After finally graduating from UC Berkeley, Stiles is nearly back home in Beacon Hills when he glances down at the dashboard of his Jeep and sees that he's running low on gas. The needle's practically touching the E already, which means he should have enough to make it back to his childhood home but no more. He contemplates the merits of putting off a refuel until the next day, when he's had a chance to wash and sleep off his journey. It's already pretty damn late, the sun having long gone down, and the lure of a hot shower and a nice warm bed is almost too much to resist. But even so, he knows that his future self will thank him if he just makes a quick stop at the gas station on the outskirts of town to refill his tank now.
Decision made, Stiles goes right instead of left at the next cross-section, heading toward his new destination. When he reaches the gas station, he finds it empty of other vehicles. He pulls up to one of the many free pumps, cuts the engine and gets out of his Jeep to head inside the main building.
"Hey," he says to the man behind the counter, whose back is currently turned as he fiddles with something on the display there.
"Hey," the man echoes, still not turning to face him.
Stiles waits patiently for the man to finish up whatever he's doing. He leans his elbows on the counter and stares, his attention grabbed as he actually takes a proper look at the guy.
Even though all Stiles can see is his back…it's a damn good back. The uniform the guy wears is simple, just a pair of black trousers and a black T-shirt, but both articles of clothing are tight enough that Stiles can picture his impressive physique, can almost see the muscles of the guy's back rippling as he reaches to deposit something on the top self of the display. His large arms are dusted with dark hairs that Stiles is oddly attracted to, and as he runs his eyes back down the guy's body, he comes to a stop on his ass and begins to salivate because it just looks so damn juicy.
He wants to bite it.
"Alright, sorry about that," the guy says, apparently all finished. He turns around to face Stiles and all the breath is stolen from Stiles' lungs. "What can I get you?"
Stiles just gapes dumbly. "Uhh…"
The guy raises a thick eyebrow. "You alright?"
Stiles gapes some more.
The guy—Derek Hale, his name tag says—has both eyebrows raised now, and his hazel eyes are a mixture of suspicious and amused. Stiles guesses that Derek's a few years older than him, but they're around the same height. Thin lips surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard quirk up into a smirk, as if he knows exactly why Stiles is behaving like a gormless idiot. He probably does, because someone that fucking beautiful has to be used to people reacting like this to his mere presence.
After a few more seconds of staring, Stiles finally regains control of himself and snaps his mouth closed. "Sorry about that," he says, scratching at the back of his neck.
Derek's smirk gets wider. "No problem."
"Can I, uh, get $20 on pump 1, please?" Stiles requests, getting his wallet out of the back pocket of his chinos.
When he hands his card over to Derek, something odd happens. Their fingers brush, and it's as if literal electricity sparks between them. Stiles yanks his hand back, his skin tingling, but Derek keeps his outstretched, the credit card falling to the counter as he becomes the one staring now. He peers back at Stiles with open surprise on his pretty yet rugged features, and his nostrils flare as he inhales deeply—smelling what, Stiles doesn't know. He could swear that Derek's eyes also turn gold for a split second, but no, it must've just been his imagination. He's so tired that he's begun to hallucinate.
"It's you," Derek says eventually, his voice hushed and filled with awe.
Brought out of his musings, Stiles refocuses on the here and now. "What?"
"It's nothing." Shaking himself, Derek picks Stiles' card up and resumes doing his job as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. "$20, right?"
"Right," Stiles says bemusedly.
"Are you just getting into town?" Derek asks as he rings Stiles up.
"Yeah." Stiles glances outside at his Jeep. It's probably too much information for what must've just been a polite question, but he finds himself elaborating a bit more. "I just wrapped up my final semester at Berkeley, so I'm moving back in with my dad while I figure out what the hell to actually do with my degree."
"That's a smart plan." Derek hands him back his card. "So you're sticking around town then?"
"At least for a while, yeah. Maybe permanently, if I can find a job close by."
This night is just getting weirder and weirder. "Right, well, I guess I should get my gas, huh?" Stiles says, jerking his thumb at the door over his shoulder.
Derek hums. "Sure. You need some help? With, y'know, the pumping?"
Fuck, there's no way Stiles is misinterpreting that, right? Especially with the way Derek swipes his tongue out over his bottom lip like he's hungry for him.
"That…that'd be good," Stiles finds himself saying without conscious thought.
Derek comes out from behind the counter and walks right up to Stiles, his gaze never once drifting from the younger man's. Even though they're the same height, Derek seems even taller without the counter between them, more imposing somehow. But Stiles isn't intimidated. No, he feels something else entirely by having Derek stand so close to him.
Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.
Flicking his eyes down to Derek's lips, Stiles makes a choked noise and then scurries from the gas station, aware of Derek's soft footsteps behind him. As soon as they get outside, Stiles doesn't get a chance to keep walking back to where his Jeep awaits him next to the pump because there are suddenly big hands on his shoulders. He gasps as he's spun around and shoved up against the wall of the station, and then Derek is all up in his space, hands planted on the wall on either side of his head.
"W-what are you doing?" Stiles dares to ask, his heart racing. It's not from fear, though, but arousal.
"What does it feel like?" Derek responds huskily, pressing their bodies together.
Stiles moans when he feels something hot and hard against his hip. "Oh fuck…"
Derek gives him a smile that's almost feral. "If you want to."
His eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, Stiles opens and closes his mouth several times as he attempts to find his words again. It's uncharacteristic of him. Usually, he can't shut up, but now he can't speak at all.
"Do you?" Derek enquires, cocking his head to the side. He grinds his erection against Stiles' leg.
Still speechless, all Stiles can do is nod.
"Great." Derek takes something from his pocket and dangles it in Stiles' line of sight. A key. "Let's move this to the restroom then, hmm?"
Alright, that's progress, Stiles thinks. He found his voice again. It would be nice if he could stop himself from stammering, though.
Derek takes his hand and drags him around the building. They come to a stop in front of a locked door with a plaque on it that reads RESTROOM, and Stiles waits nervously as Derek sticks the key in the lock and turns it. He expects the place to be filthy, to live up to the horror stories of every public restroom he has ever heard. But it's not like that at all.
It's not pristine by any means, but as soon as Derek switches on the lights, Stiles is amazed by how clean the room still is. The white tiles on the walls have greyed slightly, and there are shadows of old graffiti on the mirror above the sink, but that's it. It doesn't smell too bad either. Overall, Stiles feels pretty good about his choice to fool around in here—doesn't seem like he'll catch anything just by being here, at least.
Derek shuts the door once they're both inside, and then there's nothing stopping them. Stiles finds his back against a wall again, and Derek's mouth is on his.
Damn, does Derek know how to kiss… Stiles isn't a virgin anymore, but he only had sex a few times throughout his college career, and none of those experiences were anything to write home about. They were all clumsy and fumbling, filled with kisses with too much tongue and orgasms that came about much too quickly—or not at all, in one particular case.
But no, Stiles isn't going to think about that humiliating occasion. He's going to concentrate on the taste of Derek's mouth and the feeling of their bodies pressed together from head to toe. On Derek's fingers twisting in his hair and tugging just hard enough to hurt—and hey, Stiles actually likes that.
Who'd have thought?
"Turn around," Derek pants against Stiles' mouth.
"Why?" Stiles responds, disappointed—he was enjoying that kiss.
"Because I'm gonna eat you out, and then I'm gonna fuck you."
Oh. Well, when Derek puts it that way…
Stiles turns around to face the wall and uses his palms to brace himself as Derek moulds his front to Stiles' back and nibbles on his earlobe. It takes some concentration to hear the words, but eventually, Stiles realises that Derek is still speaking:
"Waited so long to find you…finally…mine…"
Stiles blinks at the tile in front of him and attempts to discern the meaning of the words, but nothing comes to mind. Then Derek reaches around him to undo the button of his chinos, and Stiles forgets all about it.
A second later, Derek's warmth is gone from his back and his chinos and boxers are down around his calves. "Perfect," Derek compliments, palming Stiles' ass cheeks and squeezing them lightly.
Stiles gives a breathy chuckle. "Thanks."
There's that word again. Stiles opens his mouth to ask what Derek means, but that's the exact moment the older man chooses to spread his cheeks apart and lick over his asshole. Stiles yelps instead, which seems to spur Derek on. He laps at Stiles' hole like it's the tastiest treat he's ever had, and Stiles isn't complaining. His toes curl in his shoes and he digs his bitten-short nails into the wall as pleasure zings up his spine, as Derek seals his lips around his rim and sucks.
Stiles' cock leaks where it juts out hard and needy from beneath his T-shirt, so he moves one of his hands down with the intention of touching himself just to get some relief. But a strange sound gives him pause. It's like a growl, and it came from the man behind him, like he didn't approve of Stiles putting a hand on his cock.
"C'mon, man," Stiles whines, smacking his forehead against the wall. "I'm horny!"
"Then wait," Derek tells him, his voice low and gravelly. Animalistic, almost.
A thick finger corkscrews up into Stiles' ass, the glide aided only by spit. He grunts because it doesn't exactly feel great, but after taking a few breaths and relaxing his muscles again, it gets better. Derek thrusts his finger in and out a few times before curling it and brushing the pad against Stiles' prostate without having to search for it. It's like he already knows Stiles' body like the back of his hand.
"Fuck!" Stiles cries, arching his back to get more.
Derek obliges him, inserting a second finger alongside the first. The stretch burns, but Stiles takes it after reminding himself of what this is all leading toward—getting Derek's cock inside of him.
"Hurry up!" he demands.
"Be patient…don't wanna hurt you," Derek says, in between licking around his fingers.
It's nearly unbearable, but Stiles manages to make it until Derek has fit a third finger inside of his ass before he gets impatient again. He spins around, mourning the loss of Derek's fingers, and pushes Derek over so that he's lying sprawled on his back across the toilet floor. Before the man can get up or ask him what he's doing, Stiles gets down onto his knees and rips open the front of Derek's trousers to get at his cock. He's desperate for it, feels as if he might die if he doesn't get it inside of him in the next five seconds. Derek must be thinking along the same lines, because he willingly raises his hips so that Stiles can pull off his trousers and underwear. They get stuck around his ankles until Stiles yanks off Derek's shoes too, and then the older man is left in just his T-shirt.
"Someone's needy," Derek comments, watching Stiles' intensely.
"Yeah, well…you were taking too long."
"Then by all means, help yourself." Derek gestures to his crotch, from which his cock sticks up straight and proud.
Stiles was already anticipating it being big from feeling it against him outside, but it's somehow even bigger than he envisioned it. Must be nine inches, with a nice thatch of dark curls at the base, and it's thick enough that Stiles actually questions how wise it was to bring the prep to an end when he did. Maybe he should've held off until Derek got a fourth finger in, because this is going to be tough.
Still, Stiles isn't discouraged.
To make Derek slick enough for him, he bends down and takes the first couple inches past his lips. He immediately starts to bob his head up and down, going steadily further down Derek's monstrous cock until the head hits the back of his throat. He has never had much of a gag reflex, so it's not a problem for him to keep going, taking the last three or so inches so that his nose ends up in the untamed pubes at the base. There's a scent embedded there, musky, masculine and mouth-watering, which works out in his favour because getting Derek's cock coated in saliva was kind of the whole point of this.
His first task done, Stiles pulls off of Derek's cock and takes a few seconds to admire how the thick length glistens in the florescent lights overhead. Then he removes his own shoes and chinos and moves forward to straddle Derek's lap.
"You gonna ride me?" Derek asks him, his hands finding their way to Stiles' hips.
Derek groans. "Fuck yeah. Do it, baby."
Stiles rises up onto his knees, reaches behind himself to grasp Derek's cock and positions the tip at his entrance. He looks down into Derek's eyes as he sinks back down, the head popping past his rim.
Stiles gasps. "Fuck, you're huge!"
"Take your time."
Stiles forces himself to take more, wanting to show Derek that he can do it—that he can be good for him, that his cock isn't too much. He can't say where the impulse comes from, but he can't fight it, lowering himself until he has taken Derek's cock all the way to the root. At this point, he braces his hands on Derek's chest and wiggles side to side a bit, getting used to being filled up so much. He's bottomed before, but he hasn't taken a dick this big, so it feels a bit like he's been torn apart. He has no one to blame for that but himself, and yet, he finds it hard to care.
He distracts himself by feeling up Derek's firm pecs. "Should've really made you take your shirt off too," he murmurs.
"I still can," Derek suggests.
"Nuh-uh." Stiles shakes his head. "Don't wanna move right now."
"Then I'll do it."
Before Stiles knows what's happening, Derek rips his T-shirt right down the middle, exposing his chest and abs to the air. Stiles gets over his shock quickly, and then he eagerly drinks in the sight of all that muscle. He puts his hands back on Derek's chest, relishing the way the dark hairs sprinkled across the tanned skin tickle his palms.
"So fucking sexy," Stiles breathes, rubbing his pinky fingers over Derek's pebbled nipples.
"So are you," Derek moans, tipping his head back slightly.
Wanting to show himself off too, Stiles reaches back over his shoulder, grasps the back of his own shirt and takes that off too.
"Yeah…definitely sexy as hell," Derek confirms.
"No, thank you."
Stiles sits in Derek's lap for another couple minutes while each of them appreciates the other. He's not self-conscious about his body at all right now, can't be when Derek looks at him like that. No one else has ever looked at him with such heat before, not even the few people he hooked up with back at Berkeley. It makes him feel confident in his svelte build, like there's nothing about himself he needs to change.
Eventually, Stiles' hole acclimates to being stretched so wide and he feels up to moving. He's slow at first, just in case he was wrong and he needs to take some more time, but after a while of no pain, he moves a bit faster. And then faster still.
He ends up riding Derek's big cock for all he's worth, slamming himself down onto Derek's lap so hard that their skin actually slaps together audibly. If he's being too rough, too insatiable, Derek doesn't say anything to deter him. The older man doesn't appear to have an issue with it at all, his nails digging into the flesh of Stiles' thighs and constant moans pouring from his lips. Stiles keeps riding him, even as the muscles of his legs ache. He pushes through the discomfort because he never wants to stop hearing those delicious sounds.
"You gonna let me touch myself now?" Stiles asks, needing to come.
"Do it! Want you to come all over me," Derek rasps. He plants his feet on the floor and snaps his hips up in time with Stiles, bouncing him in his lap.
"Thank fucking god."
Stiles grabs his cock and strips it fast, his hand a blur as he and Derek move in sync with each other. Derek hits his prostate on every other thrust, so it doesn't take too long for Stiles to reach his peak. He'd be embarrassed about how fast it is, but he's so turned on and it feels so good that he has lost all capacity to care. He simply chases the pleasure and shouts Derek's name as his orgasm crests and he splatters the man's front with his release just like he was told to.
It seems to go on forever, prolonged by Derek's cock inside of him, but too soon it ends and Stiles slumps forward. He catches himself just in time to prevent himself from suffocating Derek with his body, his hand planted on the floor next to Derek's head.
"Perfect," Derek murmurs.
Stiles cracks open his eyes to find the man rubbing his come into his skin like it's lotion. It shouldn't be as hot as it is, causing his spent cock to twitch with interest.
"Gonna come too," Derek informs him after he's done. He grabs Stiles' hips again and holds on tight as resumes fucking him.
By this point, the fog of sex has cleared enough from Stiles' mind that he notices how much more difficult it's getting for him to take all of Derek past his rim. "What the hell's going on with your dick?"
"Gonna knot you!" is Derek's answer, which elucidates nothing.
"You're gonna what?!"
"Knot you! Make you mine! My mate!"
The next thing Stiles knows, something huge enters his body, Derek howls—actually fucking howls—and he's being filled up with warmth. He watches, stunned, as Derek's face changes. His eyebrows disappear and coarse hair grows down the sides of his face, blending into his beard. His teeth become fangs, and when he opens his eyes again, they're no longer hazel but the gold Stiles thought he imagined in the gas station.
"What…what are you?" Stiles asks, half horrified, half intrigued.
"I'm a werewolf," Derek replies breathlessly, apparently still coming.
Stiles' curiosity wins out, and he can't help himself as he touches Derek's face, not worried at all about the danger of putting his fingers next to the sharp-looking fangs in Derek's mouth. He feels the changes for himself, like he's double-checking to make sure his eyes aren't playing a trick on him.
"How is this possible? Werewolves are real?"
"Yes," Derek says. He winces and looks down at something between them. "Sorry about that. I nicked you."
Following Derek's gaze, Stiles sees small pinpricks of blood on his skin in the exact places Derek's nails had been. Not nails, he corrects himself, grabbing one of Derek's hands and holding it up to his face to inspect it. Derek's nails are claws now, long and deadly.
"Wow," he breathes, amazed. Now that the initial horror has passed, he's not scared at all.
"My mate," Derek says, sitting up and wrapping Stiles up in his arms. He nuzzles beneath Stiles' neck and inhales his scent.
"Your mate? What does that mean?"
"It means you're mine and I'm yours." Derek's voice is almost shy now, like he's fearful of being rejected. "We were made for each other."
"I, uh…I dunno what to say to that."
"Don't say anything."
Stiles doesn't. He sits there in silence and waits for Derek's knot—a fucking knot—to go down enough for them to separate. While he's there, he ponders the revelation of werewolves and has to admit that it makes sense, in a way. With his dad as the Beacon Hills Sheriff, Stiles has heard all kinds of crazy stories and witness testimonies that sounded completely implausible. But now, he contemplates how much of it was actually true.
And if he and Derek are really soulmates, it explains why there was such an instant connection between them, and why they've both been so ravenous for each other.
Once Derek's softening cock slips out of Stiles' ass, he gets up and moves over to the toilet stall to get some of the cheap tissue in there. He ignores Derek behind him as what feels like gallons of come leaks out of his ass. It takes forever for it to cease, and by the time it does, Stiles must have flushed the toilet at least a dozen times. Only then does he turn back around to face Derek. The man stands in the middle of the room, already back in his clothes. Only the front of his torso is bare because of his torn T-shirt, which makes Stiles feel exposed because he himself is still completely naked.
"Here," Derek says, holding out Stiles' clothes. They're folded neatly over his hairy forearm.
"Thanks." Stiles dresses quietly, and then he doesn't know what to do next. Where do they go from here?
"Are you okay?" Derek queries, taking a tentative step forward. His demeanour is so different now, not at all flirtatious like in the station or demanding and dominant like when they were having sex. It gives Stiles whiplash.
"I think so," he says. "It's just…a lot, y'know? I'm still processing."
Derek nods tightly. "I can give you some time to think about all of it, if you want."
"I think that would be for the best."
Derek opens the door and gestures for Stiles to go out ahead of him.
Outside now, the cool night air feels good on Stiles' face, especially after what they just did. "We're really 'destined' to be together?" he has to ask.
Derek locks the door again and nods. "We are. I could smell it in your scent back inside the station."
"What did I smell like?"
Derek meets Stiles' gaze with vulnerability in his own. "You smelled like home."
There he goes again, making Stiles speechless. A declaration like that seems like far too much, too soon, but something in Stiles is lit up by it. It agrees with Derek that of course their homes are with each other. Still, the rational part of him wins out, and he doesn't act on the unfamiliar impulse to jump into Derek's arms and never leave.
"You should probably get back to work before someone else comes by," he says. "And I should really get home. My dad must be wondering where I am by now."
The disappointment on Derek's face kills Stiles. As the werewolf turns away to slink dejectedly back into the gas station with his figurative tail between his legs, he just has to give him something.
"Wait!" he exclaims, causing Derek to whip back around to face him with hope in his eyes. Stiles rushes over to his Jeep, gets his phone from the passenger seat and unlocks it as he returns to Derek. He proffers it. "Put your number in here. I'll…I'll call you when I've thought everything over. I'll probably have a shitload of questions for you about how all this works by then."
Derek's countenance lights up with a smile so bright that, if Stiles wasn't already certain he made the right decision, he would be now.
When he has his phone back, complete with a new listing in his contacts, Stiles smiles back. "I'll see you later then."
"Yeah. I'm looking forward to it."
It should be strange to him, but as Stiles climbs back in behind the wheel of his Jeep and drives away from the gas station, he already knows somewhere deep down that he'll be getting in touch with Derek much sooner than he made it seem. He should perhaps be battling with this, angry that there was some force out there that took away his free will and chose the perfect match for him, but he can't find it in himself to care. Whoever or whatever paired him with Derek did him a massive favour.
Like Derek, he can't wait until the next time they meet.
* * *
It isn't until he's parked in his Dad's driveway that Stiles realises he forgot the gas.