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Derek sits at Boyd and Erica’s rickety kitchen table with a bottle of beer cradled against his chest, watching bemusedly as Erica darts back and forth between the bathroom and the bedroom, complaining loudly and frequently about how frustrating her hair is being tonight. The new semester only started a few days ago, and the first party of the term is already underway and awaiting their presence, but of course they’re on hold until Erica changes outfit for the fiftieth time.

“Are you nearly ready?” Derek calls out, sharing a long-suffering look with Boyd on the other side of the table. “You look fine.”

“Fine,” she snorts. “You sure do know how to flatter a girl. If this is the game you put forward with the women you’re trying to sleep with, I think I’m starting to understand that dry spell you’re going through a little better.”

Derek forces a smile, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He hasn’t told them yet.

Coming out to Laura just a few weeks ago had been terrifying and freeing in equal measure. After her, Boyd and Erica are the people he loves most in the world, and of course he wants them to know.

This time, telling them – it’s still scary, he knows from the churn in his stomach whenever he thinks about it. But it’s better.

He wonders whether it gets easier every time; whether the words will slip from him effortlessly one day. He hopes so. He just has to get through these ones first.

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “About that. Can you – come in here for a minute?”

She huffs, loud and exaggerated. “Which is it, Derek? Do you want me ready to go or do you want me to come hang out in my kitchen?”

“I just – there’s something I need to say.” Derek clears his throat. “To – tell you both.”

He stares directly ahead at the off-white wall, eyes lasered in on where the paint is peeling a little, just to the side of the refrigerator. He still catches Boyd frowning at him in his peripheral.

“Erica,” Boyd says composedly, “come sit.”

She sighs loudly, agitatedly, but it’s only a few moments before she rushes into the room and flings herself down in the last empty chair. She’s wearing hot pink sweatpants and a sparkly crop top, make up fully done with the curly half of her hair up in a messy bun and the straightened part sweeping down past her shoulders.

Clearly catching his smirking assessment of her current look, she pulls a face at him that’s just shy of actually sticking her tongue out.

“What is it?” she demands irritably. “What’s so important that you have to interrupt a goddess in the middle of her process?”

“This is a process?” he teases.

“Sorry we can’t all douse ourselves in hair gel, throw on a muscle tee, and call it a day.”

“This isn’t a muscle tee.”

She rolls her eyes while Boyd ducks his head to laugh at their familiar, sibling-like arguing.

“Can we get to the point here, please,” she urges.

He lets a beat pass. An awkward pause of silence around the table, the only sound the faint tones of Erica’s music drifting in from the bedroom. He forces himself to take a steadying breath, flicking eyes first to Erica, then to Boyd, then letting them settle on the centre of the wooden table.

“I told Laura something, over break. It’s something I want – need – to tell you both, too.”

Erica allows a whole half a second to pass without Derek continuing before she raises her eyebrows, bringing a hand up to present a rolling go on gesture.

“We’re listening,” Boyd says, throwing a pointed look at Erica as he continues with, “Patiently.”

She rolls her eyes again but makes a show of settling back in her seat, giving Derek her undivided attention. Derek smiles briefly at Boyd before his face falls back into careful neutrality, his eyes down at his own lap.

“I realised something about myself recently,” he starts. “And you two are my best friends, so I want you to know. I – I’m bisexual.”

The same kind of silence that trailed his admission to Laura follows. His heart thuds and he sweats a little during this one, too.

“Well, shit,” Erica says to break it. “What, did you run out of women to fuck?”

It’s so honest and tactless and Erica that Derek can’t help but huff a short laugh, the smile lingering at his mouth as he looks up at her. She grins back at him.

“Something like that,” he mumbles.

“I’m glad you told us,” Boyd says, leaning across the table to clap Derek on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, it was real brave, all that crap,” Erica adds, a wicked curve now to her smile. “So which dudes have you banged? Anyone we know?”

Derek feels the tips of his ears immediately burn red. She definitely notices if her cackle is anything to go by.

“I haven’t slept with anyone,” he tells her.

She scoffs. “You really expect me to believe that? You’ve barely gone more than a week without a hook-up in all the time I’ve known you.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists hotly.

She pauses, pursing her still smiling mouth and tilting her head to assess him.

“There’s a guy, isn’t there?” she guesses.

Derek shifts. “There – might be a guy.”

“I think that’s more surprising than the bisexual thing,” Boyd says, faintly bemused.

“Who is it?” she presses. “You have to tell us, please tell us, who is it, who, who, who!”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Derek replies, scowling. “Not yet, anyway. It’s just – nothing’s happened between us, not really. I don’t want to – I don’t know.”

“You don’t want to jinx it,” she finishes his thought, grinning manically. “Oh my god. Derek Hale is in love.”

“Fuck off,” Derek says without any bite.

It’s a wonder he loves her as much as he does; she really does remind him of his sister.

“Will he be at the party tonight?” Boyd asks.

“I don’t know,” Derek answers honestly. “Maybe.”

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” She slaps her hands onto the table once before standing and hurrying back into the bedroom, yelling over her shoulder as she goes. “Give me five minutes and then we can go hunt down the hottie that’s captured Derek’s heart and hard-on.”

Derek flips her off where she can’t even see it, but he’s smiling with a warmth of easy acceptance.

*****

“Is he here?” Erica shouts into Derek’s ear.

The music is loud enough that she feels the need to really get her mouth close to Derek’s face, but her voice carries well enough that her yelling makes his ear drums ring a little bit. He elbows her away gently, scowling at her as he rubs at his ear.

“I don’t know,” he tells her. “Quit asking.”

It’s the truth – he doesn’t know. They’ve only been at the party for less than hour at this point. But he has spotted Scott, about fifteen minutes ago, chatting away to a tall, curly-haired guy on the othe side of the crowded room. So odds are in that Stiles is probably around here somewhere, too.

He doesn’t share this with Erica. There’s no way she’ll be chill about it.

“Who wants another drink?” Boyd asks, glancing between them both.

“I’ll get them,” Derek says quickly.

Too quickly, he can tell, by Erica’s instantly narrowing eyes. In a move completely unlike her though, she doesn’t push it. She simply shrugs, offering her cup to Derek for a refill and taking Boyd’s to do the same.

She turns her back to Derek, grabbing Boyd by both hands and bodily dragging him out onto the dancefloor. Boyd rolls his eyes fondly at Derek over her head, but still lets himself be manhandled into the middle of the throng, hands falling to Erica’s waist as soon as she turns around and presses her back against his chest, fitting herself snugly into the curve of his body.

Despite that eye roll, Boyd doesn’t exactly seem like he’s complaining, what with the way he immediately ducks his head to start kissing at her neck.

Obscene, Derek thinks, smiling fondly as he spins to head for the kitchen.

He winds his way through the busy party, passing close enough to Scott that he catches his eye. He sends a friendly smile Scott’s way. Scott does not smile back. Probably not worth asking him if Stiles is around anywhere, then.

Poking his head into the kitchen, he finds no sign of Stiles. There’s two girls he slept with last year – not at the same time, in this particular instance – chatting together in one of the corners. They both smile at him warmly, no hard feelings anywhere, and he returns the gesture in kind.

But the reason for his visit isn’t present, so he drops the three cups in his hands down onto a countertop, and moves on with his search.

Stiles isn’t in the bathroom, or the line for it. He’s not in the dining room which has been converted into a beer pong tournament for the evening. He’s not part of the smattering of people congregating on the front lawn, or anywhere on the dance floor, or back talking to Scott and whoever his friend is.

Derek spends a good ten minutes searching the party up and down, and he comes up with nothing. He’s just about to give up when he notices a flight of stairs, tucked around a corner and with a string of material roping it off, a clear sign of no entry.

But Stiles has never really struck Derek as the type to follow anything as arbitrary as rules. Maybe he snuck off to find an empty bathroom, tired of waiting for the perpetually busy one downstairs. It’s worth a shot, he thinks as he carefully ducks under it and ascends to the near pitch black of upstairs.

The music is fainter up here, still a vibration of bass rumbling through the carpeted floor of the hallway, but much more muted than before. The first door on the left is already ajar, and Derek pushes it further open to take a look inside, but it’s just an empty, slightly messy bedroom. The next door along is closed, but inside Derek finds an equally empty bathroom – so that’s that theory out of the window.

Also closed is the last door of the lot. Derek creeps towards it slowly, carefully quietly. As he grows closer, he can see a faint light streaming through the crack at the bottom of the door, lending itself to the belief that there must be someone inside, at least.

He should probably knock, he thinks. He’s upstairs at a party he has no right to be upstairs at. He shouldn’t be bursting into rooms, entirely unannounced.

But something in him doesn’t want to do that. His heart hammers in his chest and he reaches out to curl fingers around the door handle, tightening until he can push down, push open, see what waits for him inside.

“Shit,” he hisses as his eyes adjust to the low light. “Fuck, I’m sor–“

The apology dies on his tongue.

At first, he can only just about make out the image of two figures, wrapped around each other on the bed, making out fervently and noisily. Happily, he notes they are both still mostly clothed – both shirtless, but pants are still in the picture. It seems like he’s walked in near the start rather than somewhere in the middle, thank god.

He’s still adjusting as the words tumble from his mouth, but he quickly realises it’s two men, one flat on his back, arms looped around his partner’s neck to pull him closer, the other grinding down in the gap between his spread legs. His gaze flicks reflexively up to their faces; he doesn’t recognise the guy on top, but –

But.

“Derek.” Stiles sounds breathless in a way that makes Derek’s stomach drop, and he blinks at Derek over his partner’s shoulder. His partner who is still pressed all up against his front, glaring incredulously at Derek for the interruption. “What – what are you doing here?”

It takes a few, painfully long seconds for Derek to find his voice. He clears his throat and drops his eyes to the floor.

“I was – it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry for, uh. I’ll just – I’ll go now.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the door shut and thunders back down the stairs.

The cold air outside is a shock to his overheated skin, and it makes him stumble, makes him pause in his rush for somewhere, anywhere but here. He leans heavily against the side of the house, bent over slightly and focusing on inhaling in, exhaling out, his breaths as shaky as the hands holding him up.

It’s a ridiculous response, he thinks, he knows. Stiles has been overtly clear that he’s not interested in anything beyond more or less acquaintanceship with Derek. Derek was certain enough of this fact to push him away last month, to stop him from doing something drunk that he’d infinitely regret sober. Stiles is free to do whatever he wants with whoever he wants.

Just because Derek wishes that whoever was him, doesn’t give him any right to react like this.

“Derek,” comes a frantic voice.

Derek screws his eyes shut and wishes he’d pushed through his weak legs to get the fuck away from here already.

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek says, voice as steady as he can manage. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“What the fuck were you doing up there?” Stiles asks urgently.

Looking for you, Derek doesn’t say.

“It doesn’t matter.” He forces his eyes open and his back straight, standing up to full height and meeting Stiles’ wide, startled expression. “You didn’t have to come after me. It’s fine.”

Stiles looks – thoroughly debauched is the only way to describe it, really. His shirt is inside out and on backwards, his pants hastily half-zipped but still unbuttoned. His hair is wild, sticking up all over the place, the ghost of the fingers that have recently run through it completely visible in the disarray of the dark strands. His mouth is kissed-red and raw, his puffy lower lip caught between his teeth and his eyebrows drawn together as he looks at Derek.

Guilty, he looks, which is completely Derek’s fault and completely unfair.

“Really,” Derek continues, when Stiles seems stumped for words for possibly the first time in his life. “Go have fun. I’m glad that you – found some dick.”

It’s a joke, a weak one that almost chokes on its way out of him. Stiles’ mouth is a flat, unhappy line, even as Derek forces what is probably an incredibly grim smile back at him.

Over Stiles’ shoulder, Derek notices with horror that Boyd and Erica are well within earshot of this entire conversation. Boyd’s face is stoic, neutral as he watches on, but there’s so much open pity on Erica’s that Derek can’t stand to look at it.

So much for them not finding out about Stiles until he had his chance to do something about their situation. Too late for that now anyway, he supposes.

“Derek,” Stiles says softly, taking a small step closer. “I’m sor–“

Derek takes an immediate step backwards. “You don’t want to keep your guy waiting. I’ll see you around.”

He can’t look at anyone as he leaves, can’t deal with any of this right now. His feet carry him quick, quickly away from the party and everything that happened, and he breaks into a sprint the second he can’t feel their burning eyes on him anymore.

The basketball hoop on the wall mocks him as he walks through the door of his apartment.

*****

The familiar creak of Derek’s front door sounds bright and early the next morning, and not for the first time he regrets telling Boyd and Erica where he hides the spare key.

“Up and at ‘em, Hale,” Erica calls loudly from his living room. “There will be no wallowing today. Don’t make me come in there.”

“I don’t want you here in the first place,” Derek calls back, even as he swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and rubs knuckles into his bleary eyes. “Ten minutes. Stay out there.”

True to his word, he joins them a short while later. His teeth are brushed and his underarms deodorised, still in his sleep pants and the t-shirt he wore yesterday. There is a scowl sitting on his face as he flops down into the armchair opposite the couch they take up together.

“So,” Boyd starts carefully. “That was… the guy.”

“Yes,” Derek says tightly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fuck him,” Erica says sharply. “If he can’t recognise what a catch you are, he doesn’t deserve you.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he takes in her vehemence, her vitriol. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she looks borderline murderous.

“Careful,” he says teasingly. “You keep talking like that, someone might think you actually like me.”

She rolls her eyes, leaning forward and glaring at him.

“I love you, you fucking dumbass,” she says. “Fuck that guy. There’s plenty more dick in the sea.”

Boyd nods his head in agreement, and Derek looks back, gaze darting between them. He lets a beat pass with his mouth twisted up, his hands folded in his lap, a nervous tapping of his foot against the wooden floor.

“He really hasn’t done anything wrong,” Derek says, because it’s true and he needs to make it clear. “I knew he wasn’t interested in me like I was interested in him. I hoped that… maybe… But he’s free to do what he wants.”

“We just want you to be happy,” Boyd says. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

Derek shrugs one shoulder, huffing a wry laugh. “Figures with my luck, the first person I actually want to date wants nothing to do with me.”

“Like I said,” Erica says, bouncing up to her feet and grabbing Derek’s forearm to drag him up too, “plenty more dick in the sea. And I was serious about no wallowing. We’re going out.”

Derek groans loudly but allows himself to be pushed and shoved back in the direction of his bedroom to get dressed.

Just under thirty minutes later, the three of them are at the outdoor basketball court on the other side of campus. Erica sits on a bench at the side lines, whooping and hollering her enjoyment as Derek and Boyd play a friendly game of one-on-one. Boyd would make an easy place on the college team, Derek has told him multiple times – if only for the fact he weren’t completely disinterested in playing competitively.

Shooting hoops has long been a way for him to unwind, to clear his head and relax. Within almost no time at all, he finds himself smiling and laughing as Boyd dodges and dunks on him, and he feels a warmth in his chest as he looks between his two best friends and feels a surge of love for them both.

“You suck, Hale!” Erica yells.

He rolls his eyes, still smiling. She has impeccable timing, as always.

“Love you too, Reyes,” he shouts back.

They play for a while longer, Erica talking trash where she watches on, Derek getting more than a few good dunks in of his own. When they are both panting and in real need of a water break and breather, Derek claps Boyd on the shoulder and follows him over to Erica’s perch. She stands and hands them both a bottle of water once they’re close enough.

“Works up a real sweat to lose that badly, huh?” she teases him.

He rolls his eyes, taking a long pull of water and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Boyd laughs quietly beside him, taking a more sedate sip from his own bottle.

“Shouldn’t you be being nicer to me today, considering?” he points out.

She smirks. “I am being nicer. I could be –“

She cuts off abruptly, mouth snapping shut and an immediate frown taking over her face.

“Could be what?” Derek prompts, eyebrows drawn together at the sudden change in her demeanour.

She nods her head over Derek’s shoulder. “Looks like your little friend is stalking you.”

Instantly, Derek whips around. It doesn’t take long until his eyes land on the reason for her new mood.

Stiles stands on the other side of the court, just near the entrance. He’s wrapped up in warm clothing, a complete contrast to Derek in basketball shorts and no shirt, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and looking directly, anxiously at Derek.

It’s probably not the best idea, but – “I’ll be back in a minute,” Derek says.

Stiles ducks his head as Derek approaches, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the gravel of the court. He looks up again only when Derek comes close enough that his sneakers must enter his line of sight.

There’s a nervous scrunch to his features, and he can hardly meet Derek’s eyes for more than a second before darting away again. They drop down to Derek’s bare chest on more than one occasion, before dragging up and away to over Derek’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Derek says.

“Hi,” Stiles says back.

“Are you stalking me?” Derek asks, half-teasing.

“A little bit,” Stiles admits, smiling briefly and wryly. “I’ve been walking around campus all morning trying to find you.”

“Oh.” Derek arches an eyebrow. “How long did it take?”

“Two hours.”

Derek huffs a surprised breath. “That’s dedication.”

Stiles makes a vague noise in the back of his throat as he shrugs. A silence falls between them then, stretching with Stiles seemingly in no hurry to offer any further response. Derek glances over his shoulder at where Boyd and Erica are openly and blatantly watching this entire interaction. He spares them a quick glare before he turns back to Stiles.

“Look,” Derek starts, “you really didn’t have to do that, you have nothing to apologise for, it’s –“

“Did you come out?” Stiles interrupts.

Derek blinks. “How did you…”

Stiles smiles faintly. “Your, uh. Your friend over there. She yelled at me, a little bit. She also mentioned – you told your sister?”

Derek grits his teeth. Erica and her big, well-meaning nose getting into his business, as always.

“That doesn’t – you’re not obligated to like me back just because I came out,” he says quickly. “I didn’t tell my sister and my friends just so you’d go out with me, it’s fine that you don’t want me back, I’m glad you’ve met some–“

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles cuts in.

Derek jerks his head back slightly in shock, frowning tightly. He’s known Stiles to be a few things, but needlessly cruel hadn’t been one of them.

“Real nice,” he says. “I know I said you don’t have to apologise, but there’s no need to insult me.”

“No, that’s,” Stiles begins, words halted and nervous as he runs a hand through his hair. “What I’m trying to say is… Of course I like you. Of course I want you.”

Derek’s mouth goes dry as he stares helplessly back at Stiles for a long while.

“You… what?” he chokes out eventually.

“Yeah,” Stiles says quietly. “I – I feel the same. I was just… scared.”

Derek finds himself nodding faintly, stiffly, eyes narrowed as pieces fall into place in his mind.

Stiles likes him. Stiles wants him. When he tried to kiss him just before winter break, it did mean something, it wasn’t just a drunken impulse to be regretted in the sober light of day. He was just… scared.

“Scared that I was like your ex?” Derek guesses.

Stiles nods. “But the fact that you told your friends, your sister… you’re nothing like him.”

Derek’s mouth twitches into a smile. “I did tell you that.”

Stiles smiles back. “Yeah. I guess I just needed a little proof before I could believe you.”

A thought jumps into Derek’s mind, and his small smile fades into a slight frown.

“What about – the guy you were with last night?”

“That was nothing,” Stiles says instantly, firmly. “He was – I only met him that night. I didn’t go back upstairs after you left. Scott took me home, actually. I was a little shaky after your friend spent close to ten minutes shouting at me.”

Derek winces. “I’m sorry about her. She’ll apologise.”

“No, she won’t,” Stiles says with a lopsided smile. “It’s okay. I – well, I didn’t deserve it, exactly. But she did it because she loves you, and I get that. God knows Scott hasn’t exactly been your number one fan since I first told him you hit on me.”

Derek huffs a soft laugh. “You can say that again.”

Stiles laughs with him, taking a small step closer. His eyes drop down to Derek’s naked chest again, and this time they don’t pull away as quickly, at all guiltily. They linger, hungry and appreciative, and Derek feels a pang of want running through him in return, taking in Stiles’ eyes on him like that.

A quick, pink tongue darts out to wet Stiles’ lips as he looks back up to Derek’s eyes, and Derek has to swallow thickly and think deeply unsexy thoughts to avoid popping an inappropriate boner right there in public.

“So you gonna ask me, or what?” Stiles says, voice a little rough.

Derek frowns. “Ask you what?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “On a date, genius.”

A smile touches Derek’s mouth, a bemused scoff pushing past his teeth.

“Why don’t you ask me on a date?” he challenges.

“You’ve been the one chasing me this whole time,” Stiles says, grinning cheekily. “Figured you’d want the thrill of the catch.”

Now it’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes – but he’s grinning back.

“Such a thrill,” he says sarcastically, even as his stomach does somersaults at the sight of Stiles’ smile. “Okay, fine. Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Stiles hums, making a big show of squinting and bringing two fingers up to grab his chin pensively. Derek rolls his eyes again, folding his arms over his chest and raising an unimpressed eyebrow. It takes barely any time at all for Stiles to crack and get back to smiling, wide and bright.

“Yeah,” he says cheerily. “Okay.”

They stand there, then, silently beaming at one another. It’s ridiculously sappy and something Derek would mock the hell out of Boyd and Erica for, but he just can’t seem to stop himself from feeling stupidly, giddily over the moon right now.

“Hey,” Stiles says after a charged moment. “What are your thoughts on PDA?”

Derek short-circuits, just a little bit. The thought of kissing Stiles is… amazing. Stiles’ pink mouth is curved up into a smile, and Derek wants to know exactly what it feels like, what it tastes like. Whether it’ll be as amazing as he’s been imagining it will be.

But he’s going to do this right, he thinks. He’s going to do it properly.

“I’m not kissing you before our first date,” he says, a little regretfully.

The corners of Stiles’ mouth tug down instantly, almost comically.

“You’ve slept with women you met a half hour beforehand, but you won’t give me even one measly little kiss before our date?”

“Yes,” Derek says firmly. “You’re different.”

Stiles tilts his head, regarding Derek quietly for a moment as the frown lifts from his features.

“You really mean that, don’t you, big guy,” he says pensively.

Derek nods instantly. “I really do.”

A small, pleased smile flits over Stiles’ mouth. Derek lets his gaze linger on it. He’ll get to kiss that mouth soon, he hopes. He’s not sure he’s suitably prepared for how life-changing it will probably be.

“Can we go on our first date tonight?” Stiles pushes. “I got majorly cockblocked last night, so I’m horny as hell.”

Derek shakes his head softly, huffing out a fond laugh.

“I’m free tonight,” he says. He doesn’t say that he’d make himself so, even if he weren’t.

“Excellent.” Stiles beams. “Meet you by the library at seven? I’ve got a place we can go.”

Derek just nods, beaming back in kind. They exchange numbers and Stiles bids his farewell with a soft, longing kind of smile. Derek watches him go until he’s out of sight; eyes still drawn to that pert, alluring ass. The fact that he might actually be able to sink his teeth into it sometime soon…

He forces himself to shake the thought off and turns to head back to Boyd and Erica.

“That looks like it went better than last night,” Erica says with a smirk.

“We’re going on a date tonight,” Derek replies, ducking his head to hide how soft he really feels.

“That’s great, man,” Boyd says.

“I was rooting for you two the whole time,” Erica drawls.

She scrunches her nose up in a laugh when he rolls his eyes at her.

*****

Stiles’ location of choice for their date turns out to be a seedy bar nearby that, most importantly for him, doesn’t card. It’s not somewhere Derek has been before, and for that, he feels kind of glad. This isn’t a party at a house where he has picked someone up before, or one of the other bars he’s frequented looking for a hook-up. To him, this place is brand new and forever to be associated with this – his very first date with Stiles.

A few hours have already passed since they arrived, tucked themselves into a booth near the back and each ordered a cheap beer. Derek doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but it’s going, well – pretty damn perfectly.

From the very first moment, when Derek arrived to find Stiles’ waiting just outside the library, it’s been perfect. Stiles had blushed so prettily when Derek greeted him with a soft hand on his arm, the duck of his head doing nothing to hide it. The walk to the bar had been short and animated, Stiles filling any potential awkward silence with a story about Scott and his long-distance sort-of girlfriend, Kira.

Apparently, they were high school sweethearts headed to colleges on different sides of the country. They’ve been on a break since the summer before either of them started school – except neither of them has actually bothered dating anyone else, and they still text and call each other pretty much every day.

“They just can’t keep away from each other,” Stiles had said amusedly.

Derek knows the feeling.

Now, Stiles sits directly next to him in the booth, pressed tightly together from thigh to shoulder, Derek’s arm snaked around Stiles’ waist and their heads tipped so closely to one another that their noses are almost brushing. Conversation flows freely and easily, everything from their majors to their families, to Derek’s basketball career and Stiles’ almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the history of male circumcision.

He feels pretty confident in calling this date a success already.

Their server has just brought over a fresh pair of drinks, and it feels like they’re both at a good level of tipsy; clear-headed with just a light buzz in their systems. Stiles pulls his beer up to his mouth and tips his head to take a drink, and Derek stares, almost entranced, at the long line of his pale, freckled neck.

He swallows thickly. They still haven’t kissed, but with the way this is going… He’s hopeful.

“You know,” Stiles says, setting his beer back onto the table and smiling crookedly, “this is actually the first date I’ve ever been on.”

Derek frowns. “Not with your ex?”

Stiles snorts, fingertips pulling at the damp edge of the label on his bottle until it breaks apart.

“He wasn’t exactly a fan of being seen in public together,” he says, a lingering bitterness to it.

Derek pauses. The frown still sits at his mouth, and there’s a discomfort tugging at Stiles’ features too. He tightens the hold he has on Stiles’ middle, just a little, rubbing up and down against the fabric of Stiles shirt with a gentle thumb.

“Do you want to… tell me about him?” he offers tentatively.

Stiles peers at him from the corner of his eye, biting at the inside of his cheek.

“Not exactly ideal first date conversation,” he says wryly. “I don’t wanna mess anything up by going on about toxic exes and past fuck-ups.”

“There’s nothing that could mess this up,” Derek says instantly, flushing slightly when Stiles’ surprised gaze snaps to him. “I mean – for me, at least. I – I really like you, Stiles. If you want to tell me about it… I want to listen.”

Some of the tightness, the blatant tension, in Stiles’ shoulders relaxes. He sinks a little further against Derek’s side and Derek curves his body to let him fit there better.

“I really like you, too,” Stiles says, a faint, shy smile touching his lips. “It might be a good idea to tell you, to be honest. I really wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not blameless in the whole thing. You might like me a whole lot less, once you know.”

“There’s nothing that could mess this up,” Derek repeats firmly.

Stiles shoots him a quick and grateful smile. He pulls one hand away from his drink and lets is settle, slow and slightly hesitant, on Derek’s thigh. Derek pulls Stiles a little closer to him as his way of telling him it’s welcome; it’s wanted.

“So. Jackson.” Stiles takes a breath after saying his name. “He was – total, grade-a douchebag. I’d known him since middle school, and he bullied me pretty much since day one. Shoving me into my locker, calling me a fag – all that good stuff.”

“What an asshole,” Derek snaps.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, sounding more than a little resigned to it. “In high school, freshman year, he started dating one of my friends – Lydia. They were both hot, both brilliant, totally the it couple of Beacon Hills High.”

Already, Derek can see where this is going. He brushes his nose against Stiles’ temple, only softly, only briefly. A gesture to reassure while he waits for Stiles to carry on with the story.

“Jackson was made captain of the lacrosse team in senior year. I was just a benchwarmer. One day, after practice, it was just the two of us left in the locker room. He started an argument with me when I was fresh out of the showers and… one thing led to another.”

Stiles pauses, ducking his head. But Derek catches the look of utter shame written across his features, the lingering guilt so present in the tightness of his jaw.

“He was my first,” Stiles continues quietly. “My first everything. For the whole year, he didn’t break up with Lydia, just strung me along on the side. Completely straight dude-bro in public, couldn’t keep his hands off me whenever we were alone. I was so ashamed of myself for going along with it, but… I couldn’t stop. I didn’t even tell Scott.”

Stiles takes another break, eyes trained down on the table in front of him. It’s like he can’t bring himself to look at Derek, can’t bring himself to see how Derek might be reacting. It makes something in Derek’s chest ache horribly.

“It doesn’t make you a bad person,” Derek says firmly. “Going through that alone must have been awful.”

Stiles pulls a face. “It wasn’t great, no. It’s why I told Scott, pretty much straight away, with – with you.”

“Good,” Derek says, and he means it. “I’m glad you didn’t have to go through any of those feelings alone, this time.”

Stiles glances at him from the corner of his eye, huffing a quick, incredulous laugh.

“I can’t believe I ever thought you were like Jackson,” he says.

“I’m just glad I’ve proved you wrong now,” Derek replies. “Before, you – you mentioned something about prom night?”

Stiles grimaces, fingernails catching on the inseam of Derek’s jeans. It’s a clearly nervous tic.

“Yeah. Prom night.” Stiles’ voice is flat, lifeless. “Lydia was throwing an afterparty at her parent’s lake house and I stupidly let Jackson take me into one of the bedrooms. We were… and then Lydia… everyone… found us.”

“Shit,” Derek breathes.

“Yeah,” Stiles says again. “It was – not great, to put it lightly.”

“He’s a fucking asshole,” Derek says vehemently.

“Not gonna disagree with you there,” Stiles says ruefully. “The whole time we were – sleeping together, he still bullied me at school. One time he humiliated me for being a virgin in front of the whole cafeteria. I still helped sneak him into my house that night so he could fuck me with my dad asleep just down the hall.”

“Jesus Christ,” Derek hisses, a surge of fury sweeping through him. “Fucking – fucking asshole.”

“Yeah, well. I’m an asshole for letting him.”

“You’re not,” Derek says quickly. “You did nothing to deserve the way he treated you. You should be treated like a – a –“

“Princess?” Stiles chimes in, smirking weakly.

“Person,” Derek finishes.

Stiles’ breath catches in his chest, and Derek doesn’t think twice before pressing his lips to the side of Stiles’ head. It’s not the time for a real kiss, not right now, not with this conversation. But Derek wants Stiles to know how he feels for him, how nothing has changed with learning about his past.

“Lydia still hasn’t forgiven me,” Stiles says. “We were close before – everything.”

“Give it time,” Derek replies softly.

Stiles just hums in vague acknowledgement, a little strained in his throat, like there’s a lump it’s trying to squeeze past. Derek uses the hand not clutching onto Stiles’ waist to lace their fingers together on Derek’s thigh, holding on tightly with no intention of letting go.

“Did you love him?” Derek asks.

“I thought I did.” Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He pauses, chewing at his bottom lip some more and glancing guiltily at Derek. “I – I saw him over winter break, actually.”

Derek lets a beat pass. His heart hammers in his chest as he says, “Did… did anything…”

“He kissed me,” Stiles says on a rushed, shamed breath. “We – we kissed.”

Derek nods faintly. He doesn’t let go of Stiles’ hand.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Did you – sleep with him?”

“No,” Stiles says instantly.

Derek breathes a silent sigh of relief at the complete truth he hears in that word.

“Okay,” he says again. “I mean, even if you… did. We weren’t together. You didn’t do anything – wrong.”

“I know,” Stiles says, but he sounds miserable. “But I feel like I did. I just – I think I would have, maybe, if Scott hadn’t found us and dragged me away from him.”

Derek blinks vacantly at their entwined hands. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Wait, no, shit – that’s not – I don’t mean I want to.” Stiles’ voice has a desperate edge to it, and he twists his torso in a way that looks really uncomfortable, just so that he can stare imploringly at the side of Derek’s face. “There’s no part of me that wants him anymore, I swear. I was just – I wasn’t in a good place.”

Slowly, Derek drags his gaze up to meet Stiles’ eyes. They are round and wide and so warm. Derek swallows thickly and squeezes with both holds he has on Stiles, feeling Stiles’ body taut beneath in his hold, feeling Stiles squeeze his hand back instantly.

“I believe you,” he says truthfully. “The party, just before break… I understand.”

Stiles chokes an audible noise of relief, listing forward to rest his forehead against Derek’s shoulder.

“Thank fuck,” he says, a hot breath against Derek’s neck. “God, fuck, I – I thought I’d managed to fuck this all up already.”

Derek carefully pulls his hand out of Stiles’ grasp, quickly raising it to hold Stiles’ chin between his thumb and forefinger. He carefully tips Stiles’ head up until their eyes can meet, fixing a soft smile at his mouth for Stiles to land still anxious eyes on.

“I already told you,” he says. “There’s nothing that could mess this up.”

Stiles smiles back at him, open and vulnerable and so gorgeous. Derek can’t help but continue to smile back, thinking this thing between them – it was inevitable, really.

From the first time Derek set eyes on Stiles, he was powerless to do anything but start the terrifying process of falling in love with him.

“Hey,” Stiles says, voice low and intent. “Do you wanna – walk me back to my dorm?”

Heat thrums just underneath Derek’s skin. “I – yeah. Okay.”

Stiles is dragging him out by the wrist before he even has the last syllable out.

*****

It’s a feat in itself, Derek muses, but somehow they make it back to Stiles’ dorm without jumping each other and getting themselves arrested for public indecency. The walk back is silent, but comfortably so, and he’s almost certain they are both painfully aware of each other; aware that if they were to so much as brush their fingers together, it’d be game over to the heavy, palpable tension crackling in the air between them.

“So – this is me.”

There’s a small smile on Stiles’ lips as he leans his back against his door, peering up at Derek from beneath his lashes. Derek swallows thickly, fingers flexing at his sides with the instinctive need to reach out, to touch. But he holds back – for now.

“Yeah,” Derek says, finding his voice a little rough. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Thanks for asking me,” Stiles replies, before wincing slightly. “Sorry it got a little heavy, toward the end there.”

Derek shakes his head firmly. “I wanted to know.”

Stiles nods a little, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and shuffling between his feet. He’s making absolutely no move to open his door and flee Derek’s presence, so Derek takes a bold step forward and lets his hands finally find the curve of Stiles’ ribcage, pulling them closer together until there’s barely an inch of room between them.

It’s definitely the right move, if Stiles’ reaction is anything to go by. He smiles instantly, wide and encouraging, melting a little under Derek’s touch. He brings his own arms up to wind around Derek’s neck, tugging until that final inch between them is lost and they are pressed together from knees to chest.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Stiles asks quietly.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Derek challenges back.

Stiles is still in the middle of his eye roll when he sways forward to press their mouths together.

Just as Derek suspected – it’s a great kiss.

Stiles’ mouth is so soft under Derek’s, his fingernails digging into the meat of Derek’s shoulders through the material of his shirt as they press even more tightly together. The happy, contented sigh that Stiles breathes out when Derek licks hotly into his mouth has Derek driving ever closer, plastering himself all the way up against Stiles’ front and pressing him bodily back against the solid door.

Derek’s hands slide up and down Stiles’ sides, finding the dip of his spine, resting at the small of his back, and Stiles threads his fingers through Derek’s hair, moaning softly when Derek bites at his lush lower lip, soothing the slight sting with a swipe of his tongue straight afterwards.

They are completely wrapped up in each other, there in that public hallway, and maybe there are people walking by and gawking, but Derek doesn’t care one bit. He can’t give it even an iota of thought, because Stiles is wriggling slightly, widening the gap between his legs until Derek’s thigh can slot just in there, and Derek breaks the kiss with a deep groan at the first grind of their hips together, both half-hard already.

“We don’t have to,” he says urgently, because he feels like he has to, he feels like it’s important they do this right. “If you don’t want –“

“Derek,” Stiles cuts in sharply, pulling slightly at Derek’s hair. “I want. I promise you – I want.”

It’s the complete truth, Derek can tell immediately, and it’s exactly how he feels too.

“You sure?” he says anyway, teasing, a smile ticking up one corner of his mouth. “Going home together on the very first date – you might get yourself a reputation.”

Stiles snorts. “I’m practically the Virgin Mary compared to you. I think I’m good.”

Derek keeps his hands held tightly against Stiles’ hips when Stiles spins around, digging around in his pocket for the tell-tale jingle of metal as he pulls his keys out. He throws a wicked, deliberate smile at Derek over his shoulder, pressing his body backwards until the soft curve of his ass fits snugly against Derek’s crotch.

“Christ,” Derek breathes, dropping his head to mouth at the side of Stiles’ neck. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles replies brightly as he turns the key in the lock, “I’ll wait until after we’ve fucked, at least.”

Derek huffs a second of laughter into Stiles’ skin before wrapping his arms solidly around Stiles’ middle, tugging him closer still and pulling his earlobe between blunt teeth. Stiles shudders in his grasp, letting out a breathy moan as his hips twitch back against Derek’s, and then they’re stumbling over the threshold, through the open doorway and into Stiles’ dorm room.

Scott’s head snaps up to blink at them from his place sitting cross-legged on his own bed.

Derek fights the very real, very strong urge to extract himself from Stiles. Scott is squinting at him suspiciously, like he’s not quite sure where his mind has made itself up on Derek, and Derek really kind of feels like he’s getting caught fooling around by somebody’s parents.

“You’re back early,” Scott notes.

“I’m an insatiable whore.” Stiles clicks his fingers in front of his chest and points a thumb back towards the door. “Out.”

Scott’s jaw drops. “What – where am I supposed to go!”

“Not my problem, buddy. Consider this payback for when you and Kira spent an entire weekend screwing. You’ll be lucky if I decide to call it after just one night.” Stiles twists his head to wink at Derek. “Think you’ve got it in you to go for a whole weekend, big guy?”

“I think I could manage it.” Derek leans forward to brush his nose over the height of Stiles’ cheek. “Make it a long weekend.”

Stiles grins. “Emphasis on long.”

“Oh my god, you two are the worst,” Scott whines as he rises from the bed. “This dating thing is going to be awful, I can tell already.”

“Sucks to suck,” Stiles says, curling his fingers around Derek’s forearms where they are still held tightly around his torso. “Now scram if you don’t want a show.”

Scott feigns throwing up, grabbing a set of keys from on top of the dresser by the door before hurrying out with a deep frown. He lifts a middle finger over his shoulder as he goes.

“That was mean,” Derek says just as the door snicks shut behind them.

Stiles turns in Derek’s arms, looping his arms back around Derek’s shoulders and pressing their chests firmly together. There’s a huge, toothy smile on his face, his warm eyes sparkling as he leans in to slot their mouths together again, tongue sliding hotly inside in an instant.

“A necessary evil,” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s lips. “Now – bed?”

Derek shows his rigorous agreement with that idea by manhandling Stiles until they can both tumble onto the sheets.

Stiles laughs, free and open, scooting up the bed and letting his knees splay so that Derek can crawl eagerly into the inviting space between them. He reaches out with grabby hands until he can curl warm fingers around Derek’s biceps, tugging him closer until Derek is comfortably settled in the vee of his legs.

The kisses are incredible, deep and wet and bordering on messy. The sounds Stiles makes are intoxicating; hitching breaths, soft moans, reedy whines when Derek pulls away from his mouth. Derek grins at Stiles’ blatant, unashamed want, allowing one more quick press of their lips together before he ducks his head and attaches his mouth to the wholly tempting skin of Stiles’ throat.

Stiles arches immediately beneath him, exposing more of his neck to Derek’s tongue and teeth as he groans loudly, palms sliding up Derek’s arms and over his shoulders to card through the short hairs at the back of Derek’s head.

“You tryna give me a hickey there, Hale?” Stiles asks breathlessly.

“Maybe,” Derek answers, running the flat of his tongue over Stiles’ fluttering pulse. “Unless you don’t like them?”

“Never had one,” Stiles says, laughing softly and shifting his hips against Derek’s. “Go nuts.”

Something not too far away from a growl builds from Derek’s chest, and then he’s going for it, sucking and biting at the pale patch of skin just underneath the hinge of Stiles’ jaw. Stiles squirms beneath his teeth, letting out more of those gorgeous, uninhibited noises as Derek marks up a stark purple bruise on the visible column of Stiles’ throat.

Derek has a forearm planted against the pillow either side of Stiles’ head, and he supports his weight against them, leveraging himself up so that he can really look at his handiwork. It looks truly amazing against Stiles’ pale, freckled skin. It may have been Stiles’ first, but Derek knows for sure it certainly won’t be his last.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, drawing Derek’s gaze up to meet his eyes with a gentle hand on Derek’s cheek. “How far do you wanna go tonight?”

Derek swallows thickly. “I… How far do you want to go tonight?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I asked you first, dude. Besides – you’re the newbie here.”

“I’m not a newbie,” Derek says, scowling.

“You are to this.”

Stiles gives a pointed roll of his hips with his last word, pressing the hard-on bulging at the zipper of his pants obscenely against Derek’s thigh. Derek’s breath catches in his chest, his eyes falling shut for a second as the sensation zips up and down his spine.

When he opens them again, he finds Stiles smirking up at him. Derek has to lean down and kiss that smile until Stiles is gasping into his mouth.

“I did – research,” Derek mumbles when he pulls minutely away.

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles says teasingly. “Have anyone in particular in mind to put all that research to the test with?”

Derek huffs. “Keep fishing for compliments and maybe I will go pick up the first twink I can find.”

“Nope, nuh uh, no way,” Stiles says quickly, a petulant edge to his words as he wraps his legs around Derek’s hips, ankles crossing at the small of Derek’s back. “This twink was here first. I already called dibs.”

A breath of laughter pushes through Derek’s teeth, and he dips his head to kiss Stiles again, slow and sweet this time, just savouring the feel of Stiles’ mouth moving so perfectly with his. Stiles’ knees tighten a little against his sides when Derek bites softly at his lower lip, and Derek grinds his hips down in response.

“How do we,” Derek starts when he leans back, cutting off to wet his lips nervously. “I mean – how do you – usually – are you – top, or – or bottom?”

“I’ve done both,” Stiles says, fingers sliding the curve of Derek’s jaw to tug lightly at his earlobe. “But I prefer to bottom, generally.”

Derek nods; a stiff, jerky thing.

“Good,” he says, a little choked. “That’s – okay.”

Not that he can’t see himself – the other way around – one day. But the multiple, vivid, technicolour fantasies he’s had about having sex with Stiles – they have always involved Stiles spreading his legs for him, opening up and taking him, again and again and again until he comes with a strained breath of Derek’s name, Derek’s cock buried in his ass.

Derek feels his dick twitch in his pants as the thoughts, the reality of his situation, flow through his mind. He pulls back slightly, sitting back on his haunches and putting a little bit of thinking room between them. Stiles leans himself up on his elbows, smiling up at Derek lazily.

“Can we do missionary?” Derek asks.

Stiles’ face scrunches up. “What? Of course we can. Why wouldn’t be able to?”

“Because it’s, you know,” Derek waves a vague hand between their chests, “further back.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow. “We’re gonna need to work on getting you more comfortable talking about anal sex.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to reach your asshole, Stiles. That better?”

“Infinitely,” Stiles grins. “You can reach. It’ll be easier if we just – here, let me, yeah – we can put this pillow underneath my hips. Helps the angle.”

“That works on girls too,” Derek comments vaguely.

“I’ll be sure to remember that little tidbit for all the women I don’t fuck.” Stiles laughs when Derek flicks him lightly on the nose. “Can we take our clothes off now?”

Derek’s mouth runs dry. “I – yeah. Let’s – I want to do that.”

Stiles scrambles into a sitting position, grabbing the back of his t-shirt and yanking it over his head. He tosses it aside and gets to work on his pants while Derek is, at a much sedater pace, still working on his own shirt. Stiles’ fingers are clumsy with his zipper, and Derek can’t help the soft, fond laugh that escapes him, and Stiles’ eyes flick to him, an embarrassed half-smile curving up one corner of his mouth.

Derek lets his eyes drop, then, to travel the contours of Stiles’ body; the thick of hair in the centre of his broad chest, the dark happy trail he’d peeked all those months ago bisecting his toned stomach. His long, lean legs and his pale, hairy thighs.

He’s just so – manly, so un-feminine, and Derek is completely inexperienced in the face of this and harder than he’s ever been in his life at the thought of getting to screw Stiles silly.

“You’re being way too slow over there, Hale,” Stiles complains, already down to just his black boxers as he gets to his knees and takes over from Derek in tugging his shirt off. “I know I’m hot as fuck, but I’d really like to get a good look at those abs again.”

Derek drops his hands down to his pants, letting Stiles lose his shirt for him while he works on getting himself out of his jeans. It’s no time at all until they’re both in just their underwear, matching hard-ons straining against the fabric and Stiles’ eyes moving eagerly between Derek’s torso and his crotch.

“I know I’m hot as fuck,” Derek says drily, “but are you going to get over here any time soon?”

Stiles catches his tongue between his teeth before diving forward and sliding their mouths together again, his hand instantly wriggling between them until he can slip two fingers into the waistband of Derek’s briefs.

“Can I?” Stiles questions.

Derek nods, any possible words stuck in his throat as Stiles’ fingers creep lower, lower, lower still, until they can wrap around his dick, squeezing lightly, fingers flexing against the hot, hard skin.

“I’d heard rumours you were big,” Stiles murmurs, mouth whisper-hot against Derek’s ear. “I’m so freaking glad they were true.”

Derek chokes a short laugh. “Please tell me people don’t actually talk about my dick.”

Stiles’ hand begins to move up and down, his other hand reaching down to join in, rolling Derek’s balls between his fingers. Derek screws his eyes shut, lets his head list forward until his forehead is pressed against the hot, naked skin of Stiles’ shoulder.

“It’s all good press, I swear,” Stiles says breathily. “And I can see why. God, I can’t wait to have this in me.”

Derek’s hips twitch forward instinctively, seeking more of Stiles’ grip, Stiles’ friction, more of Stiles.

“Do you – you have lube, right?”

Stiles scoffs. “What kind of horny, gay teenager do you take me for? Of course I have lube.”

He withdraws his hands from Derek’s underwear and flops back against the bed, hand diving into the gap between the mattress and the bedframe to rummage around. He makes a triumphant sound when he finds what he’s searching for, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom and brandishing them in front of his chest.

Derek can only sit and watch with his mouth hanging slightly open as Stiles wriggles himself out of his underwear, his dick springing out as soon as it’s freed to bounce against his taut stomach. Without even a hint of hesitation, he brings both of his knees up and plants his feet firmly against the mattress, letting his legs fall open as he slicks up two fingers.

“You don’t want – me to –“

“Not this time,” Stiles interrupts, breath catching in his chest as he trails fingers over his taint, circling lightly at his hole. “I don’t have the patience to teach right now. Maybe for round two.”

Derek’s eyes are focused, zoned in where Stiles’ hole yields around the insistent press of two fingertips. His mouth is dry and his hands are shaking and he’s hot all over, reaching out to grip himself at the base of his cock, squeezing carefully as it twitches in his hand.

Stiles’ mouth is slack with pleasure, eyes fluttering closed, long eyelashes casting shadows against his cheekbones as he works those two fingers deeper into himself, moaning loudly as one knuckle disappears, then the other. Derek absently wonders how thin these walls are, who on the other side might be listening in on Stiles’ amazing sounds, but it’s gone before it can linger too long when Stiles lifts a trembling hand to beckon Derek closer.

Instantly, Derek goes, insinuating himself into the cramped space just to Stiles’ side. It’s a single bed in a dorm room, there’s really not enough room for two grown men, and they probably would have been better off going to Derek’s place. Any and all reasonable thought flies from Derek’s head when Stiles turns his head on the pillow and leans in to suck on Derek’s tongue.

Derek kisses back with everything he’s got, curling tentative fingers around the supple skin of Stiles’ thigh, spread high in the air. Stiles uses his free hand to scratch blunt fingernails through the fuzz of hair on Derek’s chest, skimming up and around Derek’s neck to wrap tightly at his nape.

“I’ll blow you later,” Stiles says into Derek’s mouth, casual like every word tumbling from his lips isn’t burning Derek with desire. “I’m really good at sucking dick. You’ll see.”

Derek huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “You’ll be better than me, that’s for sure.”

“We’ve all gotta start somewhere.” Stiles smirks. “I’m sure I’ll have fun helping you practice.”

Stiles shifts a little against the bed, and Derek glances down, peeking between his legs at where he’s sliding a third finger inside, stretching himself to get ready, ready for Derek.

“How long?” Derek manages to choke out.

Stiles smiles crookedly. “Lose the undies and a get condom on, big guy. I’m about to show you everything you’ve been missing.”

Derek rids himself of his briefs quickly, ripping the condom wrapper open with his teeth and rolling it down his achingly hard cock. He takes the bottle of lube and slicks himself up, rearing up on his knees and crawling into the gap between Stiles’ legs once again.

He drops a quick, affectionate kiss to the inside of Stiles’ knee as Stiles pulls his fingers out of himself with a hiss, grabbing a pillow and shoving it beneath his hips to tilt them further up towards Derek. Derek takes his cue and captures Stiles’ knee at the bend of his elbow, spreading him wider as he uses his other hand to line himself up.

“It’s going to be tighter than you’re used to,” Stiles tells him. “Try not to come too quick.”

Derek tries to roll his eyes, but the blunt head of his cock is nudging against the stretched rim of Stiles’ hole, so he just lets out a deep, vibrating groan instead. Stiles smirks knowingly at him.

“Shut up,” Derek says hotly. “I’m going to fuck that smirk right off your face.”

The smirk splits into a wide grin. “Can’t wait. Now get in me, dude.”

Derek doesn’t waste another second before pushing until the tip of his dick breaches that hot, clenching rim. Stiles was right – it is a lot fucking tighter than he expected.

“Jesus, fuck,” Derek hisses, sliding inside, slow inch by slow inch. “You feel – fuck.”

Stiles laughs breathlessly. “Thanks. You feel pretty fucking – ah – good yourself.”

Derek groans, listing forward as his hips meet the soft swell of Stiles’ incredible ass. He drops his head to steal a long, heated kiss before leaning back up again, settling into a comfortable position to begin slowly pulling out, pressing back in. Stiles’ muscles contract around him and Derek swears under his breath.

Stiles reaches back to press his palms against the headboard behind him, steadying himself so that he can rock down to meet Derek’s thrusts, grinding his ass against Derek’s cock so perfectly. He moans loud and unabashed, big eyes closed and pink mouth open, looking obscene and gorgeous and everything Derek fantasised and more.

“How you hanging in there?” Stiles checks in, voice raw.

Derek grits his teeth. “I’m – fine.”

“Excellent.” Stiles opens his eyes and flashes Derek a grin. “You said something about – oh, god – fucking me so hard, I won’t be able to walk for a week?”

“I don’t know I used those exact words.”

“I extrapolated.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “You asked for it.”

With that, he abandons the control he’d been hanging onto. Stiles feels amazing, hot and so fucking tight, but Derek has honed the skill of holding out on coming, keeping himself at bay to make sure his partner comes first, and comes hard. This won’t be any exception.

He fucks into Stiles hard and fast, short and sharp snaps of his hips sounding against Stiles’ ass, the sound of skin smacking against skin filling the small room. Stiles’ volume inches even further up, not doing one bit to bite back any of the sounds that burst from his chest, and Derek is eternally grateful, wants to lap up any and every noise as it spills into the sweat-damp air around them.

The speed of his hips doesn’t falter even a little as he leans down to eat at Stiles’ mouth, licking inside and swallowing every moan, every whimper. Stiles’ dick is hard and leaking wet where it’s trapped between their stomachs, and Derek’s fingers reflexively tighten their hold on Stiles’ legs, a vague thought crossing Derek’s mind of how those fingertips of bruises will look afterwards.

“Hang on,” Stiles pants, pulling one hand from the headboard to press against Derek’s chest. “Oh god, oh fuck, Derek, hang on, I wanna – want to ride you.”

Derek’s hips stutter at the image of that alone. Nodding frantically, he pulls out carefully, both working to rearrange themselves until Derek is lying flat on the bed with Stiles hovering beside him. He shuffles and swings a leg over Derek’s torso, but it’s backward, and Derek watches with a confused crease between his eyebrows as Stiles straddles him with his back turned.

“What,” Derek says dumbly.

“Thought you might enjoy the view.” Stiles throws a wink at him over his shoulder. “Now put your hands on my ass.”

Derek complies instantly, fingers kneading into the soft curve where Stiles’ lower back meets his ass. Stiles reaches behind himself to take Derek’s cock in his hand, holding him stiff and stable as he sinks down. Derek gets to watch, entirely mesmerised, as Stiles’ hole opens back up for him so nicely, at how his dick disappears between those perky cheeks as he’s engulfed in that now familiar tight heat.

The broad expanse of Stiles’ back undulates as he rolls his shoulders, leaning forward to support himself with two flat palms against the bed, dropping his head with a soft, purely happy noise.

“Jesus,” Derek breathes. “You weren’t fucking wrong. You look…”

Stiles lifts up slightly then, lifting himself off Derek’s cock before sinking back down. Derek cuts off with a loud, choked groan. Stiles wastes no time at all in setting them back on their previous, punishing pace. He rides Derek cock hard and fast, and Derek can’t drag his eyes away from the hot slide of his dick into Stiles’ body, again and again, harder and faster and harder and faster.

Derek’s thumbs are hooked just at the jut of Stiles’ hipbones, his head craned with a painful crick in his neck so that he can take in every moment of Stiles taking his cock. It’s fucking incredible to look at and incredible to feel, and Derek is suddenly uncertain whether he’s going to make it out of this thing with Stiles alive, because it has never felt this fucking good before.

“Derek,” Stiles pants, a beautiful bowing curve to his spine. “Derek, oh god, I’m gonna come soon.”

“Do it,” Derek says, eyes widening as he watches Stiles pull one hand from the bed to wrap around his dick. “Want to feel you come around me.”

Stiles whines, and Derek can only see the blur of his quickly moving arm as he strips himself, can’t see the look on his face which he regrets – but there’s next time, and the time after that, and forever, he can’t help but hope.

The heat engulfing Derek’s cock clenches around him, tightening even more, and Stiles cries out, a cuss and a whimper and Derek’s name in there somewhere, too, as he spills all over his hand.

Graciously, Derek allows a few seconds for Stiles to come down from his orgasm, his thighs shaking against Derek’s hips, no longer grinding himself down against Derek’s still hard cock. Derek sweeps gentle palms up and down Stiles’ sides, thumbs pressing into the muscles either side of his spine.

“You good?” Derek asks.

“I’m fantastic,” Stiles breathes, tilting his head to peer at Derek over his shoulder. “Gonna need a second before I can ride you again though. Hold tight.”

“I have an idea,” Derek says, grinning back at him. “Brace yourself.”

He uses his hands on Stiles’ hips to push him forward, push him off Derek’s cock. Stiles throws hands out in front of himself just in time to avoid his face meeting the sheets below, and Derek draws his legs back and tucks his knees underneath himself, one hand splayed between Stiles’ shoulder blades to push him into a deeper arch as he lines himself back up.

“Oh fucking god,” Stiles moans when Derek breaches him again. “Walking’s overrated, fuck me.”

Derek takes that permissions and runs with it. He grasps onto Stiles at one hip, keeping the dip in his spine at that delicious angle by pressing him down into the bed with the other, fucking into him with careless snaps of his hips. Stiles seems to be enjoying it just as much as Derek is, going by the loud and proud noises he’s making.

Quickly, Derek feels his orgasm beginning to build, thrumming under his skin as he skims a hand up Stiles’ back to take a good hold of his hair, pulling just tightly enough that Stiles lets out a sharp hiss, an immediate roll of his hips to let Derek know the contact is entirely welcome, even encouraged.

It only takes a few more thrusts before Derek is coming, too, spilling into the condom and dropping his entire weight down onto Stiles’ back as the aftershocks roll through him. His chest is sweaty and so is Stiles’ back, and it’s sticking them together a little uncomfortably, but Derek truly could not care less.

“You’re fucking heavy,” Stiles mumbles into the sheets, jabbing his elbow against Derek’s ribs.

Derek gets the message and rolls himself off, pinching the condom at the base of his dick and throwing it into the trash can conveniently just beside Stiles’ bed once it’s off. He lies on his back and blinks up at the off-white ceiling, a bone-deep contentment settling in him.

A lazy smile sits at his lips as he turns his head, and he finds Stiles smiling crookedly back at him.

“World sufficiently rocked?” Stiles asks.

“You’re good at that,” Derek says, still trying to catch all of his breath back. “Looking forward to testing out those blowjobs skills.”

Stiles snorts, wriggling himself against Derek’s side until Derek lifts his arm so he can fit himself snugly underneath it. He rests his cheek against Derek’s shoulder, placing a hand over Derek’s stomach, fingers inching closer to his spent dick.

“Just give me an hour,” Stiles says.

“You’ve got thirty minutes and then I’m rimming you,” Derek counters.

Stiles beams. “If the big, dumb jock wants to put his tongue up my ass – who am I to stop him.”

*****

Epilogue

By Derek Hale’s senior year of college, he still knows that the party after scoring the winning basket of a game is pretty sweet.

He stands in the kitchen pouring beer into two red solo cups, Boyd and Erica waiting for his return out in the living room. Congratulations filter in from other partygoers as they pass by, and he smiles his warm thanks back at all of them, passing the keg onto the next person in line before spinning on his heel to make his way back to his friends.

“Hi!”

A girl darts in front of him, blocking his path. There’s a wide smile on her face, voice perky and keen, her dark hair bouncing in loose curls around her bared shoulders. It’s clear that she must be a new freshman; all bright eyed and excited just to be there. Derek briefly smiles back at her, nodding quickly.

“Hi,” he says. “Excuse me, I need to –“

“You’re Derek Hale, right?” she cuts in.

“Right,” he says slowly, eyes flicking over her shoulder where he can see Erica watching on with blatant amusement. “I’m sorry, but I have to –“

“You were really great in the game today,” she talks over him again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and blinking up at him from beneath her lashes. “I don’t usually like basketball, but watching you was fun.”

There’s absolutely no mistaking her flirting now, not that he really ever had any doubts before.

“Thanks,” he replies. “My boyfriend thinks so too. Excuse me.”

He moves around her instantly, laughing faintly at the startled look on her face as he goes. Apparently, they haven’t updated that intro to Derek Hale they give to the new students; seems like their intel on his love life is a little out of date.

Weaving his way through the bodies filling out the living room, he holds the drinks close to his chest to avoid getting jostled and knocked. He makes it about halfway through before someone pops up in front of him, two large, warm hands fixing around his hips and a wide, intoxicating smile flashing in his direction.

“Whoa there, big guy,” Stiles says, melting a little closer. “Looking for someone?”

Derek grins back. “My boyfriend, actually.”

“Oh?” Stiles puts a crease between his eyebrows, mouth pursing as he plays at shock. “The famous Derek Hale has a boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Derek says with a small shrug. “He’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot.”

Stiles pouts. “Maybe you should take that freshman up on her flirting then. She was cute.”

Derek rolls his eyes, thrusting one of the cups into Stiles’ hand at the same time he leans in to press a hard, meaningful kiss against Stiles’ mouth. He keeps them fitted together, an arm snaking around Stiles’ waist, until Stiles’ pout spreads into a soft, happy smile.

“See what I’m talking about?” Derek says when he pulls away, only slightly. “Idiot.”

Stiles rests a hand against Derek’s chest, fingers splayed over the steady beat of Derek’s heart. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, a cheeky curve to his mouth as his eyes fall to the drink now in his hand before pulling back up to meet Derek’s.

“My daddy told me never to accept a drink from a stranger,” he says, faux innocent.

“Your dad loves me,” Derek retorts instantly.

“I know,” Stiles says, somehow sounding equal parts bitter and pleased. “I think he loves you more than he loves me by now.”

“That’s because I’m not responsible for all of his grey hairs.”

“I don’t know. I think him catching us mid-blowjob aged him a couple years.”

“You promised we’d never speak of that again.”

“You promised you wouldn’t spend the whole party attached to Derek’s mouth!” Scott is almost shouting as he joins the conversation, jabbing Stiles’ harshly in the ribs with a pointer finger. Derek truly had not noticed he was even there until this moment. “Two minutes we’ve been here, Stiles. Two!”

Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes and removing his hand from Derek’s chest momentarily so that he can shove Scott’s face away. He curves it around the back of Derek’s neck immediately after.

“Don’t like, don’t watch,” Stiles says curtly.

“Easier said than done when you two mack on each other all the time,” Scott complains.

“Boyd and Erica are around here somewhere,” Derek interjects, trying his best to keep the peace even as Scott scowls at him. “Go hang out with them.”

“They’ll be macking on each other as well,” Scott whines.

“Then get better friends,” Stiles says, circling fingers around Derek’s wrist and beginning to tug him away. “Let’s find an empty room. I need to congratulate my man properly on a game well played.”

“I knew this was going to be awful!” Scott yells at their retreating backs.

Stiles tips his head in a loud bray of laughter, and Derek can only let himself be pulled along, a stupidly happy smile on his face and his boyfriend’s fingers tangled up with his.