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Derek finally checks his phone as he’s walking back to his car from Stiles’ apartment, hours later, hours after the baseball game ended. They had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening just talking and getting to know each other. Eventually, cautiously even though the smell of their combined come was still fragrant in his studio, Stiles leaned in and kissed him again, soft and tentative this time, was so gentle about it Derek thought he might crumble.
They kissed like that for a long time, moving to lie alongside each other on the couch, the passion from before still there but less urgent, simmering, as if they both knew that they didn’t have to rush again, wouldn’t have to rush again if they’re lucky, if they do this right.
Derek finally peeled himself away when Stiles mentioned that he had an early class tomorrow morning, feeling guilty about keeping him up late. When he said as much, Stiles just rolled those big brown eyes and teased Derek’s beard with his fingers. “I’ll gladly take being sleepy in my American diplomatic history seminar if it means I get to do so with your beard burn on my face.” Derek grinned like a fool.
It’s fully dark, the stupid restaurant that’s now his favorite place in the world (after Stiles’ couch, that is) dark and shuttered when he walks by, still smiling. He has texts from Laura, Cora, and his dad.
Laura
Well?!?!?!?!
Laura
Please please please tell me that you at least got his number
Laura
Derek Samuel Hale!! You better be getting some! That’s the only acceptable reason for you to be ignoring me right now, asshole.
There’s a bunch of emojis in the next message, something that looks like an eggplant and an open fist, and oh god, a target. He chooses to ignore Laura for a bit longer, moving on to read the messages from Cora.
Cora
mom saw u making out with some cutie in front of that restaurant u pretend to hate
Cora
slut
Cora
she says u should bring him to family dinner soon
The text from his dad is just a smiley face emoticon.
Derek's so screwed.
~*~
They’ve been good about taking it slow. Well, slightly slower than they had started at least. For all the passion of their de facto first date, both of them, for different reasons that really amount to the same thing, tend to prefer not rushing into sex.
They hardly abstain from touching each other though. They kiss constantly, making out like smitten teenagers whenever they can. And yeah, on their third date when Derek was walking Stiles to his door, a rush of lust surged through him when he leaned in to kiss him goodbye, pressing him up against the front door, dropping to his knees to suck him off while Stiles moaned his name, pulling his hair.
They go back to eager making out and rubbing against each other on the next date, but by the sixth – a week before the family dinner Derek has been strong-armed by his sisters into inviting Stiles to – Derek is more than ready for more.
He’s anxious and excited about it all day, jittery even. They haven’t talked about it, but he knows that Stiles is feeling the same way too. Maybe it’s the knowing smirk Scott keeps giving him – but hey, Scott’s been throwing that look at him since he and Stiles first started dating, so it could all be in his head.
Of course, because he’s eager and anxious to leave work so he can get home and get ready for their date, he ends up having to stay much later than he plans to. A dairy farmer brings in a half-feral barn cat in labor, and he stays to show Scott how to assist the birth and spay the mother. Scott is a good student, capable and quick, and Derek honestly enjoys teaching him, even when he’s distracted by never-ending and increasingly erotic fantasies about his brother/best friend.
Derek rushes home as soon as the cat and kittens are resting comfortably. He showers quickly, but he’s still running late, just turning off the water when he hears a firm knock on his front door.
He grabs a towel and hops out of the shower, wrapping it hastily around his waist as he runs down the stairs, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood. Flustered as he is, he still at least appreciates that Stiles is right on time and that it would be incredibly rude to keep him waiting.
“I’m so sorry,” Derek huffs as he opens the door. “I can be ready in five minutes.” Stiles has been dying to see The Winter Soldier and he put off seeing it with Scott – with Scott – to see it with him and Derek will be damned if Stiles misses it. “Come in,” he says, trying to calm down.
Which is impossible, really, when Stiles is looking at him like that.
Affectionate. Awestruck. Ravenous.
Stiles steps over the threshold, closing the door behind him with a solid push of his foot. Derek knows he should step back, give him some space, there’s no reason for him to be standing so close, so still, except maybe it’s Stiles’ eyes, pupils so wide and shining Derek can barely see the thin ring of amber-flecked mahogany that circle them. They darted up Derek’s body in a frenzied dash when he first opened the door before locking on his, boring into him. His mouth had dropped open too; Derek can’t help but feel flattered by the way lust starts to color his every gorgeous feature, delicious pink splotches blooming under those sumptuous moles.
Derek stays very still, skin chilled with cooling water even as he grows hotter from the inside out with the way Stiles is staring at him.
“Just what do you think you’re trying to do to me, answering the door like this?” Stiles says finally, sounding like he’s trying desperately to sound unaffected. It’s adorable.
“I’m running late,” Derek answers, probably failing just as spectacularly at sounding calm. Stiles leans in just a bit, chest just brushing his. A heavy drop of water falls from Derek’s hair, landing on his shoulder and sliding down his chest and Stiles is there, licking it up, tongue hot against his cool skin. “Fuck, Stiles,” he moans, a pathetic sound, giving himself away completely.
Stiles hums, those pretty pink lips against his skin now, dragging their way up his pec, across his collarbone, up his neck. He finally gets his mouth around his earlobe, teasing gently with his teeth. “You’re unbelievable, you know that,” he says, voice thick with arousal. “So fucking beautiful.”
The towel is hanging dangerously low on Derek’s hips and it’s not doing a damn bit of good concealing his erection. Stiles is standing close enough to feel just how excited Derek is, gives a tentative roll of his hips, pressing his own hard cock against him. “This okay,” Stiles mouths into his neck, hands ghosting at the towel.
“Very okay,” Derek whispers in to his hair, letting his arms wrap around him, hands cupping his perfect ass. “We’re going to miss the movie though.”
“What movie?” Stiles asks with a wicked little grin, wrists snapping at the towel and then Derek is very, very naked. And very, very hard.
Derek finally catches his mouth in a kiss, wanting to taste that smirk. The urgency of it is still a heady thrill, but it’s no longer surprising to him. He’s learning to accept that his attraction to Stiles is bone-deep, maybe even hardwired. His body, his mind, hell, he can’t believe it, but his heart, reacts to him in a way he’s never felt before, never wants to stop feeling.
Stiles’ hands flourish down his back, fingertips pressing into the dimples at the base of his spine, smiling in to the kiss as Derek groans in response. His own hands find the hem of Stiles’ shirt and pull it up, mouth falling to his hard, pink nipples before Stiles can even get the shirt over his head.
When he gets it off, tossing is aside to the floor, his big hands grip him hard by the waist, turning him around and guiding him to the stairs, gently pushing him to his knees on a step about half way up. Derek rests his elbows on a higher step, feeling exposed in the best way as Stiles steps back, unbuttoning his khakis.
When he’s finally naked, thank god, he rests on his knees on a lower step, licking into the dimples at the base of Derek's spine; his hips snap reflexively when he feels one broad hand on each ass cheek, just enough pressure to start spreading him open. Derek groans and lets his head fall between his arms, shuddering in anticipation. He’s seen what Stiles’ mouth can do to a guy.
Stiles licks a long, wet line up his spine, biting softly into his shoulder blade and running a hand through Derek’s wet hair. “I’ve been dying to taste you,” he whispers into the back of his neck. “Wanna make you come with my tongue in your ass.” He says it with an earnestness, a sweetness that belies how fucking filthy it is, how hot it is. It cracks into Derek, makes him feel fragile but safe. He can’t respond, can’t form words, can’t do anything but whine and nod, spreading his legs, shameless.
Stiles reaches around with his other hand to stroke Derek cock, teasing his foreskin until he’s nearly dripping with precome. The comforting heat of his chest disappears when Stiles moves away from him, moving down the stairs a bit. Derek misses it, but is more than pleased when Stiles bites lightly into the taut muscle of his ass before diving in to lick him from his balls to his twitching hole.
He does it again and again, and then he pulls back and spreads him wide. Derek’s abs flex and clench as he gasps, holding his breath. He twitches greedily, hissing into a broken moan when Stiles spits into him, using his big thumbs to hold him open. He teases his rim, tongue circling the tight muscle until Derek’s begging for more.
Stiles finally pierces him with his tongue, slow and steady, sending quivering threads of dizzying pleasure through him. He pulls back to spit into him again before tonguing him harder, twisting and darting in and out of him, hands still squeezing his ass. Derek feels like he’s slowly breaking apart, heat coiling and rising from deep within, from every thrust of Stiles’ unbelievable tongue, making his skin feel tight, like he’s about to explode.
Stiles is relentless, sloppy and wet and absolutely devouring Derek’s ass like he’s starving for it. He slips one thumb into his spit-slick hole along with his tongue, his other hand reaching down to stroke Derek’s neglected cock. He squeezes and pulls as his tongue shoves in hard, making something snap inside of Derek, orgasm rushing through him in reverberating pulses, grunting wantonly, powerful spurts of come soaking Stiles’ hand as Derek’s own hands claw, his neatly trimmed fingernails digging into the damp hardwood.
Derek’s still trying to put himself back together when Stiles pulls his mouth away from his fluttering hole, pushing his thumb in farther as he ruts against his ass, cock dripping. God, Derek wants him to pull his thumb out and shove that gorgeous cock into him, even though he’s not even close to being stretched enough to take him comfortably. He’d bear and down take it for Stiles, find his pleasure in the pain.
But Stiles doesn’t, panting heavily as he thumbs deeper into him, stroking himself hard and fast, his hand lubed up with Derek’s thick come. “Fuck, Derek,” he moans, pushing the head of his streaming cock against his thumb in Derek’s hole, hot bursts dripping into him.
The stairs are incredibly uncomfortable, but Derek doesn’t give a damn right now, and Stiles doesn’t seem to either, judging by the raptured look on his face as he topples down next to him in a boneless heap. He’s gazing at Derek fondly, eyes soft, mouth puffy and red in a way that makes Derek think of the word supple.
He kisses him tenderly, liking the taste of himself on those lips, leaning into the sturdy press of Stiles’ hand against his jaw.
“You should be late more often,” Stiles says finally, laughing as he helps Derek to his feet.
Derek takes another shower and manages to dry off and get dressed eventually, but only because he orders Stiles to wait downstairs, a command he only partially obeys. A couple of blowjobs later, they get dinner and go to a later showing of the movie. Derek falls asleep late that night on his couch while listening to Stiles’ detailed argument about the canon presence of a romantic relationship between Steve and Bucky.
It’s early when he wakes, barely light outside. He’s pressed deep into the crack of the couch and there’s a throbbing crick in his neck and his arm is numb, but that’s because Stiles is still there, tucked in close against him, half on top of him. His head is resting on Derek’s chest, long eyelashes dark against his pale skin, head rising and falling with the rhythm of Derek’s breathing.
Derek’s never been happier in his life.
~*~
It’s perfect. Mostly.
They don’t talk about Stiles’ job, other than that first night when Stiles told him how he got started in porn.
“I’ve always been pretty confident in my body and I love sex, so, I figured why not? It’s good money, and it’s a hell of a lot better than student loans.”
Derek, whose vet school payments are just slightly less than his mortgage payments, can’t help but agree. Hell, if he had thought of it when he was in school, he might have gone into porn too.
“I like what I do,” Stiles had said, and Derek took it to be his way of saying, I hope you do too. Please don’t ask me to stop.
Derek’s deeply conflicted. Of course he likes what Stiles does, had gotten off to his work a hundred times. But now that Stiles had become a real part of his life, now that they seem to be on the on the verge of something, the idea of him fucking other guys, even professionally, bothers him more than likes to admit. He wasn't about to tell Stiles that though, not yet, not so soon. And he’s not about to ask Stiles to give up his job – his livelihood – just because he can’t get over his jealousy.
“I like what you do too,” he had said, and it was mostly true.
Derek is replaying that conversation in his head a few days after waking up next to Stiles on his couch, when he opens to his email to a notification from Stiles’ site.
Jackson Dylan + Colton Posey Flip Fuck!!
Derek’s conditioned to get hard just at the sight of that stupid fake name, but his arousal is soured by a twisting jealousy that he’s immediately ashamed of. He’s trying to be evolved, understanding, open-minded. He knows, rationally, that sex can be just sex and Stiles’ work doesn’t mean what they have, still undefined but real, isn’t strong, is any less meaningful.
But knowing it and feeling it are two very different things, and for the first time since that fateful day a year ago when he first discovered Jackson Dylan, he doesn’t watch his latest video.
~*~
When he goes over to Stiles’ place two days later he’s still thinking about the video, which he still hasn’t watched. Stiles seems agitated too, oddly quiet as he keeps stealing glances at Derek, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.
“What’s wrong,” he asks finally, setting his wine glass down on the kitchen counter with a sigh, not able to take another second of Stiles’ discomfort.
“I’m sorry. I’m being weird.” He rubs his hand across the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous, and Derek both loves and hates that he recognizes the gesture so easily. He’s already so attached to Stiles – tumbling towards something that feels alarmingly strong, he can’t quite bring himself to call it love, even in his own thoughts, but it’s there, teasing at him, pulling at his heart, exhilarating and terrifying.
“It’s just…I know you’re uh, a fan. So I can’t stop wondering if you’ve seen the new video.” Stiles takes a big gulp from his own wine, still looking tense.
Derek can’t really tell what Stiles wants his answer to be, stares at him too long before replying, finally deciding to just bite the bullet and be honest. How will this really work if he’s not? God, he wants it work so badly. “I saw that it came out. I haven’t watched it.” He winces, hoping his reluctance to watch doesn’t freak Stiles out.
“It was filmed before we met,” Stiles says in a rush, almost like he’s surprised he saying it. “I haven’t filmed anything since we met, actually.” He’s seems shy suddenly, cheeks blushing pink.
“Oh,” Derek says, cautious hope blooming in his chest. He tries to hide it though. If Stiles is making the choice, or even considering making the choice, to give up his job, Derek wants it to be because he wants to, not because he thinks that’s what Derek wants. “Is there a reason for that,” he asks, probably failing at sounding neutral.
“Well, I was planning on taking a bit of a break soon anyways. I’ve got to start getting serious about studying for my comps, and I’ve been working a lot in the past six months. I’ve got enough saved up that I can just work a couple times a month for awhile.”
Derek knows firsthand just how much Stiles has been working in recent months, has every single scene downloaded to a hidden folder devoted exclusively to Jackson Dylan on his laptop.
“That’s good, smart,” he says, clearing his throat. “You should focus on exams.” God, he sounds like an idiot.
“Derek, come on. Tell me what you really think.” Stiles is aggravated, petulant almost, and it turns Derek on as much as it gets on his nerves.
“I don’t know what to think, Stiles,” he snaps. “I don’t know what you’re telling me,” he adds quickly, gentler.
Stiles flinches back at Derek’s harsh tone, reacting immediately. “Sorry. I thought you’d be happy that your boyfriend wont be fucking other guys as much any more. Guess I was wrong.” A look of horror flashes over his face, transforming it from frustration to bitter in a moment. “Shit, I was right. You really are with me for my work. You just want to fuck a porn star, and now that I won’t be filming as much, you’re over it, right?”
Now it’s Derek who flinches, not at Stiles’ angry tone, but at the look of pure hurt in his eyes, at the way the air seems to have been sucked out of the room all of a sudden. How did this go so wrong so fast? There’s so much he wants to say, needs to say, but it’s all piling up inside him, tangled in the fear spiking through his chest as Stiles’ features harden, as he crosses his arms. Derek knows the next words out of his mouth will be ordering him to leave, and no, fuck, no, he wont be able to handle that.
“Boyfriend?” He chokes out, going with the least painful of Stiles’ words.
Stiles' eyebrows dart up and his hands fall to his sides. “Well, yeah dude. I thought we were on the same page about that.”
“We were. We are, I mean. Are we? Boyfriends?” Get it together, Hale, he admonishes himself. You’re a fucking doctor, for christ’s sake. He steadies himself with a heavy breath. “I mean, yes. I’ve been thinking of you as my boyfriend too, and it makes me really happy to hear that you feel the same way.”
He takes another deep breath, resolve solidifying. He steps closer to him, reaching for his hand, is further relieved when Stiles lets him. “I don’t know what to say about you working less, because I’m scared to tell you what I really think.”
“And that is?” He sounds, cautious, but he’s intertwining his fingers with his, squeezing Derek’s hand.
It pours out of Derek then, a torrent of words that sounds more like one of Stiles’ frenzied rants than his own careful, calculated precision. “I haven’t watched your new scene because as hot as I know it will be, as much as I used to love getting off watching you fuck and get fucked, now that I can touch you, now that I know you, get to kiss you, get to see you laugh and really mean it, get to hear you talk about anything and everything that pops into your giant, weird brain, now that I’ve had the privilege of waking up next to you – now that I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, Stiles, I can’t stand the idea of you with anyone else. And I know it’s selfish, and old-fashioned, and if you give me some time I’ll work on it and get over it, and I will always support you in whatever choices you make because it’s your life and your job and your body and – "
Stiles rescues him with a kiss, demanding and eager. Derek is already breathless from his speech, god, his love confession, and Stiles’ kiss makes him feel almost faint. He has to pull away well before he’d like to, hell, he never wants to pull away, but he has to breathe eventually. He breaks the kiss and pushes his forehead hard against his, as if he could let him know how feels about him through sheer force of will.
“I love you too, you know,” Stiles says, fingers tangling in Derek’s hair. “I’m sorry I accused you of that. It’s just still really hard for me to believe that someone as wonderful as you could really like me.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing about you,” Derek admits, smiling at just how stupid they are.
They refill their wine glasses and move to the couch, sitting close. “I’ve never seriously dated anyone since I’ve started working in the industry, so this is all new to me too,” Stiles tells him. “And, to be honest, I don’t really like the idea of being with other guys when I feel this way about you. I didn’t think it would bother me, but it does.”
Derek holds his chin lightly in his hands when he kisses him, running his tongue over his cupid’s bow before pulling back to look in his eyes. “So what are you going to do?”
“Well, I can’t stop working completely, so I could look for another job.”
He’s trying just a little too hard to sound neutral, how Derek himself must have sounded not long ago. “Or?” Derek asks, eyebrows rising in expectation.
“Or, well…the company’s starting a new series. It seems there’s a growing niche market for actual couples. Monogamous couples.” Stiles’ eyes flutter down, sheepish. “Is that uh, something you would – “
“Yes.” Derek’s pretty sure he’s more surprised than Stiles, and that’s saying something, because he seems so shocked he jerks his arm hard when he looks up at him, nearly spilling both of their wineglasses. The idea of being filmed, of people watching them fuck, yeah it’s kinda weird, but his year of nearly-obsessively watching Stiles' videos has made him much more comfortable with porn. Being on camera with Stiles sounds fun, knowing other people will be getting off the way he used to get off to Stiles. It sounds hot as hell. He can’t really explain it, but it feels right, and just like that, it’s something that Derek wants.
“Wait, what? Did you say yes? I never thought you’d actually say yes.” Stiles is putting both of their glasses down on the coffee table, scooting closer to Derek, putting his hands on his thighs.
“I said yes. I mean it. Let’s do it.”
“Whoa, slow down there, big guy. Don’t you want to think about this for a while?”
“I probably should. I will. But I don’t think I’ll change my mind. Stiles, I’ve wanted to be the guys you perform with for a year now, because you’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen.” Derek kisses him before he can come back with self-deprecating comment, needing Stiles to know just how extraordinary he is. “Actually being with you…I want the world – “
“The gay sex-lovin’ world, at least,” Stiles interrupts, naughty grin wide and sweet.
“I want the gay sex-lovin’ world to see us…see how beautiful I know you’re going look when you’re getting fucked by a man who loves you.” Stiles’ mouth drops open, speechless, and Derek feels downright smug. “I want you all to myself,” he adds, “but I want everyone to know it. To get off on it.”
They kiss for a long time after that, greedy and raw, pawing at each other’s clothes until they’re both shirtless, Stiles straddling Derek’s lap, lazily palming his hard cock as Derek sucks a bruise into his collarbone.
“Even though I wasn’t expecting you to say yes,” Stiles says quietly into Derek’s hair, “I did talk to one of our producers about you. I showed him a picture. The one I snuck of you the other day when you were getting out of the shower.”
“That’s what you were doing?” Derek laughs. He’s in love with a delightful fool.
“I’m so clever and stealthy, right? Anyways, Danny, after high-fiving me and, somewhat rudely I might add, heavily implied that you’re too hot for me, said that they would definitely be interested in seeing on you on film. An audition tape. With me. Obviously.”
“This Danny guy is clearly an idiot. Are you suggesting that we film our first time?”
“It doesn’t have to be our first time, if we uh, want to practice beforehand.” He wiggles his eyebrows and snaps his hips, dips down to nibble on his earlobe. “But, you know, not many couples get to record their first time, which now that I say that out loud, it sounds really weird. But oh well, we’re not most couples, right? I know no matter when or what we record, it’ll be hot.”
That’s really all the convincing Derek needs, and he tells Stiles so with a bruising kiss, tongue seeking the wet heat of his mouth, wanting to consume him, wanting to be consumed by him.
When they finally part, Stiles is smiling dreamily, mischievous glint in his eyes. “I have a camera, if you want to start tonight.”