Work Text:
Stiles shifted, restless after sitting in Derek’s car for the last ungodly hour.
He was honestly reconsidering his bright idea of tagging along for this stakeout.
It had sounded a lot more fun in theory. He’d imagined they’d get food, sit in the car, chat for a bit—
Then bam! The supernatural killer of the week would show up, wham, bam, thank you ma’am, and they’d be home in time for some kinky sex.
Okay, so maybe his expectations were more than a little unrealistic—but it always looked so much cooler in movies than in real life.
He exhaled, shifting in his seat for the third time in less than a minute.
“Can’t you sit still?” Derek growled from the driver’s seat.
“Is that a rhetorical question?” Stiles snarked, lifting his feet onto the dash.
Derek’s eyes flashed, and Stiles’ thigh was promptly swatted.
“Feet off the dash.”
Stiles groaned, dropping his feet. He managed to sit still for all of twenty seconds before his leg started bouncing.
Derek’s glare could have peeled paint.
“I can’t help it!” Stiles huffed, slumping back into the leather seat. “This is so boring. Not at all as hot as the movies make it out to be.”
Derek raised an eyebrow. “You thought a stakeout for a murderer would be hot?”
“Well, when you say it like that—”
Derek’s jaw clicked.
“Okay, so maybe I was fantasizing a little bit about how this would go.” He crossed his arms with a huff. “Sue me.”
A tense silence fell between them before Derek finally sighed.
“How did you think this was going to go?”
Stiles exhaled, long and slow through his nose.
“I was hoping there’d be a lot more sex,” he muttered.
He heard Derek’s sharp inhale beside him. Then silence. Heavy and tinged with tension.
There was the sound of shuffling. The clink of Derek’s seatbelt. The soft thunk of the seat sliding back.
Stiles glanced over, brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”
He watched, wide-eyed, as Derek undid his belt buckle.
“What does it look like?” Derek huffed—but there wasn’t any real heat to it. “I’m giving you what you want.”
Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. “Really?” He sat up, frantically unbuckling his own seatbelt. His gaze flicked toward the building they were supposed to be watching.
“Now?” he whispered, cock already half-hard and rising quickly.
“Do you want it or not?” Derek growled, the sound rumbling low and sending a shiver down Stiles’ spine—especially as the werewolf pulled his cock out, already thick and rapidly hardening.
Stiles’ mouth went dry.
“Yes.” He turned in his seat toward him, leaning over the center console. “Please.”
Derek grunted, stroking himself lazily. Stiles stared, transfixed, watching the way Derek’s cock twitched in his hand.
“Get your pants off.”
Stiles jerked, startled, snapping his gaze back to Derek’s glowing eyes.
“And grab the lube and condoms out of there,” Derek added, nodding toward the glove box.
Stiles blinked. “You keep those in your car?”
Derek gave him a dark, heavy look. “I do now.”
“Oh.” Stiles grinned, shifting his hips up to push his pants down, shucking them and his shoes into the floorboard.
“You didn’t wear underwear?” Derek murmured, voice dark and husky—wanting.
“I came prepared. What can I say?”
Stiles gave him a wink, flipping open the compartment and retrieving the lube and condoms.
“In fact,” he said, fingers toying with the lube bottle, “you don’t even need this.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Fuck,” Derek exhaled, gaze dropping to Stiles’ pelvis. “You’re wearing the plug again, aren’t you?”
Stiles shrugged, biting his bottom lip. “Maybe.”
“Get over here.” Derek growled, snatching one of the condoms and tearing it open.
“Yes, sir,” Stiles said, shuffling awkwardly over the center console.
“How should we—?”
Derek grabbed his hips, twisting him around.
“Here. Like this. Sit in my lap. Hold onto the steering wheel.”
Stiles obeyed, settling back into Derek’s lap. His thighs overlapped Derek’s, forcing his knees apart as Derek’s cock pressed hotly against his ass.
“Ready?” Derek whispered against his ear, his breath fanning hot over Stiles’ skin.
“Fuck yeah,” Stiles said, leaning forward, arching his back. “Do the honors.” He grinned over his shoulder.
Derek inhaled, eyes tracing downward. It was dark inside the Camaro, but Stiles knew Derek could see everything.
Could see the black plug nestled deep inside him.
Could see the way his muscles clenched and flexed around it as he pushed his ass out.
“You gonna stare, or are you—”
His words cut off in a choked moan as Derek’s hand moved suddenly, gripping the plug and yanking it free in one smooth, ruthless pull.
“Fuck,” Stiles hissed, leaning heavily on the steering wheel. “Warn a—uh!”
He whimpered as he was yanked back down, Derek’s cock sliding inside him in one hard thrust.
“If you liked it gentle,” Derek growled, one hand cupping his throat and pulling him back until their bodies were flush, “you wouldn’t be with me.”
Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered, his insides trembling.
“Der,” he moaned, tilting his head back against Derek’s leather-clad shoulder.
“Is this closer to how you pictured it?” Derek murmured, hands gripping Stiles’ hips hard enough to bruise as he guided him in his lap. “What you’ve been planning since you asked to come with me instead of Isaac?”
Stiles whimpered, fingers flexing against the leather of the steering wheel.
“Tell me.”
He inhaled sharply, breath shaking as Derek’s cock dragged in and out with maddening friction.
“Yeah,” he exhaled, turning his head, catching Derek’s gaze with lidded eyes. “Close… just figured you’d be less gentle—ngh!”
His words were cut off in a gasp as Derek’s rhythm suddenly picked up, the sharp slap of skin echoing with each brutal snap of his hips.
“Fuck,” Stiles gasped, hands white-knuckled on the wheel.
“What else?” Derek grunted, his voice rough with need. “Paint the picture for me.”
Stiles bit his bottom lip, trying to focus through the fog as his mind melted under the relentless pace.
“Would’ve been—uh, yeah—after.” He sucked in a breath, his chin dropping against his chest. “God, right there.”
His toes curled, pressing into the floorboard as his thighs trembled.
“You’d probably be bloody—yours, theirs—and you’d shove me down into the backseat.”
Derek growled, claws scraping Stiles’ skin, fingers digging dangerously close to breaking it.
The risk, the threat, sent a bolt of heat straight to Stiles’ dick.
“Take me rough and hard—uh!” he whimpered, the car squeaking under them as Derek’s pace grew frantic. Stiles braced a hand on the roof to stop from smacking his head.
“Then what?” Derek panted, hips snapping up.
Heat was curling, tight and hot in his gut.
“Then—”
Stiles’ phone rang.
He startled so hard his head cracked against the roof.
“Ow—fuck!” he hissed, ducking his head in pain.
Stiles recognized the ringtone.
“Oh fuck, that’s my dad—hang on,” he hissed, lunging for his discarded pants and fumbling for his phone.
“Hello?” he answered, trying—desperately—to steady his breathing.
“Stiles, just calling to check in on you.”
Derek’s hands slid up his sides, fingers ghosting over his ribs. Stiles shivered and swatted at him with one hand.
“Everything’s good,” he said, wincing at how breathless he sounded.
Derek’s hands drifted lower, settling on his hips.
“You sure?” his dad asked, voice full of concern. “You sound kinda off.”
“Y—yeah,” Stiles half-choked, biting down on his tongue as Derek’s hips snapped up.
A jolt of pleasure shot through him, and he shot Derek a glare over his shoulder.
Derek just grinned, eyes glowing red as he began thrusting again—not as hard as before, but enough to steal Stiles’ breath.
“Stiles?”
“Still here,” he rasped, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. His hand was trembling where he clutched the phone.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Mhm,” Stiles hummed through gritted teeth, biting his lip hard as Derek’s rhythm built, cock brushing his prostate again and again.
The Camaro squeaked faintly beneath them, and Stiles prayed to every god listening that his dad wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t hear it. Wouldn’t realize his son was currently getting railed in the front seat of a stakeout.
“If something’s wrong—” his dad continued, voice fading into static in Stiles’ brain as Derek hit just the right spot.
“I—of course,” Stiles gasped, toes curling against the floorboard, his voice cracking right down the middle.
"Shit, sorry Stiles—” his dad was saying, but Stiles was way past verbal responses.
He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flying open to stare at the fogged-up windshield as his orgasm crashed over him like a wave.
“—I’ll call you back. We’re getting a report about a couple having sex in a car on Alabama and Taft.”
“Fuck,” Stiles choked, the phone slipping from his fingers just as Derek yanked him down hard.
“F–uck.”
He could only pray the call had disconnected in time as he clung to the steering wheel, back arched, muscles taut.
“Yes, Derek—please—god,” he whimpered, chest heaving.
Behind him, Derek groaned, hips snapping in quick, hard thrusts before stilling, releasing with a guttural sound.
Silence fell, broken only by their labored breathing.
The steering wheel was digging painfully into Stiles’ cheek, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“We should move,” Derek grunted, giving Stiles’ thigh a light smack.
“Five minutes,” Stiles murmured, eyes fluttering shut.
“Stiles?” Derek asked, fingers tracing the knobs of his spine.
“Hm?”
“We’re parked on Alabama and Taft,” Derek said calmly.
Stiles’ head slammed into the roof again.
“Oh fuck,” he hissed, clutching at his skull as he scrambled across the center console. “Drive! Drive!”
Derek, the bastard, just laughed, casually slipping off the used condom before starting the car.
Stiles flattened himself against the passenger seat as Derek peeled out and sped down the road.