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Stiles watched with disgusted anguish on his face as Derek scorched the skin of Scott’s bicep with a blow torch. If getting a tattoo wasn’t already painful enough the human-way with a needle gun, then getting your arm charred with fucking fire was definitely grounds for never, ever, ever wanting to get a tattoo. Stiles figured that Scott was actually somewhat crazy for wanting to go through with it and that Derek was probably just as crazy—if not sadistic—for obliging to help.
Scott’s screams bounced around the rackety wooden room of the old Hale house, probably knocking some old plastered off the already damaged walls. Stiles wanted to close his ears, but he was responsible for keeping Scott’s ass in the chair. But eventually, the pain knocked Scott out like a light, and Stiles felt somewhat ashamed for actually being relieved.
Derek switched off the blow torch and set it down on the dirty ground. He stared up at Stiles from where he sat, as if waiting for the barrage of questions and comments that he knew Stiles had compiled in his brain. Stiles just clapped his hands together and began to curiously strut around the room and around his unconscious friend.
“So, how long do you think ol’ Scotty boy’s gonna be conked out like this?” Stiles asked, spinning around to address Derek properly. He crossed his arms and innocently tilted forward and back on his feet.
“I’m not clairvoyant, Stiles.” Derek said, standing up from his chair. “He could be out for ten minutes, possibly longer. Why, do you have somewhere important to be?”
“Well, school’s technically important…but it’s not like I’m actually throbbing with anticipation to get back there and slam my head into some boring English novels.”
“Then go find something else to do that entertains you long enough to not get on somebody’s nerves.”
Stiles chuckled, kneeling down to momentarily stare at Scott’s sleeping face. “Oooh, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. What’s got you all tensed up and ready to bite, Derek?”
Derek refused to answer. He didn’t want to play little word games with Stiles and fuel the obnoxious banter. He had more important things to worry about, like his beta—Isaac—who had just been attacked by alphas.
“Just sit down and wait for your friend to wake up.” Derek said, walking towards another room.
Stiles watched Derek trail away, paying extra attention to the way Derek’s jeans hugged the globes of his thick ass. “Hmm, how about you let me blow you, Derek. Y’know, burn away some empty time while I wait for Scotty.”
Derek peered around the corner, back into the room where Stiles stood proudly with a bold and crooked smile on his face. “What did you just say?”
Stiles started to walk forward, pushing closer to Derek’s space. “I asked you to let me blow you. It’s a thing guys do with each other sometimes. Where one guy, me, takes another guy’s cock, yours, into their mouth and stimulates it with hot tongue and throat action. Do I need to draw you a picture?”
“Knock it off.”
“Don’t be such a prude, Derek.” Stiles came to stand directly in front of Derek’s tense body, face-to-face. He slowly lowered himself down to his knees in front of Derek’s crotch and gripped onto the werewolf’s belt. “Did you know that the Ancient Greeks believed that frequent orgasms were a way to expel bad emotions…which is probably why you’re so grumpy. You must never shoot off a couple rounds.”
Derek stared down into Stiles’ mesmerizing hazel eyes, mind full of confusion and intrigue. Stiles’ boldness threw him for a fucking loop. He couldn’t actually wrap his mind around the fact Stiles just off and dropped to his knees to suck a guy’s cock, without warning and without hesitation. He also couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that his cock was actually twitching up to thick hardness in the confines of his boxers.
“They didn’t—you should pay attention more in class, you idiot.” Derek barked.
“I know the Greeks didn’t actually preach that made up bullshit, but it confused you long enough to let me unbuckle your belt—” Stiles laughed, unzipping Derek’s jeans and pulling them down along with his boxers. “—and you’re hard.”
Before Derek had time to even formulate something to say or do, Stiles placed his hot mouth around his cock and started to bob up and down in a crippling rhythm. Derek’s vision momentarily blurred, his skin flushed hot, and his head tipped backwards in awe. He stared up through the partially destroyed roof of his home and let Stiles pleasure him.
There was something so arousing about the way that Stiles’ eyes seemed to spark with energy. There was a determination to please spread across his face and he looked so enthusiastic about giving a blowjob to somebody. He was extremely talented with his mouth and tongue. Derek was practically hypnotized by the way that Stiles looked down on his knees, finally putting his mouth to some non-obnoxious use.
“Where the fuck did you learn to suck cock like this?” Derek questioned, sounding slightly out of breath.
Stiles pulled off of Derek’s cock with a lewd wet pop and licked the pre-cum/saliva mix from his lips. He responded with a simple answer—porn—and then went back to work. He wrapped his lips around the head of Derek’s cock and dipped the tip of his tongue into Derek’s leaking slit—drawing grunts from the werewolf that towered above him.
Derek’s hands came down to tightly cradle the sides of Stiles’ head—exerting just a bit of his own werewolf strength to keep Stiles’ mouth moving at just the right pace. He pulled Stiles on and off of his cock, reducing the boy down to nothing more than a fucktoy for his own pleasure. Stiles didn’t seem to mind and Derek gladly relished in the sound of Stiles gagging and slurping.
Still knelt down between Derek’s thighs, Stiles unbuttoned his own pants and pulled out his own throbbing cock. He began to stroke himself to the rhythm of his head being forced towards Derek’s crotch. Derek grunted out dirty degrading little whispers from up above, which infected Stiles’ brain and bumped up the temperature of Stiles’ body by just a couple feverish degrees.
His knees began to ache as they pressed against the splintery wooden floor of the scorched Hale house, but the feeling of Derek assaulting his throat and his own cock in his hand made it all worthwhile. His knees could take the beating just as much as his throat could. Plus, he didn’t want to upset Derek when he was obviously in such a great mood now. Being horny always made things better.
Stiles eventually pulled off with a cough and smiled up at how utterly wrecked Derek looked. He coughed and spat a mouthful of saliva onto the floor and then wiped his lips sloppily across the side of his plaid sleeve. He stood up and cupped Derek’s jaw, demandingly—their individual cocks slapped hard against each other. Stiles smiled.
“I want you in my ass.” Stiles whispered, pressing his forehead against Derek’s. “But make it quick before Scott wakes up.”
He felt intoxicated by Derek’s presence and the heat that radiated off of him was addictive. But something deep inside of himself itched for something more—something more intense, harder, and dirtier. And if having Derek’s cock didn’t manage to pound that itch into submission, Stiles thought he’d go insane by the end of the day.
“I don’t carry condoms with me.”
“Make it messy.”
Derek spun Stiles around and yanked his pants down to his thighs. He marveled for a brief second at Stiles’ ass—perfectly round and decorated with delicate beauty marks. And fuck was he excited to tear deep into Stiles’ puckered pink entrance. It looked like it needed a throughout using.
He wrapped his fist around his cock, which was still dripping wet with Stiles’ sappy saliva. He pushed the head of his dick against Stiles’ hole and was met with resistance, but managed to slowly push his way into Stiles’ body with some more than enthusiastic demands from Stiles’ bossy mouth. He bottomed out; laughing to himself for a moment at the way Stiles’ body tensed up, and then he began thrusting into the boy.
“Who knew that you were such a fucking slut?” Derek groaned, gripping his hands at the sides of Stiles’ slender waist. “All those years cooped up with a law enforcement officer for a father got you sucking guys off for a taste of rebelliousness, huh?”
“No.” Stiles chucked between grunts. “I just like getting my brains fucked out by those asshole masculine-type dudes with thick stubble and even thicker cocks.”
Derek pounded into Stiles with his strength, tipping just slightly into the reserve of his enhanced strength. He didn’t want to hurt Stiles, but he loved the sounds that it made Stiles make upon impact. He loved the way that it jolted Stiles’ body, the way that Stiles’ head flopped up and down like a damn ragdoll, the way that Stiles’ knees trembled, and the way that it made Stiles’ hole clench tight because he just wanted it that much deeper.
Stiles’ breaths came out heavier. He stroked himself as best he could with Derek’s vicious thrusts from behind. Derek’s cock struck deep inside of him with each and every thrust—slamming directly into his prostate—and electrifying his body with uncontrollable pleasure. Stiles felt pleasantly lost under Derek’s control, happy to receive anything that Derek could dish out.
“You’re a shitty fucking friend.” Derek grunted, slamming particularly hard into Stiles’ frame. “Bent over…directly in front of his face…getting your ass ripped apart.
Stiles looked back and pulled Derek’s face closer to his, regardless of the uncomfortable angle. He took Derek’s mouth into a passionate kiss—lips smacking against lips, sweaty faces against sweaty faces, and wicked tongues against wicked tongues. He knew that he was probably a bad friend, but he couldn’t help himself. It was human nature to chase desire, not matter how sinful they were.
“You’re a master – at dirty talk.” Stiles breathed sarcastically. “Anyways, Scotty’s – out like a fucking – light. He’s – completely dead to the world. And – what kind of friend are you? Fu—fucking his best friend – right in front of his face?” He struggled to speak through the thrusts, but the point was made.
“I’m not his friend.” Derek sneered, biting his lip.
He started to jackhammer himself into Stiles’ hole—chasing his orgasm. The speedy motion added an arousing vibration to all of the beautiful sounds and chirps that Stiles poured into the stuffy air of the house, which only turned him on more. Stiles’ stamina and durability for being nothing more than a human was also exciting to think about, especially regarding Stiles’ ability to take a supernaturally charged pounding with gusto.
Derek pulled himself out of Stiles’ hole and forcibly spun Stiles around so that they faced each other, only to drop the boy back down to his knees. Stiles stuck out his tongue with bright desire in his eyes and a devious smirk tugging at his opened lips. He knew what was coming, quite literally, and he wanted it more than anything. And as Derek stroked himself hard and rough—Stiles did the same for himself.
Derek’s orgasm struck him hard, momentarily whiting out his vision and forcing him to twitch upwards to the tips of his toes as his cock spewed stream after stream and glob after glob of thick cum over Stiles’ wet tongue and his flushed out face. He groaned out loudly, body shaking as his orgasm washed over in brutal waves. He watched his cum pool on Stiles’ tongue and watched the rest of it glaze the boy’s upturned nose, mole speckled face, and all the way up into the wavy locks of his hair.
Stiles had closed his eyes the moment he felt the hot rush of cum strike across his face in spurts, his head slightly tilted back in his own burst of ecstasy as he stroked himself to completion. As Derek painted his face, Stiles gave his right hand and the length of his shirt a new splattered design of his making. He rode out his orgasm, sensually grinding his knees down into the floor—letting his body work through the intensity of what had just happened.
“Wha—what the fuck?” Scott questioned loudly, groggily coming out of his unconscious state.
Stiles popped up from his knees to stand beside Derek, mouth still full with Derek’s heavy load. He instinctively gave Scott an innocent smile, accidentally forgetting to swallow, thus letting Derek’s mess drip down his chin and splat lewdly against the floor. He stood there; face and body soaked with jizz, pants down at his hairy thighs, and spent cock still jutting out in the air—proudly, as if ready to go a second round. Derek remained silent, unquestionably unaffected by being caught. His own cock was still hanging out of his tight, unbuckled jeans—dripping and slicked with cum.
Stiles laughed, running his cum-soaked hand through his sweaty hair. “Well, I hope you had a nice nap.”