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"What was wrong with this one?" Stevie asks, grabbing her post-workout smoothie from the coffee shop's counter.

"She didn't stop talking about her ex-boyfriend all night. Anything I asked her would loop back to him. Did you know that he's ran two marathons, his favorite movie is John Wick, which don't even get me started about, and he likes his steak well-done? Did you know that, Stevie? Because I do! I know more about her ex-boyfriend than I know about her," Stiles says, before aggressively biting the straw of his own smoothie.

Stevie laughs. "Alright, alright. I get it. I don't understand how you keep ending up with these people. At first, I thought you were picky, like when you didn't want to keep seeing that girl who called herself a mom because she had a dog—"

Stiles holds open the door for her. "I stand by that decision, people who think they're pet-parents need therapy. Lots and lots of therapy," he says, stepping into the muggy air of the Los Angeles summer. "When she said she wanted to introduce me to her kid, I would've actually preferred to meet a human child, not her dog."

"Oh!" Stevie exclaims and turns around; her eyes light up while she rolls onto her toes. "What if I set you up with someone?"

"Someone like Tommy's cousin? No thanks," Stiles says. They carry on down the street, dodging the people trying to get work on time.

"I'll admit that Sara wasn't a great choice, but to be fair, neither of us knew about her drug addiction."

"Yeah that was fun, send the cocaine addict on a date with the FBI agent," Stiles says.

"You did convince her to get help, so I think overall it was a successful date." Stevie stops at the front door of her office building. "Anyways, the person I'm thinking of isn't like Sara at all. He just started at my work a couple weeks ago, he's smart, keeps to himself, a little sad—"

“Sounds like a real party,” Stiles says.

“And he’s your type.”

“What exactly is my type?”

“Tall, dark, handsome… mysterious,” she says. “Plus, he has a beard and is super jacked, which I know are requirements for you.”

“They’re not requirements. They’re preferences. You make me sound shallow,” Stiles says. “Does he even like men?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, I could ask?”

“You’re just going to go up to the guy and be like, ‘hey co-worker I’ve barely talked to, do you like men? And if you do, would you like to go out with my sad and lonely friend who can’t get his own date?’”

“Some kind of variation of that, but yes.”

“Knowing you, that’s exactly what you’d say.”

She grabs his arm. “Come on Stiles, he has the most gorgeous eyes, what do you say? Another Friday night spent alone, drunk off boxed-wine and trolling through Tinder? Or a romantic date with your potential Prince Charming?”

Prince Charming or not, the thought of another Friday night spent alone in his crappy studio apartment is abysmal. “Fine, you win, set up the date.”


Stiles gets a text from Stevie a few hours later while he's entering yet another report into the computer system.

Be at The Redhouse for 9. Look for the guy you'd normally hit on. You can thank me later with a coffee and one of those croissants from Crave!


Stiles realizes after a painstaking hour of trying to pick out the right shirt, and walking eight blocks to The Redhouse, that he doesn't even know the guy's name. He stands outside the bar and contemplates his life decisions. Resorting to blind dates set up by his married friend. A blind date with someone who works at an office. The guy probably wears button up shirts tucked into jeans and his ideal vacation is Miami or something equally cliché and lame.

Stevie calling him picky pops into his head and he forces himself to keep an open mind. She said he was Stiles' type, and she hit the nail on the head when she described him, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad. It's been a while since he went out with a guy, he needed to mix it up a little.

With that thought, Stiles enters the bar. It's classier than an average bar, with an industrial theme. Most likely serving craft beer and overpriced food. He looks around for who could possibly be his date, not seeing anyone who matches the description of "a guy you'd normally hit on". He's about to send Stevie a text to ask what the guy is wearing, when his breath catches in his throat at the sight of the last person he thought he'd see in a Los Angeles bar.

Derek is sitting in a booth at the back and Stiles wonders what he's doing in Los Angeles. It's only been a couple months since they last saw each other, and Derek looks good, but then again, he always looks good. He has the signature Derek Hale contemplative-frown on his face as he finishes his beer and absently rubs his beard, staring down at the table.

Stiles makes his way through the crowded bar to say hi, because they were friends now and that's what friends did, say hi when they randomly ran into each other. Even though the last Stiles heard, Derek was living in New York and not in the same city as him. And now he's wondering why Derek didn't reach out, maybe he's just visiting.

“Derek!"

Derek whips his head around, his lips parting as Stiles finally gets to his table. Up close, Stiles can see exactly how well the olive-green shirt brings out his eyes, and how his beard has a few strands of silver hair that do nothing but make him more attractive. Stiles took two hours just to get presentable for his date, while Derek — the bastard — is effortlessly beautiful. 

"What a coincidence, what are you doing in this fine establishment?” Stiles asks as he slides into the booth.

“I’m waiting for a date,” Derek says. "Why are you here?"

“Same, actually. Who’s the not-so-lucky lady?” Stiles glances around the bar, there's a drop-dead gorgeous woman standing at the door in a tight red dress with legs for days. She has to be Derek's date. They look like they were made for each other.

“It’s a man. I let my co-worker talk me into a blind date," Derek looks toward the door, "he's late.”

Stiles is pretty sure his stomach's going to drop out his ass. “Your co-worker’s name doesn’t happen to be Stevie, does it? Five-foot-one, ruby red hair, packs a punch like you wouldn't believe?"

Derek turns his head back so fast Stiles thinks he might break his neck. “Yeah, how’d you—” Derek looks pained. “No. You’re my date?”

Stiles scoffs. “Don’t look so disappointed.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, you’re my not-so-lucky lady?”

“Touché.” Stiles slouches in the booth. “Why didn't you tell me you're living in Los Angeles?”

"I've been busy," Derek says.

"Busy going on dates with men you don't know?"

Derek shifts his gaze to the empty glass in front of him. "I didn't know if you'd want to see me after the last time we were together."

Their fight in the middle of the preserve comes back to Stiles. Bloody, bruised, and exhausted, they hurled insults at each other until Scott and Malia pulled them apart.

Stiles shoots him a sheepish smile. "We fight all the time. It's our thing. No big deal, water under the bridge, all that," he says. "I gave it as good as I got it."

"Yeah, you did." Derek laughs. "Can I buy you a drink to make it up to you?"

"I'll never turn down free beer."

Derek waves their server over and orders another round of the craft beer he's drinking.

While they wait for their drinks, Stiles scratches at the scruff he's let grow in, his other hand taps out a rhythm on the table that Derek quickly scowls at and Stiles lowers it to his leg instead. "So, how long have you been living here?" Stiles asks.

“About a month.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “And you got a job at an office?”

“Yes.”

"Why?”

Derek ducks his head down, rubbing at the back of his neck in a nervous way Stiles has never seen him do. “I’m trying to be normal.”

"You’re a werewolf,” Stiles says blankly.

"More normal. Functioning member of society is what Cora called it.”

The server places their beers on the table. Stiles picks up his glass and holds it out. "Cheers to making amends and being normal," he says.

"And to annoying co-workers," Derek adds, clinking his glass off Stiles'.

Stiles takes a sip and wipes the beer off his lip with his thumb, Derek watching the motion closer than a friend should. "You can’t insult Stevie, she's my platonic soulmate."

Derek laughs. "I thought Scott's your platonic soulmate?"

"Nah, he's my brother from another mother."

“How did you meet Stevie?” Derek asks.

“Years ago, some guy at the gym was hitting on her and wouldn't take no for an answer, I told him to back off, once he left I hit on her.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. I was way less creepy than the other guy, but she told me she was married,” Stiles says. “After that, whenever we were at the gym at the same time, we'd spot for each other, or if a guy was being a creep I’d step in and pretend to be her husband. Over time she became my closest friend in the city. Her husband’s a cool dude too, we're on a softball team together.”

“She’s the only one I really like at the office,” Derek admits.  “And Margaret, but she's sixty and leaves me alone.”

“Something about you definitely seems like you’re the type to get along with old ladies.”


Their conversation flows easier than Stiles expects it to, and he realizes after his fourth beer that he's enjoying himself for the first time in a while on a night out.

"That's a new look on you," Derek says, nodding to Stiles' haircut before taking a sip of his beer. "Or rather, an old one," he adds.

Stiles runs his hand over the buzz cut. "Yeah. Thought I'd try something different," he flicks his brows up, "like it?”

Derek smirks. “Yeah, looks good.” 

A pleasant buzz runs down Stiles' spine at the compliment. Or maybe it's the buzz of the beer. Whatever it’s from, it makes him more confident than he usually is with Derek. “Stevie said you were my type.”

“And what’s your type?”

“According to her, tall, dark, handsome, mysterious, bearded, muscular,” Stiles lists, “so yeah, basically everything you are. She also told me you have gorgeous eyes.”

“She told me that we’d complement each other, and that you're the spark I'm missing in my life,” Derek says.

Stiles laughs. “That sounds like Stevie.”

“It also sounds like a really bad pick-up line,” Derek says.

“That too.” 

Derek gets a look on his face that means he's about to challenge Stiles. It's become recognizable over the years and usually ends with Stiles humiliating or injuring himself. “Pretend you don’t know me, that I’m just your type of man sitting in the bar, and give me your best pick-up line," Derek says.

“I’m not doing that,” Stiles says.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll judge me!”

“I won’t. Promise,” Derek says sincerely.

Stiles sighs, looking around the bar at the crowds of laughing people. The back of his neck burns at the thought of hitting on Derek so openly. “No. I can’t.” He stands up. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom, I’ll be back.”

The bathroom is empty, he closes the door behind him and pulls out his phone, calling Stevie.

“Hey! You’re on speakerphone, I’m driving,” Stevie says.

“Hey Stiles,” Tommy says.

“Hey Tommy,” Stiles says. “Stevie, what in the ever-loving hell?”

“What? Your date’s that bad? He seems sweet!”

“You set me up with Derek fucking Hale!” His voice breaks on Derek's last name.

“You know him?” Stevie laughs. “Oh man, is he an old hook-up?”

“No, try the man that gave me my bisexual awakening at the age of sixteen! Remember how you said he was my type? Yeah, I wonder why that is. He’s from my hometown!”

“Oh, no way, small world,” Stevie says.

“That’s all you gotta say?”

“What happened between the two of you? Back then?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Stiles says, bitterness slipping into his voice. “We hated each other, a few things happened where it was mutually beneficial to tolerate each other, now I’d describe us as friends who see each other a couple times a year.”

"Well everything makes a lot more sense now," Stevie says. "What are you going to do?"

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” Stiles spits out. “I’m going out there, paying for my drinks and leaving.”

“With him?” she asks innocently, Tommy laughs in the background.

“No!”

“If you had a crush on him, which it definitely seems like you did, and now you’re faced with this opportunity...” Stevie trails off. “I’ve seen pictures of you at sixteen, trust me, you’re a hundred times more bangable now.”

“Nice,” Stiles says. “Tommy, any help?”

“I agree, much more bangable, just take a chance,” Tommy says.

“I hate you both,” Stiles says before he hangs up. He splashes water on his face and stares at himself in the mirror. He’s not bad looking. Going to the gym for work has worked wonders for his lanky limbs, and with a little advice from Lydia, he wears clothes that show off his body in ways that baggy layers didn’t.

But this is Derek. And with Derek comes a whole big complicated history and more feelings than either one of them would be capable of managing.

But this is Derek. A guy he's known for over ten years and someone who appeared to be interested in Stiles. Unless Stiles is making up all the flirting in his head. He's gotten pretty good at gauging people's interest in him over the years, if Derek was a random stranger Stiles would definitely think he's interested.

Stiles steps out of the bathroom and looks at Derek in the booth. He holds himself differently than before, more relaxed and happy, rather than the whole world weighing him down. Stiles caves, because he's learned to seize the fucking day after everything that's happened, and right now Derek is the day, and Stiles is seizing it.

"Carpe diem," Stiles says to himself. Not really believing what he's about to do as he walks back over the booth as casually as he can. “What’s a beautiful man like yourself doing drinking alone?”

Derek’s brows furrow. “What?”

Stiles carries the charade on. “Can I buy you another drink?”

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

“I’m just making sure a tragedy doesn’t occur here tonight, which would be you going home alone.”

Derek laughs. “What?”

“You told me to pick you up, I should’ve expected you to be the worst person to hit on." Stiles slides back into the booth.

That’s how you pick people up?”

“It works on more socially acclimated people,” Stiles says. "I do okay for myself."

"What changed your mind?"

Stiles leans toward Derek. "Carpe diem," he says. “As you know, I harbored a bit of a crush on you for a while, not quite the same epic level as my crush on Lydia, but enough to obviously influence my choices in men going forward. To the point Stevie recognized the pattern and ended up setting me up with you, the source behind it all.”

“You had a crush on me?” Derek frowns.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t.”

“You can literally smell arousal," Stiles says. "And I'm not a subtle person."

“You were a teenager, you guys all—” Derek shakes his head, laughing. “Never mind.”

“Wow, you really didn’t know?”

“No,” Derek says. “I thought you hated me.”

“I did... it all just kind of mixed together,” Stiles says. He swirls the beer in his glass and then looks up with his own smirk. "Have you ever thought about us?"

"What about us?"

"If we were to hook-up. What it'd be like?"

"Yes. I've thought about it," Derek says in a tightly controlled voice.

"And?"

Derek laughs, dipping his chin down. "I think it could be pretty good,” he says, looking up through his lashes. 

“Pretty good? I’d rock your world.” Stiles finishes off his beer. “So, what do you say? Another round or should we call it a night?”

“I have better beer at my place." It's clear in his voice that there's no intent to go back to his place and have another drink. "If you’d rather to do this there?”


"Are you sure about this?" Stiles asks.

Derek's arm rests against the wall next to Stiles' head. He's consuming all of Stiles' personal space without a single touch. "No," Derek says.

"Because I don't know if we could come back from this."

"Do you want to come back from this?" Derek asks.

Stiles closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. "I can't really think about things clearly when you're right here, looking at me like that.”

"I'll give you space to—"

Stiles grabs the front of Derek's shirt. "No. Don't. Just — just kiss me," he stutters. "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan, you should kiss me."

Derek leans in, his free hand tilts Stiles' chin up. Softly, their lips meet, testing the waters before diving deep, before they drown in each other.

He holds Derek’s hips, while Derek pulls him in closer with a strong hand around the back of his neck. And it’s better than Stiles ever imagined. Because in his mind he could only imagine the coarse bite of Derek’s beard against his skin, the way his hand leaves a trail of heat as it drifts under Stiles’ shirt, the reserved desperation in Derek’s kiss.

But he couldn’t imagine the feeling in his chest. Everything falls together, nothing in Stiles’ life has ever felt as right as this moment.

Derek pulls away. A look in his eyes says he feels the same. “Stiles—”

“Don’t talk,” Stiles says. He twists them, so Derek’s the one back against the wall, and Stiles is the one with the advantage. “Let’s not talk.”

When their lips meet again, it’s frantic, they grab at each other’s clothing, and Stiles finally gets Derek’s shirt off. Derek pushes against their kiss; his fingers dig into Stiles’ hips to guide him backwards. Down a hallway. Stiles bangs into the wall. He pulls open Derek’s belt and jeans with no finesse.

A button pops off his shirt as Derek struggles to get it undone. The button hits the ground with a clack, the only noise other than Stiles’ frustrated groan because they're still wearing too much clothing.

He gives up on Derek’s pants and pulls off his own shirts, not caring when they fall to the hallway floor. “How do you want to do this?” Stiles says against Derek’s mouth, as they finally stumble into the bedroom. Derek shuts the door with his foot. “I didn’t really —” he pulls away from Derek’s mouth — “I didn’t really prepare for sex, if you catch my drift.” Nor did he really even like getting fucked.

“I did,” Derek says and gives Stiles a strong shove back onto the bed.

Stiles isn’t sure if it’s the bed hitting his back, or Derek’s admission, that makes the air rush from his lungs. “You showed up to the blind date with the intent to have sex with a person you just met? On the first date?”

Derek pulls his own pants down and off his legs, Stiles’ throat goes dry. “There’s not usually a second,” Derek says. “I don’t date to find love.”

Stiles is distracted by the eggplant — ha — purple jockstrap Derek’s wearing. It’s a fashion thing now, to wear high-end jockstraps, or at least that’s what Lydia told him, and Derek’s standing at the foot of the bed in one that hugs his bulge just right. Stiles has an urge to fuck Derek with it on, the purple straps would frame his ass perfectly, Stiles' dick throbs with the thought.

"Turn around," Stiles says, sitting up on the foot of the bed.

"What? Why?"

"Because I need to see," Stiles says, tugging on Derek's hip.

Derek turns around slowly. Stiles' hands fly up to the perfectly round ass which like he predicted, is perfectly framed by the purple bands of the jock strap. It's big, bigger than Stiles remembers Derek’s ass being, and fills his hands quite nicely. Derek twitches back toward his hands at the simple touch.

Derek's wearing date underwear. A pair that shows off assets and aren't baggy boxers or superhero themed, or maybe it's just Stiles who has date underwear. Which he's not wearing, because he doesn't sleep with people on the first date, so now, he's in an old ratty pair of boxers because he hasn't done laundry in weeks and didn't expect to end up Derek fucking Hale's bed.

"Oh my God, your ass is a gift sent from heaven," Stiles says. Derek starts to pull away but Stiles digs his fingers in, spreading Derek apart, and there's no hair between his cheeks. "Wow, you really did prepare," he says. "I never would've guessed you liked to get fucked."

"You really shouldn't stereotype people," Derek says, but there's a breathlessness in his voice and it undercuts the cheekiness of his comment.

Stiles pushes on Derek's hip to turn him back around, quirking an eyebrow up at Derek. "Apparently not." He hooks his fingers on either side of the jockstrap and pulls Derek in between his legs. Mouthing at the tight abs of Derek's stomach, Stiles drags his lips down to the hard-leaking bulge hidden behind the soft material. "I'll warn you right now that I’m not wearing anything remotely close to something like this," he says and snaps the jockstrap band. Derek's dick jumps under his mouth.

"I wouldn't expect anything else from you," Derek says, his fingers try to curl in what’s left of Stiles' hair.

Stiles stands back up and pulls Derek in for a long kiss. One that makes his lips tingle and legs weak. Derek’s fingers fumble on the button of his jeans, Stiles helps him out by pushing them to the ground.

Derek pulls away from the kiss and lets out a snicker at the sight of Stiles’ Batman boxers.

“Shut up,” Stiles says and manhandles Derek onto the bed. He wants to get his mouth all over Derek, he doesn't know where to start, feeling overwhelmed by all the glorious skin under him. He decides to work his way down. Yeah, that’s a good plan, a very good plan, he thinks, before getting distracted by Derek’s mouth.


The most ordinary thing about Derek is his dick. It’s uncut and an average size and nestled in a thick patch of trimmed hair. He thought Derek would go au naturel, with him being a born wolf and all, but the dude has done some serious hair control.

Derek stretches across the bed as Stiles sucks his dick like their lives depend on it. His stomach is a magnificent canvas of muscles and hair he’s let grow in, and Stiles can’t stop himself from reaching up and pinching a peaked nipple.

Derek laughs and pushes away his hand. It’s a dream. Stiles is convinced this is a dream. A dream where Derek has soft blue sheets in a normal apartment, one where he goes on dates like a regular person and laughs. One Stiles gets to be a part of for the moment. And he's going to enjoy it.

Derek's head falls back when Stiles sucks the dripping head of his dick. His hands are balled into fists at his sides. "Stiles—" Derek gasps.

He sweeps his tongue over the head of Derek’s dick, before pressing his lips against Derek’s thick thigh. Derek spreads his legs without any prompt. Stiles kisses his way up Derek’s thigh to his balls, sucking one gently.

Derek whines — whines — and his legs open even wider, presenting his ass for the taking, and Stiles doesn’t delay any longer. He licks a strip from Derek’s balls to the puckered skin, noting that Derek definitely did some hair removal, and he finally gets his mouth on Derek’s ass.

Derek sighs, it’s blissed out and rough. His hands move to rest gently on Stiles’ head.

Stiles spreads Derek’s ass and gives it all he got. He loves it, giving oral sex, whether it’s eating a girl out or blowing a dude or a rim job, he loves making his partner feel good, getting them off with just his mouth and fingers. He might like it more than getting his own dick in somewhere wet and hot.

And Derek’s the perfect partner to do this to, he’s responsive as hell, gasping and wiggling, and pulling Stiles in.

Stiles slips his thumb a little closer, backing away just enough to watch Derek open for him, he rubs along the slick rim, teasing Derek with the promise for more.

Derek pushes his ass toward Stiles' hand. “Stiles."

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles lowers his mouth, tugging at Derek with his thumb and fucking in with his tongue. He sucks on Derek’s rim and drags his teeth along the edge.

Derek moans. “Stiles— fuck—” When he’s loose and Stiles’ chin is a mess of spit, Stiles searches out the bottle of lube Derek dropped to the bed earlier.

His own dick is leaking, he grinds against the mattress lightly, just enough pressure to take off the aching edge but not enough to make him finish. Right now, it wouldn’t take much.

He works two fingers in, the muscle tightening and then relaxing. Derek’s legs fall open wider still.

Stiles watches his fingers disappear into Derek with a bit of awe. Derek clenches around his fingers, his thighs shaking on either side of Stiles.

"Fu—" Derek breaks off in a low groan as Stiles teases his tongue around his rim, still fucking his fingers in and out. Stiles feels around, trying to find the lay of the land, it’s a whole new territory to explore, and he intends on being able to draw a map of Derek by the end of the night.

“There,” Derek gasps. Stiles grins against Derek’s hairy thigh and gives him a playful bite while he circles his fingers around the tiny nub of nerves. Derek’s breaths get heavier. Each exhale is accompanied by a ragged moan. "More," Derek says with a voice that's more breath than anything else.

It’s easy to get a third finger in and Stiles flicks his tongue against Derek’s stretched rim.

“Don’t stop — don’t stop,” Derek says. And Stiles has no intention of ever stopping. It’s the single hottest moment of Stiles’ life and there’s a chance he could do this forever. Derek grinds down on Stiles’ fingers, his own twist in the sheets, and he cries out as Stiles slips his tongue back in alongside his fingers.

All it takes is one more brush across his prostate, one more suck on his rim, and Derek goes quiet, his mouth gasping open as his back arches off the bed. 

Stiles licks and sucks, fucks into Derek with his fingers, until Derek lets out a soft whimper of protest and pushes against Stiles’ head.

When he slowly rises to his knees to take in the wonder that’s Derek covered in his own cum, he realizes Derek’s looking at him with a tinge of embarrassment. “That will be my go-to jacking off material for the rest of eternity,” Stiles says.

Any embarrassment slips off Derek's face as he rolls his eyes with a fond smile and collapses back into the pillows. "I don't know what happened," Derek says, pressing his palms against his eyes. Pearly white drops of cum stick to the hair on his chest.

Stiles smacks his thigh. "You got a rim job from Stiles Stilinski and it was awesome." He stands up. "What way's the bathroom?"

"It's across the hall. Only other door."

Stiles walks across the dark hallway to the bathroom. He washes his hands and rinses the bitter taste of lube out of his mouth.

Framed artwork hangs next to the bathroom mirror. Painted landscapes filled with blues, purples, and greys. He's a little relieved to know Derek's living in a place with decorated walls and neighbors and good structural integrity. A place he can call home.

When Stiles comes back from the bathroom, Derek's laying on his stomach in all his naked glory. "Close the door," he says.

Stiles shuts the door and flops down on the bed. He runs his finger over Derek's tattoo, tracing the swirls over and over, until Derek's eyes start to get heavy.

Derek makes a soft noise. "I'm good to go again," he says sleepily.

Stiles smiles, moving closer to rest his arm across Derek's back. "Power nap first." Derek starts to protest. "Shush," Stiles says, pulling on Derek's shoulder. "Roll onto your side, be my little spoon."

Derek opens one eye. "You roll over and be my little spoon."

"Everyone likes being held, you don't have to pretend you're the big bad wolf who only ever does the spooning."

They compromise. Derek shuffles closer, resting his head on Stiles' chest. Stiles wraps his arm around Derek's back, running his fingers up and down the bumps of Derek's spine. The hazy feeling of his left-over buzz and arousal pull him under.


It’s still dark out when he wakes, the street light streams in the open curtains. He slowly registers the hot mouth around his dick. The pressure is just enough to wake him, but not enough to get him off.

Shadows dance across Derek as he moves above Stiles, his tongue teasing the head before he plunges back down taking Stiles to the base. The tight pressure of Derek’s throat squeezes his dick in a way he’s never felt before because no one’s ever taken him this deep.

“Fuck,” Stiles moans, his hips giving an aborted thrust.

“That’s the idea,” Derek says. His fingertips stroke Stiles’ thighs, before coming up to cup his balls as he takes Stiles in his mouth again. It's all smooth wet heat and he's moving his tongue around in ways that tells Stiles he's sucked a lot of dick.

Derek pulls his mouth away and hulks over Stiles. "Fuck, Stiles, your cock is—"

"Big? Magnificent? The best cock you've ever had?"

Derek laughs and dips down to kiss him. He moves to Stiles' neck, breathing in deeply and tilting Stiles' head back with a forceful hand on his chin. "Yeah," he says absently.

"No hickeys," Stiles says quickly. "I can't go to work with a hickey."

"No hickeys," Derek whispers against his neck. He presses open-mouthed kisses along Stiles' skin, sucking lightly and pulling away before any marks would be made.

The feeling of Derek's lips lights up his skin and sparks pool low in his stomach. He runs his hands up the smooth skin of Derek's back, the muscles bulge and pull underneath his fingertips. Derek presses one last kiss to Stiles' neck before his mouth trails down his chest, biting here and there, before he sucks a hickey on Stiles' hip.

Stiles hisses with the sharp sting. "Dude."

"It's not visible," Derek says innocently before taking Stiles in his mouth again. Any of the indignant remarks Stiles is about to rebut with die on his lips.

Stiles thinks about anything other than Derek to try and hold on. There's a meeting at work coming up on Monday that won’t be fun. All the bills he has due, he should definitely pay those soon. Like yesterday soon. And— Derek sucks just so on the head of his dick and Stiles’ stomach tightens with a coil of heat.

Stiles whines. His hands loosely hold Derek’s shoulders, feeling the muscles work. "Derek, you're going to make me come," he says.

Derek pulls off, sitting back on his heels. “Are you finally going to fuck me?” he says.

Stiles props himself up on his elbows. “If I say no, will you beg for it?”

Derek climbs over Stiles' legs and steadies himself on Stiles’ shoulders with a strong grip. “Yes,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Stiles’.

Stiles runs his hand over Derek’s hip to his lower back, not believing he’s allowed to touch Derek wherever he’d like. And he wants to touch everywhere. Stiles reaches his other hand up to grasp a fistful of Derek’s hair and pull him down into a kiss.

It feels a bit like the rest of their relationship. There’s a sharp pain as Derek bites his lower lip, Stiles tugs Derek’s head back in retaliation and drags his teeth down Derek’s neck.

Derek shivers under his touch. “Stiles, fuck me.”

“No,” Stiles whispers against his neck and smiles at the huffy breath Derek lets out.

“Please fuck me.”

“That’s not much of a beg, kind of monotone actually,” Stiles says and bites Derek’s neck. Under his hands, Derek jerks forward, his dick grinds against Stiles’ chest.

“Fuck me, Stiles, I’ve wanted this for so fucking long,” Derek says.

Stiles pushes Derek’s shoulder and they rearrange themselves much less gracefully than Stiles would’ve expected Derek to move. “Wanted what for so long?” Stiles says.

“You — I’ve wanted you.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll fuck you, jeez you don’t have to be so desperate,” Stiles says, deflecting from Derek’s admission.

Derek glares up at him. “I can’t believe Stevie said you’re the spark I’m missing in my life.”

“Maybe you’ll believe it once I get my dick in you,” Stiles says. “Got a condom?”

“Don’t need one,” Derek says.

“If you want this to last longer than thirty seconds I need one,” Stiles says. Derek arches away to pull a condom out of the nightstand drawer and hands it to Stiles. Condom rolled on, dick slick with lube, Stiles wipes his hand on his boxers which Derek had discarded on the bed.

Derek’s heels dig into the back of his thighs as Stiles gets settled, lining himself up. He hesitates for a second, looking down at Derek, because after everything he’s still not really convinced this is real.

Derek kisses him once, softly, and lays back. “Are you just going to talk a big game, or are you actually going to fuck me?”

Stiles takes in the man under him and all of their complicated history which doesn’t seem so complicated anymore. He pushes in achingly slow, trying to savor the moment the heat of Derek engulfs him. Derek scratches down his back with a sharp sting and whines in his ear to hurry up.

He stops when he bottoms out, kissing Derek sweetly and running his thumbs over Derek’s bearded jaw.

Derek groans, grinding against Stiles. His touch is intoxicating, the hot clench of his ass drives Stiles crazy. Stiles grips his hair and tugs his head to the side, sucking on his pulse point. “Stiles— fuck— fucking move,” Derek says.

They fall into a rhythm, pushing and pulling. They feel so close, so connected, with Derek’s hand on the back of his neck, anchoring Stiles to this reality, as Stiles fucks into him with rolling movements. They stare at each other, Stiles not believing Derek is real, and Derek looking at Stiles like he's been broken apart. And it’s more intimate than times Stiles has had with people he was in love with, people who have loved him back. Their movements and touches and kisses are laced with emotions of their pasts, and what they mean to each other, because they've always been better at actions than words.

“H—harder,” Derek groans, grabbing Stiles' ass to pull him in closer, and Stiles has a rare urge to get fucked by Derek.

Stiles swears against Derek’s skin and abides by the request, fucking him faster, harder, giving Derek everything he wants. It’s so good, too good, because they’re tumbling close to the edge and Stiles can only hold on for so long.

Stiles hooks his arms around Derek's thighs and pulls him closer, shifting the angle of his thrusts.

Derek loudly gasps and it cuts off with a desperate moan. Something prickles Stiles’ back and he wonders how human Derek’s nails still are. Splayed out across the bed; Derek's eyes are shut and his mouth is open with moans that have fallen silent. Stiles has never been more turned on by watching someone else enjoy sex. His whole body is alive with burning sparks, gathering in his core and spreading out to the tips of his fingers.

Stiles dips down to kiss Derek, but Derek's lips shake against his and it's more of a gasping breath taken together than a kiss. “Derek, you’re— you’re a fucking dream,” Stiles mutters against his mouth. “You’re so beautiful.” Stiles brushes his lips across Derek’s cheek. “So beautiful.”

Derek tenses up. A full body shudder rolls through him as shots of cum hit his chest. Stiles keeps fucking him, and with each brush of his prostate, Derek’s dick twitches with more release and his grip tightens on Stiles’ back. “You— you feel so good,” Derek whispers, his lips dragging across Stiles’ ear. 

It's enough to drive Stiles over the edge, and Derek's still pulsing around his dick as Stiles comes, thrusting in one more time and holding Derek tight. It's like he's floating, high above his actual body. It's never felt like this before, it's never felt like anything more than a couple seconds of euphoria, but now it doesn't stop.

He takes a deep shaky breath in and collapses on Derek’s chest, their sweat and Derek’s cum sticky between them, but he can’t find it in him to care because he just had the best orgasm of his life.

Derek shakes under him in waves. Their breaths start to even out together, matching each other's as they lay silently, Derek holding him tight.

Stiles lifts his head slowly, looking down at Derek — who's eyes are closed while he runs his fingers up and down Stiles' back. “You left marks in the headboard,” Stiles says, a little bit of awe in his voice, his fingers run over the deep grooves of the wood. He doesn’t even remember it happening.

“That's your fault,” Derek mutters.

“How exactly is it my fault?”

“You rocked my world,” he mocks Stiles, but his voice catches in his throat, giving him away. 

Stiles kisses Derek’s cheek. “So, I was the spark you were missing?”

“You’re something,” Derek says.

The condom starts to feel gross, and Stiles holds it as he pulls out. He laughs with the bliss that comes with coming your brains out. Which he’s pretty sure he just did. He’s probably going to need a few days to recover for work. “I needed that,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Derek grabs Stiles’ boxers and wipes off his chest. “Yeah, for me too,” he says before he gets up. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“Hm, yes please,” Stiles says. He follows Derek out of the room, splitting up to go separate ways in the hallway. Stiles doesn’t know the protocol with Derek. Should he be collecting his things? Getting ready to leave?

Semi-cleaned up, Stiles heads back to the room. Noting that the clothing was gone from the hallway. The living room is dark with shadowy outlines of furniture. In the bedroom, Derek’s back in the bed, and he’s not alone. A long-haired, verging on chubby, calico cat sits next to Derek while he idly scratches behind its ear.

“What is that?" Stiles says.

Derek scowls at him. “This is Minnie, she’s deaf.”

“You have a deaf cat named Minnie?”

“I didn’t name her,” Derek says.

Stiles hesitates at the side of the bed. “Will she bite me?”

“Not if she likes you.”

The cat meows loudly and walks over to the edge of the bed. Stiles slowly reaches out to pet her and she rubs into his hand, her fur soft and silky against his palm.

“Who are you and what have you done to Derek Hale?” Stiles asks.

Derek laughs. “Your water’s on the nightstand.”

"Look at your newfound host skills." Stiles chugs the glass of water, realizing how thirsty he was after four beers and everything else. The AC clicks on and hums in the background, pumping cool air into the hot room. He's reminded of his own place which has a severe lack of AC. "Should I head out?”

Derek’s brows pull together. “It’s two in the morning, why would you go home?”

“I dunno.” Stiles sets the glass down and crawls underneath the covers. At the end of the bed, Minnie has settled in a tight ball near Derek’s feet.

Derek curls around him, holding Stiles close. There’s a strange nasally noise, and Derek chuckles against his shoulder. “Minnie snores by the way.”

Stiles grins into the pillow. He could get used to this Derek Hale.


He wakes up with the sunrise. He's trapped against Derek, their legs are tangled together, Derek's arm holds him tight. Minnie is somehow lying in the small gap of where their bodies meet with her head resting on Stiles.

He can't recall the last time he hasn't woken up alone, it's nicer than he remembers. But this is a one night stand, Derek said he doesn't date to find love. The implication of this being a casual one-time thing was clear and Stiles isn't going to be the needy and clingy hook-up that doesn't leave Derek alone afterwards. Stiles should get up and sneak out to do a walk of shame home, it's proper hook-up etiquette. Leave the awkward morning after to come when they saw each other again, probably when something was terrorizing Beacon Hills and Scott called for help.

Stiles moves an inch to test whether Derek will wake up or not. Derek tightens his grip. Minnie shifts her head, settling back on Stiles. Maybe he should just feign sleep until Derek's in the shower and slip out then.

He lays there, listening to Derek's breaths and Minnie’s snores, thinking of last night and the overwhelming feeling of what it was like to be with Derek. He wants to do it again. In all different positions, all over Derek's apartment, all over his own apartment, wants Derek to fuck him in all different positions but he doesn't want it like this. He wants more than just casual.

He wants to wake up to Derek in the mornings and have breakfast together. Wants to go on dates and come back to their place to fuck each other senseless. Take him home for dinner with his dad. Fight about where to order take-out from and who has to wash the dishes. He wants a relationship. He wants to be allowed to love Derek.

Stiles falls back asleep to a daydream of lazy mornings spent with cups of coffee going cold on the nightstand while he and Derek get distracted by each other’s lips.


A drop of water hits his back. Followed by a second and a third. A hot mouth nips and kisses its way down his back. The alarm clock on the nightstand says it’s 8:07 a.m.

“Good morning,” Stiles says. “You’re up early.” Derek pushes Stiles over, his wet hair drips down onto Stiles’ chest. Derek’s dick hangs heavy between them, the head already smeared with precum. “All of you is up early,” Stiles says, running his fingertips along Derek’s dick. 

Derek grabs the bottle of lube from the nightstand and raises an eyebrow. “Up for round two?” he says.

“Wouldn’t that be round three for you?” Stiles folds his arms behind his head. “You’re quite the cock slut.” Derek hits him on the stomach and he lets out a rush of air. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he wheezes, “I happen to love cock sluts.”

When Derek kisses him with minty fresh breath, he’s suddenly aware of his own morning breath, but Derek doesn’t seem to care as he runs his tongue along Stiles’. 


“Wait, wait —” Stiles grabs Derek’s hips to stop him — “the cat isn’t going to attack us, will she?"

"I shut her out of the room."

Stiles pouts. "Awe poor Minnie.”

"Can I continue or do you want to check on the cat?” Derek says, before sinking down on Stiles’ bare dick in one fluid movement. He rolls his hips and slowly works up to an almost brutal rhythm.

"Oh my God," Stiles whines, sweeping his hands up Derek’s thighs and around to his ass. It’s spread for Stiles’ dick and soft and the best ass Stiles has ever touched. "Your ass should be illegal."

Derek looks like he’s in another world. His eyes are shut as he works himself over Stiles’ dick, arching back as he hits the spot that makes him clench tight. He lets out a whimper, letting go of all his inhibitions in the same way he did last night.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Stiles groans out, “just use me, fuck, yeah, you love this, don’t you?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Derek says.

“No.” Stiles drives his heels into the bed to give him some advantage to fuck up into Derek.

Derek's movements turn erratic. He fucks himself down fast and harder, before he eases up, rolling his hips slowly, deeply, like he wants to take a second to really feel it. Stiles is just along for the ride. His hands drift all over Derek's body, up his ridiculously muscled chest, down to his hips, around to his ass.

Derek gasps with one particular thrust, and his hands catch on Stiles' chest, using it to steady himself as he chases that angle, that spot. "F—fuck," Derek gasps in another breath, looking down at Stiles with heavy eyes, "oh fuck." Watching Derek get off on his dick does things to Stiles. Uncontrollable things.

“Shit, Derek, I'm—” His stomach tenses and he comes in Derek. A bone-deep calm rushes into his body as Derek fucks himself down on Stiles and wrings him for all he’s worth.

Stiles gives a few tugs to Derek’s dick and Derek comes with an open-mouthed moan, his cum landing on Stiles in hot spurts. 

Pulling off, Derek falls down onto the bed. Stiles finds his already crusty boxers from the night before and wipes off his chest and dick as best as he can. “I wouldn’t mind waking up to that every morning for the rest of my life,” he says, dropping the underwear to the ground again.

Derek snorts into the pillow. “You don’t even shut up after an orgasm?”

“Nope.” Stiles spots something on Derek’s nightstand he couldn’t see in the dark, a small notepad with something written on it. He catches a glimpse of the title written out in neat handwriting, Derek’s Bucket List. Stiles leans over Derek to pick it up. “What’s this?"

Derek makes a grab for it, but Stiles is too fast, holding it away from him and reading quickly. "Get an apartment in a building with other people, hang a picture on a wall, buy a TV, take a yoga class, read the Harry Potter series, get a boring office—" Derek pins him down through his laughter and snatches the list away from him. "Is it like a bucket list of mediocrity?" Stiles asks.

Derek glares at him and throws the notepad back on his nightstand. "Cora thought it would be funny to make me a bucket list on being normal."

"You decided to keep it and do the things she wrote?"

"It's not serious."

"I like it." Stiles holds out his hand. "Pass it over, I wanna add something."

"No."

"Come on!"

Derek finally hands over the notepad with a pen. Stiles sits up in the bed, Derek joins him, leaning his chin on Stiles' shoulder as Stiles adds an item under the line: adopt a pet.

Derek laughs as he reads what Stiles wrote. "Really?"

"I guess I should cross it off." Stiles runs a line through the addition of, get fucked by Stiles Stilinski. "It’s definitely a check off my own bucket list," Stiles says.

Derek presses a soft kiss to his shoulder. And it feels like something more. "But it wasn't mediocre, so does it really belong on mine?”

Stiles’ stomach swoops with the comment. At least he has one thing going for him, Derek Hale will always remember him as a good fuck. “Do you know I broke a personal rule of mine because of you?”

"What's that?"

"I don't do one night stands and I definitely don't sleep with people on the first date."

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, there may be some hand or mouth action a couple dates in. But never what we did last night." Stiles grins. "And then again this morning.”

"Why not?"

Stiles shrugs. "I don't know... after I had a couple flings in college, I realized I'm more of serious relationship person. Sex is great, sure, but I like all the other parts too, like having someone to talk with about our days, and go to bed with at night, and laze around with on the couch in our old pajamas and binge watch TV."

Derek's still close to him, so close Stiles can see the gold ring of his irises. Stevie's right, Derek really does have the most gorgeous eyes. “Then why did you come home with me last night?”

He doesn't know the answer Derek's looking for and doesn't want to humiliate himself, so he goes with a partial truth. Something that could be taken either way. "We've known each other for years so it didn’t feel like I was hooking up with a stranger, plus, how could I pass up the opportunity to fuck my teenage crush?”

"Romantic," Derek says. He pushes Stiles back onto the bed and settles between his legs. Stiles drops the notepad before Derek pins his wrists up above his head. "You know, it doesn’t really count as a one night stand if we go on another date."

Stiles feels a flicker of hope that maybe Derek doesn’t want this to be casual either. “Are you asking me out on another date?”

“Yeah, I am, and another one after that.”

“I’m free right now,” Stiles says, squirming out of Derek’s grip. He grabs the notepad off the bed. "We could cross off, picnic on the beach, if you wanted? Or I have a few ideas regarding that jockstrap you were wearing."

Derek knocks the list out of his hand and pulls Stiles into a kiss that makes Stiles melt into the bed. Was this how it’s always going to feel to kiss Derek? God, he'd never get anything done again.

They get lost in the kiss, rolling around the bed until there’s a loud meowing at the door.

“I should feed her,” Derek says, lying back against the pillows.

“I should brush my teeth."

“Yes, you should,” Derek says. "Feel free to take a shower too."

He laughs and smacks Derek's shoulder. "Jerk." He rolls onto his stomach, staring at Derek across the bed. How long would it take to feel real?

Derek reaches out and rubs his hand over Stiles' buzz cut before resting it on Stiles' back.

“Think you could find love in this?” Stiles asks. 

“Yes,” Derek admits.

Stiles smiles. “Me too.”


"My, my," Stevie says as she joins him at the secretary's desk, "You certainly were quiet all weekend... no texts complaining about how bored you were or subtle hints for an invitation to dinner..." He pushes the coffee and box of croissants across the counter, Stevie smirks. “Stiles, what’s this? You shouldn't have.”

"Picked out especially for you," he says.

She opens the box and her eyebrows spring up at the sight of the six croissants. "Oh, so the sex was that good, huh?"

Derek walks up behind her. “I told him not to get you anything because it would just encourage you,” he says.

Stevie grins. “You can call me cupid from now on.”

“Does it count if we already knew each other?” Derek asks, loosening the tie he wears for work.

“How long did it take you guys to get together?” Stevie asks. “Because I managed to make it happen in one night.”

Stiles laughs. “She has a point.”

“Ready to go?” Derek asks Stiles.

“Yeah.” Stiles holds out the drink holder. “I got you a coffee too. Black, two sugars.”

“Thanks.” Derek takes the coffee. “Have a good night Stevie.”

As they walk out of the office with Derek's arm around his shoulders, Stevie shouts at them, "I get to be the maid of honor at the—" The door muffles her shouting.

"She's worse than Lydia," Stiles says.

"She's not so bad," Derek says with a smile, before he presses a kiss against Stiles’ cheek.