Work Text:
Whenever he’d thought about it (and let’s face it, he’d thought about it a lot), Stiles had always imagined that his first time with Derek would be something kind of, well, romantic. Sexy, hell yes, but romantic. He’d expected lingering kisses and tender caresses. He’d expected mutual undressing and a lot of staring (mostly on his part) at each other’s naked bodies. He’d expected (when he’d let himself really got lost in it, because hey, fantasy here) declarations of love, or at least of strong like. He’d expected a bed, at the very least.
He hadn’t expected to end up against a wall with Derek sucking on his neck while simultaneously unbuckling his jeans. Not that he’d minded; hell, he’d been the one to tear (literally tear, he’s pretty sure he’ll get a look about it later) Derek’s shirt off while trying to get him naked as fast as humanly possible. He’d also been the one to break the clinch long enough to grab the condom and lube he’d been keeping on him for just such a purpose and push them both into Derek’s hand. Derek had paused, blinking those fucking gorgeous eyes at him, and whispered, “Now? Here?”
Come to think of it, he’d also been the one to push Derek back against the wall and pant, “Yes, here.”
Okay, so maybe it’s not all Derek. But in Stiles’s defense, he’s barely eighteen (and legal now, thanks) and Derek is fucking hot, and also started it by undoing Stiles’s damn jeans in the first place. So really, they’re both to blame here. But damn if it doesn’t matter, not when Derek’s mouthing at the back of his neck and rubbing his erection against the curve of Stiles’s ass. Stiles can barely stay on his feet, he’s so turned on, but the bed is a good ten feet away (way too fucking far) and there’s no way in hell he’s moving from this spot, especially not when Derek breathes out his name and slides two well-lubed fingers inside of him.
“This is your fault,” Stiles gasps.
Derek snorts and kisses the side of his throat. “You asked for it,” he points out, growling a little, and Stiles hadn’t thought it was possible for his dick to get any harder, but it proves him wrong. He whines a little, pushing back onto Derek’s fingers, and Derek nips at his skin and pulls them out.
“Hey!” Stiles starts to protest, but then Derek replaces his fingers with his dick, and Stiles closes his mouth so fast his teeth click together.
Derek takes it slow, far slower than Stiles would like, but it’s worth it when Derek’s cock is finally inside of him, hot and thick, and so much fucking better than his own fingers (or Derek’s, even, though he definitely liked those quite a bit) ever will be. Stiles holds perfectly still, trying to adjust, because as good as this feels it’s still different, still new, and he wants to enjoy this, dammit.
“Tell me when you’re ready,” Derek murmurs. He presses his face against the back of Stiles’s neck again, rubbing his stubble onto Stiles’s skin, sending little shocks of electricity zipping through him. Stiles closes his eyes, breathing Derek in (god, the smell of him, all sweat and and musk and spice), feeling the warmth of him against his back, the breadth of him inside of him, the press of his fingers against Stiles’s hips.
“I’m ready,” he says, and Derek kisses his shoulder, gently, sending a shiver down Stiles’s spine.
Then he moves, thrusting in deep and pulling back out, and oh god, Stiles had known first times never went how you thought they would but he hadn’t thought it would be like this. It feels like Derek’s cock is splitting him open and then putting him back together again, and he knows he’s crying out but he’s not sure if he’s saying anything or just babbling out nonsense, because it’s just that good. His legs are wobbling; his skin is on fire; and then Derek pauses mid-stroke, panting against Stiles’s sweat-slicked shoulders. “Stiles? Are you—”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Stiles gasps back. “God, Derek, don’t stop, it’s freaking amazing, it’s oh god—” Whatever he was about to say is lost as Derek starts thrusting again, a little slower now but deeper, harder, and Stiles reaches out and braces his hand on the nearest surface before his legs give out completely. He thinks it’s the wall, but there’s a distinct possibility it’s actually the ceiling. He has no idea what or where anything is that’s not Derek anymore. Nothing matters but Derek, the heat and scent and hardness of him.
He clutches at his own thigh, gasping in time to the rhythm Derek’s pounding through him. His own dick’s bobbing in front of him, straining, but he can’t make himself move either hand to do anything about it. It’s too good, too much, and all he can do is let himself be swept along. “Oh yeah,” he manages to get out, turning his head and seeking out Derek behind him, to kiss him or just see the look on his face, he doesn’t know. He just wants.
Derek growls in response, biting at the skin on both shoulders, his fingers pressing more tightly against Stiles’s hips. He’s slowed down even more, for some reason, but it’s even better like that; Stiles can feel every inch of him, every stroke sending shocks through him. He gasps out Derek’s name, his voice shaking, and is rewarded with Derek’s mouth dragging across his cheek. Stiles is vaguely aware that it hurts to twist his head like that, but then Derek’s bruising his mouth against his and he literally could not care less.
His hand slides down the wall (ceiling?) as he arches his back, whimpering into Derek’s mouth. Derek bites at his lips, pulling him back tight against his chest and sliding one hand down from his hip to grip Stiles’s neglected cock. Stiles breaks the kiss to keen out something that’s supposed to be Derek’s name but sounds more like, “Ddddnggnnnng!” He’s torn between grinding back on Derek’s cock (which, holy shit, is making him see lights now it feels so fucking good) and thrusting into Derek’s hand (which is huge and hot and so fucking perfect), but luckily Derek makes the choice for him, thrusting into him at the same time he strokes down toward the base of Stiles’s cock.
“Like it?” Derek growls.
“Nnnnnnnng!” Stiles says again, hoping he’s making it clear just how much he fucking approves, and Derek laughs in his ear and does it again. And again, and again, and there’s no way Stiles is going to survive this. He’s literally shaking, his body wound so tight he feels like he’s going to explode.
“Stiles,” Derek rasps against the shell of his ear, “Stiles,” and it’s that, the sound of that voice saying his name like that, all rough and growling and utterly blissed out, that sends him over the edge.
Stiles falls back against Derek’s chest as he comes, his cock pumping out streams over Derek’s fist. He wants to say Derek’s name again, shout it even, sing it to the skies, but for pretty much the first time in his life he’s speechless. Not just speechless; it’s so intense he can’t even breathe, let alone talk. All he can do is hold on.
Derek strokes him through it, growling in his ear, and it should seriously be illegal how ridiculously freaking hot he is. Stiles is light-headed by the time he finally starts to come down, and he sucks in a shaking breath, then another. His body’s still buzzing with pleasure, Derek’s hand still eking out little shocks of it, though it’s starting to get uncomfortable. Too much stimulation or something, but Stiles wouldn’t dream of asking Derek to stop, not when he can feel that Derek’s still hard inside of him.
He closes his eyes when he feels Derek’s other hand, the one that had been holding him around the waist, touch his face, so gently that Stiles’s heart skips a beat. “Stiles,” Derek repeats, softly, and Stiles turns his head and kisses Derek’s fingers.
“Keep going,” he whispers.
Derek presses his cheek against Stiles’s for a moment, then wraps his arm tight around Stiles’s chest and holds him close as he picks up the pace again. His thrusts are shallower now, almost erratic, and Stiles rides it out, enjoying it in a weird way, even though he’s pretty much spent at this point. Derek’s breathing is shifting too, coming in shorter and shorter gasps, and he’s growling almost steadily under his breath. He’s shaking too, Stiles realizes in a haze of wonderment. Derek, freaking Derek Hale, is shaking. Because of him.
He turns his head, just enough to nuzzle his face into the crook between Derek’s neck and shoulder, and bites him.
Derek comes with a shout, his whole body going rigid. It’s a little like being trapped in a vise, and Stiles’s feet actually come up off the ground when Derek staggers back to slam up against the wall, but Stiles loves every single freaking second of it. I did that, he thinks, or possibly says out loud, if Derek’s sudden huff of laughter is any indication.
“Idiot,” he says, the affection in his voice so obvious Stiles’s eyes suddenly prick with tears. As soon as Derek’s set him back down again, he turns, hissing as Derek’s now-limp cock slides out of him, and lifts trembling hands to frame Derek’s face.
“That was,” Stiles says, pausing as he tries to figure out just how to describe what just happened. Awesome and amazing and spectacular and even earth-shattering don’t seem to quite cover it, and seeing Derek’s face and the smile still lingering on it, the sheer openness of the way he’s looking at Stiles right now, makes words utterly fail him anyway. So he kisses him instead, kisses his lips and then along his jaw, kisses down his neck until his lips are pressed over the pulse still pounding in Derek’s throat. He rubs his face there, his eyes closed, breathing Derek in. Telling him that this is it with actions, not words, because even though words have always been his specialty, some things are beyond them.
Derek’s arms go around him again, and then suddenly Stiles is back in them, his feet dangling as Derek carries him the few steps over to the bed. He lays Stiles down on it and then climbs over him, caging Stiles between his limbs, and very deliberately leans down to touch his own teeth to Stiles’s neck before rubbing his face against it, the stubble scraping along Stiles’s skin and making him gasp. Stiles reaches up, winding his arms around Derek’s neck, and okay, so maybe this wasn’t making sweet sweet love on a bed of rose petals, but it’s still, in its own way, pretty goddamn romantic.
“That was,” Stiles says again, his heart aching.
“It was,” Derek agrees, and kisses him.