Work Text:
1.
Derek can't focus in here. Not in Stiles' very own room, where he sleeps, changes, does his pack research and most definitely jerks off.
But this isn't about Derek. Stiles needs him. Well, that's why Stiles asked him here… right?
Stiles sits in his spinning chair, rocking back and forth, while Derek sits perched on the edge of his bed. With every rotation of Stiles' chair, their knees almost barely touch. Stiles reeks of nerves and anxiousness and something else Derek can't quite put his finger on.
"Derek, I…" Stiles starts. "I was reading about mates online." His voice is shaky and unsure, the least confident Derek has ever heard him. Stiles keeps going. "How the alpha has control of their mate, how possessive they get, how they're…" Stiles swallows. Derek tracks the movement all the way down his throat before adverting his eyes back up to meet Stiles'. "...Drawn to each other."
They just stare.
The look of half adoration and half lust Derek gets from Stiles makes it all the more painful when his alarm clock cuts through the silence, shaking him violently from the dream.
2.
Derek parks the camaro in Stiles' driveway and sits alone with his thoughts. He'd asked Stiles to go out with him 2 nights ago, when the pack meeting at his loft had ended. Stiles had worn his fitted white t-shirt with the black edges that drives Derek absolutely crazy and Derek just wasn't able to hold back anymore.
"Stiles, wait," Derek had said. Stiles stopped at the door, back still to Derek and hung his head. And… laughed?
"Are you laughing?" Derek wondered. What was so funny?
"Yeah, you just," Stiles turned around slowly, revealing his lit up face, a shit-eating grin on display. "You just better be asking me out."
Derek swallowed. His heart sank and then rose and then vibrated all throughout his body.
"Yeah, I uh, no yeah," Derek stuttered. "Yeah, go out with me." Stiles' laughter ceased as he licked his lips. He sighed and cocked his head to the right so that it sat on his shoulder.
"And it only took you, what, 8 months?" Stiles joked. Derek didn't laugh.
Now here he is. Derek plans to drive Stiles out to the edge of the preserve, where he will take out the picnic basket he so elegantly packed for tonight. He isn't sure if he'll be able to eat, though, since the butterflies in his stomach have recently transformed into elephants.
Derek inhales deeply. After a couple minutes of trying desperately to steady his breathing, he gets out of the car. He barely feels his feet underneath him, guiding him towards the house. As he walks up the stone path to the front door, he stops when he gets to the window. Inside, Derek can see Stiles sitting on the couch, hunched over. His forearms are balanced on his knees, his knuckles cracking and his left leg bouncing. Derek feels the same way.
When he finally gets to the door, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The excitement buzzes throughout his body.
Here we go.
Derek reaches for the doorknob, only to wake up in his bed, reaching for nothing.
3.
They stand at the door to Derek's loft.
"I'd invite you in..." Derek starts.
"But, then you'd have to kill me?" Stiles tries.
Derek tosses his head back and lets out a silent laugh.
"I had a really great time tonight," Stiles says, tone slightly more serious all of a sudden. "But beating your sorry ass at bowling really took it out of me," He chuckles to himself and the tips of Derek's ears actually turn red. "So time for me to head home. See you tomorrow, sour wolf." He turns around and tries to leave, but Derek grabs his hand.
Derek raises his hand to his mouth and starts to kiss each of his fingers.
"Don't," Derek mutters. 1 finger.
"Leave," 2 fingers. 3.
"Yet." 4 fingers. 5…
6?
6 fingers.
Derek wakes up in a pool of sweat.
4.
If there was one thing Derek knew, it was that Stiles would be so fucking loud. Of course he would be. The goddamn noises that boy makes while he's with Derek are obscene.
They're standing in the middle of Stiles' room, bodies touching all the way from their intertwined lips down to Stiles' toes on top of Derek's.
Derek bites down, admittedly hard on Stiles' bottom lip and Stiles lets out the most pornographic moan Derek has ever heard. His dick jumps in his jeans.
Seeing as their bodies are so close they are practically one, Stiles of course feels the sudden movement.
"Someone's a little excited," Stiles teases into Derek's mouth.
"Stiles," Derek moans. "I've wanted this for a really long time." And he has. The numerous (and might he add torturous) dreams and the countless loads of dirty sheets he's had to wash in the past couple months can prove it.
"Then stop talking and let me blow you," Stiles says as he slides down Derek's body, kissing every inch along the way. He stops short at Derek's zipper and looks up, asking for approval with his eyes, batting his long eyelashes.
Derek smiles down at him… because Stiles. Finally.
Instead of feeling hot, cupid's arrow lips work their way around his dick, he feels the cold hard floor as he falls face first out of his bed.
5.
They lay next to each other, wrapped up in sheets and blankets and come. Their bodies lay parrallel, staring at one other as if it would help to slow their racing heartbeats. They're breathing in perfect harmony; their bodies syncing up in all the right places. Just enough to make Derek feel as if he were slowly becoming a part of Stiles.
They breathe in.
Derek watches Stiles' long eyelashes flutter in pure ecstacy. He wants to acquaint himself each individual lash, name them all, memorize them, learn their language. Derek wants to learn Stiles' language. Wants to know Stiles like no one has ever known themselves.
Breathe out.
Stiles' hand flinches as it reaches for Derek's cheek. The soft pad of his thumb sears against Derek's cold skin, sending vibrations throughout his body. Derek's jaw shifts to move his face deeper into his lover's hands. Into Stiles' hand. Into Stiles' care.
In.
They both lean foward in the slightest bit, never falling out of sync. They will never fall out of sync again. They're Stiles and Derek now.
Out.
Their lips brush. It's not even kissing, it's just a reminder that this is real. As if to say I'm here, Derek. You're not dreaming this time.
Stiles deepens the kiss, but Derek doesn't feel it. He wakes up instead.
In his bed, he lays on his side and exhales. It had felt so real. And he was sure Stiles had 5 fingers; he'd felt each one, he was sure.
But he was wrong.
The sob Derek lets out isn't empty, it's full and forceful. His body aches with disappointment.
That's when Derek feels 5 fingers spread across the small of his back, lips press onto the tip of his ear.
"Shh… I'm right here," Stiles whispers. "It happened. It happened."
It happened.