
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/525181.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, First_Time, Roughness, Plot_What_Plot, Fluff, Humor
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-09-30 Words: 2638
****** Tell Me What I Said I'd Never Do ******
by Loz
Summary
     This isn’t hate sex, because if it were about hate, that would mean
     he cared. It’s apathy sex.
Notes
     Title from the song ‘Do It Anyway’ by Ben Folds Five. I’ve seemed to
     always have this thing that when I’m in the midst of writing a medium
     length romance I feel the need to take a break and write PWP. This is
     one of those occasions.
See the end of the work for more notes
This isn’t hate sex, because if it were about hate, that would mean he cared.
It’s apathy sex. Stiles is engaging in no holds barred, rough, pained,
uninterested sexing.
So it’s kind of weird that he’s so fascinated by the hollow of Derek’s throat.
He can’t seem to stop himself from licking there, feeling the rapid beat of a
pulse against his tongue. It’s salty-sweet and smooth like a warm knife through
butter and it’s kind of short-circuiting his brain.
Right. Apathy sex. Now he remembers. Derek’s got one hand against the back of
his head, blunt fingernails scratching along his scalp, the other is awkwardly
tucked between them, undoing the buttons of his checkered shirt. It’s quick and
it’s slow by turns, the world narrowing to this moment, this place. Stiles
could get used to the taste of Derek, the feel of all the solid muscle beneath
him, the sounds he’s obviously trying to swallow. Stiles grunts as Derek digs
his nails in hard near his neck.
“Move,” Derek says, voice deeper and grittier than usual --- more how he should
sound than reality typically dictates.
Stiles moves. He shifts forward, straddles Derek’s hips as opposed to crouching
over him like before, doesn’t protest as Derek finishes unbuttoning his shirt
and yanks at it to pull it off his shoulders. Derek’s eyes are intent, and the
intention behind them is a cross between ‘I will devour you whole’ and ‘I want
you to devour me.’ Stiles grasps hold of the hem of his t-shirt before Derek
can get his claws on it and lifts it up and away. And he is way too into this
to feel self-conscious, but the second he gives to recognizing Derek’s
expression, he doesn’t think he needs to be. He pushes at Derek’s shirt within
another second and helps him throw it to the other side of his room.
They kiss. It’s more like a crash of lips, teeth and tongue, but it’s the
closest thing Stiles has had to kissing, so; they kiss. Derek settles his hands
on Stiles’ waist and pulls him down, tight, just as he grinds up. That provokes
a shudder --- something whole-bodied and uncontrollable. There’s, like, four
different pieces of material between them --- hell, maybe even only three,
Derek doesn’t seem socially adept enough for the niceties of underwear --- but
the heat that’s soaking between them feels like it’s being applied directly to
his skin. In the best way. Stiles rolls his hips forward and is rewarded with a
nip to the corner of his mouth. Derek’s teeth don’t break his skin, but not for
lack of trying. Stiles mirrors the action and Derek thrusts up again while
sucking on his lower lip. Stiles is frankly impressed that Derek can thrust so
seemingly easily, he’s got his whole weight on him, but, then, Derek’s muscles
have muscles and he’s also got superpowers. Maybe it’s not so impressive. That
doesn’t stop it from being hot.
It’s inevitable, really, that Derek should flip them. He should have seen that
one coming. It isn’t done gently or with any kind of care. Stiles’ shoulder
cracks into the wall with a painful thump and he’s about to complain, but
Derek’s tugging on his jeans zipper and any and all words die on the tip of his
tongue. All that’s left is something that strongly resembles a whimper.
Derek looks up, eyebrows drawn, lips curled up in something that isn’t really a
snarl.
“Should I stop?” he asks, fingers moving away, far away, Stiles cranes up to
attempt to get them back.
“What? No! I would very much like you to continue.”
Derek’s eyes darken and the not-snarl turns into a definite smirk. “Very much,”
he echoes, easing Stiles’ waistband off his hipbones. The night air is cool
against his exposed skin, against the precome slick crowning the head of his
cock.
“Just so you know, this doesn’t change the fact I think you’re wrong,” Stiles
says, wanting to grab back some semblance of superiority. “I’m not angry, but
your opinions are bad and you should feel bad.”
“And why aren’t you angry, Stiles?” Derek asks, tracing his fingers over
Stiles’ rapidly hardening cock.
Stiles shrugs the best he can, given he’s balancing his weight on his elbows.
“You’re not worth my anger.”
The playfulness that had been in Derek’s expression shuts down and he’s swift
in how he pulls at Stiles’ jeans and boxers until he’s stripped bare. Stiles
watches as Derek takes his own pants off, and yeah, he was right about him
going commando, Stiles would ace Derek Hale 101. There’s no hesitation between
Derek getting them naked and lunging in to lick at the crease where Stiles’ leg
meets the trunk of his body. Literally, not a second’s pause. It’s such a
weirdly specific and unexpected place of attack that Stiles cants his hips,
placing his feet flat on the bed sheets. He’s had all kinds of fantasies, he’ll
even admit to a couple about Derek, but they don’t compare to the reality of
the slight rasp of Derek’s tongue against oversensitive skin.
Derek licks over his balls, but not his cock. Stiles moans at that, too
incoherent to form a valid argument about how that makes Derek the worst person
he’s ever met. It’s just --- wet, and methodical, and a little bit like way too
much sensation concentrated on one area. He’s never really paid much attention
to this when getting himself off. He’s more of a quick flick and jerk kinda
guy. So suddenly having his whole world tipped upside-down by Derek opening him
up to new experiences is --- he’s not going to think mindblowing, because if
his mind was blown he couldn’t think that. But it’s a mindscrew.
His nerve endings are shot. There are muscles he barely uses clenching. His
fingers are scrabbling in his sheets.
“You know what, Derek, this is good, this is great, you’re really doing an
awesome job, but do you think you could maybe focus all that attention
somewhere else now?”
Derek glares up at him again. “You think I care about gaining your approval?”
“No,” Stiles manages, breathing thickly. “And it’s one of your greatest
failings.”
Derek hooks his arms under Stiles’ knees and lifts him higher, and okay, new
experiences, he has not yet reached the pinnacle of them. Derek licks at his
hole and Stiles trembles. He tips his head back against his headboard and
stifles a yell. There is pretty much no way he could have prepared himself for
this. If he thought Derek was wrong before, then what is this? It can’t be
right that Derek’s licking insistent, wide strokes up, stubble on his cheek
grazing Stiles’ left inner thigh. Stiles scrunches his eyes shut because he’s
too tempted to stare at the sight of Derek between his legs, dark hair now
falling against his forehead.
Derek starts to point his tongue more, licking around and in his hole and
Stiles’ chest tightens. He isn’t used to this and like anything unfamiliar it’s
scaring him. It’s scaring him how much he fucking loves it. When Derek’s tongue
goes deeper than he thought it could, he gives a wet sob. Apathetic rimming is
officially the best thing he’ll ever get to have.
And just when he has that thought, Derek adds a slicked up finger and Stiles
has to adjust his personal definition of best. Derek’s finger is thicker within
him than his own and angled differently and therefore feels nine hundred times
better than his own hasty fumblings ever have.
“Lube?” Derek demands, and Stiles might tell him off for being rude, but
instead he reaches for it, tosses it over.
He smacks his lips together in barely contained anticipation as Derek opens the
cap and drizzles it over his fingers.
“You want this, don’t you?” Derek asks, tone neutral. He looks straight into
Stiles’ eyes and for once there isn’t a hint of danger there. “Actually want
it.”
Will it invalidate the apathy aspect of the sex if he says yes, he really,
really does? He thinks he’s beyond caring.
“Yeah,” he says. “I want it.”
And maybe there’s more to be said, there, about how he hasn’t wanted anything
more and never expected that Derek could make him feel this way, could make him
feel. That he’s been trying so hard to kid himself that he’s not constantly
infuriated by Derek’s lack of trust in him and his judgment. That he thinks if
they were kinder to one another they might actually work. But then Derek’s
pressing two fingers up into him and he’s incapable of any kind of logical
thought process, let alone reasoning.
He clenches instinctively and Derek doesn’t move, lets him adjust. Derek’s jaw
is tense and he’s gazing at where he’s pushing into him, wholly absorbed by the
way Stiles opens for him. It doesn’t hurt so much as it feels strange,
especially under such a close interrogation, and Stiles’ legs seem to fall
further apart against his volition. When Derek starts to really finger-fuck
him, he bites down on any number of curses and rides the sensation.
It’s when Derek adds more slick and another finger that Stiles stops biting his
lip and says what’s on his mind. What’s on his mind is a litany of, “oh my
God,” and “fuck, Derek, fuck.” He’s super eloquent. Derek makes this weird,
cut-off snorting sound in response and drives his fingers into him harder,
mouthing at his abdomen. And Stiles knows that if he could tilt his hips just
right he could rub his cock along the planes of his chest and come like he
desperately needs to. When he tries, though, all he gets is Derek’s free hand
planting firmly on his hip, holding him down.
“I’m ready,” Stiles says, on one particularly brutal shove. It hurts in the
most incredible ways. “I’m beyond ready.”
“You’re ready when I say you are,” Derek returns, and then he slips his fingers
free and raises his body above Stiles’, holding himself up effortlessly.
He nuzzles into Stiles’ neck --- slow, measured, sweet. It’s totally meant as
torture, Stiles knows it. Derek is punishing him by being gentle. He can tell
just how frantic Stiles is for his cock and wants to stretch this out longer,
until Stiles is a sweaty, writhing mess for him. Stiles drags his right hand
through Derek’s hair and grasps hold, rocking up into him again. It’s no good,
he can’t make Derek move and it’s so unfair because he feels so empty.
“Are you seriously going to leave me like this? You’re hard too, Derek, I can
feel you. Don’t tell me you don’t want this.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not angry,” Derek counters. He changes position until
he’s looking into Stiles’ eyes again.
Stiles stares at him and decides he finally knows what flummoxed feels like.
“Fine,” he says. “I’m pissed with you. You never listen and it drives me crazy.
Every day I long to be indifferent to the many stupidities of Derek Hale, and
every day you manage to reach new heights of idiocy. So, yes, I’m angry. You’re
more than worthy of my ire. Happy now?”
Derek’s satisfaction is obvious in the way he ducks down and bites into Stiles’
shoulder. He lifts off Stiles and reaches for the floor and Stiles is perplexed
until he sees Derek kneeling up on his bed, rolling a condom on.
That’s kind of when the enormity of everything hits home. He’s actually doing
this. This is going to be done.
Derek skates his hands down his sides and pulls Stiles’ legs up. Stiles moans
and shifts how Derek demands.
Derek’s slow fucking into him. It must be a game now, to be played at Derek’s
leisure. It stings, a little, though it’s mostly an easy slide. Derek moves so
incrementally, Stiles doesn’t think it could be difficult. It’s startling how
good it is, how it’s what Stiles has been wanting for seemingly ages. He feels
full, perfectly full, and when Derek begins to thrust in and out, Stiles closes
his eyes tight and shakes all over.
Derek’s control is to be both lauded and lamented. No matter how hard Stiles
rocks down onto him, he keeps up the same, constant, punishing rhythm. He hits
Stiles’ prostate with every thrust and that would be okay if he’d also let
Stiles wrap a hand around himself and finish himself off, but he doesn’t. He
slaps Stiles’ hand away.
“You’re gonna come from just my cock,” he states, not even sounding like he’s
finding it hard to breathe.
“I haven’t done this before, I don’t think that’s possible,” Stiles retorts.
“That wasn’t a demand, Stiles, it was a certainty.”
It’s hate sex, now, definitely hate sex, because Stiles loathes how fucking
sexy that douchey remark made Derek sound. He digs his nails into Derek’s back
and pushes down onto his cock with more force, and wonder of wonders, Derek
finally speeds up. And that? That is all kinds of wonderful. Stiles almost
laughs from how great that sensation is, the rapid burst of his breath grating
out of him. He’s inching up the bed from the power of Derek’s thrusts, is
thankful for the pillow wedged now between him and the headboard. He doesn’t
seem to be able to hold onto Derek the way he wants to with his legs, sweat
making them slip against each other. He can’t gain any kind of purchase except
for his hand on Derek’s back and there won’t be an actual mark there tomorrow,
but Stiles will always remember how he clawed into him in his own way.
At first all Stiles can hear is the wet slapping of their bodies, his own
labored breathing and the furious rushing of his blood, but then Derek begins
to make these quick, curt sounds that are half-grunt, half-exhalation, and hah!
Victory. Stiles totally has him worked up.
Derek’s thrusts edge toward becoming erratic, a beat off here and there, and
Stiles knows neither of them will last much longer, is surprised they’ve been
able to go this long. Derek’s right, he’s going to come just from Derek within
him and the slip-slide of his cock between their bodies. Stiles isn’t even
ashamed. His heart thumps treacherously loudly and his spine starts to feel
molten, and Stiles doesn’t count the thrusts before he comes, hard, shouting
out incomprehensibly.
As he clenches around him, Derek stiffens, then slumps down onto him, tracing
his collarbone with his tongue. It crushes half the air out of him, but Stiles
sort of likes it. Likes that he’s reduced Derek to this --- boneless and
nonsensical and cuddly.
Now comes the awkward part where they go back to glaring at each other and
Derek pays him back for calling him idiotic. This is the bit where Stiles
remembers precisely why he wishes he were apathetic to this man who brings him
to the end of his tether and then yanks on it. They’re going to have to clean
themselves up and pretend they didn’t just share a moment.
“If it’s any consolation, you anger me too,” Derek says, softly. Stiles is not
imagining the laughter in his voice, he knows he’s not.
“Fuck you, Derek,” Stiles replies, but there’s no heat. There’s more affection.
Derek opens his mouth to speak again and something about his expression has
Stiles shaking his head. “Don’t you dare say that. If you even give the
suggestion of the words ‘already’ and ‘did’, I will strangle you where you
lie.”
Yeah, that’s a smile. Derek is both cuddly and smiley after not-actually-apathy
sex. Who’d have thought?
But then, maybe they’re more alike than Stiles would ever want to admit,
because he’s feeling fairly smiley and cuddly himself.
End Notes
     I’m lozenger8 on both tumblr and livejournal if you felt like adding
     me. I mostly don’t post all that frequently and I’m multifannish
     rather than all Teen Wolf all the time, but I do sometimes have Teen
     Wolf posts.
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