twentysomething

Title: I Let The Beast In and Then

Fandom: Teen Wolf NO ONE FUCKING LOOK AT ME

Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Summary: "Stiles rolls his eyes. "What could go wrong, Dad? You nixed everything fun.""

Length: 2500 wordsish

Warnings: slutty werewolf sex, you guys.

Notes: Basically it's like moonklutz is a bad person and got me while I was super vulnerable, because leupagus is still editing Wilt Thou Exchange and weak to any and all action and then accidentally I Teen Wolfed and thehoyden is also super to blame. I'm sure rageprufrock is laughing and hating me a lot right now.



Sheriff Stilinski shifts the suitcase handle in his hand uneasily.

"Remember, this is me, trusting you. Go to school, no parties, no girls- yes, okay, Allison is fine." he concedes, seeing Stiles open his mouth to object. "Please also refrain from setting the house on fire or otherwise putting yourself in mortal peril." He stares at Stiles like he knows there's more he should forbid, he just can't think of it at the moment.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You have your phone charger? Toothbrush? Underwear?" he counters with. "Condoms in case that hot lady sheriff that I'm not supposed to know about is there ?"

He opens his mouth to plead total ignorance, or maybe decree that Stiles has to stop calling Maryann the dispatcher and gossiping about him, but just shakes his head instead. "Just don't buy a bunch of porn on the tv, that ends up on the bill."

"I can get that from the Internet for free," Stiles reminds him.

"You forgot to add 'disabling the modem' to my to do list," Sheriff Stilinski says. He draws Stiles in for a loose, manly bear hug. "I'll call every night. Be safe, I'll be home in four days."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "What could go wrong, Dad? You nixed everything fun."

By the time the cruiser has backed out of the driveway, just out sight around the curve in the road, Stiles can hear the back door opening. It's an almost unimaginably polite entry for Derek- entering at ground floor and audibly is probably the equivalent of calling first in Derek's warped mind.

"You know what the best part about this is?" Stiles asks, not bothering to raise his voice.

"The sex we're going to have all week?" Derek asks, already close enough to touch, all along Stiles' back.

"Okay, yes. But the second best thing?" Stiles turns to kiss Derek, a noisy smack of lips 'hello.' "We're not even breaking the rules."

"Hm." Derek stares at Stiles for a long second before picking him up like a doll and depositing him on the counter.

"Hey, manhandling, we talked about this?" Stiles starts, but then Derek's hands, hot through denim, are slipping between his thighs, parting his knees. Any train of thought Stiles may have been trying to convey is lost because Derek keeps propping Stiles' legs even further apart, only to put himself into the open space they create, invading Stiles' personal space with prejudice.

Derek leans in impossibly closer, breathing in as his nose brushes Stiles' throat.

"And we said that manhandling was totally fine, Jesus fuck," Stiles breathes out, still painfully focused on the spread of Derek's hands, the tips of his thumbs mere inches from where Stiles is getting embarrassingly hard.

"You had lunch with Scott and Allison today," Derek says, and it's not a question. He trails down Stiles' arm to his hand, taking one of his own to hold Stiles' right wrist. "You got a coffee on the way to school and a little spilled on your hand while you were driving."

Derek sniffs again as Stiles just stares at him. "You had science today. I can smell that Danny kid all over you."

Stiles opens his mouth to protest but Derek is faster, kissing Stiles hot and wet, coaxing, his tongue already slick against Stiles'.

"Knee to knee," Derek goes on when they break apart, like he didn't just kiss the shit out Stiles. "He touched your hand."

"Oh my god, you're deranged," Stiles tells him, but it accidentally comes out sounding fucking fond or something. "I passed him a pencil."

"Which shouldn't have required him touching you," Derek points out calmly, like that's reasonable and not insane.

"You need help." Stiles counters.

Derek just hums that same neutral noise again, draping himself all along Stiles' chest before starting another of those devastating kisses, filthy with the promise of more.

"Are you going to start shivving people who brush up against me on the street?" Stiles gasps when Derek lets Stiles' mouth free in order to focus on his neck.

Derek's only response is a biting, bruising hickey.

"Really?" Stiles demands, but he's so hard it hurts, Derek still scraping teeth that are just on the not-werewolf side of okay-but-too-sharp over the rapidly purpling skin. Stiles bruises like a peach, okay? "I have to go to school tomorrow and I can't pull off a turtleneck or a scarf. I'm going to have to tell people I walked into a door. With teeth."

"Or you could tell them I don't like sharing," Derek suggests as he leans back and eyes the string of pink-purple bruises down Stiles' neck with satisfaction.

"Okay, 'I lent him a pencil' isn't code for some kind of deviant sex act. I really did just lend him a pencil, I can't believe you're marking your territory over Danny- shit, okay, do whatever you want, I'm not arguing." Stiles trails off into indeterminate babble as Derek starts unbuttoning his jeans.

"Up," Derek commands.

Stiles chokes out an ugly laugh. "Yeah, 'up' has already happened."

Derek snorts. "Nice. I meant get up, I'm not going to fuck you on the kitchen counter. Not that I wouldn't survive, but I'm not in any hurry to get shot by your father." Derek tugs Stiles off the counter by his belt loops, onto wobbly legs. "Which would probably be fair if I had sex with his son where he eats his breakfast."

Stiles' feels a little like he's going to hurl- who brings up someone's father at a time like this- but still mostly, okay, overwhelmingly, like he wants to have Derek any way he can get him. So he scrambles up the stairs with Derek, who seems to have eight hands, all of them touching somewhere improbably sexy and sensitive.

It's still sort of new and miraculous. The first time Derek had kissed him, they'd been sitting in Stiles' car, waiting for Scott to finish making time with Allison. They were supposed to meet Jackson and Lydia at the edge of the woods for some kind of "pack bonding" that would end in grass stains and lichen in unmentionable places. Stiles had been talking a mile a minute- uncomfortable and all the more uncomfortable for feeling uncomfortable. It wasn't fear- sure, a twitch of unease sometimes when Derek growled, but he hadn't been afraid of Derek for a while. That agreed on, Stiles had still been uncomfortable and hadn't known why, not until he'd been babbling along about something he'd read, asking questions he hadn't expected answers to and Derek had just reached over and kissed him. The anxiety had melted out of him- along with his spine- and Stiles had wondered how he could have been so blind to the obvious answer in front of him.

Things started clicking into place, like a decoder ring that had just needed to be turned a little further to reveal the hidden message. Growling psychosis = possessive concern, for example. The fact that Derek's possessive concern, nee growling psychosis, often led to sex was just a perk Stiles had eagerly embraced.

"Stop thinking," Derek says, tugging at Stiles' hoodie.

Stiles obligingly lifts his arms. "We don't talk anymore," he kids.

Derek rolls his eyes, tugs down Stiles' still unbuttoned pants and tips them both over onto the bed. "All you do is talk," Derek says, but he must not mind, because he's a) here and b) running his hands over every square inch of Stiles' body. This is unfair because it makes Stiles utterly incapable of any kind of thought, and also because Derek is still fully clothed and Stiles is buck naked. Derek's jeans rub against the tender skin where his hands had been minutes ago and the worn cotton of his black tee is warm and gentle, but ultimately, it's all in Stiles' way.

"You should get naked, that is a thing you should do," Stiles says, desperate for the slide of Derek's skin against his.

Derek huffs, which is about as close to a laugh as any of them have ever heard, except for the time Scott had gotten stuck up a tree. Which, Jackson had cried he'd laughed so hard, so everything is relative. Derek sits up, coincidentally grinding his ass against Stiles' dick as he stretches up, pulling off his shirt. If Stiles was a little more 16, he'd come in his pants right now.

"Fffffuck," Stiles groans, mostly because if he doesn't say something he might explode but also a little bit because Derek without his shirt on is just a great thing.

"I was planning on it," Derek says and ugh, that should be a turn off, but instead Stiles can't help the twitch of his hips, thinking about Derek thinking about this.

"Were you planning on doing that before tonight, because you know, must-see-tv-" Stiles laughs into the kiss, Derek cutting him off in the proven most effective method.

"I'll be impressed if you can remember what a tv is, let alone what's on tonight after I'm done with you," Derek whispers into his ear, sending an amazing achy shiver along Stiles' entire body.

"That's if I don't need a hip replacement, rate you're going," Stiles teases. He chokes on air a second later as Derek slips a slick finger between his cheeks.

"Fast enough?" Derek asks, smug. Stiles hadn't even seen him get the lube out from under the pillow. "I don't know, I kind of want to take my time tonight." Derek crooks his finger leisurely.

Stiles laughs- he sounds like he's drunk- because holy shit, Derek is going to wreck him.

"Do your worst," Stiles challenges, and if the shit eating grin on Derek's face is any indication of what's to come, Stiles is probably going to die. The headline will read "Sheriff's Underaged Son Dies in Gay Werewolf Sex Scandal!" and right now, Stiles is okay with that.

"Are you paying attention?" Derek demands, sliding in a second finger.

Stiles' hands reflexively clutch at the sheets. "Yup, yeah, all eyes on you, won't happen again," he promises.

"Because I could leave," Derek suggests, which they both know is a lie, the hungry look on his face a dead giveaway that he's not going anywhere.

"Nope, you should stay right there," Stiles says.

"Here?" Derek asks and fuck, yes, right there. He must have said that out loud, because Derek's grin is even more smug than before.

"You know, no one likes someone who's smug about their own sexual abilities, that's a really bad look on you." Stiles manages in a broken groan. Derek looks up at him, through his stupid eyelashes.

"No it's not," Derek says.

Stiles sighs. "Okay, yes, you're right, stop being so aggressively good looking."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Is that for before or after I'm done fucking you?" he asks, deadpan as always.

"This is why people think you don't have a sense of humor. Inflection, sweetheart, inflection." Stiles tells him.

"I'm hilarious," Derek says, even more blank and unamused sounding.

Stiles laughs. "No, you're right, let's keep it our little secret."

"Focus," Derek reminds him, just pressing three fingers against him, not actually going in.

"Okay, yep. Focused," Stiles says because that teasing pressure makes it very hard to do anything else.

"You sure?" Derek asks, pressing just a little harder.

"Yes, fuck, go," Stiles says through gritted teeth.

Derek pushes in so unbearably slowly, stretching and pushing just right, and all Stiles can do is hang on, trying not to come. He works Stiles until he's breathlessly swearing and almost ready to burst into tears, he's so past ready to be fucked.

"Derek, please, okay? Please." Stiles begs. There's finally a break in the stoic armor as Derek surges up to kiss Stiles, hot and demanding as ever but also strangely sweet.

"What do you want?" Derek asks, his voice a barely coherent growl.

"You, I want you, just you," Stiles doesn't sound much better, needy and too desperate.

Derek's fingers are gone and he hardly has a moment to feel empty before Derek is fucking him open, just as slowly and maddening as his fingers. Stiles at least has the satisfaction of the way Derek's shaking slightly; what it's costing him to go slow.

"Derek," Stiles has never heard himself sound so close to a growl before. Totally puts Scott to shame and god, he can't believe he's thinking about Scott while he's having sex. Luckily, before he completely loses all ability to ever be aroused, Derek leans down and presses his mouth to the sensitive skin over Stiles' stomach, just hard enough not to tickle, but to leave Stiles writhing instead.

"I swear, if you're thinking about anything else right now," Derek almost pulls out all the way.

Stiles makes an involuntary whine in the negative. Derek grins, his teeth looking a little long and sharp, and slams back in.

Stiles lets loose something that's a little too manly to be called a shriek, but it's close. It's certainly loud enough that he's glad they don't have any close neighbors.

"You can be loud," Derek says, and it almost sounds gracious instead of condescending. "You can scream."

"I'm not going to scream-" Stiles tries for offended but Derek slams into him again and okay, that might have sounded a little bit like a scream. A shout, maybe.

"I can try," Derek purrs at him and seriously, Derek's going to wreck him. The pace Derek sets is just short of brutal; Stiles loves every second of it.

"Try harder," Stiles gasps out and grins as Derek's hands grip tighter at his hips with a wordless snarl.

When Stiles comes it's like a bat hitting him between the eyes- it's sudden, excruciating, and results in him practically blacking out for a minute. He can feel all of his muscles slipping into a boneless jelly state. Derek isn't done, but he's losing that obsessive, controlled precision that means he's close. All Stiles has to do is murmur, "you could come on me if you want," and Derek is making this broken gasping noise and coming, still buried deep.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Derek growls into the skin of Stiles' neck, where he's slumped over and only crushing Stiles a little bit.

"'Stiles' would be fine," Stiles says cheerfully, basking in the glow of being sexually desirable.

"Shut up," Derek sighs, but it sounds like an endearment.

"We should get up, take a shower, eat a pizza and have sex again," Stiles tells him, but he can't seem to move.

"Okay," Derek agrees, but he doesn't move either.

This is going to be the best week ever.