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He knows he’s being a brat, but Laura promised after last time that she would never make him come here for lunch again, so he feels mostly justified when he crosses his arms and pouts as the host leads them to their table. A table for four, and since there’s just the two of them and it’s just past noon on a Friday and the place is crowded as hell and this is one of the hip new “family style” restaurants that forces you to share tables with strangers, he knows they’re going to have to sit with someone. All because Laura whined and made her dumb eyes – they look just like yours, idiot, she likes to remind him when he says that – go all big, sticking her just-starting-to-show belly out in blatant, shameless manipulation. “The baby really wants that mac-n-cheese, Der-bear. You can suffer small talk with strangers for your unborn niece or nephew, can’t you?”
Derek isn’t about to tell her, or anyone, but he’d suffer anything for his future niece or nephew, or for Laura or any other member of his family, even Uncle Peter. In fact, he’d rather suffer a slew of tortures than sit through another meal of forced conversation with some random, boring stranger.
But they’re here, and Laura has already eaten half of the bread from the breadbasket and is lecturing Derek on his refusal to call any of the men or women who literally throw their numbers at him, when the host reappears next to their table. Derek groans, not really bothering to hide his irritation, refusing on principle to even look up from his menu – like he even needs to look at it all, because Laura is right, the mac-n-cheese at this place is to freakin die for, but he doesn’t care because he hates talking to strangers. The guy slides into the chair next to Laura, who, Derek notices, glancing up to glare at his sister, slides the breadbasket over to him. “Help yourself,” she says smiling. Inviting conversation.
“Thanks,” the guy says, and Derek deigns to finally look up at him, feeling his own dumb eyes go wide with slow-burning shock. The guy looks incredibly familiar, somehow both adorable and handsome in a way tugs at Derek's memories, making him flush with heat. The guy has sharp cheekbones and a delicious-looking scatter of moles across his cheek and big honey-brown eyes that make him look younger than he likely is. Derek can’t stop his eyes from wandering down his neck to track the line of his strong shoulders and lean, wiry arms. He’s wearing a snug maroon Henley, the sleeves bunched up around muscled forearms that lead to his surprisingly big hands. Derek watches those hands toss a small piece of bread into his mouth, and wow, that’s a nice mouth. Pink and wide with a sweet little cupid’s bow that would look fucking incredible covered with…
Fuck. He knows this guy. Well, not knows him. Knows his…work.
The recognition hits Derek in the gut, his half-hard cock going fully erect as he places his memories of this guy, even though his guts are twisting with embarrassment. Oh god, if Laura knew. She would never, ever let him hear the end of it. His entire family, his parents included, would know by the end of the day. It would become the next hilarious story told for years over too many bottles of wine at family dinners.
Hey Der, remember that time I accidentally made you eat lunch with your favorite porn star, he can hear Laura saying, the glee he imagines in her voice making it seem far too real.
No way. No way in hell is he letting that happen.
Derek realizes that he’s been staring and that his mouth his hanging open. The guy – Jackson Dylan – catches his gaze and raises his eyebrows in question, smiling softly, almost suspiciously. Oh shit.
Derek clears his throat and looks back down at his menu, reaching for his water. He hazards a glance at Laura, who’s smirking, the she-devil. Okay, so she knows that he’s attracted to the guy. Not a huge deal, considering the alternative.
“I’m Laura,” she says, and even though this means Derek’s going to have to talk to him – oh god, he got off to his latest video just last night, and fuck it was so hot – he’s glad that someone’s broken the silence that was in danger of becoming irrecoverably awkward.
“Hey, I’m Stiles,” the guy says.
Stiles? Derek figured Jackson Dylan was a pseudonym, but the strangeness of the guy’s real name surprises him, intrigues him even more.
“This is my brother, Derek,” Laura says, because he still can’t seem to force words out of his mouth. His mouth that was fucking panting last night, imagining himself as the guy hammering into Jackso – Stiles. God, he can't believe this is actually happening, Derek hasn't met anyone in years who piques his interest the way Jackso - Stiles - does, and he's here, sitting across from him, smiling, solid and real and even more beautiful in the flesh.
He's so screwed.
“Hi Stiles,” he manages to croak out, liking the sound of his voice saying that weird name, which probably has something to do with the way Stiles' smile brightens when he does. He chugs the rest of his water. Laura smiles at him like she’s proud.
“Nice to meet you both,” Stiles says. “Thanks for letting me join you,” he adds, a little nervously. “To be honest, I hate eating in restaurants alone. That’s why I love this place. Always new, interesting people to talk to. Well, that, and the mac-n-cheese.”
Derek huffs, because of course Stiles is friendly and outgoing and charming and charismatic and everything he’s not.
The server rescues him from having to respond, thank god, arriving with more water and a smile, launching into a lengthy description of the specials. It gives Derek time to compose himself, and he makes a mental note to tip her generously.
They all order the mac-n-cheese and Stiles and Derek both order beers, which makes Laura pout. “Not fair,” she says as the server walks away. “I want a beer so damn bad.” She wraps her hands around her small belly and smiles. “This kid better be worth it. Better not take after its grumpy uncle.” Derek does his best to glare at her, but it’s hard to do much of anything when Stiles is looking at him and laughing the way he is.
“Congratulations,” Stiles exclaims when he stops laughing, seeming completely genuine, eyes bright as he looks at Laura. “Babies are awesome,” he says. “I don’t have any myself, but my step brother, who’s actually been by best friend since preschool, so really he’s just my brother, he and his wife Kira have a six-month old, a sweet little girl named Allison. Cutest damn baby. Being an uncle is awesome. You’ll love it, dude,” Stiles finishes, a little breathless, gaze shifting to Derek, smiling at him again.
Derek can’t help but picture Stiles smiling like that, holding a tiny baby, and wow, that’s weird, how much he likes it. He can’t decide if that’s more or less weird than having a casual lunch with his sister and the porn star he’s been getting off to for over a year now now, which, fuck, that makes him think again about all the time he’s spent watching Jackson…Stiles.
He first discovered him when he was featured as a new performer on his favorite site. The still image of the video on the homepage caught Derek’s interest immediately. It was Stiles from the waist up, naked, one arm tossed casually behind his head, the other reaching down out of frame. His eyes were closed, those long lashes dark against his gorgeous pale skin, mouth open. It was a short video – only about ten minutes, his first time on camera, he said at the beginning, smiling shyly. Derek watched in stunned arousal as Stiles jacked off and fingered himself, coming in powerful bursts across his chest, hitting his chin. Derek got off to the video twice that night, and subscribed for notifications of his new scenes. He also re-upped his site subscription for another year, just to be sure he wouldn’t miss anything Jackson Dylan – Stiles – did.
Stiles did two more solo videos before his first scene with another guy, and Derek had to fight down an irrational jealousy before he could watch it. Once he did, still agitated in a way he didn’t understand, his arousal took over when he saw the blissed out smile on Stiles’ face as he fucked himself on an impressively large cock belonging to a muscled, stubbled guy that Derek would have killed to be as he watched him slide into that perfect ass.
“So, Stiles, what do you do?” Laura asks, making Derek choke as he takes another drink, ice-cold water spilling down his chin and on to his shirt.
“Uh oh, Derek,” Stiles says with a grin that he can only be described as naughty. “Now you’re all wet.”
He feels his eyes bulge and he has to look down as he wipes at his beard and his chest with a napkin, refusing to meet Laura’s gaze. Stiles just keeps talking, answering Laura’s question like he hasn’t just made Derek feel like he’s burning up from the inside out.
“I’m a grad student,” Stiles is saying. “PhD in History.”
Derek is genuinely surprised, although he’s not sure why. And dammit if he’s not even more intrigued. “What about you two?” Stiles asks, interrupting Derek from his thoughts about how he’s probably helping to pay Stiles’ tuition by getting off to him.
“I’m a lawyer,” Laura answers, “and Derek’s a veterinarian. We run our family’s wildlife sanctuary just outside of town.”
Stiles’ expression alights with recognition. “The Hale Sanctuary? No way! Scott, my brother, he interns for you guys. Scott McCall. He’s a vet student.”
Derek is stunned all over again – this guy, Jackson Dylan, Stiles, is McCall’s brother? McCall, the aggressively cheerful intern that Laura foisted on him two months ago, claiming that he needed help keeping up with the sanctuary’s growing population of animals in need of rehabilitation. Laura also insisted that it would do him good to talk to people who aren't directly related to him, and she hired Scott mostly because he didn’t flinch from Derek in the interview like all of the other candidates had.
Come to think of it, he’s heard Scott on the phone a few times talking to someone named Stiles, and he’s maybe even mentioned him a few times. God, if he only knew McCall was talking about the same guy he got off to nearly every night, he would have paid more attention. It would have been a different kind of hell, recognizing Stiles around Scott, but it would have been far preferable to this, with Laura here, loving every second Derek’s obvious discomfort without even knowing the true cause of it.
“Wow! What a small world,” Laura is saying. “Isn’t that crazy, Der?”
“Yeah,” Derek manages to spit out, looking over Laura’s shoulder, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. “Small world.” He wants to say something, anything, but he can’t find the words, terrified as he is that he’ll say something stupid.
Stiles’ eyes dart back over to Derek. “So you’re Derek,” he says slowly, like the pieces of some complicated puzzle have finally slipped into place for him.
“Does Scott talk about Derek often?” Laura asks. “What does he have to say about Dr. Grumpasaurus?”
Stiles laughs again, and Derek actually smiles in response. He tries to cover it, but not before Laura sees and her eyes go wide, the look of shock on her face almost worth this whole humiliating nightmare. “Just that he’s honored to be learning from such a talented veterinarian,” Stiles says, much to Laura’s giggling delight.
“Very diplomatic, Stiles,” she says, punching his arm.
~*~
Derek manages to survive the rest of the meal, even relaxing enough to carry on something that almost starts to feel like a comfortable conversation once he finishes his second beer.
Stiles, though, seems intent on pushing his buttons in the most devious of ways, fluttering his eyes and flirting shamelessly, dropping innuendos that Derek is sure Laura is choosing to ignore for her own sanity. (When their beers arrive: “ooh, I love a pour with a good head”; when they’re eating the insanely rich mac-n-cheese: “Derek, you’ve got some cream sauce in your beard.”) Derek levels a glare at him then, licking the corner of his mouth and narrowing his eyes. Stiles honest-to-god cackles. It makes him want to throttle him and pepper his mouth with tender kisses, and fuck, his reactions to Stiles are confusing.
When they’re done eating Laura excuses herself to go to the restroom, and as awkward as having her there with everything he was thinking about, his stomach flips with nerves when he’s faced with talking to Stiles alone.
Stiles leans back in his chair, studying Derek carefully. “Yep, I think I’ll have to disown Scott for good this time,” he says with a dramatic sigh.
“What?”
“For failing to tell me just how attractive you are. I would have been visiting him at work months ago if he had. Can I get your number?” Stiles leans forward, resting his chin on his hand and leaning his elbow on the table, blinking softly at him.
Derek is stunned, again. He had figured Stiles was teasing him with the obvious flirting, but he seems completely serious now. His heart flutters, pounding in his chest with an excitement he’s never felt before.
“Or not?” Stiles says when Derek doesn’t answer right away. “I guess I was reading this all wrong,” he sounds embarrassed and disappointed, all that smug bravado fading quickly.
“Yes,” Derek says eagerly, loudly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being so weird. I, uh, don’t really do this much,” he ends weakly.
“Really?” Stiles asks, hopeful.
“Yeah, really. I’d like to see you again,” he adds, smiling easily, a strange feeling for him.
They exchange phones to key in their numbers, and when they hand them back, Stiles brushes his hand over Derek’s, his ears going a bit red. When he pulls away he darts his eyes towards the bathrooms, looking for Laura. “So, um,” Stiles says haltingly. “Am I right in guessing that you…recognize me?”
Derek feels his cheeks reddening. “Yeah, um…yes. I hope that’s not too weird,” he finishes lamely.
“No, well, yeah, it’s kinda weird, but not too weird, you know? I mean, I’ve been recognized before, but…” He’s still looking down, big hand rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to relieve some tension there. “Just never by someone who uh…looks like he could perform with me.” Derek can't really pay attention to the compliment, distracted as he is by the the way Stiles looks up at him from under those pretty lashes that first drew him in from the screen of his laptop, so much more intoxicatingly beautiful in real life. His teeth are worrying into his bottom lip, making it blossom with little red crescent moons that Derek wants to lick away.
Yeah, he's screwed.
~*~
Outside the restaurant, after Laura has hugged them both and left them with a wink as she turned toward her car, Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls up on the balls of his feet, watching Derek closely. “Oh, fuck it,” he sighs, falling forward, catching himself on Derek’s hips and planting a messy, awkward kiss on his mouth.
It takes Derek a second to catch up with what’s happening, always just a few seconds too slow for Stiles, it seems. When he does though, he more than makes up for it, pulling him close into a real kiss, pressing his tongue into his eager mouth and grunting in satisfaction when Stiles moans and slides his own tongue across his lips, hands circling around his waist to press hard into his lower back. Derek is vaguely aware of people staring at them but he couldn’t care less, because kissing Stiles is hands down the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
They finally come up for air, gasping slightly. “My place is just a few blocks from here,” Stiles says against his cheek where he’s rubbing his face against Derek’s, his voice sounding dazed. “Do you want to come over?”
“Yes,” Derek replies immediately.
~*~
Stiles lives alone in a spacious studio overlooking a park, a surprisingly nice place that Derek can’t really appreciate because Stiles is yanking his shirt over his head the moment the door closes behind them. They’re becoming more frenzied with every touch, with every kiss, a simmering need building in Derek that buzzes through him, makes every point of contact with Stiles’ skin feel like an electric shock.
Soon they’re both shirtless, Stiles laying half on his unmade bed, legs hanging off the edge where Derek’s on his knees on the floor, pulling down his khakis and his snug, expensive boxer briefs in one swift tug.
He’s seen Stiles’ hard, leaking dick more times than he can count, but it still doesn’t prepare him for the rush of hot arousal that takes his breath away when he’s up close with it, close enough for him to kiss it softly on the head before moving back up Stiles’ long, well-defined torso, tongue tangling in the line of hair that leads from dick to his navel. He kisses each of his nipples before finding his mouth again, smiling at the way Stiles groans and bucks his hips, hands clutching at Derek’s bare back.
“You’re so beautiful,” Derek whispers in to Stiles’ neck, voice too soft for his liking, closing his eyes against the rush of pleasure when Stiles reaches down to grab his ass through his jeans.
“Derek,” he pants, voice pleading in a way Derek’s never heard in any of his videos.
Derek moves back down his body, unable to resist his mouth-watering hunger for Stiles’ cock any longer. It’s been a long time since Derek has been with anyone, but he used to be good at this, so he goes with his instincts, paying careful attention to every twitch and hitch of Stiles’ body, trying not to think about the fact that Stiles gets head from professionals all the time. He teases him, wanting to make it last, groaning in pleasure with every pulse of precome he works from his gorgeous cock, using it to slick it up before swallowing him down, looking up to watch the way Stiles bucks and groans.
He sucks him greedily, his own dick bulging painfully against his jeans. He ignores it, too wrapped up in the heady pleasure of Stiles’ hands in his hair, his soft thrusts up into his mouth, thrilled and overwhelmed that this is actually happening.
“Fuck, Derek, your mouth, oh my god,” Stiles is mumbling, almost incoherently, and Derek swells with pride. He shoves a finger in his mouth alongside Stiles’ cock, slicking it up before sliding his hand back to explore that pink hole he’s been fantasizing about fucking for a goddamn year. Stiles bucks up hard when he pushes in, trying to shove back on it. The movement thrusts his dick hard against the back of Derek’s throat, and he has to pull off so he doesn’t choke. He pushes his finger further into the welcoming heat of his hole and jacks him with his other hand, mouthing at the base, inhaling his rich, spicy smell. He twists his fingers around the head of his dick with a firm squeeze as he curves the finger in Stiles’ ass, smiling when Stiles thrusts hard again, his dick scraping against his beard. His back arches and Derek watches in wide-eyed wonder as Stiles drenches his face in hot, musky come.
Stiles slumps back on the bed, body limp and languid, mumbling groans still pouring from his lips as his body twitches through the aftershocks. Derek finally turns to his own dick still straining and leaking against his clothes. He frees himself quickly and fucks hard into his fist, needing only a few thrusts before he’s coming shamelessly across Stiles’ softening cock. Stiles grunts in pleasure as he does, half-open eyes dark and lust-filled as he stares down at him.
Derek’s arms go weak as he strokes himself through the last shudders of his blistering orgasm, and he falls heavily, resting his head on Stiles’ stomach. He knows he shouldn’t, knows he should move, should probably leave as soon as possible, because Stiles has probably already gotten everything he wants from him.
He doesn’t want to think about that yet though, so he just lies there and lets himself believe for a moment that Stiles’ soothing hands in his hair actually mean something. Lets himself feel the swell of affection that blooms warmly in his chest when Stiles mumbles quietly, something about how pretty Derek looks with come on his face.
Derek finally raises up, moving back to his knees on the floor. He tucks himself away and zips his jeans, getting ready to stand. Before he can stop himself, though, he leans back over Stiles, licking a thick drop of his come from his soft dick, smiling as it twitches in response. The taste of himself mixed with Stiles' salty, tender skin is almost worth the pained groan Stiles gives as he covers his face with his hands. Almost, because Derek knows he’s gone too far.
“Bathroom,” he asks brusquely, standing, embarrassed.
“Over there,” Stiles gestures, lazily raising a hand towards a narrow hallway near the front door. Derek walks quickly, sighing as he pulls the door closed behind him, not looking at himself in the mirror. Now that the adrenaline and wonder are wearing off, the reality of the situation hits Derek like a punch to the gut. What Stiles had said before – about being recognized by someone he was attracted to, the way he invited Derek home with him so quickly, hell even the blatantly obvious way he had flirted with him at lunch. He was just interested in fucking Derek. Everyone who was interested in Derek was only interested in fucking him, because, like Kate hate told him so many times all those years ago when he was still under the thrall of her emotional abuse and manipulation, that’s all he's good for, all he has going for him.
Derek wants to be annoyed with Stiles, but he knows he’s just as much as fault. He invited the flirtation, said yes eagerly, wanted Stiles just as badly, probably even more. He let his lust get the better of him again, and it twists in his gut as he stands in Stiles' small bathroom, washing the man's come from his face, refusing to look in the mirror because, pathetic as it sounds, he has imagined himself with Stiles so many times he feels like he knows him. But now he does actually know him – now Stiles is someone he could actually have in his life – and he's already gone and screwed it up by thinking with his dick.
Derek rinses his mouth with cool water, splashing some more over his face one last time before drying off and gritting his teeth, preparing for the inevitable rejection.
Stiles is standing by the couch, dressed again, holding Derek’s shirt and an open bottle of beer. The TV is on now, a commercial playing on mute. It’s painfully obvious that Stiles wants him to get the hell out. Derek reaches for his shirt, trying not to let the hurt and anger show on his face. After he pulls it on, Stiles tries to hand him the beer too, but Derek just stares at it, confused.
“Have a beer,” Stiles is saying. “The game just started. Dodgers and Mets. You like baseball, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Derek says cautiously, not quite ready to believe what he thinks might be happening.
“Cool, so yeah. You should hang out and watch the game with me. Have a beer,” he repeats, stepping closer to hand him the bottle. Derek takes it from him and lets Stiles take his hand, leading him over to the couch.
Derek takes a long swallow from the beer, forcing himself to relax in to the comfortable couch, Stiles not quite an arm's length away. This isn’t typical get the hell out behavior, is it? Maybe for Stiles it is. He seems like a ‘let them down gently’ type of guy.
Stiles unmutes the TV when the game comes back on, and they sit for awhile, drinking beer and talking quietly.
“So, um,” Stile says after a long pause, muting the TV again. Here it comes, Derek thinks, bracing himself. “I know this might sound kinda dumb after…you know,” he jerks his head toward the bed. “And what with my job and all, but, I uh, don’t actually really do casual sex.” He looks anxious, like he did when he thought Derek wasn’t going to give him his number, and Derek is surprised at how well he can read him already.
It also sends a shudder of hopeful realization through him, his heart starting to pound a little harder at the thought. What if Stiles isn’t saying what he thinks he’s saying? “Neither do I,” Derek ventures, still cautious.
“So I know I totally screwed this up, jumping you like that, but I just couldn’t help it because, god, look at you Derek, and the way you were looking at me like I was…I don’t know, something you’ve always wanted. Shit. I guess what I’m saying is, it’s okay if this was just a wish-fulfillment, fantasy thing for you, because I get that, I really do. But I also kinda hope that, I don’t know, maybe we could hang out too, like, you know, on dates and stuff.”
Stiles looks downright hopeful, a look that floods Derek with relief and excitement. "Yeah," he says, melting at the gorgeous, enormous smile Stiles gives him when he says it. "I would like that a lot, Stiles," he adds, exhilarated by his honesty.
Stiles keeps smiling as he reaches for Derek's hand, moving closer.