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DIY Derek

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Stiles was pretty good with his hands. He could work a computer and fix a pipe and even unclog a toilet all by himself. The combination of living with just his dad for the latter half of his adolescence and the fact that he was extremely accident prone at the best of times meant that there had been many times when the two of them had had to fend for themselves when the power went out or when the toilet backed up. Which happened more than you'd think. Stiles actually ended up being the guy around the dorm you called when you fucked up and needed to get your door back on the frame before maintenance caught you and charged you out the butt. 

Stiles, however, promptly forgot every single skill he'd ever learned during his 21 years on earth when he learned that his super hot new neighbour was handy with a wrench. 

During his second year of college Stiles had pooled his resources with Scott and rented a place a couple of streets from campus, perhaps further than was entirely convenient for hungover students to run when they'd forgotten to get gas for their jeep, but it had a pool, which kind of sealed the deal. Scott had felt pretty confident that Stiles could maintain said pool, so much so they'd even convinced Liam and Isaac to live with them too, cutting the cost and making their parties even more lively when Liam started inviting all his wild freshmen friends. 

And it worked, surprisingly. Stiles might have been accident prone, but he fixed everything that he broke, including all the dishes (though Scott politely suggested they get those replaced). Stiles was therefore (justifiably!) cross with Liam when he admitted that the broken faucet in the upstairs bathroom that stiles hadn’t deigned worthy enough to put ahead of his psych homework was now fixed, thanks to "DIY Derek".

'Who the fuck is DIY Derek,' he asked, folding his arms sternly at Liam, who was looking meek. 

'Uh, new guy next door. He offered, it was no big deal.' 

Stiles raised his eyebrows, and Scott and Isaac ducked for cover. Stiles had a reputation for taking rejection poorly when it came to what he considered his “real” skills. 

'And how exactly did the subject of faucets come up over the picket fence?' he asked acidly. 

Liam shrugged the frat bro shrug and tucked his hands into the pockets of his baseball shorts. 

'He’s a handyman,' Liam explained. 'I saw him carrying a tool box and thought I'd ask.'

Stiles narrowed his eyes incredulously. 'Liam, didn't anyone ever teach you about stranger danger? 

Liam rolled his eyes as the other two sniggered in the background. 

'Stiles, he lives next door, I saw him moving in. If it makes you feel any better I won't ask him for any more favours. But I'm just saying you were really tired and that faucet needed fixing and you did break the handle on the pool ladder and your jeep is still making that clunking noise, and he did offer. He said any time we needed a hand he could come over and help -'

'You know what,' said Stiles, pinching the bridge of his nose, 'that's enough out of you, Liam. I'm gonna go over there, tell him thanks, much appreciated, but no thanks. I fix my mistakes, I don't need anyone else to fix them for me.'

Liam gave a tentative thumbs up as Scott and Isaac’s eyes rolled like marbles. But Stiles was as good as his word. He stomped right over there, all the way across the five feet of lawn and cobblestone that separated their houses, and knocked very firmly on DIY Derek's house. He tapped his foot, getting more and more worked up as there was no response. He knocked a few more times, and had escalated to outright pounding on the door by the time it finally opened. 

The sweaty, shirtless god amongst men who opened the door with a very angry look on his face wiped the scowl off Stiles's own quicker than a blast from a powerhouse. Which stiles felt he would be in need of shortly because holy sweet baby JESUS he felt like he was seeing the face of god. 

'What?' snapped DIY Derek.

'What,' repeated Sexually Stunned Stiles, mouth open, eyes blinking rapidly. 

Derek - for the wrench in his hand could only indicate handyman status - made an impatient gesture. 

'Can I help you? Or are you lost?'

Stiles tried closing his mouth, but it was a failed endeavor. 

'Uhhhh...' Stiles closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment - not so brief that he couldn't imagine perfectly what those gleaming pecs would feel like under his grabby hands - before he felt able to reply without throwing up.

'You’re ... the handyman, right? DIY Derek?'

Derek blinked, expression shifting to confusion. 


Stiles nodded, trying to pull himself together. He didn't even consider that his next statement was breaking all his own morals, codes, principles, and destroying his self respect. He was committed. 

'Our pool ladder is broken,' he stammered, gesturing with his hand. 'I mean, I broke it. I'm such a klutz, honestly, I trip over my own shoelaces. Smash everything in sight. Useless, really.' 

Derek's posture relaxed slightly, as he leaned against the doorframe and regarded stiles cautiously. 

'Fine,' he said, finally. 'I’m in the middle of something right now, but I have some time this afternoon.'

Stiles nodded frantically, head bobbing. 'Sure, sure, perfect, great can't wait. Great.'

He stumbled back down the path looking back about three or four times to get another glimpse at those abs that tragically disappeared behind the door before stiles could look a fifth time. 

'How'd it go?' Scott asked, from behind a mug of coffee. 

'Fine,' replied Stiles distractedly. 'How's that pool ladder? Still broken?'

'Well, actually it's totally manageable, you can just step over it to go to the next one -'

'Cool, great, I'm gonna go break two more,' he interrupted. Stiles was determined. He needed to see those pecs again. 


Sadly, they were 100% more covered than the last time he saw them. When Derek rocked up 45 minutes later he was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans and Stiles hated them on sight. He hated everything about them and wanted to burn them in a big fire along with every shred of his self-respect. 

'Pool's out back,' stiles said helpfully, beaming at a very bemused Derek. 

'Thanks, I never would have guessed,' Derek replied dryly. He strode past stiles towards the back garden, past the gaping trio of bad haircuts and backwards snapbacks who were staring at stiles like they didn't even know him.

'Not a word,' muttered stiles as he followed Derek out back, holding up a sharp finger to silence their strangled laughs about selling out and following his dick like a (muffled expletive). 

‘What was that?’ asked Derek, looking over his shoulder.

‘Nothing, Scott was just choking,’ Stiles replied dreamily. 

The next fifteen minutes were some of the best of Stiles’s life that hadn’t been spent having sex. He got to sit on the back step and watch Derek’s ass bent over the pool ladder, arms flexing and tensing as he worked that wrench and hammer. He looked like the porno version of Magic Mike. He was literally the romance novel cover Stiles had always dreamed about. 

‘So, you’re new in Beacon Hills?’ Stiles asked, determined to get this ball rolling so he could get his own balls, er, rolling. 

‘Nope, just not from this side of town,’ Derek replied, back to him. 

‘Where’d you live before this?’

Derek grunted and tugged on the old rung until it came off. ‘Rusted through,’ he muttered, peering at it. ‘Uh, my parent’s old place.’

Stiles nodded, swallowing with a click as Derek scratched absentmindedly at his belly. Would his t-shirt lift up? Yes it absolutely did, and that was a treasure trail that Stiles would happily follow for the rest of his goddamn life. 

‘And what made you decide to live on fratboy lane?’ Stiles continued, hoping that Derek would bend over again soon.

Derek shrugged. ‘Rent’s good,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘If you don’t mind the party noise.’ He glared pointedly at Stiles, who threw his arms wide in a careless shrug. 

‘Dude, you made your bed,’ he said frankly. Derek made a little gesture with the broken rung, allowing that. 

‘Hey, I mean if you ever get bored pumping iron, you’re welcome to come over any time the decibel levels start to rise,’ Stiles suggested innocently. ‘Grab a beer, some chips, maybe some ass, who knows.’

That last part probably shouldn’t have been said out loud. Derek straightened and raised his eyebrows at Stiles, looking amused, to Stiles’s great relief. Stiles, to his credit, stood his ground (or rather, sat), despite his blushing. 

‘I’ll think about it,’ Derek muttered, still looking at Stiles, who wasn’t sure if he should be fainting, running away, or taking off all his clothes. He was about two seconds away from asking Derek if he wanted to test out the pool with him, when Scott braved the situation to pull Stiles away before any real damage could be done.

‘Stiles, what are you doing?’ he hissed, once they were safely inside and out of earshot.

‘Getting laid, hopefully!’ Stiles replied, practically bouncing. ’Scott, I mean, you saw that, right? I didn’t eat pot brownies for breakfast again, did I?’

‘No, remember, we have that rule,’ Scott said quietly, frowning. ‘No pot brownies in the fridge anymore, right? Too many accidents.’

Stiles waved away his adorable concerns. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. My point is, this is an ass that I absolutely have to tap, if I can. And I am completely willing to sacrifice all my dignity to get there. Did you see those abs? I can avoid my own face in the mirror for a few months if it lets me get all up on that. And don’t you dare say you wouldn’t do the same if he had boobs.’

Scott paused, eyes glazing over slightly. ‘That’s … not quite true, but I take your point. Fine, ok. But just be careful. You tend to kind of go hard or go home with these things.’

‘What are you saying, Scott?’ Stiles was trying to crane his neck over his best friend’s shoulder in case there was a chance of seeing Derek working those handyman skills from around the corner.

‘I’m saying, you’re not going to go to any extreme lengths, are you?’ Scott’s face was worried. 

‘Hey, speaking of extreme lengths …’

‘Stiles, focus,’ Scott said sternly. ‘Is this gonna screw with us? I have finals, man.’

‘We all have finals, Scott,’ Stiles replied gently. He placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders and squeezed comfortingly. ‘I promise, nothing I do will impact you directly.’

Scott still looked worried, but Stiles could only look after one problem at a time. And right now his problem was a swelling half mast in his pants that was just dying to go over every bit of what they’d just witnessed together in great detail, preferably with lube and tissues.


So what, things get broken all the time. It happens. They were four frat boys living together. Shit happens. Like when they threw a rager two nights later, which may or may not have been intended to lure the new neighbour over but produced no results other than four chronic hangovers, six freshmen passed out on their lawn, a generous eyeful of Isaac’s butt after he chased after a girl who stole all his clothes after getting him into bed, and Liam and Mason getting caught in a very compromising position that Liam swore blind had just been him helping Mason with his zipper. Yeah, right. They all clapped him on the back and told him to shut the fuck up, and then went out for pizza bagels. 

Unfortunately, upon returning they saw that there was now a bike on their roof. A bike that was very much lodged up there, and was probably damaging the drainpipe judging by the tell-tale way it was half peeled off the house. 

‘Oh dear,’ Stiles commented happily.

‘That is unfortunate,’ Isaac agreed, not catching the tone. Scott was glaring at Stiles.

‘Did you do that?’

Stiles had the good grace to look offended. ‘Scott, you shame me,’ he said, with tremendous dignity. ‘I could never deliberately take a hand to this house. I paid a freshman to do it for me.’

Scott groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Isaac rolled his eyes, and Liam just looked impressed. 

‘Stiles, you promised!’ Scott groaned. 

’Scott, you’re not seeing the big picture,’ Stiles insisted, wrapping a hand around his distressed best friend’s shoulders. ‘If I get laid, then not only will we have an expert handyman around who will hopefully be on hand on a much more regular basis, but also you know how I am when I’m fucking someone on the regular.’

‘That is a good point,’ Isaac pointed out. 

‘Why, how does he get?’ asked Liam, looking up at Isaac. 

‘Stiles fixes things,’ Isaac explained. ‘Like, more than usual. You make his dick happy, you make Stiles happy, and he in turn makes everyone happy. He bakes too, and orders pizza for the house.’

‘Why haven’t I experienced any of this?’ Liam asked, confused. 

‘Because I’ve been going through a dry spell, ok?’ snapped Stiles, before returning his attention to Scott. ‘Look, calm down, it’s fine. I’m gonna go sort it right now, watch me.’ He bounded across the lawn, so excited at the prospect of seeing that perky butt again that he forgot to knock for a few moments.

When he did hammer on the door, a little too impatiently perhaps, it was to the almost instant effect of having it ripped open and a cold bucket of water being poured over him.

He spluttered and coughed and staggered back off the porch, wiping his hair and water out of his face so he could see who his assailant was. Vision restored, he shivered doubly from the icy water and the glare he was currently on the receiving end of.

‘You spend all night throwing the most obnoxious party with the worst goddamn music, egg the side of my house, leave a drunk, barely legal frat kid on my porch, and now you’re here trying to break down my door!’ 

The beautiful girl holding the bucket looked positively venomous; Stiles took another automatic step back.

‘Uh, um, you’re not DIY Derek,’ he mumbled uselessly, wrapping his arms around his shivering form. The girl was practically quivering with fury; howls of laughter were coming from the other side of the cobblestones. 

‘No, I’m not,’ she hissed. ‘And I don’t care who you are. Get off my porch!’ 

Stiles legged it, terrified she might throw that bucket at his head. He scrambled across the cobblestones and up his own path to the relative safety of the house, where the three fools were falling around laughing. 

‘Please nobody even look at me,’ Stiles whispered, pulling himself into a chair and wrapping his arms around his head. That water had been absolutely freezing, which was just unreasonable at 11am in California. 

The water had actually cleared his hungover brain, and in the cold light of day, things were suddenly looking a lot less positive. Clearly that was Derek’s girlfriend. “Her house” had been vacant before Derek had showed up, so they were obviously together. And she was beautiful, so of course they were together. They’d look amazing side by side, all pale limbs and dark hair and big, bright eyes. Stiles would look like Woody next to Derek’s Buzz Lightyear.

The boys got over their laughter in the face of Stiles’s utter devastation as they began to realise what this might mean for them too (and for the bike on the roof). They carefully plied Stiles with coffee and snacks, wrapping him in a blanket and leaving him to stew before retreating to their corners of the house to nurse their own fragile heads, and probably to laugh some more. Stiles supposed that from another person’s perspective that might have looked hilarious. Not from where he was sitting, of course. 

There was a very quiet, tentative knock at the door. Stiles eyed the punch bowl sitting by the sink and wondered if he should fill it up with water before answering. He quickly shot down that idea by remembering that even if the girl somehow didn’t feel like beating him up for soaking him, Derek almost certainly would.

Stiles did a double take when he opened the door to find the aforementioned Derek, looking very chagrined and embarrassed, holding a very sulky water-thrower by the elbow. 

‘Hello,’ Derek said formally. ‘This is my sister, Cora. Cora has a very bad temper, but also a headache and a thesis deadline. How about a round of apologies?’

Stiles swallowed. He’d almost missed the girl’s name on account of the fact that the word sister was ringing around his head like the bells of Notre Dame. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he croaked. ‘Last night got a bit out of control, I’ll admit. I can’t promise no more parties, but I can promise warning and more supervision?’

The girl - Cora - was still glaring at him, but she folded her arms. ‘Fine. Whatever. But I want invites.’

Stiles blinked. ‘Um, sure? You’re always welcome, both of you.’ He gestured needlessly. 

Derek blushed and Cora rolled her eyes. 

‘Good,’ she snapped. ‘I’m going back to work.’ But Derek caught her elbow. 

‘Don’t you have something to say to Stiles?’ he reminded her, and Stiles nearly inflated and rose off the ground at the way Derek said his name.

Cora sighed loudly, but muttered an apology. Stiles honestly couldn’t have cared less if she’d cussed him out of it. He would even have endured another bucket of water over the head if it got Derek to make those apologetic puppy eyes at him again.

‘Actually, um, Derek? If you’ve got like maybe two seconds, there’s kind of an issue with our roof …’

And that’s how Stiles got the job of holding the ladder for Derek while he climbed on to the roof to retrieve the stray bicycle. 

‘Whose bike is this?’ Derek called down, as he struggled to dislodge it.

‘Uh, no idea,’ Stiles called back, perving shamelessly. Derek was in shorts today. His legs were beyond belief. 

‘It says “property of J. Whittemore” on the handlebars,’ Derek said.

‘Oh dear,’ whispered Stiles, still smiling fixedly up at Derek, who unfortunately chose this moment to look down at Stiles.

‘Is this going to get you in trouble?’ he asked, smiling slightly. 

Stiles squinted up at him. ‘Yeah, probably.’

Derek laughed, shaking his head. ‘Great. Ok, stand in. It’s coming down.’

‘What, what are you - ‘ Stiles yelped and threw himself sideways as the bike hurtled to earth, crashing on to the pavement with a screech of breaking metal.

Stiles gaped at the wreck as Derek climbed steadily down the ladder. Feet firmly planted on the ground, he clapped his hands together as if to congratulate himself on a job well done.

‘Dude, you totalled it,’ Stiles said hoarsely.

Derek squeezed his shoulder. ‘No, you totalled it. At your party. See you later, Stiles.’

Stiles was big enough to accept defeat when it was swiftly handed to him on a cold plate by a vengeful god who was also a very protective big brother. But he was also working under the assumption that Derek’s dick was big enough to warrant a swift increase in his plans to get him into bed. This had been a minor set-back. Maybe they could even laugh about it together, post-coitally. Stiles retired to his bed to plan and jerk off multiple times before Jackson could arrive to inquire after his bike and consequentially deliver a verbal crucifying the likes of which had bored better men than Stiles to tears in the past.

If Scott and the others had thought Stiles clumsy before, they were all dismally surprised at just how far he could up his game on that front. Before the week was out, most things in the house had been forcibly broken. The toilet, the sink, the fridge (two days of ruined food that Stiles paid for out of his own pocket), two chairs, and the fooseball table (there was very nearly all-out war over that one). And Stiles refused to fix anything, claiming that he was too busy. Naturally, Derek had to be summoned. 

‘And how exactly did it break?’ Derek asked, crouching down beside the chair that was missing all of its legs. 

‘Just sat down too hard,’ replied Stiles breezily, who was lounging in the only other remaining chair (the rest were under protective custody in Scott’s room). ‘You know how it is.’

‘Right,’ murmured Derek, giving Stiles a look out of the corner of his eye. ‘Well I can fix it, but I think I’m gonna have to start charging you guys.’

Stiles had been prepared for this, but still he tried to act surprised so that it wouldn’t be obvious (and embarrassing) that he’d put aside a small trust fund just for this very possibility. 

‘Fine,’ he sighed, as though it was a huge inconvenience. ‘If that’s how it has to be. How much?’

Derek smirked, and shook his head. ‘No, I don’t want money. Throw a party this Friday. It’s Cora’s birthday, and all her friends are on the east coast, which she’s not happy about. It’s a long story and not one you should bring up around her unless you want another bucket of water over your head, but I know she’d really appreciate making some new friends. Just, not a rager, ok? And no freshmen. Invite people you actually know.’ 

Stiles was practically vibrating with excitement. ‘Yeah, sure, absolutely! We’ll organise everything, and say nothing. Fantastic.’

Derek nodded, looking pleased. ‘Cool,’ he said, picking up his hammer. ‘We’ll be here.’

Stiles sat forward. ‘You’re coming too?’ he asked, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t thrilled by this fact. 

Derek shrugged, like it was nothing. ‘Sure,’ he said easily. ‘I can’t wait to see you in your natural environment. I have a feeling you’re not as clumsy as you make out to be.’

Stiles snorted. ‘Oh man, you’re so wrong about that. But I’m glad you’re coming. It’ll be good to see with a beer in your hand instead of a hammer.’ Ideally, he’d have Stiles’s cock in his hand, but Stiles recognised the need for patience here. 

‘Yeah, maybe I’ll buy you a drink,’ Derek said quietly, and holy shit, was this lift-off? Or at least the walk out to the spaceship? Stiles tried to rearrange his face into an expression that said “I mean yeah sure I’d love to get to know you on a more intimate level over drinks” but also “please put your dick in and around my mouth”. 

‘Sounds good,’ he said quietly, smiling at his own hands for once instead of at Derek. Suddenly, Stiles didn’t trust himself to look at Derek without blurting out a very embarrassing declaration.


Friday rolled around with delightful speed. Stiles didn’t feel ready to call Derek over again to fix the hundred other things he himself had broken over the course of the week, so instead of preparing for the party of all parties, he was racing around the house trying to repair all the crap they’d need for basic living functions, and would definitely put a damper on the party if they weren’t in good working order (like five of the doorhandles and the toilet flusher). 

He was so exhausted that he couldn’t even manage to jerk off at night, which was a goddamn shame because not only did he have days worth of prime Derek material stored away in his spank bank, he was also painfully sexually frustrated by Friday. Not good when your game required patience and delicacy. If he started rutting against Derek on the dance floor it might ruin everything. 

It didn’t help Stiles that Liam and Mason had started hanging around and being adorable together. While all they did in his company was hold hands and occasionally kiss very chastely when they thought nobody was looking (they all were, constantly. Stiles thought Scott was wiping away tears of pride at one point), it was extremely clear what they were doing behind closed doors. Liam’s neck each morning was a sunset collage of pretty bruises, which he was initially embarrassed about, but soon started to wear with pride.

Stiles was still in the shower when people started to arrive. Feeling that hanging around in the kitchen nursing an early drink was not the image he wanted to present to Derek, he took his time perfecting his hair and straightening his shirt unnecessarily until the noise started to increase from downstairs. He took a few deep breaths, then wandered down casually, as though he’d been doing something else, like this party was no big deal whatsoever. 

That intention went soaring out the window with a resounding crash when Stiles took in Derek, standing at the bottom of the stairs and chatting to Isaac. There was indeed a beer in his hand, and he looked more relaxed than Stiles had ever seen him. Nothing was clenched, for once. He was wearing a thin white v-neck that bared his sun-darkened arms, and black skinny jeans. Stiles clutched at his heart. This was going to take some serious fucking effort. He still had all these stairs to climb down, how the hell was he going to do it? 

It was so unfortunate that Derek looked up and smiled at Stiles just as he had one foot in the air, hovering above the next step. He’d been so close too, just two feet away from safety, but the minute Derek looked at him, everything went to shit. 

He stumbled right down the last two steps, right into Derek’s arms, who dropped his beer in order to catch him. It was miraculous - Stiles could have broke his neck - but all he could think about was that they were touching and there was contact and Jesus Derek smelled good and he was so soft and so firm and oh god don’t get an erection please don’t get an erection

‘Wow, you really do suck,’ Derek commented, steadying Stiles. 

‘Not yet,’ slurred Stiles, before shaking his head. ‘I mean, hi. Can I get you a drink, since your other one is eating carpet?’

Ten minutes into Derek’s second and Stiles’s first drink, and Stiles was pretty sure he was in love. Derek talked about Cora, mostly, how she wasn’t in the market for a relationship or anything, but just wanted to make a few friends. Well, she certainly seemed to be doing that. There was a huge crowd around her in the other room, including Scott and Isaac, both of whom were trying the case.

‘I should probably tell them not to bother,’ Derek remarked over the rim of his cup, smirking slightly as he took in their efforts. ‘Cora’s not into dating and stuff.’

‘Are you?’ Stiles asked, before he could stop himself. 

Derek paused, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. 

‘Not right now, I don’t think,’ he answered finally, taking a drink as Stiles’s heart sank.

‘Oh,’ he said, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. 

‘Yeah,’ Derek agreed. ‘I’m mostly just into casual sex with extremely clumsy people who break their own shit just to get my attention.’

Stiles dropped his cup. He turned to face Derek incredulously, just so he could get a better look at the face that was about to give him heart failure. 

‘Are you for real?’ he asked slowly. 

Derek rolled his eyes. ’Now don’t tell me you didn’t kick down that door. There was an honest to god boot-print on it, Stiles.’

‘My bedroom’s upstairs.’


Stiles almost fell twice on the stairs, but Derek caught him each time. The lights in his room were off, which was fine because he was fairly certain his room was gross anyways, but he would have liked to see Derek. Touching was good though, touching worked just fine

Derek pushed him up against the door and their lips crashed together, finally, finally. Stiles felt like he was entering nirvana. Surely George Michael should be playing somewhere in the background instead of DJ Snake. Derek’s hands were on Stiles’s hips as someone turned up the bass, making the door vibrate against his back. Derek’s mouth was hot and fucking delicious, tasting of beer and the promise of an orgasm as they made out like teenagers, making shameless little groans and sighs and rubbing against each other like they were in a hurry. Which Stiles kind of was. He’d been fantasising about Derek’s penis for far too long now. He had a feeling it had to be seen to be believed. 

‘I kinda wanna see what else your hands can do, handyman Derek,’ Stiles breathed into his mouth, squeezing Derek’s ass for good measure. His legs were rapidly turning to jelly, and he hoped they were on their way to getting horizontal very soon.

‘I thought I was DIY Derek?’ he asked, very busy with getting Stiles’s buckle undone as quickly as possible. ‘Ok seriously, take off your pants.’

Stiles smirked, pushing Derek back slightly, resisting the urge to squeeze Derek’s pecs, but only just. ‘Why don’t you live up to your name, and do it yourself.’

And god bless him, Derek did just that. He dropped to his knees with a thud, pulling Stiles towards him by the waistband of his jeans so he could stick a hand in there and get all up close and personal with the goods. 

‘Wow, you really are a handyman,’ Stiles breathed, staggering slightly as Derek did what the name implied. 

‘Shut up, or I’ll make you put your own nickname to good use,’ Derek said, swiping his tongue over the tip of Stiles’s cock and making him jump.

‘I have a nickname?’

Derek stroked him lazily. ‘Yeah. We call you The Mouth. Don’t make me do something about it.’

‘Oh god,’ moaned Stiles. ‘Please get on top of me.’

Derek was perfectly positioned to make that happen. He wrapped his arm around the back of Stiles’s legs and staggered to his feet, a thoroughly jolted Stiles thrown unceremoniously over his shoulder. 

‘Which way’s the bed?’

‘Behind you!’ squeaked Stiles, thrashing. 

Derek dumped him down on to the mattress - Stiles was 99% sure Derek had been guessing where it was, and Stiles figured he should be annoyed about that but saying anything that wasn’t along the lines of “fuck me” right now was just unthinkable to him - and crawled on top of him, divesting himself of t-shirt and jeans as he did so. Stiles shucked off his own jeans, and the movement caused their dicks to rub off each other, which was all fun and games for Stiles, whose dick was already freed from its confines. 

‘Why aren’t you naked yet?’ Stiles demanded, who was working on planting a huge hickey on Derek’s neck (“the mouth”, was he?).

‘Working on it,’ Derek hissed in reply. And indeed his hands were scooting around down there, making Stiles buck up into him in desperation. He whined loudly, and Derek kissed him until he shut up.

Derek spit on his hand and started to slick them both up.

‘There’s lube - first drawer to your left,’ Stiles gasped, fisting a hand in Derek’s hand, the other scraping his back and his ass. ‘Let’s do this thing, let’s go, oh my god.’

‘I am seriously not going to make it if you don’t shut up,’ Derek hissed, stretching over to the drawer and wrenching it open. He found the little tube and popped it open, squeezing out literally all of it on to his hand. Stiles yelped at the temperature, but quickly melted back down into the bed as Derek started to slick them both up, making a fist around both of their dicks and rubbing them together. Stiles clung to Derek like a monkey, gasping and cursing softly as the heat began to build inside of him. Derek was thrusting into his fist, hard, and Stiles was trying his best to get his ass in gear but there was just so much of Derek bearing down on him that it was hard not to just lie there and take it. 

‘Fuck, your hands are amazing,’ Stiles breathed, as Derek held him close with his free arm. They panted on to each other’s necks, intoxicated by the sounds and smell of sex all around them. The music seemed to shiver in their very skin, and created the feel of a soundproof bubble that no one could penetrate. 

Thinking about penetration was a bad move. Stiles’s mouth twisted into a little O shape as Derek fucked them together faster, his own desperation mirroring Stiles’s. 

‘Oh god, oh fuck,’ Stiles cried, voice wrecked. ‘Oh god, Derek, yes.’ Derek was making noises of his own, increasing the more Stiles rambled about how amazing he felt, and how close he was.

‘Oh fuck, I’m gonna come,’ he sobbed. ‘Oh god, I’m gonna come - I’m gonna - ‘

Derek beat him to it, just. They both tensed, spasmed, and moaned so loudly together that surely someone must have heard. Derek’s limbs trembled as he tried to hold himself up over Stiles as they shook, orgasms hitting them in waves as they spurted hot and messy between Derek’s hand and Stiles’s chest. 

Stiles tugged Derek down to fit between his limbs, sighing with the greatest relief known to man. Derek snuggled perfectly into the gap between his neck and shoulder, against his hip, and between his legs. 

‘That’s gonna get real gross, real soon,’ Stiles murmured sleepily. 

‘Fine. You move first,’ Derek mumbled back, burying his head in Stiles’s neck and wrapping his arms around him. 

‘No, you.’ Stiles smiled, deliriously happy. 

Something thundered to the ground loudly downstairs, followed by a shriek of laughter and shock.

‘If you even say a word I’m getting out of this bed and never coming back,’ Derek warned him. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s beautiful round ass and kissed his neck.

‘I’m not saying anything,’ he assured him, nipping at his skin. 

‘For once,’ retorted Derek, but he wrapped his arms a little tighter around Stiles, just in case Stiles was thinking of getting up. 

‘Still not in the market for a relationship?’ Stiles asked casually as he played with Derek’s hair, thinking that sticky with come and nestled between Stiles’s legs was as good as Derek was going to be feeling any time soon.

‘Oh, no,’ Derek amended, raising his head to look Stiles in the eye. ‘That was bullshit. I’m taking you out to dinner tomorrow night, and I’ve sexiled Cora. I wanna see what that mouth of yours can really do.’

‘DIY Derek,’ Stiles murmured, impressed. He stroked his cheek. ‘I think I could be tempted.’

‘Well, you should be,’ Derek said, settling down in Stiles’s arms again. ‘Because I know my trade, and that was the sound a fridge falling over just now.’

Stiles’s hands tightened in Derek’s hair.

‘Dinner would be great,’ he breathed, wondering if Scott was crying yet. ‘Please never leave me.’

Derek snuggled closer, kissing his shoulder. ‘I’m handy to have around, right?’

Stiles smacked him on the head, and the laugh that rumbled through Derek’s chest could have rivalled the bass from downstairs.