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I Give In To Demands

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”Someone is gonna notice,” Derek hisses, hitching his jeans up even higher, like he'd yank them to his damn chin if it was physically possible. As it is, his pulling at them only makes them ride up between his legs, in turn giving Stiles a small stroke, because Derek's ass is amazing, and sweet Jesus, Derek needs tighter jeans from now on. But Stiles composes himself, because they were doing something. Something sexy that would get a million times sexier if Stiles could just focus.


”No they won't,” he says firmly, voice a forced calm. ”You have like ten laywers of clothes on, it'll be fine.” He slides in behind Derek, helpless against the lure of his incredible body and even more incredible mind, and slips his arms around the strong chest.


”And it'll be hot,” he breathes into Derek's ear, grinning when it makes Derek stop dead, hands stuttering still on his belt. ”It'll be so fucking hot, and my roommate will be gone all weekend as soon as the last lecture lets out.” Stiles lets his hands travel down to tease around Derek's zipper, the knowledge of what's behind it already making him ache with lust. ”You know what that means, right? Hours, Der. Days, even. Just you and me.”


Derek's breath hitches, and he looks down with flushed cheeks.


”Well. People are definitely gonna notice that.”


And yeah, there's a fairly obvious bulge growing there, and because Stiles is an asshole he reaches down to give it a loving squeeze, just to hear Derek draw in a shocked breath.


”Just tie your jacket around your waist like it's the 90s, no one cares, babe.”


Derek turns his head to glare at him, but the effect is somewhat lost because he looks ridiculously hot, all flushed behind his glasses, and hair already a little mussed from Stiles' fingers.


”Are you guys done in there?” Boyd's voice sounds through the bathroom door. ”And, more importantly, did you wipe up after yourselves?”


Stiles rolls his eyes and swings open the door to Boyd's wary face. ”Careful, man, it's a long drop from that high horse of yours. I know exactly what you and Erica are gonna be doing a few hours from now, probably in this very bathroom.”


Before Boyd can offer a comeback, Derek pushes past him into their room. ”And we also didn't do anything.”


This time,” Boyd mutters, but lets it go. Two roommates both having fairly new relationships means that a certain level of tolerance is needed, but Stiles still thinks that Boyd should just shut up and be grateful that Stiles will do his very best to keep Derek out of their room for the weekend. By making sure he doesn't leave Stiles' bed. Yep. Big plans.


Boyd disappears into the bathroom, and Stiles entertains himself by watching Derek gather his things. He walks so carefully, like one wrong stretch will make his forcefully arranged clothes somehow unravel to reveal the treasure underneath. But he's also still flushed and hard, and he does end up tying his jacket around him.


”Not one word,” he warns, so Stiles kisses him stupid instead, and makes them both late.


All through practice all Stiles can think about is Derek sitting in his lectures, looking perfectly normal, but maybe a little flushed. Possibly also squirming a little bit, because Stiles may have taken liberties with the sizing. He takes a ball to the side of his helmet hard enough to make his ears ring because he's so distracted, and he's punished by a double serving of laps around the field.


Not that it helps at all, and in the shower Greenberg edges away when an accidental glance reveals Stiles' more than chubbed up state. Stiles is done pretending he's something he's not, though. Never even bothered to try, and everyone and their dog knows he's fucking Derek right up his hairy, male ass every chance he gets.


So he just grins. ”Friday, yanno?” He adds a wink for good measure, and watches Greenberg's shoulders relax, and after that the locker room fills with the usual chatter about the weekend and hot dates and Stiles is willing to bet he isn't the only excited party in the steamy shower by the end of it.


He comes out to find Derek waiting for him in the hallway outside, and wastes no time backing him up against the wall for a filthy kiss.


”Thought about you all morning,” Stiles pants, and Derek makes a small noise against him.


”Save it for later, guys,” Danny says, as he passes them by, one of the last ones to leave. ”Have fun,” he adds, and oh yes, they are going to. So very much.


The trip back to Stiles' dorm is made much much longer by how many times they have to stop and make out. It's torture not being able to slide his hands into Derek's jeans and have a feel. But they're so close, and Derek is already skittish about it, and Stiles just really does not want to ruin it.


The hallway is already completely deserted, people fleeing for the weekend as soon as humanly possible, and Derek slumps against the wall next to Stiles' door, while he fumbles around for his keys.


”Stiles,” Derek says urgently, and Stiles rummages through his pockets.


”I know, I'm looking-”


”No, Stiles,” Derek says again, and Stiles forget all about the keys when he looks over. Derek's eyes are darting around them, frantically making sure they're alone, but at the same time he's shakily pulling up his cute librarian's vest and the button-up underneath, until his gorgeous hip is showing. And then his other hand pulls the waist of his jeans down just an inch, and there... there is the slip of pale pink that's been keeping Stiles at half mast all day, and caused endless fantasies for weeks.


”Fuck, Derek,” Stiles moans and slams into him, their surroundings completely forgotten as he licks into Derek's mouth and desperately wedges his hand into Derek's jeans, fingertips digging bruises into his ass. Or they would, if they weren't slipping on delicate satin, molded to Derek like a second skin.


Stiles' hips stutter into a shocked thrust up against Derek's own hardness, and for a long lust-fogged moment there's nothing in Stiles' world but Derek's sweet moans, his eager tongue, and their cocks mashing together through too many layers.


”These are definitely a size too small,” Derek murmurs suddenly, and Stiles has to laugh, breathlessly.


”Yeah. I'm not even sorry.”


Derek glares at him half-heartedly, but smiles too. ”Can't say I am, either. But you will be if we don't get inside, right now.”


Stiles is about to argue, but then Derek starts covering up again, and nope, not gonna happen. Stiles shakes his jacket until he hears his keys rattle, and finally manages to dig them out and get the damn door open.


The thing about Derek is that he seems so buttoned up in public. Sometimes literally. He's kinda quiet, brutally sarcastic on occasion, and consideres it more than enough titillation if he undoes a few top buttons of his shirt and leaves the vest at home. It's taken weeks of hints, and discussion of boundaries, and of Derek needing thinking time before he agreed to do this.


But in private, he's an animal. The lock clicks behind them, and all bets are off. Derek sheds his clothes so fast Stiles can't keep up, but that also might have something to do with how he has to stop and stare as the pink, satin panties are revealed, straining to cover Derek's hard cock, already wet at the tip, soaking the fabric.


”Clothes off,” Derek growls, going full caveman, and Stiles obeys, hands fumbling.


Derek looks on through his slightly skewed glasses, his hands toying at the tiny lace trim on his panties. ”Should I keep these on, do you think?” he muses, and Stiles almost falls over in his eagerness.


”Yes! Hell yes, lemme just... I wanna... fuck,” he curses, struggling with his pants.


”Yeah, me too,” Derek says, voice deceptively mild, and unceremoniously shoves Stiles onto the bed. He lands with an oomph, but other than that he has zero complaints, because Derek straddles him immediately, and hungrily ruts his satin-covered length against Stiles'.


”Yesssss, fuck yeah,” Stiles moans, and clutches at the delicate edges of the panties.


Derek swoops down for a kiss, and they thrust urgently against each other for long, delicious minutes, until Stiles is half sure he gonna come like that, just rubbing up against wet satin and panting into Derek's sweet mouth.


But it obviously isn't enough for Derek, because he sits up suddenly, and reaches into the bedside drawer for the lube without even so much as a by your leave. God, Stiles adores him.


He reaches for the tube, only to have his hands slapped away. He's confused for a moment, because Derek's loves his hands, and will whimper and beg when Stiles fingers him open. Derek knows, and offers a belated half-grin while he slicks up his own fingers.


”Sorry, but if you do it, I'm gonna come before we fuck. And I wanna come on your dick.”


Stiles almost ends it then and there, because holy shit he loves it when Derek talks dirty in that soft voice of his. But then Derek reaches behind him, and Stiles has to stop him.


”Wait, wait, Der, turn around, I wanna see.”


Derek raises an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn't hesitate to get up and straddle Stiles again, sitting on his thighs and facing his feet. As Derek leans forward to support himself on the bed and reaches back with his other hand, Stiles pulls the panties aside with shaking fingers, and grips his own cock hard to pull back from the edge. Watching Derek's fingers slide in and out of himself, thick and glistening, dark hairs a harsh contrast to the delicate sheen of the pink panties, makes Stiles go crazy.


Luckily, Derek is a pro at this, and only a couple of minutes later he declares himself ready, and glances at Stiles over his shoulder.


”Like this?”


”Shit, yes,” Stiles agrees, and holds his breath as Derek lifts up enough for Stiles to guide his cock to the slick rim while still holding the panties aside.


”Ohhhhh my god.” Stiles groans, drawn out and heartfelt as Derek sinks down and takes him in, one long slide of hot, tight heaven.


Derek merely grunts, like it's a minor inconvenience, but Stiles knows him so well now, even from this unfamiliar angle, and the shake of his shoulders and the shudder of his breath tells Stiles everything.


”Go on, fuck me,” Stiles encourages, because regardless of what peg goes in what hole, there's no doubt who is doing the fucking, currently.


The huff he gets in response is half amused and half frustrated, like almost everything else Derek expresses about Stiles on a day to day basis, but he does pull himself up, just an inch, before sinking back down again. He eases himself into it, supporting himself on Stiles knees at first. But then it's like he figures out the logistics, and sits up, one hand supporting himself on the wall next to the bed, and the other... the repetitive motions of his elbow leaves no doubt what he's doing, and Stiles has to let go of the panties, finally, so he can clutch at Derek's hips with both hands and help the rhythm along.


One particular thrust makes Derek cry out, and Stiles is already trying to figure out what they did differently, when Derek huffs ”oh, of course,” and leans back suddenly.


It seems precarious, but then Derek places both hands on Stiles' chest, raises his hips up and slams back down.


The sound Derek makes as they clash together is beautiful, and Stiles would love to do something to help things along, but Derek seems lost in it now, hips rabbiting back into Stiles, practically using him like a glorified sex toy. And Stiles is incredibly happy with this state of affairs.


”Yeah, fuck, fuck me,” Stiles says, because talking is the only thing he can do. ”Go on, baby, make yourself come on my cock. Fuck, you're so beautiful, oh, God, fuck, look at you in your pretty panties.”


Derek keens, and goes impossibly faster.


”That's it, baby, come on. Gonna come? Gonna ruin your nice panties for me?”


”They're... already... ruined,” Derek argues, because he's a dork like that, and won't stand for inaccuracies, even when he's seconds from orgasm.


”Then we'll just ruin you instead,” Stiles growls and braces against the bed so he can meet Derek's movements with a few hard thrusts of his own. And if Derek tries talking after that, Stiles can't tell, because there's nothing but desperate moaning and gasping, and then a sudden, beautiful cry as Derek shudders through his climax, his ass squeezing so tight around Stiles it forces tears to his eyes.


”Fuck,” Derek wheezes. ”Holy fuck. Stiles...”


”I know, right?” Stiles says smugly, but loses his grin when Derek's arms buckle and he almost falls back.


”Hey, woah, I got you.”


”I can't,” Derek gasps, still heaving in oxygen in rapid breaths as Stiles helps ease him up. ”I can't... you're gonna have to...”


He rolls over onto his back next to Stiles, and lays there gasping for breath like a vision of debauchery. The panties are indeed ruined, Derek's softening cock still hanging out over the front he'd pulled down for access. The fabric is damp, sticky, and bunched up, and Stiles feels his cock throb painfully from neglect as he takes in the sight.


Derek knows very well how appealing he is to Stiles like this, even when he's down to only a few brain cells, and he slowly pulls his legs up and apart, wordlessly inviting Stiles in. And he wastes no time, because he needs to come yesterday.


He yanks the sticky panties aside again, and slides back into Derek with a deep groan.


”Fuck, Der, always so tight, oh, God.”


Derek just hums pleasantly, like having a cock up his ass is mildy pleasing, like a nice cup of tea or something. ”Yeah. Your turn, go on.” He blinks slow and languid behind his glasses, and strokes his hands lazily up Stiles' chest to toy with his nipples. It drives Stiles crazy.


”Derek... fuck, Derek, you're so... so hot, so gorgeous, shit, you're... so... love you, so much, oh my god,” Stiles babbles as he thrusts faster and faster, building up the wave, and it's gonna break any minute.


”I know,” Derek says smugly, and that's it. Stiles isn't sure what it says about him that he comes from Star Wars references, but whatever it is he'll take it.


He shoves his cock in as deep as it'll go, and relishes Derek's small grunt as he feels Stiles' cock pulse inside, and for a long suspended moment that's their whole world.


When Stiles finally feels the last shot of come yank out of him he collapses gracelessly on top of Derek, not even bothering to pull out, because why the fuck move. Why move ever again, actually, this is the most comfortable he's ever been, sweet baby Jesus.


Derek laughs, and oh, God, there's a reason to move, Stiles' dick can't take this kind of torture. He hisses and pulls out, feeling a deep satisfaction and weird pride, as he feels a gush of come slide out.


”This was your idea,” Derek points out mildly, as they snuggle up, uncaring of the wet spot.


”Yeah, so?” Stiles asks, only half awake.


”So. You know the rules. You change the sheets.”


Shit. Stiles completely forgot the rules.


”Shit.” Now he suddenly cares about the wet spot.


”Yerp,” Derek says, popping the p, and nosing happily into Stiles' hair, like an asshole that knows he won't have to do any of the work later. Unless, of course, Stiles can ease them into round two and trick Derek into asking for something that'll leave another wet spot, so they'll both have to do it.


He's resourceful, he'll make it work.