Derek watched as the tip disappeared into Stiles' lush mouth. It was torturous and mesmerizing, watching the slow drag of Stiles’ lips against the length. He couldn’t tear his eyes away if his life depended on it. He watched as Stiles pulled away to lick at his lips before replacing the tip his full pink mouth, it was positively sinful. Derek just managed to catch (what could only be described as) a squeak from escaping him. Never in his life had he wished to be an inanimate object before; goddamn that pen. Who knew research could be so sexy?
Lollipops were a special invention created by the devil to tempt Derek into sin. Not that Derek believed in the devil, or cared about things like sin...it was the principle of the matter (or something). Stiles was looking up some information for Derek… he’s not sure what the information was, but he’s almost sure that it was important. Almost. He watched as Stiles mouth darkened a shade of red every time he slipped the candy between his lips, glad that no one was around to notice where his attention had been focused for, oh say, since he had arrived. Who gave children lollipops these days? Clearly, the person who gave Stiles that lollipop was a pedo, a terrible, terrible pedo. Now that Stiles was nearly done with the treat, it was a nearly obscenely dark red with a sheen of saliva to accent them. Derek could handle all of these things just fine. However, as the lollipop shrank Stiles switched from idly playing with, it to actively sucking at it, even going so far as to hollow out his cheeks. Stiles pulled the lollipop from his mouth with a filthy pop. Derek was out the window and running before he realized that Stiles might find his reaction unusual.
Stiles was an odd kid, anyone in Beacon Hills would be able to tell you that, and Derek was used to it. Honestly, he was, and he was so sure there was nothing left about the kid that could either surprise him or make him find Stiles even odder. That was until Derek watched him drink from a straw. Drinking from a straw, a toddler could do it, a simple and straight forward task. Unless you happen to be Stiles. Because, for Stiles, drinking from a straw involves first putting the straw in your mouth, bending the top, and then sipping from the straw. Which, wouldn't be a problem, except that isn’t how normal straws are made to work. This means that in order for Stiles to actually get anything from the straw he had to suck at it harder. Derek watched, captivated, as Stiles drank from his straw, his cheeks hollowed and his damn cheekbones looking even sharper for it. Derek shifted in his seat, subtly attempting to find a... less constricting position.
The pack had dispersed around the club as soon as they arrived; tonight was about letting loose and having fun. While the rest of the pack is around dancing, Derek is Stiles watching. The only problem was Derek wasn’t the only one watching. Stiles was now moving his mouth to the left side of his face as he drank from his bent straw, using his tongue to push it from his mouth and swallowed -accenting his (adorable) dimples. Derek was unable to withhold a growl, lucky, that the deafeningly loud music covered the sound. He grabbed Stiles' straw, yanking it from his mouth, and threw it over his shoulder. He ignored the indignant "Hey!" from Stiles and bared his teeth at him. He responded with a very mature “Shut up,” before walking away.
Derek should be worried about his newfound obsession with all things related to Stiles' mouth, and the objects that go in and/or around it. Or perhaps at least worried about someone else noticing the fact that Derek can’t force his eyes away from Stiles’ mouth, even when it’s not doing licentious things like licking his lips (I mean really how many times does a person have to lick his or her lips in a single ten minute period!) Instead, he found himself wondering exactly how many different objects the average human puts in their mouth on a daily bases. Whatever the number, Stiles had to be at least doubling it, which, honestly, could not be very sanitary.
For instance, Derek was currently watching Stiles lick at his own finger. Stiles was making dinner for the pack, slicing vegetables because the pack needed to eat healthier, when the knife slipped and he sliced his finger. Derek watched as Stiles unthinkingly put the slightly oozing appendage in his mouth, his pink lips turning a velvety red.
Stiles lightly sucked at it to slow the bleeding as he attempted to grab a napkin one handed. It didn’t work since he was unable to rip the napkin from the roll with only one hand, the roll just unraveled as he attempted to pull one away. “A little help here?” Stiles asked, the words muffled by the finger still in his mouth.
Derek nearly drooled at the way Stiles lips wrapped around the digit. Derek forced himself to move, and tore a napkin off and handed it to Stiles, turning his back on him so that he could concentrate on winding the roll back up and not the way that Stiles lips seem to have swollen a bit from the sucking.
“Thank you,” Stiles said, as Derek turned around. His finger now wrapped up tightly to keep the blood from spreading. “Do you think you could-“ Derek found that he couldn’t listen to Stiles talk anymore. Considering he has listened to him ramble for (seriously) hours, his inability to concentrate on the words was actually surprising. Or would have been, if there wasn’t just a small amount of blood collected at the curve of Stiles’ mouth. Just a small drop, just a small little insignificant drop…it would be terribly impolite of Derek not to clean it up. Derek darted forward quickly and licked the drop up, leaving Stiles’ face clean.
Stiles stood with his mouth hanging open, silent and shocked. “You should get a band aid on that before you finish cooking.” Derek said with a smirk, walking into the den to sit amongst the rest of the pack.
Derek shut the door behind Isaac, the last of the pack to leave. Well…the second to last to leave. Stiles was still puttering in the kitchen, filling the dishwasher, putting the leftovers away, and generally being a sexually frustrating nuisance. He sighed, turning to lean against the door, and thumped his head against the wood. Listening to the soft noises coming from the kitchen, he tried to come to a consensus with himself on what his plan of action should be.
“Hey, Derek?” Game over.
He pushed himself away from the door and entered the kitchen to see what Stiles needed. “Yeah?”
The boy was bending over, looking in the cupboard under the sink. He looked up and over his shoulder when he heard Derek’s voice, “Where is your dishwasher soap?”
Derek walked over and opened the other side of the cabinet; reaching in, he pulled out the unopened soap pouch and handed it to him wordlessly. Stiles thanked him and used both hands to bring it up to his mouth.
“You better not open that shit with your teeth Stilinski, so help me…” Derek’s mouth was in a snarl and he held himself completely still.
Stiles looked up at him, his mouth open, preparing to stick the corner of the pouch in his teeth to rip the top off, “Uh…ok then,” he licked his lips, “Do you have some scissors or some—ok, that works.”
Derek had taken the pouch out of his hands and tore the plastic, making the little packets fly everywhere, his eyes never leaving Stiles. “Hey, that was handy. Or would have been if they hadn’t gone everywhere. You know the plastic has perforations at the top? They’re so you can zip it back up and have somewhere to keep the little soap balloons or whatever they’re called. Now we have to find somewhere to put them, because if those puppies get wet you’ll have gooey soap puddles just begging for your wood to warp and to let mildew come stay for a while. And let me tell you, mildew is like one of those guests that never freaking leaves. It’ll eat you out of house and home and make your delicate olfactory sensors rebel, and bro, you are going to be headache and sneeze central. Plus, you only just got your house all fixed up, and wouldn’t that be a shame if—hey is your eye twitching?”
“I think I liked it better when you were shoving things in your mouth,” Derek crowded Stiles up against the counter.
His eyes widened, “I—what?” He didn’t get the chance to say anything else, because as much as Stiles can talk, doing so around someone else’s tongue just isn’t feasible, even for him.
Derek growled at the faint taste of blood, just a hint of it lingering underneath the tang from dinner and the creaminess from dessert. It wasn’t enough, and Derek sucked at Stiles’ tongue, scraped teeth across his lips, looking for more. Stiles moaned, arching into the hard body against him and kissed back, whimpering when he felt Derek’s hands slide under his shirt and up his back.
Stiles wrenched his head away panting, and avoided Derek’s lips when the older man tried to reconnect them, “Derek, Derek. I want to try something,” the werewolf had moved onto nipping and suckling at Stiles’ neck, “Oooooh, god, Derek… Stop that! I can’t even think!”
“Do you need to?” Derek’s face was still buried in Stiles’ neck. He got his words out between sucking a bite here, and licking a stripe there.
Stiles bit out another groan, “Yes!”
Derek straightened, backing away and dragging the back of a hand across his mouth, “Sorry. I’m…Sorry.”
“No!” Stiles pulled at Derek’s pants’ pockets, tugging him back in, “I just want to try something. I’ve been thinking about it forever. Can I, please?” He licked his lips and bit the bottom one, looking at Derek with wide eyes.
Derek rubbed his hands on the waistband of Stiles’ jeans, “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”
Stiles smiled at him and pushed him backwards, steering him by the hips over to the kitchen table and sat him in one of the chairs, all the while he babbled, “I can’t get this out of my head. Every time I see you this is all I could think about,” he sank to his knees and spread Derek’s thighs, scooting in between them as close to the other man as he could get, “I don’t know why. Even when I jack off I sometimes have to put my fingers in my mouth because it’s not good enough when I’m empty. Not when I’m thinking about this: about you laid out, or sat down, or standing up, and me just like this in front of you. Oh, god!” He dug the heel of one hand down on his cock while he pawed at Derek’s belt.
The alpha pushed Stiles’ hand away and tore at his pants himself. Getting them, finally, blessedly open, he pushed them down his hips a little bit—just enough to yank at the waistband of his boxers and fully free his dick. Stiles reached in and tugged his balls out too. He nuzzled the soft skin on the underside of his cock, mouthing wetly at the thick vain there, “I’ve never done this before,” he murmured, “so you’ll have to tell me if it’s ok.”
Derek scratched blunt nails across the boy’s shoulders; “You’re doing just fine,” His words came out with a rough growl.
Stiles hummed and opened his mouth, licking and sucking on the sensitive spot just underneath the head. He dragged his mouth back down along the vain and lightly drew his teeth along the skin at the base. Derek’s hips jerked at that, and he gasped, moaning low in his throat. Stiles rode the momentum, running his nose along the delicate skin of Derek’s sac. Moving back up the shaft, he dragged his lower lip over the tip, collecting the slick moisture there. Pulling back, he wiped the pad of his finger across his mouth, tongue following in its wake. Stiles looked at his wet digit and rubbed the pre-come between his finger and thumb then brought it to his mouth. He sucked on his fingertip, and hummed lowly, closing his eyes. He switched to his thumb before pulling his hand away altogether, and bending back toward the cock in front of him. It wasn’t until Stiles’ mouth was back on him that Derek realized that Stiles had never gotten a band aid. The finger he had just finished sucking on was the same one he had cut earlier in the evening, and the pressure from his mouth had reopened the cut; blood was beading along wound. Derek groaned at the sight, and tugging Stiles’ hand up, he shoved the fingertip into his own mouth. He suckled lightly, rolling his tongue along the cut, tasting himself and Stiles mixed together: just like they should be.
Stiles’ breath hitched at the light pain mingling and fusing with the pleasure that’s coursing through him. Helpless against the feeling, he panted, mouth open and tongue working, against Derek’s cock. He closed his lips around the glans, sucking lightly at first, then harder when he felt more liquid land against his tongue. He swallowed and sucked again, licking roughly and digging the point of the muscle into the leaking slit. Swallowing again, he flattened his tongue felt the tip push further back into his mouth. Stiles took a deep breath and, lowering his head, he let Derek slip into his throat.
“Fuck! Shit! I thought you’ve never done this before?” Derek yelled, Stiles’ hand falling away from his face and his fingers like talons on Stiles’ shoulders, nails still blunt and human.
The boy pulled back just long enough to husk out, “Practiced with stuff. Bananas, mostly,” before shoving his mouth back down.
Stiles took Derek back into his throat and swallowed around him and Derek muttered something that sounded a lot like, “Pens and produce, Jesus Christ…” He grabbed the head in his lap and thrust it down further, impaling the boy on his cock. Stiles went limp, moaning when Derek lifted his head back up—the sound guttering out when he was shoved back down again, and let the older man use him. Derek had his eyes closed and head thrown back, one hand in his own hair, and one in Stiles’. He used his palm to maneuver the boy on and off his cock, and Stiles did his best to swallow and suck, using his tongue when he could, while Derek groaned and fucked his mouth.
Derek’s breath started coming in ragged pants, hitching on every intake and stuttering on every exhale. He looked down at Stiles, the boy had his eyes rolled up, watching him. He locked eyes with Stiles and brought his other hand down to cradle the boy’s face, holding it still while he rolled his hips. Two rolls, three, and he goes rigid, tensing every muscle for a breathless moment. Derek came, howling and snarling, eyes still locked on Stiles’ as he rakes his fingers down the boy’s shirt, shredding it.
A few beats go by as Derek empties himself down Stiles’ throat. He finally relaxes, loosening his hold on the boy at his feet. Derek collapses against the back of the chair, breathing heavy and letting out the sporadic low whine as he runs his hands over Stiles’ short hair and scratches lightly at his scalp. He looked down at the boy, “Come up here.”
Stiles blinked up at him and smiled around Derek’s softening cock. He pulled back, mouth soft with exhaustion, and a pearly bead of saliva or come (Derek didn’t know what…probably both) ran from his pliant lips to the cockhead in front of him. Noticing it, Stiles leant forward again; sucking a lazy kiss to Derek’s slit, gathering the remaining wetness with his tongue, nibbling on his lip as he pulled back. Derek dragged a thumb across Stiles’ puffy mouth, and tugged at the boy’s chin, silently telling him again to get up and Stiles scrambled up to straddle the seated man. Once he was seated, Derek lifted him up and laid him down on the table, hands going for Stiles’ buttons when the smell hit him. He smirked up at the blushing boy and cupped the wet spot on his jeans, “And what’s this?”
Stiles just groaned and threw an arm across his eyes, “I may or may not have already came…twice,” his voice was deep and rasping.
“Twice?” Derek folded his arms across Stiles’ chest and set his chin on them, looking up at the boy.
Stiles lowered his arm from his face and peered at Derek, “Yeah…once when we sort of first started and again when you, uhm. When you grabbed me and just went to town. That was—that was nice,” he winced at the lame word, but the look on Derek’s face told him that he understood.
“I’ve noticed that you’re very orally fixated.”
Stiles blushed even brighter, “Uh…sorry?”
“Don’t be. I like it,” he caught Stiles’ eyes with his own, “I hated it at first, but…in light of recent events, I think I’ve changed my mind.”
Stiles looked incredulous, “You think?”
Derek grinned wide, smiling with way too much teeth, “I’m not opposed to a little reinforcement,” he felt Stiles harden a bit underneath him and grinned even wider, “and it looks like you aren’t either.”
With that, Derek hoisted Stiles up, flinging him over his shoulder and trotted up the stairs. Slamming the door and tossing the boy onto his bed, Derek yanked his belt out of its loops and threw it to the floor, “You are damned lucky it isn’t a school night.”