the_deep_magic | FIC: Teen Wolf -- First/Last Times (Reply)

Title: Mating Games Week 1 Challenge: First/Last Times (Director's Cut)
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,250
Disclaimer: not mine
Summary: It’s forbidden fruit – something Stiles has always wanted to touch but has never dared.
A/N: This is the first of six weekly entries for the mating_games pornathon. I'll be posting each one after voting is over and we can de-anon. It's a director's cut because the fics can't be more than 750 words, and as you see, I had to chop off 500 words (I think it was actually 503). So this is the story as it was originally written, which I'll probably post each week, since that 750-word limit is really hard, dude. And yes, I'm just calling it by the challenge name so I don't have to think of a title. ;o)
Son of A/N: At the end of the six weeks, I'll post all my extras and bonus challenge ficlets, but I'm keeping them here for right now.

“Distract him,” Deaton snaps.

“Uh,” Stiles says, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but neither my soothing voice nor my rapier wit have been much help here.”

On the table, Derek growls and thrashes. He’s strapped down with wolfsbane rope, which is cutting long abrasions across his chest and arms, but it won’t hold forever and digging the shrapnel out of his shoulder is a delicate job, particularly when his body keeps trying to heal around it. The hollow point bullet hadn’t been filled with wolfsbane – at least no variant Deaton knew – but whatever was in it is keeping Derek half-feral. He’s fighting it, moments of lucidity breaking through, but they’re becoming fewer.

“Figure something else out,” Deaton grits out slowly, as though Stiles is an idiot, which, how is that fair? He’s the one that stuffed Derek in his Jeep and got him here, and yes, the upholstery is worse for the wear.

Stiles looks down at Derek – whose fangs are dropped, though his face isn’t shifted at the moment – and takes a deep breath. “Okay, big guy, I’m pretty much counting on you not remembering any of this, but here goes…”

He moves to stand behind Derek’s head, safely out of biting range, and digs a hand into Derek’s hair. It’s forbidden fruit – something Stiles has always wanted to touch but has never dared. At the touch, Derek’s whole body arches up, straining the ropes until they creak. Then Stiles starts rubbing his fingers in small, firm circles, and Derek slowly relaxes back to the table.

Deaton swiftly goes back to digging in Derek’s shoulder with the scalpel and tweezers. Derek whines, but Stiles shushes him softly and brings his other hand up to scritch his short fingernails lightly across Derek’s scalp.

Afterwards, Stiles assumes Derek remembers none of it, because he’s completely healed and snarly as ever, but he hasn’t thrown Stiles against a tree or anything, so that’s probably a good sign.

Doesn’t mean Stiles can stop thinking about it, though. How soft Derek’s hair felt under his fingers, even soaked with sweat. The way it drained all the tension from his body. The quiet sound he made when Stiles switched it up and squeezed little bunches of Derek’s hair lightly in his fists. Stiles thinks (completely altruistically) that Derek would be a lot less grouchy if Stiles gave him scalp rubs regularly.

So a few weeks later, when the pack is watching The Avengers in Derek’s loft and Derek’s sitting on the floor in front of Stiles (apparently his soul is too dark and twisted for the actual couch – oh well, more room for Stiles), Stiles quietly lets his hand drop to start stroking through Derek’s hair. It’s got gel or something in it now, so it’s a little stiff under Stiles’ fingers, but he can still press against Derek’s scalp. He can feel Derek slump back against the couch, relaxing under Stiles’ ministrations… until Derek reaches up and bats Stiles’ hand away.

Stiles spends the rest of the movie alternately sulking and wondering if maybe he should try again. He doesn’t, though. Nobody seems to have noticed that first time, and he probably shouldn’t test his luck again.

When the movie’s over, everyone starts filtering out, and Stiles attempts to hasten the filtering. But just as he’s reached the door, he hears Derek call his name. It’s not a growl, but it’s still gruff enough to make everyone freeze right where they’re standing. Derek doesn’t look mad, exactly. Well, no worse than usual. Still, the last thing Stiles wants to acknowledge is what happened during the movie. He’s probably lucky he didn’t get his hand bitten off. “Um, I’m Scott’s ride, so—”

“Isaac can take him,” Derek says, and nobody bothers to point out that Isaac actually lives here; they all just file out like good little ducklings.

When it’s just Stiles and Derek left, Stiles stares pointedly at Derek’s shoes. He doesn’t really feel like he needs to apologize, but Derek’s not exactly a touchy-feely person, so maybe he should—

Before Stiles can even finish the thought, Derek’s feet are moving and Stiles’ back is pressed to the wall. Pressed, not slammed. Stiles’ heart is hammering, but the way Derek’s eyes are searching his face for something Stiles can’t identify, it’s not out of fear. After a moment, Derek’s pressing his lips to Stiles’, and Stiles reaches for the only thing he can think of – the only thing he’s been thinking of all night – Derek’s hair.

The kiss starts out surprisingly gentle, but when Stiles’ fingers clench reflexively, it turns hungry, Derek pushing his thumb against Stiles’ chin until Stiles’ mouth opens under Derek’s.

As suddenly as it started, it stops, and Stiles is left gasping and confused. But then Derek is dropping easily to his knees, working at Stiles’ belt and fly with single-minded focus and it’s a struggle for Stiles just to stay upright.

Derek is clean-shaven for once, and his cheek is surprisingly soft against Stiles’ rapidly hardening cock. When he buries his nose against the curls at Stiles’ groin and inhales deeply, Stiles nearly topples forward. Derek first steadies Stiles’ hips against the wall, then shoots him a remarkably arrogant look for a man on his knees. He very deliberately take Stiles’ hands, one at a time, and places them on his own head.

Oh.

The only warning Stiles gets is “You can pull if you want” before Derek is swallowing him down. Stiles yelps and takes a moment to be thankful for Derek’s permission, because he’s got a thick fistful of Derek’s hair in each hand. Derek groans and sinks deeper onto Stiles’ cock before pulling back with hard, sucking pressure.

When Derek settles into a rhythm, Stiles tries to do the same, alternating rubbing circles over Derek’s scalp with long strokes of his fingernails. Whenever Derek’s tongue finds a particularly good spot – which is often – Stiles tugs urgently at Derek’s hair, just in case Derek can’t hear the increase in volume of Stiles’ helpless babbling. It’s so loud that Stiles doesn’t hear Derek pull down his own zipper, but when Stiles pauses for breath, under the wet, obscene sounds of Derek’s mouth on him, Stiles can hear Derek frantically stroking himself.

Just the thought of it makes Stiles’ legs start to shake. All Derek has to do is sink down once more, twisting his tongue against the underside of Stiles’ cock as he goes, and Stiles is done for. Derek doesn’t seem surprised, though, just swallows him down and keeps sucking until Stiles has to actually pull him off.

Stiles is trying to get his breath back to ask if Derek needs him to do anything other than not collapse on him when Derek’ buries his face against Stiles’ hip and moans hoarsely. He sounds like he’s close, so Stiles urges him on with fingertips pressed to his scalp, raking lines all the way from the short hair at the nape of Derek’s neck up over the crown of his head, again and again until, with a sharp cry, Derek goes rigid against Stiles for a few seconds before practically collapsing himself.

Stiles keeps idly stroking Derek’s hair, giving it a light tug every once in a while until he can form words again. “So, uh, you remember that night at Deaton’s?”

“Yes,” Derek replies, voice gratifyingly rough.

“Then why did you—”

“Just… not in front of the betas.”

Bride of A/N: Felt weird putting this in the header, but this fic actually won first place in my group. So if you voted for me, thanks!

Voting for Week 2 is going on here until next Friday. I haven't read any of them yet, but they have to be based on a Text From Last Night, so I'm anticipating the funny!