Stalker wolf. Glad to see things haven’t changed too much.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Derek replied, eyes flicking down to Stiles’ lower half. He flushed again and made a little coughing sound that brought Derek’s ridiculous eyes back up.
“Yeah well. The moral of this particular story is that Lydia is evil and you should never make a bet with her. Also lace is not comfortable.”
Derek gave a little snort of laughter that startled Stiles. “At least she picked a good colour for you,” Derek said offhandedly, eyes roaming over Stiles’ face. He could feel his mouth doing that thing where it hung slightly open, the one that Lydia said was both gormless and indecent all at once, but he wasn’t in full control of his face right now.
There was an insistent banging on the door that broke the weird tension of the moment, and Derek turned to open the door. That’s it, that’s all he did, but Stiles was taken aback by the fluidity of his movements. The play of muscle in his back and shoulders as he moved. He was so so fucked. There was a line of men outside who all gave him and Derek speculative once-overs, cheeky grins, and knowing winks. Stiles got at least two variants of “nice work,” thrown his way, but he was too dumbfounded to really take pride in the fact that anyone thought he was hot enough to hook up with a guy who looked like Derek. Derek, for his part, just walked calmly and confidently down the hall, seemingly at ease with the eyes that fell on him.
They found Lydia by the bar, and she was smooth enough not to do a double take when she saw Derek. “I thought someone followed me,” she said, eyeballing him.
“Lydia,” he said, inclining his head.
She leaned closer and dropped a kiss to his cheek, “we’ve missed you,” she said, and then smirked. “Some of us more than others, admittedly.”
Stiles forcibly restrained himself from hip checking her, as Derek offered her a small smile.
“So, Derek. What are you doing here? Is this where you live now?”
“I’m just passing through,” he replied with a shrug. “I haven’t settled anywhere yet.”
“Well then, you can help me in my quest to get Stiles laid tonight, can’t you?”
Stiles spluttered in to his drink as Derek got stuck between glowering and smirking. In the end he seemed to settle on a smirk, which looked unfairly sexy on him. “I’m sure I can help with that. Is that why he’s wearing panties?”
Lydia looked positively delighted as she let out a big laugh and her eyes danced with glee. “Stiles Stilinski! Have you been showing off your panties?!”
Stiles wanted to ground to swallow him whole, as varying people in their vicinity looked over with interest. Once again, he brazened it out, giving Lydia a grin and waving his hands around himself. “I look good in panties.”
“You do,” Derek agreed, earning himself a speculative look from Lydia and another open-mouthed gape from Stiles. And then he did that thing, where he glanced up from under his lashes, looking insanely wolfish and predatory and so very inhumanely beautiful. Stiles had never really been on the receiving end of a look like that, and it made his knees feel a little like jelly.
“Well then. That’s my cue. I’ll see you back at the hotel for breakfast Stiles. You owe me,” she smiled. “Derek,” she offered her cheek up for a kiss, which Derek complied with, but she held him close and whispered something in his ear that had him nodding slightly. Stiles watched as Lydia sashayed off in to the crowd.
“I, uh. I think I need a drink,” Stiles blurted, turning towards the bar. Derek stopped him with a hand around his upper arm, and turned Stiles back towards him.
“What? Derek, what?” Stiles asked, nervous and a little confused. He’d never even remotely considered the idea of Derek being in to guys, least of all in to Stiles, and so all these weird tension laden moments were seriously messing with him.
Derek gave him a little amused smile, and moved his hand to trail his fingertips down the side of Stiles’ throat. “Don’t have another drink,” he said, his voice strangely soft yet perfectly audible over the music.
Stiles swallowed thickly, and felt Derek’s fingers on his neck, following the movement. “What are you doing Derek?”
“Satisfying a curiosity,” Derek replied with a smile. Stiles wondered if that should bother him, but it didn’t. If anything it eased the vice-like apprehension in his chest, and he nodded. He was okay with this being curiosity.
“I’m not going back.” Derek said, obviously needing to clarify things. Stiles had already known that, so he just nodded eagerly. Yep. A-Okay with him.
Derek smiled a full smile, baring his teeth, and traced his thumb over Stiles’ lower lip, his eyes tracking the movement. It felt almost instinctual for Stiles to open his mouth a little and touch his tongue to the pad of Derek’s finger, and the little sharp inhale was reward enough. He let Derek take his wrist and guide him out of the club, not breaking stride for a few minutes and he gently pushed Stiles ahead with a hand on his lower back. Stiles was surprised to see the hotel up ahead, and he turned to Derek.
“I could smell you.”
“What? How?” Stiles asked. “I mean I know you all have wolfy super senses, but that’s like a whole different level of creepy…”
“I evolved,” Derek said with a smirk. He followed Stiles in to the hotel, through the lobby and up the stairs to his room, silent the whole way. If not for the aura he gave off, and the slight brushes of fingertips along his spine or arm, Stiles could have been alone.
He opened the door and stepped in to the room, a little nervous. He’d fantasised, sure, but he’d never actually been with a guy before. He felt Derek step up behind him and stopped breathing when Derek trailed his hands to Stiles’ hips, his breath warm on the side of Stiles’ neck. It had him breaking out in goose bumps, and he was already hardening in his jeans. He was basically a goner when Derek leaned in and inhaled, breathing in Stiles’ scent and nuzzling his neck from behind, enveloping Stiles in tingly heat.
“Fuck,” he breathed out, leaning back into Derek’s chest. He watched hands reach around and casually undo the top button of his jeans. Those same hands that carefully undid each button, painfully slowly, unfolding the placket to reveal the dark red lace beneath. Fingertips that toyed with the edge of the lace, against skin that was so heart stoppingly sensitized. Stiles’ shirt was pushed up slowly, warm hands roaming his torso, drifting over his hipbones and ribs, mapping him and learning him by touch alone. He jolted every time those hands skimmed over his nipples, grinding back against Derek.
“Derek,” he gasped out, as a warm mouth began biting lightly at the back of his neck. “What the fuck?”
“Shhh,” Derek soothed, finally pulling Stiles’ shirt off the rest of the way and turning him on the spot. He grasped the back of Stiles’ neck firmly, and pulled him in for a kiss – their first – and completely owned Stiles’ mouth. He did it with absolute confidence and control, which was both surprising and not. Derek tended to head in to things impulsively and without hesitation, and right now Stiles was reaping the rewards of that.
Derek kept kissing him as he walked him back to the bed and shoved him down, barely pausing to rip off his own shirt before he blanketed Stiles, pinning him down to the bed. Their groins came in to perfect contact, and the pressure was too much for Stiles, who arched up and groaned, pushing against an unrelenting Derek. He felt entirely overcome, surrounded by the heat and feel of Derek, the sounds of wet kisses and his own shameless moans.
He was hauled further up the bed, but he was too busy gripping and stroking all the bared skin and hard muscle of Derek’s torso to even begin to pay attention to the manhandling, beyond the way it made Derek flex and relax in waves of movement beneath his skin. Stiles latched his mouth to the join of Derek’s neck and shoulder, scraping his teeth over the taut tendon and earning himself a low groan from Derek, that he felt as a vibration against his own chest rather than audibly heard. He was gripping Derek’s hips and rolling his own up without much finesse, when Derek shoved a thigh against Stiles crotch. It was near perfect, but Stiles was greedy and wanted more.
It was a sentiment Derek must have shared, because he pulled back with a slight snarl, and tugged Stiles’ jeans down with urgency, pausing to look at Stiles’ splayed out in lacy panties. The dark red made his skin look paler, even with the flush he was rocking right now, and Stiles couldn’t even begin to feel embarrassed about it, because Derek was looking at him like he couldn’t even comprehend where to start. It was a look of such intense and unbridled want.
Eventually Derek let out a little rumbling growl and pressed his face to Stiles’ groin, inhaling his scent and mouthing his erection through the material. It was heady and Stiles couldn’t help but buck against the movement, savouring the unbearable heat and the little flashes of wet tongue that he could feel through the lace.
He let Derek position him, pushing his legs apart and his knees up, laying him out, exposed, and was rewarded with a long slow lick from the base of his balls to the tip of his cock, and the teasing pressure of fingertips kneading closer to his hole; he honestly thought he might cum from that alone, he was so desperate. It was so different to his experiences with girls - even though Malia was undoubtedly stronger than him, he’d never felt quite so taken.
“Are you attached to these?” Derek asked, running his thumbs just under the leg holes of the panties. Stiles shook his head and gasped out a “no, nope, not at all,” before they were near shredded by Derek’s claws, baring his skin to the air. Stiles was unutterably turned on by this, which was slight cause for concern. He refused to develop a werewolf kink, considering a fair chunk of his friends were wolves. It just wouldn’t do.
His mind blanked out when he felt the absolute heat of Derek’s mouth sucking him down without any kind of teasing. Just a languid slide until there was nothing but heat and wet and delicious suction. His hips were pinned with one hand, but still made abortive little thrusts that he couldn’t control, whilst Derek slicked his mouth up and down Stiles, swallowing him down and reluctant to let him out. It was a punishing, hard, unforgiving pace, and the suction was such that it almost hurt, but as his fingers clawed in Derek’s hair, he realised it couldn’t ever be any other way with Derek. The man demanded all or nothing.
Stiles wanted to cry when he felt damp pressure applied to his hole, followed by soft little tickling touches that made him clench and release, his body begging to be filled. Derek teased for a few moments, then slowly pushed in one thick finger, slipping back out with a twist until his finger was positioned correctly to find Stiles’ prostate when he pushed in again. He crooked his finger and lightly massaged in a rhythmic, circular, motion, offering no respite at all, until Stiles couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, and could barely even breathe.
He didn’t stand a chance when Derek pulled back to look up at him, lips spit slick and eyes hungry, to demand: “come on Stiles.”
Game. Fucking. Over. The second Derek’s mouth was back on him, Stiles’ back bowed and he came like he never had before. It was like a moment of pure clarity; he could feel everything and it was so perfectly overwhelming. Every muscle spasm and contraction felt amazing, and he couldn’t even make a sound. His breath was caught in his lungs and nothing mattered but the waves of absolute sensation.
Derek swallowed everything Stiles could give, and eased back with soft little licks and sucking kisses until Stiles had eventually stilled, and released his death grip in Derek’s hair. Derek kissed his way up Stiles’ torso, and his mouth tasted salty and bitter when Stiles licked in to it, revelling in the taste of himself on Derek’s tongue.
Derek braced himself over Stiles on one arm, and between them both they managed to wrestle their way in to Derek’s jeans, pulling him free of them, and working his cock in their hands, grip tight and pace frantic. It took only moments of this joined, almost violent fumbling, before Derek tightened up and his body became tense and hard, muscles clamping down on bones, and then it was blessed release. His come landed in hot splashes against Stiles’ hips and lower stomach, and his body jerked involuntarily. His breath was hot against Stiles jaw as he panted his way through it, letting out low groans and rumbling growls as the soundtrack to what was likely going to forever be the most passionate and beautiful thing Stiles had ever and would ever witness.
He felt heavy and loose limbed, still hot with the residual warmth of orgasm and Derek, laughing a little when Derek scooted down and licked Stiles clean, his tongue hot and a little rough against over sensitized skin.
“Let me know when you’re ready for round two,” Derek smirked, flopping on to his back next to Stiles and looking over at him with a grin. Stiles laughed and butted his forehead against Derek’s shoulder in a fond little gesture, and in that moment, he missed Derek more than he ever thought possible, but was thankful beyond belief that the man had gotten out of Beacon Hills. Because this Derek? This was everything he deserved to be.