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The One Where Derek Has a Pen Name

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It wasn't like he went looking for it.

Okay, well, he kind of did, but Stiles didn't intend to find it. That was a big difference. It's not like he hopped on to Amazon with the thought of "Hey, I'm going to find out if one of my friends-slash-unattainable-crushes is writing gay erotica."

What had really happened was some asshole had stolen Stiles's most popular Finn/Poe fanfic, replaced all the names, and then threw it up on Amazon for a cool $2.99. When one of his readers alerted him to this fact, he'd immediately gone to Amazon to rip the plagiarizing fucker to shreds. Once he'd reported his own book as stolen, he clicked the author's name to see if he had any others. Chances were good they'd be plagiarized, too.

Stiles stopped short when he saw the author photo (which the asshole had undoubtedly stolen as well).

"Oh my God." And then, because once wasn't enough, "Oh my God."

***

"So, Derek." Stiles slid into the chair next to him and started loading his plate with pizza. The rest of the pack was in the living room, but Derek always insisted on eating at the table, and Stiles didn't like to leave him alone.

Scott said he was a good friend. Stiles felt "pining hopelessly" was a more accurate description.

Derek gave him the raised eyebrows that meant "Yes?"

Stiles grinned. "I had no idea that you wrote gay erotica on Amazon."

What he expected was for Derek's brow to crinkle adorably in confusion, and then Stiles would explain what had happened, and they'd have a good laugh that the douchebag who plagiarized his fic had thought to steal Derek's irritated Facebook profile picture in order to do so.

What actually happened was that Derek dropped his pizza to his plate and turned white as a sheet. He cast a fearful glance over his shoulder at the living room, where the rest of the pack was eating, and then lowered his voice and whispered, "How did you find out?"

Which, what.

"Wait, hold on. You actually write gay erotica?" Stiles was starting to get angry now. "You mean to tell me that was you stealing fics and trying to make a buck?"

"What?!" Derek jerked back. Now his brow crinkled adorably in confusion, and then less adorably with anger. "No! I wouldn't steal someone else's work! Did someone steal one of your fics?"

Stiles waved it away. "Yeah, but it's already taken down. He was using your Facebook picture as his author picture, though. So that wasn't you...but you do actually write gay erotica on Amazon?"

Derek's cheeks turned red under his dark beard, and he ducked his head over his plate, mechanically shoving pizza into his mouth.

It was as good as an admission. Stiles's brain was going to explode with this new information. "Oh my God," he said quietly. "Holy shit. What's your pen name? Have I read any of your stuff?"

"I don't know," Derek grumbled into his food. "Wait, you read gay erotica?"

"I have needs, Derek. And don't change the subject. What's your pen name?"

Derek glared at him. "No."

Stiles whined and batted his best puppy dog eyes at him. "Please?"

"No."

"Oh, come on! You know I'll find out anyway."

Derek snorted. "I'd like to see you try."

Stiles bit into his pizza threateningly. "Oh, challenge accepted, motherfucker. Challenge accepted."

***

It turned out all Stiles had to do to learn Derek's pen name was wait until they were at the diner for their weekly lunch.

Derek left his phone on the table when he went to the bathroom. Stiles grabbed it, swiped it open, and checked his email.

Frankly, he was almost disappointed in how easy it was.

Derek's pen name was Astor Hardy. Which, how even had he come up with that?

Stiles put the phone back on the table right where Derek had left it, opened his own phone, and proceeded to download everything Astor Hardy had ever written. By the time Derek came back from the bathroom, Stiles was $50 poorer, but he had a whole lot of Derek-penned gay erotica on his account to keep him company that evening.

***

With his new bounty of erotic novellas and an empty house, Stiles got comfortable in his bed and opened up the first of the stories on his tablet, something about two bickering coworkers named Matt and Daniel. The blurb promised loads of detailed office sex, and Stiles was looking forward to it.

To his complete and utter surprise, it was actually good. The characters were intriguing and funny and smart, constantly one-upping each other, the plot was solid, and the sexual tension was through the roof. And the sex scenes themselves?

Holy shit. Holy shit. Stiles had never read anything so hot in his entire life. By the time he reached chapter four, where Matt had just backed Daniel up against the copier to blow him, his dick was so hard he could've used it for a baseball bat.

Derek had written this. Derek had sat down at a laptop—or probably a typewriter, because this was Derek—in his stupid thumb hole sweater and his stupid black glasses and written about Matt dropping to his knees, slowly unzipping Daniel's fly and smirking while Daniel stared back at him, dumbfounded and panting and—

God, Stiles was getting more turned on thinking about Derek writing this shit than he was by the actual story.

Oh, fuck it.

He set his tablet aside and shoved his hand down his sweats, biting back a moan the second he took his dick in hand. It was a little too dry, which he'd have to remedy soon, but right now he just wanted to feel it, wanted to imagine that Derek was in front of him, pinning him to the bed, licking his lips like he wanted to devour Stiles.

Stiles had never wanted to be devoured so much.

He stroked himself a few more times, reaching back with his other hand to tease his balls, and then a little further back to press one finger against the rim of his ass. One of these days he'd get a proper toy, but for now, this worked, this was good—

His window slid up.

Stiles had half a second to grab a pillow and yank it over his lap before Derek came tumbling into the room. "What the fuck, dude?"

"I've been trying to call you!" Derek said, and then stopped in his tracks and sniffed. Realization dawned on his face. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Stiles mimicked, clutching his pillow like it was a lifeline. "I had my phone on silent because I was having special Stiles Time."

"Oh," Derek said again, eyes darting around the room, and now Stiles could see how furiously he was blushing. "I didn't—I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—"

Derek looked like he was about to pass out from sheer embarrassment. It might have been funny if Stiles wasn't equally embarrassed. "You know, this is at least partially your fault, Astor Hardy."

Derek snapped his head around from where he'd been looking anywhere but Stiles to stare at him. "What."

"I found your name, I downloaded your books, and this," Stiles waved his hand at the room, "is the result. So, ergo, at least partially your fault."

Derek continued to boggle at him, like he couldn't believe his ears. "You...like them."

"Yes, I like them."

"Oh." Derek blinked a few times, and then said, "Would you like some help with that?"

"Would I what now?"

"Help." Derek nodded at his lap. "With that."

Stiles opened his mouth to argue about how completely and utterly cliché that line was—he'd heard more original shit in porn, for God's sake—before he realized his heretofore-unattainable crush had just asked him if he wanted help. With his dick.

"Oh hell yes," Stiles breathed.

Derek crossed the room in two strides and yanked the pillow off his lap, and grabbed the waistband of Stiles's sweats. Stiles helpfully arched his hips off the bed, and then the sweats were gone and holy mother of God Derek's mouth was on his dick.

It was wet and warm, with Derek's tongue doing things that made his toes curl. He had one hand wrapped around the base of Stiles's dick while the other rested on his knee, pushing it gently out like he was trying to make more room for himself there.

Stiles bucked up into the touch because he couldn't help himself, because it was actually painful to keep still. But Derek took it, took him even deeper, and Stiles was absolutely not going to last. Not with Derek's beard gently scraping his skin, a contrast to the softness of his lips, and the obscene noises he made around Stiles's dick, like he'd been fucking dying to suck it.

Oh, shit, not going to last at all.

"Derek." Stiles grabbed his (surprisingly) soft hair. "Derek, I'm going to come, I'm—"

Derek rumbled low in the back of his throat, and the sensation went straight through Stiles's dick. In the next breath, he was coming down Derek's throat, and Derek was swallowing it, and this was officially the hottest thing to happen to Stiles in his entire life.

Derek finally pulled off and looked up at him, his eyes flickering blue. Like just being around Stiles was enough to make him lose some of his iron control. "I was thinking of you when I wrote the sex scenes."

The confession made Stiles's heart flip-flop. "I was thinking of you when I was reading them."

Derek squeezed his thighs. "Want to act out a few others?"

Stiles grabbed him by the shoulders to haul him up into a kiss. "I thought you'd never ask."