
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1264957.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Fuck_Buddies_Turned_Boyfriends, Anal_Sex, Barebacking, PWP, Underage
      Drinking
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-03 Words: 2459
****** We Fall Into One Another ******
by jettiebettie
Summary
     Life affirmation is a funny thing, to be perfectly honest.
     It’s like one minute you’re running harder than you ever thought you
     could in order to outrun bullets, and the next you have boner at the
     realization that you did it. That you’re alive and unshot and free to
     fight (flight) for survival another day.
     And then you have your hand down another guy’s pants. It happens.
     It happens to them.
Notes
     To begin: dicks.
See the end of the work for more notes
Life affirmation is a funny thing, to be perfectly honest.
It’s like one minute you’re running harder than you ever thought you could in
order to outrun bullets, and the next you have boner at the realization that
you did it. That you’re alive and unshot and free to flight fight for survival
another day.
And then you have your hand down another guy’s pants. It happens.
It happens to them.
It’s frantic and wild and a little painful, actually, but one could probably
expect that when getting fucked outside and up against a vehicle. It’s by no
means the rose petaled romance Stiles has envisioned with the lovely ladies in
his life, but it’s so much more visceral. And painful, has he mentioned that?
Like fucking ow, dude, he can’t really walk properly the next day.
It’s not enough to distract him from the way his clothes from that night smell
like Derek, or erase the memory of that asshole’s stubble scraping against his
neck. Christ, he knows what Derek’s lips feel like now, and if it wasn’t
difficult to pay attention when he was talking before (bunny teeth, man), it’s
almost impossible now that every movement of his mouth is just a reminder of
that night and the hickey Stiles had on his collar bone days after.
So of course it was bound to happen again.
This time in a bed, because they’re in Derek’s apartment, yelling loudly enough
at each other that his neighbors are probably going to complain. It’s a
legitimate argument that soon degrades into potshots and below-the-belt insults
and nobody plays this game like Stiles, because he is a grade A asshole when he
wants to be, and right now he really wants to be.
"God, no wonder so many of your girlfriends go batshit crazy, Derek! You
couldn’t screw your way out of a fucking parking ticket!"
And then he’s being slammed against the wall and kissed like a punch to the
face.
With that same mouth and that same demanding tongue, with hands gripping the
sides of his face and eventually sliding back into his hair in order to pull.
Stiles is so lost in the sudden scent and feel of him that he doesn’t fully
register when Derek yanks him back from the wall and tosses him onto the bed.
No, by that point he’s too busy fumbling with his belt and trying to get naked
while simultaneously watching Derek angrily strip out of his clothes. And Derek
seems to think he has everything to prove, because he takes his goddamn time
working Stiles open. Not that Stiles has room to complain, because each
insistent drag of fingers, every intentionally harsh hook to his prostate
leaves him feeling hot and too big for his skin.
It’s almost a relief when Derek finally starts fucking him. Nothing about it is
slow or calm; Derek’s thrusts are deep and forceful and his hands grip too
tight and it’s so fucking good that Stiles can’t help but eat his words even as
he moans out praises and demands more with the slide of his tongue against
straining muscles.
But things stay pretty much the same.
They don’t talk about it, which is probably part of the problem. It leaves them
in a constant state of avoidance, because they’ve both expressed a desire for
it to never happen again. They speak to each other indirectly, they’re careful
never to be alone with each other in the same room. They don’t even make eye
contact, not really, because Stiles pretends that spot over Derek’s shoulder is
the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in his life. They’re subtle about it
until they’re not, and Scott starts asking questions.
Stiles never answers him, because he doesn’t know where to even start.
Does he start with the handjob in his bedroom? Or the quick fuck in the locker
room after school hours? Or how about that one time he had Derek’s cock halfway
down his throat while the guy ate him out?
He’s beginning to think they really suck at this avoidance game.
Or maybe a good place would be here, at The Jungle. Maybe he should start with
how he’s trying to get this fucked up cycle to stop. At the end of another
guy’s dick, sure, but at least it wouldn’t be Derek’s and that the point. He
thinks. Maybe. He’s kind of drunk on liquid courage right now, so maybe
thinking is an impossibility at this point in time. All he can fully process is
that eventually, finally, he’s pushed into a dark corner of the club and being
kissed.
He reaches a hand up to the guy’s face and is disappointed to find it clean
shaven. He’s not sure why it matters. The guy pushes up against him, lightly
pressing him back into the wall and he wants to tell him no, bro, not made of
grandma’s fine china, just fucking get it. But the guy works his mouth and
tongue in a slow, almost non-rhythm that has Stiles casting a bored look out
into the crowd of dancing people.
He doesn’t know why, but seeing the bright, piercing glow of blue eyes in a sea
of neon lights sets his blood on fire. He brings his other hand up to the guy’s
face, taking control of the kiss and injecting some fucking life into it, never
once breaking his staring contest over the dude’s shoulder. The guy finally
gets with the program though, lowering his hands from Stiles’ torso down to his
ass and squeezing with a too weak grip. Stiles moans anyway, just to get those
eyes to glow brighter, to come closer.
When Derek’s only a few feet away, Stiles can’t fucking take it anymore.
He pulls his mouth away from his fellow club goer, turning his head to avoid
the guy when he leans back in for another kiss. Instead, he lets go, tugging
the guy’s hands off of him and pulling away. The guy protests but Stiles is
already walking toward the side exit.
He’s not outside for more than five seconds before someone else bursts out of
the club and has him pinned against the alley wall with enough force to wind
him for a moment. He gasps and smiles because fuck his earlier plan, this is
what he’s here for. The rough scratch of stubble, the hands that grip tight
enough to make his hips ache, the sharp press of teeth against his bottom lip
and the tongue that soothes the sting.
"You feel so much better," he breathes against Derek’s mouth.
He doesn’t know how they made it into the back of Derek’s Toyota, but he really
doesn’t fucking care as long as the man doesn’t take his hands off of him. They
clumsily pull off their shirts and throw them to the front seat, starting
immediately next on their belts and jeans. It’s not as quick as it could be,
because Derek refuses to stop kissing him, as if not having his tongue in
Stiles’ mouth might cause everything to fade away.
When he does pull back, though, it’s to bury his nose into Stiles’ neck and
breathe deep. An unhappy sound vibrates against Stiles’ skin right before Derek
bites down where his neck meets his shoulder. Stiles cries out, because even
though it’s not hard enough or fangy enough to break skin, it’s definitely
going to bruise. Stiles can feel the strings of saliva still connecting them
when Derek lets go.
"He couldn’t do it could he?" Derek growls out, his breath warming the wet spot
in Stiles’ neck. "He couldn’t give you what you need." He runs his tongue up
until he reaches his ear, simultaneously shoving his hand down Stiles’ messily
opened jeans, cupping his erection. "Not like I can. Not like I’ve done." And
Stiles would love to knock Derek off of whatever narcissist horse he’s climbed
up on, but he’s too busy rocking up into Derek’s hand and moaning like some
pathetic, desperate thing. Fuck it, Derek can keep the horse, name it Miguel,
he doesn’t fucking care as long as Derek doesn’t stop taking him apart.
"Maybe I wanted him to," Stiles hears himself saying as he wiggles the rest of
the way out of his jeans. "You just stood there. Would you have even let him?
Would you have let him try?" He knows he’s taunting a wolf, that he’s being
really stupid right how, but he’s tipsy and horny and a maybe little power
drunk as well. It doesn’t matter though, because his questions spur Derek into
another suffocating kiss as hands spread his legs open. With an annoyed huff,
Derek pulls away from him, leaning up to the front to grab something from the
glove compartment. Stiles takes the time to enjoy the view and realizes that
this is maybe only the second or third time he’s seen Derek’s ass fully, which
is a damn shame.
When Derek comes back, it’s with a familiar bottle of lube in hand that Stiles
distinctly remembers putting back in Derek’s bedside drawer. Which means he was
prepared for something like this to happen again, even when they keep lying to
themselves and insisting it won’t. Stiles chooses not to think about it right
now, not when he has mixed drinks in his stomach and fingers in his ass. Sweat
begins to collect on his skin, making him alternatively stick to and slide
against the leather of the back seat as he moves with Derek’s hand.
"Think he’d be able to do this for you?" Derek suddenly asks him, his voice
dark, letting the tips of his fingers catch on the rim of Stiles’ hole as he
pulls his fingers out. Stiles doesn’t stop the whimper that comes out of his
mouth, isn’t even sure he could if he tried. Derek sinks them back in slowly.
"Think he could touch you like this? Just how you like it?" He uses his whole
hand to press against Stiles, forcing his fingers deeper and causing Stiles’
hips to shift up.
"Derek!"
"I don’t think he could," Derek continues and Stiles is kind of surprised. The
man’s never been this talkative in the sack before; vocal, sure, but this is
something new. "He wouldn’t even know where to start with you. What gets you
going, what makes you feel good. I bet he couldn’t make you scream." Derek
hooks into his prostate then and doesn’t let up. Stiles shakily claws at his
shoulders as his entire body convulses in time with the alternating motions of
Derek’s fingers. He tries to close his legs, tries to fight the rapidly rising
sensation that he can feel in his legs and in his cock, but Derek’s other hand
catches a thigh and holds him open.
He comes all over both of them, a loud, choked shout filling the car as his
eyes roll back. It takes him fucking forever to catch his breath, and even then
the small intermittent tremors haven’t stopped shaking his body. Derek has
pulled his fingers out, now pushing them through the mess Stiles has made on
their stomachs and chests. He can see that Derek took the time he was out of it
to prepare himself, but Derek drags Stiles’ come onto his fingers and uses it
further coat his cock. It’s weird. And hot. But mostly kind of weird. Whatever,
let him have his freaky werewolf kinks; it’s not any more concerning than
wanting to push back inside of Stiles for a while after they’ve finished on
each other.
Stiles brings a shaky hand up to his neck, fingering the indentations he can
still feel there while he watches Derek jerk himself. He moans from it, causing
Derek to glance back up at him, his eyes flashing blue as his lifts Stiles’
legs up. Stiles doesn’t bother helping him; he’s boneless right now, from
orgasm and alcohol, and he’s pretty sure Derek likes manhandling him into just
the right position.
"You’re right," he slurs out, catching Derek’s attention again. "You’ve fucking
ruined me."
When Derek pushes into him, he doesn’t stop until he’s bottomed out, hips flush
with Stiles’ ass and hands pressing more bruises into his thighs. He doesn’t
wait for Stiles to adjust, doesn’t need to, before he starts up a brutal pace.
He lifts Stiles’ lower back up as he rises high up on his knee, forcing Stiles
to shift his weight onto his back and shoulders. He has to wrap his legs around
Derek just to hold on, hands going up above his head to shove against the car
door.
Every unrelenting thrust is a spark of overstimulation through Stiles’ body.
The feel of Derek inside of him, stretching him, using him is fucking
incredible. Every gutted sound the man makes, every flash of bright blue and
stinging of too sharp claws is just a reminder. Stiles does this to him, Stiles
makes him lose control and fucking take. It’s enough to make him hard again, to
make him throw his head back and pant, mouth wide open.
"Fuck, Stiles-"
"Please! Please, please!" Stiles doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but he’s
so fucking close again and he knows Derek is too. He’ll pull out soon and come
all over Stiles’ chest like all those other times, rub it into his skin and
then lick it off. It pushes him over the edge once more, body seizing and
clamping down on Derek’s cock as he comes for the second time. Derek chokes,
hips stuttering against his ass, thrusting wildly a few more times before he
bottoms out again, his body convulsing.
He just came inside. He just came still balls deep inside of Stiles.
He knows werewolves don’t carry diseases; it’s why they haven’t used a condom
since they fell into this… whatever it is. But this is- this is the first time
he- he’s never-
He’s never come inside before, never collapsed on top of him and covered
Stiles’ panting mouth with his own. It’s a wet, filthy kiss with zero finesse,
and Stiles swears he can still feel Derek pulsing inside of him. He should
complain. He should tell him to stop.
"Derek-"
He should really learn how to talk around having another tongue in his mouth.
"Nobody else," Derek says against his lips, his voice wrecked and no longer
carrying the dark tone from before. He presses gentle, open mouth kisses along
Stiles’ neck, his stubble leaving a pleasant sensation in his wake. "Please.
Nobody else."
"Okay," Stiles says, exhausted. "Okay." Because it’s all he can say as he wraps
his arms around Derek’s neck and pulls him in for another kiss.
End Notes
     In conclusion: monogamous dicks.
     (Did you know you could find me at jettiebettie.tumblr.com? It's
     true.)
  Works inspired by this one
      (podfic_of)_We_Fall_Into_One_Another by neverbalance, Love_is_Blindness
      by Hepzheba
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