Well, this was totally unexpected. Not the crappy overcast skies or the lingering signs of rain from the previous night covering the trees, grass, and pavement like a darkened layer on Photoshop, making everything appear blander and less saturated than it usually did. Stiles had predicted that today would be one heck of an ugly day to look at – and it was – but what he hadn’t been able to anticipate was finding a sleek, bright yellow hulk of metal lounging in the middle of his driveway upon exiting his house. This was no FJ Cruiser, nor was it a Camaro, or any other vehicle with doors and a roof. Nope, this was a sinfully sexy motorcycle that came complete with an even sexier wolf.
“Sweet ride,” Stiles whistled as his eyes roamed over the motorcycle, doing his best to keep his gaze locked on the machine and not on the leather clad rider who impatiently thrust a black helmet in his direction.
“I don’t have all day, Stiles,” Derek complained after glancing at his watch. “And neither do you. You said that you have an exam first thing this morning.”
“Uh huh. I did say that,” Stiles replied lazily, still checking out the motorcycle, while pointedly doing his best not to admire the man in the saddle. Sure, the bike was totally badass and riding around on it would raise Stiles’ coolness rating with his peers by several coveted notches, but there was something to be said about tempting fate. Could he really sit still on the back of that saddle with his open thighs pressed snuggly up against Derek’s enticing ass and not react? Hell, he was already having a reaction just by inhaling the stuffy scent of warm leather upholstery – warmed by the heat from that nicely sculpted ass that Stiles longed to just sink his teeth into… Shit! He was practically salivating, his cheeks felt inflamed, and his jeans were not doing him any favors in the area of his crotch. Damn constrictive denim! To distract himself, Stiles stuffed the cooling Pop Tart that he’d been holding onto into his mouth so that he wouldn’t be able to speak and make a fool out of himself, took the helmet that Derek was offering him, and stiffly climbed onto the back of that gleaming motorcycle.
“Have you ridden on a motorcycle before?” Derek asked in a mildly concerned tone. Like he might be debating over whether taking Stiles to school on a monster bike was a good idea, or a dangerous risk that he ought to pass on.
“Sef-e-ra-ru tai-msu.” Talking with his mouth full of strawberry frosted Pop Tart hadn’t been such a good idea because he nearly choked in the process, but at least Derek would think that he was being his usual spastic self, and not worry about the threat of having his ass manhandled during the ride.
“Are you speaking English?” Derek asked without humor as he revved the engine and dropped the visor on his own helmet, leaning forward to grip the handlebars with both hands.
Stiles finished chewing what was in his mouth before commenting. “Yeah, I took Scott’s bike out for a few joyrides while he was in class.”
“Scott rides a dirt bike,” Derek corrected Stiles, sounding offended to have his wild beast compared to the scrappy little toy that the Alpha wolf was riding around on. “This is a BMW S1000RR. Comparing Scott’s bike to mine is like comparing a plastic tricycle to an all-carbon fiber, custom made road racer.”
“Correction duly noted.” Stiles put his arm through the other strap of his backpack, plopped the helmet down over his head and leaned back, looking for something to grip onto around the back of the motorcycle. There was literally next to no space on the saddle, definitely not enough for two people. And every time Stiles tried to inch his way backwards, he ended up sliding forwards again. Maybe he should have just taken the bus to school instead of ringing Derek up in the middle of the night and begging to hitch a ride off of the sexy, dark haired, green eyed wolf. Or, better yet, perhaps he should have taken his jeep in for a tune-up weeks earlier instead of being such a cheapskate and putting it off until the engine blew.
“Would you quit squirming back there and hold onto me so we can get going?”
Hold onto him?! Was he fucking crazy? Why didn’t Derek just ask to be ridden bareback while he was at it? Did he have any idea the danger he would be in if Stiles held onto him? “Where’s your Camaro?” Stiles asked, his voice coming out as a squeak as he kept desperately searching for something to occupy his hands with.
“In the shop getting the brake pads changed.”
“What about the muscle car?”
“You mean my 4x4? I traded it in for this. The Cruiser was a gas guzzler and a headache to parallel park.” Derek sighed and stretched out his neck and shoulder muscles in annoyance. “If you don’t trust me to get you there safely…”
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Stiles laughed obnoxiously as he practically began to sweat at the prospect of wrapping his arms around Derek’s nicely sculpted body. Could he even feel the wolf’s six pack through his black t-shirt and open leather jacket? Probably… Oh, what the heck! With the lifestyle that he was leading, Stiles would most likely end up maimed or sacrificed long before his time, so copping a feel of Derek’s abs on the way to school wouldn’t really be risking much. Besides, Stiles enjoyed living on the edge of life. It gave him thrills and something to get off to in the middle of the night. Still, he needed to keep acting cool about it so that Derek wouldn’t suspect how he spent most days – and nights – fantasizing about jumping the wolf. Or covering him in chocolate sauce, or… oh shit! Down boy! Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts.
Imagining Scott in drag was about as visually repulsive as Stiles could manage, which caused him to feel like he’d just swallowed something really dirty, but it got him to the point where he could scoot forward a bit, wrap his arms around that warm, cologne-scented wolf, and prepare to enjoy the ride of his life. With the creepy, perverted way he was acting, he doubted that Derek would ever agree to chauffeur him again.
“Are you ready?” Derek asked just to make sure, like having Stiles’ gropey hands clinging to his midsection wasn’t a clear indication of how ready Stiles was.
“Yeah. Engage warp thrusters!” Stiles lamely joked, only being able to see the back of Derek’s helmet, but knowing him well enough to visualize the way the wolf was probably cringing at that joke. “It’s from Star Trek--.” Before he could explain what Star Trek was, or why the joke was funny, Derek had revved the engine once more, kicked back the kickstand, and set their ride in motion. And did the motorcycle ever have a full range of motion! It didn’t just speed off into the distance, because if motorcycles did that, they wouldn’t require such hefty insurance premiums. No, it tilted from side to side, nearly kissing the asphalt as it took on tight corners, bounced up and down as it flew over manhole covers and potholes, and vibrated like a washing machine gone haywire at higher rpms. Considering the fact that there were no doors, and neither of them were wearing any sort of protection – other than the goofy helmets that may as well have been made for space travel – their current mode of transportation could be seen as being insanely dangerous. But Stiles loved it! The air whipping through the plaid shirt he had buttoned up over his t-shirt had puffed up to make him look like an air balloon, and his exposed ankles felt like they were getting wind burns from the speed they were traveling at. He could barely hear himself think it was so noisy, but it seriously didn’t matter, not when his palms had worked their way around Derek’s open leather jacket to get at the loose t-shirt that was plastered to his chest like spandex.
“Could you move your hands?” Derek shouted in discomfort as they climbed up a steep hill, which only caused Stiles to grab on tighter.
“What?” Stiles shouted back, not being able to – or not wanting to – hear what Derek had requested of him. He could feel the hard, smooth plane of Derek’s abdomen through that flimsy t-shirt, barely being able to make out the six-pack that even Scott was envious of. Stiles vaguely wondered if Derek was vain enough to realize how smoking hot he was. Maybe the wolf was secretly a narcissist who posed in front of a full length mirror every day and drank nasty green juices as meal replacements to keep the fat off. Or maybe he was completely oblivious to the attention that he attracted and only worked out for a natural high. Either way, whatever the wolf was doing in his free time was obviously working, and absolutely worth it. Stiles would have to ask him his secret one day.
“Stiles! Cut it out!” Derek complained louder than before, elbowing Stiles in the wrist to get him to move his hands. “I’m ticklish there.”
“Oops. Sorry!” Note to self, Derek’s delicious looking abs are ticklish. There would be plenty of opportunities to play with that weakness later. But for now… Stiles moved his right hand upwards and his left downwards, not entirely on purpose, but not so accidentally either. He couldn’t help it if puberty had turned him into a horny bastard, and monster hunting had removed all his fears and inhibitions. As luck would have it, his right hand had the good fortune of brushing over one of Derek’s nipples, which hadn’t been too hard to locate because it was taut beneath his t-shirt. Served the wolf right for not wearing an undershirt in such high winds. And his left hand settled quite possessively over Derek’s hip, gripping him in a not-so-appropriate manner. “Is this better?” He asked innocently, leaning forward so that Derek would be able to hear him, and inadvertently pressing his crotch up against the wolf’s leather encased ass. It would have been funny if Stiles Junior hadn’t chosen that exact moment to react to all the x-rated stimuli that it had been receiving. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d gotten an erection so fast, or so fully functional, but he was still sane enough to remember that this was not a good thing. If he – or more accurately, his dick – could feel Derek’s shapely ass through his pants, there was no way that Derek wouldn’t be able to--.
“STILES! What the hell?!”
Oh, he’d felt it alright. Stiles cringed when Derek sharply pulled the motorcycle into the nearest parking lot, which just so happened to be a gas station, chose a section of gravel behind the restrooms to violently brake behind, and threw the kickstand on so fast that the motorcycle lurched to the one side, nearly tossing them both off in the process.
I’m dead! Super dead. Super aroused was more like it, but dead all the same. As Stiles watched Derek remove his helmet with numb horror, he began to fantasize about what it would be like to become a chew toy for a pissed off wolf. And that just proved how beyond help his hormonal state was because he was perfectly fine with Derek toying with him, so long as it didn’t involve claws or fangs.
“Take the helmet off!” Derek ordered, whacking Stiles’ right hand off of his chest, before belting the hand still holding him by the hip.
Left with no choice but to comply, Stiles took off the helmet, hopped down off the bike, and propped his headgear on the back of the saddle. “Before you gut me, try to remember that you were the one who wore leather pants today. You should claim partial responsibility.”
“What?!” Usually Derek didn’t say much, but that was by choice. Now it looked like he was just stunned speechless, glaring at Stiles with those big green – nope, now they were golden – eyes. Somewhere inside Derek, his wolf was stirring, and not in a happy greet-the-morning way. “Are you blaming me for your childish lack of control?!”
Thankfully no one could see them behind the back of the gas station because Derek was making quite the scene, which was slightly uncharacteristic of him. Or maybe not. He had just been groped and basically propositioned by Stiles’ overeager ego prodding him between the legs. A bit of drama was to be expected under such circumstances. “I’ll have you know that it took a lot of manly control for me to not cum in my pants.” Shut up Stiles! Sometimes his mouth could get him into a lot of trouble. He had an exam to write today, and a bunch of college applications to send out. He didn’t have the time or luxury to be baiting Derek’s kitty claws in the middle of a ratty gas station. Kitty claws! Derek would be mortified to hear Stiles tease him like that so he kept his humor to himself. He’d be signing his own death warrant if he let on that he thought Derek was all fluff and no bite. That’s the way he liked to think of the sexy wolf because it turned him on like nothing else could.
“Were you using me in one of your Lydia fantasies?” Derek demanded to know, dropping his helmet over the left handlebar by the strap and advancing on Stiles with his fists clenched.
“Lydia fantasies?” Stiles repeated in an indignant tone. “That was so four years ago.”
“Then what were you thinking about to get like… that?” Derek made a brief gesture in the direction of Stiles’ bulging crotch, before looking away in embarrassment.
It could have been Stiles’ imagination, but it seemed like Derek’s neck and ears were a bit of a darker shade than they had been a few minutes ago. And his eyes were green again, which meant that this surge of emotion had nothing to do with his wolf. So, either Derek was uncomfortable dealing with another man’s boner, or Stiles was really beginning to get under his skin. Might as well find out which one it was. “You really want to know? Fine! I have a thing for your ass in leather, and it really doesn’t hurt that your t-shirt is about as thick as tissue paper either. Tight ass in leather plus hard nipples and a six-pack equals an instant erection for me. Bonus points if it’s you.” Well, that was a fine example of speaking without thinking first. There could only be two possible outcomes to this encounter. One would end up with Derek shifting into his full wolf form and mauling Stiles in the parking lot. The other was pointing in the direction of that hopefully unoccupied restroom. Either way, Stiles was going to be missing that exam today.
“You’re attracted to me?” Derek couldn’t have sounded more puzzled – or hopeful – and the way he was looking at Stiles didn’t seem at all dangerous. Not anymore.
Now this was an interesting turn of events. “I would think that you’d be used to it by now,” Stiles said with a nonchalant shrug, although he felt as giddy as a drunken sailor about to bed some trusting maiden. Taking a bold step forward and doing nothing to hide his state of arousal, Stiles kept his eyes locked with the wavering green ones that appeared to be searching him for a trap. “Most people are probably attracted to you for your body, but I’m in it more for the package deal. Kitty claws and all.” Maybe he should have said tiger because Derek was a bit too fuzzy about the cheeks and jaw with that dark beard of his to be mistaken for a cat.
“Kitty claws?” Derek asked in confusion.
“Forget that.” Stiles stopped directly in front of Derek, keeping his expression neutral while his heart was leaping around inside his chest like a dolphin on steroids. “How do you feel about me, Derek?”
“You piss me off,” Derek said shortly, causing Stiles to laugh at his inability to express his emotions. “You’re always brushing up against me, or touching me, or giving me stuff that I don’t want. I thought that you were just trying to be an asshole… until now.”
“Nope. Those were my best wooing efforts that you just criticized. And who doesn’t want a studded leather necklace?”
“What you gave me was a collar,” Derek muttered.
“Are you trying to say that you didn’t like the bracelets either?” Stiles asked as he brushed up against Derek and boldly raised his hand to run the tips of his fingers through the wolf’s fuzzy beard.
Derek’s eyes widened at the physical contact and he practically bristled like a cat that had been pet the wrong way, but he didn’t bolt. However, he did nervously fidget, probably remembering the lock and keys that the bracelets had come with. “Those weren’t--.”
“I know. They were wrist restraints,” Stiles said with a smirk as he traced the curve of Derek’s ear with one finger. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“You drive me insane,” Derek replied, almost forgetting to breathe when Stiles suddenly cupped the back of his head and pulled him in close for a kiss. It was a short, innocent kiss, because Stiles was about five seconds away from having a major accident in a public place, but it was nice all the same. “So, all this time I’ve felt like killing you…?” Derek asked in confusion.
Stiles evilly smiled against Derek’s lips. “You must really like me if you’ve thought about killing me.”
“How does that work?” Derek gave Stiles one of his baffled looks, but quickly turned possessive when Stiles tried to pull away. He locked both arms around Stiles’ back and rubbed his bearded cheek affectionately against Stile’s jaw. “Who said you could move?”
“Poor wolf,” Stiles sighed, dropping both hands to Derek’s ass to grope him through the shiny leather. “You love me so much you want to kill me. Well, I love you so much that I want to eat you.” He licked his lips when his sexual innuendo caused Derek’s eyes to widen and his breath to quicken. “I hope you don’t have anywhere important that you need to be right now because we’re going to be pretty busy for the next hour or so.” He tugged Derek in the direction of the restrooms, nearly shouting out loud in triumph when the wolf began to obediently follow him.
“Stiles,” Derek said in a low, eager voice as he was led into the graffiti-covered restroom with three vacant green stalls, one of which was larger than the others and poorly lit by a tiny window high up on the far side of the wall. “What took you so long?”
“You know, Derek, sometimes I love it when you’re so direct.” Stiles pushed Derek inside the stall, chased after him, and locked the door behind him. “Maybe you should’ve bought that motorcycle four years ago. Imagine all the practice that we’ve been missing out on.” Before Derek could comment on how unmistakably lewd Stiles had become, Stiles had him up against the far wall with both hands up his shirt, sealing their lips together in a really hot and sexy kiss.