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“Do you really think you can beat me at this?” Derek’s eyes dart across, resting on Stiles, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. They’re currently on the 80 making their way across country to Pennsylvania to see a warlock about a spell, and after endless rounds of madlibs, a vicious argument over what constitutes good music, and a heated debate about which Avenger is the coolest, this is what they’ve been reduced to. God. Stiles is by far the most infuriating, intelligent and outright sexy person Derek has ever known, and for the last two years he’s been nursing the most ridiculous crush. Unrequited crush. Which he now has to somehow keep in check for the next few days, while they’re travelling together on pack business. He isn’t sure he can manage it to be honest. Stiles is all there. In his face. Being all snarky and perfect. Derek just wants to lean over the center console and bite him. In a sexy way.

Across from, Stiles grins. “Do you really think I can’t?”

“Have you forgotten that I had two sisters?”

“Have you forgotten that I’m the world’s most persistent person?”

“Are you sure you’re not confusing persistent with annoying?”

Stiles hesitates, his eyes narrow. “Did Cora used to kick your ass at this game?”

Derek purses his lips, unnerved. Snipes back, “Did you used to practice this all alone in your bedroom?”

“Do you really wanna know what I used to practice all alone in my bedroom?” Stiles grins, shark like, and Derek wills himself not to blush. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel and feels it groan a little under the strain.

“Do you like being a dick?” he mutters.

Stiles snorts with laughter like he knows he’s won something, he waggles his eyebrows and says, “Why? Do you like dick?” All brash and cocksure, like he’s certain of the answer. Like he assumes– Oh. Oh God–Like he assumes Derek’s going to say no.

Derek takes a deep, cleansing breath. Willing himself calm, he glances over at Stiles, catches his eye, lets his gaze linger, and says ever so casually, “Why? Do you like to top?”

Stiles’ lips part slightly, like he’s almost about to smile, but he’s uncertain. “Do you– Are you–” Stiles begins, but hesitates, a splotchy blush is spreading up his neck, over his cheeks, and bruising the air around him is the scent of Stiles’ arousal. Derek allows himself to smile, even as his heart picks up in his chest.

“Are you going to finish that question?”

Stiles scrubs his hands across the knees of his jeans, like maybe they’re a bit sweaty, says acidly, “Are you going to let me?” He seems jittery. The scent of arousal growing stronger, but his eyes are strangely serious, and it occurs to Derek that this might not just be lust– that maybe Derek’s not the only one that’s been nursing a crush.

His eyes flit to Stiles. “Do you want to know what I’d let you do to me?” The words linger between them. Full of promise. Derek can hear Stiles heart beating rabbit quick in his chest, and suddenly he knows exactly where this is going.

Stiles eyes narrow, his lips go tight. He inhales shakily. “Would you– let me fuck you?” His voice breaks slightly over the words.

“Would you finger me first?” Derek says glancing down at Stiles’ hands again. God. He’s always loved Stiles’ hands. Just the thought of those fingers is enough to have him chubbing up in his jeans.

Stiles runs his tongue over his top lip. “Would you let me blow you?”

Derek releases a punched out little breath at the thought. Stutters out, “D-Do you want to?”

This time, when he chances a glance at Stiles, Stiles’ complexion is ruddy, his mouth parted, pupils blown. They hold each other’s gaze. “Are you messing with me?” Stiles breathes.

Derek swallows, reaches out a hand, places it on Stiles’ knee. “Do you really think I would, about this?”

“Are you going to pull over?” Stiles says, voice tight and soft.

Derek squeezes his knee. “Will you check your phone and find out where the nearest motel is?”


Derek looks at him, smiles. “Why do you think?”


Later, when they’re stretched out naked and sweaty on a bed in a motel 6, Stiles turns to him and says, “Did we just make love?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, lazy and sex stupid. “Yeah I think we did.”

“I win!” Stiles yells, sitting bolt upright in the bed and punching the air.

Derek scowls.

“Don’t look at me like that. That was not a question, buddy.”

Derek grabs him, rolls him over so he’s lying on top of Stiles chest to chest. Bares his teeth. Says, “Did you know that you’re an asshole?”

Stiles grins. “An asshole who’s in love with you,” he says, and Derek grins too. Maybe they’re both winners here.