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Half of Seeming Clever

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“Damn. Fuck Derek, so good,” Stiles breathes wetly into Derek’s neck as he’s shoved down onto his bed, flailing only slightly but still causing his chemistry textbook to take a knock and fall to the floor. Whatever, Wednesday evening makeouts are infinitely better than homework, casualties are to be expected. Stiles arches up, rolling his torso against Derek’s as their mouths catch in a filthy kiss. He moans loudly into Derek’s mouth as he feels a hand slide roughly into his boxers. “Fuck, unf, yes,” Stiles presses into the teasing touches. Derek snuffles what Stiles knows now to be a laugh into his neck before attacking it with a bruising kiss. Stiles cries out in surprise, but he tilts his head back, pressing it into the mattress in a clear invitation for Derek to carry on.

“Shit,” Derek pulls back, and no, why is he pulling back? Stiles is being a master of seduction here. He grabs for Derek’s shoulders, but Derek raises his eyebrows and says, “Your dad’s car is a block away.”

“So?” Stiles replies, leaning up to kiss Derek more because yeah.

He sighs in temporary defeat, kissing Stiles thoroughly until a little “mmm” escapes and seems to snap Derek back to attention. “You didn’t tell me he was working days this week,” Derek accuses, holding Stiles at bay with two firm hands on his biceps.

“Doesn't matter,” Stiles groans dramatically. “I’ll just go downstairs, let him tell me about his day and whatever, and come back up here so we can pick up right,” he pauses to give what he hopes is a seductively simple kiss, “where we left off.” He bites Derek’s lower lip, ignoring the fact that he just heard the sound of the cruiser door slamming outside.

The distraction tactic must work to some degree, because Derek kisses him back, running a firm hand down the line of Stiles’ back, reaching lower to grab a handful of his ass. Stiles cries out with joy and Derek releases him abruptly. “That’s a horrible idea,” he says, giving Stiles a sardonic eyebrow. Stiles frowns, because wow that’s a bit harsh, but then Derek kisses him again and says softly “You know you’re the loudest thing ever, right?”

“I am so not!” Stiles can’t bother to hide his indignation, because really! Okay, maybe Isaac had made a comment that one time about putting a sock on the door or something so he could avoid the premises for the sake of his questionable innocence, but Stiles had assumed it had something to do with super wolfy hearing and hadn’t considered it much further. He can’t help it if pervy werewolves stick around when he is drowning in the epic throes of Derek’s passion or whatever. But he had to admit it was sort of impossible to determine if he was legitimately loud without an unbiased judge, and okay maybe his dad wasn't exactly the right man for that particular job. He leans back against his headboard in defeat.

Derek just laughs at him (laughs!) before leaning close to whisper right in his ear, his breath tickling and warm against Stiles’ skin. “You are, you so, so are.” He presses his hand down firmly, stroking Stiles through his pants, making him cry out in spite of himself.

“Stiles?” The Sheriff’s voice carries up the stairs, and Derek smirks because he’s a dick. “Everything okay up there?”

“Fine!” Stiles can’t help if his voice is a few registers higher than normal with what Derek was just doing to him. “Be down in a minute!” He throws Derek his best wide-eyed silent plea, but all it earns him is a chaste kiss.

Then Derek disappears out the window, taking his traitorous hand with him.

 

 

The thing is, right, that Stiles’ dad is kind of a cockblock.

Okay maybe that’s unfair, because it’s not like dads are normally stellar wingmen or anything, but a little privacy doesn’t seem like it would be too much to ask for. Seriously, is it that hard to remain oblivious long enough for a guy to get some action? A solid hour of non-interference so he can get into the pants of the ridiculously hot guy that somehow hasn’t lost interest in him yet? Thirty minutes even! Or even just like, actually being gone when you are supposed to be gone. Stiles could make that work.

He could totally make that work.

 

 

Saturday evening finds Stiles flat on his back in Derek’s bed, sweat cooling rapidly against his skin. Derek’s face is crushed against the mattress, eyes closed in a semblance of peace. Stiles smiles, catching his breath. With a muffled little groan, Derek nudges closer to Stiles, not cuddling exactly but bringing them into light contact. He breathes in deeply, nose pressed against Stiles’ shoulder.

As he stares at the high ceiling above, Stiles thinks about how completely awesome it would be to be not-cuddling in his own bed. It’s a smaller mattress, yeah, but he feels like he owes it to his room to be making some magic happen there as well. It never seems to happen, not like this anyway. Not all naked and sticky and recovering from mind blowing orgasms. All the horrible things his poor room has been witness to and never once seen the glory of Derek Hale’s bare ass. And it never will, Stiles realizes, as long as Derek is convinced that Stiles’ dad is going to magically appear anytime the stuff worth being loud about starts to happen.

He thinks back to the last hour or so, and he is more convinced than ever that Derek was mistaken the other day. Stiles isn’t that loud, not really. Sex is loud sometimes, that’s not Stiles’ fault.

He says as much to Derek.

Derek makes a sound that Stiles thinks is another strange version of a laugh, “You’re right,” he says, sliding his body over slightly so it is partially covering Stiles’. “It’s not your fault.”

“THANK you.”

“I mean,” Derek sucks a mark onto Stiles’ collarbone where Stiles is pretty sure one had only just faded dammit. “I am pretty spectacular in bed.”

“Mmm,” Stiles leans into Derek’s mouth except, “wait, what?”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. Cocky bastard. And ok, the thing about Derek, Stiles concedes, is that he IS fucking awesome at sex. Stiles might not have a lot of practical experience, but he has done a lot of observing (thank you, internet) and knows without a doubt that Derek is right on this count. There’s just not an argument that can be made to the contrary that would hold any water at all.

Stiles would voice some kind of complaint on his own behalf, but his mouth is suddenly full of Derek’s tongue and after a couple of minutes well, he sort of forgets what he was mad about in the first place.

 

 

Car sex, Stiles thinks the next evening, is overly complicated.

He thinks this as his face crashes into the center console of the jeep. He’s bent over the driver’s seat, his wrist is somehow stuck in the steering wheel. The hard plastic of the seat belt is digging into his shoulder but damn it’s still good. Derek reaches over and easily frees his hand from the evil clutches of the steering wheel, but it’s a constant battle to find a position that’s not incredibly uncomfortable to be fucked in.

He’s faintly aware of the possibility of being seen, knows that if Derek moves off of him his ass will be on display for God and everyone. Admittedly there are not that many people who have any business being in this part of the preserve, but it’s not like no one ever comes out here. Maybe that’s half the appeal. Huh. He yelps when he bangs his elbow on the dash and remembers the unspeakably awful time they tried to make it work in the Camaro. He is momentarily filled with pride that his vehicle is slightly superior to Derek’s in this way at least.

The windows fog slightly in the cool evening air, and Stiles’ broken moans fill the interior, somehow making it feel smaller than it normally does. He grabs hold of the gear shift and uses it as an anchor as he presses back into Derek’s thrusts. The door creaks dangerously where it’s supporting Derek’s weight, and Stiles has a flash of concern for the welfare of his Jeep.

Car sex is urgent as well as uncomfortable, and they’ve just finished up when a county cruiser pulls into the clearing. Stiles can’t remember the name of the deputy on duty, but he’s willing to wager the guy remembers his. He tells them there was a report of a disturbance in the area, but Stiles gives him a lengthy rant about metal detector frequencies and gold prospecting until the deputy leaves with an awkward goodbye.

It’s after 10:00 p.m. when Stiles gets home, and he tries to convince himself that there’s absolutely nothing knowing in the look his father throws him. He grabs a pack of pop tarts and retreats to his room. Cold pastry treats, though slightly less delicious, are a fair price to pay for avoiding that conversation entirely.

 

 

Wednesday night again, and the Sheriff actually is out on an overnight shift. Derek and Stiles celebrate having the house to themselves by annihilating an extra-large pizza, and then end up on the sofa not-watching SportsCenter.

As Derek slides a hand into Stiles’ jeans, Stiles can’t help but become hyper aware of each sound he makes. They collapse against each other on the sofa, jeans shoved down, cocks pressing together through their briefs. And god, Derek is right, he does make a lot of noise. No wonder Isaac demanded some warning. Stiles groans into Derek’s neck as they rut gracelessly against each other, swears as Derek slips Stiles’ briefs off his hips, cries out when Derek takes him into his mouth.

Okay, so maybe Stiles is a little loud. A little.

So he tries, as he fucks into Derek’s mouth, to be quiet. He only whimpers a little, digs his fingers into the cushions of the sofa. He tries hard not to moan as Derek runs a hand up his torso, fingers stretching up, reaching from his navel towards his nipple. He can do this.

Stiles gets a firm grip on Derek’s hair, holds Derek against him and manages to stay quiet enough that he can hear it when Derek gags on his cock. He manages to hold back the stream of words that threaten to spill out until the moment that Derek swallows around him. “Jesus fuck, Derek!” He lets go, and Derek pulls back and catches his breath.

Derek smirks at him and crawls up to give Stiles a sinful kiss. Stiles slides his hands under the fabric of Derek’s briefs, greedily spreading his hands to cover as much of his fine ass as possible.

Which is exactly when they hear a car engine cut off outside the house.

Stiles looks at Derek with wide, accusing eyes. “Is that-”

“Yup,” Derek pulls his jeans up, grabs Stiles’ arm and pulls him to standing.

“Shit! You couldn’t hear him coming?!” Stiles’ hands fumble a bit as he tries to do up his jeans.

“I was a little distracted, Stiles!” He looks around wildly, finds his shirt, and says as he pulls it on “You said he was working the overnight!”

“He was supposed to be!” Stiles looks around in a panic, having absolutely no idea where his own shirt has gone until he spies it halfway to the kitchen. The keys rattle in the door as Derek bolts up the stairs towards Stiles’ room. Stiles arranges himself casually on the sofa, does his best to not look like he was in the middle of getting laid as his dad swings the door open and enters their home.

The Sheriff looks frazzled, Stiles can hear it as well as see it and a huge part of him wishes he’d run upstairs with Derek because now it’s incredibly difficult to resist the impulse to stay down here until his dad looks a little better.

“All the criminals take the night off?” he tries for casual, but it only earns him a raised eyebrow and god he hopes his dad can’t tell how hard he still is.

“Mindy’s kids are sick,” he throws his keys on the side table. “Kevin is out for the week and we’re still short staffed. We had to shuffle things around a bit so she can stay home tomorrow during the day.” He slips out of his jacket and throws it on the back of the couch. “I see you already ate,” he eyes the empty pizza box suspiciously, “but do you want to watch a movie or something maybe? I think there’s supposed to be a Mythbusters marathon later tonight.”

There is, Stiles is very aware, but he says “I have a lot of homework tonight, actually, tons. That I need to do. In my room.” Stiles is the fucking king of smooth. “So I’ll just uh, go up there, and do...it.” His dad gives him a scrutinizing look, but Stiles manages to remove himself from the sofa without revealing too much and slides out of the room to safety.

He thunders up the stairs, closes the door firmly behind him, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Derek is standing just inside the doorway and hasn’t bailed. Stiles kisses him hard, faith in his abilities to remain discreet back in full force. But Derek breaks away, kisses his forehead and says “You’re still coming over tomorrow after practice, right?”

“What?” Stiles does his level best to remove Derek’s shirt, but Derek deftly thwarts his efforts. “I mean, yeah, I am. But you’re here now and we weren’t even close to finished, so let’s just-” Derek grabs his hands, kisses him quiet.

“He’s still wearing his gun, Stiles.” God Stiles hates that patronizing smirk, always wants to kiss it the fuck off of Derek’s face.

“Pssh, they’re just bullets, you’ll heal,” he says flippantly, even though the thought of it kind of makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. Derek gives him a heated glare that Stiles hasn’t seen in ages but woah it still totally does it for him so he kisses the crap out of Derek, holds tight to the fabric of his henley like it will keep him from leaving. Derek pulls back with a glance towards the window and Stiles mutters, “Never took you for a coward.”

That did the trick, he thinks as Derek shoves him hard against the door. His head smacks against it with a thump and shit it’s been a long time since Stiles was slammed into anything. He’s going to have to be infuriating more often. Derek’s mouth latches onto his neck, his hands freezing under Stiles’ shirt when they hear footsteps on the stairs. “The hell are you doing in there, son?”

“Nothing! Homework! It’s all good, Dad!” Stiles hopes his voice doesn’t betray him. “That was your fault,” he pants against Derek’s cheek.

Derek steps away and rolls his eyes, but leans back in to kiss Stiles quickly before making his escape. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says on his way out the window.

 

The next morning Stiles wakes up and greets the day with a single focus. They are going to have perfectly quiet sex in his room if it kills him. It’s going to happen. It has to.

He spends the entire day at school strategizing, even though it makes Scott give him sidelong glances with his nose crinkled adorably.

He goes over to see Derek after practice, doesn’t give away his plans even though they’re all he can think of. If anything he’s a bit louder than usual as he takes defensive inventory of the sensations he needs to prepare himself for. He smiles like an asshole at Isaac when he leaves.

 

 

Stiles is very quietly masturbating.

This is an important part of his strategy, and he commits to it with a fierce discipline. Not that he’s normally loud on his own, not really, but it’s the best way he can think of to build up his resistance. He doesn’t make a sound as he recalls in vivid detail the scrape of Derek’s stubble against his thighs, doesn’t whimper when he remembers the brutal snap of his hips forcing Stiles’ shoulders deeper into the mattress. He practices staying quiet as he roughly fingers himself open, doesn’t cry out at the memory of Derek’s unholy ability to suck Stiles’ brains out through his cock. He bites his tongue against the visions of Derek’s scowling face streaked with come, then collapses back against the mattress after exploding over his own shaking hand.

Because Stiles is dedicated to his own cause, he does this at least twice a day. He goes to Derek’s here and there, let’s out all the things he holds back in his bedroom and catalogues new elements to be resisted.

He can totally do this.

 

 

Three weeks later and Sheriff Stilinski leaves town for a conference, and Stiles is beyond ready to show off his skills.

He plays it cool though, shares the carry-out that Derek brings over and rambles about Scott and the pack, tries and fails to not bring up the fact that they haven’t had any immediate threats on their lives for 30 days and counting. Derek grumbles something about jinxing them and Stiles gets distracted from the washing up by what is evidently Derek’s mission to completely melt his brain by strategically applying mouth to skin.

Derek lifts Stiles up onto the kitchen counter and is grinding against him teasingly when they hear it. Faint, at first, but unmistakably a desperate howling coming from the direction of the preserve. Derek shifts nearly instantly, fangs appearing in a flash, and Stiles will never think that is anything but badass. He follows Derek to the back door and out into the yard. He scoffs and does up his pants when Derek takes off, shouting “Stay here, Stiles - I mean it” as he vanishes into the darkness and god dammit Stiles hates that. His phone has two missed calls and three vague texts, all from Scott, and Stiles doesn’t know exactly what’s going on but at least now he knows where to go.

He climbs into his jeep, swearing as he shifts into gear and speeds off toward the preserve. He gets that Scott obviously needed Derek sooner rather than later. He’s more than a little worried about the trouble his friend has managed to find, so he definitely doesn’t mind the whole Derek dashing off into the night part. It’s the being asked to sit on the sidelines yet again part that rankles something fierce. His subconscious whispers to him hints of any number of reasons that Derek continues to pull this shit, but focusing on any of them at all only gets him an aching hand and a relatively unimpressed dashboard. He repeats Derek’s parting words in a variety of amusing mocking voices, but it doesn’t really take his mind off of the dumbasses in potentially mortal peril that he is speeding towards.

When he skids to a stop in front of the familiar ghost of a house, it’s not hard to find where they’ve gone. He follow the sounds of the snarling, scraping chaos through the darkness and doubles his pace when he those sounds die out. He continues in the ominous silence, and it’s only when he’s lost the trail completely that he finally hears movement to his left. He whirls around and sees Derek and Scott walking towards him, battered but healing and whole. His heart clenches at the sight of them, making him stumble and land in an awkward but relieved heap. They help him to his feet, and Stiles thinks he’s probably still a little pissed off but it doesn’t even matter.

While Stiles may have gone into the day with a very specific sexual agenda, he finds that he’s more than happy to have unrestrained, life affirming sex on the crumbling ashen porch of Derek’s childhood home.

 

 


Two days before the Sheriff is due to return and Stiles has Derek underneath him in the living room. He grabs Derek’s wrist as he goes to undo the fly on Stiles jeans, says “Hey you think we can take this party to my room?” Derek rolls his eyes, but pushes Stiles off so he can get to his feet and race him up the stairs. Stiles manfully refrains from doing a victory dance once they get to his room and closes his door behind him out of habit.

They kiss as clothes are removed, familiar practiced motions that don’t slow them down as they move across the room. They’re both naked by the time they reach the bed and Stiles is congratulating himself on his progress until Derek drops abruptly to his knees. Stiles slowly slides a hand into Derek’s hair and takes a moment to steel his nerves.

Derek closes his eyes and rubs his cheek against Stiles’ cock, nearly making Stiles lose the game before it even really has a chance to begin. Stiles scrunches his eyes closed as Derek takes him into his mouth, mentally preparing every ounce of discipline he earned during his practice sessions over the last few weeks. He can do this, it’s easy. Derek’s given him loads of blow jobs, it’s not like the way his tongue slips around the head of Stiles’ cock is particularly devastating or anything. There’s nothing interesting about the way Derek’s cheeks hollow out as he works, and whatever, that slick line of spit slipping out from the corner of his mouth isn’t the hottest thing in the world at all. Stiles presses his lips together tightly. He’s totally fine.

Derek lets Stiles slide from his mouth and mouths against his hipbone as he turns him around. Stiles pitches forward onto his bed but bravely does not make a sound. Derek’s hands grab hold of his ass, spreading him wide, and Stiles can feel his nose between his cheeks seconds before the hot press of his tongue. He focuses very hard on breathing, can’t let himself think about how fucking good Derek is at this or he might actually die. Derek licks and sucks, nips against him for a few minutes until Stiles’ elbows give out and he collapses against his sheets.

Derek follows him down, the warmth and weight of his body almost grounding as he presses Stiles into his mattress. Stiles turns his head and reaches out to slide the bedside table drawer open as Derek lays a line of wet kisses down his spine. Stiles quickly extracts the lube only to have it immediately snatched from his hand. Stiles’ heart rate picks up a bit when he hears Derek open the bottle and slick his fingers.

Stiles is so focused on not moaning as Derek opens him up that he neglects to notice the obvious side effect of his success. It’s not until Derek nuzzles behind his ear and asks “y’okay?” that he even considers how strange this probably seems from the other side of the challenge. He nods and leans back onto Derek’s fingers, twists around so he can kiss his frowning face. He must set Derek at ease, because soon enough Derek relaxes and leans back to line himself up.

Stiles should really be used to this by now. He’s lost count of the number of times Derek has pressed into him like this but it’s even more difficult than he imagined to take it in silence. The perfect stretch and burn as his body adjusts makes him swallow against the sounds that threaten to emerge. Derek thrusts slowly, gently, his movements almost cautious. Stiles chances a look over his shoulder, and his heart aches a little at Derek’s expression. He’s looking at Stiles as though he’s afraid something here is horribly broken, and that it’s all his fault if it is. He rubs his hand lightly over the small of Stiles’ back, and that more than anything elicits the urge to give in to the loud positive reinforcement that Stiles desperately wants to dish out. But he doesn’t, dammit, he can’t! He brings his hand to his mouth, clamps his teeth down hard on his knuckles and tears his eyes away from Derek’s stupid emo face.

Something changes then; Derek falters in his rhythm briefly and drops down with an arm on either side of Stiles. His hips move in lazy, languid rolls for several long minutes before he nips against Stiles’ ear and says “I know what you’re doing.” He growls a little and pushes himself back up, digging bruising fingers into Stiles’ hips as he pulls them back to meet his thrusts.

Stiles grabs fists full of his bed sheets and rolls his forehead against the mattress as Derek’s rhythm takes a turn for the punishing. He focuses on listening, wonders how many of these sounds he never gets to hear because he’s thoughtlessly stealing the show. There’s the slick slapping of skin, yeah, but these little ragged breaths coming out of Derek, the growls that sound like they happen whether or not Derek wants them to - those are something Stiles is going to have to pay closer attention to in the future.

The sound of more lube leaving the bottle is not expected, however, and Stiles cranes his head around in time to see Derek toss the bottle to the side. One firm hand keeps Stiles’ hips from moving as he feels Derek’s thumb slide inside alongside his cock and oh Jesus god what? Why is that so amazing? What is even happening? The thumb disappears, replaced by two fingers that stretch him impossibly wider as Derek holds perfectly still. When he begins moving again, the slide of his cock is torturously slow next to his unmoving fingers and Stiles holds his breath as he adjusts to the sensation.

Derek’s other hand is straining towards the bedside table drawer, pulling it out so he can reach further back than is really necessary and oh wait god no! Up until this point he’d been pretty confident that Derek was blissfully ignorant of the things that lay in the deep recesses of that drawer, but he was evidently horribly mistaken. Stiles peeks over his shoulder long enough to see Derek slicking up one of his smaller toys, then hides his face in the coolness of sheets.

Derek slides the toy through the fingers that are still holding Stiles open, works it into him slowly. He pulls his fingers back, keeps pressing the toy until it’s few inches deep. Then the bastard starts moving, slowly, the silicone sliding in a lazy counterpoint to Derek’s motion. Stiles presses his face harder against the mattress, his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream.

After a several eye opening minutes Derek removes the toy and pulls out completely. He presses his head into the curve of Stiles’ back and sounds almost forlorn when he says “Why are you doing this? I don’t-” He cuts off with a growl and flips Stiles over to face him. He grabs Stiles’ hands, holds them against the mattress above his head and looks down at him with a smirk. Derek is hovering above him, knees straddling his body, and Stiles suddenly has a very bad feeling about this.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying this very much,” Derek says calmly. Stiles arches up but Derek leans back, denying him the contact. “What, you’re already tired of this? Is that it?” Stiles is reasonably sure that Derek is bluffing, but he can’t help that his eyes widen at the suggestion. “You do seem pretty tired,” Derek runs his nose lightly along the side of Stiles’ neck. “You want me to stop? You’ve got school in the morning.” He bites a kiss behind Stiles’ ear. “I should probably take off so you’re not completely useless tomorrow.” He pulls back just a bit, and Stiles clamps his lips together and shakes his head in a furious denial. “No? Are you sure?” Stiles wrenches his hands free, pulls Derek in for a crushing kiss until his body collapses on top of him.

With a rough groan Derek leans back, pushes Stiles legs up so he can slide back inside. “Fuck, Stiles. I’m gonna destroy you,” and shit Stiles was so not prepared for any amount of dirty talk, not even a little bit. That’s new. And yeah, it may actually destroy him. He lets his mouth hang open, lets harsh pants of breath escape as Derek pounds into him.

“Gonna make you come so hard that they hear you across town.”

Stiles’ eyes fly open at this and god Derek is gorgeous with his head lolling back and filth spilling from his lips. Stiles wants to worship the line of his throat, wants to lick his shoulders and bite his jaw. He wants to tell Derek how badly he wants those things, wants to tell him he’s sexy as hell, wants to tell him all the other things that he never bothers putting words to. He stupidly watches the flex of Derek’s abs for a few moments before realizing how dangerous this game really is.

Fortunately, for Stiles, there’s a telltale stutter developing in Derek’s rhythm and before Stiles breaks completely he hears “Fuck, Stiles, I can’t-”. Derek falls forward and presses his head against Stiles’ collarbone, and lets out an indescribably hot moan as he comes.

Seconds later he rolls Stiles over and pulls him up to his knees. Maybe Stiles has a little thing for being manhandled, whatever, it’s hot. But not nearly as hot as Derek’s mouth, licking him open and sucking his goddamned come out of Stiles. He’s not even sure he’d be able to make sounds now if he tried, because holy fuck. Derek slips a hand around his chest and pulls Stiles up, his weight is on his knees with his back pressed to Derek’s chest. His eyes squeeze shut as Derek slides his hand up further to pull Stiles’ chin around for a kiss.

Derek’s tongue pushes his come into Stiles’ mouth as his other hand comes up to roughly strip his cock. The finish line is glorious and within sight, but Stiles might possibly be losing his mind. He stays quiet as his tongue moves against Derek’s, not a sound escapes except the harsh breaths through his nose. And Derek is good, so good, and he knows exactly how Stiles likes it, so it’s only a matter of seconds really before Stiles smashes his open mouth against Derek’s jaw and comes and comes and comes.

Derek lightly kisses Stiles’ neck as he wipes his hand on the sheets, then sort of gracefully falls onto the mattress. Stiles collapses onto the bed next to him, throwing both arms up to celebrate his triumphant victory.

 

“What the hell was that about?” Derek asks. His eyes stay closed and Stiles seizes the opportunity to unabashedly stare at his stupidly handsome face.

“Nothing. What was what about?”

“Stiles.” One eye opens to give a half-assed glare.

“Dude, I was so not loud.” Stiles is smiling he’s so proud, no matter how hard Derek rolls his eyes in response.

“Yeah, well done.” Derek rolls on his side, gives Stiles a considering frown. “I’m not sure I see the point. It’s not like I mind that you’re loud.”

“Now we can totally have sex when my dad is home!” Stiles’ flailing hands illustrate how huge this development is.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Stiles shoves at him, “If YOU had kept your mouth shut, there’s no way he would have heard us just now.”

Derek sighs through his nose. “Fine.” Stiles pumps his fist in celebration before Derek continues, “as soon as you tell him we’re dating.”

“Umm,” Stiles defers. “We’re dating?”

Derek scowls and reaches out to pinch Stiles’ nipple.

And Stiles must have learned something from the whole ordeal, because he flails wildly but miraculously does not cry out loud enough to wake his neighbors.

But two hours later, he totally does.