“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Stiles gasped. “I, fuck, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”
“So tell me to stop,” Derek said against his neck, then went back to biting his way up to Stiles’s jaw.
Stiles made a lot of noises in response to that, but none of them approximated stop in the least. In fact, even as he repeated, “This is a terrible idea, shit, I’m going to be in so much trouble,” he didn’t stop his hands from sliding under Derek’s shirt and down his muscled back, nails dragging the whole way down. The scratches made Derek’s jaw clench harder, love bite turning into a bruise that throbbed in time with the ache in Stiles’s dick.
With a growl that Stiles could feel where their chests pressed together, Derek wrapped his hands around the backs of Stiles’s thighs and lifted him clear off the ground. Stiles swore again, still nothing that was an actual complaint, and closed his legs around Derek’s waist; mostly just so that he didn’t kick anything as Derek walked them over to the bed, because Derek didn’t seem to need any help holding him up.
He fell on top of the blankets when Derek dropped him, and Derek crowded into the space between his legs, still standing. “Tell me to stop,” he said again, harder. A challenge, a dare. “Tell me to stop or beg me to fuck you.”
Not about to do either, Stiles surged up and snagged the front belt loops on Derek’s jeans to drag Derek down on top of him. “How about you fuck me and I won’t arrest you on your five—five, Derek, what the fuck—felony warrants?”
Derek let himself be pulled. He caught himself just shy of actual contact, palms whumping the comforter on either side of Stiles’s head, and smirked. “You wouldn’t anyway,” he pointed out, smug and obnoxiously right about it. “You know I’m innocent.”
“Innocent is really never an appropriate word for you.”
As if to prove Stiles’s point, Derek reached between them with one hand and unbuckled his gun belt with quick ease. “If you want the handcuffs to come out, though...”
“Ah-guh,” Stiles answered with the full might of his college education. “That’s not what those handcuffs are for. Those are for arresting fugitives, not having kinky sex with them.”
When Derek’s hand paused, Stiles had to swallow down what would’ve been an undignified whine and settle for glaring at him instead. It got him the same satisfied look from Derek either way.
“Was any of that a no?”
“Jesus Christ, you know it wasn’t.” Stiles lifted his hips, equally to let Derek pull the belt out from under him and to grind his crotch against Derek’s just in case his meaning wasn’t clear. “Come on, you wanna play cops and robbers or what?”
Derek had the first cuff around his wrist before Stiles noticed they’d been removed from their holster. His bed had a nice, sturdy wrought iron headboard, but they were closer to the foot. Conveniently, that also had posts able to stand up to a considerable amount of strain; Derek looped the chain of the handcuffs around the nearest before clicking the other one closed on Stiles’s free wrist.
“Who’s playing, Deputy Stilinski?” he asked with a wicked grin.
Stiles’s pants and boxers went down in a single tug, and the friction chafed his erection just enough to make his masochistic tendencies buck up in search of more. He groaned, “Derek,” but bit back any further pleas.
Even if Derek got it out of him eventually, he was stubborn enough to hold out for longer than that.
Except that the moment was interrupted by a thunderous banging on the door downstairs and a loudspeaker blaring his dad’s voice from the lawn. “Derek Hale! We have the house surrounded. Let the hostage go and no one needs to get hurt.”
“Hostage?” Derek echoed. “Does he really think...”
He looked at Stiles, expressive eyebrows raised, and Stiles could only shrug awkwardly against the cuffs.
“Not your biggest fan. Hey, no!” He desperately tried to hook his ankles around Derek to hold him in place, but didn’t have the leverage to stop him from backing away.
“Stay,” Stiles begged. “Derek, stay. Don’t run. Let me prove your case, clear your name. I can do it, you just have to stay and let me.”
Derek shook his head and retested further. He looked as sad about it as Stiles was, but he said, “You know I can’t. I have to find Peter.”
“I can’t, Stiles.”
“Then promise me you’ll come back. When it’s all over, you come back.”
Derek recrossed the distance between them and bent over to kiss Stiles breathless. “I promise.” Then he was away again, peering from the side of the window into the backyard.
“Hey!” Stiles complained as Derek inched the sash up. “Can I at least get a fucking pillow or something?”
Flashing him a smirk, Derek dropped onto the lower roof and vanished to the sound of angry shouting below. No gunshots, thankfully. Then again, maybe Derek deserved to get shot for the fact that Stiles’s dad was the one to break down his bedroom door and find Stiles handcuffed to the bed, half-naked and still mortifyingly hard.
As soon as the sheriff had cleared the room, he lowered his gun and covered his face with his hand. “Son,” he sighed, then worked his jaw a few times trying to come up with the rest. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen your ex-husband around?”