dude, my shirt
PAIRING: Derek/Stiles
RATING: light R
LENGTH: 2200+
ORIGINAL POST DATE: 08-20-11
DISCLAIMER: don't own anything related to TW.
SUMMARY: Mr. Argent spills some wolf sex pheromones on Stiles, and Derek reacts. (fill for this prompt)
WARNING: some level of dub-con
NOTES: the lovely heard_the_owl did a podfic of this, over on AO3.
"You won't believe what happened today!" Stiles bowls into his room, slinging his book bag off into the side of the bed with a crack. "Allison's dad came into Chem class to talk about the makeup of certain animal sex phero-" he swallows back his voice at the face Derek makes, this ugly, pained grimace. Come to think of it, that's nothing new. He shakes his head to reset what he was doing, and practically runs over into his dresser to grab out a new shirt. "Pheromones. Good thing Scott skipped, right? Mr. Argent kept giving me these weird looks, and then he-"
Derek takes a sharp breath, like he's trying not to breathe at all. "Spilled some on you?"
"Yeah, uh, I'm going as fast as I can. Here, here," he unfurls the clean shirt and almost rips off the two he's got on. "Figured they were wolf pheromones because he's that kind of dick. Awkward since you're here, right? That's...so awkward. Anyway, look, good as new." He does a ta-da move. "And then these shirts," he holds up the ones he was wearing, balled as tightly as possible in his hands, "these're history, good as gone. Right now." He runs over to the window and sends the shirts flying as soon as he's got it slammed open. They sail out and catch in one of the treetops, way too high to climb up to later, if he doesn't want to die trying.
"There," he wheezes, melting over the window sill, crouched down on his jittery legs. "There, gone. Bye...awesome shirts that I really liked."
Better them than him, anyway.
"Stiles," Derek grunts behind him.
"Yeah? What?" He flips over, leaning back into the wall, suddenly really wiped and ready for bed. Could sleep right here and now-
He jolts when Derek comes over and kicks him hard in the thigh.
"Ow, what the hell!"
"That wasn't enough. It's on your skin," Derek scowls down at him. "Get up and go take a shower right now, or I'm going to do something we'll both regret. I can't even- think straight already. Go. Just go! Now!"
There's no time for a smart remark, just Stiles spooking out from under him, tripping over onto his hands and knees as he goes for the door. He crawls out into the hall and nearly mows down his dad in the rush.
"Stiles!"
He looks up and sees his father's familiar, angry-tired frown, like he's fed up with Stiles's shenanigans again. "What the hell are you doing on the floor like that? Get up, son, get up..."
"Hey...Dad. What's up? When'd you get home?" He gets up awkwardly, faking a stretch so he can pull his door shut. "Feel that burn."
"What were you doing on the floor? Do I even want to know?"
"I was just...for lacrosse. It's a way to," he makes a face, "you know, help with flexibility?"
"...Flexibility?"
"Yeah. Good ol' flexibility." He nods. That was believable enough. "Well, I've been working up a sweat in there. I'm just going to go take a sho-"
Before he can get very far, his dad hoists him back by the collar. "Oh no you're not."
"Wh…I'm not?"
"I finally get the afternoon off, and I haven't showered in three days."
"Well, I didn't want to say anything, but-"
His father gives him a look.
"Like daisies, Dad, you smell like daisies. Mmm...daisies."
"Uh-huh." He turns Stiles back toward his door. No, not the door. This isn’t going how he planned at all. "You can wait until I'm done. I won't be long."
Is this the time to panic? Werewolf hopped up on extreme Viagra in his bedroom, him about to be date for said werewolf? Yeah, panic would be pretty appropriate right now. "But, Dad, you don't- no, I mean, I just, I really, really-"
"If you're that determined, the kitchen sink's calling your name, kiddo." His dad gives him a soldierly pat on the back and starts for the bathroom. "I don't want any trouble for the next twenty minutes, you hear me?"
Stiles salutes sarcastically. "No trouble, next twenty minutes. Got it."
Right before his dad can disappear into the bathroom, he considers whether getting down and begging would have better results. Could he still get away with throwing a tantrum? Would his dad feel bad if he cried? Or just give him up for adoption?
He wilts back into his door, "Crapppp."
All of a sudden, it falls away behind him, and he goes stumbling backward into his room, arms out like crappy propellers to catch on whatever comes first. It's Derek, of course it is, his chest brick solid and warm against Stiles's back, arms latching onto him in some octopus hug.
"Okay, okay, Derek, whoa-" Stiles tries to pull away from him, but Derek holds firm, pressing even closer up against him. And that would be his- oh god! Stiles cringes. He feels Derek's nose burying into his neck, breathing him in, and a shiver runs down his spine. "Oh my god- Derek, Derek, wake up! You just can't rub-"
Derek opens his mouth against Stiles's neck, and the first lick of his tongue has Stiles convulsing in shock, his legs giving out underneath him. All his thought goes out the window, and he can't even focus for a second, before he realizes too late that Derek is herding him around into the wall, cuffing his hands over Stiles's arms to keep him still. He gets his mouth back on Stiles's throat, so slick and hot, sucking at his adam's apple every time it moves.
"Derek," Stiles spasms again, panting when Derek bucks his crotch into his thigh, like he knows what he wants and is going to get it.
Funny, devirginalization was not on the calendar for today.
"Okay, oh my god. Can you even hear-"
Derek growls low in his throat and lets go of him, only so that he can start pushing Stiles's shirt up his stomach, clearly intent.
"Whoa, whoa, chief!" Stiles hisses, jerking against him, trying to push the shirt back down as fast as Derek gets it up. "No, we can't do that, Derek-"
Derek just growls again, and goes for his belt instead. He catches Stiles's mouth in a kiss, which turns off Stiles's brain function for a solid eternity, makes his fingers weak to stop Derek pulling his buckle loose. And really, Stiles just lets Derek kiss him, gets caught up in the way Derek's lips are wet and sloppy and feverish, the rough swipe of his tongue demanding, until Stiles just opens up for him to come inside and have whatever the hell he wants.
The sound of his zipper being pulled open makes Stiles start, and he jerks his head, getting free of Derek's greedy mouth. "Ohhh, damn," he croaks, and Derek fists fingers in the waistband of his boxers and yanks their crotches together, starts thrusting the bump of his cock against Stiles's.
Stiles bites a moan into the heel of his hand, and then slaps his arm out to feel along the wall for the doorframe. He can't- they can't- oh god, can they? "Derek, Derek-" Is he whining? "My dad, is, like, right there-"
He finds the edge of the doorway just as Derek slides his hands around to cup his ass, making him jump; his dick jumps, too. Holy damn, self-discovery.
Derek moves in to have his mouth again, but Stiles somehow gathers the will to shove him off, powerfully enough that Derek goes stumbling backward into his bed.
Not a good image right now. Derek. On his bed. Cheeks and mouth red. Suddenly, all Stiles's body is saying to him is any time now! Look at that! Just look at that present! A gift from God!
A gift from God that could eat him.
Derek looks around for a second like he doesn't know what just happened, and Stiles thinks maybe that's all it'll take to snap him out of it. But then he gets these startling blue eyes on Stiles, all sexed up against the wall, and seems to remember what he was doing.
And cue the running.
Stiles only just gets out into the hall before Derek is up and chasing him. He takes the stairs two at a time, the railing shaking as he barrels down them. It feels like Derek is just one inch behind him, could pounce him down the rest of the steps any second. There's no way he's going to be able to outrun him, and he's not sure if he even really wants to, why he's running away at all. But he cuts into the kitchen anyway, going for the sink.
If he could move like this in lacrosse practice!
What a stupid thought right now!
Derek slams into him from behind, and he can hardly breathe to grab the sink sprayer out of its holster. But he gets it eventually and aims it right at his own face, shutting his eyes as he slaps the faucet on and pulls the trigger, sputtering water out of his mouth.
Derek is frantic behind him, hopped up even more from the chase probably, grabbing all over him, making low, mindless noises in his ear and just going to town against his ass. He ruts Stiles into the cabinet in intense, experienced thrusts, and Stiles is really thankful for the water to take his mind off the fact that he could- he jerks, shudders against the cabinet - yeah, he could probably come like this. With his clothes still on, in his own kitchen, where his father eats. Sobering thought. What a virgin thing to do. Isn’t even real sex. He paws the faucet colder and twists around enough to jam it in Derek's face too, hoping it'll bring him back before any of that can happen. He really doesn't want to have to deal with even more reality right now. It’s enough that goddamn Derek Hale is rubbing one off on him.
"Derek, haa-" he gasps, "Derek, damn. Come on!"
It happens suddenly, and right when he’s about to give up. One second Derek is humping him, and then the next, his eyes are wide open and he really does look like he has no idea what's going on, this time. Like someone slapped him awake.
Save that idea for later.
He doesn't back off Stiles right away, but he sneers, putting a hand up to shield his face from the spray. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing! Turn the water off!"
"Right." Stiles drags. "Right-!" He lets the sprayer go banging back into its holster as he lurches for the faucet.
Derek pitches back a few steps, giving Stiles some room to turn around. He runs a hand over his face, aimlessly wrings some of the water from his shirt, still coming back into his head the rest of the way. Something about him feels embarrassed, to Stiles. The way he won't look him directly in the eye, or something. The fact that he's still blushing. That he isn’t insulting Stiles about whatever, for once. It’s a nice change of pace.
But the awkward silence is pretty unbearable.
Stiles can't really come up with anything to say either, though he really wishes he could right now. You'd think there'd be tons of good jokes in a situation like this, and yet…he’s got nothing. He needs a sports commentator for these moments, someone to call plays, say a nice pity ’ouch!’ when he fumbles the ball.
Or…the balls?
He just scratches the back of his head and tries to look at anything but the bulge in Derek's pants. Or the bulge in his own-
"Stiles, shower's free!" his dad yells down the stairs.
"Oh man," Stiles hiccups. "Get out!"
Derek resists when he puts his hands on him to shove him toward the door, not because it's not the most absolutely perfect idea Stiles has ever had up to this point in his life, but just because Derek is apparently not the kind of guy who likes to be forced into anything. Now there’s a surprise!
But he goes, criticizing Stiles the whole twenty feet.
"Hey, I was thinking," Stiles's dad says, over his footsteps down the stairs. "If you can wait on the shower, what do you say to pizza and a movie? You know, to catch up, like old times?"
Stiles just has enough time to slip Derek out the door and trip back over to the sink, before his dad comes strolling into the kitchen, looking fresh and rested.
That probably won’t last long.
Stiles leans back against the sink, nonchalant. Tries to ignore how he’s pretty much standing in a puddle of his own pheromone soup.
His dad just stares at him for a minute, with absolutely no good expression on his face. No expression at all, even. In fact, all the positive that the shower did drains away, and he almost starts sagging right in front of Stiles's eyes. Yep, not long at all. World record of two seconds. Stiles kind of feels bad about it.
No, really bad. He probably just shaved ten years off his dad's life.
His own, too.
"Awe, hell, Stiles..." his dad mutters. "I wasn't serious about taking a bath in the sink."
"You weren't?" Stiles pushes off the counter slowly, grimacing at how his shoes squeak, his clothes dripping.
With a heavy does of humility, he does up his zipper. "...My bad."
RATING: light R
LENGTH: 2200+
ORIGINAL POST DATE: 08-20-11
DISCLAIMER: don't own anything related to TW.
SUMMARY: Mr. Argent spills some wolf sex pheromones on Stiles, and Derek reacts. (fill for this prompt)
WARNING: some level of dub-con
NOTES: the lovely heard_the_owl did a podfic of this, over on AO3.
"You won't believe what happened today!" Stiles bowls into his room, slinging his book bag off into the side of the bed with a crack. "Allison's dad came into Chem class to talk about the makeup of certain animal sex phero-" he swallows back his voice at the face Derek makes, this ugly, pained grimace. Come to think of it, that's nothing new. He shakes his head to reset what he was doing, and practically runs over into his dresser to grab out a new shirt. "Pheromones. Good thing Scott skipped, right? Mr. Argent kept giving me these weird looks, and then he-"
Derek takes a sharp breath, like he's trying not to breathe at all. "Spilled some on you?"
"Yeah, uh, I'm going as fast as I can. Here, here," he unfurls the clean shirt and almost rips off the two he's got on. "Figured they were wolf pheromones because he's that kind of dick. Awkward since you're here, right? That's...so awkward. Anyway, look, good as new." He does a ta-da move. "And then these shirts," he holds up the ones he was wearing, balled as tightly as possible in his hands, "these're history, good as gone. Right now." He runs over to the window and sends the shirts flying as soon as he's got it slammed open. They sail out and catch in one of the treetops, way too high to climb up to later, if he doesn't want to die trying.
"There," he wheezes, melting over the window sill, crouched down on his jittery legs. "There, gone. Bye...awesome shirts that I really liked."
Better them than him, anyway.
"Stiles," Derek grunts behind him.
"Yeah? What?" He flips over, leaning back into the wall, suddenly really wiped and ready for bed. Could sleep right here and now-
He jolts when Derek comes over and kicks him hard in the thigh.
"Ow, what the hell!"
"That wasn't enough. It's on your skin," Derek scowls down at him. "Get up and go take a shower right now, or I'm going to do something we'll both regret. I can't even- think straight already. Go. Just go! Now!"
There's no time for a smart remark, just Stiles spooking out from under him, tripping over onto his hands and knees as he goes for the door. He crawls out into the hall and nearly mows down his dad in the rush.
"Stiles!"
He looks up and sees his father's familiar, angry-tired frown, like he's fed up with Stiles's shenanigans again. "What the hell are you doing on the floor like that? Get up, son, get up..."
"Hey...Dad. What's up? When'd you get home?" He gets up awkwardly, faking a stretch so he can pull his door shut. "Feel that burn."
"What were you doing on the floor? Do I even want to know?"
"I was just...for lacrosse. It's a way to," he makes a face, "you know, help with flexibility?"
"...Flexibility?"
"Yeah. Good ol' flexibility." He nods. That was believable enough. "Well, I've been working up a sweat in there. I'm just going to go take a sho-"
Before he can get very far, his dad hoists him back by the collar. "Oh no you're not."
"Wh…I'm not?"
"I finally get the afternoon off, and I haven't showered in three days."
"Well, I didn't want to say anything, but-"
His father gives him a look.
"Like daisies, Dad, you smell like daisies. Mmm...daisies."
"Uh-huh." He turns Stiles back toward his door. No, not the door. This isn’t going how he planned at all. "You can wait until I'm done. I won't be long."
Is this the time to panic? Werewolf hopped up on extreme Viagra in his bedroom, him about to be date for said werewolf? Yeah, panic would be pretty appropriate right now. "But, Dad, you don't- no, I mean, I just, I really, really-"
"If you're that determined, the kitchen sink's calling your name, kiddo." His dad gives him a soldierly pat on the back and starts for the bathroom. "I don't want any trouble for the next twenty minutes, you hear me?"
Stiles salutes sarcastically. "No trouble, next twenty minutes. Got it."
Right before his dad can disappear into the bathroom, he considers whether getting down and begging would have better results. Could he still get away with throwing a tantrum? Would his dad feel bad if he cried? Or just give him up for adoption?
He wilts back into his door, "Crapppp."
All of a sudden, it falls away behind him, and he goes stumbling backward into his room, arms out like crappy propellers to catch on whatever comes first. It's Derek, of course it is, his chest brick solid and warm against Stiles's back, arms latching onto him in some octopus hug.
"Okay, okay, Derek, whoa-" Stiles tries to pull away from him, but Derek holds firm, pressing even closer up against him. And that would be his- oh god! Stiles cringes. He feels Derek's nose burying into his neck, breathing him in, and a shiver runs down his spine. "Oh my god- Derek, Derek, wake up! You just can't rub-"
Derek opens his mouth against Stiles's neck, and the first lick of his tongue has Stiles convulsing in shock, his legs giving out underneath him. All his thought goes out the window, and he can't even focus for a second, before he realizes too late that Derek is herding him around into the wall, cuffing his hands over Stiles's arms to keep him still. He gets his mouth back on Stiles's throat, so slick and hot, sucking at his adam's apple every time it moves.
"Derek," Stiles spasms again, panting when Derek bucks his crotch into his thigh, like he knows what he wants and is going to get it.
Funny, devirginalization was not on the calendar for today.
"Okay, oh my god. Can you even hear-"
Derek growls low in his throat and lets go of him, only so that he can start pushing Stiles's shirt up his stomach, clearly intent.
"Whoa, whoa, chief!" Stiles hisses, jerking against him, trying to push the shirt back down as fast as Derek gets it up. "No, we can't do that, Derek-"
Derek just growls again, and goes for his belt instead. He catches Stiles's mouth in a kiss, which turns off Stiles's brain function for a solid eternity, makes his fingers weak to stop Derek pulling his buckle loose. And really, Stiles just lets Derek kiss him, gets caught up in the way Derek's lips are wet and sloppy and feverish, the rough swipe of his tongue demanding, until Stiles just opens up for him to come inside and have whatever the hell he wants.
The sound of his zipper being pulled open makes Stiles start, and he jerks his head, getting free of Derek's greedy mouth. "Ohhh, damn," he croaks, and Derek fists fingers in the waistband of his boxers and yanks their crotches together, starts thrusting the bump of his cock against Stiles's.
Stiles bites a moan into the heel of his hand, and then slaps his arm out to feel along the wall for the doorframe. He can't- they can't- oh god, can they? "Derek, Derek-" Is he whining? "My dad, is, like, right there-"
He finds the edge of the doorway just as Derek slides his hands around to cup his ass, making him jump; his dick jumps, too. Holy damn, self-discovery.
Derek moves in to have his mouth again, but Stiles somehow gathers the will to shove him off, powerfully enough that Derek goes stumbling backward into his bed.
Not a good image right now. Derek. On his bed. Cheeks and mouth red. Suddenly, all Stiles's body is saying to him is any time now! Look at that! Just look at that present! A gift from God!
A gift from God that could eat him.
Derek looks around for a second like he doesn't know what just happened, and Stiles thinks maybe that's all it'll take to snap him out of it. But then he gets these startling blue eyes on Stiles, all sexed up against the wall, and seems to remember what he was doing.
And cue the running.
Stiles only just gets out into the hall before Derek is up and chasing him. He takes the stairs two at a time, the railing shaking as he barrels down them. It feels like Derek is just one inch behind him, could pounce him down the rest of the steps any second. There's no way he's going to be able to outrun him, and he's not sure if he even really wants to, why he's running away at all. But he cuts into the kitchen anyway, going for the sink.
If he could move like this in lacrosse practice!
What a stupid thought right now!
Derek slams into him from behind, and he can hardly breathe to grab the sink sprayer out of its holster. But he gets it eventually and aims it right at his own face, shutting his eyes as he slaps the faucet on and pulls the trigger, sputtering water out of his mouth.
Derek is frantic behind him, hopped up even more from the chase probably, grabbing all over him, making low, mindless noises in his ear and just going to town against his ass. He ruts Stiles into the cabinet in intense, experienced thrusts, and Stiles is really thankful for the water to take his mind off the fact that he could- he jerks, shudders against the cabinet - yeah, he could probably come like this. With his clothes still on, in his own kitchen, where his father eats. Sobering thought. What a virgin thing to do. Isn’t even real sex. He paws the faucet colder and twists around enough to jam it in Derek's face too, hoping it'll bring him back before any of that can happen. He really doesn't want to have to deal with even more reality right now. It’s enough that goddamn Derek Hale is rubbing one off on him.
"Derek, haa-" he gasps, "Derek, damn. Come on!"
It happens suddenly, and right when he’s about to give up. One second Derek is humping him, and then the next, his eyes are wide open and he really does look like he has no idea what's going on, this time. Like someone slapped him awake.
Save that idea for later.
He doesn't back off Stiles right away, but he sneers, putting a hand up to shield his face from the spray. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing! Turn the water off!"
"Right." Stiles drags. "Right-!" He lets the sprayer go banging back into its holster as he lurches for the faucet.
Derek pitches back a few steps, giving Stiles some room to turn around. He runs a hand over his face, aimlessly wrings some of the water from his shirt, still coming back into his head the rest of the way. Something about him feels embarrassed, to Stiles. The way he won't look him directly in the eye, or something. The fact that he's still blushing. That he isn’t insulting Stiles about whatever, for once. It’s a nice change of pace.
But the awkward silence is pretty unbearable.
Stiles can't really come up with anything to say either, though he really wishes he could right now. You'd think there'd be tons of good jokes in a situation like this, and yet…he’s got nothing. He needs a sports commentator for these moments, someone to call plays, say a nice pity ’ouch!’ when he fumbles the ball.
Or…the balls?
He just scratches the back of his head and tries to look at anything but the bulge in Derek's pants. Or the bulge in his own-
"Stiles, shower's free!" his dad yells down the stairs.
"Oh man," Stiles hiccups. "Get out!"
Derek resists when he puts his hands on him to shove him toward the door, not because it's not the most absolutely perfect idea Stiles has ever had up to this point in his life, but just because Derek is apparently not the kind of guy who likes to be forced into anything. Now there’s a surprise!
But he goes, criticizing Stiles the whole twenty feet.
"Hey, I was thinking," Stiles's dad says, over his footsteps down the stairs. "If you can wait on the shower, what do you say to pizza and a movie? You know, to catch up, like old times?"
Stiles just has enough time to slip Derek out the door and trip back over to the sink, before his dad comes strolling into the kitchen, looking fresh and rested.
That probably won’t last long.
Stiles leans back against the sink, nonchalant. Tries to ignore how he’s pretty much standing in a puddle of his own pheromone soup.
His dad just stares at him for a minute, with absolutely no good expression on his face. No expression at all, even. In fact, all the positive that the shower did drains away, and he almost starts sagging right in front of Stiles's eyes. Yep, not long at all. World record of two seconds. Stiles kind of feels bad about it.
No, really bad. He probably just shaved ten years off his dad's life.
His own, too.
"Awe, hell, Stiles..." his dad mutters. "I wasn't serious about taking a bath in the sink."
"You weren't?" Stiles pushes off the counter slowly, grimacing at how his shoes squeak, his clothes dripping.
With a heavy does of humility, he does up his zipper. "...My bad."