
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1404379.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Stiles_Stilinski/Malia_Tate
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Malia_Tate
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Vaginal_Sex,
      Established_Relationship, Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-02 Words: 2044
****** it's in the air (and it's all around) ******
by ambitioncutsusdown
Summary
     "You got plans for tonight?" he asks her, his breath ghosting over
     her lips and letting out a tiny noise of protest when Malia nods.
     "Lots of plans," she says, her hands skimming down Stiles’ sides.
     "And the first of them is to get naked with you."
Notes
     what do we need - gratuitous stalia porn. when do we want it - all
     the time!!!!
     (this was posted to my tumblr first, but then i decided to fix it up
     a little and post it here as well)
     (tagged for underage because they're both seventeen-ish and i wasn't
     sure if i should add it or not, so just to be safe i did :) )
It’s Friday evening and Stiles hates his life, because he could have gone to
the movies with Lydia, or he could have been playing games with Scott, or he
could be hanging out with Isaac, but instead he’s at home, writing his History
essay, and his life has never sucked so much.
The fact that he can’t concentrate isn’t helping. Every time he’s written as
much as fifty words, he can feel his concentration slipping away until suddenly
everything is interesting. He hasn’t touched the drawers of his desk in years,
but now he has the urge to go through them and clean them. Can’t work in a
messy place, right? Isn’t that what they say?
He feels jittery (which is maybe from having too much energy drink, but hey, he
needed to stay awake to finish this) and focusing on some shit that happened in
the sixteenth century seems like the most boring thing on earth. Not to mention
impossible
Ignoring the temptation to text someone — anyone — he tries to give his essay
another chance, typing slowly and erasing the sentences almost immediately
after because even he can see how shitty they are, and he’s not even a history
teacher.
The final slip of his concentration comes when his dad calls out to him. A
“Stiles, there’s someone here for you,” in a voice that Stiles can’t place.
It’s not the fond tone he uses for Scott, nor is it that you better watch
yourself for pretty much everyone else.
He gets up from his chair, ready to go downstairs, but he’s stopped when his
door swings open and there she is.
Malia.
Smiling brightly and wearing loose sweatpants and a tanktop. Her hair is a
little messy, face a little shiny with sweat, and Stiles suspects she’s been
out running before coming over.
"Hi," he says, essay forgotten and mind completely focused on Malia, "what you
doing here?"
"I thought I’d surprise you," she replies, closing the door after she’s entered
the room, "but you don’t look very happy to see me."
Stiles rolls his eyes and holds his hand out, signaling her to come closer.
“Shut up,” he mutters, right before, tilting his head so he can capture her
mouth into a kiss.
He can feel Malia’s lips curl into a smile and it still amazes his that he can
do this — that he can pull this gorgeous girl close to his body and kiss her,
that she wants him to do that. It’s been weeks and it still makes him dizzy
sometimes when he thinks about it.
"You got plans for tonight?" he asks her, his breath ghosting over her lips and
letting out a tiny noise of protest when Malia nods.
"Lots of plans," she says, her hands skimming down Stiles’ sides. "And the
first of them is to get naked with you."
Another noise escapes him, but this time it’s definitely not out of protest but
rather anticipation and promise, want already coursing through his body, and he
knows she’s picked up on the skyrocketing of his heartbeat.
Malia presses closer to him again, forcing Stiles to take a step backwards
until the edge of his desk is digging into his back. She claims his mouth in
another kiss, this one lasting a lot longer than their previous one, and
getting a lot more intense.
She likes to kiss hard and rough, teeth clacking in an attempt to get more, her
tongue teasing Stiles in a way that is nothing but dirty, and Stiles wonder how
she’s learned to do that because there’s no way in hell she got that from him.
Her body feels so warm when he touches her, her arms strong but her back
surprisingly soft, so easy for him to slide his hands down it, down to where
her shirt has ridden up a bit and he can touch that small sliver of skin
between shirt and sweats.
Malia smirks, her own hands tangled in his shirt and dragging it up slowly,
making sure she grazes Stiles’ bare torso as she does so.
They stop kissing long enough to pull Stiles’ shirt over his head, but then
she’s got her mouth on him again, tugging his lower lip with her teeth until
Stiles whimpers.
It’s only then that she licks into his mouth again, slowly, like the tease she
is.
Looking for retaliation, Stiles moves one of his hands up, until he reaches her
breasts and can cup them in his palm.
Malia’s reaction is immediate — the soft moan she lets out, almost completely
swallowed by Stiles’ mouth, and how she presses herself just that bit closer,
her hips grinding into his.
"You’re not wearing a bra," Stiles mumbles, a little dazed and wondering how he
didn’t notice that sooner.
She licks over his lips and hums. “M’not wearing panties either,” she whispers.
Stiles can feel his knees buckle and his dick twitch, doesn’t try to hide the
way his hips snap forward at that mental imagine.
Malia ducks her head, lips brushing over his pulse, and this time she peppers
kisses over Stiles’ neck and collar bone, each inch of pale skin she can reach,
until Stiles is sort of clutching her, unable to focus on anything but her wet
mouth on his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipples and her teeth no doubt
leaving a bite mark that’ll last for at least two days.
"Bed," he stutters a moment later when he feels his knees buckle.
He can hear Malia’s laugh, but can also feel her move away and he follows
eagerly, as gracefully as he can manage (which is not graceful at all, but at
least he doesn’t stumble).
Malia sits down first, tugging her top over her head, and Stiles cannot not
stare at her boobs, how fucking beautiful they look and how badly he wants to
get his mouth on them.
"D’you wanna take off my pants?" Malia murmurs, spreading her legs a little, a
smirk that is purely evil playing on her lips.
Someone keens and Stiles only knows it’s him because it wasn’t Malia and there
isn’t anyone else in the room.
Sliding on the bed, Stiles gives in to his first instinct and aims for Malia’s
chest first, worrying his lips around one nipple and teasing the other with his
fingers, pleased when he notices Malia arching into his touch. “Yeah,” he hears
her whisper, looks up though his eyelashes to see her sucking her bottom lip
between her teeth.
He switches his mouth to her other nipple, suckles it lightly until it’s
hardened, until Malia’s breathing is getting heavier, until she’s canting her
hips up into thin air.
It’s only then that he moves lower, dragging his lips over her stomach and
licking right above the waistband of her sweatpants. A soft chuckle escapes him
when he feels Malia shiver, the muscles in her stomach rippling under his
touch, but then she apparently decides she’s had enough of it and hooks her
thumbs in her sweats to push them down.
Stiles helps her, getting her legs free and absently throwing the pants aside,
too intent on watching her to really care about where they land. He can see how
wet she is, can almost smell it.
"You too," Malia mumbles, breathless already.
It takes a second for Stiles to figure out what he’s talking about, but gets
rid of his pants the moment he does. His briefs follow immediately after, a
hiss leaving him as the too-much pressure on his dick is gone.
Malia’s hands are on him the moment he crawls over her body, trying to touch as
much as possible, and then they’re kissing again, needy and urgent.
Stiles feels a shiver going down his spine when Malia bucks up, practically
grinding against him. He groans against her lips, shifting so his cock is
dragging over her folds. It’s be so easy to push inside, and he wants, god he
wants. Wants to feel her and fuck her.
"Condom," he rasps out, clenching his hands in the sheets next to Malia’s head.
"Get one," she mumbles, eyes hooded and lips parted. "Now.”
He kisses her a moment longer but then has to reach over to his nightstand,
both of them whining at the loss of contact, the loss of touch, but he’s back
into his previous position only seconds later, already tearing open the condom
and rolling it with trembling hands, all too aware of Malia’s eyes on him and
the way she’s licking her lips.
"God, I wanted to blow you," she says, almost like she regrets not having had
that chance tonight.
Stiles has to close his eyes to keep himself together.
He slides in between her legs and Malia eagerly pulls him closer again, reaches
down so she can grasp the base of his cock. “Next time I’m gonna suck you for
so long,” she mumbles, dragging her fingers up and down his length, letting the
tip slide over her core — a movement that makes both of them groan.
"You’re killing me," Stiles mutters, face pressed into the crook of her neck.
She laughs breathlessly, her head thrown back and her chest arched up against
his. “C’mon, Stiles. Fuck me,” is all she says.
Without missing a beat, Stiles rocks his hips forward and pushes in, slowly to
make sure he’s not hurting her, but the only noise Malia lets out is one of
pure pleasure. A moan that can almost be described as sated.
Stiles has trouble keeping himself up, his entire body trembling just from how
good she feels; how wet and hot and tight she is around him, how she tilts her
hips to meet his movements, how gorgeous she is spread out underneath him.
They move almost completely in sync; Malia rocking her hips down when Stiles
pushes in, one hand in his hair and the other clutching over his back, keeping
him as close to her as she can manage while still being able to thrust.
He’s panting into her skin, groaning every time he pushes in — a sound that’s
matched by Malia’s keens and breathy gasps, she shuddering of her body.
It’s only a few minutes later that Stiles can already feel this familiar heat
in the pit of his stomach, after a particular loud moan of Malia and feeling
how she’s clenching around him. “Not gonna last much longer,” he warns her.
Malia gasps and nods, removing her hand from Stiles’ hair and taking his hand
instead, guiding it down between their bodies and Stiles gets the hint.
He drags his hand to her core, finding her clit and immediately adding pressure
to it, making Malia cry out. He tries to circle his fingers over it in the same
rhythm as his thrusts, but it’s sloppy and doesn’t match up at all, but he
doesn’t care. All he wants is to get her off first and judging by the sound of
it, he’s doing okay.
Malia bucks up into his hand once or twice, and Stiles can feel her cunt clench
around him impossibly tight, and a moment later she’s coming with a cry of
Stiles’ name, her body going rigid and shaking by the force of it.
Letting his hand fall away, Stiles pushing in a few more time, incredibly on
the edge and needing just that little bit more, but that’s all it takes for him
to reach his climax as well, his moan muffled into Malia’s skin.
It takes some long minutes before either of them has caught their breath.
Stiles lifts his head to look at Malia, who has a grin on her face and looks
quite content.
"Don’t be so smug," he mumbles.
"My boyfriend just fucked me, I’m allowed to be smug," she replies.
Stiles rolls his eyes, decides to deal with the condom before he deals with her
smugness.
After he’s pulled out (both of them whimpering at the feeling) and gotten rid
of it, he flops down on the bed again and cuddles up to her. She easily lets
him and snorts. “I still can’t believe you’re a cuddles after sexkind of guy.
You’re pathetic,” she mumbles fondly.
"You like me."
"You wish."
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