“I am not going to an Alpha Delta Phi party,” Stiles says, thrusting the obnoxious neon flyer back at Jackson.
“No ones making you,” Jackson sneers.
Stiles flips him off, lying back down in the grass, putting his book in front of his face.
“I’m going,” Scott says, nudging Stiles leg with his own. Stiles ignores him. Alpha Delta Phi are the biggest stereotypes of frat bros on the Beacon University Campus. Their parties are not fun; they’re chaotic and often end in police sirens and sometimes ambulances.
“Don’t try to convince him, he’d just sit in the corner reading his damn book” Jackson scoffs. “He’s probably spending the night with his fake, I mean secret boyfriend.”
There’s a slight wheezing sound which means Lydia has elbowed Jackson in the stomach.
Stiles isn’t too bothered. By Jackson’s disbelief that Stiles could ever date someone or the fact that he’s not going to the party. He’s not a big drinker and wasn’t invited to many parties in high school due to him being the son of the local sheriff. He didn’t feel like he’s missing out on much then and certainly doesn’t now.
His phone buzzes. He turns the page in his book, finishing the sentence before checking it.
FROM: PRETTY GREEN EYES
Party at mine tonight please come <3
Stiles chews his bottom lip. On the one hand, a frat party almost guaranteed to end with at least one injury. On the other, delicious sex appealing to Stiles annoying kink of potentially getting caught.
Sometime Stiles hates himself, just a little bit.
“I’ll come,” Stiles announces, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.
“Awesome,” Scott says. Stiles doesn’t even have to look, just raises his hand for the high five. It stings his palm a little.
“Fine,” Jackson says, “But you’re not wearing plaid.”
Stiles tries to wear plaid but Lydia practically wrestles him out of it. She forces him into a navy cardigan, white shirt and grey jeans.
Sometimes Stiles wonders what his life would be like if he hadn’t tried to impress Lydia with his intellect. There would probably be less manhandling. Or more, Stiles isn’t certain.
The Alpha Delta Phi house is loud. The music can be heard practically all over campus, the base shaking the ground and thrumming through Stiles bones. The house is adorned with lots of multicolored fairy lights, giving the party a hazy warm glow. People are everywhere; stretched out on the grass, in the pool, on the roof.
Scott and Allison are floating together on a pink inflatable doughnut. They wave merrily as they float past. Lydia has disappeared, presumably to find Jackson. Stiles winds his way inside. He finds the makeshift bar with relative ease. For some reason it’s decorated with assorted Hawaiian tourist souvenirs.
“What up Kinsey Three,” Erica shouts, spinning a bottle of tequila in her hand. She pours a shot, shooting it across the bar. Stiles catches it, downs it in one and instantly regrets it.
“Oh god,” Stiles splutters while Erica cackles, “That was awful.”
“Maybe just a beer for you,” Erica says, passing Stiles a bottle. Stiles takes a sip, leaning against the bar.
“How did you get bartender duty?”
“Cause I’m the prettiest,” Erica replies, batting her eyelashes. Stiles takes another sip, raising his eyebrows.
“ADP is paying me $400 for the night,” Erica continues, “Plus I don’t have to do clean up. Now shoo, you’re blocking my next customers.”
She winks at Stiles, gently ushering him away.
Stiles heads over to the staircase, leaning against it. The beer isn’t the greatest, so Stiles leaves it on a side table littered with solo cups. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out.
FROM: PRETTY GREEN EYES
Come upstairs <3
Stiles grins. He slips under the rope that makes upstairs ‘off limits’. He heads to the end of the hallway. Before he can raise his hand to knock of the door, it opens. Stiles is pulled inside then pressed against the closed door.
“No plaid,” Jordan teases, lips brushing the curve of Stiles ear.
“Lydia,” Stiles says by way of an explanation. Jordan laughs, pressing in closer. Stiles slides one hand under Jordan’s shirt, grinning when Jordan shivers. Jordan tilts Stiles head upwards, placing a soft kiss against Stiles lips. Jordan runs a hand through Stiles hair, the other sliding around Stiles waist.
“Missed you,” Jordan murmurs, “I feel like I don’t see you enough.”
“You’re busy with frat boy stuff,” Stiles points out, eager to get back to kissing. “Once that’s over you can take me to dinner.”
“Oh I can, can I?” Jordan teases, pulling Stiles across the room. They tumble on the bed together. Stiles underneath, Jordan on top. The kiss again, deeper, more desperate, more passionate. Jordan opens his mouth, allowing Stiles to lick into it eagerly. Jordan bites at Stiles bottom lip, one hand on Stiles neck, thumb resting on the hinge of Stiles jaw.
Jordan moves to kissing Stiles neck, biting marks into the pale skin. Stiles moans softly, fingers gripping Jordan’s t-shirt. Stiles adores being bitten, adores wearing a mark on his pale skin. Arousal flickers his veins, hot and electric. Their hips grind together, sparks shooting up Stiles spine.
“Clothes off,” Stiles groans, pushing Jordan back. He yanks the cardigan and shirt off, almost violently. Jordan shakes his head, stripping off his t-shirt and throwing it over his shoulder.
Stiles stops at the waistband of his jeans, looking up at Jordan, biting his bottom lip obscenely. Jordan pauses, pupils blown wide with lust.
Stiles pulls down his zipper slowly, revealing the crimson lace beneath. Jordan’s mouth drops open.
“Holy shit,” Jordan breathes. He kicks his jeans off, crawling forward to put his hands on Stiles hips. Stiles grins, watching Jordan lean down to lick the tip of Stiles wet cock, peeking out the top of the panties. Stiles gasps softly. Jordan smirks.
Jordan pushes Stiles underneath him, settling between Stiles spread thighs. Jordan spans a hand over the front of Stiles panties, light, teasing touches. Jordan always touches Stiles with reverence; like he’s a present that Jordan wants to take his utmost care in unwrapping.
Jordan leans down, tongue lapping at the precum through the lace. Stiles gasps, a hand tangling in Jordan’s hair. It’s not forceful but it keeps Jordan in place. Stiles restrains from bucking up into Jordan’s mouth, high-pitched gasps tumbling from his lips. Jordan only stops when the panties are stretched and soaked.
“You know,” Jordan says conversationally, as if they’re talking about the weather and not Stiles impending debauchery, “These are no where near close to being ruined.”
Stiles grins, placing a sweet kiss on Jordan’s lips.
“You want to fuck me in them,” Stiles says softly, “Want me to leak all over them, make them messy?”
Jordan pulls Stiles into another kiss, reaching into the open draw beside the bed to grab the lube. Jordan quickly flicks the lip open, fingers coated in it. Stiles lies back against the pillows, getting himself comfortable. Jordan pulls the panties to one side, one finger teasing the rim gingerly. Stiles doesn’t want to be teased, he wants Jordan to fuck him. He whines, pouting a little but Jordan is all about proper prep. He likes making Stiles wait until he's fully stretched. Stiles is hoping given how long it's been since they've devoured each other that Jordan will be eager to get this show on the road.
Jordan gently lets a slick finger sink in to its limit. Jordan swallows Stiles moans, sinking the finger in and out before adding another. Stiles rocks back and forth, loving that feeling of being wet and open. Jordan flicks Stiles nipple as he jabs his fingers against Stiles prostate.
“You fucker,” Stiles whines, playfully hitting Jordan’s chest. Jordan’s other hand grabs Stiles, placing gentle kisses along the palm. Jordan then skates Stiles prostate once more. Stiles breathing goes ragged.
“Hey Stiles are you up here…. HOLY SHIT!”
Scott stumbles through the door, sees what’s happening and cover his eyes. Allison, Lydia and Jackson pause in the doorway. Stiles flushes red.
“Can we help you?” Jordan asks icily, covering Stiles body with his own.
“Is Stilinski wearing lace panties?” Jackson mutters to Lydia.
“We are meeting your boyfriend properly later,” Lydia says primly, pushing everyone out the door and closing it behind her.
Stiles covers his face with his hands, noting that his erection hasn’t wilted and is still dripping. His panties feel tight and sticky. Jordan pulls Stiles hands away, kissing him softly.
“Do you want to stop?” Jordan asks. Stiles shakes his head, rocking on Jordan’s fingers.
“Please fuck me,” Stiles says. Jordan adds another finger. Stiles feels like his body is on fire, hot and desperate and wanting.
Jordan rolls on a condom, nuzzling Stiles neck, adding another hickey to the cluster of bruises already there. He eases into Stiles, leaning over him. Jordan’s body blankets Stiles in a way that makes him feel safe and wanted. They kiss, syrupy sweet.
Jordan starts moving. It’s a slick, slow burning pleasure; the kind that coils in Stiles gut. Jordan likes to take Stiles apart slowly, likes to tease until Stiles is sobbing with need. Their hands intertwine. Amber eyes staring into green.
“Feel so good,” Jordan murmurs. They kiss, Stiles nipping and sucking, eating up all of Jordan’s groans. It’s the fastest way to get Jordan to speed up, to hit Stiles prostate over and over.
“Fuck, gonna cum,” Stiles whines.
“Do it,” Jordan growls.
Stiles does so, back bowing, pleasure sizzling through his veins. Jordan finishes soon after, cradled in the hot clench of Stiles body.
Jordan pulls out, tying the condom and chucking it into the wastebasket. He cuddles up to Stiles, nuzzling at his neck. Stiles smiles lazily. His panties are sticky, will for sure be gross soon but he’s reveling in the afterglow.
“So your friends have no boundaries,” Jordan says. Stiles covers his face, groaning.
“Oh god, Scott saw me getting fingered,” Stiles laments, “I will never be able to look him in the eye again.”
“Guess I’ll have to meet them later,” Jordan says.
“Much later,” Stiles says, “Once I’ve deleted Scott’s look of horror from my mind.”
Jordan laughs again, pulling Stiles close and kissing his cheek.