Derek had a new place to live and a big shiny TV the second time Stiles came home for Christmas, a year and a half of college under his belt already.
"I got that book you wanted," Derek said. "You could come over and get it." He tried not to sound too hopeful. They were standing around outside Starbucks, where they'd run into each other by accident. The accident being that Derek had seen Stiles pulling into the parking lot and immediately done a U-turn.
"Yeah, that'd be great," Stiles said, only half paying attention. Someone kept texting him, and he kept responding. It was probably Scott, who was never going to stop banging up against the boundaries of Derek's life, no matter how badly they both wished it were otherwise. "Where you living now? Scrap yard? Old sewer pipe?"
"You know what? Forget it," Derek said, and walked away, angry at himself for even extending the offer, for spending months trying to find the book, for looking forward to seeing him.
"Hey, now," Stiles said, trotting after him. Derek walked faster. "I was joking! Don't get your pretty little werewolf panties in a twist." Derek ignored him.
When Derek got to his car, Stiles grabbed his arm, around his biceps, hard enough that the leather of his jacket creaked. Derek's whole middle felt hollow, like everything that should be there had fallen right out.
"Don't storm off," Stiles said. He'd put his phone away while they were walking, and was actually looking at Derek now. "I'm sorry, okay?" He gave Derek's arm a friendly squeeze before letting go.
Derek jerked his arm like he'd wanted Stiles to let go anyway. "You're a dick," he said, glaring at Stiles' annoying, contrite face. His hair was longer than Derek had ever seen it, his cheekbones more pronounced, and it made him look at lot older than Derek remembered. "And you're not funny."
"I'm very funny," Stiles shot back, grinning. "You're just out of practice."
That was part of the problem, actually. Derek had barely seen him in the last eighteen months. A few hours here and there, when he was home; summers and long weekends and school breaks, all so few and far between. He'd thought it would help, being away from Stiles for months at a time. It hadn't.
"So give me your address," Stiles said, and took his phone back out.
After a moment of obvious hesitation, Derek said, "The scrap yard," careful to keep his face expressionless.
Stiles winced with not just his whole face, but his entire body. It was so familiar, so much like the Stiles who used to be underfoot all the time, that it made Derek's heart ache. "Oh, man. I'm really sorry. I didn't—"
"That was a joke," Derek said, and then, after a beat: "You're out of practice."
Derek's new place was actually a two bedroom apartment in a building with a gym and secure underground parking. He was on the fourth floor, and could see the Preserve, a comforting patch of lush green, from his bedroom window. It was a real home, the kind of place someone might want to come and visit, and maybe spend the night, or just hang out and do nothing. That hadn't happened yet, though.
"I gotta admit, dude, this is not what I pictured," Stiles said, as he stood in the living room and looked around. He was wearing two shirts and a jacket, all that fabric bunching around his shoulders as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Derek wished he would sit down or take his jacket off or something; anything that would indicate he was going to stay for more than a few minutes.
"You want something to drink?" Derek asked him. "I've got Gatorade. Or soda." There was a whole twelve pack of Dr. Pepper in the fridge, Stiles' favorite.
"Nah, no thanks." Stiles wandered over to the TV mounted on the wall and ran one finger appreciatively along the bottom edge. "I gave up drinks with sugar in them. They're terrible for you."
When Derek didn't say anything, Stiles turned back toward him. "So. You said you had that book?" Everything about Stiles, his normally expressive face, his ever-moving hands, was so still and closed off. Like he didn't really want to be here.
Derek's own face felt like a chunk of wood. "Yeah, I'll just...I'll be right back," he said, and didn't look at Stiles when he walked past him on the way to the bedroom.
The book was on the dresser, had been there for weeks, the first thing Derek looked at every morning when he woke up. Now he barely glanced at it as he scooped it up and walked back to the living room. It was a stupid thing to pin so many hopes on, anyway.
Stiles was still on his feet, over by the window now, and still wearing his jacket. When Derek walked back into the room, Stiles' eyes went immediately to the book in his hands.
"Here you go," Derek said, and handed it to him indifferently, like he hadn't spent a year and several hundred dollars acquiring it, and the last two months obsessing over giving it to him
"Wow. You really got it," Stiles said, and started flipping through it immediately. "How'd you find this? Fewer than fifty known copies, they think."
"Just lucky," Derek shrugged, staring at Stiles' hands as he turned the pages, and his teeth as they pulled at his bottom lip. It felt like there was no air in the room at all.
Stiles finally looked up at him, and his smile was warm and genuine, and almost unbearable. "Cool," he said. "Thanks."
"It's good to see you," Derek blurted. The words sounded awkward and corny, and he wanted to cringe.
Stiles tilted his head, like a dog trying to understand what you were saying to it. "You're acting...really weird," he said, confirming that this whole thing was a disaster.
Derek had no idea what he could possibly say to that. It was true, he knew he was acting weird, because he'd never done anything like this before. "You should probably get going," was what came out of his mouth. He'd already botched it--best to just cut his losses and end the whole thing as soon as possible.
Stiles lifted his eyebrows at him. "I just got here."
"You can keep the book," Derek said stiffly, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans so he wouldn't be tempted to touch him.
Stiles looked down at the book in his hands, and then back up at Derek, but didn't meet his eyes. "All right. Thanks."
Derek walked him to the door, feeling sick inside. He'd messed the whole thing up so quickly it was almost unreal. But this was it, this was probably the last excuse he'd ever have to be alone with Stiles again. As soon as he walked out that door, it was all done.
"Stiles, wait--," Derek said, at the same time Stiles turned back, face contorted with anger, and said, "I don't want the freakin' book." He held it out, jabbing at the air in front of Derek's nose with it. There was a blotch of red over each of his cheekbones.
"It's for you," Derek said, flinching away. "I want you to have it. I want…" But Derek couldn't even begin to explain everything he wanted, so he grabbed Stiles by his shirts and kissed him.
It was a terrible first kiss. Awkward and too hard, the corner of the book poking Derek in the sternum. There was a mortifying moment where Stiles didn't do anything, and Derek imagined having to let go of him, step back and look him in the eye and then stand there while Stiles muddled through a polite rejection while Derek pretended he wasn't being gutted alive.
Then Stiles surged forward and shoved the book at Derek, pushed it flat against his chest until Derek had no choice but to grab it with both hands. That left Stiles' hands free, and he used them to clutch at Derek's face and tilt his head and kiss him back. Stiles' mouth was eager and greedy, and all Derek could do was stand there and be kissed.
"Is this why you asked me to come over?" Stiles asked, when he backed off a little, tongue rolling over his own bottom lip. He was still holding onto Derek's face.
"Yes," Derek said, voice like a rusty hinge. "Is that okay?"
"God, yes," Stiles said, and kissed him again. This time Derek kept one eye open enough to toss the stupid book toward the couch. He missed.
"Where's your bedroom?" Stiles mumbled, as Derek shoved his hands up the back of Stiles' shirts.
That was a little faster than Derek had imagined this going, but Stiles had been away at school for almost two years, and had probably done all of this and more with a lot of different people. Derek had tried not to think about it too much.
"Yeah, okay," Derek said, spinning them so he could back Stiles down the hallway without having to take his mouth off of him. Stiles struggled out of his jacket somewhere in there, laughter buzzing against Derek's tongue as he sucked on Stiles' throat.
The bed was unmade, the sheets due to be changed, but Stiles didn't seem to notice or care. He somehow tumbled Derek onto his back and peeled his shirt off of him at the same time, then stood next to the bed and yanked both his own shirts off as one, tossing them over his shoulder.
Last time he'd been home he'd told Derek he'd been doing some crazy workout thing at school, lifting tractor tires and logs and stuff, and it showed. He was all muscle and bone, hard ridges running up his ribs, biceps bigger than Derek remembered. Derek leaned back on his elbows and stared as Stiles finished stripping; Stiles was already hard, and bigger than Derek had imagined, flushed dark red.
Derek felt like he should be doing something else besides gawking, but he didn't know what. He'd somehow pictured lots of slow making out on the couch, maybe working up to this point after a few evenings spent together, and now he wasn't sure what to do.
It didn't matter much. Stiles wasn't having that problem at all. "Take your clothes off, take your clothes off," he said urgently, hands quick and inescapable as he yanked off Derek's boots and pants and underwear, flinging them wherever, and then came down on top of him. Derek sucked in a startled breath at all the skin on skin contact, his hips jerking when their hard cocks touched, like a jolt of electricity that went right to his gut.
"God, you look even better than I remembered," Stiles murmured, sitting back to straddle Derek's thighs as he dragged his palms down Derek's chest. He'd grown into his hands at some point when Derek wasn't paying attention. They were still big, bigger than Derek's, but now they fit the rest of his body, confident and strong. Derek had thought about Stiles' hands a lot, and how they would look on his thighs, skimming up his ribcage.
"C'mere. Kiss me," Derek said, urging him back down, and Stiles grinned at him as he complied, stretching out so their legs slotted together. Derek rolled them so he was on top, and then dragged his mouth down the center of Stiles' body, tonguing the pattern of grooves on his stomach as he tentatively reached for Stiles' dick and ran his fingers lightly up and down. It was smooth and hot, and he heard Stiles' breath catch as he touched it.
When Derek opened his mouth against the fuzzy skin just below Stiles' bellybutton, Stiles lifted his hips and said, "Yeah." The wet tip of his cock bumped against Derek's face as his hand on Derek's head urged him downward, and Derek went.
"Oh my God, this is like sixty percent of my fantasies from my junior year of high school," Stiles said, as Derek settled between his spread legs and leaned down over him. Derek had never blown anyone before, so he tried to keep his teeth out of the way and hoped his lack of experience didn't show. He mouthed at Stiles slowly, taking his time, relieved to find he liked doing it, until he felt brave enough to suck lightly on the head.
"You look so good like this. So good," Stiles groaned, and held Derek still by the back of his neck as he nudged slowly up into his mouth, careful not to choke him. Derek breathed through his nose and tried not to rut against the bed as he worked his tongue until Stiles groaned again. Derek felt Stiles' leg twitch, knee bumping against his ribs, and he let go of Derek's neck, even though Derek hadn't minded that at all.
Left to his own volition, Derek bobbed his head up and down a few times, cautiously at first, and then, when he got a little more confident, going down until his throat rebelled and he had to come back up. Stiles almost seemed more interested in watching Derek than in what he was doing to him, and Derek didn't know if that was a compliment to his looks or an indictment of his blowjob technique, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job until Stiles grabbed him by the ears and gently eased him off. Derek came up reluctantly, his mouth feeling hot and used.
"We really, really need to fuck," Stiles panted. His hair was sticking up in crazy tufts, and his face and chest were flushed pink. "You have anything?"
"In the drawer," Derek said, surprised by how hoarse he sounded. He had condoms and lube, purchased the last time Stiles had come home on a break, never used.
Stiles was already crawling across the tangle of blankets to get to the little table next to the bed. He reached in and tore a condom off the strip and then dug around until he found the little bottle of lube. When he turned back he rolled to his knees and tossed them both on the bed.
"Pick your poison," Stiles said, smirking a little when he saw the way Derek was staring at his body, at his hard cock, red and wet and ready for anything.
It took Derek a second to figure out what Stiles was asking; he hadn't really gotten to this point in many of his fantasies yet. Mostly it was blowjobs, and kissing, and kissing after blowjobs. Mostly it was just Stiles wanting him back.
He reached out and picked up the condom, and then, after a second's hesitation, handed it to Stiles.
"This just keeps getting better and better," Stiles said, grinning. Derek rolled over onto his stomach.
Stiles talked to him the whole time he loosened him up, pressing his open mouth to the small of his back, murmuring against his skin. It was better than Derek had dared imagine, actually, Stiles so focused on him and so appreciative, and at one point when Stiles fell silent, Derek whined, "Keep talking," and Stiles did.
One finger felt good, two felt great, pressing into him with a confidence Derek's own fingers lacked when he was experimenting all by himself in bed. Stiles was also able to get a much better angle, one that left Derek clutching at the wrinkled sheets and gritting his teeth, pulling his knees up under him so he could rock back onto Stiles' fingers.
Three fingers was a stretch that slowly gave way to pleasure, and then Stiles was closing his teeth on the curve of Derek's ass and saying, "Are you good? I really want to fuck you now. Is this good?" in a strained voice.
"I'm good," Derek said, rubbing his face against the pillow; sweat was running into his eyes. "But go slow," he added, when he felt Stiles line himself up.
Stiles did go slow, but it was still just shy of overwhelming as he gradually worked himself inside. All the air left Derek's body in a rush, like it was trying to make room for Stiles, who felt huge and impossibly hard, like he was never going to fit, like he was never going to get the last inch in.
"Wow," Stiles said, vague and stoner-like. Derek could feel his thumbs holding him open as he pressed forward. "You're really--how long has it been since you did this?"
"Never," Derek said, trying to breathe, trying not to move.
Stiles froze, and his voice was sharper, not vague at all when he said, "Dude, are you serious?"
"Don't stop," Derek gritted out, because he already knew what was going to happen next. He reached back to grab onto Stiles' thigh, following Stiles' hips with his own when Stiles tried to ease back out. "I'm fine."
He wasn't exactly fine. It wasn't just the stretch of accommodating Stiles that was leaving Derek reeling—it was the shockingly intimate feeling of sharing the same space with another person's body. It was nothing and everything like he'd remembered, maybe because this time he was experiencing it in reverse. But now that he knew what it was like to do it with Stiles, he wasn't going to let him stop halfway through.
Derek dug his fingers into the back of Stiles' thigh until he heard him hiss out a breath, too much, and used his other arm to brace himself against the bed and shove back onto Stiles' cock. Stiles slid home with surprised cry, and that was it, he was all the way in, and Derek let go and dropped down onto his folded arms, sucking in one huge breath after another.
"You haven't changed at all," Stiles said, laughing a little as his hands stuttered over Derek's hips.
Derek didn't say anything. He knew that wasn't true.
Stiles gave him a minute to adjust before he pulled back and then pushed in again, a long, languorous thrust that felt strange and good. Derek choked on a sound he hadn't intended to make and arched his back. Still deep inside him, Stiles dragged his hands down Derek's sides and said, in a voice that made Derek shiver, "You're unbelievable."
"Just do it," Derek said, sounding a little shakier than he'd like. "I need you to—"
And Stiles did. Stiles fucked him like a metronome, steady and deliberate and unerring, while Derek gradually lost his mind beneath him. It was too hard and not hard enough, and too fast and too slow, and he wished he could see Stiles' face and was also glad he couldn't, and through all of it, through a thousand desperate, disjointed thoughts, Stiles just fucked him and fucked him.
He didn't do any of the things Derek expected--he didn't speed up when Derek reached down to touch himself, didn't drive into him harder when Derek finally held himself still and just took it, over and over, let Stiles' cock push him closer and closer to orgasm. He just kept going, like he knew that was what Derek needed, and maybe it was; Derek certainly couldn't make up his own mind.
Coming with Stiles in him, big and hard and moving, wasn't anything he was prepared for, every spasm magnified to an intensity that robbed Derek of his ability to make a sound. His spine curled as he spilled all over his fingers and the bed, ass clenching hard around Stiles, who swore and just went at him, fingernails digging into the skin over Derek's hipbones as he held him in place and used him. The last few seconds were too intense and not very comfortable, and then Stiles suddenly stopped moving, holding deep and moaning, and it was over.
"That was fucking amazing," Stiles panted as he carefully eased out and flopped down onto his back next to Derek, who gratefully pitched forward on to his face and grunted in agreement.
Later, when Derek woke up, he has hanging onto Stiles with an arm around his ribs, face mashed against his armpit.
"That can't be pleasant," Stiles said, when Derek nestled in a little closer. He sounded like he was smiling as his fingers carded through Derek's hair over and over again.
It was actually very pleasant. Smell was different for werewolves than it was for humans, Derek knew. He refused to be embarrassed about it, so he didn't budge.
"So have you not been with a lot of guys?" Stiles asked, and it seemed like he was trying really hard to be casual about it, which made Derek instantly tense up. He'd probably figured that much out even before Derek had admitted to his lack of experience, probably somewhere around the time Derek was inexpertly trying to blow him. Maybe Stiles thought he sucked in bed, and he'd never want to do it again. Just imagining that was like a kick to the gut, but it wouldn't be the worst thing that had happened to Derek after he fucked somebody.
"Just you, actually," Derek said. He had no interest in lying about it. It was what it was.
Stiles' fingers stopped playing with his hair. "Are you serious? Derek. Are you serious? You should have said something. I thought--"
"You thought I fucked everyone who looked at me twice?" Most people thought that about Derek, from what he could tell.
"Hey." Stiles' hand closed around his jaw and tried to get him to lift his head, to look up. When Derek resisted, Stiles said, "Hey, look at me."
When Derek did, he expected anger or pity, but instead Stiles looked…guilty. He pressed the pad of his thumb against Derek's lower lip, throat working for a few seconds before he actually spoke.
"That's not what I thought," Stiles said, and though Derek wasn't sure that was entirely true, he didn't argue. "And if it were true, it wouldn't matter to me. But I would have gone a little slower."
"It was fine," Derek said, and caught Stiles' thumb in his teeth. It tasted like lube and sweat when he touched it with the tip of his tongue.
"Oh, well then," Stiles said, eyes rolling. "It was 'fine.' That's what everyone loves to hear."
Derek let go of his thumb and leaned up to kiss him instead, because it was starting to feel like they were going to fight, and he didn't want to. "It was really good," he said.
Stiles cupped Derek's face in his hands and kissed him back, more gently than he had so far. "I kind of rushed you, didn't I? I didn't mean to. We've known each other for years and there's been this sexual tension forever, and I just thought—I thought this was it. And you didn't say anything."
"I'm not some blushing virgin," Derek said, exasperated, but he wasn't much beyond that, in truth. "I wanted to do it. I liked it."
Stiles looked at him for a long moment, eyes searching his face. Eventually, he must have seen what he was looking for, because he relaxed back into the pillow and closed his eyes and said, "Good. Me, too."
Stiles' phone chittered from wherever his pants were on the floor, and Derek waited, but Stiles didn't make a move to grab it. He just hummed to himself and lazily rubbed his leg against Derek's.
"You hungry?" Derek asked hopefully. Stiles seemed inclined to stick around for a while. Maybe they could order something.
Stiles thrust his arms over his head and stretched. "Starving," he said through a huge, noisy yawn. "Feed me."
They got mostly dressed, no underwear or socks, and relocated to the couch. After failed negotiations regarding what constituted a delicious combination of toppings, they ordered two pizzas.
While they waited, Stiles retrieved the forgotten book from the floor and lounged on top of Derek as he paged through it. Derek hooked his chin over Stiles' shoulder and pretended to be interested in it, but he still felt a little dazed, trying to adjust to the idea that they'd had sex. Smelling it all over both of them, and sneaking peeks at the little patch of stubble burn on Stiles' jaw, made it seem real. As hungry as Derek was, he almost hated to get up when the delivery guy rang the buzzer.
The pizza was perfect, and really greasy. They ate it in front of the television, watching the Charlie Brown Christmas show they both knew by heart from childhood.
"I think you're right about Peppermint Patty and Marcie," Derek said after a while.
"Yeah, it's pretty obvious once someone points it out," Stiles agreed. He licked at the trail of yellow grease running down his wrist and asked, "You have any napkins?"
"Paper towels," Derek said around a mouthful of cheese. He reached to put his slice down, but Stiles got to his feet first.
"I got it," he said, and Derek settled back on the couch and thought a little about how nice it was to have someone around who was happy to do a simple thing like grab a couple napkins while you sat on your butt and ate pizza.
"Hey, you have any beer?" Stiles asked from the kitchen as Derek heard him tear off a couple sheets of toweling. "I know I'm not old enough to drink," he said, before Derek could get those exact words out. "But you can have one and I can just have a sip or two, it'd be--"
The sound of Stiles' voice died as the refrigerator opened, and Derek stopped chewing as he remembered the Dr. Pepper.
Stiles knew Derek didn't like Dr. Pepper, because they used to get into fake arguments over it. Derek hated the sickly sweet stench of it, and Stiles would drink it on purpose if they were in the car together, Derek closed in and unable to escape the smell. Stiles certainly knew the cans of it in the fridge were for him. Which meant Stiles knew Derek was the kind of guy who kept stuff in his house Stiles liked—the house Stiles had never even visited or been invited to before today. He knew Derek thought about him when he was at the grocery store or whatever.
The refrigerator closed, and Stiles came back with the towels and a bottle of beer, twisting off the cap, not meeting Derek's eyes. He took the first drink—several long swallows, actually--before handing it to Derek.
Stiles sat down on the edge of the couch, not slumped against Derek like he had been before. His face was closed off again, but he was definitely not still--he chewed on his lower lip, blinking his eyes at nothing, as he ran his hands up and down his thighs, the fabric of his pants bunching under the heels of his hands.
"Listen, you should probably know..." Stiles started to say, and here it comes, Derek thought. He was going to tell Derek the sex was good but he wasn't interested in doing it again, or the sex was terrible and that was why he wasn't interested in doing it again, or he had someone back at school and so he couldn't be with Derek, or he didn't have someone at school and that was still preferable to being with Derek.
"That's okay. It's fine," Derek said, helping himself to a few swallows of beer, mostly because his mouth was suddenly dry and his last bite of pizza seemed determined to stick in his throat.
Stiles gave him a what the fuck kind of drugs are you on? look. "What's okay?" he asked, looking perplexed, because of course he hadn't actually said what he thought Derek should know.
"Whatever you're going to say. It's fine," Derek said, and made himself take another bite of pizza and keep his eyes on the television.
"That doesn't even make any sense," Stiles said. "What if I was going to ask you to give me your car?"
"You can't have my car," Derek said automatically. That was another old, more pleasant, fake argument, and he still knew his cue. He took three more deliberate swallows of beer.
"Give me that," Stiles said suddenly, sounding irritated. He snatched the bottle right out of Derek's fingers and finished it off, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he took Derek's pizza away, too. He tossed the half-eaten slice back into the box on the coffee table, and Derek didn't dare protest.
"You're infuriating," Stiles said, as he put a hand in the center of Derek's chest and pushed him back into the couch, settling over his legs. "You make me so mad."
"I know," Derek said, but he put his hands on Stiles' hips, and when he leaned in, Stiles let him kiss him. "I'm sorry."
"Like, seriously angry," Stiles said, as his fingers curled into Derek's hair.
"I know," Derek said again, and pressed his tongue into Stiles' mouth.
They made out on the couch for a long time, the kind of thorough, exploring kisses they hadn't gotten to before. Stiles kissed him over and over again, until he stopped being mad. Then he kissed him some more and told Derek how good-looking he was and how good he smelled and how good he tasted, petting his face and nibbling at his ears and his collarbones as their hips ground together. This was what Derek had often pictured, alone in bed at night or staring at the TV and not really watching it, when he thought about Stiles being here in his apartment. It was even better in reality.
"Can I do this?" Stiles asked eventually, thumbing the button on Derek's jeans.
"Of course," Derek said, blinking up at him. It was a weird question, after they'd already had sex. "You can do whatever you want."
Stiles slid to his knees on the floor and pushed Derek's legs apart as he opened Derek's pants. His mouth was red and a little puffy, and Derek's stomach clenched up because he knew what Stiles was about to do with it. He couldn't breathe, couldn’t even blink, as Stiles' long fingers carefully eased him, already achingly hard, out of his pants, careful to avoid the zipper.
Derek didn't even try to be quiet when Stiles licked him from his balls all the way to the head of his cock, once and then twice and then over and over, wetting him, tasting him. Each lap of his hot tongue forced another sound out of Derek's body, his heart pounding, sweat prickling the back of his neck and the creases of his elbows as his toes curled against the carpet.
It had been a very long time since someone had done this to Derek, and back then he'd been young and overwhelmed, and afterwards he'd spent years trying to forget it, so it was all a blur. This time he was aware of every detail, every soft noise in Stiles' throat, every flutter of his tongue, every twitch of his fingers on Derek's thigh. This was very much real, and very much Stiles. Thank God it was Stiles. As he ran his fingers through Stiles' hair, and touched his face where his cheeks hollowed as he sucked, Derek felt something that was a lot like gratitude.
Stiles had obviously had a lot more practice at this than Derek had. He used his hand and his mouth together, and kept changing up the pace and the suction, winding him up tighter, making him squirm. Just about the time it started to get unbearable, he took Derek deep, until the head of his cock parted the unbearably hot, soft flesh at the back of his throat, and Derek's head lolled against the back of the couch, half out of his mind when he came, pulsing against Stiles' tongue.
Stiles let him gasp at the ceiling for a minute before he climbed back up into his lap and kissed him some more. It was even better this time, with the taste and smell of Derek all over his mouth, on his chin. Derek reached down and cupped his ass in his hands, and Stiles groaned as he pressed forward, his dick bumping at Derek's stomach through their clothes.
"You can touch me if you want," he said into Derek's mouth.
That seemed backwards to Derek, like this was what they should have done first, all this kissing and asking permission, rather than going straight to fucking. And even though this was what he'd hoped for, now it made him feel a little stupid and childish. But the reality was that the last time Derek had done this, he had been stupid and childish, and he'd been kind of stuck at that point ever since when it came to sex. Now they were back in his comfort zone, and Stiles appeared to want to hang out in it for a bit, which probably wasn't an accident; Stiles was backtracking to do all the things they'd skipped over.
He got Stiles' pants open and took the same care with the zipper Stiles had for him. Stiles was really, really hard, and had leaked all over himself; having Derek's dick in his mouth had really turned him on, and that was a little thrilling. Stiles made a small noise and twitched his hips when Derek closed his hand around him.
"God, yes, please," Stiles said tightly, thrusting into Derek's fist. Derek didn't know much at all about cut dicks except that they were supposed to be less sensitive, so he let his thumb rub against the underside of the head as he stroked him, and Stiles seemed to like that. He clutched at Derek's shoulders and tipped his head back and let Derek jerk him off, until he came all over Derek's shirt.
"Sorry I came all over your shirt," was the first thing Stiles said when he caught his breath.
"That's okay," Derek said. It was just a plain T-shirt. And it had been worth it.
"What I was trying to tell you—" Stiles started to say, after Derek changed his shirt and they were drowsing on the couch in a tangle. Derek couldn't stop running his fingers across the dips on either side of Stiles' spine, right above his pants.
"You don't have to explain," Derek said, because he really didn't need to hear the reason why this was going to be a one-time thing. He didn't blame him, even. Derek hadn't even tried to make it really good for Stiles a few minutes ago, just jerked him off all over his shirt, too eager and inexperienced to think of anything more creative.
Stiles turned his head enough to give Derek a warning nip of teeth, quick, right next to his nipple. "Will you just shut up, and stop with whatever disaster scenario you're concocting in that freaky brain of yours? Please?"
Derek took a deep breath, and then another, and waited. From this angle he couldn't see Stiles' face, and that made him nervous.
"I'm trying to tell you I've had a thing for you for a long time. Not just a sexual tension thing. A big thing. Like, a really big thing. So you don't need to worry."
Derek stared at the ceiling and let that sink in for a moment. He'd always known that Stiles was attracted to him, but that wasn't really unusual, because even people who didn't particularly like Derek wanted to have sex with him. Derek wasn't an idiot--he knew what he looked like, and that a lot of people found him desirable. For the most part, he just didn't care.
Except when it came to Stiles. He'd known for years Stiles wanted to fuck him, but Derek had also wanted Stiles to like him. He'd wanted Stiles to spend the night even if they didn't have sex, and have his own toothbrush in Derek's bathroom, and call him from school and tell him he missed him. Those were the kinds of things Derek couldn't take for granted like he did physical attraction; he didn't have the same level of faith in his ability to engender them in another person.
But somehow, amazingly, he had.
"Ow!" Derek said when Stiles pinched his stomach. "What was that for?"
"I just told you I've been pining for you for years. It's kind of bullshit you can't admit how you feel about me."
Derek tightened his arms and rubbed his nose into Stiles' messy hair. "I can't even put into words how I feel about you," he said, just loud enough for Stiles to hear. It was probably the most honest thing he'd ever said to anyone in his whole life.
Stiles sighed and snuggled down even further into Derek's body. "I'll give you some time to work up to it," he said. "Because I'm, like, 99% percent sure you've never done that before, either."
"You're right," Derek said, closing his eyes.
"But don't take too long," Stiles said, after a minute, fingers clutching at Derek's clean T-shirt.
"I won't," Derek promised.
- Title comes from the Jawbreaker song of the same name.
- The conversation while they watch the Peanuts Christmas special is about Peppermint Patty and Marcie being girlfriends. <3
And now there is a podfic by anatsuno!