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Hold Your Breath and Count to Ten

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Date:
March 26, 2013

Time:
0600 hours

Location:
SECT (Strategic Espionage and Counter-Intelligence Taskforce) Control
Atlanta, GA

The amount of coffee that Brain Trust managed to drink before sunrise was appalling. But then again, when a field agent is in the middle of a manhunt in Romania there isn’t really much time for sleep.

The target, Maksym Sirko, was of Ukrainian descent, but was tracked by SECT to Romania. Now, it was up to an agent, codename Eta, to bring Sirko in for questioning.

“Have you got a visual?” Stiles asked as his eyes searched the giant screen before him. He was standing, leaning against a table with one hand in his pocket while the other had a cup of coffee in it. Three sugars and just a splash of milk, or cream, or Lydia Martin’s Silk. Whichever was available, Stiles didn’t care.

Stiles was the resident Biometrics Specialist, meaning he could recognize a person by the sound of their voice, by their gait, or by the way they held themselves. He just so happened to also be Eta’s contact at SECT, keeping him in communication with Control. Stiles was essentially Eta’s ‘go to’ man.

Stiles did not like that Matt Daehler, Head of Surveillance, could not pinpoint Eta’s exact location. Apparently Romania was a blind spot. Who fucking knew?

“Negative,” a crackling voice came in to Stiles’ headpiece. “Bucharest isn’t what I would call easy to navigate, Stilinski.”

Stiles rolled his eyes before he looked over to Matt who was typing furiously at his keyboard, mumbling to himself about Romania and satellites.

“Daehler is working on it,” Stiles assured Eta.

Lydia Martin, the resident polyglot, waltzed in with a fresh cup of Starbucks. Stiles glared at her. She looked refreshed, showered, and rejuvenated. Obviously, she got to go home for a few hours.

“Has Eta made contact?” She asked, walking over to Stiles, setting her coffee down next to where Stiles was leaning. Stiles shook his head as he adjusted his glasses. “Good, I wanted to be there to help him translate live.” Lydia walked over to her area, her heels clicking against the floor. Stiles rubbed an eye with his index finger as he stifled a yawn. “And when was the last time you slept?”

Stiles looked at his watch, then shrugged.

“Well, I’ve been here since yesterday around three in the morning, which was twenty-seven hours ago; but I hadn’t gone to bed yet because I was researching at home, which was a mistake,” Stiles pointed out as his fingers dug their way through his hair, making it stick out in all directions. “And I woke up the day before at four in the morning-”

“Stiles, go take a nap.”

Lydia was pointing to the door. Stiles took another sip of his coffee instead.

“Eta, Daehler will be pulling up a detailed map within the next few minutes.” Lydia was tapping her foot on the ground impatiently. Stiles didn’t look at her. Instead, he concentrated on the screen before him.

“Stilinski-”

Martin,” Stiles chided, his nostrils flaring. “We are close to capturing Sirko.”

“And you will be needed when he is apprehended. So go home, I can take it from here. Mahealani will be in at nine.”

“Sirko has been spotted,” Eta spoke up. Stiles turned his attention back to the screen where, finally, a map of Eta’s location came up with the symbol H, which stood for their code name, popped up.

“And we now have your location pinpointed,” Stiles told them.

“Stiles,” Lydia hissed. Stiles rolled his eyes, then looked back down at his watch.

“Eta, this is Sigma signing off. Lambda will be taking over as your handler.” Lambda was Lydia’s codename when using the comms, whereas Stiles’ was Sigma, in case their line wasn’t secure.

“Copy that, Sigma.”

With that, Stiles took out his earpiece, then walked over to his chair to grab his waistcoat, which he had taken off sometime between dinner and coffee the night before. He wasn’t sure when. Stiles slipped it back on, then unrolled his sleeves, buttoning them back in place. Exhaustion hit him as he pulled on his jacket, watching the screen absentmindedly.

“Go to bed,” Lydia called over her shoulder as if she knew he would still be in the room.

“Tell Eta he better bring back all of the equipment in one piece,” Stiles grumbled as he opened one of the double glass doors, then walked out.

SECT Control was busy for almost seven in the morning, which wasn’t surprising. Stiles made it into an elevator with Isaac Lahey for company. Isaac was Delta’s assistant, Delta being the head of SECT.

“How is the manhunt going?” Isaac asked. He looked just as tired as Stiles felt, with bags under his eyes. He was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. Stiles was pretty sure if he leaned against anything that he would fall asleep immediately.

“Eta just spotted him,” Stiles said, unable to hold back a yawn.

“And you’re leaving?” Isaac asked, confusion apparent in his tone of voice.

“Martin arrived. I have been here since yesterday at three in the morning.”

“Makes sense,” Isaac surmised. “I have been here since nine yesterday.”

“Get some rest,” Stiles called out as the elevator door opened, revealing that they were inside a closet. Stiles waited for Isaac to step out of the elevator, letting its doors close, before he opened the closet door. Outside of it was a bar. It was seemingly closed, but always had guards on duty, most of which looked as though they could be bouncers. The morning guard nodded his head at both Stiles and Isaac but said nothing. Stiles shoved his hands in his pocket, grabbing for his cellphone, checking it as he walked out of the bar and into downtown Atlanta.

The sun was up, which made Stiles groan as he pocketed his phone. The parking garage where he kept his Jeep was merely a block away, which took him almost no time at all to get to. Stiles sat in the driver’s seat with his eyes closed for a few minutes before he even turned the Jeep on.

“Bed,” Stiles said to no one as he sucked in a breath, opening his eyes wide. “I’m up.”

His drive was barely ten minutes, without traffic, to Atlantic Station. Stiles parked his car in his assigned spot in the parking garage, then made his way above ground to his loft. He was barely awake when he opened the door, locking it behind him. He thought, for a moment, about just crashing in his spare bedroom, which didn’t require climbing any stairs.

He grunted, blinking multiple times as he turned towards the stairs, leading up to his open, loft-style bedroom that overlooked the living room. As he climbed the stairs he took off his waistcoat, draping it over his forearm as he started unbuttoning his collared shirt. Once he was up the stairs he tossed them to the floor, then practically walked out of his pants, shoving his boxer briefs down his thighs, stepping out of them as he made his way towards the bed.

He had windows high above his living room that decided that lighting his room was a great idea, but Stiles didn’t care. He fell onto his bed, which was unmade, tossing his glasses onto the nightstand. Stiles groaned as he bent over, pulling at his socks, throwing them limply over the side of the bed before he covered himself with a sheet, pulling it to his chin. He buried his face into his pillow, breathing in deeply. He relaxed, then, spreading his arms across his bed, his fingers clenching around the sheets.

He fell asleep for what only felt like minutes before his phone woke him up.

“No!” Stiles screamed into his pillow. He opened his eyes, grabbed his glasses and put them on, almost falling out of bed in order to find his discarded pants. “Stilinski,” he said into the receiver when he accepted the call.

“We need you to be here when Eta arrives with the package.” It was Lydia, which made Stiles fall back into bed, groaning because he knew he could get away with it. “Don’t sound so angry about it.”

“What time is it?” Stiles asked as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Three in the afternoon,” Lydia preened. Stiles could picture her smiling.

“When is Eta due to arrive?” Stiles asked, sitting back up and rubbing at his eyes as he yawned.

“In an hour and a half.”

“So everything went smoothly?”

“Well... I wouldn’t say smoothly, but Eta apprehended him.” Stiles didn’t like the sound of that.

“I’ll be there.”

With that, Lydia hung up. Stiles knew he should feel rejuvenated after seven hours of sleep, but after being away for so long, all he wanted to do was slip back beneath the sheets and fall back asleep. Forcing himself out of bed, Stiles made his way into the bathroom where he started the shower. He set aside his glasses, checking the mirror for visible signs of bags under his eyes as he waited for the water to heat up. He liked his showers hot, almost to the point of scorching. It woke him up, and it felt amazing as the water beat down against his back.

As he stepped out of the shower, he dried off with a towel, then wrapped it around his waist. He grabbed his glasses, putting them back on so that he could shave. He took his time with it, lathering up then using the razor, running it under hot water only to repeat the process.

“Coffee,” he murmured to himself as he hung up the towel to dry. Then he walked into his bedroom to grab a new pair of boxer briefs out of his drawer before heading down the stairs to the kitchen to turn the coffeemaker on. Stiles got dressed, wearing almost the same exact thing as he had the night before, only this time instead of black slacks, he was wearing charcoal grey, with a matching waistcoat, along with a light blue collared shirt.

Stiles stood in his closet, staring at ties that were hanging up, biting his lip. He didn’t normally wear them, he didn’t like buttoning the top button of his shirts, but he grabbed one anyways, pulling it off of the hanger then walking into the bathroom to tie it and do his hair.

It took him two tries to do a Windsor knot, but he got it. Stiles smiled to himself, proud that he was able to do it without coaching. By the time he was done styling his hair, or attempting to style it, he knew the coffee would be ready. He grabbed a pair of socks, argyle, and his shoes and made his way downstairs to pour the coffee in a thermos to take with him.

He barely made it into SECT before he was stampeded by Danny and Matt, who were to brief him before Eta’s arrival.

“No need to manhandle me, I can sit in a chair,” Stiles chided as Danny put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and forced him into a rolling chair.

“So, what happened was- wait, are you wearing a tie?”

Stiles frowned, his eyes narrowing.

“You never wear ties.”

“The point, Mahealani,” Stiles said with a sigh, his hand making a ‘hurry up’ motion. “Eta, the apprehension...”

“Right, but that is a Windsor knot-”

“Danny, they are due in-”

“Alright,” Danny huffed. “Eta ended up killing two Armenians, but managed to grab Sirko.”

“Armenians?” Stiles asked, looking over to Lydia, who nodded that they were, in fact, Armenian. “What would Armenians have to do with Sirko? He was in Romania.”

“I am sure that is something we are going to be asking him,” Lydia surmised. “Or, you know, you will be asking him.”

Just then, the doors to Brain Trust opened, and in walked in Isaac, whose eyes zoomed in on Stiles.

“They’re here.”

Stiles stood up immediately, forgetting about his coffee as he followed Isaac down the hallway. Lydia followed close behind, she was going to interrogate Sirko as well, as the translator. Stiles was trilingual, speaking English, Russian, and German, so he could only get so far with the Ukrainian. Lydia, though, would be able to translate immediately.

Stiles and Lydia walked into the briefing just as it started, Stiles’ eyes falling on Eta, who was staring back at him. Stiles gave him a smirk before he moved his attention to Delta. The meeting was short, thankfully, so that they could go right into questioning Sirko, who was waiting in another room.

As the meeting ended, Stiles bolted out of his chair to the front of the room to catch Eta, who looked the same as ever with stubble, piercing green eyes, and a scowl that could stop anyone dead in their tracks. Stiles looked him up and down with an eyebrow raised.

“Where is your watch?” He asked plainly. Eta looked down at his bare wrist, then sighed as if pained. “I just made you that.”

“Stilinski-”

Hale,” Stiles mocked him, deciding to call him by his real name instead of his codename. “See if I give you something that awesome again.”

“You will,” Eta remarked as Stiles walked away, not even bothering to look over his shoulder as he responded.

“Will not!”

The interrogation lasted three hours. By the time Stiles was able to extract any information at all, his stomach was grumbling angrily. He hadn’t even thought about eating before heading into work. As he walked out of the interrogation room, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened, and top button undone, Stiles refilled his coffee. His stomach, of course, retaliated, not believing for even a second that coffee was considered a food.

He made his way back to Brain Trust, to his desk to write up the report about the interrogation. Lydia was already there, nearby, typing up hers. Stiles barely set his fingers against the keys before she spoke up.

“Do you want to order Chinese?” She asked, her head peeking out from the edge of her computer screen so she could see him. Stiles leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair as he sighed.

“Yes, please, god. I want a mountain of egg rolls. And crab rangoon... Oh god, get me General Tso’s Chicken!” Stiles’ mind ran in circles as he thought about everything he wanted to eat.

“I’ll take egg drop soup and some egg rolls,” Eta spoke up as he entered the room, the glass doors swinging closed behind him. Stiles glanced back at him as he walked forward, deciding to stand right behind Stiles’ chair with his hands in his front pockets. Eta, or Hale, had showered and changed clothes. His hair was still damp, his face clean shaven. He was wearing a suit, black, and a stark white shirt.

“I’ll call it in,” Lydia said as she picked up her phone. Stiles sat back up straight and began typing, barely getting a few sentences in before Hale leaned over him, looking at his screen. Stiles stopped typing immediately.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, his shoulders sagging slightly as he leaned back in his chair. Hale had a hand on his desk, while the other was on the back of his chair.

“Seeing what happened in the interrogation,” he replied simply. Stiles rubbed at an eye.

“I hate when you look over my shoulder,” he stated plainly. Agent Hale stood up but didn’t leave Stiles’ side. Stiles continued typing, letting out a perturbed sigh with a shake of his head.

“I’m going down to pick the food up in the bar,” Lydia announced. Stiles nodded his head as he continued typing. He wanted to get the report finished as soon as possible so he could go home. Stiles rubbed at his eye again, frowning as he reread what he had written. By the time he realized that Lydia had put his food down on his desk, Agent Hale had gotten his own order and sat at Danny’s empty desk, eating silently. “When did you last sleep, Eta?” She asked him. He shrugged in response as he took a big bite of an egg roll.

“Since I left,” he responded once he had swallowed. Stiles raised an eyebrow, looking at Hale out of the corner of his eye as he reached for his chicken. “I got a few hours here and there.”

“You are worse than Stilinski,” Lydia chided. “He didn’t leave until seven this morning.” Stiles shot her a death glare. “And don’t you think I haven’t noticed the amount of coffee you have been drinking. You, sir, need more water in your body or you are going to shrivel up.”

Stiles, ever the adult, stuck his tongue out at her.

He ended up eating only half of his food, pushing the rest off to the side, forgotten, in order to finish. It took him three hours, but that was because he was meticulous. Stiles stretched, his fingers splayed outwards as he reached for the ceiling, then cracked his neck. He yawned, looking at the clock at the corner of his computer screen. It was almost midnight. Stiles groaned loudly.

He sent the email straight to Delta, then shut down his computer.

Stiles checked his phone on his way to his car, finding no messages on it except a text from his father, reminding him that his stepmother’s birthday was the next day. Stiles pocketed his phone with a silent roll of his eyes. The short ride to his loft seemed like an eternity, with the leftover Chinese food calling to him from his passenger seat.

When Stiles reached the door to his loft, instead of putting his key up to the lock, he put his hand on the door handle then turned it. Stiles smiled to himself as the door swung open. He walked in, headed straight for the fridge. He put the Chinese food away, deciding to save it for later.

“Where are you?” Stiles asked as he shrugged off his jacket. He didn’t bother looking around his place.

“Upstairs,” a voice called out. Stiles smirked as he took his time walking over to the door, locking it before he made his way up the stairs to his lofted bedroom. As soon as his foot hit the top step, he laid eyes on him.

Derek Hale, otherwise known as Agent Hale and Eta, was in bed, reading a book. Stiles tilted his head, smiling as he walked towards his walk-in closet.

“That took you longer than I had assumed,” Derek called out as he pushed the covers of the bed, climbing out of bed to join Stiles in the large walk-in. Stiles sighed audibly as Derek leaned against the doorframe, watching Stiles hang up his jacket, then toe out of his shoes silently. Derek walked forward as soon as Stiles moved to take off the tie. “Wear this because you missed me?” Derek asked, his fingers wrapping around the silky fabric. Stiles licked his lips as he raised an eyebrow at him.

“You were bad,” Stiles chided, his voice light, but his eyes narrowed. Derek frowned, not following Stiles’ train of thought. “Your watch.”

“That- now that I can explain,” Derek said, smiling as he leaned in for a kiss. Stiles turned his head away, taking a step back.

“That watch cost 100,000 dollars, Eta,” Stiles criticized as he removed his shirt, leaving the tie hanging around his neck. His belt was next, pulled from its loops in a hurry. “It took me weeks to configure correctly.”

“Stiles,” Derek implored as he watched Stiles step out of his pants, then pull off his socks. Stiles stood there in a pair of black boxer briefs, with the tie hanging loosely around his neck, with his hands on his lips.

“It read your pulse to me,” Stiles’ voice got louder, “It let me know you were alive.”

“I am alive!” Derek said, his hands flailing outwards. Stiles slowly dropped his hands, his head tilting to one side as he looked Derek up and down. He was wearing pajama bottoms which were hung low on his hips, showing off the trail of hair that continued on past the hemline of the fabric. “Thanks to you.”

All of the fight left Stiles, his eyes closing momentarily as he let the tension go from his shoulders. He stepped forward, slipping the tie from around his neck only to hook it around Derek’s, both of his hands on each end of the tie. Stiles pulled Derek forwards, bringing their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss. Stiles’ tongue found Derek’s, deepening the kiss as he pressed his body up against Derek’s, his grip on the tie tight, his forearms trapped between their chests as Derek put his hands on Stiles’ hips.

Stiles pulled back, putting a hand to Derek’s chest.

“No touching,” Stiles chimed in, his eyes looking to Derek’s reddened, wet lips. Derek didn’t say anything, but he sighed deeply, nodding once as he clenched his jaw. Stiles took a step forward once more, tugging at the tie. Derek responded immediately, moaning as Stiles kissed him again. Stiles started walking them back into the bedroom, slowly. As soon as Derek’s legs hit the bed, his knees bent and he sat down, knowing that’s what Stiles wanted.

Stiles looked down at Derek, his lips parted and eyes glancing upwards at Stiles, waiting. Stiles rubbed the tie back and forth against Derek’s neck as he bit his bottom lip.
“Are you too tired?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head, not breaking eye contact with Stiles. Taking that as an answer, Stiles jerked his arms towards himself, pressing Derek’s face against his bare stomach. Derek’s tongue was warm against his skin, wet and welcoming. Stiles tilted his head back as Derek mouthed over his boxer briefs, teasing at his hardening cock. Stiles groaned open-mouthed as Derek breathed him in audibly, his nose nudging at the fabric, rubbing against him. Stiles’ grip on the tie didn’t loosen an inch as he rolled his hips, wanting more friction, wanting Derek’s mouth around him. “I am going to fuck your mouth,” Stiles rasped. Derek moaned against his length, the fabric of his boxer briefs wet from where Derek had been running his tongue up and down him, waiting for permission.

Experimentally, Derek reached for Stiles’ underwear, the pads of his fingers barely touching the skin of Stiles’ stomach, hooking around the hem, his eyes glancing upwards at Stiles. Stiles nodded as he licked his lips. Derek slowly rid Stiles of his boxer briefs, slipping them down his thighs until they dropped to the floor. Stiles stepped out of them easily, then stood in front of Derek and sucked in a breath as Derek opened his mouth for him.

Derek’s tongue stuck out just enough to tease at his head before taking Stiles into his mouth, swallowing him down slowly. Stiles didn’t move, letting Derek set a pace for himself. Derek took Stiles down all the way, his nose brushing against Stiles’ finely trimmed hair at the base of his cock. Stiles let out a muffled sound as his cock hit the back of Derek’s throat. He felt Derek choke, his throat resisting, but wasn’t surprised when Derek didn’t back up until he needed to breathe. Derek pulled back slowly, sucking in air as Stiles waited patiently. Derek’s mouth was wet with spit, his mouth open as his chest heaved, his eyes watching Stiles with pupils blown.

It wasn’t until Derek took Stiles back into his mouth that Stiles moved, pulling once more at the tie, bringing Derek’s nose flush against his lower stomach. Derek’s hands came up to Stiles’ thighs but didn’t move. Stiles thought, only for a second, about pulling away. He decided against it, knowing Derek liked having his hands on Stiles’ thighs when he deep throated him so he could tap him if he needed to breathe.

Derek didn’t tap, though, he stayed there with Stiles shoved down his throat, breathing in through his nose until he needed to back up. Two quick taps to Stiles’ thigh and Stiles loosened his hold on the tie. Derek gasped, coughing to the side as he wiped at his mouth, his eyes watering.

“More?” Stiles asked, his question holding weight. He would only do as much as Derek wanted, never more. Derek nodded, his mouth opening, his tongue peeking out as tears laced his eyelashes. Stiles smiled as he tugged Derek forward, sliding his cock across Derek’s cheek, smearing spit and precome over his mouth and skin before sloppily putting it in Derek’s mouth, his hips bucking forwards enough to shallowly thrust against Derek’s cheek. Stiles pulled Derek’s restraint more, his cock slipping further and further down his mouth, setting his own rhythm now. Stiles started slow and shallow, but picked up the pace, enjoying the sounds that escaped from Derek. With hollowed out cheeks, Derek let Stiles fuck his mouth.

“You feel so fucking good,” Stiles murmured as he quickened his movements, gasping and moaning with every thrust of his hips. He couldn’t stop watching Derek, couldn’t stop looking at his cock moving in and out of Derek’s mouth. He let out a cry of disappointment as Derek tapped his thigh, but he immediately pulled back, letting Derek catch his breath.

“Again,” Stiles drawled, a smirk finding its way across his lips. Derek’s mouth opened once more for him. Stiles knew he was close, that he only needed a little push before he would come. “Touch me, Derek, make me come,” he mewled, panting as Derek’s hands moved from his thighs, one wrapping around his length as the other cupped his balls, tugging on them as his tongue twisted and teased. Derek sucked as his wrist flicked, Stiles’ toes curled as he let out a guttural cry, throwing his head back as he came down Derek’s throat. Stiles pulled back, hissing and sighing as Derek’s hands released him.

Stiles dropped his hands, letting the tie fall to the side as he licked his lips. Then he gripped Derek’s hair with a fist, tilting his head back so that he was looking up at Stiles, his mouth open, swollen, and used. “I love you like this,” Stiles muttered as he pulled at Derek’s hair, making Derek lean back slowly as Stiles straddled Derek’s legs, his knees on either side of him as he climbed onto the bed. Stiles settled himself in Derek’s lap, feeling how hard Derek was beneath the fabric of his pajama bottoms. Derek hummed in response, his eyes closing momentarily as Stiles pressed him back onto the bed, his fingers stroking tenderly through Derek’s hair once he was laying there. Stiles leaned over him, the palm of his other hand flat against Derek’s stomach as his nose brushed against Derek’s shoulder, then his neck. He took his time, his lips ghosting across Derek’s skin, careful to not leave a mark.

Eventually his lips found Derek’s, the taste of him still on Derek’s lips. Stiles’ tongue slipped between Derek’s lips, deepening the kiss as his hand dipped lower, sliding beneath the fabric, his fingers wrapping around Derek’s hardened cock, already dripping wet with precome. Stiles smiled against Derek’s lips.

“You love when I use your mouth like that,” he commented. Derek groaned, his hips rolling upwards into Stiles’ fist. “You get off on it, on my cock down your throat.”

Derek breathed in sharply as Stiles’ thumb pressed against his slit, smearing a bead of precome around as he tugged at him.

“I do,” Derek gasped, his hands clenched around the sheets at his side. Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

“How bad do you want to touch me again?” Stiles asked. Derek let out a shuddering breath, his eyelids fluttering at the thought. “Or do you want me to continue touching you? Do you want me to get you off with my hand?” Stiles asked, his lips against Derek’s ear. “Or my mouth?” He kept his pace slow as he jacked Derek off, considering he was straddling him, on his knees over Derek.

“I want you to fuck me,” Derek responded with gulp and a hitch in breath as Stiles nipped at his collarbone, his tongue lapping at it afterwards. Stiles hummed in agreement at Derek’s request.

Stiles sat up, his hands on Derek’s chest as he looked down at him, Derek’s hands still clenched around the sheets. Stiles slipped his hands over Derek’s wrenching them from the sheets, bringing Derek’s hands up to his mouth. Stiles kissed his knuckles, brushing his lips across Derek’s skin as he watched him breathe, watched Derek look up at him through heavy lidded eyes. He scraped his teeth across Derek’s knuckles slowly before licking at Derek’s fingers, his tongue teasing them. Derek let out a low moan as his back arched, his hips thrusting upwards, his still-hard cock rutting against Stiles’ ass. Stiles dropped Derek’s hand, then, as he rolled off of him.

“I want you on your stomach,” Stiles called out as he got off the bed and walked towards the bathroom. “With pillows, ass in the air.” Stiles poured himself a glass of water, gulping it down before refilling it, then grabbed lube and a condom. When he walked back into the bedroom, Derek had done exactly as he had asked. He had a pillow that he was seemingly hugging, with his cheek pressed against the mattress, his legs spread and ass in the air. Stiles grunted, practically silent, to himself, at the view as he walked towards the bed. Stiles tossed the lube and the condom onto the bed, near Dereks’ feet, then offered Derek the glass of water.

Derek moved, pushing himself up with one elbow, their fingers brushing together as he took the glass from Stiles, downing the water quickly. After he was finished, Stiles took the glass and set it on the bedside table, then reached for Derek’s chin, tilting it up so that he could kiss him. It was chaste, but by no means short. Stiles breathed in, his eyes closed, feeling the touch of Derek’s lips on his. When he tore himself away, Derek bit his bottom lip as he fell back down onto the bed, pressing his face against the mattress once more.

Stiles climbed onto the bed, his hands automatically gliding over Derek’s skin, his fingers trailing over known scars and blemishes, as if checking him over. Derek said nothing as Stiles curled in his fingers, scraping his blunt nails down Derek’s back, making him hiss as he buried his face into the sheets as his legs spread more. Stiles palmed at Derek’s cheeks as he bent over, his teeth nipping at Derek’s tender flesh. Separating Derek’s cheeks with both hands, Stiles licked at his opening, one long stroke, before he buried his face between them. Stiles’ hands slid up and down Derek’s thighs as he ate him out, his tongue breaching him. Derek gasped as Stiles added a finger, his mouth sucking just above his entrance, marking him there. Stiles slowly started fucking Derek with his index finger, intermittently replacing it with his tongue, lapping at Derek’s entrance, taking his time.

He hadn’t seen Derek in a week, hadn’t tasted him, touched him, slept in the same bed with him... Stiles wanted this as much as Derek did. He needed Derek, he had missed Derek. Stiles sat up placing a hand on Derek’s waist to let him know that he wasn’t going anywhere. Stiles left a trail of open mouthed kisses up Derek’s spine, being careful not to leave visible marks above his waistline.

Stiles reached for the lube, opening the container, then coated two fingers before he set it aside. He slipped one in first, easily, spreading the lube around before adding the second. Derek made a noise as he rolled his hips back against Stiles fingers. Stiles steadied Derek’s movements by placing a hand on Derek’s back as he fucked him open.

“When I fuck you,” Stiles said as he pulled back in order to recoat his fingers, this time adding a third, “I want you to come without touching yourself.”

Derek let out a muffled sob as his hands splayed outwards, grabbing at the sheets that surrounded him, pulling them closer as Stiles plunged his fingers inwards, relentless with his pace. Derek scooted up the bed as he panted, which made Stiles withdraw his fingers.

Stiles sat on his haunches, waiting patiently for Derek to resume his position, knowing he would.

“Der,” Stiles sought as his hand reached for the condom. Derek looked back at him, over his shoulder. “On your back,” Stiles specified as he ripped open the package, then tugged at his erection, stroking downwards, letting himself get worked up as he watched Derek change positions for him. Stiles let out a gasp, his head lolling to the side as he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of his own hand, knowing that Derek was waiting for him.

Stiles rolled on the condom, then reached out for Derek’s ankles, pulling him down closer to Stiles. Derek moved pliantly, despite how in reality he was stronger than Stiles. It sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine, knowing that Derek wanted to be moved around, to be fucked into the mattress. Only now, Stiles didn’t want that. He wanted to face him, he wanted to bury his face against Derek’s neck and breathe him in, he wanted to feel Derek in his arms.

He lined himself up at Derek’s entrance, moving Derek’s legs, hooking Derek’s ankles together behind him as he leaned forward, fucking into him. Derek pushed back against him as Stiles laid on top of him, his hands slipping underneath Derek’s shoulder blades, his hands gripping his shoulders as he buried his face against Derek’s neck, his mouth open as he panted against Derek’s skin. Stiles’ thrusts were short, but deep, making Derek moan with each movement as his heels dug into Stiles thighs, wanting more, needing more of Stiles. Stiles felt the press of Derek’s mouth against his temple, a moan escaping Derek’s lips as Stiles picked up the pace.

Pushing himself up and away from Derek, Stiles fucked into him fast and hard before he pulled out. Derek unhooked his ankles, letting his legs fall, spread wide. Stiles, his chest heaving, looked down at Derek, his body flushed, lips swollen, and hole completely fucked open. Stiles felt himself redden as he looked away, his eyes scanning across the bed, searching.

He found the tie on the floor.

He stretched from the bed, grabbing it without getting off of the mattress. When he straightened out, he glanced at Derek. He was rolling his hips, his erection lay against his stomach, smearing precome as he moved, making it bob. His eyes were closed, his fists clenched around the sheets still. He was close to coming, and he was fucking up into the air, wanting it. Stiles slid up the bed, his hands gripping at Derek’s thighs, making him open his eyes.

“Not yet, Der,” he voiced, his lips pressing against Derek’s cheek. “Not yet.” Derek moved his head, finding Stiles’ lips. Stiles sucked in a breath, his hands moving from Derek’s thighs to his hair, running his fingers through it long enough to deepen the kiss before he tugged at Derek’s hair, forcing his head back. “On your knees.”

Derek moved as Stiles watched, his fingers looping around the tie, playing with it as he waited. Derek was on his hands and knees, his head hanging low between his shoulders, legs spread. Stiles pressed a hand to Derek’s upper back, forcing his head against the mattress. “Give me your hands,” he uttered as he trailed the tie over Derek’s back lightly, pressing his erection against Derek’s thigh, reminding him that he was about to get fucked, hard. Derek’s hands slid behind his back as he moved his head so that a cheek was pressed against the mattress instead of his forehead. Stiles wrapped the tie around Derek’s wrists. It was loose, but served its purpose. Derek grunted, his biceps flexing as he tugged at the restraint experimentally. ”Good?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded his head.

With that, Stiles gripped Derek’s hands, his fingers clutching at him as he reentered him, fucking into him relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the open space, Derek’s moans echoed off the walls. Stiles tugged at Derek’s hands for leverage as he thrust inward, pulling out just enough that the return made Derek inch forward with each buck of Stiles’ hips. Derek shook beneath him, a sheen of sweat covered him as he let out a gasping moan.

“Stiles,” he rasped, his head shaking. “Please.”

“Come, come for me,” Stiles let out, his own climax close at hand. Derek trembled beneath him as he shouted out, pressing back into Stiles. Stiles picked up his pace with quick, shallow thrusts, sending him over the edge to join Derek. Stiles stilled for only a moment, biting back his moan as his hand found Derek’s hair, his fingers tugging at it while he rested his head against Derek’s back. He pulled out slowly, when he was ready to move.

First, he unbound Derek’s hands, letting him relax. Then, he tied off the condom, grabbed the empty glass of water and made his way into the bathroom. He disposed of the condom, filled the glass of water, then wet a washcloth. When he walked back into the bedroom, Derek was lying on the bed, watching him. Stiles sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Derek to sit up enough to drink the water. He put the glass up to Derek’s lips, letting him take his time drinking it down.

Derek didn’t finish the glass, so Stiles set it aside on the nightstand. Then, Stiles went to work cleaning Derek off with the warm washcloth. Derek’s eyes closed as his breathing evened out. Stiles felt himself fading as well, looking over to the clock to see that it was late, very late considering he had gotten home close to midnight.

Stiles drank the rest of the water, then crawled over Derek to his side of the bed, his hands finding Derek’s, pulling him close. Derek let out a noise of contentment as Stiles’ lips pressed against his hairline, at his temple.

“I missed you,” Stiles murmured as his eyes began to close. Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand as his legs slipped between Stiles’.

“I missed you more,” he mumbled, barely audible. “I always do.”

Stiles woke up to a phone ringing. His eyes shot open, but he could barely see. His glasses were... somewhere. The ringtone wasn’t his but Derek’s. He reached a hand to Derek’s side of the bed, finding it empty and cold. Stiles was not at all surprised to hear Derek shuffling around downstairs in the kitchen.

“This is Agent Hale,” Derek answered, his voice bouncing off the walls. Stiles lay in bed, unmoving as he listened to one side of the conversation. “I’ll be in within the hour,” he said, his voice closer, moving up the stairs. Stiles smiled to himself when Derek appeared.

“Called in?” Stiles asked. Derek lifted an eyebrow, looking to Stiles’ phone just as it started ringing. Stiles groaned, covering his head with a pillow.

He tossed it aside as he grabbed for his phone, yanking absentmindedly at his hair as he answered it.

“Stilinski.”