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It's Night Fifty Six

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It's Night 56.


Stiles stands in the hotel lobby, looking back at the revolving doors, listening to the purr of the limo driving away.

"Wow," he says. "That's it. It's over."

"Not quite," says Derek. "There's a photo-shoot tomorrow, the wrap party on Saturday, a ton of press interviews, breakfast TV on Thursday…."

"There's no cameras," says Stiles. "For the first time in weeks. No cameras."

"Apart from that one." Derek points at the security camera above the door.

Stiles laughs. "I guess Big Brother really is always watching, huh?"

Derek shrugs. "So, d'you want to go meet the others in the bar?"

Stiles looks around, at the marble and the mirrors and the shiny tile floor. It's all so different. There's so much world around him, so many people he doesn't know. The lights seem too bright. Even Derek looks different outside the house. Taller, somehow. More handsome. Which is impossible, seriously, but true. His eyes are amazing, with little green flecks.

"Stiles, are you okay?"

"I dunno." Stiles licks his lips. "I guess, not really?"

"Would it help to go to the bar and see the others? Your dad?"

"In the bar?" Stiles sees an archway with 'Bar and Lounge' written on a swanky brass sign above it. Through the arch he can see a tight press of bodies, and he hears a swell of voices. A flash goes off.

"No," he says. "Can we not? Do you mind? Or if you do, that's fine, we don't have to, I mean we're not glued at the hip or anything, I don't want you to-"

"Stiles, come with me."

Derek takes Stiles' hand and leads him towards the elevator, which also has a swanky brass sign above it, this one saying 'Lift'.

"Huh," Stiles says, as the doors open. "They have a different word for everything, don't they? Or if not they spell it wrong, or say it wrong, like to-mar-toes, I mean what the fuck is-"

Derek pushes him inside and jabs a button. Stiles just about has time to register that the elevator is moving and they're the only ones in it before Derek shoves him up against the wall and starts kissing him.

And oh, God, it's so sweet. Derek's mouth is gentle and the rest of his body feels tight, like he's fighting for control; his hands are in Stiles' hair and then one's on his ass, and Stiles lets everything else that isn't him and Derek float away. Derek nips at Stiles' lower lip, catches it between his teeth and then licks over the spot he nibbled. Stiles' knees are weak and he rests his forehead on Derek's, gasps for breath.

"Remember how I said," says Derek, "that when we got out, I'd make love to you 'til we can't stand straight?"

"Vividly," says Stiles.

"Well, we're out." Derek grins wolfishly (yes, really) at him, and a surge of lust has Stiles scrabbling at Derek's belt. Then the elevator pings and the doors slide open.

"Fucking cockblocking elevator," mutters Stiles.

If the elderly woman standing in front of them is shocked, at least she doesn't show it. Derek apologises to her and pulls Stiles out of the elevator and down a long corridor to room labelled with yet another swanky brass plate: 'The Loft'. Derek swipes his card and pushes inside.

It's a huge room, contemporary industrial (Stiles did a course in architecture for extra credit last spring), and over to the right there is a fucking enormous bed, with a purple comforter on top and more pillows than Stiles has ever seen in one place before.

Derek's looking at it too.

Then he looks at Stiles.

'Wanna fuck?' say Derek's eyebrows.

"Hell, yeah," says Stiles, and races Derek to the bed.


Stiles can't stop kissing Derek. It's not a problem; or at least it wouldn't be if it wasn't for his arm. Derek got his shirt mostly off his shoulder a while back, but then he got distracted and now it's trapped his arm in kind of a half nelson, and his elbow feels weird. But Stiles doesn't care. Derek tastes of spearmint and he kisses so hungrily, and Stiles wants to keep going 'til his lips are too numb to keep up. When Derek pauses for breath Stiles chases, licks at Derek's lips and tongue and teeth.

Derek takes it gentle, pausing to drop kisses at the corners of Stiles' mouth, on his chin, his nose. He slides his hands up Stiles' back, under his shirt until Stiles yelps, because he seriously can't move his arm.

"God, sorry, Stiles, are you okay?"

"Shirt," says Stiles, and wriggles to get his mouth back on Derek's. But Derek, sensible as ever, sits up so he can sort things out. It takes far too long, but eventually Derek flings his shirt on the floor, and Stiles is free. He stretches his arms above his head, waving his hands about to get the feeling back, and Derek takes this as an invitation to start kissing Stiles' chest. A soft drag of stubble up Stiles' sternum makes Stiles' balls go tight, his whole body suddenly very aware that he hasn't been allowed to come in weeks, and now he can, any time he likes. Stiles' balls, in particular, would like that to happen very, very soon.

Stiles expresses this as a whimper. Derek looks up, his tongue scandalously close to Stiles' nipple. Stiles grapples for words, but he's got nothing; he can only watch helplessly as Derek swirls his tongue around his nipple and then, when Stiles is lightheaded and making ridiculous, high-pitched noises, he takes it between his lips, and gives it a little suck.

Stiles' hips surge up, desperate for something to grind against. There's nothing there, so Stiles grabs Derek's leg, pulls Derek half on top of him and ruts shamelessly. Derek chuckles, but he doesn't take his leg back. He tenses his muscles so everything's taut and firm - well, even more taut and firm than usual - and despite the frustration of their pants still being in the way, Stiles' cock gives a satisfying throb.

"I need to get you naked," Derek says. "We don't have to come in our pants this time."

"You close?" Stiles' voice comes out wrecked, like he stayed up all night drinking Jack and smoking rough grass.

"I've been close since the elevator," says Derek, and gets his hands on Stiles' fly.

"Wait, wait, let me do it." Stiles bats him away. "Or you'll touch my dick, and then there will totally be a sticky pants situation."

"Good call," says Derek. "Me too."

Derek rolls on his back, and Stiles sets about getting his pants off. He can't take his eyes off Derek, though, eager to get a proper look at his whole body at last without any inconvenient underwear, swimsuits or towels in the way.

Derek raises his hips and slides his pants and boxer briefs down. His cock bounces free and oh, God, it's beautiful. It's thickish and a good size but not too big; it points straight up to Derek's happy trail and there's a bead of moisture at the head. Stiles licks his lips.

"You too," says Derek. "C'mon."

"Oh, right." Stiles fumbles with the stupid little metal catch on his fly, and flails around a great deal more than Derek did, but eventually he's naked. Actually, full-on naked, which isn't fair because Derek's still wearing his shirt, and his waistcoat, even though they were undone a while back. And his socks. "Come on, big guy." Stiles points at Derek's chest and feet. "And the rest."

"Can't I just-" Derek's staring at Stiles' dick.

Stiles covers it with his hand. It twitches violently under his palm, like it's objecting to having Derek's attention taken away. "Nudity first."

Derek whines, and rips the rest of his clothes off in a series of efficient, economical movements the like of which Stiles knows he will never be capable of. Then they're both naked, fully naked for the first time in eight weeks, fully naked in front of each other for the first time ever, and Derek pulls Stiles' hand gently away from his dick. He leans in, presses his face to Stiles' belly, and he nuzzles it.

"Oh God."

Stiles can feel huffs of breath on his skin, his very sensitive, intimate skin, and he's pretty sure - no, absolutely sure - that nobody has ever nuzzled him there before.

He grabs a handful of Derek's hair and pulls him up so he can kiss him, rolls over so they can press their bodies together. Derek seems to like the hair-tugging thing, if the growling noise is anything to go by. Stiles gets a flash of tugging on Derek's hair while Derek's sucking his dick; Derek's body rolls up against his, all rough friction and the heat of his cock, and Stiles is done. His brain shorts out and his hips jerk, and he can barely stammer, "Shit, Derek, I'm…" before he shoots. It's like a big fucking knot of frustration throbbing and pulsing and finally, when everything's sticky and wet and like melting, it's total and utter relief.

Stiles is about to sink back into the bed when Derek pulls up to his knees, says, "Sorry, I've gotta, now," and closes his hand around his own dick. Three rapid strokes and he's coming all over Stiles' belly, their jizz mixing together in one big mess. (Derek's is a bit thinner than Stiles', but there's even more of it. And Stiles just came a lot.)

Derek rubs the puddle around a bit with the head of his still-pulsing cock, and then collapses, panting, at Stiles' side.

"Thank God for that," says Stiles, and starts giggling.

Derek grins at him. "I had this whole plan for our first time," he says. "That wasn't it."

"Technically, our first time was the Store Cupboard." Stiles catches a rivulet of jizz that's running down his side, brings it to his mouth and tastes it. Derek makes a strangled sort of noise and dives in to kiss him, tongue straight in.

"Get your own," Stiles says.

Derek pulls back, scoops up a huge blob of jizz on his finger, and sticks it in his own mouth. Stiles watches as he rolls it about on his tongue.

"I guess you're a swallower," says Stiles. "Not a spitter."

"Yep," says Derek. "You?"

"Totally all for the swallowing."

"Good." Derek's eyebrows are suggestive.

"If you're done with this," Stiles points at his belly, "I'll go shower it off, if that's okay?"

"Fine with me." Derek leans back, arms folded behind his head. "I prefer it warm."

Stiles rolls off the bed and pads to the bathroom. There's a huge bath with little lights all around it. The shower's in the corner, next to a round granite sink with big brass taps. Stiles grabs a bottle of complimentary bodywash and runs the shower. He steps under the jets, leans his head against the wall and runs hot water over his neck and back. He's tired, fuzzy, but his body is slowly letting go of the tension that's been building for weeks, and it feels pretty damn good.

There's a knock at the door.

Stiles can't remember the last time someone actually knocked before opening a door.

"Alright if I come in?"

"It's your bathroom," says Stiles, and smiles into the crook of his elbow.

He hears Derek's footsteps slapping across the tiles, and next thing he knows there's a warm body behind him, soft lips kissing their way up the curve of his spine. "Thought you might need a hand," Derek whispers. "You were very sticky."

"Make yourself useful. Rub my back."

Derek takes the bodywash from him, and starts to smooth it over his skin, big soothing circles pressing into his muscles. Stiles closes his eyes and enjoys the sensation, not in the least surprised when his cock wakes up and takes notice. Stiles is usually a twice a day man, at least. He has a hell of a lot to catch up on.

Derek's hands move down his back to gently cup his ass, everything pleasantly soapy, then around to his hips, up his belly to his chest, and now Derek's pressing against his back and it's pretty clear Stiles isn't the only one who's got hard again. Stiles tips his head back to rest on Derek's shoulder, and Derek kisses him; his mouth is wet and everything smells of strawberry bodywash. Stiles closes his eyes and luxuriates in Derek's slow, gentle kisses, lets them raise a fire in his belly and make his limbs feel weak. Derek's cock is a hard line against his ass, and Stiles can't resist wriggling. Derek grunts and adjusts himself, and this time his dick slips between Stiles' legs, nudging up to his balls, pressing into all the sensitive bits behind them. Derek's hand dips lower and curls gently around Stiles' cock, a slow, easy stroke.

"Good?" Derek nuzzles into his neck.

"Very good. It's so good to be with someone who knows how an uncut dick works, you know? I mean, people think they know in theory, but really they don't, and then it can get all, I dunno, what's the word…"


"Yeah! Yeah, exactly."

"Well, let me know if it gets too much. I know how to fix that."

Stiles glances at Derek out of the corner of his eye. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. Want me to show you?"

Stiles nods.

Derek flashes him a grin, and sinks ever so slowly to his knees, turning Stiles around as he goes.

Stiles' cock is engulfed in the warm, wet heat of Derek's mouth, and he cries out.

Derek soothes Stiles by rubbing one hand over his hips in little circles, and takes a little more in. Keeps going, bit by bit, until Stiles is worrying about choking him. But Derek just opens his throat and takes him down, until his lips hit the root of Stiles' cock.

Stiles stares. His cock feels like it's bathed in syrup, but more than that: the flush on Derek's cheekbones, the stretch of his lips around Stiles' cock, the heat in his eyes as he looks up at Stiles and, very slowly, blinks…

"Oh God," says Stiles. "You look like porn. Good porn. The very best porn. The kind I play in my own head all the time to… Derek, that's so hot."

Derek backs off a bit, gets his hand around the root of Stiles' dick, and then pulls his mouth off the rest of the way with a loud pop. "I used to practice on cucumbers," he says. "And if you ever tell anyone that I will be forced to kill you."

"I practised on popsicles," says Stiles. "And I'm feeling woefully unprepared."

"We can take it slow."

"Can we?"

"We can try to take it slow." Derek grins at him.

"I could come in your mouth right now. Any second. Seriously, I'm not kidding. I think all this abstinence has broken my off switch."

"Good," says Derek, and sucks him right back in again.

Stiles leans back on the shower wall and closes his eyes. Derek's mouth is so warm and wet, his tongue so agile, pressing hard against Stiles' frenulum, swirling around, and Stiles isn't kidding about being broken. Derek cups Stiles' balls in his palm and that's it. Stiles opens his eyes and shoots down Derek's throat, across his tongue, and then Derek sticks Stiles' dick in his mouth at an angle so he's bulging Derek's cheek out, and Stiles spurts so hard it's right on the edge of painful. The good edge. The really, really good edge.

Now Stiles finds himself sitting on the floor of the shower, with Derek kneeling in front of him, stroking his thigh. Stiles' cock is twitching, softening, and he feels really mellow. So mellow he could fall asleep.

"I'll get you a towel," says Derek, and kisses him on the nose.


Derek's cock is warm, and smooth, and it stretches Stiles' jaw just exactly the right amount. Stiles slurps his tongue around the head, drooling shamelessly, making noises. When he makes noises, Derek makes noises back, and Derek's noises are getting more and more desperate by the minute. God, Derek's dick feels good in his mouth. It tastes clean, but kind of spunky at the same time; every now and then precome beads at the tip, just waiting for Stiles to lick it up. (This also makes Derek make noises.) Stiles loves to suck gently on the head, get the tip of his tongue round the ridge of the helmet, drop kisses all over it. He loves to rub his cheek down the length of derek's cock, and he loves to take Derek's balls in his mouth, one at a time, roll them around. (This makes Derek gasp and go all incoherent.)

Stiles takes a moment to suck on the head of Derek's cock some more - it's so round, so smooth, so luscious - and then he goes back to his balls, but just to kiss them this time. He lifts them, gently, and shoulders Derek's legs apart. He licks his finger, lets spit pool and drip from it, and seeks out Derek's hole. Derek's buttocks clench when he finds it, relax again when he strokes it. Derek's hyperventilating now, and when Stiles takes Derek's cock back in his mouth, still running wet circles around Derek's hole, Derek grunts out, "fuck, Stiles, fuck," and comes.

Stiles lets everything get wet and sloppy, ends up with come across his cheeks and in his hair, rests his face on Derek's hip and drifts, still suckling gently on the tip.

"You can fuck me," Derek says, stroking Stiles' shoulder. "I'm good with that."

"You can fuck me too," says Stiles."You good with that, too?"

"I am totally good with that."

"Not at the same time, though," says Stiles. "That wouldn't work."

"Bet it would," says Derek, sleepily. "Bet we could make anything work, you and me."

Stiles smiles stickily, and starts stroking Derek's hole again.

"Either that or we'll die trying," Derek says.


Stiles is lying on top of Derek, holding his weight off by leaning on his forearms, planted each side of Derek's head. They've been making out for ages and ages; it's so easy, so natural. Derek keeps messing with Stiles' hair, pulling it into spikes then stroking it flat. They're both hard again, but the urgency isn't so violent any more. It feels really, really nice.

"So, you never told me about your old relationships," says Derek.

"Not much to tell." Stiles nuzzles at Derek's ear.

"How much is not much?"

Derek sounds just a teeny bit concerned, and it makes Stiles chuckle. "Don't worry, you're not debauching a virgin. I took care of that with Heather. We were seventeen and hadn't done it yet, so we decided to get it out of the way. Well, she was seventeen, and she decided. I was sixteen and I went along for the ride. So to speak."


"Yeah, and then I got gangbanged by the lacrosse team after we won State."

Derek's eyes go wide, and his jaw drops.

"You are too easy," says Stiles.

"You mean-"

"No gangbanging, Derek. Just a one guy, one blowjob. It was after we won State, though. Then there was another guy, who I met at Jungle. You know Jungle?"

"I might've been there once or twice." Derek looks all huffy now. It's adorable.

"Well, we saw each other for a few weeks. He was older. I wanted it to develop, but he didn't, so. That was that."

"So you're-"

"Thoroughly debauched. Just like you. Kinda like we were practising for this, huh?"

For once, Stiles has said the right thing at the right time. The little frown disappears from between Derek's eyebrows, and his eyes go twinkly.

"There's lube," says Derek. "Under the pillow. If you want it. Y'know, or…"

Stiles reaches for the pillow: the stretch means his chest hovers over Derek's face for a moment, and Derek takes advantage and licks at Stiles' nipple. It tickles something fierce, in the best way, and makes Stiles giggle.

He settles back with the lube in one hand, and kisses the bridge of Derek's nose.

"You really want this?"

"I don't want you to fuck me dry, Stiles."

"You know what I mean."

"I want you to fuck me," Derek says, taking the lube from him and waggling it under his nose, "wet."

Stiles doesn't know why that's so sexy. But it is.

A few minutes later Stiles is still lying on Derek, but now he's sliding inside him, sinking into tight, wet heat. He pauses when he's as far in as he can be, waiting for Derek to adjust. Derek squeezes him with his knees, rocks his hips a bit, gets Stiles moving. He takes it slow, real slow, savouring every last inch of slide and friction. He can feel Derek's cock, hard as iron between their bellies, but he doesn't do anything with it, not just yet. He watches Derek's face, softly lit by the bedside lamp, and wonders, awestruck, what on earth he did to earn this. He, Stiles Stilinski, skinny, hyperactive Beacon Hills teenager, has this amazing, beautiful man in his bed. How the fuck did that happen?

"Stiles," says Derek, softly. "You with me?"

Stiles smiles at him. "I'm totally with you," he says.

They fuck gently for a while, rocking between quiet words and soft kisses, until it gets too much, and Stiles' thrusts get serious; it's only when he's ramped the speed up that he realises how close he was, and a few seconds later he's coming deep, deep inside Derek's body, and fuck, it's where he belongs, it's where his dick belongs, where his come belongs, always, always, always.

He stays inside and jerks Derek off with a few brisk strokes, then collapses, everything sticky and awesome, and falls asleep on top of him.


Stiles leans over the desk and closes his eyes as Derek's fingers slip inside his hole.

"Is that okay?" says Derek, for like the fiftieth time.

"More than," Stiles says. "Come on, I can take it. Please."

Derek grunts. "I kinda like it when you beg."

"Please, Derek. Please put your big fat cock in me. Please. If you don't, I'll-"

Suddenly Derek's fingers are gone, and Stiles can feel Derek's thighs pressing against his. There's hot, blunt pressure at Stiles' hole; he takes a breath, relaxes, and Derek pushes inside. Stiles groans through the stretch, can't resist reaching down to touch the place where they're joined, Derek's cock so hard and thick. Derek shifts the angle a bit and oh, God, that's so exactly the right spot that Stiles yells 'Yes, oh my fucking God, yes!" at the top of his lungs.

Derek doesn't even try to hush him. He just fucks Stiles' brains out right there, bent over the desk, and Stiles thinks he'll probably wake up soon, and this will be all a dream, but he doesn't care.

Best dream of his whole life, no contest.


Stiles is lying on the floor. Derek brought the comforter and some pillows down to him, because Stiles said the bed was too far away to get to. Now Derek's sitting, cross-legged, with one of Stiles' legs draped over his knees. He's stroking Stiles' hole, idly tracing the rim, dipping inside, swirling around and pulling out his come. All the time he's pulling on Stiles' dick with a lazy rhythm, while Stiles just lies there and whimpers.

Dawn spreads its first rays of sunshine across the carpet as Stiles shudders to another orgasm; his cock bravely manages a few spurts but that's not where he comes; he comes deep inside, clenching around Derek's fingers; he comes with his whole fucking soul as Derek says, "God, I love you so much," and Stiles knows he loves him too.


Derek lifts Stiles onto the bed and crawls in with him; he cuddles Stiles up in sheet and quilt and his own big, strong arms, and they fall instantly asleep.

Stiles sits in the bath, leaning back on Derek's chest and playing with the bubbles, making little fjords around his softly floating cock. It's nice to see his dick in the bath again. He'd missed it, hiding it away in his swimsuit all this time.

"In a minute," says Derek, between kissing Stiles' neck and kissing his shoulder, "I'll call room service and order breakfast."

"Oh God, bacon," says Stiles. "And bagels! I want bagels, and Fruit Loops, and bacon, and eggs and more bacon, and coffee. So much coffee."

"It's yours." Derek nibbles on Stiles' earlobe. Stiles lazily bats him off.

"After that we should probably go for brunch with my dad. I promised, and I haven't seen him properly yet. Only little bits."

"We can do breakfast and brunch, sure. It's still early."

"And then lunch with Scott and Cora and the others."

Derek chuckles. "Sure."

"Basically, all and any meals that don't involve chickpeas."

"Yeah. If I never see a chickpea again, it'll be too soon."

"I guess we're gonna be pretty busy for the next few days, huh? With all these photoshoots and interviews and everything."

"Yeah, I guess."

Stiles tips his head back on Derek's shoulder, and lets his eyes close.

"In that case," he whispers, "let's stay here just a little bit longer, huh?"

"Fine by me," says Derek.

They lie there in the warm water and the bubbles, and drift.

Just the two of them.