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Stiles had never really expected the pack to go so far from home when it came time for college. They had all had their sights relatively close to Beacon Hills- so they could keep it safe. Lucas’s family moving across the country in his final year of high school had kind of thrown a wrench in things. It wasn’t like they could just let him become an omega; dropped into an unfamiliar territory all alone would practically be a death sentence for a hot tempered beta like him. Scott wouldn’t let it happen anyway. Couldn’t handle the thought of his pack being split up. Neither could the rest of them. They’d already lost so much. So they’d shuffled around some plans and this year was supposed to be a fun little vacation- a little change of pace before things went back on track when Lucas graduated and they could make their way back to California where they belonged.
Things didn’t turn out like that, but when did things ever go to plan for their little pack? They’d only been here a few months. Autumn was just beginning to settle on the sleepy little town that was their temporary home. Stiles had never seen one like this in person. He’d heard about it, obviously. Seen pictures. But there was something almost ethereal about experiencing it firsthand. The creeping shadows beneath the glow of orange sunsets. The cold that settled just shy of uncomfortably on his cheeks. The reds, oranges, yellows of the shifting trees that were just on the verge of shedding and they prepared for the colder days ahead.
Stiles, who was much more used to yearlong sunshine and beaches, had initially balked at the idea of going to a bonfire in weather like this. “Outside?” But the party was so crowded that even though the night air was cold enough to nip at his skin the radiating temperature of everyone else’s body heat kept Stiles warm. At first the feeling had been almost nice. When he’d first arrived with the rest of his makeshift pack and he was settling into his first drink of the night. It had almost been cozy then. Intimate somehow. Despite the roaring music- so loud that he could feel vibrating up his legs into his chest- it had settled an ache deep inside Stiles that had been there for so long he hadn’t even noticed it was there until it wasn’t. This had been exactly what he needed. What they all needed. A normal experience. A night away from all the things that were trying to kill them all the time. It had been about a week since the last time. Things were finally beginning to feel like they were settling down; but that was always what happened right before something happened and set the whole cycle into motion again. So they decided to take the opportunity while it existed and enjoy themselves for once.
But now they were well into the night. Stiles had lost sight of his friends an hour ago (he didn’t even know if they were still with each other), he was a few more drinks in, and the heat was getting so unbearably warm that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He needed air that wasn’t tainted by the sweat of packed bodies or maybe to find one of his friends to bring him down from whatever precipice was tickling at the back of his throat like panic. Whichever happened first. So he’d begun wandering away from the raging inferno they were passing off as a bonfire- idly searching the crowd for a familiar face when he saw one. Just not one of the ones he’d been expecting.
Derek hadn’t noticed him yet. At least… Stiles didn’t think he did. Usually he looked a lot more pissed off when he noticed Stiles. Then again usually he looked a lot more pissed off in general. It was a resting face for him. Except right now it seemed. Right now Derek’s shoulders were slumped, his eyes half closed with his head tilted towards the glow of the fire and he looked almost… content. It was an incredibly good look on him. Not that angry wasn’t a good look on him. When Derek walked around looking like a long lost descendant of the gods, Stiles figured he could pretty much make anything look good.
It was one of the things Stiles hated the most about him, actually. If Stiles were to be honest with himself, he spent a considerable amount of time angry about how insufferably good looking the werewolf was. It was impossible not to notice, no matter how much Stiles tried his absolute damnedest. It drove him a little crazy in a way that he wouldn’t usually blame on the target of his affections; but given the circumstances Stiles managed to justify to himself just this once. Derek was one of the bad guys. Bad guys weren’t supposed to be sexy. No one with bad intentions should ever be allowed to have hips that moved like that, absentmindedly against the music. Stiles took longer than he was willing to admit to just stand back and watch the show. It wasn’t very often that Stiles got a chance to really look at Derek for more than a few seconds out of the corner of his eye- usually while someone was three seconds from ripping someone else’s throat out. Without the looming omen of death in the air Stiles could really, fully appreciate him for the first time since the McCall pack had shown up in this town. It only confirmed his opinion. Derek really didn’t have any right being that enticing.
Almost like he could read Stiles’s mind Derek raised his hand and the human noticed for the first time that he had a cigarette resting between his fingers. Stiles had never seen the appeal of cigarettes. From the bitter taste, to the putrid smell that soaked into the fibers of everything it touched, to the nauseous feeling it gave him when he drank. As the werewolf raised his hand to press the cigarette between his lips, Stiles thought, with a warm feeling of desire coiling in his stomach, that maybe he was starting to get it. There was a certain undeniable allure to the way the werewolf tilted his head back, exposing his neck to exhale a cloud of smoke towards the sky. With his lips parted, hair messy, and the content look settled on his features in that moment he looked positively sinful. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever wanted anyone more. It was a terrifying revelation.
It struck him that he hadn’t known Derek smoked. He didn’t know exactly why the realization felt so strange to him. There were probably plenty of things he didn’t know about Derek Hale. In fact the amount of things he did know about him could probably be counted on one hand. Mostly just that he was an angsty werewolf from an extremely powerful pack and that he and his family seemed to have a personal vendetta against Stiles and his friends since they got here. (How were they supposed to know they were supposed to have asked permission before moving here? It wasn’t like that was how it worked in Beacon Hills. Other packs there tended to announce their presence only when they were trying to kill them.)
What made things impossibly more complicated was that some of the time it seemed like Derek very much didn’t want Stiles and his friends dead like the rest of his family. There were even a few times he had ripped Peter out of the air mid lunge or caught Cora by her outstretched claws, inches away from connecting with the soft flesh of something vital. He might not have been the packs alpha but he had no qualms about reigning them in when it seemed like Scott’s pack was just a little too close to an untimely end. He wasn’t a friend. He wasn’t even an ally. But sometimes he seemed dead set on trying to blur the line between enemy and something else. It was almost more unsettling than if he just openly wanted them dead like Peter or thought they were unbelievably dangerous to have around like Talia. Even after months of this squabble-turned-brewing-pack-war Stiles couldn’t figure out exactly where Derek stood on the whole matter and it drove him crazy. Did he not want them dead out of some moral principle like Scott? Or was he just waiting for the gang to find themselves in a truly hopeless situation to strike when he could kill them all at once? Maybe he just didn’t see them as a threat worth bloodying their claws over. With him being so frustratingly unreadable it felt like anything was possible- something that Stiles was simply unwilling to accept. They were already on unfamiliar ground. There was no way he was dealing with a wild card too.
The thought finally occurred to Stiles (a little belated from his own intoxication) that the reason the werewolf seemed so content right now was that he was visibly buzzed. Stiles couldn’t remember who Kira said this party was being hosted by, or whether they were somehow supernatural, but he remembered the way Scott had stumbled over his feet when she uncharacteristically pulled him to the makeshift dance floor. Wolfsbane. If he was looking for answers this might have been his big chance. He wasn’t sure when, or even if, he’d get another opportunity when Derek was so far away from his usual instincts.
Stiles had promised his friends he would let things go for tonight. They were all supposed to be acting like normal irresponsible young adults for once. They owed that to themselves every now and then. Stiles truly believed that. Really. But the curiosity ate at him- and it wasn’t like Stiles had been having a good time before he had noticed Derek. Maybe this was just the distraction he needed to take his mind from the stifling crowd. Just for a little while. If he got the opportunity to press a few wolfish buttons and make Derek spill his darkest secrets so Stiles could finally know where to place him, start to figure out what to do with him, then that was really just a win/win right? And his friends would never even have to know.
He knew Derek had to have known he was approaching- he may have been drinking but he was still a werewolf for gods sake- but he pointedly didn’t acknowledge the humans arising presence even when Stiles was only a few feet away from him. If not for the way his shoulders abruptly tensed and the content look all but disappeared from his face, replaced with something guarded and nervous, it would have been more convincing.
Stiles, who could never quite stand for being ignored, landed a purposeful jab of his elbow into the werewolf’s rib-cage as he stepped more firmly in front of him. He delighted in the way that Derek was drunk enough to stumble off balance from it with a surprised exhale of air. It was a lucky shot, one that probably shouldn’t have worked; but if the way the werewolf was scowling at him now was anything to go by Stiles had his full attention now. Just the way he preferred it. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you those things are fucking terrible for you?” Stiles asked him with a quirked eyebrow and a nod in the direction of the cigarette that was now lazily hanging from the tips of his fingers.
For a long moment the werewolf stared back at him with a blank expression before looking down at the remainder of his cigarette like he wasn’t sure Stiles was talking to him. Or wasn’t sure he was supposed to be answering. Eventually- probably against his better judgment- Derek responded with a languid, almost slurred. “I think I’ll be fine. Werewolf lungs.”
Stiles realized he had never considered that before- but found it to be an immensely interesting concept he’d probably spend too long contemplating when he was sober. “Does nicotine even work on you then or are you just smoking because it makes you look all brooding and sexy?” He asked with a cheeky grin.
Stiles was surprised to hear himself say that out loud. He had only meant it to be a thought; but Stiles had a terrible filter at the best of times and the liquor had done wonders to loosen his traitorous tongue. He had the sense to apologize- opened his mouth with full intent to- but before he could get the words out he caught sight of the way the tips of Derek’s ears seemed to turn a vibrant shade of pink. It mostly hidden by the cover of darkness except for when the bonfire flickered just right, but Stiles was sure he saw it. That was interesting. The apology died on his lips. He shouldn’t apologize for something he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t do again.
The werewolf’s eyes immediately shifted away from him back towards the crackling bonfire. Maybe contemplating throwing himself into it so he wouldn’t have to consider a response to that. Not that Stiles was really expecting one- not one he wanted to hear at least. Even in his wildest dreams Stiles wasn’t that lucky. Instead he watched as Derek raised the cigarette back to his lips, almost making a show of taking in a slow drawn-out drag and exhaling it from his lungs. Stiles was startled (but not surprised) to find he had the urge to kiss the smoke from his lungs. He didn’t move. He may have been a little drunk but he didn’t have a death wish.
Stiles considered that he should be grateful enough to get the typically-grumpy werewolf to even speak cordially with him in the first place instead of taking the humans existence as a sign of a threat. He didn’t need to go pushing his luck and ruining any sense of goodwill he might actually be able to conjure up. Derek being on their side would probably do wonders for keeping the rest of the Hale’s off their back.
Even when the last of the smoke had swirled and faded into the sky above them Stiles had to wait another few moments before Derek responded with an honest albeit reluctant, “When I’ve been drinking.”
Stiles wondered if the reason he took so long to answer was him trying to figure out what to do with Stiles blatant attempt at flirting or if he’d just been reluctant to admit it was affecting him more because of the wolfsbane. He figured probably the later. Admitting you were in a weakened state to someone who was more often than not being perceived as your enemy (even despite their best efforts) was a pretty risky decision and Derek didn’t strike Stiles as the over-sharing type.
“So, what, you just figure if you’re going to drink you may as well go all or nothing?” Stiles asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. He wondered what it felt like for the nicotine to hit a werewolves system. Did it calm him down the same way it would a human, stave the edge from his hunger, lower his blood pressure? Or did his body react completely differently? For Stiles even the smell of the cigarette stung the insides of his nostrils, and he thought if he wasn’t drunk he might have had a looming headache.
Derek let out a huff of breath from his nose like he was exhaling all the stress from his body. His shoulders relaxed, like they’d been before he realized Stiles was there. If it had been a sight to behold from afar it was another thing to see him up close like this; and Stiles didn’t think it was the liquor talking when he considered he might be witnessing the eighth wonder of the world. “’s just been a long week.” He confessed in a tired voice, so quiet Stiles almost didn’t hear it.
“I know the feeling.” Stiles hummed in agreement. Derek’s eyes widened with surprise before giving a solemn, understanding nod. A wicked idea bloomed in Stiles chest and before he could consider how stupid it truly was he was already offering, “I’ve got some weed back in the Jeep if you want to come take the edge off.”
At that the werewolf perked up a little, but what Stiles had initially mistaken for potential interest was proven to be mostly suspicion when he looked over Stiles’s shoulders, glossy eyes scanning the area for threats. When he looked back at Stiles he mostly seemed nervous- a bit of sobriety valiantly trying to claw its way to the forefront when he echoed, “In your car?” In a tone like Stiles had just told him he had candy in the back of his van. Which- he guessed that wasn’t technically too far off.
“Derek relax. The crowd is getting to me and I really don’t like to smoke alone.” Stiles said with what he hoped was a reassuring look. It was mostly the truth. Maybe not the full truth- but close enough to it that the werewolf couldn’t seem to tell the difference in a moment like this. “It’s not a trap.”
That was the honest truth. If the group was trying to trap someone they wouldn’t have sent Stiles in as the bait first of all. Stiles ran his mouth too much, he was way more likely to ruin the plan by irritating the potential captive before he could get them to a target destination. Second of all: they wouldn’t be dim enough to expect any of the Hale’s to willingly go anywhere with any of them so even if they did have a wild, incredibly stupid plan like that it wouldn’t have gone anywhere. What would they even do with a captive werewolf?
Derek’s eyes shifted over Stiles’s shoulder again, like he was looking for someone, this time eyes narrowed with a bit more intent as a bit of his brain finally seemed to get the chance to catch up. “That isn’t exactly my biggest concern.” He responded.
Stiles didn’t have a lie-detecting nose but he thought that felt truthful enough. Derek never seemed all that concerned by the McCall pack or their antics. If anything he tended to find them little more than nuisances. Like fleas. He’d appear out of nowhere when they least expected it (but maybe most needed it), save their asses from his psycho family, and then look at them like they were completely useless before leaving with little more than a snide remark. It was so completely frustrating, but didn’t exactly scream ‘concerned.’
He wasn’t looking for McCall’s pack, Stiles realized. He was looking for his own. Derek wasn’t worried about the potential inconvenience of having to deal with Stiles’s friends. He was, much more wisely, afraid of being caught fraternizing with someone his alpha had clearly, expressly, forbidden his pack from speaking to. As furious as Scott would be at the risk Stiles was taking just to settle his own curiosity (or maybe build pack relations) he could only imagine the fury that Talia would express. It was then that Stiles for the first time considered just what a predicament he’d find himself in if a few of Derek’s family members were to see them right now. (Laura and Cora were about their age, Peter was the sort of freak who would come hang out with drunk college kids.) Or even if a few of Stiles’s friends were to see them now. If Scott were to see them now. The two groups were at a tentative peace for the time being but they were far from safe waters. It would just take one little shift for the whole boat to capsize and be lost to the storm.
But Stiles was only human. A human with a million questions about Derek Hale that demanded to be answered; some of which were getting dirtier by the second. A human who couldn’t get the smug pride out of his chest from making such a beautiful sculpture of perfection- one who was supposed to be ignoring him no less- blush like a high schooler. Stiles wasn’t even sure how a man as attractive as the one standing in front of him ever managed to blush at a pickup line. He had to have people throwing themselves at him all the time; probably in much more bold and creative ways than Stiles intoxicated mind could come up with. And yet here they were.
“I was late getting here. I had to park under that big oak tree a ways back. I don’t think we have to worry about being noticed.” Stiles told him with a twinkling smile, offering in a lower voice, “but if you’re worried- we could go somewhere more private.”
Derek’s eyes were looking back at him with some sort of guilt, maybe desperation, maybe some other third thing Stiles couldn’t quite place. The werewolf opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but immediately snapped it shut and instead pressed his lips together until they turned white, leaning backwards on the balls of his feet like he was contemplating running away. Stiles may have stood corrected because, despite what he’d thought, it almost looked like Derek was very much afraid of him all of a sudden. A nervous little noise barely slipped from somewhere deep in his throat as it seemed he could do nothing but stare at Stiles with a helpless look on his face. Now that was interesting. Stiles watched an internal battle war across the werewolf’s pretty face- seeming to be half-convinced someone from his pack would show up at any second to swallow them both whole. But the fact that he was even considering it at all made a delightful, sinful feeling warm Stiles’s skin. Because he might not know much about Derek, but he didn’t think the wolf was desperate enough for a bit of weed to risk upsetting his alpha. Battling against his very nature. The warm feeling ventured lower, hooking at his stomach when he considered just what else Derek might be so tempted by.
Whether Stiles wanted to blame the alcohol, or his inane desire to answer every question that ever popped into his head, or confessed it was truly just how good Derek looked when he was clearly trying not to picture Stiles naked, the human couldn’t help but spur himself on. “Come on Derek. Do you always do what your mommy tells you?” He teased.
The werewolf’s eyes narrowed at the challenge, his upper lip curling upwards into a snarl for a fraction of a second before he remembered himself. Then his shoulders settled just slightly, eyes alight with a newfound determination. The anxiety didn’t quite smooth itself from his brow but lost out to the overwhelming curiosity, indignant fury, and undeniable need that was hellbent on making itself known. Stiles decided that this was his favorite look on Derek; caught somewhere between anger and undeniable interest. The taunt worked better at riling him up than Stiles had expected, so he filed the information away. Especially when Derek said in an almost defeated tone, “okay.”
There was still a flighty look on his face so Stiles decided not to risk ruining the moment by saying something that might spook him. Instead he gave the other man a wicked smile, bewitched by the way Derek’s eyes caught on his lips for just a little too long. By this point Stiles was almost sure he wasn’t going crazy. This unimaginably attractive man was eyeing him like someone was offering him a second plate of dessert; he knew he should say no but couldn’t bring himself to.
Stiles grabbed the werewolf by the sleeve, tugging him away from the crowd and towards the back gate. Derek didn’t try to pull away. He wasn’t exactly reluctant but was dangerously quiet (to be fair, when wasn’t he?) and hanging at the edge of Stiles’s grip like he was still considering running. Stiles waited until they were on the other side of the gate, tucked in between two trees that afforded them the safety of privacy, to turn to him and ask in an earnest tone, “You okay?”
Derek let out a soft exhale of air, nodding his head as the conviction seemed to settle into his bones with a little more confidence. It wasn’t quite like the flick of a switch, the nerves still hummed so vibrantly beneath his skin that Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to notice it. More-so it seemed to Stiles like the werewolf had decided if it was committing to the risk he shouldn’t also ruin his reward. If reward was something he was looking for, Stiles was more than willing to help him find it.
When they made it to the Jeep without being spotted Stiles grabbed a tin from the glove compartment, popping it open to pluck one of the joints he’d rolled earlier from it. “I’ve always wondered what a werewolf is like when they’re high.” He said mostly to fill the silence.
“Sorry to disappoint but I don’t think it’s all that different.” Derek responded, opting to pick up the tin and get a better look at the design rather than look Stiles in the eye.
“Oh sourwolf. Disappointing is the last thing I’d ever think to call you.” Stiles responded in an affectionate tone as he patted down the front of his jeans for a lighter. “Plus it’s still my first time smoking with a werewolf. Scott doesn’t like the smell.”
“Why do you keep doing that?” Derek asked, eyes finally looking back at Stiles, searching them with a helpless look on his face. Stiles wasn’t sure if he meant the nickname or the flirting; what he was sure of was that wasn’t really a request to stop.
Stiles didn’t really know how to answer the question, wasn’t sure what he could say that wouldn’t risk Derek bolting, so he opted to explain, “I’m trying to smoke with every supernatural creature. So far I’ve got banshee, kistune, and ghoul.”
Derek’s complaints were lost for the moment. Stiles couldn’t deny he was thrilled when the confused nervous expression melted away from the werewolf’s face and was replaced with one of disbelief. “Ghoul?” He repeated. “You’re full of it.”
“I’m offended by that accusation. I’d never lie about a good party story.” Stiles responded with a laugh. He took a hit from his joint, idly watching the way it burned evenly instead of canoeing like they used to do when he first started rolling. He was getting better. Good timing too. After a second hit he handed it off to Derek’s outstretched hand.
“They’re extremely carnivorous. I’ve never met a ghoul who would prefer smoking weed over trying to rip your throat out- and you’re a human. That’s gotta be worse.” Derek responded. Stiles wondered how many stories it would take before Derek stopped trying to apply logic on Beacon Hills. Stiles’s hometown was anything but typical.
“Well then you’ve never been to Eichen House. People in that much crisis are willing to do anything for a little bit of escapism.” He responded as he watched Derek bring the joint to his lips. Stiles considered all the usual warnings for first smokers, but the way Derek was holding himself the human thought he was anything but.
“How did you get weed into a mental health facility?” Derek asked through his exhale, the smoke catching on his words as it passed from his lungs to the cracked window. Stiles was surprised Derek know what Eichen was, but he had more important things to consider than whether or not Eichen was a country-wide facility and if that implied there were more like it. Right now he had an incredibly attractive (and seemingly interested) werewolf sitting in his passenger seat and no amount of ADHD thoughts could pull his attention away for long.
“The warden said I was fastidiously clever for a troublemaker.” Stiles responded with a little too much pride.
Derek snorted. Stiles thought he seemed dangerously human like this. More importantly; he seemed dangerously close to someone Stiles could consider something other than the enemy. “I think that’s code for an incredible pain in the ass.”
A lewd comment popped instantly into Stiles head. Remembering Derek’s earlier protests (though he was reluctant to call it that) he held himself back, barely, and opted instead to give the werewolf what he hoped came across as a cheeky wink. What he’d meant to imply had clearly come through loud and clear if the resulting blush was anything to go by. This time it wasn’t just his ears; whether it was because of the weed, or them being alone this time, or if Derek had just had a particularly delicious though pop into his mind this time, the werewolf's skin flushed all the way down to his neck. “Fuck.” he hissed beneath his breath, shaking his head as he brought the joint back to his lips. Stiles was pretty sure that was his third hit- but he looked so pretty when his lips wrapped around the joint that he couldn’t bring himself to complain about him chiefing.
“I mean- if you’re asking.” Stiles quipped as Derek moved the joint back towards Stiles. The werewolf’s hand froze so Stiles closed the rest of the distance and plucked the joint from his fingers himself. He pulled it back towards his mouth but was stopped after only a few inches by Derek’s newly-freed hand sliding down to capture Stiles’s wrist.
Stiles raised an eyebrow at him and Derek responded by silently tugging him closer with a pleading look in his eyes. It would have taken someone with a will much stronger than Stiles to deny something like that. He moved with more grace than he would have expected possible of himself, trying not to look as excited as he felt. He knew the Jeep so well that it was like an extension of himself, like muscle memory, as effortless as flexing his fingers to slide from the drivers seat over the center console until he was perched with his knees on either side of Derek’s legs. The werewolf kept hold of his wrist, gently maneuvering it to keep the still-lit joint from touching anything important- which in Stiles’s Jeep meant everything. He thought about putting it out but he couldn’t bring himself to pull his wrist from the other mans grip- wasn’t sure he could even if he did want to.
Derek watched him settle comfortably on his legs with that strangely guilty look on his face again. If not for the werewolf being the one to pull him over here Stiles would have reconsidered all the signs he’d thought he’d seen. Just when he thought the werewolf might change his mind, side with the instincts that were probably screaming at him to obey his alpha and get the hell out of this car, Derek’s hands moved to rest on the humans hips and tug him forward until Stiles was resting less on his legs and more firmly in his lap, damn determined to get the reward Stiles was all too eager to provide.
Then Derek was pulling him in for a bruising kiss, one hand trailing up to grip the back of his neck. Stiles probably shouldn’t have immediately relaxed beneath the touch- even if it did make Derek growl against his lips in a way that made his skin feel like it was on fire. Derek was still a werewolf. Still a Hale. He could just as easily have been walking Stiles into a trap. It wasn’t like the human hadn’t been eagerly confessing his weakness for attractive men, especially the particular one that was currently beneath him. But if Stiles himself had really waltzed his way this far into a trap he thought he might as well enjoy it while he could. Plus if he really considered it- which was the last thing he wanted to do when he felt Derek’s teeth tugging at the bottom of his lip- he didn’t think that was really a pressing threat. If this were a trap Derek would be giving an Oscar-worthy performance.
Stiles eventually had to pull away to breathe but the hand at the back of his neck refused to let him go far, leaving him puffing hot breaths against the werewolf’s lips. Derek looking at him with a dark look in his gaze that made Stiles want to let out an embarrassing noise that he barely held at bay. He felt Derek’s hand let go of his wrist but before Stiles could think to complain about it (he’d really liked it where it was) Derek was tugging the joint into his own mouth again with a mischievous smile, letting Stiles back enough to keep him from getting burned but not enough to totally keep the smoke from his face; not that Stiles’s brain could have formed a complaint if he’d tried. Stiles gawked. This was not the same man who had reddened at the mere mention of flirting. Like a dam had burst, all at once Stiles was being gifted with the sight of a rapidly unwinding sourwolf.
“Hey. That was my hit.” He complained half-heartedly, though truth be told that was the last thing he was worried about right now and he was pretty certain the breathlessness of his voice made that more than obvious.
Derek chuckled at that, so it was worth how childish it made him feel. He leaned close, catching Stiles mouth into another kiss as he pushed the smoke from his lungs into the humans mouth. They remained like that for a while, kissing fervently even long after the smoke had faded away. When they eventually pulled back the werewolf said, “My bad,” in a tone that didn’t even try to sound like he meant it.
Stiles hummed. “That’s alright. I have a feeling you’re going to make it up to me.” He responded, rocking his hips into the other mans in a way that made Derek’s breath hitch before he let out a quiet groan.
Derek nodded his head, abandoning the remnants of the joint in the ash try so his hand could make quick work of tugging Stiles’s shirt over his head. Both hands trailed over his newly exposed skin with a fervor that made him wonder just how long Derek had been wanting this. Longer than he’d been letting on, that much Stiles was willing to bet on. The human tried to think back to their previous altercations with this new perspective in mind. Every sharp comment, every sneer, every time he regarded them like he couldn’t get away fast enough. At the very least it made the saving their lives thing make a bit more sense- though Stiles wasn’t sure it could be about that entirely.
Derek’s hands came to rub circles into his hips, holding them still as he grinded up into him in a way that dragged their clothed dicks together with each sinful roll of those goddamn hips again. Stiles felt the air in his lungs and the thoughts in his head abandon him with a breathy moan. His head lulled backward, eyes flickering shut as Derek immediately took the opportunity to press eager kisses to his bared throat. Stiles dragged his hand up to lace his fingers in the werewolf’s hair, rocking his hips as much as Derek would let him beneath his firm grip. He enjoyed being lavished with the attention for as long as it took him to realize that without being able to see Derek it was almost easy enough to convince himself he was dreaming. Dreaming of dry-humping the guy who probably hated him in his Jeep was exactly the sort of wet dream Stiles would imagine himself coming up with and the haze of the alcohol and weed in his system wasn’t helping with the foggy dream-like feeling. So he peeked his eyes open, deciding instead to watch the man beneath him to keep himself grounded and remember this was definitely too good for his brain to come up with all on its own.
Derek moved his lips up to nibble at the shell of Stiles’s ear, his breath hot against the humans skin as he asked, “Do you have any lube in this thing?” He shifted one leg to nudge at the glove compartment with his knee, seemingly in an outright refusal to take his hands off Stiles. Not that he was complaining.
Stiles blinked, the question taking a few seconds to really register. “How many guys to you think I fuck in this Jeep?” He asked, a small shiver running down his spine at the heated, possessive look that Derek responded with. “Relax sourwolf. The answer is just you-” Stiles responded with a snicker before adding, “Unless you don’t hurry up and make me go find some other brooding, sexy werewolf t-”
A low growl echoed through the Jeep, rippling through Stiles’s bones as he felt Derek’s fingers tighten around his hips until he was pretty sure they were going to bruise. Stiles cut himself off with a startled yelp as he was being tugged forward; one hand instinctively coming to rest on the seat behind Derek to brace himself as he came eye to eye with brilliant limpid blue eyes staring back at him in warning. It should have been terrifying. On some deeper level it might have been. But as far as Stiles was concerned in that moment it was nothing short of the hottest thing he had ever seen in his life. The blood rushed from his head so fast it made him dizzy, so he steadied himself with another kiss that it seemed like the werewolf had been all but asking for.
He was surprised when this one was slower than the first. Derek seemed content to take his time, parting his lips when Stiles eagerly opened his mouth and dragging his tongue slowly over the humans lower lip before retreating back into his own mouth and settling instead on several hot open-mouthed kisses that reduced Stiles bones to jelly, only ending when Stiles was gasping for air and once again cursing his human lungs.
The soft brush of cold air hitting his bare skin was the first time Stiles realized the window was still cracked- but more importantly that Derek was still wearing his shirt which hardly felt fair at all. So he tugged at the offending fabric until Derek sat up to tug it over his head. Stiles took the moment to roll the window back up, but he didn’t think it would truly help against the noises he was sure he’d be making shortly.
With Derek’s shirt now somewhere in the backseat and him settling back against his seat, Stiles took a while to admire the sight of him like this. Did this man live at the gym or something? Did he survive on nothing but protein and sex? Seriously, how was it physically possible to have abs that looked that cut? To have a V that perfectly trailed so temptingly to the spot where his pants started that it made Stiles’s mouth water at the sight. He had a moment to be grateful that he’d never shown up to their fights like this- Stiles would never have managed to not embarrass himself the first time he saw perfection like this. When realized the man beneath him had gone eerily still Stiles finally managed to tear his gaze back to Derek’s face. Astonishment washed over him at the eager, hopeful look in the werewolf’s eye that almost seemed like he wasn’t yet sure Stiles approved. As if Stiles wasn’t looking at the body of someone who had been sculpted in heaven itself. This was a trick, Stiles thought. There was no way that someone who looked like Derek could be self conscious. But Stiles was as sure as he was breathing that that was the expression peering back at him. He’d seen it on himself enough times to have it memorized.
Stiles felt the overcoming need to reassure him. Wanted to explain in a million different ways that Derek was the type of beautiful that men used to start wars over. But he thought that might come out unconvincing. Too flowery to feel comfortable on a werewolf’s skin. So instead he smiled euphorically and said out loud, “I must have been really, really good this year.”
Derek snorted, but the worry on his face melted away so Stiles was pretty sure he’d said something right. He gave another languid roll of his hips in response and Stiles moaned, hands falling down to Derek’s chest and digging his nails in sharply. The werewolf jolted under the touch, his hips involuntarily jerking so hard that it nearly sent Stiles’s head crashing into the roof of the Jeep. It would have been worth it to see the way the pupils of those pretty (ferocious) blue eyes dilated until Stiles could hardly see the color. Stiles burned that little bit of knowledge into his mind. He wanted to know what else could make Derek come undone like that. Wanted to know everything else that could make Derek look at him with that needy expression. Stiles could already feel himself growing dizzy from the power as Derek lurched forward, one hand wrapping its way into Stiles’s hair to force him to meet him half-way as he began sucking a purple bruise onto Stiles’s neck.
Kicking off their pants had proved to be much more difficult than the shirts. For a brief moment Stiles for the first time truly considered the practicality of skirts; but he thought it might be a little much to change his entire wardrobe just to make it easier for Derek to fuck him. Until the jeans had been properly discarded and for the first time Stiles got a good look at the bulge straining against Derek’s silk boxers. The head of his dick was long enough to press out of the top of his waistband, tinted purple with need, and Stiles felt his mouth go dry. Maybe it was best not to totally set aside the skirt idea just yet.
Stiles mouth fell ajar without his meaning it to. “Fuck. Even your dick is perfect.” He panted appreciatively, too eager to keep the edge of excitement out of his voice. “Seriously, what did I do to deserve this?”
Through his hooded gaze Derek smiled at him, sharp canine teeth glinting dangerously in the moonlight. “I think I could ask the same question.” He responded. Stiles silently opted to agree to disagree- thinking there was definitely a massive difference in their luck right now. He kept his mouth shut, too afraid if he pointed it out Derek might come to his senses.
Three fingers came up to press against Stiles’s lips and he parted without objection, sucking them into his mouth and humming contently around them as his tongue ran along the pads of Derek’s fingers. Stiles grinded his hips down sharply and moaned at the sparks of pleasure it sent through his whole body with only a thin layer of boxers between them. He reached a hand down to lazily jerk Derek off through his underwear, pressing a thumb over his exposed head at the edge of each stroke until the werewolf was a trembling mess beneath him.
“Stiles…” Derek moaned, his head going limp to fall against the headrest behind him. His eyes flickered across Stiles’s entire being, like he wasn’t sure where exactly he wanted to look at the most before settling on the lips that were currently sucking on his fingers. It was probably the best compliment Stiles would ever receive in his life.
Stiles hummed around the digits, running his tongue between them as he felt his underwear being tugged from his body. He lifted himself up but Derek managed to pull them to the edges of his thighs before giving up and tugging the fingers from Stiles’s mouth. He brought his hand down, pressing one finger against his rim and raising an eyebrow in silent question. Stiles shifted his weight until the finger was just barely pressing inside him with a keening noise.
When Derek’s free hand tightened at his hip to keep him still he let out a frustrated huff of air before whining at the other man, “Stop teasing me.”
“Oh so when I do it teasing is a problem?” Derek quipped sardonically, but any heat that may have been in his voice was overwhelmed by his lust. Stiles opened his mouth to respond but forgot what he was going to say when the finger finally pressed inside him. A moan tore its way from his throat as Stiles’s hands came to steady himself on Derek’s shoulders, digging in mercilessly when it earned him an appreciative groan.
Minutes felt like hours while Derek fingered him open, starting with one finger and working his way up until all three of the digits that Stiles had been sucking like his life depended on it were being speared in and out of him with a single-minded determination. The coiling in Stiles’s stomach grew and grew without any promise of real relief. He was harder than he ever remembered being in his entire life. His moans were being strung together like a symphony. And yet the werewolf didn’t seem in any sort of rush, content to just watch Stiles’s face while he fucked his fingers in and out of him. Stiles thought about jerking himself off. It wouldn’t take much more for him to cum; but as good as the stretch of Derek’s fingers felt the idea didn’t sound nearly as appealing as coming on his dick.
“Fuck me.” Stiles gasped, but his voice was too fucked out and needy to have any sort of real command to it- not that he was ever in the position to be ordering Derek around. Just because the werewolf seemed way more concentrated on fucking his brains out right now didn’t mean Stiles was going to forget that strength.
“You sure you don’t want to find someone else to do it?” Derek taunted, voice thick and low with lust. He adjusted his angle and the next thrust had Stiles howling when it pressed directly into his prostate.
Stiles shook his head fervently as his words came back to haunt him, a needy noise wrenching its way from his body as he babbled out, “Positive. No one else. Fuck. No one else could make me feel this good. Derek please fuck me.”
Derek dropped his head to the crook of Stiles’s neck, almost nuzzling against him. No, not nuzzling. Scenting him, Stiles realized through his daze. Probably a terrible idea all things considered. He was definitely going to need a shower after this before anyone with a supernatural sense of smell caught wind of what would undoubtedly be the towns biggest gossip in years- gossip that would probably actually get Stiles killed. But Stiles was too far away from reality to even consider complaining about it. If Derek wanted Stiles to smell like him during sex who was he to complain? The idea was hot in spite of his survival instinct.
“I’m going to.” Derek promised in a low voice, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin most accessible which happened to be somewhere around Stiles’s collarbone. “Would have by now if you had the fucking lube- so I don’t want to hear any complaints.”
Screw the lube. Stiles wanted to shout, but he was pretty sure that would have been counted under complaints and Stiles was trying really hard not to push his luck right now. Not that he really expected Derek to leave now- Stiles could see his cock straining against his underwear with so much desperation it must have hurt. Derek wanted this as bad as he did. So instead Stiles spread his legs until his knee bumped the center console and gave the sluttiest moan he could muster- which given the circumstances wasn’t all that hard- before pleading breathlessly, “C’mon Derek, please? I promise I’m ready.”
The noise Derek made was just shy of feral and dragged a pleasant shudder through Stiles’s body. He pulled his hand away from Stiles’s hip as his fingers continued to work their way in and out of him, pushing his own underwear away so his dick could spring free, slapping against his stomach with a lewd smack. Stiles didn’t get nearly enough chance to admire it (something he was definitely going to correct later when he was swallowing Derek down his throat) before Derek’s fingers were finally being pulled out of Stiles and his dick was instead pressed against his entrance.
“Last chance to back out.” Derek warned, a hint of that unbelievable self consciousness creeping back in. He was being careful, Stiles knew. He was being respectful. But right now to Stiles it felt like something closer to torture.
The human rocked desperately against him. “Do I look like I want you to stop?” He snapped in frustration as he stared back at Derek. “Seriously. Listen to me. I. Want. You. To. Fuck. Me. Please!”
Stiles cried out the last word in ecstasy at the abrupt feeling of Derek pushing inside him. Slowly, agonizingly slow, every inch filling him up more than he would have thought possible. Fuck he needed more of that. Stiles thighs trembled both from the exertion of keeping himself still in this position and the need to push himself the rest of the way down in a bid to rid himself of a desperate need inside him that he’d never known existed. When he was finally fully seated at the base of Derek’s dick Stiles felt totally and completely full- but the need was only about a hundred times worse. Stiles let out a needy, breathless noise; words having escaped him.
Derek must have known because he didn’t try dragging another answer out of him this time before he started slowly fucking him. It still wasn’t nearly enough and Stiles soon found himself shifting his own weight so he was riding him at a quicker pace. The werewolf let out a loud moan (a sound so close to angelic that Stiles knew he would treasure forever) and opted to let Stiles fuck himself on his dick, instead his fingers finding their way back to the humans hair and tugging him into another rough kiss. His other hand wrapped around Stiles’s dick and began stroking at a pace that matched Stiles’s rhythm.
It wasn’t long before Stiles felt his orgasm tugging intently at the coil in his stomach. He might have been embarrassed about it if Derek wasn’t as unabashedly attractive as he was. Given the situation Stiles thought anyone in their right mind would understand. “Derek.” He moaned urgently against the other man’s lips. “I’m close.”
Derek pulled back to press a kiss at the spot where Stiles’s jaw met his neck before his eyes turned down to watch his hand stroking the man above him. He let go of Stiles’s hair and moved the hand back to his hip before encouraging in a low voice, “Cum for me.”
And so Stiles did. His eyes slammed shut with a noise that was loud enough to be pushing the definition of a moan as his orgasm hit him so hard he felt more than saw the scatters of light flashing behind his eyelids. When his hips started to slow Derek started thrusting back into him, fucking Stiles through his orgasm with the fervor of someone who was teetering on the edge. Stiles groaned, feeling every inch fucking in and out of him until it was just shy of too much. He involuntarily clenched around Derek and just like that Stiles felt the other man’s dick pulse as he came.
When they had both ridden through their orgasm and the heaviness had settled in their bones Derek lazily pressed his forehead against Stiles’s. His hair was damp with sweat and his breathing was ragged. It occurred to Stiles that every time he thought he saw the hottest Derek could get he was proved stunningly wrong.
“Can I kiss you?” Derek asked him in a suddenly shy voice, and Stiles was about two seconds away from finding whoever the hell tricked this gorgeous, perfect man into thinking he was anything less.
“Dude you’re still inside me.” Stiles responded.
The werewolf crinkled his nose. “Then don’t call me dude.” He said; but he must not have minded too much because he still wrapped an arm around Stiles’s waist and pulled him down until they were chest to chest as his lips claimed Stiles’s in another lazy kiss.