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Here's the problem with dating: people expect you to pay so much attention. Like seriously - so much. Like constant attention - to what they're saying, what they're into, what they're not into, what they're wearing and liking and drinking and what signals they're giving and not giving and look -
Stiles tries. He's actually pretty good at the whole dating thing, objectively speaking. Or maybe, it's that he's objectively bad, but it doesn't look that way from afar because of how often he's going out with people. He's like a magnet - has been since he discovered he strikes a very specific chord with men and another one entirely with women. Namely: he's a fucking twink with a smart mouth and a thing for getting other people off.
So anyway - Stiles is good at dating. He goes out a lot, gets fucked a lot, enjoys it a lot. But it never goes anywhere because inevitably, Stiles is sitting on someone's couch, taking a hit off a post-sex cigarette or joint, when he realizes he can't remember their name, or their birthday, or what they do, and it all just… fizzles out. Blame it on the ADHD. He's just got too much happening up there at any given moment to really retain information that his stupid brain doesn't deem Important.
He does try though. When he meets Joey in a bar off 6th he actually listens when he tells him about his job in a weird little tech company in the basement of some guy's house in Queens, and when Joey presses his palm against Stiles' thigh, he somehow manages to remember to keep conversation instead of pull him into a bathroom stall.
Maybe they lack chemistry. Maybe Stiles is getting better at this whole listening thing. Who knows! But he goes home with the guy's number and an apology for not taking him home right then and there, and Stiles calls it a massive win.
He even remembers the guy's coworker's name when they meet for coffee two days later in the village at a crowded little spot he used to go to when he was in college, and Joey practically undresses him with his eyes for his efforts. It's going so well, actually, that Stiles doesn't even realizes when it stops going so well.
Namely, when the fucking cutest baby alive enters the coffee shop, babbling, hand gripping her tiny toes in a goddamn Mets onesie with curly dark hair pinned back with two butterfly barrettes. Stiles is a goner.
He's staring at her, waiting, praying she looks at him, and when she does his back straightens as he grins like a lunatic, eyes crossing as he sticks his tongue out of his mouth. She squeals in delight and Stiles is thrilled, goddamn thrilled. He does his best spirit fingers and laughs open-mouthed when she points and babbles louder. This is the cutest thing to ever happen to Stiles. Seriously. His heart is melting into molten lava when her tiny little eyes sparkle and her chubby legs kick. She can't even be a year old. There's no way this baby can even walk. Her laughter is filling the coffee shop and Stiles feels like his chest is bursting.
Joey's hand slips off his thigh as he turns to look at what could possibly have stolen his attention so thoroughly, but Stiles hardly notices its absence when the baby girl starts shouting at him, arms flailing around so hard that her little container of Puffs goes flying. Stiles shrinks back but can't stop himself from making silly faces at her as whoever is pushing her stroller gets down on his hands and knees to pick them up and -
And.
Stiles' mouth drops open, gaze zeroing in on the walking sex god crawling around on a dirty floor in his fucking khakis and green button up shirt, and holy fuck, that should be illegal, really. "Stiles," he hears distantly. The impatience in Joey's voice tells him this is hardly the first time he's tried to get his attention.
He turns back sheepishly and shrugs his shoulders. "Sorry man, babies," he says as if it explains everything.
Joey takes it in stride, asks him if he wants kids. Stiles' cheeks pink up as he glances back at the baby girl who now has a bottle in her chubby hands. "Yeah, I do. I really fucking do."
"I can tell," Joey teases, and Stiles rolls his eyes, embarassed at how distracted he'd become. "It's hot, honestly."
"Oh yeah?" Stiles raises a brow, returning his attention to the man.
"Oh yeah."
Joey takes him to a wine garden on their second date and Stiles takes full advantage of it. On his second glass, he stares up at the twinkly lights above them in the outdoor garden seating, knowing full well that men who look like Joey - that is, men who are clearly into Stiles because of how his mouth looks wrapped around things - drool over the way his neck looks from the sharp angle. Knows full well as he slides his ankle against Joey's that he's going to get lucky tonight if he plays his cards right. Hell, he could probably play them pretty wrong and still his hands on Joey's dick.
His eyes droop down to meet Joey's hungry gaze as he sips his wine with a gentle smirk to let Joey know he's doing it on purpose, because it's more fun when they know you're trying to be a little shit, in his opinion. He's about to dance his fingers along his glass when his eyes catch something - someone - out of the corner of his eyes. He drags his focus over, hand slipping over Joey's knee to hide the fact that he can't remember a thing Joey has said in the past twenty minutes - growth isn't linear, okay! He's trying here - and to distract from Stiles suddenly looking around. It's pretty effective, or it would be if the person who stole Stiles' attention wasn't the Sex God Dad himself with a goddamn baby bjorn strapped to his chest, that fucking baby kicking her legs around with a fist in her mouth and crocodile tears running down her cheeks.
Stiles' hand falls off Joey as he turns to focus in on the cutest baby in the world yet again. All he can think is please stop crying please stop crying, and it must work because as soon as she spots him, his eyes light up with a big grin to soothe her from afar, and she hiccups a few times before starting to babble excitedly. And holy shit! This baby totally recognizes him! This is the best, the absolute best. Stiles bounces excitedly as he makes faces, trying to get a laugh loud enough that it'll reach him over the five or so yards that separate them. Joey must look too, but he simply sighs in defeat and finishes his glass of wine before signaling for another from their waiter who passes by with a skeptical glance in Stiles' direction.
The baby is wearing a pastel green onesie and baby jeans today, and little baby socks with wolves on them, and Stiles can almost hear her trying to talk around her fist. He has the sudden urge to tickle her tiny little feet, make her kick, or maybe pinch her cheeks. Her cheeks look very pinchable - Stiles can't hardly stand it, she's so fucking cute. He's never seen a baby this cute before, it's almost physically impossible for him to stop from going over there. His chest aches with how fucking adorable it is when she bounces and grins wildly at him. It almost hurts, to be honest. His chest hurts.
Her hair is in two tiny little ponytails and Stiles is obsessed with her, can't explain why, can't understand why he almost cries when she points at him. Something is probably definitely wrong with him, but he blames it on the wine on an empty stomach. He'd been pretty sure Joey was trying to get him drunk to fuck him, and he hadn't minded one bit, but now everything feels a little fuzzy and the baby is so cute, and god her dad is something else, too.
Stiles lets his eyes wander over the arms holding onto her, the sleeves pushed up to elbows, the henley that’s painted on, the jeans that are downright criminal. He stares at the peak of chest hair, the beard, back down to the hand that the baby grips now as she flails. Right down to the ring -
The ring. Stiles sighs, deflating against his seat as he realizes suddenly that the man is not only wearing a ring, but is standing with possibly the hottest woman Stiles has ever laid eyes on. And really, of course he is. Of fucking course he is.
Because people that hot don't end up with people are not equally as hot. Joey rubs his thigh, and he lets his eyes wander back up to the man's face as his own flushes, and for a moment, their eyes meet -
Something sparks in Stiles' gut, the man's eyes sharp and intense. Stiles leans forward, breath caught in his throat as the man's eyes narrow, probably recognizing him, and dance over his face, body, Joey. Stiles is on fire, a sweat breaking out down the back of his neck as his mouth dries out. He's almost out of his seat, heart pounding hard in his chest when the man's lips turn down and… Suddenly he's turning, an abrupt change of intensity that has Stiles reeling as the man smiles softly at the woman - his wife, Stiles' mind supplies - and releases Stiles from whatever spell he's fallen under. The air whooshes out of his lungs so fast he gets dizzy.
It's just - what are the odds? He's lived in the city long enough to have heard you're never more than a few blocks from someone you know. But this is a bit ridiculous - right? He's always in this neighborhood, and yet he's never seen this man before. Suddenly he's everywhere - it doesn't seem fair. Why would the universe tempt Stiles like this with a married (probably straight) man? It's rude, is what it is. It's downright -
"Hello! Stiles!"
Stiles blinks and focuses in on the hand flailing in front of his face. "What?"
"You zoned out?" Joey says, as if he's not sure Stiles understands what he's saying. "You okay?"
"Oh, thought I saw someone I know," he shakes his head. Joey looks at him, knows he's lying, knows he was staring at the man and his baby. He doesn't say anything.
He does go down on Stiles at the end of the night, though. Stiles tries not to feel bad that he thought of the stranger's intense stare when he came.
It happens again, and it's weird. They're at a barcade and Stiles is owning Joey's highscore on pinball, but it's fine because Joey is plastered to his back, mouth on his neck, and it's like a fantasy out of Stiles' high school playbook. He's leaning back into him, wondering if maybe they should just forget about the pleasantries and go back to Joey's place, when he hears it. That goddamn baby. Which means -
His eyes dart around as he subconsciously pulls away from Joey, searching, searching. He sees him leaning against a machine, hand holding a beer bottle to his lips in such a way that has Stiles chubbing up instantly, and as their eyes lock, Stiles pretends he doesn’t see the way the lights of the arcade machines flickers off the man's ring as it presses against the cool glass of the beer bottle. Stiles swallows, lets his eyes drop to the baby in the arms of the woman Stiles' recognizes from the other night. She's playing with the woman's hair as the woman laughs at something someone else says - it's another man who's clearly with them. This man plays the machine the Hot Dad leans against, and a bombshell blond hangs off his other side. Between the guy's broad shoulders, dark skin, secretive smile, and the blonde's, well, everything, Stiles starts to wonder if this is just a group of fucking models that hang out together. It's clearly a double date, though. Stiles lets his eyes drift back to the dad, but he isn't looking at Stiles anymore. Fine. That's fine.
Stiles zeros in on the baby and tries to get her attention, tries to make faces, to wave his hands, but it's honestly a little embarrassing and he's getting worried this man might think he's like, a creeper. Like he's creepily obsessed with the kid, or something, like in a bad touch kind of way. And he's not! Honest! But god, he feels drawn to them like a moth to a flame and even he knows it's weird, because he has no explanation for it.
He's never experienced anything like it before. It's intoxicating, and honestly a little disturbing.
Because he's a pretty forgetful person for little things unless it happens to relate to whatever his hyperfixation of the day is, and he remembers everything about this man and his kid. He remembers weird little details about that first day - like how he had two buttons undone at his shirt, and some sort of ink staining a corner of his khaki pocket, and how one of his shoes was untied, and how the stroller had a frayed corner where the baby had a toy stuck in it. Weird little things. And he can't remember details like that about just anyone.
Come to think of it, he can't remember the color of Joey's eyes.
Watching the four supermodels play video games might be a particular fantasy of Stiles', but he's starting to feel a little weird about it, so he looks back to Joey. Who… definitely noticed. Shit.
"Jesus, that guy's everywhere," he grumbles, and Stiles flushes as he realizes it's probably pretty obvious he's been ogling the man.
"Yeah," he laughs it off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Weird, right?" Joey's eyes slide over him. "What?"
"You're into him," he accuses.
"What! No, no dude. He's like, obviously married."
"And if he wasn't, you would be into him? Is that what you're saying?"
"What - no, no." Stiles turns entirely and pulls Joey in by the beltloops. "I'm into you." He wags his eyebrows and looks him over, pushing thoughts of the stranger away. "Or, you know. You could be into me. If you know what I mean."
"You're a loser," Joey rolls his eyes, but smirks and palms Stiles' ass, so it's fine.
It's fine.
Stiles is so glad he doesn't know the man's name, because it's a close enough call as is when Joey makes him come to the memory of the man's hand around the neck of the beer bottle he pressed his lips to with his eyes on Stiles. It's not even that he means to think of him. It's that, honestly, Joey is low hanging fruit in comparison.
It's not an insult. Stiles is pretty sure everyone is low hanging fruit compared to him.
Stiles hates himself just a little when he can't stop thinking about the man even after he goes home.
When he eats breakfast.
When he works out.
When he's drifting off to sleep. Just -
Constantly.
Joey takes him to a club that weekend. It's a good call, Stiles thinks, considering the man seems to be everywhere they are with his stupidly cute baby, and this is the last place he'd find a straight, married father. Joey even says something about it which is slightly mortifying if Stiles is honest. It's not his fault the man is a walking wet dream come to haunt him! It's especially not his fault that the man is everywhere all at once!
Regardless, Stiles is in his tightest pants and a see-through shirt, and he's getting pretty plastered thinking about sucking Joey's cock in the bathroom like the slut he feels like being tonight, and Joey is definitely on board with this silent plan if the situation in his pants is anything to go by. Stiles has his head thrown back against Joey's shoulder with his arms up around the man's neck as Joey's hands roam his chest when he sees him.
The goddamn married sex god.
Stiles' dick starts getting into it as the man meets his eyes from where he stands at the bar with a glass in his hand. There's an entire crowd between them, it's impossible the man's looking at him, but he is. He is. Stiles can't breathe for a horrible moment, and feels like he's drowning all at once. The man lifts his glass to his lips and Stiles wets his in exchange, thinking the man will look away.
He doesn't.
Interesting.
Stiles bites his lip, grinds his hips back against Joey in a show of it, and the man's eyes trail down Stiles' body.
It takes a lot longer than it should for Stiles to realize three very important details:
- They're in a gay club.
- The man is alone.
- The ring is mysteriously missing from his left hand.
Stiles isn't sure what to make of any of that - maybe he's actually a piece of shit who goes and cheats on his wife when he can't ignore how desperately he wants dick. Maybe it's an open relationship. Maybe he's a figment of Stiles' imagination.
Maybe he's sipping his drink, staring at Stiles like he can't help himself.
Maybe Stiles is getting hard from watching him watching.
Stiles turns in Joey's arms, the two of them shifting around until Stiles can make eye contact with the stranger over Joey's shoulder. He lets his hands wander down Joey's back, into the back of his jeans, watches as the stranger traces the movement of his hands. Stiles lifts his lips to Joey's ear and tells him he's going to get a drink.
Joey is grinding with a stranger before Stiles is even out of his arms, a consequence of the club being as crowded as it is and Joey being, well, extremely attractive.
Stiles never thought he wasn't. It's just… the stranger is more. More everything.
The stranger watches Stiles approach while finishing his drink.
"I know you!" Stiles shouts over the music when he's close enough. The man turns to the bartender and taps his glass.
"I don't know you," he says, and Stiles almost falls to his knees at the sound of the man's downright delicious voice.
"You're babyless tonight," he carries on, leaning forward and licking his lips eagerly, desperate for this man who's probably a shithead. The man lifts a brow in his direction as his glass is refilled.
"It's generally frowned on to bring a baby into a club," he says as if Stiles is stupid. Now that they're within touching distance, the man hardly even looks at him. Maybe Stiles read all this wrong. Maybe he was watching him because he couldn't believe that Stiles kept running into him, that maybe he was watching because he was trying to decide if Stiles was stalking him.
"Pretty bad form to bring your wife into a gay club too, huh," Stiles says before his filter can stop him. His eyes grow a little wide at how forward he was, but he doesn't back down. Not even when the stranger's eyebrows knit together hilariously, his posture shifting to suggest irritation. Oh well. Maybe he'll be down for hate sex - Stiles can imagine how that beard would feel against his skin as the stranger bites into his skin angrily. It's - yeah.
Yeah.
He lifts his chin, bites his lip. Challenges him.
"My wife?"
"Yeah, your wife."
"I'm not married."
"Nice try," Stiles rolls his eyes, but doesn't back down. Especially not when the man's eyes narrow and his jaw clenches, when he looks down at the expanse of Stiles' neck on display. "I saw her."
"You saw my wife that doesn't exist."
"And the ring you aren't wearing," he says with a smirk, just to get a rise out of the man. He freezes, obviously caught, and takes a sip of his glass to hide it. Stiles watches and feels his mouth grow dry. "You gonna buy me a drink, big guy? Or are we just gonna stand here?" He's feeling brave with the liquor already running through his veins and the heat in the stranger's eyes.
The man stares at him too long before flagging down the bartender to let Stiles order. "You often hit on married men?"
"Never," Stiles says honestly. "But I can't seem to avoid you. The universe won't let me."
The man snorts and rolls his eyes, watches as Stiles gathers the straw in his drink with his tongue suggestively. "The universe, huh."
"Hey, I call it like I see it."
"Won't your boyfriend be bothered about this?"
"Not my boyfriend. Won't your wife?"
"Not my wife," the man raises his brows and shifts to face Stiles head on.
"Dude," Stiles shakes his head and leans in to press his leg against the man's. "I'm obviously into you anyway, even though this is like, going against every moral bone in my body. I have no explanation for this. Maybe I'm the worst person in the world but I don't care. I still want you. You're married and you're cruising. Just be honest."
The man meets his eyes and sighs, shaking his head slightly. It's intense - Stiles can hardly breathe with all that attention on him. "I'm not married," he says sadly, with the slightest smile, like there's a story there. And the weird thing is, Stiles actually believes him.
Maybe he's more drunk than he thought. Or maybe he just really wants to fuck this guy without feeling guilty about it.
"Joey isn't my boyfriend," Stiles says. The man lifts a brow. "The guy I'm with. We've only been out a few times. It's not serious and he knows that." A moment passes between them in silence where everything seems to slow down. Stiles gulps, feels like he's being burned alive.
"Okay," the man says finally.
"The woman - "
"My sister." Stiles freezes, words dying on his tongue. "She's my sister," the man says with a shrug. "The brunette you've seen me with. That's who you think is my wife, I assume? She'll love that." The man rolls his eyes at the thought.
"Oh god," Stiles mumbles, going back into his memory. Now that he thinks about it - she did bear a striking resemblance to him.
"I wear the ring when I have my daughter Talia with me. It helps keep unwanted attention away. People don't hit on me if I wear it," he says with a grimace. "Usually, anyway," he adds, lifting his eyes to Stiles pointedly as he sips his drink. Stiles wants to fuck him like he's never wanted to fuck anyone.
"Is she yours?"
"She is."
"God that's hot." The man actually laughs, probably startled at how much Stiles means it. "I just mean - " Stiles shakes his head, feels his hand make its way to the man's arm without his conscious choice to touch him. The man lifts a brow at it but otherwise does nothing. "No, actually that's exactly what I meant."
The man laughs again, and something about it makes Stiles think he doesn't laugh very often. Stiles wants to lick the spot under his ear as a reward for getting the reaction out of him. "She's the cutest kid I've ever seen," he admits, and lets his hand drift along the man's arm. He feels the muscles under his palm and his mouth waters, thoughts drifting away from him faster than he can control. "Fuck, you're hot," he mumbles, mind going fuzzy as he stars at where he's touching the man.
"You're drunk," he points out, amused.
"Mm, maybe," Stiles says, leaning in a bit to look up at him under his lashes. "Not enough that I can't give consent," he tells him, and the man manages a twitch of his lips.
"You're on a date," he points out, eyebrows doing a thing that has Stiles' gut twisting up. Stiles can't believe he's this desperate for a man without even knowing his name.
"I'll ditch him."
The man shakes his head, says, "You're an asshole," and stares at Stiles' mouth. Something comes over Stiles, something he can't control. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the kaleidoscope of colors in the stranger's eyes, maybe it's the memory of how he smiled softly at his baby when she laughed the first day Stiles saw them. Maybe it's all of that at once.
He presses in and kisses him, hand gripping the man's bicep with the slightest moan against his lips. The stranger's hand lifts to his jaw, holding him in place for the briefest of moments before pushing him back only an inch. "You're crazy."
"And you're the hottest person I have ever met," Stiles blurts out.
"You're great for a guy's ego," the stranger says. Stiles feels his lips move against his when he speaks, and wants.
"I can be great for other things too," he says desperately, eyes still closed, hands wandering to the man's chest, and - jesus. The guy is sculpted. Stiles almost moans - almost.
Okay, he maybe moans a little.
"What's your name?" he asks against Stiles' mouth.
"Whatever you want," he says without thinking, and the man huffs against him. Presses his mouth to Stiles' only for a moment, just enough that Stiles goes dizzy, before he's being held back again.
"I want, your name," he says slowly, thumb lazily tracing down Stiles' chin. It's incredibly effective in making Stiles fall in love with him.
"Stiles," he says, almost gasping. He knows how they must look - sloppy, desperate. It's not an uncommon sight here, but the fact that it's Stiles and this manifestation of his recent fantasies is a lot.
"Your real name, idiot," the man says.
"You couldn't pronounce it if I told you," he says, eyes drifting open when the man puts a little distance between them - though never dropping his hand from Stiles' jaw. "Everyone calls me Stiles."
"Fine," the man says, voice lowering slightly.
"What's yours?" Stiles asks, hands gripping against the man's shirt.
"Derek."
"Derek," Stiles sighs, and the man's eyes darken with a goddamn growl that has Stiles ready to go.
He doesn't remember how exactly it happens, but he's got his hands in the Derek's hair, and Derek's tongue in his mouth and hands in his jeans and it's a thousand degrees in the club as Stiles tries to get closer, tries to do something about the pressure building in his gut. He moans when Derek's hands squeeze his ass, and by the time Derek's mouth latches onto his neck they're being told to get a room by whoever's behind Stiles getting a show. He can't say he disagrees.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks breathlessly. Derek bites the tendon on his neck in reply, and it's another solid minute before Stiles has any brain power to ask for a more direct answer than that.
"You're really going to leave your date to sleep with another guy?" Derek asks incredulously as if he didn't just have his tongue down Stiles' throat.
"I think we're a little past judging me for this!" he complains, eyes wide.
"You really are an asshole," Derek shakes his head.
"Do you want to fuck me or not?" Stiles asks, brows lifting as he grinds up against Derek in a challenge. The man glares, that growl of his rumbling between them. God, Stiles is obsessed with him.
"My sister has my kid tonight," he offers, and that's good enough for Stiles to be gesturing to the bartender to pay out Derek's tab. He searches the crowd for his own date to maybe let him know, or apologize - something - but sees him making out with the guy who'd replaced Stiles. Oh well. Good. Maybe they'll both get laid by people who actually want them.
It turns out Derek lives nearby, which is both hilarious to Stiles and a relief. The fact that he'd never run into him before is a mystery to them both, one they don't particularly care about as they stumble out of the club, hands on each other every chance they get. It's actually kind of awkward walking with Derek, because Stiles wants to be touching him constantly and can't, and he doesn’t actually know anything about him other than he has a kid, and he doesn’t think that's good conversation before sex. So it's pretty quiet, and Stiles is aching by the time they get to Derek's apartment.
And it's a gorgeous apartment. Stiles actually spares a minute to look around at the exposed brick, the fireplace, the floor to ceiling windows. "Holy shit," he breathes out. Derek is silent, watching him.
There's evidence of a baby everywhere, and it's oddly endearing. Like Derek tried to clean up in case he got lucky tonight, but can't quite hide it all. He wonders if Derek has ever brought someone home who saw the toys, the high chair, and decided he wasn't worth it. It makes something in his chest ache suddenly and fiercely, chokes him up. The thought of Derek ever being disappointed or hurt or… God, Stiles needs to stop himself. He barely knows the guy, there's no reason to feel this, this… invested.
He turns to Derek and lets his fingertips trace his jaw. Derek lets him, and it strikes Stiles as odd how quickly his demeanor seems to have changed in the apartment.
He's… almost shy. Tentative. Like he expects Stiles to leave, or laugh, or something. When Stiles kisses him slowly, Derek doesn't even push him for more, and it nearly breaks Stiles' heart. He thinks of the sad smile he gave Stiles when he said he wasn't married. Thinks of the carefully picked up toys in the living room. Thinks of the baby bjorn he wore that night at the garden.
Derek sighs against him, and eases into kissing Stiles the more apparent it becomes that despite all the fervor and desperation he showed at the club, Stiles won't actually push him. Derek's hands are careful on Stiles' body when they lift to his hips, then neck. He pulls back and stares at Stiles with a look of intense concentration, searching. Like he isn't used to being wanted like this. Stiles doesn't know why he knows that's what this look is. He doesn't know why any of this is hitting him so hard right now. It's confusing, intoxicating, impossibly gut wrenching. He doesn't even know him, yet he feels like he's always known him. Like he's been treading water to get to this precise moment in this apartment with his hands on Stiles' face, holding him like he's also trying to understand something that can't be understood.
Stiles kisses him when he can't stand it anymore, and this time Derek is far more willing to pick the pace up. Stiles lets him lead him through dark halls into the bedroom. The soft glow of the city falls in through the windows, seeping through the blinds. Derek turns a lamp on and stalks back to Stiles, eyes dark and eager, hands shaking. Stiles bites his lip as he meets him in the middle of the room, feeling the tremor of Derek's hands against his skin as he sheds his shirt. It's a blur from there, Derek's hands on his skin, Stiles' arching to the touch, Derek's top falling off him and revealing his body slow, like sin. Stiles leaning down to lick at his nipples, his abs, moaning against his jeans desperately as the tension builds between them so thick in the air that Stiles can hardly breathe. Derek's hand in his hair with silent, intense, encouragement as Stiles grabs at his thighs and drags his fingers over the seams of the jeans. "Fuck," Derek growls at him, "do something. Fuck."
"Bout time you asked," Stiles smirks, and wastes no time in getting Derek's pants off, then his underwear, actually whining when he manages to get his mouth on Derek after what feels like an eternity. It's a religious experience - the sounds Derek makes, the weight of him, the tug of his hands in Stiles' hair. Stiles lets his hands press up the insides of Derek's thighs and worships at the feet of the only god he's ever bothered with.
Derek hardly lets him catch his breath when he drags him to the bed, undresses him, presses his mouth to his skin in a way that has Stiles arching, cursing, praying. There's an intensity to the way Derek touches him that he's never experienced before, and when he tells Derek he's close before Derek's even touched his cock, Derek blinks at him in disbelief and shifts away from him. "Stop looking at me like that, I've been hard since I saw you in the bar. Jesus. I've been hard since I saw you at the arcade with a drink in your hand. Fuck."
"You've been thinking about me?" Derek asks, like a jackass, lifting himself onto his hands and knees over Stiles, not daring to touch him. Or rather, refusing to touch him just to watch Stiles squirm.
"Every night," Stiles gasps, "god please touch me," he begs, arching off the bed.
"Where did you come from," Derek mumbles reverently, and Stiles wants to ask the same of him.
It really doesn't take much for Stiles to come the first time despite the liquor he drank tonight. Derek brushes his fingers over Stiles' nipple, breathes against his throat, lets his weight press against him with a suggestive roll of his hips, and Stiles is crying out with his hands gripping the back of Derek's shoulders as he shudders through it. "Fuck, you're -" Derek can't finish the thought because Stiles is kissing him, crowding him, tipping them over each other and nearly pushing them off the side of the bed in his eagerness. Stiles laughs breathlessly when Derek catches him and tugs him back on, but then Stiles is straddling him and everything fades out into yes and more and please god.
Stiles knows that Derek must prep him, that he must have helped. He knows he has crescent shaped marks from Derek's nails in his thigh when he gripped him so hard Stiles shouted his name into the pillow. He knows he's moaning into Derek's throat, begging for it like he's never begged for anything before. He knows all of this, but experiencing it is like a religious experience, an out of body gift from God himself opening up heaven only for a few fleeting moments. Stiles wants to sob when Derek finally lets him sink down on his cock, and judging by the look on Derek's face, the feeling is mutual. His throat is sore and his voice is wrecked from the sounds Derek is dragging out of him.
Stiles hardly knows how they fuck, only that they do, and it's the best he's ever had. By miles, and miles, and miles.
Derek pushes up into him with the kind of force that has him tearing up and pushing back into him with desperation he's actually never experienced. He forgets his name, his body, his fucking existence by the time he comes again on Derek's cock with Derek's hand - oh god, Derek's hand tugging on him and Stiles is crying out, begging, shuddering digging his nails in Derek's chest. Before he can even stop coming, Derek is flipping them over and shaking with the intensity of his thrusts into Stiles, and Stiles wants to die just so he'll die with this memory living in his body. When Derek comes, Stiles moans and holds onto him tightly, refusing to let him slip out or shift away. Derek gets hard again before Stiles even lets him think about slipping out, and then Derek is complaining about the condom and dragging his dick out just to replace it before pushing back in, making Stiles sob into the mattress.
That time it's so desperate and dirty that Stiles worries about Derek's neighbors hearing them as Derek pushes into him relentlessly like he's been doing it for years, like he knows Stiles and his body and every spot to touch. Stiles pushes his body against Derek, learning what he likes by listening and cataloging the details for later.
Derek drags Stiles into the shower after even though Stiles would rather pass the fuck out. It turns out alright though, because Derek knows he's exhausted and makes up for it by washing his body and lazily kissing him. Stiles is more than a little in love with him when Derek smiles against his lips under the water's spray.
He falls asleep in a pair of Derek's boxers, head pillowed on Derek's chest, exhausted and safe.
The turn of a lock pulls Stiles out of his frankly incredible dream. He comes to slowly, so slowly that he doesn't quite understand why he's so hot until - suddenly - it all comes back with the realization that he's in Derek's bed. So - not a dream then.
Stiles glances down at the arm over his side that's currently holding his body against Derek's. He isn't sure at what point he became little spoon, but Derek's hard behind him and so, so tempting. He presses back into him and is rewarded with a dirty moan and slow grind of Derek's hips into his. "Tease," Derek grumbles with a bite against Stiles' shoulder.
This, this Stiles could get fucking used to.
"Not a tease if I give it up," Stiles points out, voice scratchy from going down on Derek the night before - and probably a little bit from practically screaming his name. "Good morning, by the way."
Derek hums in response, still lazily humping Stiles. They twist and turn until Derek is rolled over on top of him, their mouths finding each others on instinct alone. Usually Stiles would complain about morning breath, but Derek is all encompassing, making him forget everything that isn't their bodies pressed together. He's getting dizzy again, realizing that wasn't the alcohol last night, just Derek, when it all stops with a heart-stopping shout from the doorway.
"Oh my god!"
"Shit!" Derek chokes, lurching back from Stiles and covering himself with the blankets. "What the fuck are you doing!"
"I was going to return your kid! Oh my god! Are you NAKED?!"
"Get out!" Derek shouts. Stiles is staring wide eyed, erection flagging with Derek's sister staring at them in something between amusement and true, true horror. If he focuses, he can hear a baby start to cry in the living room.
"Holy shit. You actually got laid!" She says it like it's a surprise, which is impossible because Stiles has seen Derek, he has eyes, there's no way this man isn't getting laid every second he wants. "And it's the guy! Oh my god!"
"Get. Out. Laura!" She shakes her head and walks out in a daze, hands thrown up in defeat. "Close the fucking door!"
She does only after making a face at him that's half eyebrow. Stiles can hardly breathe.
Derek flops down on the bed with an annoyed and exaggerated groan. Laura's voice carries through the apartment - probably on purpose - telling Derek's baby that "Daddy is busy getting that massive stick out of his ass, so we'll go get breakfast alone." Derek is clearly mortified, and Stiles is grinning ear to ear now that his heart has returned to a normal pace.
"This is fucking hilarious," he says, and all it earns him is a glare.
"This is a nightmare, she's never going to let me live it down."
"Yeah she seemed to recognize me," Stiles says, silently thrilled. Maybe Derek really has been watching him just as much as he's been watching him.
"Shut up," Derek groans. Stiles watches his ears turn bright red, and fuck. Stiles traces the embarrassment as it spreads down Derek's cheeks. It's adorable, and Stiles is fucked.
"You like me," he teases. "She recognized me because you like me!"
"No I do not," he rolls his eyes, but he turns even more red, and Stiles is on him in a second, kissing his neck, teasing him until Derek relents. "Okay fine!"
"I knew it! I knew you were staring at me, too!"
"Hard not to, you demand attention," Derek practically complains. Stiles is straddling him, hands splayed out on Derek's chest with a wild grin. "My kid is picky. People look at her the wrong way and she'll throw a tantrum."
"What?" Stiles' brows furrow. "No, your kid is like the happiest baby I've ever seen."
"You've only seen her near you," Derek points out, hands moving to tuck behind his head. Stiles is momentarily distracted by the sudden show of his biceps. He suspects this was the point of the action.
"What does that mean?" he asks, eyes narrowing. Derek hesitates before sighing.
"After the first time, I knew you when were around. She gets… I don't know. Excited. She likes you, and she doesn't like many people," he says. Stiles can tell he's trying to act cool about this, what with the posturing and the careful expression on his face, but Stiles sees through it. It's obviously a big deal to him. "She hasn't even met you and she loves you," he adds on, voice growing distant and fond.
Stiles smiles softly back at him and lets his hands gently train along Derek's skin. All at once, the moment is tender, fragile. "I kept thinking there had to be an explanation for you - why I kept running into you. It feels like there's this magnetic force when the two of you are around, pulling me in. Like I couldn't avoid her, in a way, I don't know. I've never experienced it before. It's like seeing her laugh is… I had to see her laugh, or smile. She's cute, but it's like… it's like…" Stiles can't find the words. How do you tell someone you just met that seeing their kid happy makes you feel like your life is worth living? That sounds crazy, even to Stiles.
But Derek seems to understand somehow. He lowers a hand to cover one of Stiles' on his chest. Stiles stares at him so long his heart starts pounding in his chest painfully, and his eyes tear up. Derek sniffles in response. Stiles doesn't understand how they got here.
"I know we don't know each other but…" He takes a deep breath and drops his eyes to their hands. "I feel like I'm supposed to know you." This he says quietly, like he can't quite admit it. Like he doesn't believe it, even if it feels true.
"Like it was inevitable," Derek offers, "for us to be here."
Stiles meets his eyes and nods. "I've never believed in fate," he tells Derek honestly. "Seemed like bullshit."
"But," Derek shrugs, and it's enough.
"Yeah." The air grows thick with things they can't bring themselves to say. Things like, do you believe in love at first sight, and I can't imagine not knowing you now that I've found you.
Stiles gets to meet his daughter - Talia - over brunch with Derek's sister after they manage to drag themselves out of bed and into clothes. Stiles is in Derek's shirt and Derek's hand is in his, and it's like a fever dream.
Talia squeals when she sees him and Derek's eyes water when she reaches for Stiles like she's known him her whole life. Stiles looks to him, almost unsure even though he's dying to hold her, and only pulls her into his lap when Derek nods that it's okay. She stares up at him with wide eyes and a thumb in her mouth, quiet but happy. Stiles is in love with her instantly, and the tightness in his chest doesn't ebb until Laura takes her away to help feed her. Talia watches him through brunch though, and Derek gives him this look, like he doesn't know what to do with him. Like he never wants to say goodbye to him.
Stiles tells him with his eyes that it's completely, and unbearably mutual.
Stiles never remembers the little details, until they matter. He remembers everything about Derek and Talia that first day, and every day after. And when Derek confesses that he wants to marry him, Stiles plans the most elaborate proposal known to man with every detail of every first of theirs included. And when they write vows, Stiles promises to never forget the tiny moments that make life worth living. The way Derek's eyes crinkle, or how Talia rolls her eyes when Stiles embarrasses her, or the way the wind pushes through Derek's hair when he lets it grow out that summer Stiles convinced him to take a vacation to Maine. The way Derek holds Stiles' hand, and the way Derek always has to say I love you last. How Talia learns to pronounce Stiles' actual name to one-up her dad, and how Derek tries and fails, how Stiles makes the food his mother made when he was a kid for them because Talia likes to learn, and the way Derek's eyes grow glassy when they remember the people they've lost on their way to each other. He vows to never forget the tick of Derek's eyebrow when Stiles says something particularly brash, or the way Derek can't seem to sleep without Stiles nuzzled close. He vows to never forget anything, because every second of it is the best second of his life.
Derek teaches Stiles that it's the details where life is lived, and love is felt, and maybe it was love at first sight, and maybe it was fate, but at the end of the day -
All that matters is they found each other, and that's enough. It's enough.