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Stiles is kind of kidding about needing to get sexed right now but also not because, hey, he likes breathing. He likes being alive. He likes being the Velma of the group, but with better hair now.
(And maybe their adventures aren’t so much hijinks as they are Scott and Co. trying desperately to not get their throats ripped out by mean grandpas and steroid-laced Alpha packs, along with whatever else the Universe has decided in all its wisdom to throw at the unsuspecting townsfolk of Beacon Hills, but. It’s interesting, to say the least.)
So. Stiles says he needs to have sex, and it’s a testament to his whole sad existence that not one guy on the team seems even slightly surprised about his blessed purity and possible chastity belt.
And Danny’s right there, offering it up. At first - okay, at first, Stiles is honestly touched - haha, he’d be touched, too, if Danny meant it - because not everyone offers their sort-of-sometimes-friend sexual favors.
Anyway. Danny was just teasing, and Stiles feigns being wounded, but then - but then he thinks about it the whole next period, right? He has a whole free period to think about it and - Danny is smart. Like, really smart. He's athletic, and healthy, and has a decent amount of stamina. He plays an instrument, which means he's good with his fingers. Stiles is not sure how helpful that will be but it seems like a lot.
He also - Scott once said he smells really nice, so. There’s that. And, y'know, he's just - Danny is objectively a very attractive human being. Anyone would agree to that.
If Stiles sorta-overly-subjectively thinks his abs probably feel really great when they're sweaty and trembling well. That can't be helped.
The only thing now is to actually go through with it. Stiles is not sure how one walks up to another person in the middle of a school day and says I’d like to take you up on that offer for sex please - like, what? Danny is Julia Roberts or something. Stiles can’t straight up proposition him, he has to be smooth, move in like a - a thing, that moves smoothly.
Maybe he can phrase it like a joke -
Dude have you heard the one about the gangly lacrosse player who has never really given anyone but Lydia enough thought to formulate a concrete sexuality at this point beyond "I don't want to die" but hey he and Scott kissed each other when they were five before they knew kissing was a Thing and that was sweet and a little sticky but that’s because they were eating caramel apples and -
No. Way too wordy.
Shit, Stiles means to be cool about it. He really does. But like - here's the thing:
Stiles is not cool.
And not in that high school lowest on the totem pole kind of way, he's just awkward and flailing and he opens his mouth and words literally never stop coming out of it; he's hyperactive and he's geeky and he bumps into people too and ah, that's great, just, just great -
"Fancy meeting you here," Stiles’ laugh is stilted and he immediately wants to run away and ask Scott please for the love of God superglue his foot to the ground so it can't get stuck in his mouth.
"Stiles."
"Uh." There's a stain on Danny's shirt. Looks like soda; there's a half empty bottle of Coke in Danny's hand and oh, Jesus Christ, "hey, sorry, dude."
Danny wipes the excess off until the rest just bleeds through the fabric and Stiles is pretty sure Jackson is the one who taught him how to make those ridiculously indifferent faces.
“Stiles," Danny says again, slow, like Stiles has a concussion. Or like he's a wild animal. Stiles is definitely not the second but he did hit his head on his locker pretty hard this morning so who knows. "You're in my way."
"At least it didn't get on your jeans!" Stiles says in response, because he is smooth and cool like ice, and Danny’s forehead wrinkles before he starts off down the hallway.
"What the hell are you talking about Stiles?"
"You know.” Stiles checks his watch. He has a whole fifty-five minutes to do this. “'Cause soda is wet."
"...Wow."
"It would've looked like you peed. Which you didn't. Obviously." Danny pushes open the doors to the school. "Do you think anyone's ever deliberately spilled liquid on themselves to hide an actual accident and what if I agreed to the you having sex with me thing?"
Danny slows his steps right at the bottom of the stairs, and then halts and turns on heel.
"Stiles?"
"Yes."
"You are the weirdest person I know.”
“Thank you.”
“And,” Danny shrugs, “I'm game if you are."
“What - seriously,” Danny’s already heading towards his car and Stiles follows and pushes at his shoulder. “Just like that? No questions?”
“I mean, I was joking,” Danny tells him, and then gives him a once-over and lifts his shoulders again. “But there are worse things to do on a Wednesday night. I have a Calc assignment due Friday that I’m not looking forward to, so.”
Stiles resists the urge to fist pump the air. He is officially better than Wednesday night Calculus homework.
“Why are you following me?”
“I’m not, we’re walking in the same direction,” Stiles says, and points to his Jeep parked a few spots down from Danny’s car. Danny lifts a brow.
“Stiles, I didn’t mean now, you dork - I have a free period and you got my shirt wet, I'm coming back to class.”
“Oh, well, no. Not - I’m going to the vet.”
Danny laughs. “Okay."
Stiles adds, “He’s - the vet is a good. Good doctor?”
“I’m sure,” Danny opens his car door, starts to swoop into his seat before he rises again, arm hanging over the frame. “My house? I don’t really want to deflower the sheriff’s son in his own home, it feels strangely wrong and vaguely out of a romance novel.”
“I look nothing like Fabio,” Stiles agrees. “What time?”
Danny scratches his chin and ducks back into his car. “Eight, I guess?” He shoots Stiles a look. “And try not to eat anything weird between now and then, Stilinski.”
“No burritos, got it.”
Danny shuts the door, takes sunglasses down from the visor and puts them on. He starts the car, and over the hum of the engine says, “Have fun getting dewormed at the vet.”
He pulls out of the parking lot and Stiles stares after him for a moment. He’s not going to be a virgin after tonight. This is - this is news. He has to tell someone, but Scott’s in class - Isaac? No. Maybe not Lydia. Or his dad. Even though his dad would probably clap him on the back or something.
A group of kids pass that Stiles vaguely knows are in his gym class and he stumbles towards his Jeep and says, “I’m getting laid tonight.”
“Congratulations,” one of them calls out over their shoulder as Stiles slides into his seat. “Hope you last more than two minutes.”
“Oh.” Stiles freezes halfway to pulling his seatbelt on. “Shit.”
He sags forward, smacks his head against the steering wheel.
It honks.
Of course it does.
*
He texts Danny later, once he’s back from Deaton’s.
(And seriously, Deaton needs to let a little of that cloak-and-dagger shit go, it’s like we get it, you’re a mysterious vet with a wayward past - Stiles honestly doesn’t care, he just wants to help Scott and by extension the pack Scott resolutely does not belong to, because Isaac has this face that makes Stiles want to do nice things and Peter is weirdly charismatic now that he’s not trying to kill everyone. Even Derek is nicer. Derek probably watched a lot of daytime talk shows over the summer what with all the listening before he punches a hole through a wall - except for the time where he listened and then punched a hole through a bank vault wall anyway - if Stiles wasn’t positive that secret werewolf lair’s don’t get cable television access.)
Stiles texts What do I bring??? and then gnaws on his thumbnail for a good five minutes with his laptop balanced on his knees and Google open.
Danny texts back How do you want to do this?
Which is not something Stiles has thought too much about. That’s - he should probably figure that out, right? That seems like a key factor in the whole having sex with a guy thing.
Stiles
Um... can we just figure it out when it comes
Stiles
That wasn’t a pun I swear.
Danny
Okay... I have my own stuff here - but do you want to bring your own condoms too, just in case? ...Your actual size, Stiles. Not the XXL.
Stiles doesn’t have condoms. Or. He has one. His dad gave it to him when he turned fourteen and it’s in Stiles’ wallet and has probably gathered dust sitting there, unused.
Stiles texts Yeah okay if I do that then yes. Okay. Sexually transmitted diseases are shitty I’ve heard. Stiles saw pictures in his freshman health class that have scarred him for life. He reads over the message once it’s sent, frantically types out another:
I’M NOT SAYING YOU HAVE AN STD OH MY GOD I JUST MEAN IN GENERAL
The next response takes longer - Stiles scrolls his trackpad to the search bar, types “gay sex”, but then freaks because wow, his Google SafeSearch is definitely all the way off. This time, he types “first time anal sex” and then the third result down is “How to Do Anal Sex -”
It makes him laugh, because it sounds like - whatever, like he’s baking a souflé. The one above that seems slightly less cringe-inducing, and he’s clicking on the link when Danny’s text comes in:
Dw about the mechanics of it so much, it’s a lot more fun when you’re not overthinking
Hard not to, Stiles thinks, when it’s literally a matter of life or death. Danny is holding Stiles’ actual honest to God life in his hands and he doesn’t even realize it; Stiles feels a surge of affection for him, texts Thanks dude, you’re a good friend :O).
“Oh, what the fuck is that emoticon,” Stiles shakes his phone, immediately regrets his moment of weakness, and resists the urge to throw it out the window.
No problem :) Danny sends back and ha! He uses emoticons too. Stiles knew it. It’ll be good, I promise.
Are you coming on to me?
He exits out of the browser, slides his laptop to his bed and hurries out of his room to the top of the stairs. “Dad! I need money to buy condoms!”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” his dad says, and Stiles isn’t sure if that’s a general exclamation or if his dad is potentially weeping at the thought of Stiles having someone to sleep with.
“I’m leaving a twenty on the table,” his dad says, and Stiles sees the top of his head move towards the front door. “Please don’t get anyone pregnant.”
“Dad,” Stiles laughs and leans over the bannister, “Dad, you are so far from having to worry about that, you don’t even know.”
His dad grumbles out a response, shuts the door behind him, and Stiles hears his patrol car rumble to life as Danny’s final text comes through:
Not yet I’m not ;)
*
Stiles buys a scented candle, and then feels like an idiot when Danny opens the door to his house and buries his head in his hands.
“Stiles -”
“The supermarket was having a sale,” Stiles defends. “It’s vanilla! It smells like - well. Vanilla. It’s for mood lighting.”
“I regret,” Danny pauses and looks up towards the ceiling, “so many things in my life that have led me to this point.”
“I also brought Twizzlers.” He holds up a bag and Danny does look sort of pleased at that as he shuts the door. “I saw you eating them during lunch, figured I’d buy you something as thanks.”
“I think if I accept this that’s like, a transaction?”
“They’re Twizzlers, not a diamond necklace,” Stiles thrusts the package against Danny’s chest and feels a flush crawl up his neck. “Just take them.”
“Thanks,” Danny says, and points to a hallway. “My room’s that way.”
The house is quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the living room. “Is anyone else here? Your parents?”
“Not until eleven,” he smiles at Stiles, a little embarrassed. “They’re on a date.”
“That’s cute,” Stiles says idly, and Danny pushes the door to his room open. Stiles thinks maybe it should have been done with a little more flare - possibly Danny could have played his trumpet and waved a banner around - but all in all, it’s okay. Danny’s room is clean, and not that five minute throw all your shit under the bed clean, but like he actually keeps it that way.
He’s got his Calc book open on the desk, the iPod in the radio dock playing something low that Stiles doesn’t recognize. Danny mutters, “The Weeknd,” when Stiles gives him a questioning look, and then they sort of just. Stand there.
“So.”
Stiles’ fingers feel sweaty around his plastic grocery bag. There’s a smiley face on it. Have a nice day, it says. It’s mocking him.
“So.”
Danny lifts his shoulders, crosses his arms. “Have you really never had sex before?”
“Nope.”
“Never? Have you kissed anyone?”
“Dude,” Stiles sets the bag down carefully on top of Danny’s open Calc book, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. “The whole point is to get it over with, okay?”
He steps closer and pulls a face. “And I’ve kissed people alright.”
“It’s just,” Danny glances at the bed. “Uh, well, you know. Sex is fun and everything -”
“I swear to God if you tell me that it’s better when it’s with someone you love I will steal all your Twizzlers and throw your Calc book out the window.”
Danny’s mouth picks up in the corners and he shakes his head. “No, I mean - whatever a person wants to do, right? But you just seem - you seem like someone who’d want to like, wait. Or at least, fuck someone you like - like like.”
Stiles is too stuck on the word fuck to make fun of Danny for saying like like.
“Look, it’s important, okay? Not,” Stiles swipes a hand over his jaw and sighs. “I just kind of need to do it? And I - I need you to just trust that I can’t tell you why.”
“But you definitely want to do this,” Danny checks.
“Yeah.”
“With me.”
Stiles shrugs, says breezily and with squinted eyes, “I can do worse, you know, I was going to sit in my room watching YouTube videos all night, I guess you’re better than a cat video compilation -”
Danny laughs brightly this time, surprised. “Fair enough.”
He throws the package of Twizzlers on top of Stiles’ plastic bag. “Where do you wanna start?”
Stiles tilts his head. “The bed?”
Danny snorts, and moves towards it. “No, like.” He waves a hand at Stiles. “Where do you wanna start?”
“Oh, I guess - uh. Kissing would be alright?”
“I don’t kiss on the mouth,” Danny deadpans as he sits down on the edge of his bed.
Stiles fake laughs and takes a few careful steps forward. “Hilarious. I’m not nearly grey enough to be Richard Gere in this scenario -”
Danny tugs on his arm and makes him sit.
Stiles curls his hands over the edge of the mattress, looks down at their feet - Danny’s wearing socks, soft cross-country joggers - he smells nice. “Did you take a shower?”
“Yeah.” He looks alarmed suddenly. “Did you?”
“Yes, of course I took a shower - why do you keep assuming I just amble around places like a lost colt -”
“Because you do amble around places like a baby horse.”
Danny’s looking at him, vaguely amused, and Stiles -
“I feel like I’m riding a rollercoaster.”
“Okay,” Danny says carefully, head ducking like he wants to hear the rest:
“It’s like - when your car or whatever is clicking up and up and up the incline and you’re terrified but you can’t regret your decision because the ride’s the funnest part, and you’ll be really proud of yourself for doing it - wait is my sex life a carnival ride? Jarring and over in two minutes. Great.”
“At least it’s not a Tilt-A-Whirl,” Danny says, and Stiles hums in a agreement.
“Tilt-A-Hurl - one time, Scott and I rode a Tilt-A-Whirl ten times in a row and Scott puked blue and pink from all the cotton candy he ate, I think there were even bits of undigested corndog -”
“Stiles, that’s a fun story and all, but I’d rather you not talk about puking when, y’know,” he slides a palm against Stiles’ back, tugs at the cloth of Stiles’ shirt in question.
“Um,” Stiles’ legs are jittery, jumping up and down in an effort to curb his nerves. “Did you know if you Google search ‘first time anal sex’ you get forty-nine million results -”
Danny closes his eyes. “Stiles, do you ever shut up even a little.”
“No,” Stiles says exasperatedly. “I don’t, actually.”
Danny’s hand sneaks under the hem of Stiles shirt and okay. That feels - that feels good. Really good. His skin’s hot and prickly and his mouth is dry when he adds quietly, “Maybe you should make me?”
Danny shakes his head with another amused twitch to his mouth. “Fucking Stilinski.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the poimmf,” the end of his sentence gets drowned out by Danny’s mouth. Which. Is a pretty nice way to shut him up. Why has no one thought of this before? Stiles would gladly take a vow of silence if people were willing to kiss him for extended periods of time.
Danny breaks away, nudges Stiles’ nose with his own. “Now would be a good time to kiss me back.”
“Right,” Stiles says, and his mouth brushes against Danny’s and, yeah, okay that’s sort of hot? “I’ll just - do that. Right now.”
Danny’s smiling when Stiles kisses him, so Stiles mostly gets teeth, but then he tamps it down, gets a hand on the nape of Stiles’ neck to move him where he wants. Stiles scoots closer - they’re still sitting side by side on the edge, and it’s a little awkward, sure, but Stiles just twists his torso, slides a hand to Danny’s cheek and. Okay.
So Stiles hasn’t kissed that many people in his life, but he must be doing something right, because Danny, Danny sighs - this soft, almost inaudible sound - when Stiles curls his tongue out and catches Danny’s and that’s sort of awesome.
Kissing is pretty awesome. Touching bodies is also awesome. This whole situation is awesome. Stiles loves his friends. And this is - this is a good distraction from all the werewolf shit, and all the Stiles-being-Stiles shit -
Danny pulls away, knocks his forehead against Stiles and leans back to look at him. “You got all - unresponsive.”
“I,” Stiles grimaces. “I have a hard time focusing my attention.”
“Hm.” Danny’s fingers drift along Stiles’ forearm; Stiles’ hairs stand on end and he shivers. “You should work on that - don’t want anyone to think you’re not into it.”
“I am, I am very into it. I am so into it I’m out of it. Around it. Through it - please can we just - keep,” Stiles is babbling a bit, and he puts a determined hand on Danny’s chest and pushes down.
Danny’s falls with an oof and a bounce to the mattress, and Stiles raises an eyebrow.
“Sturdy bed. It’ll be good for my acrobatics later on.”
“Stop comparing your sex life to a carnival ride,” Danny’s covering his face again, openly laughing. “Seriously, can we -” he adjusts so he’s lying properly, length-wise, and grabs onto Stiles’ arm. “Go back to the other part, the you not talking part.”
“I love that part,” Stiles says with a nod. His hands press into the mattress and he gives Danny a hesitant look - does he go for it, straddle the guy? Is that weird? Is that even what people do?
“Stiles.”
“No more thinking,” Stiles says, and shifts so his knees are on either side of Danny’s hips. “I swear.”
Danny mutters good, and he’s tugging Stiles back down and kissing him - hard, and Stiles loses himself in it, for awhile, tries to give as good as he gets which, which is a lot, he is getting so much.
Then Danny pushes off the mattress with one hand and Stiles automatically slides down his hips a little. He’s lifting the hem of Stiles’ shirt, and Stiles gets the picture, finally; he pulls it off, miraculously manages to not get his head caught in it, and flings it off the bed. And then, well. It’s Danny’s turn - it’s like strip poker, but without the poker. And a lot more winning, in Stiles’ opinion.
Danny lifts his arms, lets Stiles tug the shirt up and over his head, and when he lies back down with Stiles settling on top of him, legs stretching out from under him so they’re tangled together instead, Stiles has a brief moment where he thinks holy shit am I half-naked on a bed with Danny fucking Mahealani right now what am I doing oh god - but he tells himself to shut up because a) no thinking, he already swore he wouldn’t and b) being half-naked on a bed with Danny fucking Mahealani is doing wonders for Stiles right now, in the future wank bank department.
He gains confidence the longer they lie there, trails his knuckles down Danny’s stomach until they knock against the top of his joggers and, fuck it, Stiles wants to see - Danny’s - well. He’s.
Stiles pulls away, opens his eyes. “Are you hard?”
(He’s almost there, too, it’s just. Different.)
Danny blinks. “Are you serious?”
He sounds breathless. Stiles is pleased at this turn of events. He curls his fingers around Danny’s experimentally, drags his hand up, and Danny’s lungs punch another breath out of him.
“Okay,” Danny says nonsensically, in agreement to nothing, “yeah, okay, get your jeans off.”
Stiles rolls onto his back, shimmies out of his jeans in the least flaily way possible for him, which means he elbows Danny in the ribs approximately thirty thousand times. He poses exagerratedly and gestures to his boxer-briefs - designer brand, a splurge purchase last year, should he ever need fancy underwear to impress someone with.
They have never, ever been used.
Stiles waggles his eyebrows and Danny’s fighting another laugh - this is how Stiles wins people over really, he endears them to death until they have to like him. Stiles tucks up against him - Danny’s on his back, curled in slightly, a hand in Stiles’ hair and Stiles is so glad he decided to grow it out because that means there’s something to pull - Stiles didn’t even know he thing for hair pulling, but.
He only pulls away again to shift down - kiss, a bit tentatively, at the center of Danny’s chest, and then along the dip of a rib, the jut of those stupid I-play-every-sport muscles - Stiles isn’t skin and bones or anything, he’s got a decent body from all the workouts they do, but he doesn’t work on it like the other guys, so where Danny’s broad and cut Stiles is lean and lithe - minus the graceful part, obviously.
He gets to the hem of Danny’s joggers again - and there is the outline of a dick, right there, yep - and he glances at Danny. He’s on his elbows, watching curiously, and Stiles says, “Can I - ?”
Danny chokes out a laugh and thumps back down onto the bed. Stiles takes that as a yes. He strips the joggers and whatever underwear Danny is wearing off in one go - two birds with one stone. (Two balls with one dick? He sucks at metaphors.)
And now there’s a guy, his kind-of-friend, lying in his birthday suit underneath Stiles and he looks - Stiles shakes his head and laughs - he looks like he’s turned on and Stiles has kissed people before, but he’s pretty sure he hasn’t gotten this sort of reaction yet.
Danny still hasn’t said anything - which Stiles appreciates; it’s new, all of it, and he just wants to acclimate first. He’s still not entirely used to touching his own junk out of curiosity, and he’s done that since he was a kid.
“Um,” Stiles licks the palm of his hand, holds Danny by the base of his dick and Danny breathes out hard through his nose. Then, like the asshole Stiles is, he says dryly, “Sorry if this blows.”
Danny laughs - quiet, more of a half-gasp, really. “You dick. No wordplay when you’re about to suck someone off.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Stiles says, and leans down to flick his tongue over the head. Sort of salty. Not - not entirely unpleasant. He could probably get his mouth on that without choking right?
“Oh, God, what if I choke to death,” Stiles says, and Danny is shaking a little.
“Stiles, I want to give you the time you need,” he starts, “but please, do something.”
Stiles doesn’t really know how Danny likes it, so he tightens his grip until Danny makes a satisfied sound in his throat, and he twists his hand up, looms over Danny again - with just enough space to give himself room to jerk him off - and he says, “Okay, the whole dick-in-my-mouth thing - I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.”
“Perf - perfectly fine,” Danny manages. “Do you want me to?”
Stiles hand moves a bit faster, and he sighs defeatedly, “You’re probably really good at it, huh?”
“I’ve never had any complaints.” His hands squeezes along Stiles’ sides, sweep up. “So?”
“Next time?” Stiles offers. “Having a dick in my mouth is somehow more intimate than having it in... another... orifice.”
Danny’s hands still for a brief moment before his blunt fingernails dig into Stiles’ back. “Whatever you want.”
What Stiles wants is to get this over with - not this act, currently, he can keep doing this forever, or at least until Danny comes; he’s squirming, giving little involuntary thrusts and bitten off groans - but the whole being a virgin thing. He could do without that. Preferably sooner rather than later.
Who knows, the Druids could crash into Danny’s house at any moment. Stiles isn’t taking any chances. So. Stiles inhales deep.
“Can I just fuck you?”
Danny makes another sound and shit -
“Or - are you like, whatever, I don’t know, do you prefer -”
“I don’t care; either,” Danny answers, “but probably - we can - you can do that, yeah.”
He’s flustered. “You’re flustered.”
“You have a hand on my dick,” Danny reminds him, and then he’s sliding his hands into Stiles’ designer brand underwear and pushing it down to his thighs. “Take these off, get your stupid grocery bag and turn the iPod up.”
Stiles crawls off the bed, trips over his own underwear. There’s the sound of a drawer opening behind him and Stiles turns the iPod volume up and is digging through the bag and striking up idle conversation like he’s not bare-assed in the middle of Danny’s room because if he keeps talking then he won’t stop and think about what they’re about to do. He tells Danny, “I got more stuff just - I think I was anxious-impulse-buying, you know? I bought a Teen Beat magazine. Wait, shit, oh my God, the cashier probably thinks I’m some weird-ass kid - what are you doing?”
He turns, catches sight of Danny angled up on his knees, a hand hidden behind him and a concentrated expression. It’s a - it’s a pretty damn nice sight, actually. He catches Stiles’ eye and laughs quietly, and shakes his head. “I cannot believe I’m doing this.”
“Ooh,” it clicks when he sees a bottle of lube, and Stiles also realizes that he is, yes, bare-assed and standing in front of Danny’s window and hello, the curtains are wide open. He leans forward to shut them - the room gets five shades darker immediately - and heads back towards the bed. “That’s - uh. Prep... work... right?”
Danny’s jaw is tight. “Yeah. I - did it earlier too, but, y’know.”
“I,” Stiles laughs and folds his leg under him as he sits down. “I don’t. Um. Know.”
“Right,” his voice is strained, and then his hand reappears and he’s wiping it on the side of his bed which - which is sort of gross and messy but sex is sort of gross and messy if you really think about it.
“Stiles?”
Stiles shakes his head to clear it; Danny’s lying there, head tilted, just watching.
“You still wanna?”
“I - yeah.” Stiles moves over until he’s kneeling between Danny’s thighs. “Yes.”
“Dude, seriously, this isn’t - you don’t have to, it’s cool.”
He’s being irritatingly thoughtful.
“Can you just like,” Stiles pinches his thigh. “Stop trying to get me to change my mind? I said yes, okay, that’s me saying yes.”
Danny half-smiles. “Alright then. Just making sure.”
“Thanks,” Stiles says. “What now?”
“It’s - honestly, it’s probably easier if I’m on my knees -”
“That’s too,” Stiles interrupts him and he knows his cheeks are red when he says, “That’s too pizza delivery guy big mustache gay porno for me right now, can we just uh. Like. You, on your back?”
“Sure.” He stays where he is and raises both eyebrows. “You should - condom.”
“Right! Safe sex. Safe sex is great. Everyone should always,” his hands are shaking a little, so Danny gets the package open and then a single packet. “Always, always have safe sex. That’s my motto. That’s not my motto. If I had one, that’d be it. Probably. Maybe not. I’ve never thought about it before -”
“Remember that thing about not talking, Stilinski?” Danny says, but he sounds - he sounds teasing, sort of like an annoyed affection. He rolls the condom onto Stiles, squeezes more lube onto it and strokes him a few times and that - right. Okay. He can do this.
“I can do this,” Stiles says, and Danny nods.
“You can.”
“I’m really sorry if this is painfully short. Just - as a warning.”
Danny snorts and gets his hands on Stiles’ back to pull him in. He kisses Stiles, mumbles against his mouth c’mon and Stiles adjusts his knees further apart, spreads Danny’s legs at the same time. Stiles gets a grip around his thighs and pulls forward, quick, so Danny’s resting a bit up his lap - Danny huffs in surprise and grips the blanket underneath him.
“Interesting,” he notes, and Stiles is a little proud of himself.
Stiles laughs and lines himself up. “I know, right?”
Danny laughs, and then stops and his chest goes still like he’s holding his breath; Stiles inches in slow and tries to stop focus on not saying something completely idiotic.
It’s - it’s wild, how good it feels, and Stiles gets why this is all Scott wanted to do when he and Allison first started going at it because yeah, wow, he can - he can totally do this every day. Every hour. Danny makes another sound and lifts his hips up and Stiles leans forward and he’s - he can’t go any further, his thighs are pushed up against Danny’s. He bends down to kiss Danny, distract him, something because that, that probably hurts, right? Probably.
And Danny’s being really great and Jesus - he palms the back of Stiles’ neck, curls his fingers into Stiles’ hair and licks into his mouth until his body releases the tension he’s holding, bit by bit. He wiggles around, taps Stiles along his side and Stiles figures that’s the go head to - to fuck him and Stiles rocks his hips, slow, still, until Danny opens his eyes. He blinks, nods, and tips his head back against his pillow when Stiles picks up the pace.
He’s glad no one’s home - there’s all these sounds and Stiles feels - feels good, hot, but - unexpectedly and unbelievingly not clumsy. Who knew?
“Normally,” Stiles cuts off a breathy moan, kisses Danny before continuing: “Can’t even walk on my own two feet without,” Danny bites his lip and uhh, “tripping.”
Danny smiles, right up against his mouth. “First,” his hand reaches up to push against the headboard of his bed, “first time for everything.”
First time for everything. Stiles laughs. It sounds smug. But, like. Whatever.
“Alright,” Danny’s laughing, Stiles can feel his chest rumbling, “don’t get cocky.”
Stiles pushes off his chest and smiles; he slows a touch, says, “Oh, I think that’s exactly what I should be doing.”
*
Later, when they’re eating Twizzlers in Danny’s kitchen, clothed and waiting for Danny’s parents to walk in, Danny nudges his shoulder and says, “That wasn’t half bad, Stilinski.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. His cheeks might pink up, too.
“Yeah, reign in that complete and utter shock, Danny.” He stuffs a whole Twizzler in his mouth, and his question comes out muffled: “So - you had fun?”
“A lot better than Calculus,” Danny says dryly.
“Hey,” Stiles lifts his arms in a half-assed shrug. “I vividly recall you moaning incredibly loud at one point. "
“Fuck you,” Danny laughs, and Stiles says, “Maybe next time.”
Danny stops laughing - looks intrigued. “Oh?”
“I mean, I’m not a virgin anymore, I guess, but - uh. Practice makes perfect?”
He pulls a Twizzler apart and glances up; Danny’s leaning against the counter, a thoughtful look on his face. “Sure,” he says eventually, and Stiles lets out the breath he’d been holding. “Why not?”
“Cool.” Stiles points his Twizzler at Danny. “This doesn’t mean I like like you or anything, dude.”
Danny staggers back, a hand over his heart, wide-eyed and hurt. “What? Stiles, I thought - I thought this meant you loved me -”
“Shut up -”
“I guess I’ll have to cancel the wedding invitations.”
“Danny -”
“And return that dress - dammit, Stiles -”
Stiles leans up and kisses him; it’s mostly a loud smack on his lips, a nip to the bottom one. Then he shifts back and shoves the Twizzlers in Danny’s direction.
“That stop talking thing,” Stiles pulls himself up on the counter. “Goes both ways, huh?”
Danny takes a bite of his Twizzler and smiles.
*
It occurs to Stiles when he’s in his room that night that whoever it is who’s copying the Druids has already filled their virginal sacrifice quota. Which means he wasn’t even in danger anymore.
Stiles’ phone beeps with a text, from Scott: Where u been all night??? :( and Stiles grins and texts back, I was at Danny’s house.
What y, Scott’s message says, and then another second later, DUDE R YOU SERIOUS DID U REALLY TAKE HIM UP ON HIS OFFER???? Damn. How was it?
I am a lady Scott, I will not offer up the sordid details of my sex life just because you ask.
Right, so tmrw @ lunch?
Obviously.
Wasn’t in danger, but he did it anyway. Stiles leans back in his computer chair to ponder this, and then decides fuck it, because you know what?
There are worse ways to spend a Wednesday.
He could have done his Geometry homework.