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“Would I make a good stripper?”
Derek blinked. “What?”
Stiles rolled his eyes, still mindlessly tapping away on his cellphone as he lay sprawled out on the couch with his socked feet resting in Derek’s lap. Meeting Derek’s eyes with a tiny smirk, he repeated, “A stripper. Would I make a good one?”
He’d only arrived at the loft around fifteen minutes ago, showing up completely unannounced for the sole purpose of raiding Derek’s fridge for leftovers from the last pack dinner and monopolizing most of the space on his couch, playing Angry Birds on his phone. He hadn’t said a word up until then, save for a laconic yo as he’d entered the loft, granting a very appreciative Derek some peace and quiet as he read his book. But the silence had been unnerving, Derek so used to Stiles’ constant babbling that he actually missed it despite his many pleas for him to be quiet.
And now that Stiles had finally spoken Derek was picturing―not fantasizing about, not fantasizing about, damn it―him as a stripper, flouncing around in some skimpy little outfit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, crowds of cheering men and women showering him in a cascade of crumpled up singles. He couldn’t focus on his book anymore, the words blending together on the page as visions of Stiles swinging around a pole danced behind his eyelids.
He’d probably wear red, Derek mused. He always looks so good in red. Maybe nothing more than a pair of bright scarlet short shorts under his favorite red hoodie, the one he was wearing that very moment as he lay on Derek’s couch. Or maybe even a pair of lacy red panties. Mmmm.
“Planning a career change?” Derek quipped dryly, arching a brow at Stiles. He desperately tried not to squirm under Stiles’ gaze as he hardened in his jeans, not wanting to reveal just how affected he was by the thought of Stiles dancing around half naked―they hadn’t even gotten past a few torrid kisses let alone gotten to the point where strip teases would be appropriate.
“Ugh, dude. No. Just…no,” Stiles vehemently denied, shaking his head and sticking his tongue out. Okay, so Derek didn’t have to worry about his boyfriend running off to become a stripper anytime soon. Good to know.
“So, if you’re not thinking about dropping out of college to go work a pole, what’s with the question?” Derek probed, Stiles’ oftentimes infectious curiosity spurring his own. He closed his book and set it on the coffee table, shifting to face Stiles more fully, subtly re-adjusting himself in his too-tight jeans. He could read War and Peace anytime but he had a feeling this was a once in a lifetime conversation and he wasn’t going to miss it for a vignette of Russian family drama.
“Okay, so…” Stiles started, turning his phone off and laying it screen down on the coffee table. Taking a deep, steeling breath, he plowed on, “I was hanging out with Erica and Isaac, y’know pack bonding and all that good stuff, and Erica said she’d make an amazing stripper so I said I’d be a great stripper, too. And they laughed about it because they’re assholes, nice going with that one by the way, and then they bet me twenty bucks each if I could get you to say I’d make a good stripper.”
Derek chuckled to himself at Stiles’ breathless rant, gently stroking his thumb over the smooth skin of Stiles’ ankle. Chewing on his lip, he asked, “Why me?”
“I dunno,” Stiles hummed, lazily shrugging a shoulder as he picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Guess they thought I’d be too embarrassed to ask. Or they figured you wouldn’t think I’d make a good stripper―” he paused to raise a brow at Derek “―You do think I’d make a good stripper, right?”
“Well…” Derek trailed off tentatively, wincing as he scratched the back of his head nervously. When Stiles’ other eyebrow joined the first at his hairline, Derek knew he was up shit creek without a paddle. There was no possible way he could get out of this without offering Stiles in some way. He should’ve just kept reading.
“Well, it’s just…” he tried again, carefully thinking over his words. “It’s just…you can be kinda…shy sometimes.”
“Wow. Y’know, I’ve been called a lot of things, but shy? Really? By what stretch of the imagination am I shy? ” Stiles pressed, spitting out the word shy like bitter venom. He defiantly crossed his arms over his chest as he waited impatiently for Derek’s explanation.
“Stiles, you don’t even take your shirt off to go swimming,” Derek pointed out gently in what he hoped was a placating, nonjudgemental tone, squeezing Stiles’ ankle lightly. He didn’t mean to be rude or critical and he desperately hoped he didn’t offend Stiles in any way.
“That’s not because I’m shy! ” Stiles squeaked indignantly. Lowering his voice and his eyes, he tacked on, “That’s because I’m self-conscious, not shy . There’s a difference.”
Feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut at the sound of Stiles’ soft, vulnerable voice, Derek barely refrained from whining aloud, biting his tongue before the whinge could claw its way out of his throat. He was well aware of how insecure Stiles could be, one of the many reasons they were taking their relationship slow, particularly about his body, feeling like a jackass for having made it worse. Scratching his blunt nails through the coarse hair on Stiles’ leg, he quietly murmured, “Hey, c’mere.”
“Hmm?” Stiles lifted his head to look at Derek, raising his eyebrows in silent question. He no longer looked angry and offended, instead looking so unbelievably dejected it made Derek’s chest ache.
Wanting to do anything in his power to wipe that look off his pretty face, Derek beckoned him closer with a wave of his hand, urging, “C’mere, babe.”
“Oh, so it’s babe now, huh?” Stiles teased with a small smile even as he shuffled over to sit closer to Derek, feet still perched in his lap. He laid his head on Derek’s shoulder, nestling closer as Derek wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. “Aww, does the big bad wolf wanna cuddle?”
“Mmm,” Derek mumbled, pressing his cheek against Stiles’ temple as he rubbed his upper arm. “You know I didn’t mean anything bad about you keeping your shirt on, right? I’m so sorry if I upset you. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Mmmhmm. It’s okay,” Stiles assured him with a tiny nod, Derek’s stubble scratching his skin. Tilting his head to look up at Derek out of the corner of his eyes, he pressed, “Why else wouldn’t I make a good stripper?”
“Stiles…” Derek groaned, throwing his head back in fond exasperation.
“C’mon, humor me,” Stiles pled. When Derek didn’t respond, he bat his eyelashes. “Please?”
“Fine,” Derek sighed, lifting his head, moving to run his fingers through Stiles’ soft hair. “It’s just… You can be a little clumsy and…kinda loud. And…I guess that could be kinda off-putting for a stripper.”
“Hmph, I’ll show you off-putting,” Stiles grumbled as he rose to his feet, ignoring Derek’s shocked expression. Hands on his hips, Stiles turned to face Derek as he announced, “I’m gonna show you just how good of a stripper I can be.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Stiles,” Derek informed him sternly.
“I know that,” Stiles replied, rolling his eyes as he began shrugging out of his hoodie. “I want to, though. Okay?”
“Should I grab my wallet?” Derek joked, watching as Stiles tossed his hoodie onto the couch. Stiles sent him a withering look as he undid the first button on his flannel. Derek raised his hands in surrender, capitulating, “Okay, okay, point taken. I was just trying to be a supportive boyfriend.”
His laugh died in his throat when Stiles’ gaze suddenly turned heated. He was gazing at Derek through his dark sooty lashes, giving him the most seductive bedroom eyes he had ever seen as he began biting his bottom lip in a deceptively coy fashion. His pale cheeks flushed beautifully as he started swaying his hips side to side, slipping the second button on his flannel out of its hole.
Derek fisted his hand in the couch cushion beside his hip, nostrils flaring as he hungrily raked his eyes over his boyfriend’s tantalizing body, the enticing swing of his hips, the column of his throat Derek desperately wanted to bite. He watched eagerly as Stiles finished unbuttoning his flannel, letting it slip off his arms and pool at his feet.
Stiles toyed with the hem of his gray Captain America t-shirt, offering Derek a delicious flash of his flat belly and the trail of hair tapering down from his belly button to the waistband of his faded jeans. He deftly unbuttoned his jeans, sliding his zipper down, before shimmying out of his jeans entirely, leaving him in his t-shirt and a pair of gray plaid boxers, still wearing his socks.
It was the most naked Derek had ever seen him, reveling in the sight of his long, pale legs, sprinkled with dark hair, appreciatively eyeing his boxers. He was licking his lips in anticipation when he noticed that Stiles’ scent had soured.
“I-I can’t…” Stiles whispered hesitantly, avoiding Derek’s gaze as he picked at the hem of his shirt. Swallowing heavily, he managed to choke out, “M’sorry.”
“Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to apologize,” Derek assured him, sitting up to settle his hands on Stiles’ waist, giving him a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay, babe. I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
Stiles nodded, letting himself be tugged into Derek’s lap, immediately looping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. Straddling Derek’s thighs with his knees on either side of his hips, Stiles pouted, “I really could be a stripper, y’know.”
“I know, baby,” Derek answered honestly, rubbing his hand up and down Stiles’ back. It was true, he was certain that, if he really wanted to, Stiles could headline strip shows in Vegas without any real effort at all, single-handedly putting all other strip joints out of business. “You’re perfect, so gorgeous.”
“Wanna show you,” Stiles muttered under his breath, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s.
He was about to ask what exactly Stiles meant by that when the breath was knocked out of him, Stiles abruptly dropping down onto Derek’s groin and swirling his hips, grinding his ass against his hard cock through his jeans. Jolting in shock, a surprised yelp torn from his throat, Derek snapped his hands to Stiles’ waist, stilling his movement as he growled, “Stiles!”
“What? What’s wrong?” Stiles asked frantically, genuinely confused as he looked around in search of what caused Derek’s outburst.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right? You don’t have to prove anything to me, I believe you,” Derek grit out through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to thrust up against Stiles’ ass.
“Yeah, I know,” Stiles confirmed, tracing his finger over the neckline of Derek’s Henley, brushing through the hair on his chest. “But I just really wanna get you off. Can I?”
“Yeah,” Derek whined, nodding eagerly like an excited puppy as he gave in to his own selfish desire. He loosened his grip on Stiles’ waist, brushing his thumbs over his hip bones. “Yeah.”
Stiles huffed a high, breathless laugh as he resumed the sinful movement of his hips, grinding against Derek through their layers of clothes. They both groaned at the delectable friction, clutching each other tightly as Stiles undulated atop Derek, Derek moaning when he realized he wasn’t the only one who was rock hard and aching.
Stiles slipped one of his hands into Derek’s hair, guiding him into a heated kiss as they desperately ground against one another, slipping his tongue into Derek’s mouth. He smirked into the kiss when Derek groped his ass, squeezing him through the soft cotton of his boxers as he slipped his other hand under Stiles’ t-shirt, swiping his thumb over a pebbled nipple.
“Fuck,” Derek breathed, dropping his head back as he closed his eyes to focus on the warm weight of Stiles in his lap, the silk of his smooth skin as he carefully raked his fingers down his back, luxuriating in the feel of Stiles’ plush lips trailing over his throat. He fisted his hand in the fabric of Stiles’ boxers as he rolled his hips up against him. “You feel so good, Stiles.”
Already they were both embarrassingly close to falling over the edge, Stiles still in possession of the hair trigger of a virgin and Derek having been celibate for so long he was practically a virgin himself. Quickening the movement of his hips, feeling Derek’s hard cock grinding against his own, Stiles whined against Derek’s throat, “M’close!”
“Yeah,” Derek moaned, preening just the slightest bit at having made Stiles feel so good. “Me too, baby. Me too.”
Stiles tugged Derek into another kiss, whimpering against his lips as they moved together, desperately chasing release in each other’s arms. Moving his forehead to Derek’s shoulder, Stiles panted heavily, voice high and reedy as he sobbed, “Derek!”
“It’s okay, baby,” Derek soothed, squeezing Stiles’ ass again. “It’s okay. Come for me, Stiles. Go ahead and come for me. You’re so good, so perfect.”
Stiles keened high in his throat as he stilled a few moments before collapsing against Derek’s chest as he came, moaning Derek’s name. Derek jerked to a stop a couple seconds later, breathing Stiles’ name like a prayer as he held him tight.
After catching his breath, chest still heaving, Derek announced, “Okay, I take it back. You’d make a great stripper.”
Stiles laughed against the side of his neck. “Maybe I should take it up then. It’ll help put me through school.”
Burying his nose in the crook of Stiles’ neck, Derek growled softly in disagreement, hackles raising at the thought of anyone else getting to see Stiles scantily clad and sweating on stage, dancing for a handful of tips. Though at the same time he knew that if Stiles truly wanted to start stripping he’d be in the front row every night, cheering him on at the top of his lungs and flinging hundreds at him. Nonetheless, nuzzling against Stiles’ throat, he grumbled, “Mine.”
Stiles muffled a laugh against Derek’s shirt as he combed his fingers through Derek’s thoroughly disheveled hair, “Don’t worry, Der. You’re the only one I’ll be stripping for.”
“Only one you’ll be giving lap dances, too, right?” Derek asked with a smirk, breathing in the scent of Stiles, warm and happy and satisfied in his arms.
“Yeah,” Stiles promised, letting his eyes fall closed as he basked in the afterglow of his first orgasm with another person.
“Good,” Derek rumbled happily as he began sucking a mark into the side of Stiles’ neck. He had to show everyone that Stiles was his after all.