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Public Displays of Affection

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It starts, like so many things do, with a dare.

Since Stiles and Derek began dating a couple months back, they've done a lot of stuff. Sexual stuff. A lot of sexual stuff in many different positions, sometimes many times in one day. Whatever. They're young. Derek's certainly not worried about it. The world's a lot less stressful when he's fucking and getting fucked several times a week. Stiles is always coming up with new things to try but it's Derek who notices first, the way Stiles gets a little frenetic when he thinks there might be other people around when they're together, the way he'll kiss Derek a little dirtier than necessary in a group full of people, how hard he came the one time they fucked while they went on that camping trip with the pack in tents only feet away from them.

Stiles has a thing, Derek thinks, and if Stiles has a thing, Derek has a thing. Might as well keep life interesting.

So one night they're at the loft and Stiles is on his stomach, head shoved into a pillow while Derek works a plug inside him when he pauses, pressing gently at the ring of skin stretched around the silicone. Stiles lifts his head, hair askew and eyes unfocused, and asks, "Something wrong?"

"Just thinking," Derek says quietly. He wriggles the plug and Stiles grunts, dropping his head. Derek's eyes slide over Stiles' smooth ass and long back. "What if I told you you couldn't take this out? What if I made you go to outside with it inside you? How do you think that would feel, sitting all day, surrounded by strangers?"

Stiles turns to look at him, his cheeks flushing. "I - you couldn't pay me enough."

Derek grins. "Dare you," he says and Stiles' mouth goes contrary, and that's how they end up here, standing in an elevator, listening to the chimes as it passes every floor. Stiles is staring ahead steadfastly, but Derek steps in close to him, breathing in the scent of the low-level arousal that's been clinging to him all afternoon. They fucked before coming out here, Derek pushing the plug inside of him while his ass was still in the air. Stiles still has Derek's come inside him and Derek can smell it and it's doing things to his insides that he doesn't understand. If there were other wolves around, they'd know Stiles belonged to him, and that's got his skin burning.

The elevator's crowded but they're at the back, up against the wall. No one's going to notice anything, so Derek takes another step sideways, putting a hand between Stiles' shoulder blades. He sees Stiles glance at him out of the corner of his eye, clearly wondering what he's up to. Derek smiles faintly and slides his hand down Stiles' back, fingers catching at the top of his jeans for a moment before slipping past, pushing into his underwear. He sees Stiles' lips part, blood rushing to his cheeks, but he doesn't make a noise. Derek turns his face forward; if anyone glances at them, they won't see anything but a young man with his arm around his boyfriend. They won't know Derek's got his hand down Stiles' pants, fingers pressed against the wide end of the plug in his ass. He pushes it a little, wiggling it back and forth, and Stiles lets out a tiny exhalation of air.

"Asshole," he says, very quietly, and Derek smiles, quirking an eyebrow as if to say I have no idea what you're talking about.

Stiles is breathing through his teeth by the time the doors open next and he surges forward, startling Derek. He yanks his hand out of Stiles' pants, has a split second to wonder where Stiles is going before he moves in front of Derek, leaning back against him. Derek relaxes for only a moment before Stiles hitches his hips and Derek's breath catches in his throat. All right, so he's maybe getting a little hard from the way being out in public is affecting Stiles, but the way Stiles moves against him in small, careful, constant circles of his hips is not fair. He's halfway to hard now and Stiles snorts when Derek lets out a soft choked groan. A man at the front of the elevator turns his head to frown at them, but Derek curls his lip at him and the man quickly turns back around.

They're both halfway to jelly by the time the elevator doors open on the first floor. They tumble out, Derek wrapping his fingers around Stiles' wrist and hauling him toward the parking garage.

"Where we going?" Stiles asks innocently, though there's a wicked grin on his face.

"Home," Derek snaps.

He nearly knocks down a group of school children, but it's worth the way Stiles grips at his thighs as Derek drives, and if they can't quite wait to get into the loft and Stiles sucks him off in the elevator of his apartment building, well, who's going to know?

-

Stiles is a little drunk, intoxicated on music and also actual alcohol, which he can't buy, but Derek's gotten him a couple of beers. He's feeling relaxed, swaying gently along to the music. He can't even remember what band they're here seeing, just that it was something Erica was into and insisted on bringing the whole pack along. He's not sure where they all disappeared to; the crowd's thick and loud. Probably the only reason he hasn't lost Derek is because Derek's wrapped around him, arms around his waist, Stiles' sweaty back sticking to his sweaty chest.

"Your rhythm's off," Derek says in his ear, barely audible over the music.

"Hm?"

"This isn't a waltz," Derek informs him, sounding bemused. "This is - I don't know what this shit is."

"It's call house," Stiles informs him.

"Erica's got bad taste," Derek grumbles. "I think my ears are bleeding."

"Sorry," Stiles says, and hiccups. Around them, the crowd pulses and jumps with the music, but he and Derek are mostly still, shifting gently from side to side. "Why aren't you dancing, then?"

"I don't dance," Derek says gruffly. "And if I let go of you, you're going to fall over."

"I'm not that drunk!" Stiles protests. He grinds his hips back against Derek, who grunts quietly. "I bet you're a good dancer. You're a lot more graceful than me."

"I have never broken a lamp during sex before," Derek muses, pressing his nose to the skin behind Stiles' ear. He breathes in the scent of him, smells the salt sweat and alcohol on his skin.

"That was only once," Stiles says sullenly. He's quiet for a moment, breath hitching when Derek drags his lips against the shell of his ear. "Hey," he adds softly. "This is a lot like the elevator the other day."

"Yeah?" Derek hums, his hands tightening against Stiles' hips. "You're not full this time though, are you?"

Stiles makes a quiet noise, a little needy, and replies, "Jesus, Derek. You’re gonna make me come in my pants."

"Would that be so bad?," Derek murmurs, nosing into Stiles' cheek. "What do you want me to do, huh?" He can smell Stiles' arousal starting to thicken in the air around them, his skin heating as blood rises to the surface.

"Fuck," Stiles says roughly, his hips jerking as Derek slides a hand over his crotch, cupping his palm over the heat building inside his jeans. "Derek - "

"Do you want me to touch you?" Derek asks, breathing hot against Stiles' neck. "Right here, where anyone could see?"

Stiles shudders, his hands clutching at Derek's arms. "Y-yes," he manages, grinding back against Derek. "Please, Der."

"So polite," Derek murmurs, bending his neck to suck a bruise into Stiles' throat while he slips one of his hands into Stiles' jeans. He's already hard, pulsing against Derek's fingers. There's not much room to maneuver, but Derek manages to wrap his hand around Stiles' cock. Stiles moans, the sound lost in the bass line of the music, but Derek feels it in his chest, vibrating in his bones.

The world seems to close around them, everything going quiet like they're in the middle of a stage, right underneath a spotlight. Derek's aware, dimly, of people around them, sweating and laughing and dancing, but all he's really focused on is Stiles in front of him, the way he breathes so raggedly as Derek pumps at his cock, the way his hips jerk and grind against Derek's hard-on, the way he tastes so sweet under Derek's mouth, sweat and lust and Stiles.

"Der," Stiles breathes, one of his arms looping back to clutch at Derek's hair. Derek turns his face into Stiles' armpit, breathing in the way his smell collects there. Stiles groans softly as Derek licks at his soft skin. "You freakin' weirdo."

Derek hums his agreement, scraping his teeth against Stiles' shoulder before speeding up his hand. He rubs his thumb over the head of Stiles' cock, feeling precome beading there, wetting his fingers. The heat of him is almost unbearable. Derek can feel every beat of Stiles' heart; it echoes up his arm and into his own chest. "Come on," he murmurs, worrying at Stiles' neck. "Come on, Stiles, let go."

"I hate you," Stiles wheezes, his body arching away from Derek's as he comes, pulsing in wet hot spurts over Derek's fingers, dampening his underwear. "Oh, fuck."

"Maybe later," Derek retorts, slipping his hand out of Stiles' pants. Stiles spins, looping his arm back around Derek's neck, a blissed-out smile on his face. He gets his other hand between them and around Derek; it's only a couple of strokes before Derek comes, burying his face against Stiles's collarbones with a harsh exhalation of breath.

"What a pair we make," Stiles says softly, laughing. "Coming in our pants like teenagers."

"You are a teenager," Derek grumbles half-heartedly.

"Not for long, babycakes," Stiles grins, planting a kiss on his cheeks. "Not for long."

-

"I am dying," Stiles groans, flopping onto his back and deliberately smacking Derek in the chest.

Derek glares at him. "No you're not."

"Yes, I am," Stiles insists. "When are you going to get your AC fixed, dude? This is stupid."

Derek bares his teeth, skin shining with sweat. "You think I like this? I called. It's going to be another couple of days before they can get someone over here."

"Uuughh," Stiles groans. "I'm just gonna lay on the floor."

Derek sighs, grabbing him by the wrist before he can roll off the bed. "It's only nine thirty. Let's go for a walk."

"Outside?" Stiles asks incredulously. "Where it's even hotter?"

"It is not," Derek argues. "It's probably cooler out there. I'll buy you ice cream."

Stiles beams. "Why didn't you say so? C'mon, we're going to that organic place over on Elm Street, and they close at ten."

"That place is like three dollars a scoop," Derek grumbles, but follows Stiles to the door.

It is cooler outside, very slightly, though there's no breeze stirring the heavy air and they're both sweating by the time they make it to the ice cream parlor.

"This sucks," Stiles chants under his breath, over and over, even after they've gotten their ice cream and are walking back along the quiet streets to the apartment.

Derek elbows him in the ribs. "Cut it out," he says. "We can stay at your place."

"No way," Stiles declares. "There's only an AC in the living room, first of all, and I don't know if you've noticed, but Dad is still giving you the stink-eye every time you come over, and I so don't want to deal with that tonight."

"You're not the one getting the stink-eye," Derek points out.

Stiles throws up his hands and some of his ice cream drips down his arm. "Uuuugggghhhh," he groans with a lot of feeling. "It's been like six months, okay? He's such a cranky old man." He licks at the peppermint ice cream dripping down his arm and sighs. "I'm so sick of feeling sticky!"

"Hey," Derek says, nudging his arm. They're passing a park and on the far edge of it is -

"The pool!" Stiles exclaims. "Oh my god, please."

"I think it's closed."

"Obviously," Stiles says scornfully. "Closes at sundown, dude, but that is not stopping us."

"There's a fence."

"Good thing I've got a muscleman with me, then," Stiles simpers, snarfing down the last of his ice cream cone. Derek watches him dance around in silent agony as he's hit with brainfreeze, face twisted in wry amusement. "Not a word," Stiles groans, pointing a finger at him. "Not a fucking word."

Derek holds up his hands with a shrug, following Stiles across the park. They stop outside the chain link fence. There are no lights, but the pool's there, looking extremely inviting.

"Any cameras?" Stiles asks, squinting into the darkness.

Derek looks around, listens for the whine of electronics, but there's nothing. "We're in luck."

"Yesss!" Stiles sighs. "C'mon, monster man, gimme a boost."

Derek scowls at the monster man nickname and in retaliation gives Stiles an extra hard boost so he lands in a crumpled heap on the other side of the fence. He picks himself up as Derek vaults over the fence, glaring darkly.

"There's a very real chance I hate you right now."

"I can do it again," Derek offers casually, pulling off his shirt. "Right into the pool."

Stiles pulls off his own shirt and shorts and gets to his feet with a dignified sniff. "Think I'll use the diving board, thanks." He heads toward the pool edge, glancing over his shoulder with a deliberate, teasing look. "Monster man."

Derek surges forward with a playful growl and catches him around the waist, using their momentum to throw them into the pool. Stiles surfaces with a laugh, spitting water everywhere.

"This is wonderful," he sings. "So much better than the last time we were in a pool, huh?"

Derek snorts. "There's no homicidal lizard hanging around, so I'd say it's a bit of an improvement."

"Mm," Stiles sighs, "let's just stay here forever, okay? We could get some of those inner tubes and just float here for infinity."

"That's not going to be any fun when winter rolls around," Derek points out. "Or during the day, when this place is full of little kids."

"Yeah, you're right," Stiles agrees. "This water's probably fifty percent pee." He laughs at the disgusted look on Derek's face and says, "Can't you smell it?"

"All I can smell is chlorine," Derek replies. "That's all I want to smell."

Stiles pouts, swimming over to him, bumping into him deliberately. "What about me? Don't you want to smell me?"

Derek wrinkles his nose. "No, thanks. You're not always the most fragrant."

Stiles sputters indignantly, splashing water at Derek. "You fucker! I hope you swallow pee water!"

Derek grins like a shark, lunging forward. He manages to catch Stiles by the waist again but doesn't throw him this time, just curls around him like a starfish, hooking his chin over Stiles' shoulder. "I like the way you smell," he says, breathing hot against Stiles' ear. "Especially when you're dirty."

Stiles hums contentedly, treading water. He turns his head so Derek can see the smile curling his lips. "Figured that out a while ago," he says. "You've got a thing for my armpits, don't you?"

"Scent's strongest there," Derek murmurs, mouthing briefly at Stiles' jaw before pressing forward for a real kiss.

"This is perfect, okay?" Stiles says when they break apart. He twists around and grabs Derek's hands, swimming backward toward the shallow end of the pool. "Thanks for getting me ice cream."

"Is swimming time over?" Derek asks, pretending to be sad.

"Nah," Stiles beams. "I just wanted to get into shallow water so we could make out and I didn't have to worry about drowning."

"So practical," Derek says dryly, but lets Stiles pull him on top of him as they settle onto the steps at the shallow end of the pool. He likes the way Stiles' long fingers curl against his hips, teasing at the edge of his underwear. He likes the way Stiles tastes like peppermint and the soft way he breathes against Derek's lips when they break for air. They kiss slow and languid, in no rush, the soft sound of the water hitting the pool edge the only noise disturbing the night until Stiles bends his head and bites Derek on the collarbone, sending him tilting his head back with quiet groan.

"Hot stuff," Stiles mutters against his throat, one of his hands slipping around to dip down the back of Derek's underwear, squeezing at his ass.

Derek arches his back and hisses, "Don't start anything you can't finish."

Stiles sits back and grins at him. "Is that a challenge?"

"Depends," Derek says. "What are the stakes?"

"Hm," Stiles says thoughtfully. "Bet I can make you come untouched."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "And if I do?"

"Then…you have to make me breakfast in bed for the next week."

"And if I don't," Derek says, looking skeptical, "I get blow jobs every morning for the next week."

Stiles grins. "That's not really a punishment, dude," he says. "But challenge accepted."

Derek returns the grin, leaning in to kiss Stiles hard and fast. "Clock's ticking," he says. "You going to get me off or what?"

Stiles grins again, predatory, and drags Derek down to him, kiss going from slow and lazy to wet and sloppy, his teeth catching on Derek's lip. "Okay," he says against Derek's lips. "Hands and knees on the steps."

Derek exhales slowly, his dick giving a hard throb at the commanding tone in Stiles' voice, but he does what Stiles asks, slipping off his lap to kneel on the cement stairs, the water lapping around his mid-thighs. Stiles moves up behind him and Derek breathes in sharply when Stiles curls his fingers around the waist of Derek's underwear, pulling them over the swell of his ass to down around his knees.

"Stiles," Derek says warningly. "If someone sees - "

"Better figure out if you want to win or lose, then," Stiles snarks. "The longer you hold out on me, the greater the chance we get caught."

"Fuck," Derek breathes as Stiles moves forward, his long fingers kneading briefly at Derek's ass before he pulls his cheeks apart. His skin breaks out in goosebumps at the sensation of Stiles' hot breath against his skin and then his back's arching, fingers gripping at the tiled steps as Stiles laves a hot, wet line over his hole. "Fuck, Stiles!"

Stiles hums, sounding smug, and presses his tongue against Derek. Derek groans, low and heart-felt in his throat, his cock already hard and leaking between his legs. His body feels like it’s on fire, heat licking down his spine as Stiles works his tongue inside him, an odd contrast to the water lapping around his knees. Derek tries to keep his head up, attempting to keep an eye out for anyone who might spot them, but the sensation of Stiles’ mouth on him distracts him; he ducks his head, claws popping from the tips of his fingers; they screech against the ceramic tile when he digs down, hips bearing back against Stiles.

Stiles laughs, muffled against Derek’s skin, his fingers digging into Derek’s hips. Derek grits his teeth; he doesn’t care about the stupid bet, he just needs — “Stiles.”

Stiles lifts his head with another soft laugh and Derek growls at the loss of the heat of his mouth. “What’s up?”

“More,” Derek grits out, claws digging white grooves in the tiles. “I need - ”

“I got you,” Stiles says soothingly, pressing his cheek to the swell of Derek’s ass. Derek feels him press a finger to his rim and pushes back impatiently; he doesn’t need to be stretched, he needs to be filled. “Look at you,” Stiles says, sounding a little awe-struck as he pushes another finger into Derek. “You’re so fucking good for me.” He curls his fingers and Derek groans sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as his hips hitch against Stiles’ hand. “Shh,” Stiles murmurs, his other hand squeeze Derek’s hip gently. “We don’t want anyone hearing us, do we?”

Derek pants roughly but bites his lip, shaking his head, pushing eagerly back against Stiles’ fingers as they curl and press inside of him. “Get me off,” Derek growls. He’s a bewildering mix of hot and cold, skin pebbled, nipples hard despite the heat of the night air, though he’s burning up wherever Stiles touches him.

“Let go then,” Stiles says patiently. His hand slips up Derek’s side, tweaking at a nipple, and Derek hisses, almost dropping his face into the water. His back arches as Stiles’ fingers find his prostate and then he’s coming, white lights bursting in his vision, a weak whimper slipping past his lips. Stiles doesn’t pull his hand away until Derek’s shuddering and then he slaps Derek’s ass triumphantly. “I win!”

Derek whirls on him and yanks off Stiles’ underwear before he can react, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him up onto the edge of the pool. “What are you - oh,” Stiles sighs as Derek sinks between his wet thighs, curling his lips around Stiles’ cock. He’s already hard; it’s not long before his hands are twisted in Derek’s hair, his hips jolting up into the heat of Derek’s mouth. “Der,” he says, and his finger dig into Derek’s cheekbones. “Der, I’m - ”

Derek growls low in his chest, hands digging into Stiles’ thighs, and Stiles shudders as he comes, curving forward over Derek’s shoulders with a gasp. Derek lifts off him slowly, curling his tongue around Stiles like a lollipop. He likes how Stiles looks, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open as he tries to get his breath back.

“You,” Stiles says accusingly, when he’s breathing again. He curls a hand in Derek’s damp hair.

“Me,” Derek agrees, gently biting down on Stiles’ thigh. Stiles shudders and pushes him away.

“We better get going,” Stiles says. “We’re probably pushing our luck.”

Derek looks past him, eyes sweeping over the dark park and the bright street beyond. “We are,” he agrees, pulling himself out of the pool. “There’s a cruiser coming down the street.”

Stiles whirls around and lets out a bark of horrified laughter. “Dude, we gotta run!”

They’re both laughing as they scramble back into their shorts, Derek boosting Stiles back over the fence before following, their bare feet slapping against the grass as they disappear into the darkness.

“Hey,” Stiles says, catching Derek’s hand as they trot through the trees. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

Derek smiles faintly. “No problem.”

“Also, tomorrow, I want chocolate chip pancakes.”

Derek doesn’t think he has any right to look as startled as he does when Derek pushes Stiles into a bush.

-

Derek's white as a ghost, his jaw clamped so tight it's a wonder his teeth don't shatter. Stiles pats his hand and says, "It's only three hours, Der. We'll be on the ground soon."

Derek hisses something that sounds dire but he doesn't unclamp his jaw to do it so Stiles doesn't really catch what he says. He sighs, leaning against Derek's side as the plane judders. Derek's deathly afraid of flying - something he didn't admit until an hour and a half ago when they were boarding - and the rough weather's definitely not helping. Stiles eyes Derek's hands gripping at the armrests. He won't be surprised if there are claw marks in the metal when they disembark.

"We're like a third of the way there," Stiles continues, rubbing Derek's arm comfortingly. "Then it's solid ground for five days. Just sun and sand and you and me and huge drinks with umbrellas in them, right?"

"You can't drink," Derek tells him stiffly, his eyes rolling toward the dark night sky outside the window. Stiles wishes Derek would let them trade seats, but he seems to think that even the slightest bit of movement's going to unbalance the plane and send them tumbling from the sky.

Stiles sighs again. "Didn't you ever take vacations as a kid?"

"Of course we did," Derek snaps. "But we drove everywhere. My dad had this camper he refurbished that he was stupidly proud of and we went everywhere in that. I never flew."

"Wait, this is your first time?" Stiles presses. "You said you've been on a plane before!"

"I have," Derek hisses. "I had to fly to Beacon Hills from New York because Laura took the car!"

"Oh," Stiles says softly, sinking into his seat. "You should have said something! We didn't have to go so far!"

"You said you wanted to do spring break, so we're doing spring break," Derek tells him, his jaw going tight again.

"You just said I can't drink," Stiles points out. Derek gives him an agonized look and Stiles relents, leaning into his space to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thanks for doing this to yourself just to make me happy."

Derek turns his head to press their foreheads together, breathing shallowly. He doesn't say anything but he doesn't really need to. It's always there, present in his actions, the way he cares for Stiles. Stiles straightens and looks around the plane; most people have turned off their lights and seem to be asleep. The flight attendants are all gathered up at the front, talking low amongst themselves.

"Here," Stiles says softly, curling onto his side, putting his legs across Derek's knees. He spreads his sweatshirt across them like a blanket and rests his head against Derek's collarbone. "See if you can relax, all right?"

Derek exhales forcefully, bringing his arm up to scoop around Stiles' shoulder, pulling him in closer.

"There you go," Stiles murmurs. "Now just keep quiet, all right?"

"What are you - " Derek cuts himself off as Stiles slips his hand under his sweatshirt, unbuttoning Derek's pants with practiced ease. "Stiles - "

"Shhh," Stiles says soothingly, tilting his head up to kiss Derek's neck. "Relax."

"Going to kill you," Derek mutters, but he still arches a little when Stiles eases his cock out of his underwear, teeth digging into his bottom lip. It's dry, and it's not the best angle, and it's not like Stiles can really go to town with movement, but he does his best, pumping Derek slowly. Derek doesn't look like he's relaxing, though; if anything, he's getting more tense, eyes flickering around the plane. Stiles sighs.

"Is this doing anything for you?"

Derek shakes his head, breathing through his teeth. Stiles sighs and lets go of him, tucking him back into his pants. He nuzzles into Derek's neck, pressing his lips to his pulse. Derek sighs, his breath warm against Stiles' forehead.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"Don't worry about it," Stiles says. He puts his hand on Derek's chest, feeling his heartbeat, lightly drumming his fingers against his ribs. "Hey," he says eventually, voice so soft even Derek can barely hear him. "I'm going to the bathroom." He waits a beat, then adds pointedly, "And you should come join me."

Derek shifts slowly, his arm tightening around Stiles' shoulder. "What are you suggesting?"

"You know," Stiles says, grinning faintly. "Shenanigans." He straightens, putting his feet on the floor. He raises his eyebrows at Derek. "Yes?"

Derek's eyes flicker around the plane again before landing on Stiles and he nods slowly. Stiles grins wider and whispers, "Okay. Come down in like a minute." He scrambles out of his seat, looking around warily. Everyone's asleep; even the flight attendant's leaning back in his seat, eyes closed. Stiles creeps into the bathroom and waits in the dark, holding his breath. Seconds tick by. Too long, he thinks, and starts to worry that Derek's not coming. Maybe he was too afraid to get out of his seat.

Just when he's about to give up, there's a soft knock and Derek says, "It's me."

Stiles sighs with relief and opens the door, letting him slip inside. It's really tight; he and Derek are basically stuck chest to chest.

"Are you gonna puke?" Stiles asks, because Derek's looking a little green.

Derek shakes his head and mutters, "Don't like walking around up here."

"You are working so hard," Stiles says fondly, lifting his arms and curling them around Derek's neck. Derek takes a deep breath and folds his arms around Stiles' waist, pressing his face against his neck. "Let's try this again, huh?"

"Please," Derek mumbles, his teeth scraping along Stiles' throat. Stiles hisses quietly and gets right to work; there's no telling how much time they'll have before they get interrupted and he's already getting hard and he really doesn't want to get cock-blocked and have to spend the rest of the flight aching. He'd also really like to get Derek's dick in his mouth but there's not enough room to kneel so he has to settle with unzipping his pants and getting his cock in hand. It's easier this time; there's lotion sitting next to the sink so he pumps some into his hand, slicking his fingers before they curl around Derek's dick. Derek makes a soft noise against his throat and Stiles can tell it's working this time; he can feel his dick growing hot, pulsing under his touch.

"You good?" Stiles murmurs, shoving down his own pants, underwear getting way too tight.

"Mm," Derek sighs, tilting his head to suck a bruise into being on Stiles' collarbone. His fingers dig into Stiles' waist as Stiles takes their dicks in hand, fingers forming a fist for them to thrust up into.

"I wanna fuck you," Stiles whispers, breath hitching at the drag of skin on skin. "Can I please?"

"Yes," Derek hisses and Stiles sees the way his eyes flash red as he pulls back.

"I think you're gonna have to turn around, then," Stiles says quietly. "There's not much room to maneuver in here."

Derek nods and manages to twist around, shoving his pants down to his knees. He doesn't take them off; there's not enough room for him to really spread his legs anyway, and they might have to get out here quickly. Stiles hums to himself, slicking his fingers with more lotion, long fingers slipping between Derek's ass cheeks, circling his entrance before pressing in.

"Fuck," Derek groans, shoving his hips back against Stiles. "That's what I need, fuck!"

"Dude, shh," Stiles whispers, clapping his free hand over Derek's mouth. "Do you want to get tackled by an air marshall?"

Derek moans against his hand, soft and muffled. Stiles presses a kiss to his shoulder blades, scissoring his fingers inside of him. "Better, better. Is this enough? Are you ready?"

Derek nods quickly, reaching behind him to grab at Stiles' waist. He's impatient; he doesn't let Stiles sink in slowly, but jerks his hips back as Stiles presses up against him, pushing Stiles in roughly. Stiles has to press his face into Derek's neck to muffle a groan. He's already close to coming, unbelievably turned on by the fact that they're having sex on a fucking airplane, but he's already determined that he's not going to come until Derek does so he reaches around as he begins to move, jerking Derek off in time with his thrusts. Derek pushes back against him forcefully, his breath hot and wet against Stiles' hand. Stiles presses two fingers against his lips and Derek's mouth opens for him, sucking into his fingers with a groan.

"Shit," Stiles breathes against his back, thrusts becoming erratic. He works his hand on Derek's dick faster, frantic. "Come for me, babe, please."

Derek's body jerks under his, mouth clamping down around his fingers, and even Stiles can smell his release. Stiles whines at the way Derek's body tenses around him and that's it; he's gone, spilling inside Derek with a noise that's almost a sob. His hand slips from Derek's mouth to clutch at his hip and Derek turns his head, licking his lips.

"Oh my god," Stiles whispers a little hysterically. "Welcome to the Mile-High Club."

Derek snorts as Stiles slips out of him, turning stiffly and reaching around him to dampen some paper towels. Stiles strokes his hair as Derek cleans off his dick, then wipes at his own thighs. "You feeling better?"

Derek looks up briefly, a faint smile flickering across his face. "Much," he says quietly. He pauses for a moment, then adds, "You think we'll be able to get away with a second round?"

Stiles grins. "Only one way to find out."

-

Stiles is taking too long. Derek's been standing in the housewares section for over half an hour, glaring at enamelware while he waits for his boyfriend to find a pair of fucking jeans. Derek's never met anyone so picky about how their pants fit. He had to go shopping with Lydia once and not even she takes so long. It's been long enough, though; Stiles promised him they'd go to Applebee's after this and he's hungry.

When Derek comes up the escalator and heads for the men's section, he spots Stiles first, standing in front of a mirror with the tightest pants he's ever seen. Derek slows when he sees the way Stiles' head's turned, lips moving. He's talking to someone. Derek spots a teen around Stiles' age a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets. Derek pauses behind a Tommy Hilfiger display, eyes narrowing. He doesn't recognize the other teen, but he's got on a Beacon Hills High lacrosse team shirt, so Stiles must know him, but Derek doesn't like the way the teen's standing just a little too close, the way his eyes keep flicking up and down Stiles' body, lingering on his legs. Stiles is laughing - the kid's telling some story about that weird coach they have - his body language open, relaxed. Derek doesn't like it, and he really doesn't like it when the kid leans forward a little and asks, "You got any plans later?"

That's his cue. Derek stomps out from behind the clothing display and bears down on them. Stiles smiles as he spots Derek, eyes lighting up. "Hey!" he says delightedly. "Where've you been?"

"Waiting for you," Derek snaps, jerking his head toward the unfamiliar teen, who takes a step back, looking suddenly nervous. Good.

"Sorry," Stiles replies, his head bobbing nonchalantly. "I got distracted talking to Jay - hey, where'd he go?"

The kid's gone, probably pissed himself at the way Derek flashed his eyes at him. Stiles would call it an abuse of power if he'd seen it, but Derek's at the end of his patience. "Can we go?" he growls.

"Gettin' hungry?" Stiles grins, patting Derek's stomach before he turns, heading for the dressing rooms. "Lemme just get these off."

Derek says nothing, glaring at Stiles' ass in his tight, tight jeans. He's feeling hot, unsettled, angry. Stiles is so fucking oblivious sometimes and it infuriates him. Derek's not possessive. Well, okay, he is - it's part of being an alpha; to protect his pack - but he tries hard not to be. It's just that people flirt with him all the time and he shuts them down instantly, but Stiles - Stiles just doesn't get it sometimes and it makes the wolf in his head snarl with jealousy.

He follows Stiles into the fitting room, sitting on the hard bench, balefully eyeing the pile of jeans Stiles has tried on. He jumps when Stiles touches his head, carding his fingers through Derek's hair.

"You okay?" Stiles asks. "You're quiet."

"I'm fine," Derek says, gritting his teeth.

Stiles watches his face for a long moment, brows drawing together. "You're mad," he says. "Because I took too long? Or - " His expression clears a little. "Because I was talking to Jay."

"That's not it," Derek snaps.

A slow, wondering smile begins to creep across Stiles' face. "Yes it is," he says. "It totally is. Oh my god, you were jealous."

Of course now he gets it, Derek thinks irritably. Stiles laughs softly, putting his hands on either side of Derek's face. "What am I gonna do with you?" he asks, bending down to press a kiss to Derek's forehead.

Derek makes a disgruntled noise, fisting his hands in the front of Stiles' t-shirt. "You are mine," he says moodily.

"Yeah?" Stiles breathes, voice taking on a tone that makes Derek go very still. "Maybe you should prove it." He runs his tongue over his lips. Derek swallows at the sudden, sharp stab of arousal that comes rolling off of him.

"You sure you want to play this game?" Derek murmurs, his hands going to unbutton Stiles' tight, tight jeans. Stiles makes a quiet noise, fingers slipping to Derek's shoulders, gripping at his jacket. He presses his hips into the touch of Derek's hand and Derek can feel him pulsing beneath the denim, cock hot and starting to twitch.

"Yeah," Stiles hisses, curling his fingers around Derek's wrist, guiding his hand down his pants. Derek growls at the tight fit. "Fuck yeah. Show them, babe."

"Shut up," Derek snaps, jerking his hand out of Stiles' pants. Stiles sighs at the loss, but then his breath's hitching as Derek springs to his feet and twists him in the same motion, slamming him against the fitting room wall. Stiles giggles softly, trailing off in a quiet groan when Derek drags the stupid tight jeans over his ass and grinds up against him.

"D'you remember where we are?"

"Better keep your fucking mouth shut, then," Derek mutters, shoving his own jeans down around his hips. "Where's your lube?"

"Got some in my sweatshirt," Stiles replies. He's got his hands flat on the wall and he pushes his hips back against Derek, who grits his teeth and leans back, groping around in the pockets of Stiles' sweatshirt until he finds the packet. It doesn't even occur to him that this is strange; that one or both of them usually has lube on them nowadays, in case of emergency sex. Right now, it's just super convenient, and he rips the packet open with his teeth, smearing his fingers and cock.

"Come on, come on," Stiles chants under his breath. Derek can smell him, dripping with lust. His cocky tone gets under Derek's skin, pisses him off yet pulls at his dick. "Come on, co - oh." Derek grins at the way Stiles' body shudders when he slides a finger inside him, pushing and pulling and curving. "Jesus," Stiles hisses, spine bending at the burn when Derek doesn't slow, pushes another finger into him. "Oh, fuck, fuck, c'mon, make me yours, fuck!"

His entire body jumps when Derek presses the head of his cock to Stiles' entrance, but Derek keeps one hand on his hip, not letting him push back against him. Even when he's all the way inside, the cold metal of the zipper on his pants biting where it's sandwiched between his thigh and Stiles' ass, he keeps still, waiting until Stiles is breathing high and needy between his teeth, his fingers curling and uncurling against the wall. Derek curves his body forward until the whole of his front is pressed along Stiles' back, one of his arms looping around Stiles' waist, the one braced against the wall next to Stiles'. He starts moving without warning, rolling his hips upward over and over, barely pulling out before he's slamming back in.

“Were you mad, puppy?” Stiles gasps, shoving his body back against Derek’s. “You gonna make me pay?”

"Shut up,” Derek growls, sinking his teeth into the tender space where Stiles' neck meets his shoulder. Stiles whimpers, his legs shaking, threatening to give out underneath them. Derek tightens his grip on Stiles' waist, harder than he's ever been. He likes this, fucking Stiles angry and exposed. There could be other people just feet away, trying on over-priced clothes, listening, and the thought just makes him harder, makes him pound into Stiles all the more frantically. His orgasm hits him without any warning, his body jerking forward, grinding into Stiles until it hurts. Stiles swears, sinks his teeth into Derek's forearm as he comes, come splattering on the wall. Derek exhales, pressing his forehead to the back of Stiles' neck while he tries to get his breath back.

"You still mad?" Stiles asks after a while.

"No," Derek murmurs, pressing a kiss to the hot bitemark he left on Stiles' shoulder as he pulls out carefully. Stiles sighs at the emptiness, his shoulders slumping as he turns to face Derek.

"You think you proved I'm yours?"

Derek reaches out to cup the side of his face, pressing his thumb gently against Stiles' cheekbone. "What do you think?"

Stiles grins, extending his hands so he can tuck Derek back into his underwear, pulling his jeans up from around his hips. "I think," he says, "that people would have to be blind not to see that."

Derek smiles faintly and leans forward, pressing dry lips to Stiles' cheek. "It goes both ways," he murmurs.

Stiles laughs. "I'd have to be blind not to see that. I - " he cuts himself off with a groan and Derek quirks a concerned eyebrow. "Aw, fuck, dude, I got come on these jeans."

"So?"

"So? I was just trying them on for kicks! Ugh." Stiles twists around to look in the mirror, pursing his lips. "They're like $200 jeans. I was just dicking around putting them on!"

"I'll buy 'em for you," Derek murmurs, stepping up behind him, one of his hands slipping down to grope at Stiles' ass. "I'm growing kind of fond of them."

Stiles grins at their reflections. "Is that how it works? Because I've got some other things I've been eyeing. If I jizz on those, will you buy them for me?"

"Don't push your luck," Derek says, smacking him lightly. "Come on and get those off. I'm getting hungry and you're paying."

They pass the kid Stiles was talking to before on the way out of the store. Stiles doesn't notice; he's got a bag with his come-stained jeans in one hand and he's gesturing forcefully with the other, extolling the virtue of Applebee's deep-fried apple cheesecake. Derek notices the kid, though, and puts his arm around Stiles' waist, sure to give him a bright, dangerous smile. The satisfaction he gets from the way the kid's face turns bright red is delicious.