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The True Poet of Beacon Hills

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“I need to Skype with Allison right now.”

Scott’s declaration was met with silence and he repeated it, putting more emphasis on the word “now.”

Still silence. Impatient, Scott opened his mouth a third time.

“I really need to Skype with …”

“Allison. Right now, yes, I got that part. I just want to know why that has to happen in my loft?” Derek asked with a frown and Scott actually had the nerve to roll his eyes.

“Don’t you remember how I told you yesterday that the Internet at my mom’s house was down and that I had that Skype date with Allison today and that I would need to come over if I couldn’t get it fixed in time?”

Derek was still blocking the door, refusing to let Scott in.

“I do remember you telling Stiles that that was a possibility. By coming over, however, I assumed you meant Stiles’ house, not my loft.”

Scott winced. “I was going to, I swear, but Stiles wasn’t home and I can’t Skype with my girlfriend while the Sheriff is there, that would just be way too awkward.”

Derek crossed his arms in front of his chest with a scowl.

“And you didn’t stop to consider that the part that would make that awkward would also be really awkward if it were to happen in the loft of someone blessed, or in this case cursed, with super hearing?”

Scott sputtered. “What? No! Come on! I would never Skype-sex Allison anywhere near you Derek, I swear.” He let out a desperate whine.

“Please, Derek, I have like two minutes left before Allison goes online and if I’m not there she’ll be upset and then she’ll need to be comforted and she’s in Paris so she’s surrounded by people who speak French or people who speak English with a French accent and …”

Derek huffed and turned away from the door, walking back into the living area of the loft.

“Alright, alright, come in already. No funky business though, I mean it, or I’ll throw you and your computer out the door faster than you can say ‘Allison’,” he threatened and Scott scrambled in quickly, marching over to the sofa and sinking into the cushions with a grateful sigh.

“Thanks Derek, I owe you one.”

He opened up his computer and frowned when it didn’t automatically connect to the WiFi.

“Hey Derek, did you happen to change the WiFi password by any chance?”

Derek, who was about to pour a cup of coffee, froze. When he turned back around his ears were tinged pink and if Scott hadn’t been a werewolf with super hearing himself he probably would have missed the mumbled “Yes.”

“Well, what is it then?”

Derek didn’t answer and strode over to the couch instead, reaching out his hand and signaling that Scott should turn the computer over so he could type.

“Seriously? Can’t you just tell me? It’s just a random number, isn’t it?”

Derek glared at him, still making grabby hands at the computer and Scott seemed to forget his timeline – and manners – momentarily, lips stretching into a delighted smirk.

“You’re not … ashamed of your new password, are you?”

The glare intensified.

“You are!” Scott cackled delightedly.

Again, he was met with stony silence.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad. Wait, it’s not something ridiculous like ‘Derek is Stiles’ Pookie Bear’ or something like that, right?”

Derek closed his eyes in defeat and Scott’s jaw dropped open.

“No way. It totally is! You guys are so … so … I want to say adorable but I think you would hurt me … wait, that doesn’t work,” Scott realized, his computer still not connected to the WiFi.

“It’s ‘StilesLovesHisDerBear’ – no spaces, each word capitalized,” Derek grit out and Scott, who was currently two minutes late for his Skype date, was smart enough to refrain from laughing as he typed it in and started the chat program.

He was just about to hit the call button when the door to the loft opened and Stiles walked inside, a guilty expression on his face when he saw Scott.

“Sorry, I forgot the time,” he mouthed at this best bro and Scott gave him a quick wave to say it was fine, his expression switching from amused to besotted when Allison appeared on the screen.

Stiles shook his head fondly and walked over to Derek, who was crumbling a sugar cube into his coffee, his ears still a deep shade of red.

He grunted when Stiles wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and lightly kissed Derek’s neck in greeting, turning his head to glare at the younger man.

“As soon as Scott is done we are changing the WiFi password again,” he hissed and Stiles gave him a confused look, before realization dawned on his face. He threw a quick look at Scott and then burrowed his face into Derek’s shoulder, shaking with soundless laughter.

“I mean it!” Derek hissed, “I’m never giving out that password to anyone ever again.”

“As long as I get to choose again,” Stiles whispered, grin evident in his voice and Derek growled, as if to say that he was not going to make the same mistake twice.

Not taking his Sour Wolf seriously, Stiles decided to give his best friend some privacy, taking Derek’s hand and leading him to the bedroom, coffee forgotten on the counter. It was more a courtesy thing, given that Derek could still hear everything Scott was saying, but Stiles was determined to keep Derek’s mind off Scott’s attempts to keep the spark in his long-distance relationship alive.

When they got upstairs he lifted his finger to his lips to indicate to Derek that they should be as silent as possible, a devilish grin on his face as he made a crude gesture with his other hand. Derek blinked slowly and then shook his head. “I’m not going to be silent to protect Scott’s virtuous ears,” he whispered heatedly, apparently still upset that poor Scott knew the WiFi password now.

Stiles shrugged. If Derek didn’t want to be silent, he certainly could be and after having had to listen to Scott waxing poetically about every single detail of his and Allison’s sex life for years his inhibitions when it came to modesty around his best friend had been significantly lowered.

Grinning, he opened his pants and let them fall to his ankles, leaning against the handrail and beckoning Derek over with a smirk. Derek raised his eyebrows; his arms crossed over his chest and the look on his face a mixture of incredulousness and amusement. “Do you really think I’m that easy?” he whispered and Stiles gave him a calculating look.

“I guess we will have to find out,” he mouthed back, his right hand dropping to his dick, which was quickly becoming interested in the proceedings. He pulled down his underwear and began to jerk himself off slowly, his other hand coming up to twist and tweak at his nipples, and Derek lasted for all of two minutes before he growled barely audibly and knelt down in front of Stiles, swatting his hand away impatiently and taking him into his mouth.

Scott’s voice drifted up the stairs and Stiles briefly wondered if he was trespassing against some sort of bro-code by getting a blowjob from his boyfriend to the sound of Scott romancing Allison, but then Derek swallowed around his length and he decided the bro-code could temporarily suck it. He bit the insides of his cheek to keep himself from making a sound, the lack of pleasure noises allowing him to concentrate on Derek with all of his senses and he almost missed Scott’s rather loud declaration that he would now read a love poem to Allison.

Derek froze. He slowly tilted his face up and if anyone could ever pull off looking adorably confused and exasperated with a mouthful of dick then Derek could do it. Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s head and urged him to keep going – he had heard examples of Scott’s poetry before and it really wasn’t anything to write home to your mother about. Derek shrugged, his tongue going back to trailing up and down Stiles’ dick and he mouthed at the head gently before taking him completely inside his mouth again … only then Scott proudly declared the name of his poem and Derek almost choked around him.

“The Twinkie of Love.”

Derek was turning an alarming shade of red, while Scott, oblivious to what was going on above his head, proceeded to woo Allison with his poetic skills.

“There once was a Twinkie – the Twinkie of Love,

alone and cold in this desperate world.

T’was sad for its maiden had travelled ashore,

so soggy and limp without the stroke of her bow.

Its color was bronze, its filling a creamy white,

begging to be devoured by the fair ebony haired lady.

All day and all night the Twinkie was sad,

magnificent and capable of great power, yet terribly alone.

Alone in its chamber the Twinkie was a burstin’,

so full with white cream it was ready to explode.

Then came the fair maiden, her lips taste like honey,

as she sucks the white cream out of the Twinkie of Love.”

Stiles could vaguely remember that he had said they weren’t going to make a sound, and he was trying valiantly to fulfill that promise, biting onto the back of his hand so hard he was wondering if he was about to draw blood.

Derek had successfully overcome his coughing fit and he was still kneeling in front of Stiles, whose penis was now flaccid – courtesy of Scott’s literary prowess – and for some reason still engulfed by Derek’s lips.

Derek was completely flabbergasted, his eyes blown wide open and his mouth slack against Stiles, and when the younger man moved his hips awkwardly, Derek suddenly seemed to come back to the present with a jolt, almost spitting out his boyfriend’s penis with a look of disgust on his face.

Stiles would have liked to say that it was really unfair to look at one’s boyfriend’s penis with such total and utter disgust, but he couldn’t; not really, when he kind of shared the sentiment. He looked down towards his member and suddenly all he could see was a soggy, limp Twinkie and judging by the look on Derek’s face, he was also imagining a Twinkie right now.

“The white cream out of the Twinkie of Love,” Derek whispered, his voice shaking as he pointed at the precome that had begun to pool at the head of Stiles’ shaft.

Scott might have possibly just ruined any chance Stiles had of getting a blowjob from Derek for all eternity.  

Stiles didn’t hear Allison’s response to the poem, but when Derek shook his head in disbelief, Stiles assumed that she probably liked it. He needed to research if frog legs, or whatever they ate in Paris all day, contained some sort of hallucinogenic, that was for sure.

Derek breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, repeating the calming exercise three times before standing up straight and raising his voice to his normal speaking volume.

“There once was a True Poet of Beacon Hills,

only he was not a True Poet, for his poems were bullshit.

His metaphors were terrible and the Alpha was mad,

for he had always liked Twinkies and now they were ruined.

This poem doesn’t rhyme, but neither did the other,

and the Alpha really hopes the True Poet of Beacon Hills will

GET THE FUCK OUT OF HIS APARTMENT RIGHT NOW!”

Stiles winced when Derek raised his voice at the end, barely able to hold in his laughter when he heard Scott scrambling downstairs before a door slammed shut.

As soon as Scott was out the door Stiles collapsed in a heap on the floor, tears of laughter running down his cheeks as he desperately tried to breathe. He would probably have to atone for Derek’s rudeness later, but right now he was much more focused on the hilarity of the situation.

Derek sank down next to him, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he rubbed his hands over his eyes.

“Derek …” Stiles finally managed, wiping tears from his eyes as he turned to his boyfriend.

“I never knew you were such an excellent poet,” he said and Derek smirked. Something was digging into Stiles’ backside and he realized that his jeans and underwear were still hanging around his ankles. He gestured towards his limp penis, fixing Derek with an inviting smile.

“I guess there isn’t a chance in hell you are going to finish what you started back there?” he mused and Derek shook his head vehemently.

“No,” he agreed and Stiles sighed dramatically, but he did pull his underwear and pants back up, eager to forget this episode had ever happened.

Derek got up from the floor and walked downstairs to retrieve his forgotten coffee. It was still lukewarm and he settled himself on the sofa, sipping his coffee and furiously typing away on his laptop.

Stiles poured a glass of milk and joined him, grinning when he saw that Derek had pulled up the settings of his computer.

“You know, Pookie Bear, I’ve got a terrific idea for a new password …”