Chapter Text
Derek watches the trees pass in the passenger window in a daze. He’s kind of useless today; he slept so well last night, he’s not really sure what to do with himself besides replay every detail of yesterday.
Laura grumbles a reminder at him to eat the toaster strudel she’d very thoughtfully made him for breakfast. Either she’s working up to a favor or Hell has frozen over.
Still, he obediently nibbles on a corner of the breakfast pastry. He immediately gets distracted by the rays of sunlight bouncing off the side mirror, throwing rainbows across his arm.
Laura pokes him in the neck, effectively startling him out of his haze.
“So, who’s the lucky lady?”
Derek carefully studies his strudel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Laura glances at him. “Seriously? You’re gonna play dumb with that enormous hickey on your neck?”
“Maybe I burned myself with the curling iron,” Derek replies without missing a beat. He tears another chunk of strudel off with his teeth.
There’s no point in denying the existence of the mark since Stiles had seen fit to put it in the abysmally obvious spot between the corner of his jaw and his ear. He probably could’ve figured out a way to hide it, but unfortunately, he’d wasted his early start daydreaming about long fingers and that warm, inviting mouth.
“Curling iron, huh,” Laura snickers. “You’d better figure out a way to keep that dumbass look off your face when the Judge asks. You never know, she might decide it’s a good time to ship you off to a convent.” Her eyes light up. “Or ooh, boarding school. That could be fun.”
“Fuck off,” Derek grunts, absolutely not bothered. There was no look.
“It’s not that bad,” Laura says, switching suddenly – and suspiciously – to sympathetic as she pulls up to the curb to drop him off.
Derek looks at her cautiously.
“I’m sure no one will see it.” Her lips begin to twitch.
Derek groans and tucks his shoulders up around his head. “You fucking suck,” he mumbles, jumping out of her car.
“Not as well as your friend, apparently,” she chirps.
“Jesus.”
“Bye, sweetie,” she calls as he hurries away from her. “And don’t forget to use protection. Safety first!” she yells, just in case someone across campus can’t hear her trying to embarrass him.
He cuts across the grass to the front entrance, avoiding amused looks and wondering how he always seems to forget that his older sister is basically evil incarnate.
Laura is still laughing as she drives away.
-
He ducks into a bathroom before class to assess the damage. He curses, noting that the mark seems to have darkened since he’d first spotted it this morning. If he pulls his jacket hood up around his neck and tilts his head enough, he figures the giant, mouth-shaped bruise on his neck will be mostly out of sight. You know. To a blind person in space.
Dammit, Stiles.
They’ll have to be more careful if they’re going to keep this up. And he has a feeling they will.
Derek feels his cheeks heat, remembering last night when Stiles had used the excuse of a missing bag to get him back upstairs so they could sloppily make out while his family unwittingly watched Cake Wars in the living room below.
Fuck, bad train of thought to have right before class.
He splashes water on his face, tightens the strings on his hood and heads to English. Stiles is just turning down the hallway.
A smile spreads across Derek's face. He falls into step besides him, knocking their elbows together.
“Hey—”
His stomach twists when Stiles jerks away from him, fingers clutching at the strap of his backpack like a lifeline.
Christ, it’s not like Derek is going to attack him at school.
“Right. Sorry for bothering you, I guess.”
He hears Stiles make a frustrated sound. “No, you’re not— Derek.” Stiles calls him back a few more times, but Derek ignores him, fighting to keep his expression neutral, and ducks into class.
He sits in his seat and sets his folder in front of him so it looks like he’s busy doing something instead of sinking into a deep panic.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Erica chirps at him, perching on the edge of her desk.
“Fuck off.”
Erica looks more pleased than offended, which really says a lot about who she is as a person. “Who pissed in your cheerios?”
“Your mother.”
Erica nods sagely. “Sounds like something she’d do. She’s a terrible person.”
Derek huffs a reluctant laugh. Erica looks satisfied to have lightened his mood.
“Derek’s having a rough morning,” she says to Boyd as he takes his seat.
“Who do we need to kill,” Boyd asks, deadpan.
“I’m guessing it starts with a ‘Ssss’ and rhymes with ‘Stiles,’” Erica says in a mock-whisper. “But we can’t kill him. That would make him even more sad.”
Derek regards her warily, wondering what she knows, and how.
“I might’ve witnessed your very brief conversation from a distance before class,” she admits.
Derek groans. “Erica.”
She holds her hands out innocently. “But what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t at least attempt to shamelessly eavesdrop on you and your…other friend.”
Derek’s ears burn. “It was nothing.”
“Didn’t look like nothing,” she says to Boyd in an undertone.
Derek pointedly turns his head away from them and glares at the clock, willing time to speed up.
A clawed finger jabs him in the throat. “Whoa, where’d you get that?”
Shit, he’d nearly forgotten. He slaps a hand over the mark and hunches in on himself.
“Go away,” he grumbles.
Erica puffs up with excitement, the glint in her eye warning him to prepare for the grilling of a lifetime, but luckily before the torture can begin, their teacher goes to the whiteboard and calls the class to attention.
Derek has never been more enthusiastic to go over homework in his life.
-
Midway through the lesson, Derek’s phone buzzes and keeps going for an uncomfortable amount of time, indicating a phone call.
He subtly checks the screen and sees Stiles’ name flashing across it.
Residual embarrassment flushes his cheeks. He catches Erica looking at him curiously and grits his teeth. He hits ignore and sets it back in his pocket.
His phone starts vibrating again, almost immediately. Derek rolls his eyes and ends the call. He hears a soft bang, and looks to his left to see none other than Stiles hovering outside his classroom, waving his phone through the small window settled high on the door.
Stiles, who has the audacity to look offended, as if asking, what the hell, Derek, how dare you not answer your phone in the middle of class and risk getting detention for me?
Derek scowls and turns his face away.
His phone goes off again, signaling a text. He rolls his eyes and checks it surreptitiously.
« I will pull the fire alarm if I have to. »
Derek has no doubts that he would. And then he would get suspended and Derek wouldn’t get to see him every day, which apparently wouldn’t be a good thing, because the mere thought puts a pit in Derek’s stomach.
He lifts his hand with a sigh.
-
Derek reluctantly trudges outside, hall pass in hand. Stiles is casually propped against the wall, waiting for him.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Stiles says jokingly, like he hadn’t basically blackmailed Derek into leaving class.
Derek gives him a dirty look and keeps walking.
Stiles lets out a sound of disgruntlement and pushes off the wall, jogging to catch up with him. “Hey, wait up.”
Derek might pick up the pace, and no, he is not speed-walking away from his problems, okay.
Stiles lunges, finally catching his arm and dragging him into the little nook at the end of the hall behind the vending machines.
“Dude.”
Derek jerks his arm away irritably. “What, now you want to talk to me?”
“I didn’t not want to talk to you earlier,” Stiles protests. “I was still half-asleep and you popped up out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me.”
“Oh.”
Stiles’ expression softens. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you think I was trying to avoid you.”
And just like that the tension eases. Derek shrugs like that small, misunderstood interaction hadn’t almost completely ruined his day, his week, his life.
“It’s fine. I just thought, you know.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I thought it was about… You know. Yesterday.”
Stiles squints at him, tilting his head quizzically.
“You thought I was avoiding you because we had sex?”
Derek’s brain fills fuzzy all of the sudden.
“That’s. Not—” he stutters.
“I mean, that’s basically what it was, right?” Stiles shifts closer, something about his movements predatory until Derek unconsciously takes a step back. “Sex. Two people getting off together… Repeatedly.”
Derek feels his face heat. Stiles has him backed into a corner, both literally and figuratively.
He hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but Stiles isn’t wrong, is he? Derek had had sex with him, and not just once, as Stiles had pointed out: multiple times. It might’ve been for “educational purposes,” but did that mean it didn’t count?
Derek thinks of the way Stiles had looked after their third go, fucked-out and happy, fingers mindlessly tracing paths up and down Derek’s stomach, and decides it doesn’t matter; it was enough.
He looks away from Stiles’ magnetic eyes and nods his head once, throat clicking as he swallows the saliva that’s suddenly flooded his mouth.
Stiles looks pleased for the confirmation. “Well, if the way I came all over myself three times wasn’t any indication, I liked it. A lot. It’s not a problem for me at all,” he says bluntly, a touch of smugness overtaking his tone.
Derek shifts a little, suddenly feeling a bit flushed.
Stiles’ expression flickers to uncertainty and he backs off a little. “Unless… You’re not regretting it, are you?” The delivery is nonchalant, but Stiles crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously.
Derek rolls his eyes and grabs Stiles’ arm, tugging him back into his space. “I told you, it’s fine.”
Stiles rolls his eyes right back, but lets himself be pulled in easily. “Just fine, huh,” he says with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not great, spectacular, mind altering...”
“I said what I said.”
Stiles laughs, eyes alight with mirth. “You’re not funny, you know.”
“Then why do you keep laughing?”
“I have a terrible sense of humor, Derek, everyone knows that.”
Derek snickers, and Stiles’ gaze drifts lower, catching on something just below his chin.
He places his palm on Derek’s shoulder, fingers brushing over the tender spot beneath his jaw. “Shit, did I do that?” he asks, voice soft.
“Nah, it was the person I had over after you,” Derek replies, trying for light and probably missing by miles.
“Liar,” Stiles breathes. He presses his thumb into the bruise, and it’s gentle, pressure barely there, but Derek feels his stomach flutter.
He grabs Stiles’ wrist and stops him before he does something embarrassing. Like pop a boner because Stiles did something as innocent as touching his throat.
Stiles stares at him, expression shifting to something a little more intense.
Derek holds his breath, because he knows that look. Knows it intimately, actually.
Stiles leans in slowly, and despite his brain trying to warn him it’s not a good idea, starting something at school where they could easily be caught, Derek doesn’t try to stop him.
The sound of approaching laughter echoes down the hall, and the moment’s over. Stiles backs away to a more appropriate standing distance, casually sticking his hands in his jacket pockets.
“I should get back. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
Derek nods, torn between relief and disappointment. “Yeah, okay.”
Stiles gives a small wave and takes off, back towards his class. Derek frowns after him, wondering why the disappointment is winning.
-
Despite Stiles’ words, Derek does not see him for the rest of the day, which in no way accounts for the dip in his mood. Boyd drops him off at home, a welcome respite from Erica’s verbal harassment about where he’d gotten the hickey and Isaac’s obnoxiously knowing smirks.
“It’s not so bad,” Boyd says as they pull up to the house. “Maybe a little concealer, though. If you want Erica to let it go anytime soon.”
Derek grimaces. Erica never lets anything go. He thanks Boyd for the ride and slouches up the steps into his home.
“What up, assface,” Laura greets him. Derek spares her a glance. She’s leaving the kitchen, carrying a jar of peanut butter and a bag of pretzels to the living room where their younger sisters are waiting.
Derek grunts something that might pass for a hello.
“We’re gonna watch Jumanji. Want us to wait for you?”
“Pass.”
“Your loss,” Laura shouts at him as he makes his way upstairs.
“Your loss, your loss,” the twins chant.
Derek slams his door and flops onto his bed, feeling drained.
Had he really been in such a sated, happy fog just this morning? It feels like he’s coming off a really bad high. Not that he’d really know anything about that. He’d taken a few hits off a joint at Whittemore’s once. He had nearly hacked up a lung and then proceeded to spend the next hour and a half glued to Jackson’s couch, convinced he was having a heart attack.
He grabs the book he’s been reading off his desk and settles in for some quiet time.
An hour or so later, there’s a short rap on his door. It’s probably Laura, come to berate him about not wanting to spend time with her and their sisters. Derek sighs and puts his finger in the crease of his book keep his place.
“What.”
The door creaks open and Derek glances over his shoulder, surprised to find not his sister, but Stiles sliding into his room and firmly closing the door behind him.
“Uh, hey.”
Derek rolls onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“Yeah, neither did I. My mom kind of just dragged me out of the house mid-nap and we ended up here.”
“Nap? Couldn’t sleep last night?”
“Au contraire, mon frère.” Stiles grimaces likes he’s embarrassed for himself and Derek graciously lets it slide with little more than a mocking twitch of the lips. “I slept very well. Best sleep of my life.”
Derek feels needlessly smug. It must show because Stiles rolls his eyes at him and chews on his lip, trying to hide a smile. He pushes Derek over and crawls onto the bed beside him. He lays on his side, knees pressed into Derek’s leg.
“What about you, big guy? How’d you sleep?” Stiles asks, eyes catching on the side of Derek’s throat again.
“Like a baby,” he admits.
Stiles reaches out and strokes the mark on his neck. Derek’s eyes flutter shut.
“Thanks for that, by the way,” he says, throat full of gravel. “It was great, all the questions I had to dodge today.”
“I have a few marks of my own, buddy, and you don’t hear me complaining,” Stiles retorts, pulling the collar of his shirt aside to reveal a series of bruises Derek hazily recalls leaving the afternoon before.
“Yeah, only because I was nice enough to put them where no one else could see them,” Derek grumbles, face heating.
“Oh, thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, fucker,” Derek says, aware that he sounds way too soft, and turns back to his book.
He feels Stiles watching him for a while before he drops a kiss to the bruise on Derek’s neck and rolls onto his stomach. “Wake me up when it’s time to eat, yeah?”
Derek thoughtfully touches his throat. “Yeah, alright.”
-
Stiles tries to slink off the bed several times, until Derek finally closes the book and pulls him snugly against his chest. He finds himself dozing off, despite the snoring and the sleep talk. It somehow doesn’t surprise him that Stiles is never silent, not even while unconscious.
He’s not sure how much time has passed when he’s startled awake by his mother calling them down for dinner. Derek rubs the sleep from his eyes and gently shakes Stiles’ arm.
“Get up,” he grunts. “Food.”
“No, I would not like to see the clown,” Stiles mumbles emphatically as he stirs.
Derek lets out a snicker.
It takes a moment, but Stiles reorients himself, offering a sleepy grin to Derek over his shoulder.
“Mornin’, big guy.”
Derek’s breath catches for a minute there, and it scares the crap out of him. Everything about Stiles scares him suddenly. Like how nice he feels in Derek’s arms, and the warmth of his skin, the warmth of his smile and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“It’s like six,” Derek replies quietly. He gently extracts the arm that Stiles had been laying on, and rolls out of bed.
“Were we just spooning?” Stiles asks, an amused smile on his face.
“Only because you kept trying to throw yourself off the bed,” Derek mutters, “I basically saved your life.” He messes with some books on his desk, trying to hide the flush of his face.
Stiles is frowning by the time Derek glances back.
“Uh, we should go down and eat,” he says, dumbly jerking his thumb toward the door.
“Hold on.”
Derek turns just in time to see Stiles reach for him, pulling their mouths together with a hand on his neck and pressing him into the door. After a moment of surprise, Derek rests his hands on Stiles’ hips and lets his eyes slip shut, sinking into it. He doesn’t know what Stiles is trying to do, if he gets off on the thought of getting caught, because if he keeps this up, that’s exactly what will happen.
But it’s not long before Stiles slips his tongue from Derek’s mouth, dragging his teeth across his lower lip and opening dazed eyes to stare at Derek’s face, seeming satisfied with the mess he’s made.
“What was that for?” Derek asks roughly, when Stiles frees him.
Stiles shrugs. “Just wanted to thank you for saving my life.”
Stiles grabs the door knob at his back, and Derek wordlessly moves aside.
“Coming?” Stiles tosses over his shoulder, not checking to see whether Derek will follow.
-
Stiles is strangely quiet throughout dinner, even with his little sisters’ many attempts to coax him into being their dinner entertainment, like usual. Stiles isn’t mean about it or anything, of course he isn’t. He just seems...distracted. Derek tries not to think that it’s somehow his fault, but it probably is. His eyes flick toward Derek often, and away just as quickly. Derek begins to lose his appetite, sure that Stiles is considering ending whatever it is they’ve been doing.
“I better get pack some of this up and take it to John before he starves to death,” Claudia says after dinner with a fond roll of her eyes. “Did you know the whole town would probably collapse without him?” The wording stinks of an old argument.
Talia nods solemnly, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Every day is a struggle just to get out of bed. But then I remember John’s somewhere out there, bravely carrying the weight of Beacon Hills on his shoulders, and it really puts things into perspective.”
“I’ll let him know how much his service means to everyone,” Claudia promise, too solemn to be serious.
Derek starts clearing the table, and Stiles shoots to his feet, hurrying to help him. Derek takes a pile of plates and silverware to the kitchen and begins to methodically rinse them off. It’s Laura’s turn to load the dishwasher tonight, but Stiles is being weird and he could use the distraction. He’s almost finished when Stiles sets a fresh stack of dishes in front of him.
“Thanks,” he grumbles sarcastically.
Stiles gives him a shit-eating grin. “Any time.”
Derek glares at him, no real heat behind it. Stiles bites his lip, which only draws Derek’s attention to his mouth. And then he’s staring, and fully aware that he’s staring, but makes no effort to stop.
“Derek.”
He glances up and watches Stiles’ eyes darken.
“Hurry up,” he says suddenly.
Derek blinks. “What?”
Stiles elbows him out of the way, rapidly rinsing glasses and silverware and shoving them into the dishwasher. He throws some soap in, pushes some buttons, and then grabs Derek’s arm and drags him back through the dining room and toward the stairs.
“And where are you two running off to?” Talia asks, sounding amused.
“I, uh, forgot my phone upstairs,” Stiles answers. “Derek’s gonna help me look.”
“Ten minutes,” Claudia warns. “And you better not try to ‘accidentally’ fall asleep on Derek’s very comfortable bed. He’s been bugging me about getting him a new bed,” she tells Talia. “Apparently, Derek’s is heaven on a box spring.”
“Well, we got all the kids beds at—”
Derek loses track of their mothers’ conversation as Stiles all but shoves him into his own room. He rolls his eyes. Leave it to Stiles to lose track of his belongings and then make it Derek’s problem.
“Did you leave it in the bed?” he sighs.
Stiles furrows his brow. “The phone? It’s in my pocket.”
“Then what—?”
Stiles presses him against the door again, and Derek’s eyes widen. Oh.
Oh.
It doesn’t take long for him to catch up. Derek pulls at the buttons on his pants while Stiles does the same.
“Come on, Derek,” Stiles says, expression teasing, “We only have ten minutes.”
“Fuck you,” Derek mumbles, irritation lost when Stiles slides his hand inside his underwear.
Stiles gives him a look. “I said we only have ten minutes.”
Derek is about to ask how long he thinks this will take, not really understanding what Stiles is implying at first, and then he does and it raises so many more questions—
He makes a loud sound when Stiles finally grabs him and begins a steady stroke. Stiles hushes him.
“I thought we already confirmed you didn’t have a problem with dick,” Derek points out between pants because he’s stupid, stupid, stupid.
Stiles looks...disappointed. He pulls away and that is exactly the last thing Derek wants.
“Sorry. I know it was probably supposed to be a one time thing,” Stiles mutters.
Derek herds him toward the bed and pushes him over, climbing on top of him.
“Practice makes perfect,” he says seriously.
Stiles’ laughter dies out when Derek’s fingers begin to trail down his stomach.
-
Stiles leaves in one of Derek’s shirt, his cum-stained one thrown, haphazard, in the general direction of Derek’s overflowing laundry basket. It’s a little baggy, but fits better around the shoulders than it does on Derek.
It looks good on him. Really good. Too good. It’s alarming, almost, how much the sight of Stiles’ wearing something of his effects him. Stiles kisses him goodbye and Derek wonders how Stiles thinks that’s normal, how Stiles can justify what they’re doing, or if the problem is just Derek’s inability to compartmentalize.
Derek can’t sleep. Maybe it’s that it’s too late or that he’d gotten too much sleep the night before, or it could be his sadistic mind doing everything in its’ power to keep him up. It throws flashes of Stiles’ parted mouth as he stares down at Derek in his hands, his dark lashes flecked with sweat and moisture from his watering eyes. At one point, it gets so bad he swears he can physically feel Stiles panting against his neck.
He gets up and uses the bathroom, splashing water on his face like it’ll clear Stiles from his mind. He glances at himself on the way out and double takes, cursing loudly. A second, and just as large as the last Derek would like to point out, hickey is blooming around his Adam’s apple.
He groans and presses his forehead against the counter, mentally calling Stiles every bad name he can think of.
Honestly, it was a miracle his mother hadn’t seen the last one. His brain reminds him that there’s still time for that, too.
-
He oversleeps again. Luckily, it’s Laura’s day off so he doesn’t have to worry about being stranded with no way to get to school. She sees the bad mood a mile off and wordlessly hands him a tube of concealer.
“I don’t know where you find the time,” she says, shaking her head.
He looks at her blankly.
“All the,” she gestures at her neck. He resists the urge to pull the sun visor down to check his reflection. They had managed to cover up the worst of the damage and it was waterproof and smudge-proof after it set, 24 hours guaranteed. Laura says that means he’ll probably make it through school without trouble. He takes it with him, just in case.
“So, who is it?” she presses.
He doesn’t give her a response. What can he say that wouldn’t be a lie? Stiles has made it pretty clear that whatever they’re doing is purely experimental and that he wants it kept quiet.
She throws the car in park outside of his school and turns to him. “Are you sneaking out at night? What’s going on with you?”
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Derek,” she calls. He ignores her, hating that she’d asked him and feeling bad for not being able to answer her. His already dark mood darkens.
Erica’s teasing about his magical, disappearing hickey does nothing to help, and neither does the firm reprimanding he gets from his teacher for his tardiness nor the missed opportunity to see Stiles before class.
Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t even thought about homework yesterday. It’s like the world’s most horrible row of dominoes, going to class after class and being unable to produce even one completed assignment.
Stiles is sitting under the tree again at lunch. Derek spots him the moment he steps out onto the quad and just like that the dark cloud over his head lightens. Erica gives him a sly smile as he passes his usual table and makes a beeline to him.
“Hate you,” Derek grumbles.
“No, ya don’t,” she shoots back confidently, giving his ass a smack before he can dart out of range.
Stiles pulls his earphones out when Derek plops down next to him.
“Hey,” he grunts at Stiles. He sets his lunch to the side and digs through his bag, resigned to doing as much of his homework as he can before the hour ends.
“Hey, yourself,” Stiles says cheerfully. His smile fades a little as he stares at Derek, brow going pinched. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, just,” Derek lifts his small pile of worksheets, “a lot of shit to catch up on.”
Stiles sets the textbook that he is apparently reading for fun aside and grabs the review sheet for History off the top.
“I know this. I could help?” he offers. “If you want me to.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Come on, Derek. Forgery is my specialty. I can do my dad’s handwriting, my mom’s, your dad’s,” he lists off. “Your mom’s is a little tricky, but I can do yours in my sleep. Plus, I’m as smart as you are. Might even raise your GPA a few points.”
“I wonder how often the child of a cop becomes a career criminal,” Derek muses. “You think the percentage is high or are you out to devastate the statistics?”
Stiles smacks him playfully. “Shut up. Do you want my help or not?”
“Sure, kid. That would be great.”
Stiles helps him do two out of five assignments, and actually does have a pretty good grasp on Derek’s handwriting. With his homework out of the way and the prospect of food, Derek feels much less irritated in general.
“I love you so much right now,” he sighs, stowing his work away with plans of turning it in to the classes he’d already attended during Finstock’s class next period.
Stiles’ cheeks pink up. “Yeah, yeah, I’m amazing, you’d be lost without me,” he says, teasing.
He would be, but Derek will never admit that. “Don’t push it,” he says instead. Stiles grins.
Stiles talks as they eat, filling Derek in on the bullshit of the day. “It’s like if he came up for air, he was gonna die, Derek. I’m constantly having to make sure that boy still has condoms. We do not need a baby at this age.”
He’s talking about Scott, of course. Derek smiles at how there’s no doubt in Stiles’ mind that if Scott were ever to impregnate someone, the child would also somehow be his.
Stiles reaches under his jacket to scratch his stomach, and Derek notices something.
“You’re wearing my shirt.”
Stiles’ cheeks immediately turn red. He hurriedly readjusts his hoodie. “Oh, yeah, ha. I, uh. I woke up late and kind of just rolled out of bed and came to school.”
He’s obviously lying. Don’t get Derek wrong, he’s really good at it. But Derek has known him his whole life and he’s gotten good at knowing. He doesn’t understand why Stiles is lying, but he knows he is and he’s gonna find out why.
He glances toward his usual table in time to see a few sets of eyes dart away. A few yards away, Scott has stopped macking on his girlfriend long enough to stare in their direction, brow furrowed.
“I left something in my locker. Come with me?”
Stiles looks a little confused, but he agrees easily enough. He puts his things away in his backpack and lets Derek pull him to his feet, their hands lingering a little longer than might be platonically acceptable, but it’s not like anyone is paying that close attention to them, right?
They dump their trays and Derek leads Stiles to the locker room, peaking around corners and ducking his head into Coach’s office to make sure he’s still at lunch.
“So what are we getti—”
Derek cups his face and kisses him. Stiles makes a sound of surprise against his lips and Derek immediately pulls off, embarrassed that he’d been unable to control himself.
Stiles must see it in his expression, because he makes a sound in the back of his throat and hurriedly says, “No, it’s— it’s all good, bro, just—” Stiles puts a hand on the back of Derek’s neck and hauls him back in. “Yeah, yeah, c’mere.”
This had not been the plan. The plan had been to weasel the truth out of Stiles without all of the prying eyes, not that he’s complaining. He’s just not sure if he likes that his brain went on autopilot like that, though.
Derek sets his hands firmly on Stiles’ hips and presses him into the nearest locker. They kiss languidly, neither of them wanting to push too far. Not here.
Someone yells in the hallway and they break apart guiltily.
“I think they’re gone,” Stiles mumbles after a few moments of silence.
Derek nods.
“We probably shouldn’t be doing this here anyway,” Stiles says.
Derek nods again.
“I mean, it would be bad, right? If we got caught?”
Derek just stares at Stiles’ mouth.
“Is it weird that I don’t really care right now?” Stiles asks, wincing a little.
Derek shakes his head quickly, and Stiles grins and presses himself easily back into Derek’s arms, mouth firm but moving so gently against his.
Derek’s hands are in the process of slipping underneath Stiles’ shirt – his shirt; God, why is that hot – when the door to the locker room slams open, and they break apart again. Derek works his locker open quickly and grabs a textbook at random.
Jackson turns the corner and grins. “Hale! What’re you doing back here? With Stilinski...” he adds less enthusiastically upon seeing Stiles.
“Forgot my Physics book,” Derek replies, lifting it for Jackson to see.
“Where the hell have you been? Coach said you had to drop lacrosse to catch up on your schoolwork.” Derek had forgotten the excuse he’d used to ditch the team. “I thought you were, like, nerd smart.”
“I am. I just have really bad time management skills,” he says dryly. Stiles snorts. Damn, his mouth is red. Derek wonders if his looks the same.
Jackson laughs along, but it’s the kind of laugh someone gives when they don’t really understand the joke. “I’m having a party after the dance in a couple weeks. You should come.”
Derek reluctantly drags his eyes away from Stiles.
The Spring Dance. How could he have forgotten that was happening with all of the garish decorations they’d hung on every available surface around the school?
“It’s a closed event, by the way. Invitation only,” Jackson says, with a sideways glance toward Stiles. Stiles looks completely unsurprised by the thinly veiled hostility.
Derek decides he doesn’t like that.
“Is there a problem?” he asks flatly.
Jackson looks startled at the sudden animosity.
“With what?”
“It’s fine,” Stiles says, but it’s really not.
“With Stiles,” Derek answers Whittemore.
“No. I just think it’s weird that he’s following you around again, is all.”
“What do you mean, again?”
Stiles pulls on Derek’s arm.
“Come on, let’s just go.”
Derek stays even though he doesn’t really care to hear what Jackson has to say.
“I’m just saying, he used to follow you around when he was a freshman, too. It’s weird.” The way he keeps saying the word ‘weird’ it’s like he’s implying something more.
“It’s not weird; we’ve been friends since we were kids. It’s also none of your fucking business.”
Jackson lifts his hands. “No need to get mad, dude. I’m just looking out for you.”
“Nah, you’re being a dick. I think that’s a pretty good reason to get mad.”
Derek might not be on the lacrosse team anymore, but he’s not tiny. And if push comes to shove, he has no doubt he could take Jackson. Or at the very least, offer up enough of a fight to mess up Jackson’s pretty face.
Jackson must draw a similar conclusion because he backs off quickly.
“My bad. Didn’t realize you two were cool like that.”
Derek is still barely resisting the urge to punch him in the face.
“Hey, any friend of Hale’s, right?” Jackson says quickly. “You can come to the party, too,” he tells Stiles. “Hell, bring a date. The more the merrier.”
Stiles’ eyebrows are raised. “...Okay? Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jackson turns to Derek, holding a hand out. “We good?”
Derek accepts it, reluctantly and lets Whittemore pull him in for a half-hug, back thump.
“Cool. See you around, Derek. Later, Stiles.” It looks like it pains Jackson to tack that little farewell on.
“Come on. Let’s get back,” Derek mutters to Stiles.
-
“What a fucking prick,” Derek says under his breath the moment they get back into the hallway. Stiles laughs.
He’s walking close to Derek, their shoulders knocking together with every step and Derek, like always lately, is hyper-aware of his every movement.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“He was being a dick to you,” Derek replies mulishly. “What am I supposed to do, let it slide?”
Stiles says nothing.
“He hasn’t said any shit like that to you before, has he?”
Stiles grimaces.
“It’s fine. It was a while ago.”
“What did he say?” Derek demands.
Stiles sighs like he recognizes Derek is not prepared to let this go. “It wasn’t just him.”
“Who else?”
“Some guys on your team, I guess. It was heavily implied that I was bothering you and you didn’t like it. You were just too nice to say anything. That’s actually what they told me. ‘The way you’re always hanging around is creepy, Derek’s just too nice to say anything.”
“I never said anything like that.”
“Well, I know that now,” Stiles mutters.
“Did you really think that I would?”
“No. Well, kind of. I don’t know. But after that I noticed that you never really went out of your way to talk to me at school, so. I guess I got the hint.” He shrugs.
“You should’ve said something.”
“What was I gonna say? ‘Hey, Derek, your friends are tools and you don’t give me enough attention?’” Stiles is joking, but Derek is starting to get genuinely upset. “It’s fine. I’m a big boy, Derek. It’s not like it ruined my life. Besides, we still hung out. Just not in public.”
“Is that why you start acting all weird? Because you think I’m ashamed to be seen with you?”
Stiles shrugs again.
“I’m really not.”
He hears the wistful note in his voice and hates it. He doesn’t think Stiles quite understood the seriousness of what he’d said. He’s partially glad because he’s not sure he understands it himself.
But Stiles only smiles and slings his arm around Derek’s neck. “I know that, big guy.”
Before they get a chance to talk about it any further, the bell rings and he and Stiles part ways.
-
Derek catches Stiles just as he’s getting ready to leave and climbs into the passenger side of the Jeep. Stiles only seems mildly surprised to see him.
“Let’s go to your house today. I need to study for my Physics exam and everyone’s home today aside from the Judge.”
Stiles looks around confusedly. “That’s funny. I don’t remember becoming a taxi driver.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “What is this, the eighties? You’d be an Uber driver now.”
Stiles seems delighted at his mockery. “Don’t remember signing on for that either.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll leave you a five-star rating if you make the ride enjoyable.”
An interesting look crosses Stiles’ face. Derek has a feeling he’s about to say something truly terrible, but before he can get it out, they’re interrupted by tapping on the window.
Scott is peering in at them, looking confused.
Stiles lowers his window.
“Uh, hey, Derek.” Derek lifts his chin in greeting. Scott gives Stiles a look and knocks his fist into Stiles’ arm. “Dude, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over and hang. It’s been a while.”
“I would, but I kinda have plans with Derek.”
Scott looks between them, suspicious. “What, are you guys dating now or something?”
Stiles laughs, looking like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Dude, what? No! Derek’s like family.”
It stings, even though it shouldn’t because they are like family, but there’s also the whole thing where Derek had washed Stiles’ jizz out of his bellybutton this morning, so what the fuck.
But Scott isn’t similarly distressed. He looks appeased. “Oh, well, it’s just I haven’t seen you two hanging out since, like, fifth grade.”
“We’ve always hung out. Just not really at school,” Stiles says with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders.
“Oh. Right. Okay, well. Have fun. I’ll text you later?”
“Of course,” Stiles agrees. He lifts his fist and Scott bumps it and takes off on his bike. “Love you, Scotty!”
Scott shoots him a look over his shoulder and rolls his eyes, grinning.
“Sorry about that,” Stiles says with a sheepish smile as he cranks the window back up. “He chooses the worst times to be observant.”
Derek looks down and shrugs his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
Stiles gives him a funny look. “Right,” he says, and brightly changes the subject as he pulls out of the lot.
-
“The Sheriff’s not home?” Derek asks as they pull into the driveway.
“Nope, not until tonight, and Mom’s working, too.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Totally,” Stiles pretends to agree, leading Derek inside.
It’s been a while since he’s been here. He notes the small changes to Stiles’ room. A new blanket that looks like it had been knitted by hand, fluffier pillows, a new desk chair, a few posters he doesn’t recognize, though he’s not sure if that’s because he never paid much attention to them before.
He grabs his textbook and notes out of his bag and spreads out on Stiles’ bed. It’s not as bad as he remembers.
“Mom bought a mattress pad to hold me over until I get a new bed,” Stiles sighs. “Not as good as yours, but I no longer feel like an eighty year old man when I wake up in the morning.”
“It’s nice.”
Derek lays on his stomach, swatting at Stiles’ hands when he sneakily tries to push up the bottom of Derek’s shirt.
“I need to study.”
Stiles groans and rolls onto the other side of the bed, pouting.
Derek ignores him, and focuses on the notes he’d made in class.
Stiles leaves him alone for a while, humming under his breath a silly song about a lost hairbrush. It’s soothing somehow. He goes quiet for so long, Derek thinks he’s fallen asleep.
He hasn’t.
“Hey, can I practice sucking your dick?” Stiles asks out of the blue and Derek’s head jerks his way in surprise.
Stiles is blushing hard. Derek has a feeling that if he’d been paying attention he would’ve gotten the privilege of watching Stiles slowly turn red as he worked up to asking.
“For, uh, science? You know, I just wanna be good, just in case.”
He doesn’t need any convincing. Derek immediately tosses his notes to the side and flips onto his back. He’d be embarrassed about how eager he must seem, but Stiles is already across the bed and fumbling with the drawstring on Derek’s gym shorts before he can think to approach this situation with a little more grace and dignity.
Stiles pushes his legs apart and settles between them and then pauses, suddenly self-conscious.
“Don’t make fun of me, okay,” he says, fingers fidgeting with the waistband of Derek’s boxers. “I might be bad.”
Derek pets the side of his head, not sure how his hand had gotten there in the first place. He pulls it back and cards his fingers through his own hair. “Don’t care, I just want—” Stiles slides his underwear down and grips him, taking the head of his dick in his mouth without further warning and Derek breaks off with a curse that cracks in his throat.
He doesn’t take Derek very far down, but still Derek’s eyes fall shut as he sees stars and possibly God.
Oh no. “Hold on,” he wheezes, pushing at Stiles’ forehead until he pulls off.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologizes immediately, “Was it that bad?”
“Opposite,” Derek says through gritted teeth.
Stiles looks pleased. He takes Derek in again, more slowly this time, suckling at the tip of him and tilting his head to stare into Derek’s eyes while he does. It’s too much. Derek squeezes them shut and tries to distract himself as waves of intense pleasure roll down his spine.
It stops suddenly. Derek opens his eyes and checks to make sure Stiles is alright.
“I’m gonna try taking more,” Stiles pants, and Derek nods, feeling boneless. Stiles snickers, obviously judging him and Derek reaches down to lightly tug at his hair.
“Wait until it’s your turn and then we’ll see who’s laughing at who.”
Stiles lets out a sound. “You mean you’re going to—?”
“It’s only fair.”
“But you don’t have to—”
“Jesus, Stiles, are you really trying to talk me out of giving you a blow job right now?”
The squeeze Stiles gives himself doesn’t go unnoticed. “Only if I’m being extremely stupid.”
Derek raises his eyebrows and nods. That’s what I thought.
Stiles pinches Derek’s leg before he wets his lips with his tongue and puts his mouth back on Derek.
He can’t stop gagging at first, but he’s a stubborn little bastard.
Derek lets out a curse as Stiles’ teeth graze him just a little too harshly.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I’m gonna get this right if it kills the both of us.”
“You can honestly practice on me forever, I genuinely do not care,” Derek says quickly, and fuck, he’s babbling.
Stiles huffs a laugh around him, and Derek’s fingers curl tighter in his hair.
“Oh, no,” Derek breathes.
Stiles pulls back, languidly letting Derek slide out of his mouth. “Oh, yes.” He presses the tip of his tongue to the head of Derek’s cock and then follows that up by sucking it back into his mouth, gently swirling his tongue around and around and around.
Derek’s hands are shaking.
“Dude, stop, I’m gonna come.”
Stiles pulls off, looking confused. “That’s the point?”
Derek flushes darker. “Yeah, but. In your mouth? Don’t you just wanna…?” he motions with his hand.
“Oh. Nah, I’m good. I wanna see what you taste like,” Stiles says, offhand like it’s nothing.
A blurt of precome drips from Derek’s dick. Stiles stares at it for a while and then scoops it up with his finger and pops it into his mouth.
“Isn’t that enough?” Derek asks, voice almost silent.
Stiles shakes his head, eyes dark. “I don’t remember saying I wanted a sample.”
He slides back over Derek, jaws stretching wide to take in more of him until his eyes water, or maybe that’s Derek’s eyes that are watering because his vision blurs.
Derek nearly bites through his lip to keep quiet as he comes in Stiles’ mouth.
As soon as his hips stop jerking, he pulls Stiles up to him and kisses him like he’s the most precious thing on the planet.
“Seriously, you don’t have to,” Stiles mumbles against his lips as Derek tugs at the buttons of his jeans.
“I want to,” Derek says, too blissed out to think of a plausible lie or excuse on why exactly he can’t seem to wait to get his mouth on Stiles.
Stiles stares into his eyes, touches the corner of his jaw. “You sure?”
Derek flips Stiles onto his back and starts working at his pants. He pulls Stiles’ boxers down and leaves them hanging off his ankle, too impatient to get them off properly.
It’s daunting, at first. Stiles isn’t small. He’s got a good sized dick and Derek honestly doesn’t know where to start. He licks a line up the side of Stiles’ cock, which in turn gives out a healthy string of precome.
“I’m not gonna last very long,” Stiles warns, words running together.
And Derek sees that it’s true. Stiles’ thighs are trembling against his sides and he’s chewing on his lips, hands covering his eyes. The unwanted thought of anyone else seeing him like this is unbearable.
Derek has the sudden selfish urge to make this so good for Stiles, all he can think about is him.
He wraps his hand around the base of Stiles’ dick and slowly sinks down on it. It’s not as hard as he thought it would be, resisting the urge to gag. The hard part is remembering to breathe. Stiles lets out a high-pitched sound as he hits the back of Derek’s throat. Derek keeps him there for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose, trying to adjust to the feeling of the intrusion. And then he begins to move his head, lips pulling at the tip on the way out, throat working around his cock as he pushes back in. He can’t quite get all of it down, and he’s not sure how to open his throat to get Stiles in any further. He tries forcing his head lower, and it works – kind of. He chokes a little and pulls back and tries again and again and again.
Stiles only lasts about a minute before he’s arching off the bed, chest curved over Derek’s head, hands buried in Derek’s hair as he shoots down his throat.
“Sorry,” Stiles says hoarsely, releasing Derek quickly, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”
Derek pulls off and smiles at him wryly, patting his thigh before he can work himself into a panic.
Stiles flops back on his back, and Derek rolls off to the side, letting Stiles tug at him and move him around until his cheek rests against Stiles’ stomach. Stiles pets his head. His throat’s sore in a weird way, but he doesn’t hate it.
“That was… Wow.”
Derek nods lazily in agreement.
Stiles’ fingers stop working through his hair. “Sorry,” he says again. “I wasn’t trying to do, you know. That.”
Derek is assuming he means that he hadn’t meant to hold his head down while he came down Derek’s throat.
“Don’t be. I didn’t mind,” he admits stupidly. He really needs to stop letting Stiles see so much of his hand.
Stiles leans in for another kiss.
-
“Knock, knock,” Claudia says, a moment before she sticks her head into Stiles’ room.
“Hey, Mom,” he greets her, pausing the movie he’s watching on his laptop.
Derek is sitting at his desk, notes spread out all around him. “Hey, Mrs. Stilisnki.”
“Wow, you guys sound pretty rough. I hope you two aren’t coming down with anything.” She puts a hand to Stiles’ forehead, and then Derek’s. “It doesn’t feel like either of you have a fever.”
Stiles exchanges a look with Derek. “I really don’t think that’s the issue, Ma,” he says with voice full of gravel. Derek bites back a laugh.