now if we're talking body (you got a perfect one, so put it on me)
Derek Hale is an asshole.
He’s infuriating, all dressed up in stupid ties and suits, always barging into Stiles’s interrogation rooms with an air of superiority, dropping his briefcase onto the metal table with more force than necessary, in Stiles’s opinion. Derek is everything that Stiles loathes, all arrogance and abrasiveness wrapped up in dark eyebrows and piercing eyes that Stiles still can’t quite figure out what the exact color is. Green? Hazel? Grey-green?
Wait, that’s not the point.
The point is that Derek always has something to berate Stiles with, every single time, there’s something about Stiles’s work that doesn’t satisfy him completely, something that just doesn’t sit right with him, and it’s always growled at him with one finger all up in Stiles’s face.
Their fights are a monumental staple of the station, and Stiles has found himself in his dad’s office more than once after a particularly vicious quarrel (“You cannot yell at an attorney from the Hale Law Firm like that, Stiles!”).
Fuck the Hale Law Firm and their prestige.
If it were any other attorney, Stiles probably could have gotten away with filing a complaint or something.
But no, Derek Hale is untouchable.
And yet, that’s not the worst part.
The worst part is…Derek is actually a good defense attorney. He cares about his clients, he goes above and beyond for them, and Stiles loathes that he’s not like some of the other, corrupt attorneys in the city that do it for the money. It would make it so much easier to despise him.
“I hate him.”
Stiles slams his files down on his desk in a fit of anger and frustration. Scott’s spinning around in his swivel chair, biting the end of his pen as he scans through his newest arrest.
“Hm. Okay, sure, buddy.” Scott hums absently, pen lowering to the paper to mark something down.
“I do, I hate him. He’s so fucking unbelievable where the fuck does he think he can get off talking to me like that. I swear to god,” Stiles glares at the door of the room where he knows the man in question is currently interviewing his client, “I will…I’ll…” he grabs his files and shakes them as though he’s gripping Derek’s throat, “I’ll destroy him. I will sic Lydia on him and make her tear him to shreds and then maybe finally my dad will stop ranting and raving about how perfect he is and—”
“Just ask him out to dinner and be done with it.”
Stiles stares at his best friend in disbelief. “Um…no, are you listening to me at all? Scott? Scott!”
Not him too. This is not how his conversation is supposed to be going.
Even the suspects that Stiles brings in are beginning to look at him and Derek strangely, more than one of them asking if they’re fucking or something.
Stiles hates Derek Hale.
A better man would walk away from all their fights, would put it all behind them.
Stiles is not a better man.
Which is why he keeps finding himself in the same situation, over and over again, like clockwork.
“Is that all you got?”
Stiles huffs, annoyed, pushing back against the other man’s thrusts, his fingers fisting into the sheets so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
It usually always ends up like this, with him on his hands and knees, the other man pushing into him from behind, fast and harsh and bruising. But Stiles doesn’t mind it that way; he likes it rough. And with the fingers digging into his hips so hard that they’ll leave marks, tonight is certainly going to be brutal one. Their bodies move in a steady rhythm, like a dance that’s written into their genes, and Stiles can’t help the moans and cries that are punched out of his throat again and again. He’s losing himself in the overwhelming sensations, the feeling of the other man’s cock dragging against his tight walls, the sounds of the mattress creaking under their feverish movements, but Stiles will never admit that to Derek. Derek, who he hates. Derek, who’s currently fucking his brains out.
A warm chest curls over his back and the other man’s breath is hot in his ear, stubble scraping against Stiles’s shoulder. He already has so much beard burn on the insides of his thighs and against his neck, fuck it, what’s one more.
“I don’t think you could handle more of me, Officer.”
Stiles scoffs and reaches a hand back, even though it’s hard to balance himself on just the one hand given how hard he’s being fucked, and digs his fingers into Derek’s ass. The other man’s breath turns into a hiss.
“I think,” he bites out, “that I’m getting a little bored. Think you can keep up, Hale?”
The man on top of him pauses and Stiles briefly mourns the loss of the drag of friction in his ass before a hand is shoving the side of his face into a pillow, hard. Stiles yelps, his entire body collapsing and flattening against the mattress below. A heavy weight settles against his back and then Derek starts up again, the other man’s hips moving, rotating, lewd slaps of skin on skin ringing out in the quiet of Stiles’s bedroom.
“Fuck!” Stiles hisses, hot pleasure sinking into every corner of his body. “Yeah, right there, oh fuck, Derek!”
“God, you look so good underneath me,” Derek growls into his ear and one particular thrust makes Stiles see stars, “always on your knees for me, just begging for it.”
He can’t even think of a witty retort to that because oh god, it feels like the other man’s cock is splitting him open, sliding out almost all the way, the head dragging against his sphincter tantalizingly, before slamming back in to the hilt, balls slapping against Stiles’s skin almost painfully.
The heat of Derek’s chest on his back disappears as the man straightens, and two large hands clamp down on Stiles’s shoulders, thighs nudging for Stiles to get back up on his knees, and his hips beat a faster but steady rhythm against Stiles’s ass. Stiles’s arms shake with the effort of holding himself up, and he bites down on his lip so hard it draws blood.
Normally, Stiles likes to have some semblance of control, whether it be riding Derek until they both see stars or sucking him off, prolonging it for as long as possible until Derek finally comes down his throat with a loud groan. But in this position, there’s not much more that Stiles can do but take it, take it and try not to come before Derek does. He takes pride in the grunts and panting gasps that escape Derek though, knowing that the man is quickly becoming undone all because of Stiles’s body.
Stiles ducks his head, muffling a broken sob as he wraps his hand around his dick, pulling with tight strokes, hoping to relieve the almost painful pressure building there. Before he can get very far though, a hand is grabbing his wrist tightly and pulling it away, bending his arm so his hand restrained against his back now.
“No, wait, please—”
Derek hooks his other arm under Stiles’s armpit and pulls him up so his back is arching, flush against the other man’s chest again. The arm that’s behind his back aches, not used to bending that way, but the feeling sends another rush down to Stiles’s cock. The new angle has Stiles’s hole clenching around Derek and he can feel everything, the entire length of Derek’s cock, all the ridges and bumps.
Stiles’s moan turns into a strangled gasp as Derek bites down on his neck, the man’s hips snapping forward in short bursts that has Stiles’s hipbones aching.
When Derek finally lets go of Stiles’s wrist, a hand fists itself into Stiles’s short hair and the other curls around his cock, tugging at it in quick motions that counter every thrust he feels from behind. His fingers scrabble desperately at the other man’s muscled arms.
“Ah- Derek! I’m almost…oh god, pleasepleaseplease,” Stiles doesn’t even know what else he says after that, his words coming out in an incoherent babble, probably taking the Lord’s name in vain in many creative ways, along with praising Derek—the only time he would ever praise Derek, mind you—profusely.
It only takes five more strokes of his cock and then Derek pulls at his hair and Stiles is coming, entire body quivering and going boneless with the aftershock of his orgasm. He’s pretty sure he died a little and then came back just then. Derek lowers him to the bed, gentler than Stiles had expected, and resumes thrusting into him, fingers spreading Stiles’s ass so he can see his own cock disappearing into the puckered hole again and again.
Stiles rests his forehead on his arms briefly to get ahold of himself again before turning his head, craning his neck so he can see Derek’s face. The other man’s head is tilted back, eyes closed and mouth open, releasing soft grunts and gasps as he fucks into Stiles.
He's suddenly struck by simply how beautiful Derek is, all broad shoulders and rippling abs and shit, those cheekbones and dark hair that’s no longer perfectly styled but mussed up from Stiles’s hands having grabbed at it throughout the night.
It doesn’t take long before Derek is coming, his back bowing and head coming down to rest between Stiles’s shoulder blades, a loud and broken sigh of Stiles’s name escaping him.
Stiles turns back around, finally letting his entire body go slack again, head flopping against the pillow as he breathes out incredulously, “Fuck, that was good.”
He hears a chuckle from behind him and then Derek is rolling off of him with some difficulty, pulling off the condom and tying it off. Derek rejoins him a few seconds later, pulling the sheets over them and scooting close, a heavy arm resting against Stiles’s back.
They lie in silence until Stiles is almost drifting off, but he opens his eyes blearily to look at Derek, surprised to find the other man already staring at him, green eyes soft with something that Stiles doesn’t recognize.
“I still hate you.” He mumbles, closing his eyes again.
Derek snorts and runs a hand down Stiles’s spine.
He ignores the enraged yell, humming to himself as he buttons up his uniform and adjusts the receiver so it’s not in danger of falling off. Checking his reflection in the mirror, Stiles swipes a hand through his short hair, not to style it, but simply out of habit.
“Stiles, I swear to god!”
Oh, he sounds so deliciously furious. Wonderful. Stiles smirks and exits the bathroom, hitting the switch to turn off the light.
“Yes, dear?” Stiles’s voice comes out honeyed and mocking, and he stands at the doorway for a moment, savoring the sight in front of him.
The other man is completely naked, save for the navy-blue cotton sheets twisted around his ankles, pectorals on full display under the glow of the morning sun and abs tense with how hard he’s breathing. Derek kicks the sheets off, wrath on full display in his burning green eyes.
Stiles shivers. Because hot damn, an angry Derek is a sexy Derek.
“Stiles,” the other man grits out through his teeth, “get these off me right now.”
Stiles’s gaze drifts to the handcuffs binding Derek to the bed, one cuff on each wrist and the chain looped behind one of the vertical mahogany bars on his headboard.
“But you look so good it’s positively criminal,” Stiles purrs, looping his gun belt around his waist, “and I just couldn’t resist myself.”
“Stiles, I will rip your throat out with my—”
“You know,” Stiles dons his best shit-eating grin, “that everything you say can and will be used against you, right? But of course you knew that, Mr. Hale.”
He crawls up the bed predatorily, knees bracketing Derek’s legs and hands sinking into the bed on either side of his hips. Stiles lowers his head and takes the other man’s cock into his mouth, all the way down to the base until his nose is buried in dark curls. He swallows, making sure that Derek can feel his throat, hot and wet around his cock like a vice. It almost immediately stiffens, twitching in Stiles's mouth with interest.
“Stil…fuck!” Derek’s thighs tremble and Stiles lifts his head, grinning innocently up at the man before licking one long stripe along the vein on the underside of Derek’s cock.
And then he’s off the bed, shrugging on his uniform jacket and snatching up his keys from the bedside table. He snaps and gives Derek’s dick two finger-guns, winking at the man who stares back at him with disbelief. “I’ll be back in a bit, ‘kay?”
“I’m gonna go get some donuts. You know how it is.” Stiles sighs dramatically. “I’ll be back in like half an hour, don't worry. Besides, it's a weekend, you're not working. Relax, take a load off."
"Stiles." Derek's tone goes serious and just a little desperate. "Fuck, you can't just l—"
"Bye." Blowing the other man a kiss, Stiles grins wildly and then turns to walk out of the bedroom. He calls out, "Try not to break my handcuffs, you brute."
He just grins and there’s an extra pep in his step despite how his sore his ass is from the previous night, as he swings the door to his apartment closed.
The sex tonight is going to be phenomenal.