“Who the fuck is that guy?” Stiles leaned close and hissed the question into Scott’s ear over the pounding beat of the dance music.
“I have no idea.” Scott shrugged. “I think maybe he’s one of Danny’s friends. I haven’t seen him before.”
The only thing that had kept Stiles’ ever-increasing crush on Derek bearable, was the fact that Derek had never shown a flicker of sexual interest in anybody else the whole time that Stiles had known him.
Although Stiles might not get to touch Derek in the way that he wanted—naked, horizontal touching with a side order of licking and an option to bite—it was some small comfort to Stiles that apparently nobody else got to do that with Derek either. And okay, it was a tragic waste that such hotness should go untapped, but if Stiles couldn’t have him he really would much prefer that nobody else did.
But now, on Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, there was some blond dude draping himself all over Derek’s broody, leather-clad werewolf ass like a vine, and Derek appeared to be okay with it—if by okay you mean that he was letting it happen and the dude’s limbs were all still attached to his body.
They looked annoyingly good together. Both in slightly-too-tight jeans and T-shirts that showed their physique. The guy’s blue jeans and white T were a perfect contrast to Derek’s trademark black and charcoal colors. The blond guy put a hand on Derek’s shoulder and leaned in close, blond head next to dark. They looked like poster boys for the perfect gay couple. Jealousy twisted like claws in Stiles’ gut.
Happy Fucking Birthday to me.
Since he’d let his hair grow out a little Stiles found that he wasn’t quite the sexual pariah that he’d once been. He got meaningful looks from girls these days, and also from guys. But Stiles hadn’t really taken advantage of his new-found state of attractiveness because of his stupid, unwanted feelings for Derek. That asshole, he was constantly ruining Stiles’ life without even knowing it.
Stiles knew he should probably look away, use his fake ID to buy another drink and go and find someone to grind against on the dance floor. Preferably close to Derek and the blond dude just so that Derek could see Stiles was having a good time too. In case he actually gave a shit.
But Stiles couldn’t stop himself from watching, lurking like a creepy lurker at the edge of the dance floor and watching as the blond guy curled an arm around Derek’s neck and got all up in his personal space. Stiles stared intently, trying to read Derek’s body language, but he was impassive as usual. He wasn’t pushing the guy away, but he didn’t exactly seem to be responding either. Blond Dude had his hands on Derek’s hips now and was practically humping Derek’s thigh.
Something snapped inside Stiles.
“Sorry, Allison, I’ll buy you another one later.” He grabbed the drink out of Allison’s hand and shouldered his way onto the dance floor. He barged his way through, a string of unapologetic ‘sorrys’ on his lips as he bounced off other people.
Derek saw him coming. His eyes locked with Stiles over Blond Dude’s shoulders, Stiles registered surprise and recognition and Derek lifted his hands as though to push the guy off him. But Stiles was undeterred, he had a plan and he was going to stick with it. He stumbled, deliberately, flailing his arms in a way that was designed to toss the contents of the glass in his hand all over that perfect white T-shirt, and a little in that blond hair too for good measure.
Wow. A Virgin Bloody Mary really made an impressive stain on a white shirt.
“What the fuck?” The guy turned, face twisted with rage. He lifted a hand to the back of his neck and brought it back to look at it, dripping with red juice that looked like blood.
“Oh my God. Dude, I’m so sorry!” Stiles apologized, holding his free hand up in a placating gesture. “I have no idea how I managed that. I think I tripped over my own feet or something. But that’s gonna stain, you should really get that in some water...” Stiles’ gaze flickered over Blond Dude’s shoulder to see Derek staring at Stiles with narrowed, knowing eyes.
“Clumsy douche,” the guy spat. He stepped right up into Stiles’ space now, jaw set and fists clenched. He grabbed Stiles by the collar of his shirt and yanked him closer. And maybe Stiles hadn’t really thought this through. But Stiles was still pissed, high on adrenaline and jealous anger, so he held his ground, glaring at the guy and holding his gaze. The guy’s breath was hot on his face, and Stiles suddenly realized that Blond Dude was a hell of lot bigger than he was. Yeah, this was probably going to hurt.
“Put him down.” Derek’s voice was a low growl that cut through the music.
“Do you know this idiot?” Blond Dude snapped.
“Yeah.” Derek stepped closer, his mouth right by Blond Dude’s ear. His eyes glowed red and Stiles didn’t think it was just a reflection from the lights in the club. “He’s a friend of mine. So put him down and back the fuck off. It was an accident.”
Relief flooded through Stiles leaving his legs wobbly as Blond Dude released him. “Fuck you.” He elbowed Stiles hard as he shoved his way past. “Fuck you both.”
Stiles stumbled, and strong hands caught his biceps and held him steady. Stiles’ fingers curled into the fabric of Derek’s T-shirt and hung on tight.
“What the fuck was that?” Derek’s voice was close to his ear, and Stiles could feel the heat of his body where he was pressed up close. “I know you’re clumsy Stiles, but that was the worst fake stumble I’ve ever seen.”
Stiles heart was pounding. He really hadn’t thought this part of the plan through. The plan had been to spill the drink on the guy and get him away from Derek, and it had worked perfectly. But he hadn’t planned for this part, the part where Derek realized it was a plan and called him on it.
Fuck. Think, Stiles, think.
For once in Stiles’ life, words deserted him. And of course, Derek wasn’t the sort to fill awkward silences with anything but more awkward silence, so they were at kind of an impasse. Derek waiting and Stiles panicking while his thoughts ran around in circles like a hamster on a wheel.
And then, because this was apparently Stiles’ night for making rash decisions, he turned his head and smashed his lips against Derek’s in what was probably the messiest and most artless kiss in the history of kisses. He felt Derek’s body go rigid, and his fingers dug in Stiles’ biceps painfully tight, but he didn’t push Stiles away.
So Stiles just went for it, sliding a hand up to curl around Derek’s neck and hold him there while he licked along the seam of Derek’s lips into the plush softness of his mouth. Then suddenly, miraculously, Derek was kissing him back in a hot, hungry mess of tongue as his arms came up and around Stiles, holding him tight in the cage of his arms. Stiles pressed close, eager and desperate and brought his free hand down to clutch at Derek’s ass like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. Derek made a growling noise and arched into Stiles’ body and any doubts that Stiles had been entertaining about whether or not Derek was into this, were chased away by the hard pressure of Derek’s erection against his own.
“Oh my God. Get a room!” The sound of Lydia’s voice finally dragged Stiles out of his lust-fuelled haze just enough for him to remember that they were still in the middle of the dance floor. He pulled away reluctantly to see that they had acquired quite the audience.
Stiles’ cheeks flamed hot. He looked back at Derek who appeared completely unconcerned. Derek adjusted his dick through his pants with one hand and grabbed Stiles’ wrist with the other. “This way.”
He dragged Stiles through the crowd which parted before them. Derek looked like he meant business and heaven help anyone who tried to stop him. Stiles hoped he meant to get all up in Stiles’ business again very soon—just somewhere a little more private this time. Maybe Derek’s new loft apartment… or in the back of his Camaro in the parking lot outside… But they only made it as far as the bathroom and really, Stiles wasn’t going to complain. As long as Derek was going to touch Stiles’ dick somewhere they wouldn’t get arrested for it, it was all good as far as he was concerned.
Derek crashed through the door, slamming it back on its hinges and nearly scaring the life out of some poor guy using the urinal. If he wasn’t already doing it he’d probably have pissed himself the way Derek glared at him as the guy looked over his shoulder.
“Hurry up,” Derek growled. His voice was low and threatening and Stiles found it confusingly sexy. Sometimes Stiles worried about himself.
The sound of piss hitting porcelain stopped abruptly, and the guy was out there like a rat down a drain, still zipping up as he shouldered past them and leaving them alone.
As the door crashed shut behind him, Derek leaned back against it. He stared at Stiles for a moment.
“God, I’m so glad you’re finally eighteen.”
Stiles blinked as his brain rapidly assimilated this new information. “You were waiting for me?”
“But that guy before…” Stiles frowned, trying to make sense of what just happened.
“Was pushy. And I was about to get rid of him when you took care of that for me.”
“Awesome.” Stiles grinned. “So what are we waiting for?”
Derek reeled Stiles in by the wrist that he was still holding and kissed him again, his lips and tongue moving against Stiles’ with the same hungry desperation as before. Stiles kissed him back, trying to give as good as he got. Derek moved his hands down to clutch at Stiles’ ass and pull him in, grinding against him with a roll of his hips that left Stiles breathless. Stiles got his hands on Derek’s waist and managed to push them up, underneath Derek’s obscenely tight T-shirt, needing to feel those abs he’d admired for so long under the palms of his hands.
Holy Christ on a cracker they felt even better than they looked: silky skin and a hint of scratchy hair over those perfect ripples of muscle. Stiles wanted to get Derek naked and lick every last inch of him, but now wasn’t the time.
So he cut to the chase.
Dropping to his knees he started unbuckling and unbuttoning. Derek’s cock was straining against the tight denim, and even without werewolf senses, Stiles could smell the hot, excited scent of him. He looked up for a moment and met Derek’s pale green eyes, his pupils huge as he stared down at Stiles.
Stiles grinned. “Happy Birthday to me.” He freed Derek’s cock and it sprang out, thick and veiny and gloriously uncut—Stiles had been really hoping that his theories about born werewolves being intact were correct—and sticky-wet at the tip.
Stiles had never been face-to-face with another dude’s dick before, but all that porn had to count for something, right? And now he had Derek where he wanted him, Stiles let his instincts take over. He licked at the head a few times, and then opened up and sucked as much as he could into his mouth. Derek’s moan and the reflexive grip of his fingers on Stiles’ shoulders reassured Stiles that his instincts were pretty good. He really went for it then, hollowing his cheeks and using his tongue on the underside.
It was a learning experience, and was way more fun than anything Stiles had ever learned in school. He soon found that although he could just manage to get all of Derek’s dick in his mouth, the pressure in his throat made him gag and drool, and not in a sexy way. So Stiles used his hand at the base and focused on the top three inches instead. If the noises Derek was making were anything to go by, he wasn’t about to complain at Stiles’ lack of deep throating skills.
“Fuck, Stiles,” he groaned and he sounded hoarse and wrecked, as though the words were being forced out of him by the power of Stiles’ tongue on his cock.
The sounds of Derek coming undone had him painfully hard and leaking where he was trapped in his pants. He tried to free his erection one handed but couldn’t do it, so he brought his other hand down to scrabble frantically with his button and zipper. He moaned with relief around Derek’s cock as he finally got a hand around himself.
He got his hand working Derek’s cock again and renewed his efforts, forcing himself to grip and squeeze his own dick rather than indulge in the fast, frantic strokes that he really needed. He wanted Derek to come first.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“Fuck… Stiles,” Derek moaned again, and he curled his hands into Stiles’ hair and tugged, trying to pull him away.
But Stiles wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted the full dick sucking experience now he was on the ride. There was no way he was getting off the blow job train until it reached the final destination. He made his intentions clear by sucking harder and trying a little tongue swirling action that he imagined would feel pretty awesome.
It seemed to work.
“Fuck!” Derek was a man of few words while getting blown apparently. His hips bucked forward helplessly and his cock pulsed, pumping hot and luckily-not-too-gross-tasting come all over the inside of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ gripped his own dick tightly and waited for Derek to finish before pulling off so he could swallow properly.
He couldn’t stop himself from jerking off now. He was so fucking close it was killing him. Derek gazed down at him, his pupils blown and face flushed and it was the best thing Stiles had ever seen. Derek’s gaze moved lower, watching Stiles’ hand where he was stroking himself. “Oh god…” Stiles managed. “Oh god… I’m gonna…”
“Get up here,” Derek growled. “I want you to come in my mouth too.” He grabbed Stiles biceps and lifted him bodily, turning him so that he was leaning against the door instead of Derek.
And hell, Stiles really wanted Derek to suck him, of course he did. But his dick was an impatient little shit. Just the thought of Derek on his knees with that perfect, fucking mouth opening for Stiles’ cock was apparently all Stiles needed to tip him over the edge before Derek could even kneel down. Stiles came with a strangled gasp, shooting mostly all over Derek’s softening dick where it hung out of his fly, but a little bit got on Derek’s t-shirt too and maybe on his jeans.
“Sorry, Dude.” Stiles grinned weakly, leaning back against the door and waiting for his legs to stop shaking. He chuckled at the surprised, slightly affronted expression on Derek’s face. “What? I’m an eighteen-year-old virgin. You can’t say shit like that and expect me to control myself.”
Derek’s lips twitched in something that might have been amusement. “How about you come back to my place and I can return the favor somewhere a little more private?”
Stiles’ heart did a happy dance in his chest. But he managed to engage his verbal filter before the words hell yes came out of his mouth. “Yeah, okay.” He tried to keep his voice casual as he tucked himself back in his pants and zipped up. Damn it was sticky, but not as sticky as Derek’s. He held back a snort of amusement as Derek put his jizz-covered dick away and wiped his hands on his jeans.
They made their way back up to the main area of the club, and wove their way through the crowds as they headed for the exit. Derek’s hand was warm and firm on the small of Stiles’ back as he pressed up possessively behind him.
They passed Blond Dude on the edge of the dance floor. He was easy to spot because the stains on his T-shirt stood out starkly in the club lights. He glared at Stiles, squaring his shoulders and looking like he was about to say something. But then his gaze drifted over Stiles’ shoulder to Derek and he backed away hastily, moving aside to let them pass.
“Mine,” he mouthed with a smirk.
Best birthday ever.