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First Date (Queer Your Coffee, Part Two)

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Derek pushes Stiles into his own house, not knowing where in the hell his bedroom is or if his roommate is home, not giving a damn about either because he’s finally kissing him, finally feeling those sinfully hot lips against his, finally teasing at the barbell in his tongue. He’s got one hand around his slim waist, the other on the back of his head, fingers tangling in his soft, dark hair. Stiles is kissing him back hard, pushing Derek’s glasses up his nose with his face, tongue working miracles against his. He smiles into the kiss and moans, hands grabbing at Derek’s chest before wrapping around his back and sliding down, squeezing his ass and pulling him in closer. The thin hoop through his lip teases in his beard, sending sizzling pulses of heat straight to his cock. They’re a little bit stoned but he feels absolutely drunk, intoxicated by the taste of Stiles’ mouth and the feel of his hard, lean body.

When they finally pull apart, chests rising and falling together, Derek sees that he has Stiles pressed against a wall, that somehow they've gotten the front door closed and stumbled halfway down a long, dark hallway. He buries his face in his tattooed neck, pushing his glasses against his eyes but not caring, breathing in the spicy, slightly-coffee flavored scent of him, mouth watering. He had been doing such a good job, keeping his ever-growing need for Stiles under control all through their first date, not letting it get the best of him until now, his screaming lust for this gorgeous man finally overpowering his nerves and his usual caution.

They had gotten Thai takeout and ate on a blanket at the outdoor movie theater and watched The Big Lebowski, sharing a joint offered by the group next to them that Stiles seemed to casually know. They had snuggled and laughed, whispering into each other’s ears and tangling their fingers together under the stars and the glow of the ancient drive-in screen. It was perfect.

And Derek had been good about waiting to kiss him, even though that’s pretty much all he could think about the whole night. He drove Stiles home and walked him to his front door, teasing him about still not seeing his Holy Shit Derek Hale Might Be Into Me victory dance. Stiles got this glint in his eye and cocked an eyebrow up, leaned in close. “I think I might have to change the name,” he mused. “I have a feeling you might be more than kinda into me.” He was damn sure of himself, that cocky little smile making Derek want him even more. And then that smugness all but disappeared when Stiles started dancing, or doing something like dancing that really looked more like a seizure, and then Derek was laughing and pulling him into a demanding kiss and shoving him into the front door.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says now stepping back a bit, trying to settle down, eyes straining to focus in the dark hallway, readjusting his smudged glasses. It’s been a long time since he’s dated, yes, but he’s still pretty sure sex on the first date with someone he just met two days ago is not the best way to start something that he wants to last. And he certainly wants something with Stiles, something that will last indefinitely even, maybe.

“You better be apologizing for stopping,” Stiles huffs, twisting his fingers into Derek’s Henley and pulling him into another bruising kiss, warm steel of his tongue ring tracing the outline of Derek’s lips before it dives into his mouth, insistent and greedy. Stiles takes the lead then, pushing Derek so he’s walking backwards, Stiles guiding him down the hallway and around a corner into a large bedroom, walking him towards the bed.

“Are you sure,” Derek asks as the back of his knees hit the bed, steadying himself by wrapping his hands around Stiles' hard little biceps, his reasons for trying to slow down receding further and further away as Stiles just looks at him, eyes dark with want, tongue darting over his lips. “I mean, I want you Stiles, fuck, you have no idea how much I want you, but…I also really like you, and I don’t want to mess this up – "

He stops talking when Stiles’ expressive face transforms from teasing lust to open happiness, smiling so broadly it’s impossible not to smile right back. “I like you too,” Stiles says. And then, a little softer, more serious. “Enough that I’m one hundred percent sure that sleeping with you tonight won’t make things weird, at least for me. But if you want to wait, for that or any other reason, of course I understand.”

For not the first time since he’s met him, Derek wonders if Stiles is actually real. “You really like me?” he asks, surprised at how vulnerable he sounds, how badly he needs the reassurance.

Stiles leans back into him and cradles those long, tattooed fingers around his jaw, thumbs pressing into his cheekbones, whiskey eyes glowing softly in the dim light. He gently pulls off Derek’s glasses – which he had felt weird about wearing on their date, to be honest, until Stiles opened his front door earlier this evening, eyes and smile going wide. “I was worried that the glasses were just a prop for your author photo," he had said. "Because, goddamn, you are pulling that look off.”

Now, Stiles tosses his glasses on the bed, up by the pillows, not even bothering to look, eyes still locked on his. He expects him to say something flippant or sarcastic, something teasing, but instead he just forces him to hold his gaze for a long time before kissing him softly, almost chastely. “Yes, Derek. I really do like you. Like, a lot.”

His words are a starting pistol, releasing Derek of his reservations, warmth filling him, radiating from Stiles’ touch. His feelings for Stiles are dangerously powerful, matched only by his aching need to taste every inch of him, to give himself over completely to him. Derek spins them so Stiles is backed against the bed, pulling his snug-fitting Misfits t-shirt over his head and grasping clumsily at the button of his jeans, impatient to get his hands all over the bulging cock grinding against him.

Stiles gets Derek’s shirt off too, hands tangling in his chest hair and rubbing over his nipples, squeezing hard. It’s been so long since Derek’s felt a man’s hands on him, since he’s felt the broad swell of hard-muscled shoulders under his own hands. He knows it’s not just the exciting newness mixed with familiarity that’s got him so worked up though; it’s really all Stiles, wild and unpredictable, colorful and warm body curving against Derek’s like they were made to fit together.

Stiles’ hands are on Derek’s jeans too, tugging hard, grunting into his mouth as he kisses him. When they eventually get their pants off, Derek gives Stiles a little nudge so he falls back to sit on the edge of the bed, hard cock tenting his gray boxer briefs, darkening at the peak. Derek falls to his knees and takes his time just taking in the sheer beauty of him, hands running all over him, memorizing him by sight and touch. His skin is smooth and soft, pulled tight over his lean muscles, vibrantly inked. He looks up to catch Stiles watching him, eyes hooded and mouth open, like Derek staring at him so wantonly is everything he’s ever wanted.

Derek’s cock is straining hard and leaking as he leans over to cover Stiles’ chest in slow, wet licks and kisses. “Fuck, Derek,” Stiles moans, bucking up so Derek can slide his underwear over his ass, pulling it off and tossing it across the room like it’s personally offended him by keeping him from Stiles’ dick for so long.

Back in college, when Derek was almost exclusively with men, he had always loved sucking cock, used to get off on the way he could unmake a man with his lips and his tongue. He would get hungry for the taste of come, loved the feel of a big dick fucking into his mouth almost as much as he loved getting fucked. It’s been a long time, but he remembers exactly what to do, is dying to get Stiles into his mouth, to see just how good sucking him off can be.  

“Holy fuck,” Derek whispers when finally sees Stiles’ cock. It’s gorgeous, long and thick with a big head, which is pierced, the tip shiny and wet. He should have expected it really, the piercing, a prince albert he thinks it’s called, not sure because he’s never seen one, never knew how fucking hot it could be. There are two balls just like the ones in Stiles’ tongue, one nestled in his pretty little slit, the other tucked under the crown of his head, joined by a slightly curved bar under the skin. Derek swallows hard and his mouth fills with hot saliva, one hand going to his own cock, shoving his boxer briefs down his thighs in a rush. He wants to stroke himself, but the thought of that piercing on his tongue, against his throat, fuck, in his ass, has him dangerously close to coming untouched, so he grips the base hard instead, staving it off.

Stiles purrs. “See something you like, big guy?” His smug composure crumbles as his voice breaks a bit on the last word, making Derek’s heart pound even faster. He leans back on one hand, the other going to settle on Derek’s head, rubbing softly into his scalp before pulling slightly, bringing him closer to his dick. “Derek, want your mouth,” he pants, any attempt at being cool or collected disappearing completely.

Derek can’t pretend to not be aching for it anymore, hand leaving his cock so he can give his full attention to Stiles’, leaning down to lick a slow, sloppy line up the underside, letting the head scrape against his beard as he does, smiling as Stiles hisses and yips in response. When he gets to the crown he pauses to look up at Stiles’ face before pressing the tip of his tongue against the bottom of the piercing.

Stiles’ eyes are nearly black, his pupils are so wide as he watches Derek, teeth digging into his bottom lip. The moan that shakes from his chest might be the hottest thing Derek’s ever heard, at least until he purses his lips around the ball, sucking it gently as he presses his tongue up. This moan is more of a guttural howl, and Derek wants to hear it forever.

He pulls back to lap at his slit and the other end of the piercing, teasing and playful, curious to see what other sounds he can pull from him. He runs the tip of his tongue along the bottom of his head, pressing against the hard line of steel just under skin, is rewarded with a soft little sob and a quick, jerky thrust of those narrow hips. “Fuck, Derek,” he gasps, abs clenching and cock twitching. Derek smiles at the sight of him, both of them well on the way to being completely wrecked. Derek is stunned, fucking proud though, that this enchanting creature is falling to pieces under his mouth, that he is somehow lucky enough to be the one who gets to make Stiles look like this, blissed out and needy and perfect.  

Derek stretches his mouth wide to wrap around him, sliding his lips down slowly so he can concentrate on the hard press of the metal against his tongue. Stiles shudders and bucks when he hits the back of his throat, Derek’s face buried in the hot tangle of dark hair at the base. His moans are punctuated with the broken syllables of Derek’s name, sounding absolutely destroyed now, making Derek suck him harder. He bobs up and down on his dick, tongue flicking at the piercing, Stiles’ precome coating the inside of his mouth, spit dribbling from the corners. “Derek, gonna come,” Stiles huffs, hands pulling hard on his hair.

Derek swallows him down one last time before pulling off with a hard suck and pop, hand wrapping around him and stroking fast, thumb flicking at the steel under the crown. Stiles yells loudly, whole body shaking, powerful ropes of come splattering across Derek’s open, waiting mouth. Some lands in his beard too and he groans at the wet heat of it, fucking shameless in his love of being covered like this. He strokes Stiles through the aftershocks and when he’s done, tongues softly at the ball in his slit, still hungry for the taste of him.

When he can barely stand how good it is anymore, he spits into his hand and strokes himself roughly, quickly, licking come from his lips, eyes rolling back at the rich, bitter taste. Stiles has fallen back on the bed, languid and dazed, but his hands are reaching for Derek, and he’s mumbling and smiling. “Come on me,” he’s saying, “Derek, want you to come on me.”

Derek groans and stands, planting a knee on either side of Stiles’ ribs, straddling him. Stiles reaches up to cup his balls, rolling them in his long fingers, tattooed knuckles of his other hand running up his thigh, up and around to press into his cleft. “Stiles,” he whines, body starting to seize and tense as his orgasm builds, a scorching, pulsing rush. Stiles presses a dry finger against his tight hole and that’s it, the wave crests and breaks and he’s falling, crashing, body alight with pleasure as he empties himself in heavy bursts onto Stiles’ brightly-colored chest, his name still tumbling from his come-covered lips.


“Holy shit,” Stiles is saying, voice sounding far away even though Derek’s resting his head on his chest, face in his own come. He’s still coming down from the most incredible orgasm he’s ever had, body buzzing with pleasant numbness, relishing in the feel of Stiles’ quick-beating heart under his cheek.

“Yeah,” Derek manages to croak out, throat a little raw and mouth sloppy. He can’t stop touching him, hands running up from his stomach to slide around on his chest, rubbing his come into his skin, wanting Stiles to smell like him, wanting to mark him up as brightly as his tattoos.

“You’re incredible,” Stiles says, voice dreamy, one hand still tangled in Derek’s hair, the other reaching to grab at where Derek’s playing in his own mess, lifting his hand to his mouth. Stiles licks his fingers slowly, lapping it up. His eyes roll back at the feel of Stiles’ tongue, hoping they can both get hard again soon, his hunger for Stiles only barely sated, quickly proving to be nearly insatiable.

He scoots up the bed so he can kiss him, sprawling across him even more, interlocking Stiles’ fingers with his own and pulling them away from his mouth so he can get at it, opening his own mouth in eager welcome so Stiles can lick into him and taste himself there.

They stay that way for a long time, naked and sideways on the unmade bed, feet dangling off the edge as they roll around, kissing and licking and laughing. “You know,” Stiles says with a teasing flutter of his eyelashes, running his fingers along Derek’s jaw. “When you showed up in your glasses I didn’t think it was possible for you to get any hotter, but then you went and got my come all over your beard, utterly and completely redefining my understanding of hotness.”

Derek muffles a laugh into his neck, rubbing his sticky beard into his skin, laughs even more at the squeal of indignant pleasure Stiles lets out in response. “Oh my fucking god,” Stiles laughs, “how are you real?” He sounds delighted, thrilled even, Derek’s chest practically bursting with happiness that Stiles seems to be just as spun as he is.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he says, kissing him again, this time with more urgency, rocking his hips into his side, cock growing harder. Stiles is getting there again too, so Derek reaches down to help him along, stroking slowly, pulling and pressing lightly on the barbell, drinking in Stiles’ huffed little gasps. “Stiles,” he whispers, pausing to suck on his earlobe, stretched just a bit with a small, black plug. “I want you.”

“You got me, fuck, Derek, you so fucking got me.” He’s rutting his hips up, trying to fuck into his fist, his words hot and eager against Derek's temple.

Derek smiles and nibbles on his neck a little bit, leaving a purpling mark next to a flame-colored tattoo, making Stiles keen and sigh before he pulls back and looks at him, forces him to meet his gaze. “I want you to fuck me,” he clarifies, smiling at how Stiles’ eyes go wide, how his mouth drops open, so adorable Derek could weep.

Stiles scrambles out from under him, clumsy in his haste, nearly elbowing Derek in the face as he crawls over to his nightstand, rummaging loudly for a second before returning triumphantly with a bottle of lube. Derek stays on his stomach, head twisted back so he can watch the wide-eyed awe and open-mouthed lust on Stiles’ lovely face as he runs his hands down his back, reverent as they cup and softly squeeze the muscled globes of his ass.

Derek groans and bites at the sheet under his mouth, canting his hips up, presenting himself to Stiles, so blatant in his want he barely recognizes himself. “Oh my god,” Stiles whispers under his breath, like he’s saying it to himself, like he can’t believe he gets to have this.

Derek knows the feeling.

Stiles opens him gently, slowly, lubed fingers of one hand steadily working into him while the other kneads his ass, squeezes his hip, reaches under him to tease at his cock. Derek hasn’t been with a man in years, but he’s been fucking himself regularly on an impressive dildo since the divorce, so he’s more than ready by the time Stiles slides in a third finger, his body opening easily for him. Stiles keeps fingering him though, long fingers feeling even better inside of him than he imagined, curling to tease at his prostate every so often, a tortuous hint of what’s to come.

“Stiles,” Derek growls, rising up to his knees, resting his head on his forearm on the bed, hands twisting into the sheets.

Stiles pulls his fingers out and positions himself on his knees between Derek’s spread legs. “Say it again,” Stiles says, throaty and low, darkly powerful in a way that melts into Derek, makes him reach back with both hands to spread himself open before he obeys.

“I want you to fuck me,” he whines, fucking whines, thankful that his face is buried in the blankets so Stiles can’t see how red his cheeks must be.

His mind goes blissfully blank when he feels the strange, wholly new sensation of hot steel against his hole, the ball at the tip of Stiles’ cock teasing gently at his stretched rim. “Again,” Stiles orders, like he can’t get enough of Derek’s whining need, of him begging to be filled, begging to be milked from the inside out with that wicked cock.

“Fuck me,” he growls again, this time thrusting his ass up and back, his own command.

“Christ, Derek,” Stiles moans, finally pushing into him, sinfully slow, both of them gasping and panting, Stiles’ fingers teasing over where Derek is stretching and pulling him in. The scrape of the piercing inside of him is a sparkling tickle that lights him up, makes him push back until Stiles is fully seated in him, rolling his hips and fucking himself on his glorious cock before Stiles has a chance to set a pace.

Stiles leans back, arching his hips forward to shove farther into him, hands reaching back to clutch at Derek’s ankles. Derek fucks harder, sliding forward and back a bit to feel the thrilling slick slide of Stiles moving in and out of him, that hard metal catching on his rim before sliding back in. It’s fucking unreal, how hot and full he feels, like he’s been carved open just for him, like his body is finally whole.

It’s so good, so sweet, the way Stiles is just letting him ride his cock with abandon like this, like he knows how badly Derek needs it. He’s getting tired though, overwhelmed and soft-jointed, like his body is dissolving from too much pleasure. Stiles stops him with firm hands on his hips, pulls out with a shuddering sigh and turns Derek onto his back. He smiles at that, at how even though he’s smaller than him Stiles can still manhandle him, take control of him when he wants him to.

And oh fuck, does he want him to. Stiles spreads Derek’s legs wide, hands planted on the inside of his thighs, pushing back into him with a smooth, hard thrust that leaves both of their mouths gaping. He ruts into him slow but hard, each thrust a sundering drag that has Derek shaking. Stiles falls heavily onto him, kissing him sloppily before resting on his elbows, staring hotly into his eyes, rhythm of his hips speeding up. “You feel so good, Derek, fuck, you’re so good, so good.” He buries his face in Derek’s neck, biting softly.

Stiles rises back up, hips losing their controlled finesse as he fucks into him faster, harder, chest shining with sweat at the exertion. He reaches to jack Derek’s leaking dick, but Derek pushes his hand away, moves it up to press against his nipple instead. “Wanna come on just your cock,” he gasps, so fucking close, dying to know how it feels to have his come fucked out of him by nothing but Stiles' studded dick.

“Oh fuck, Derek,” Stiles groans, hips stuttering, pierced head ramming against his prostate, making Derek clench hard and buck up as he comes, covering his sweaty abs and filling up his belly button with thick spurts, rumbling groans echoing loudly as he gives in to it, riding the indescribable waves of pleasure.

Stiles is coming too, hands clenching into the tender skin of his thighs hard enough to bruise, aching moans joining Derek’s. His hips are slapping loudly, stopping suddenly with a final, bruising thrust before he pulls out, ribbons of come stringing from Derek’s wet hole to the head of his cock. Derek watches his face as he takes his still hard dick in his hand, looking down, lashes dark against his cheeks. Stiles is staring intently at where Derek’s open and dripping; slowly, hand sliding up his shaft, he circles his tender, twitching hole with his head, barbell catching on his rim, sizzling sparks of heat coursing through Derek’s body that make him twitch and quiver.

Still looking down, Stiles presses back in slowly, groaning, eyes locked on where he’s pushing his come back into him, pumping in and out with a few hard strokes before collapsing across Derek’s chest, gorgeous smile never leaving his perfect face.


Derek wakes in the morning to honey-colored eyes close to his, studying him. He’s on his stomach, arms bunched up in a pillow, head twisted to the side. “Finally,” Stiles says, voice husky with sleep. “I missed your eyes,” he adds, kissing his nose and holding his gaze for a long time before moving to rest his head on Derek’s back. He traces the curves of his triskele tattoo before running his hand down his spine and letting it settle on his ass. Derek is practically bursting with affection, head over heels and falling fast. Judging by the soft kisses he’s pressing into his skin, and the admiring, practically worshipful way he’s touching him, he’s pretty sure Stiles is falling right along with him.


There’s a gorgeous woman making coffee in the kitchen, shiny black hair in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing men’s boxers and a Beacon Hills lacrosse hoodie, the number eleven and the name McCall emblazoned across the back. Kira, he remembers from last night’s endless rambling conversations, girlfriend of Stiles’ roommate and best friend Scott.

Kira, who he’s meeting for the first time while wearing Stiles’ way too small flannel pajama pants, shirtless and skin damp from hastily wiping up dried-on come with a wet washcloth. He’s pretty sure there’s still come in his beard, and his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

“Morning, K-fox,” Stiles chirps, leading Derek in by the hand. He’s shirtless too, but at least he’s in pants that fit and don’t show every curve and line of his dick, as much as Derek would like him to be.

Derek flushes even more when Kira turns around, eyes widening, smiling as she looks him up and down. “Oh wow,” she finally says, looking to Stiles, eyebrows raised. “I thought you were making him up.”

Stiles cackles as he reaches up to a cupboard and grabs four coffee mugs, all but one bearing the Full Spectrum Brew logo. “Even my overactive imagination couldn’t have conjured up Derek.” He winks at him when he says it, and all of sudden Derek doesn’t feel embarrassed or exposed at all, just stupidly, goofily happy.

A dark-haired, puppy dog-eyed guy wearing sweats and a tank top comes into the kitchen through the door across from them, wrapping his arms around Kira from behind and resting his crooked jaw on her shoulder. This must be Scott, who runs his eyes over him, taking in Derek almost as appreciatively as Kira did. Scott laughs and looks over to Stiles. “Dude, I thought you were making him up.”


When Derek tells Stiles he has to leave because he promised Laura he would paint the nursery today, Stiles not-so-subtly angles for an invitation, and that’s how their first date goes from stoner movie to mind-blowing sex to Stiles smudging purple paint across his cheek when he leans in to kiss him while Derek is very carefully stenciling a Shel Silverstein poem on the wall of his niece's bedroom. When the peck on the cheek turns into greedy mouthing at his beard, he gives up trying and drops the brush and stencil, leaving purple smudges of his own on Stiles’ face and neck.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I wasn’t even gone for five minutes,” Laura says when she walks in bearing the soda and pizza she had delivered.

“Sorry, Doc,” Stiles says when he pulls away, still looking at Derek. “Your bro is too perfect not attack with kisses at any given opportunity.” Derek rolls his eyes, but he knows he's damn near glowing at the compliment, is probably starry-eyed and everything.

“Watch it, Stilinski,” she says with a sly smile that Derek knows all too well. “Your dad gave me free reign to smack you upside the head whenever I want to a long time ago."

Derek just laughs, a little stunned but surprisingly pleased at how well Stiles and Laura seem to know each other, seem to actually like each other. It’s a welcome change from Jennifer, who Laura barely tolerated.

Laura sits down in the middle of the floor, moving awkwardly around her huge belly, using Derek’s shoulder for balance. The three of them sit in a circle eating greasy pizza and drinking soda, Stiles pestering her for embarrassing childhood stories about Derek, and much to Derek’s horror, Laura happily obliges.

“You know,” Laura says, after humiliating Derek to her liking, “I never would have guessed that my boring old grump of a brother would hook up with the Stilinski kid, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make sense. You two are so damn cute I want to puke.”

Stiles does his whole body laugh thing, and Derek risks Laura’s ire to lean over and kiss him, the smiling press of Stiles’ soda-sweet lips totally worth her pained groan and the loving punch to his arm.


When they’re done with the nursery Laura goes to take a nap and Derek leads Stiles downstairs to his room, closing the door gently behind them. They strip quickly and Derek falls easily to his bed, trying not to cry out too loudly when Stiles teases his cock with the barbell in his tongue, practically losing his mind when he swallows him down easily, soft throat fluttering around his leaking tip.

They stay in bed for hours, Derek memorizing the lines and curves of his tattoos with his tongue, Stiles' hands tracing sparks of fire all over Derek’s skin.

That’s how their first date never ends.