The first time Derek catches Stiles jerking off in the Preserve Stiles comes all over himself and realises it's time to stop ignoring that minor fluid sexuality thing he'd been planning on saving for college.
He says minor because, being honest with himself in a way he prefers to not ever be, he's known he was also into dudes since shirtless Johnny Storm in the awful Fantastic Four sequel happened to him at Scott's twelfth birthday party. Given his obsession with Lydia Stiles was hoping to make it all the way to college before worrying about a whole other set of people to reject him.
Enter Derek Hale to disrupt all his plans. As usual. Seeing him in the Preserve that first day, when werewolves were still jokes, had been like a punch right to the part of Stiles' brain that governed attraction. Luckily for Stiles, finding someone attractive and hating them a little bit were a) not mutually exclusive things and b) something he already knew how to deal with.
Then this: Stiles has been jerking off in the Jeep parked up somewhere in the Preserve for two weeks. In that time he hasn't been offering rides to any of the neighbourhood werewolves because he doesn't need to give them more reasons to make fun of him. It's the only time he feels comfortable, the only time he feels the panic move out of his chest, the only time he feels safe. Safe in the place that's responsible for his life being so fucked up. He sees the irony.
He knows he's on Derek's land and, to be honest again, that's part of the fun of it – that he might get caught. His head is tilted back and his eyes are closed and he's running half a dozen different memorised porn videos in his head to stop himself from thinking of anyone he knows.
Stiles is maybe halfway to two thirds done when he recognises the feeling of being watched. It's a feeling he's become to used to over the past year and his instant reaction is to open his eyes and look around, hand slowing on his cock. He looks left first and brings his head around in a slow semi-circle, freezing when he spots Derek out the right hand side of his windscreen. Derek's got that face, the one that means he's about to be annoyed in Stiles' space, and Stiles' hand involuntarily squeezes around his cock.
“Oh, oh shit,” Stiles groans out, eyes slamming shut as one stroke of his hand has him coming up his chest and a little on the steering wheel. He forces his eyes open as soon as he's certain he's not going to stop breathing and searches Derek out.
Derek's frozen in place, one foot in front of the other like he was stepping forward when Stiles came, and his face is blown wide open with a mix of shock and something Stiles can't place, something vulnerable. Stiles swallows and closes his eyes again, waiting for Derek to – God, do something. He knows Derek's all bark and no bite but the bark can be pretty good on its own these days.
Stiles risks opening his eyes after five minutes and there's no sign of Derek at all. Stiles waits a couple more minutes before shakily cleaning up. He pulls off the t-shirt he's just ruined and reaches into the back seat for the lacrosse jersey he keeps around for clothing emergencies. It smells a little of Derek's cologne and Stiles has a vivid memory of thrusting it at Derek the last time Derek lost his shirt in the middle of battle.
“Fuck,” Stiles mutters to himself, slamming his hands against the steering wheel.
Stiles has just invented a completely new kind of awkward. Awesome.
Stiles expects to get a visit or a call or a text from Derek telling him not to jerk off in the Preserve any more. He doesn't, though, and when he tries to subtly find out from Isaac if Derek's said anything about him he gets treated to five minutes of exposition on how Derek still complains about that one time with the selkie every time he washes the Camaro.
(Not Stiles' fault, Stiles maintains, how was he to know that selkies had scent glands that went off when they felt threatened. It's not like Derek was conscious enough at the time to tell him.)
Months go by and he keeps going out to the Preserve, still carefully avoiding acknowledging the reason why to himself. He thinks that sometimes he briefly catches sight of Derek, a flash of dark movement in the tree line. Derek never appears completely again but the lingering presence of leather at the edge of Stiles' vision is still enough to make him come way too quickly.
The second time Derek catches Stiles jerking off in the Preserve it's night time and Stiles has had the worst possible day since Peter Hale rose from the dead and Stiles got paralysed all in one night. There'd been a thing – some kind of shapeshifting thing that no-one knew anything about – and Derek had killed it but it had still managed to trap Stiles in the school for two hours with no hope of back up.
Stiles is searching for that beautiful point where his brain switches off and all he knows is the sound of skin on skin when there's a tap on his window. Stiles nearly shits himself, which would be a valid reaction in their town, convinced that it's going to be his father asking him to move on. (Stiles has very vivid nightmares about finally losing his virginity in the backseat of totally not a specific car and his Dad knocking on the window.)
It's Derek, which makes things worse, and he makes the universal hand gesture of put your window down while pointedly not looking at Stiles' crotch. Small mercies. Stiles grabs the towel on the passenger seat and throws it over his cock because, yeah, there's no way that's going down with Derek anywhere nearby and gets the window down.
“You probably shouldn't be out here,” Derek says as soon as he's sure Stiles can hear him. He leans one forearm against the roof of the Jeep and leans down. Stiles watches how carefully Derek's breathing and doesn't blame him. Even to Stiles the Jeep smells like what he imagines sex smells like.
“Probably not,” Stiles allows, jerking his head in a nod. “But I needed it.”
Derek looks like he's going to say something for a moment, his eyes a little off-centre and his mouth parted slightly. He shakes his head and refocuses on Stiles.
“Finish up,” he says, still not looking at Stiles' crotch but giving the impression he would if he could. “I want to talk.”
This is possibly the most surreal moment of Stiles' life and not because he's having a perfectly normal conversation with someone who can smell the raging boner he's sporting. Derek wants to talk. Worst and weirdest day ever.
“Uh, sure,” Stiles says, waving a hand. “I'll, um, just finish up then.”
Derek nods and pulls away from the side of the Jeep, walking around and leaning against the hood. Stiles stares at him, at the hunch of his shoulders under the leather jacket and the awkward way he's holding himself. It strikes him that Derek looks small all of a sudden and that's a weird and disturbing thought.
Stiles shrugs and puts the window up, pulling the towel to one side again. As suspected the hard on has held up. Is, in fact, leaking more than it was before Stiles was interrupted. It's a good thing Stiles has come to terms with this Derek thing because he's going to take this permission and run with it.
He imagines that Derek had wanted to say something cheesy like need a hand and that Stiles would've opened the door wordlessly and let Derek help. Stiles knows Derek's hands pretty well – knows they're strong but surprisingly gentle, knows that they're roughened and that those fingers are quick and talented. He lets himself imagine Derek's hand closing around his cock and palms his balls thinking about it. Thinks about Derek maybe kissing him, sucking needy breaths out of him, and grabs the towel before he comes all over the place again. He bites his lip to stop himself from saying Derek's name as he comes.
Stiles lets himself sit in the afterglow for a few minutes before cleaning up. He has clean-up down to an art form now – has even managed to find a way to air out the Jeep so the werewolves can't smell what he does in it. Stiles zips his pants and stares at the steering wheel for a moment. There's still an off-colour patch where he came on it that first time. Stiles rubs his thumb over it before climbing out of the Jeep to join Derek.
Derek looks over his shoulder when he hears Stiles slam the door shut. He nods and Stiles nods back like job done, orgasm achieved and this really is the most surreal night ever. Derek puts his hands up on the hood and pushes himself up to sit on it. Stiles really wishes he wasn't wearing the leather jacket so he could see all those muscles bunch and move as he does it. Stiles joins him with an ungainly hop, flashing hot when Derek's hand catches around his arm and steadies him.
They sit in silence and Stiles spends it wondering when they got good at this – this companionable silence where Stiles waits for Derek to speak instead of annoying him until he does. It may have been after the Alpha Pack or maybe after Gerard Argent Episode II: Return of the Crazy Old Man. Derek shifts and settles, his shoulder coming to rest against Stiles', and lets out a noise that on anyone else Stiles would label a sigh.
“You didn't have to do that,” Derek says quietly, head tilted up toward the stars.
Stiles wants to make a joke, wants to deliberately misunderstand what Derek's saying and say that he really, really did. He doesn't, though, because now he knows why Derek's here.
“Hey, it's part of the deal,” Stiles says, nudging Derek slightly. “When I signed up there was this subclause about saving your life as much as you save mine.”
“I think you're behind,” Derek says, a twist of humour in his words.
“Yeah, well, I'm sure you'll get shot again eventually,” Stiles shrugs, his shoulder moving against Derek's. “You basically walk around with a sign that says 'I'm a broody werewolf, use me as target practice' on your back.”
“It matches yours,” Derek says, lips curling up into a smirk when he adds: “The one that says 'I'm a virgin please use me as your sacrifice/eat me for my flesh is tastiest'.”
Stiles' laugh is surprised out of him. He's used to sarcastic Derek, and from what he's heard he's Derek's favourite subject for snarky back and forth, but Derek going for the obvious joke is rare. Rare enough that Stiles doesn't care about the virginity comment because, fair point really, a worrying amount of creatures are obsessed with Stiles' virgin flesh.
He should probably do something about that.
“Not the way I wanted to start senior year,” Stiles says, tapping his fingers against the hood beneath him.
“Better than not starting it at all because your family is dead,” Derek says, managing that combination of dry and bereft that only he can.
Stiles presses their shoulders closer together.
“Why do you still come out here?” Derek asks after a long silence. The to jerk off is heavily implied.
Stiles feels himself go still all over, his unfortunate reaction to people asking him questions that actually matter, and Derek shifts to look at him fully. Stiles ignores him and stays staring out into the forest. There's enough moonlight that he can make out the trees around them.
“Ever since the Creepy Twins -” Stiles stops because he really still can't talk about that night. “I can't – I don't feel safe being, uh, vulnerable in my room. Or. Anywhere in the house. Really.”
“You feel safe out here?” Derek asks, an eyebrow flicking up. Stiles knows how it sounds because he thinks about it himself. He knows why, though.
Might as well rip the band-aid clear off.
“Where does your property line start?” Stiles asks, turning to look at Derek. Derek instantly raises and arm and points to the eastern edge of the clearing. Stiles waits because sometimes Derek has trouble with the nuance of things.
“Oh,” Derek says, unable to hide a sharp inhale. He gets the broken open look again; like outside of the pool, like when he and Scott found Stiles after the twins had...like after Peter 2.0. Stiles saw it again today, when Derek looked at him over the body of the dead shapeshifter.
Stiles shrugs and turns his head up toward the stars again. After a moment Derek does too.
On Christmas Day a present appears on Stiles' bed while he's downstairs opening presents with his Dad. Stiles laughs so hard he almost falls over when he opens it – a t-shirt with I'm a virgin please use me as your sacrifice/eat me for my flesh is tastiest printed on the back. It's perfect, really, because he got one made up with I'm a broody werewolf, use me as target practice on the back for Derek.
Stiles wears the t-shirt when he visits Derek's pack later on, delivering presents to the Leather Pack Kids and collecting presents from them to give to Scott when he heads over for their traditional evening of gaming. He's ridiculously pleased when Derek's wearing the shirt and doesn't care about the confused looks they get from Boyd and Isaac. He feels like he's finally getting somewhere with Derek, getting him to remember how to be human.
Scott doesn't get the t-shirt and Stiles doesn't bother explaining because, holy shit, he has an in-joke with someone other than Scott. After the near abandonment Stiles suffered when Scott was trying to lure Isaac away from Derek Stiles deserves this.
The third times Derek catches Stiles jerking off in the Preserve it's been almost a week since Stiles could get away (minor college acceptance related freak-out) and Stiles in the process of a quick clear out before settling in for a more leisurely second round. The sun is warm through the windscreen so Stiles has the window down.
In hindsight that may have been breaking a rule.
Derek's hand slams against the side of the car door and Stiles startles, scrambling for his trusty towel. He looks up at Derek but Derek's looking down at his crotch this time and his nostrils are flaring as he breathes in.
“I can hear you at the house,” Derek says, dragging his eyes up to meet Stiles'. “Everywhere smells of you.”
“Lies,” Stiles says, shaking his head. He's tested the sight and scent range of all the werewolves with the help of Lydia – he's always made sure to be out of range when he does this.
Derek flinches and his face goes blank, an expression Stiles knows means Derek's afraid or worried about something and -
“Holy shit,” Stiles says, twisting in his seat. “You were out here looking for me.”
“It's a been a week,” Derek says, looking down and away. Stiles reaches through the window and pulls Derek's face up, ignoring the glare.
“That is creepy as fuck,” Stiles says, squeezing Derek's chin a little. “But I don't care because it means something, doesn't it?”
“I –” Derek's eyes drift briefly to Stiles' lips before snapping up to his eyes. “I like the scent of you out here. On my territory.”
“Werewolves and their scenting weirdness,” Stiles rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I can't -”
“I want you,” Derek says suddenly, grabbing Stiles' hand as he goes to pull away. “You've been marking this territory as yours for nearly two years, Stiles. What do you -”
“You want me?!” Stiles' voice goes up an unnatural amount of octaves and they both wince. Derek ducks his head again, bashful, but doesn't release Stiles' hand. “Oh my God.”
“What do you expect?” Derek asks, still staring at the ground. “You're everywhere all the time, getting your scent all over everything that's mine, and you're – you're the first person I trusted that wasn't my sister in six years and you're just – you -”
“Holy shit,” Stiles really wants to jump out of the Jeep and tackle Derek to the ground but he can't because Derek is squeezing his hand so tight Stiles is worried he's going to crush it.
“I need you,” Derek says, eyes closing. “I need you to -”
“You know about the acceptance letters,” Stiles says, suddenly getting what brought the confession on. There's five of them altogether and the one for NYU is on the top. “You were in my room.”
“I needed to talk you about something,” Derek says, voice low and quiet. “I may have over-reacted.”
“Did you break anything?” Stiles asks. The surreality of this entire encounter is knocking the last one out of the park.
“A lamp,” Derek winces and Stiles sighs. He manages to free his thumb from Derek's grip and rub it over Derek's knuckles.
“S'okay,” Stiles says, shrugging. “It was only, like, five bucks. Mom and Dad stopped buying expensive stuff the fifth time me and Scott broke something.”
“I wanted to ask you to stay but I know that's selfish,” Derek says, opening his eyes to look at Stiles again. The vulnerable look is too familiar, now, and Stiles realises the thing he could never place about it was Derek's feelings for him.
“NYU is great,” Derek continues. “Laura and me both did undergrad there and you'll probably love New York. You'll be able to see Mets games all the time and -”
Stiles cuts him off by pressing his free hand to Derek's mouth.
“I'm going to Berkeley,” Stiles says, sliding his hand around so he can cup Derek's neck. “And I'm pretty sure I actually fell in love with you somewhere between the running and the rescuing. So. You don't have to ask me to stay.”
It's a declaration Stiles had never meant to make because he was certain there was no point. Obviously he was completely wrong about that. Derek releases him suddenly and yanks the door open. He ducks in close and takes Stiles' face in both of his hands before kissing into his mouth. Stiles takes a moment to thank whoever's listening for the girl who made out with him at Lydia's Halloween, Christmas and New Year's parties because it means he can kiss Derek back without worrying about technique.
Derek kisses him slow and thorough and Stiles gets lost in it. He brings his hands up to thread into Derek's hair and makes a noise of protest when Derek takes one of his hands away from Stiles' face. It becomes a different noise entirely when the hand comes to rest on his cock after pushing the towel aside. Stiles breaks the kiss.
“You don't – don't have to -” his breath hitches in his throat when Derek wraps his hand around Stiles' cock and it's just as good as he imagined. Better even.
“I really do,” Derek says, kissing along Stiles' jawline and sucking a mark onto his neck. “You have no idea what the smell has been doing to me.”
“Think I'm getting an idea,” Stiles says, gasping against Derek's hair when Derek starts stroking him.
It's going to be fast and it's not going to be pretty but Stiles really doesn't care at all. His hips jerk up into Derek's hand as Derek draws him into another kiss. The kiss is hot and wet and completely out of control and Stiles loves it. Derek breaks it with a cut-off moan and rests his forehead against Stiles'.
“What – what do you want?” Derek asks, breath puffing against Stiles' cheek.
“Oh my God,” Stiles says, one hand twisting into the material of Derek's shirt. “Anything right now, I swear to God, I am like five seconds away from blowing my load, dude.”
Derek laughs and Stiles has to pull back to look at that, Derek's face lit up with a smile Stiles is always trying to draw out of him. Derek takes his hand off Stiles' cock and grabs his legs instead. He manoeuvres until he's got Stiles sitting sideways in the driver's seat, legs hanging out of the Jeep, and he fits himself into Stiles' space like he belongs there. He cups Stiles' neck with one hand and licks the other before fitting it around Stiles' cock and stroking again. Stiles leans in for another kiss and lets out a surprised noise when Derek lets him fuck into his mouth with his tongue.
It's ridiculously hot and when Derek focuses his twisting hand up around the head of Stiles' cock and sucks hard at Stiles' tongue it's like the connecting of a circuit and Stiles jerks, coming in long pulses and shaking so hard he's pretty sure Derek's the only thing stopping him from falling out of the Jeep.
Derek kisses him through it, achingly gently, and eases his hand away when Stiles gets too sensitive. Stiles releases the death grip his hands have unconsciously made on Derek's arms and watches the bruises fade away. He wants to do that with his mouth.
“There's no way that should be so intense,” Stiles says, blinking into Derek's watchful gaze. “Right? Shit. I think my brain just fell out the back of my skull.”
Derek huffs out a laugh and Stiles smiles at him. He's knows it's a goofy as hell smile, it always is when he's just come his brains out, but he really doesn't care. He lifts his jelly legs and squeezes at Derek's hips to bring him in closer. Derek watches as Stiles manages to get his jeans open around the, honestly, painful looking bulge of Derek's cock. Not for the first time Stiles thinks maybe Derek shouldn't wear his jeans so tight – then he remembers what Derek's ass looks like in them and vows to never say a thing against them.
“You don't have to -” Derek starts this time and Stiles cuts him off with a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Oh,” Stiles says, running the back of his fingers down where Derek's cock is straining against his boxer briefs. “I really do.”
Derek laughs again and lets Stiles push his jeans and underwear down until his cock is freed. He's uncut which Stiles realises should've been obvious given the werewolf of it all but it still surprises him a bit. Stiles kinda really wants to go down on him but he knows better than to try that when he literally doesn't know what he's doing.
Stiles sticks to what he knows best, curling a hand around Derek's cock and getting the feel of it. Derek makes an amazing noise at that first touch and rocks up into Stiles' grip. The angle is weird but it's not that different, really, and Stiles has been jerking off for years so he's got plenty of practice.
Derek's head falls forward against Stiles' shoulder and his breathing goes loud and short as Stiles jerks him off slowly. Stiles curves his free arm around Derek's back and rests his palm between Derek's shoulder blades, over the tattoo he's had a few too many thoughts about. Derek's breathing evens out and Stiles makes encouraging noises in his ear.
“Thought about this,” Stiles admits, rubbing his thumb back and forth just under the head of Derek's cock. Derek's hips twitch and undulate toward him and it's so hot. “Never thought you'd let me – let me get this close.”
Derek lets the moan out this time and it send shivers down Stiles' spine. He moves his hand up to Derek's neck and pulls his head up so he can kiss him again and again and again. Derek's cock is leaking copiously and an idle part of Stiles' brain wonders if that's a werewolf thing. It makes it easier to glide his hand up and down Derek's cock, twisting around the head and swallowing down every noise it makes Derek give up.
“Let you in before I knew what I was doing,” Derek says when he pulls away from the kiss. He presses their foreheads together and his breaths shudder in his chest.
“Always knew you were lying about not trusting me,” Stiles says, nudging his nose against Derek's. “Can't wait to fuck you.”
“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek mumbles, hips thrusting up into his grip again.
“Come on,” Stiles says, speeding his hand up and focusing where he likes it best on himself. Looks like Derek's the same. “Wanna see you come, Derek.”
“Fuck,” Derek's got one hand on the door of the Jeep and the other on Stiles' shoulder and he's squeezing as his hips snap into Stiles' movements. “Fuck.”
Derek comes with a full body shudder, his hips jerking as he empties himself all over Stiles' hand, and Stiles is pretty sure he hears the tortured sound of metal bending. He'll be annoyed about Derek damaging his Jeep later, though, because he just made Derek come so hard he bent metal with his bare hands and that's awesome.
Derek pulls Stiles into a kiss before Stiles has figured out what he's going to do with his come-covered hand and Stiles forgets everything but Derek's mouth against his for a little while. He doesn't break the kiss until he feels his cock start to twitch with interest again. Derek's hands in Stiles' hair don't let him go far.
“We should clean up,” Stiles says against Derek's mouth.
“Yeah,” Derek says, his other hand sliding onto Stiles' hip and up under his t-shirt to rub at his skin.
“Or, I mean,” Stiles pauses and swallows around his suddenly dry throat. “We could go back to your place and take advantage of all those empty rooms.”
“Yeah,” Derek grins at him and at short range it's nothing short of devastating. Stiles can't help but return it.
Derek kisses him again, quickly, before disappearing and reappearing at the passenger side door. Stiles pulls himself back into the Jeep and leans over to open the door for him. Derek throws the towel at him – oh, that's where that went – and Stiles wipes his hands and himself before wriggling around to get cock back into his pants. His instinct is to tell Derek to shut up when he laughs at his lack of elegance but he's quickly becoming addicted to that laugh.
Stiles slams his door shut and stares at the steering wheel for a moment, trying to settle the last fifteen minutes in his head.
“Hey,” Derek reaches across when Stiles looks at him. He cups Stiles' cheek and runs his thumb along the cheekbone. “Thanks. For staying.”
“Thanks for wanting me to stay,” Stiles says, smiling. Derek matches it with a small smile of his own and pulls his hand away.
Stiles starts the Jeep up and throws her into gear with the familiar grind. She's not going to make it to college with him, he's pretty sure, but she's seen him through the most important events of the past two years so she's earned the coming retirement. She was his safe space and now, looking across at Derek sitting quietly in a seat that he's not dying in for once, Stiles has a new safe space.
God. He's worse that Scott was with Allison. He doesn't care thought. Life's too short to care about that shit.