Derek watched from across the room as Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and reached his hand into the festive holiday hat that Lydia was holding aloft. The idiot was being more dramatic than necessary, considering he was the last person to draw a name, but Stiles always did like his drama, so… it really shouldn’t surprise Derek that he was witnessing this.
He watched a bit longer, just to see the way Stiles read the name on his paper and narrowed his eyes in glee, his nose scrunching up as he said something to Scott with just his facial expression. Derek honestly didn’t know how those two got anything out of their non verbal communication, but from the way Scott threw his head back and laughed, apparently Stiles’ message had been received.
Derek looked down at his own slip of paper and sighed. Ten bucks or less on Lydia for the pack’s Secret Santa exchange?
Sometimes the universe really hated him.
It was official. The universe didn’t just hate Derek, it also wanted to see him suffer.
They’d been mapping out the route for the week’s patrolling through the Preserve when Stiles had rolled up, some sort of sucker-like candy in his mouth. It had kept him entertained and quieter than normal, which on the one hand was nice — it helped the discussion move along without a lot of derailing conversations — and on the other hand was a little nerve wracking because it was so… odd. Finally, though, Stiles obviously had kept his silence long enough because he pulled the sucker from his mouth and …
… and Derek lost every thought in his head.
He stared, horrified, at the sucker in Stiles’ hand, which was obviously Christmas-themed since the scent of peppermint rolled heavily off it, but was more obviously adult-themed due to the shape. The shape of a small penis.
Stiles was sucking on a red, green, and white striped dick-shaped candy in the middle of Derek’s loft.
When Derek’s vision went spotty, he had to suck in a deep breath and brace himself on the table holding the maps. His legs were shaky and his hands were curled into fists and he really didn’t think he could handle the next five minutes before the meeting inevitably broke up because that was five more minutes of watching Stiles fellate the damn candy.
And of course he was doing that freely now, having caught the attention of the people around the table — which comprised of Scott, who was rolling his eyes good-naturedly; Derek, who was losing his goddamn mind; and Peter who was staring a little too appreciatively at Stiles’ mouth. But Stiles seemed completely capable of ignoring Peter’s lascivious ways, and winked at Derek when he pulled the candy out, twirled his tongue over the tip, and wrapped his lips around it before pushing it in til the plastic tab at the bottom butted up against his lips.
Derek was almost certain he made a broken noise at the sight, but no one called him on it, so he just glued his eyes to a spot on the map for the next few minutes, hips pressed tight to the table to keep anyone from commenting on the way his dick was straining his zipper. And if the scent of arousal was thick in the air, Derek was fairly certain Scott wouldn’t know if it was his or Peter’s, so.
He needed therapy after this. So much therapy.
By the time the night of the Secret Santa exchange rolled around, Derek was jumping at shadows. He’d seen too much of Stiles in the last few weeks, too many dick-shaped candies and graphic t shirts with directions for the size and shape of the gifts Stiles would like Santa to bring. Derek tried, he really did, to remember that Stiles was young and likely had no idea the effect he was having on others, but it was really difficult to do so when Stiles’ lips were red and shiny and his breath smelled of peppermint when he leaned in to whisper the idle thoughts that occurred to him each time they met.
The only bright side to the night was that it was being held at Scott’s house and the sheriff and Melissa were meant to be in attendance. Derek felt certain that would keep Stiles from whipping out the candy. Maybe.
But the universe hadn’t forgiven him yet, so the instant Derek stepped onto the porch, Stiles was there, opening the front door and throwing himself at Derek, squishing the carefully wrapped gift he was carrying as he wound his arms around Derek’s neck. Stiles was wearing a Santa hat that had a wire or something holding the pointy end off his head in a jaunty curve that ended about five inches in front of his face. Instead of the white ball of fluff most Santa hats had at the tip, there was a sprig of plastic mistletoe.
Stiles flicked his gaze up meaningfully before whispering, “Tradition!” His peppermint flavored breath washed over Derek’s face before he darted in and placed a quick, sucking kiss on Derek’s lips. And then he danced back, eyes twinkling merrily, and hooted.
"Holy shit! You didn’t kill me! Isaac bet me five bucks that I’d be bleeding before I got back in the house, so… yeah, I’m going to duck inside and collect on that before you realize what happened and like, pop claws or something. Hah, Merry Christmas, dude. Get in here."
When the whirlwind that was Stiles Stilinski disappeared back into the house, Derek stood there for a moment, blinking down at the crumpled package in his hands — made worse for the fact that his grip had turned crushing as soon as he’d tasted Stiles — before he got his breathing under control and stepped over the threshold. Closing the door gently behind him, he walked in something like a daze toward the living room, where the entire pack was gathered.
Derek let Melissa take his gift from his hands, replacing it with a violently red drink in a plastic throw-away cup. He chugged the whole thing, needing the liquid on his parched throat. When Melissa just raised an eyebrow at him, he lowered the cup and attempted a weak smile.
The next hour passed in a haze of finger foods and quiet conversations with Isaac and the sheriff, with occasional interruptions from Jordan, who was seated across the room talking to Melissa and Scott. Stiles kept his distance, chatting with the girls and sneaking surprise kisses from them — though Derek noticed he was placing loud, smacking kisses on their cheeks and not going near their mouths.
When it was time for the gift exchange, Derek leaned against the wall, watching as Lydia opened his gift after looking at it strangely for a moment. She gasped when she saw the fur mittens he’d bought — after searching the mall for hours for an appropriate gift under ten dollars and having no luck. Stiles looked at the gloves, narrowed his eyes on Derek, and cried foul at the obviously expensive gift. Derek just shrugged and lifted his drink to his mouth, hiding behind it.
Scott overrode the argument obviously building on Stiles’ tongue when he shouted out, “Derek!” and tossed a small gift-bag toward him. Catching it mid-air without spilling any of his drink, Derek blinked down at the tag and then raised his eyes back to Stiles, who was still fuming a little.
"Thank you," Derek said, a little stunned.
Rolling his eyes, Stiles grumbled, “You haven’t even looked at it yet. And don’t thank me. Unlike some people, I actually stuck to the rules.”
Derek ducked his face, trying to hide the smile that wanted to spread across his lips. Handing his drink to Isaac, he picked apart the tape holding the top of the bag closed and lifted the tissues paper out of the way. At the bottom of the bag was…
Derek blinked, tilted his head, and lifted out the gift. It was… He had no idea what it was. It was a candy cane… thing… with elastic straps coming off of it. He studied it for a few more seconds before looking to Stiles, a question in his eyes.
Stiles, of course, was waiting. His cheeks were slightly flushed, turning them blotchy, but his lips were stretched wide with a shit-eating grin and his shoulders were already shaking with barely-contained laughter. “It’s a Christmas-themed thong!”
Derek blanched, holding the present up again. He turned the candy cane upside down so that it looked more like a stripey J, rearranged the straps and… yes. Okay. Eyelid twitching, Derek opened his mouth to attempt a polite thank you when he looked up and saw Stiles popping another dick-shaped candy into his mouth.
Groaning, he leaned back, snatched his drink back from Isaac, and beat his head against the wall behind him as quietly as possible. From the way Isaac’s shoulders were shaking, it wasn’t quietly enough.
Derek had barely had time to take his shoes off when he got back to the loft that night before he heard the familiar sound of the Jeep’s engine. With a sigh, he sank down onto the couch and waited for Stiles to make his way up in the elevator.
After Stiles rolled the heavy door shut behind him, he came into the room, chattering away about something, and then interrupted himself to apologize for the gift he’d given Derek. “I dunno, man,” he offered with a shrug, coming around the far side of the couch. “You’re a hard dude to buy for, you know? Hell, you already have a — ahh!”
Faster than a blink, Stiles pitched forward, tripping over something on the floor and ending up on his knees, catching himself against one of Derek’s thighs. His Santa hat tilted forward over his eyes, and he knelt up, batting at it with one hand while the other helped him maintain his balance.
Derek scooted forward, grabbing Stiles under his arms and trying to help him up, but Stiles was already moving, and they just ended up tangling together awkwardly before Stiles pulled back with a breathy laugh. And then his laugh cut off suddenly, his eyes slowly rising to meet Derek’s as his cheeks flushed darker than they had on the porch that night.
"I. Um." Stiles often rambled on pointlessly, but it had been a while since he’d been reduced to stuttering in Derek’s presence, which made Derek pay closer attention. And when he did, he wanted to stutter himself.
Stiles was still kneeling on the floor, his hand braced against Derek’s leg, but the damn mistletoe on the end of his hat was dangling directly above Derek’s lap. Stiles seemed to notice the exact moment Derek realized what was going on because he let out a little hiccup of a laugh and let out a strangled, “Huh.”
Derek would blame it on the universe’s antipathy for him later, but in that moment, all he could do in response was open his mouth and breathe, “It’s tradition.” Almost immediately, he wanted to take it back, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, it was like his tongue locked itself to the roof of his mouth and wouldn’t budge.
And Stiles… Stiles’ eyes got big and round, and his lips parted, quivering just a little as he obviously tried to find words. But when Derek didn’t say anything, and the horrifying silence stretched out between them, something new came over Stiles’ features. Something a little darker, more fluid and easy. His lips tipped at one corner into a grin as his eyes darkened and zeroed in on Derek’s. “It’s a good thing,” he murmured, his voice dipping down into a smokier register that did things to Derek’s pulse, “that I’ve been practicing.”
And then he leaned forward and placed an open mouthed kiss on Derek’s zipper, right where the natural curve of his bulge pressed against the material. As he did so, Derek’s dick twitched, right against Stiles’ mouth, in such a way that Derek couldn’t possibly deny what had happened. With a return of that wicked half-smile, Stiles lifted his gaze to Derek’s, looking at him through his lashes.
All the little moments through the month — the candies and the kiss on the porch and the absurd thong — seemed to converge on that moment, stripping Derek of his last remaining ounce of control. Tightening his grip on Stiles’ arms, he yanked him up, pulling him into Derek’s lap, and practically attacked his plush, red lips. He fucked his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, stifling a moan when Stiles caught it and sucked it deeper, the flavor of peppermint exploding across Derek’s tastebuds.
Tipping them over sideways on the couch, he stretched out on top of Stiles, who spread his legs to allow Derek’s hips to settle between his thighs. Derek snatched the hat from Stiles’ head and tossed it somewhere across the room, his hands itching to sink into the hair that lay flat and smushed to the top of Stiles’ head. Twisting his fingers, he tightened his grip, using it to tug Stiles’ head back until his throat was completely stretched out and bared to Derek’s mouth. Moving down, he licked and sucked, biting and soothing, all the way down the pale column of flesh until he came up against the obstruction of Stiles’ shirt.
A little whine burst from him then, and Stiles struggled under him until he lifted up, dazed and a little confused, an apology springing to his lips before he realized that Stiles was struggling to remove his shirt and hadn’t been able to because Derek was lying on top of him. Deciding that was a good idea, Derek followed suit, yanking his own shirt over his head and tossing it away. And then Stiles’ hands were on him, sinking into the thick hair on his chest, dragging over his nipples and teasing his belly button before his fingers made quick work of the button and zipper on Derek’s jeans.
Wriggling his hips to help Stiles push them down, Derek focused his own attention on the placket of Stiles’ pants, whining softly when he couldn’t get it undone easily. “Why are there so many buttons?”
"Hah! Apparently — fuck, look at you — they want to make you work for it. Seriously, Derek, just use your claw…aaah!" Stiles’ back bowed off the sofa, his hand spasming around Derek’s dick as Derek finally got his pants undone. Shoving his hand down inside Stiles’ underwear without bothering to push them down, Derek wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ dick and began jacking it, rolling his own hips to nudge Stiles back into action.
Stiles came through like a champ, his long fingers tightening and tugging, twisting at the tip, even as he began speaking right into Derek’s ear. “Every time I sucked on one of those stupid ring pops this month, I thought about it being you. I don’t know what you want from this, but I’m not leaving here tonight without knowing what you feel like in my mouth. I want to split my lips around your beautiful dick. I want to choke on it, want to feel my throat swell up with you in it.”
Derek muffled his appreciation in the curve of Stiles’ throat, pressing frantic kisses here and there, testing the give of his flesh with his teeth, his hips rocking into Stiles’ and squashing their hands together a little rudely. With a noise of frustration, he batted Stiles’ hand away, spit into his palm, and took them both into his hand, holding them in a tight grip as he began fucking down against Stiles.
"Your mouth," he said, an entire universe of meaning in that one statement. "I want to fuck it. Want to wreck you, so you can barely talk after."
"Yeah? You wanna, unnh, shut me up with your dick?" Stiles’ eyelids fluttered, like he was fighting to keep them open, keep looking at Derek as they did this.
"Yeah. Then I wanna put my tongue in your ass until you scream. Open you up on it, get you all sloppy and—"
"Derek! Fuck, you can’t… I’m gonna come if you keep—"
A fierce wave of something like victory swamped Derek then and he bared his teeth, rocking harder against Stiles. “Do it. Come for me. Come on me.”
"God, I don’t… fuck." Gasping, Stiles grabbed at Derek’s arms, fingers squeezing tight as he curled in on himself, his entire body going taut before his dick began to pulse in Derek’s hand. The scent of it, the added slickness, made the breath punch out of Derek and he knelt up, hand flying over his dick as he chased his own orgasm. He stared down at Stiles’ twitching belly, looked at the three moles in a perfect line there, and took aim. He grunted, bracing himself on the back of the couch as his balls drew up, pleasure roaring through him. His come arced out, splattering over those moles, and then he fell forward, rubbing it into Stiles’ skin.
Rubbing himself into Stiles’ skin.
Stiles groaned, reaching up and loosely grasping his shoulders, tugging weakly until he collapsed. They lay like that for a long time, their hearts gradually slowing down as Stiles drew idle figures against Derek’s skin.
"Merry Christmas to me," Stiles said, then started laughing, his head tipping back with it and drawing Derek’s focus to the bruises blooming against his pale skin.
"What?" he asked, dry mouthed, before he lowered his head, tracing over one of the bruises with his tongue.
Stiles’ laughter cut off then, turned into a low, shuddery moan. Giving his head a little shake, he said, “I just thought… it was funny.”
"Santa came early this year."