
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/416208.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall, Allison_Argent, Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Sex, Plot_What_Plot, Porn_Without_Plot, dear_god, Pool_Sex, aww_yEAHH
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-05-30 Words: 2132
****** you know it will always just be me ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Stiles doesn't know how he ended up in the high school swimming pool
     with Derek at night, but he can honestly say that he doesn't totally
     hate it like he thought he would. Not that he spends a lot of time
     thinking about dark swimming pools, Derek Hale, and the eerily
     romantic glow of pool lights or anything.
Notes
     Sooo this was inspired by a photo off of Tumblr but because of
     spoilery reasons I don't want to link it here. Yeah, um, first time
     writing "porn" for this pairing, and in general in about a year, so I
     hope you like this and that this wasn't TOTALLY awkward.
     Looked over by Amanda!
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles doesn't know how he ended up in the high school swimming pool with Derek
at night, but he can honestly say that he doesn't totally hate it like he
thought he would. Not that he spends a lot of time thinking about dark swimming
pools and Derek Hale and the eerily romantic glow of pool lights or anything.

Because he doesn't.

But he really doesn't remember how they got here–and that's something he should
totally remember, because Stiles prides himself on his memory that's totally
badass and not at all failing–thinking that it maybe had something to do with
Scott sucking at being a werewolf again–or maybe sucking at  being  in general,
because Derek and Stiles are trapped in his high school's  pool .

It's traumatizing how not traumatizing the entire situation is.

Derek's glaring at the water, like he can will it to disappear with his eyes or
something, and if werewolves had supernatural powers beyond being all
superhuman-y and badass, Stiles might believe it was possible.

Derek can boss everyone else around with his glare. Water should be no
different.

Yeah.

"Stiles, shut up," Derek growls, low and Alpha-y in his throat and Stiles
throws up his hands in defeat  because he wasn't even talking .

"I wasn't even talking, man!" Stiles says, because he wasn't, for the first
time in, well,  ever , and when does Stiles ever keep his mouth shut?

Now, apparently.

"You're throwing your feelings everywhere and it's making it hard to think,"
Derek says, like that actually makes  sense .

"This wouldn't have happened in the first place if you didn't go all Alpha-
y with Scott and make him do weird and possibly illegal werewolf things,"
Stiles says calmly, because the point being is–now that he can remember–is that
this is all Derek's fault and Derek needs to own up to it.

"He just has to track us," Derek says dryly, like that's  easy as shit , even
though they're in water and Stiles has read before that water erases your
smell.

But that might have been dubiously credited information. Because he's sure he
read that in some girl's poor attempt at homoerotic internet porn. Which he
totally did not intend to find and ended up stumbling across while searching
for some werewolf information.

It totally wasn't intentional. And he totally didn't enjoy it, okay, nor did he
jack off to it.
 
Nope.

"We're in  water ," Stiles starts, "he's never going to find us, because like,
no offense to Scott meant here, because he's like totally awesome and he's
still my best friend, but he's not exactly the smartest tool in the box."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "He'll find us," he says, and he's using his "I'm
right about everything so shut the fuck up" voice, so Stiles feels obligated to
turn his head away from Derek.

Because Derek is a dick and Stiles is above that kind of shit.

*

"Dude, I am so bored right now," Stiles groans, "And my skin is starting to get
all pruned and that's just not cute."

"Stiles," Derek growls, and doesn't elaborate.

Stiles eyes him, curiously. "Do you ever stop growling? Because I don't think
I've heard you say something at least not slightly growly since you've become
Alpha–"

"Stiles," Derek repeats, and  oh . That was definitely a  grunt .

"Grunting is just a more obscene form of growling–"

Derek's slammed him up against the pool wall–and  ow , okay, that totally
hurts–before Stiles can even think about continuing, and his hands are pressing
hot as brands into Stiles' skin. He suddenly can't breathe, like his lungs have
suddenly forgotten how to work properly, and Stiles would be really upset about
that if Derek's face wasn't inching closer to his own, close enough that he can
feel the rapid puffs of air from where Derek's breathing way more violently
than he should be.

"Derek–"

"Shut up."

Stiles gains a bit of confidence, because he's almost positive the reason that
Derek's breathing hot and heavy all of a sudden isn't just because Stiles is
pissing him off–hell, that's probably the usual, because Stiles pisses everyone
off, all of the time, even when he's being totally useful and saving everyone's
ass . He thinks there maybe something different there, something edging closer
to arousal, and while Stiles hasn't exactly been  secretive  about his totally
gay hard-on for all things Derek Hale, he's not sure that Derek ever really
picked up on it.

Stiles licks his lips, just to see if Derek's eyes will track the movement.
It's dark out, and the stupid pool lights are far enough away from them that
it's hard to tell, but his eyes flash that brilliant red that Stiles has grown
used to in a (disturbing) way that he might kind of love.

He presses forward, their faces closer together, though still far away enough
to have some space in between them. "Make me," he says, enunciating, because he
knows that pisses Derek off and will make him more likely to rise to the bait.

Even if he doesn't want to.

Though Stiles is sure he does.

Because Stiles is awesome, and so is his ass, and why  wouldn't  Derek want to
hit that?

Derek growls, deep and thoroughly turned-on in his throat, and it makes Stiles
shiver . He's never heard Derek like this, wrecked in the span of three
seconds–it should scare Stiles, to see Derek losing his control in a matter of
seconds, so easily, around  him  of all people, but it does nothing but make
Stiles' mouth water, makes his fingers stutter across the water from where he's
trying very decidedly not to touch Derek until Derek touches him first.

He suddenly surges forward, pressing Stiles' back against the wall so
forcefully that Stiles knows there'll be scratches and bruises later, but he
can’t bring himself to care, not when Derek's mouth is suddenly on his own,
urgent and delicious. Stiles doesn't know what to do here because it's not like
his kissing record is anything to write home about, but luckily his body knows
how to do it for him. It’s rushed and sexy and fucking perfect, with Derek’s
lips moving against his own like it’s the only way he can  breathe –even though
they’re not breathing, not at all, because Stiles will be damned if he has to
stop this, not when he’s been waiting for so long.

At the first press of Derek’s teeth against his his lips, Stiles can’t help the
instinctual surge of his hips, seeking out the heat of Derek’s. Derek doesn’t
seem to mind, though–not that Stiles actually thought he  would , because
hello , kissing–only pushes their hips closer, so Stiles can feel Derek’s
erection rubbing up against his own.

It feels  fantastic , like heaven and sin wrapped in one. Stiles can’t get
enough of it, so he tugs Derek’s hips closer to his own, hands slipping on
Derek’s swim trunks, but if Derek notices he doesn’t comment on it, just keeps
taking great interest in Stiles’ mouth and  tearing him apart .

“Derek,” Stiles starts, because while kissing is great and all, coming sounds
nice, too. “Derek, Derek I totally think we should come. Like, that should
totally become a thing.”

Derek’s eyes flash again, and it makes Stiles’ heart beat faster–he’s not
looking forward to getting a sudden erection from just  seeing  Derek in Alpha
form, or the totally embarrassing conversations thereafter, but you win some,
you lose some–makes him swell where he’s pressed up against Derek’s thigh.

“Stiles–” Derek grunts, “ Jesus , Stiles, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Stiles grins, lewd and excited. He’s never been the  death  of anyone before.
Well, besides the fish he accidentally killed-while-playing-with when he was
seven, but, dying fish is something he doesn’t want to think about right now.
Not when he’s having  sex  with Derek Hale in a  pool .

“Yeah, yeah come on,” Stiles says, because they’re regretfully away from
coming, and Stiles would really like to be post-coital already.

That’s apparently all of the coaxing Derek needs, because then he thrusts his
hips experimentally into Stiles’ own, like he’s testing for Stiles’
reaction–which he seriously doesn’t have to do, because Stiles is totally, 100%
on board with this, he is–so Stiles meets him halfway, and Stiles can’t even
begin to stop the moan that tumbles out of his throat.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and Derek’s lips clamp over his own again, probably to shut
them up so Scott doesn’t find them.

And yeah, that definitely is something Stiles doesn’t want.

They fall into a rhythm, one that is unforgiving and bruising but Stiles
doesn’t mind, probably because he absolutely fucking  loves  it. He loves the
feel of Derek being brutal against him, with no give and a lot of take, it
makes him feel safe and protected even if all they’re doing is rutting against
each other like teenagers in a  pool .

In Stiles’ high school pool.

“More,” Stiles says, without even knowing what he’s really saying, because his
mind is a constant stream of Derek and sex and now and  please . “Come on
Derek, need to come.”

Derek just lets out a growl, hips thrusting against Stiles’ in abandon, like
they’ve encountered a fuck-or-die plant–and really, Stiles has read up on those
and they sound  horrible , even with the added sex involved, because like, you
could totally be stuck with a person you hated or something, but luckily Stiles
is stuck with Derek and Derek is–

Derek is fucking–

Derek’s nibbling and biting at his neck now with his blunt, human teeth, tongue
licking over the raised skin after he’s done.

Stiles can feel it building at the base of his spine, can feel it in the way
that his toes curl deliciously against the scratchy pool bottom. He rocks his
hips in tune with Derek’s for one, two, four more thrusts and suddenly he can
no longer see Derek’s face–or what little he could see of it, anyway–with the
blinding white light getting in the way and all. Not that Stiles is
complaining, because it actually feels pretty nice, and he can feel it all hot
and sticky in his shorts.

Which isn’t sexy at all. And is actually kind of boner-killing, but luckily
biology kind of took care of that for him.

But seriously.

Derek loses total control starts thrusting against Stiles hard and fast,
without any rhythm at all, and Stiles just  takes  it. He thinks he could
probably get hard again if Derek kept at it long enough, even with the sticky
mess in his shorts.

He’s only sixteen and he’s a  guy .

It’s not like he can help it.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, close enough to his ear to nip at it. So he does.
“Come on, come on–” Stiles says, “ Derek , come for me.”

“Oh fuc–”

Stiles feels more than hears Derek come.

Which is awesome. And kind of seriously gross, actually.

*

“That was awesome,” Stiles says, not even thirty seconds later, Derek still
pressed against him.

“Stiles.”

“You’re not going to steal our thunder away this time, sourwolf. Let me sit
here and bask in my devirginized glory.”

Derek glares, but there’s no real heat, because Derek wants his ass. Derek
wants his ass,  bad .

Derek’s had his ass, actually.

And he  likes  it.

Luckily, before Derek can say anything charming about eating Stiles for
dinner–which won’t hold any power, because hah, Stiles totally hit that and
Derek enjoyed himself–Scott comes bursting into the room, with this stupid
fucking  grin  on his face, like he totally just found Allison’s secret stash
of lacy panties, before he starts  choking .

“Oh my–” He says.

“Dear–” He tries again.

“Arous–”

Stiles grins, mostly at Scott. “I think he’s having trouble computing our
compromising position.”

Derek just stares at Scott blankly. “You brought this on yourself.”

“What–”

“If you hadn’t taken so long I wouldn’t have needed to defile Stiles
senseless.”

Scott looks really uncomfortable. “Um–”

“What took you so long anyway?”

Scott looks sheepish, and holds up his phone. “Allison called–” He cuts himself
off with a squeak when Derek pushes forward and shoves Stiles against the pool
wall  again , just as aggressively, and then proceeds to kiss the living fuck
out of him.

Stiles–well, Stiles isn’t really complaining.

Even if he does feel bad about Scott’s eyesight.

But not bad enough to stop.

The door swings loudly a few seconds later, anyway, and the only thing that
Stiles can think of as Derek’s tongue makes it’s way into his mouth is how this
might possibly be the best night ever, and that he feels totally sorry for
anyone who gets their come in their hair tomorrow.

End Notes
     Title taken from "Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without
     Taking Her Clothes Off" by Pan!c at the Disco.
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