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Lydia had told Stiles he wouldn't even get to order a drink before Derek would be all up on him, and Stiles had laughed at her in disbelief, saying she was delusional.
Now, she smirks at him and nudges her elbow incessantly into Stiles' side as they both watch Derek look up from the bar to settle his gaze on Stiles, so satisfied that even as a human he thinks he can smell it.
He's holding some fruity concoction that's pink and glittering and it looks so odd in his hands, doesn't fit in with the image he presents in his dark t-shirt, muscles barely contained in the sleeves, tattoos a dark blur on his arms and neck. Without taking his eyes off of Stiles, Derek hands the drink over to the girl, who seems a bit miffed by not getting his attention, but all of Derek's focus seems to be on Stiles - more specifically, what he's wearing.
Stiles isn't even sure where Lydia found the black crop top with the words Little Red Riding Hood printed in bright, blood red across the chest - it's so tight that if Stiles had boobs, he's sure it would actually burst, but instead it just peaks a bit where the nubs of his nipples have gone hard from the chilly air. The top is paired with matching red converse, black booty shorts that leave a third of each ass cheek hanging out and of course, the signature red cape. He's carrying a little basket that has nothing in it just to bring the whole look together, and really, he shouldn't be surprised that Derek literally leaps over the bar top to get to him.
With a wink and a wave, Lydia saunters away to where he can see Cora and Erica dancing, the three of them dressed like the sexiest Powerpuff Girls he's ever seen. 15 year old Stiles would have a conniption if future Stiles told him that their display doesn't do anything for him; now it's rippling muscles, biceps the size of Canada and a dick that's even bigger that gets him going.
Derek reaches him, mouth set in a firm line like he's going to reprimand Stiles for something, but it never comes. Instead, his nostrils flare as he inhales sharply and then his eyes flash red for the briefest second, likely smelling the lube on Stiles.
There's a beat, both of them staring at one another, and then Derek is grabbing his upper arm in his big hand, bodily dragging him through the crowd and into the back.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Derek asks, growls more like, as he shoves Stiles into his office, the door slamming shut behind him. "You walk in here looking like this, smelling wet with lube, when you know I have to fucking work because it's fucking Halloween. Are you insane?" The words are quite harsh, but Stiles can see Derek isn't really that mad, is actually very pleased by Stiles' display tonight.
They haven't seen each other in two weeks, Stiles so busy with finals that he'd basically banished Derek from visiting because he's too distracting. The time apart has made him desperate at this point, so desperate that he couldn't wait at Derek's apartment for his shift to finish, but instead enlisted Lydia's help in getting him ready for Halloween so he could turn up at Derek's bar and seduce him.
"I missed you," Stiles says, all coy and demure, as if Derek can't see through his bullshit like glass. Regardless, his eyes soften a bit and he reaches out, paws at Stiles' cape so he can get his hands on Stiles' hips and pull him flush against him, backing them both up to the edge of his desk.
"Baby," he says, soft and sweet and just dripping with want. "God, look at you. Every wolf in there turned to you when you walked in. They reeked of arousal," he scoffs, eyes rolling a bit like he can't believe the stupidity of some people. "As if they'd even have a chance of fucking you."
"Didn't notice," Stiles mumbles, hands going to Derek's biceps and squeezing a bit. Everything about Derek is attractive, but Stiles could write odes about his arms, the tattoos on them, the sheer fucking size of them. Derek's eyes are glued to his shirt, where his nipples are still pebbled, so Stiles smirks and pulls his cape open more so his chest sticks out, lets Derek get his fill of the text. "Besides," he starts, barely containing his need to laugh, "I only have eyes for one big bad wolf."
Derek clearly has a thing for Stiles in this costume because he doesn't even roll his eyes at the dumb joke. Between one second and the next, Stiles is bent over the desk and his shorts and panties - red to match his outfit - are pulled down. The lube he'd used to open himself up before he came makes everything feel cold and tingly, and Derek zeroes in on it like an eagle finding his prey. He pushes two thick fingers in, finding no resistance at all.
"My slut," Derek croons, chuckling a bit like he can't believe it. "Coming in here completely dripping, knowing everyone would smell it."
"Der, please." Stiles begs this and is rewarded with a heavy slap to his ass cheek. The fingers in him jolt at the sudden movement and Stiles actually cries out a bit when they brush across his prostate. It's been two weeks since he last came and the wait has been nothing but torture.
"You wanna come? So hungry for my cock that you came in here already open, isn't that right baby?" Another slap.
Stiles doesn't even hesitate to nod, too desperate to try and hide it. Derek coos at him in response and begins fucking three of his fingers in and out, just the way Sties likes it. He bends down behind Stiles to latch his mouth onto Stiles' ass, teeth digging in in a way that will definitely leave indents for a few hours.
Everything blurs for a few minutes then, Derek's fingers fucking him, his other hand alternating slaps on his cheeks that hurt so fucking good, whispering things that Stiles can't even concentrate on and biting at his ass and thighs. Stiles comes hard and fast, without any warning, just shooting over papers on Derek's desk with a sob. He hopes they weren't that important.
"There we go, baby," Derek murmurs, removing his fingers and patting at Stiles' stinging ass as he comes down from his orgasm. "So pretty and red now, just like you wanted." Stiles nods again, because yes, this is what he wanted.
There's the sound of Derek roughly jerking himself behind him, little grunts escaping under his breath, and Stiles wants to turn around and see him but it's over before he can even push himself off of Derek's desk.
Warm come splashes over Stiles' cheeks and still exposed hole and Derek immediately rubs it in, massaging it into his skin like it'll seep through by sheer force of will. Stiles wants to complain, but Derek will hear the lie in it anyway. Besides, he knows there's about 50 other supernaturals out there behind Derek's office door and Stiles is thrilled knowing they'll be able to smell this on him, smell that Derek owns him.
Derek pulls his shorts and underwear up for him, adjusting them around his hips and then spins him around so he can press against him, chest to chest.
"I missed you," Stiles repeats, completely sincere this time. He leans forward to tuck his head under Derek's chin, nose brushing against his collarbones.
"You're the one who sexiled me," Derek tells him, but at Stiles' bite against his pec he clears his throat and adds, "I missed you too, baby. Of course I missed you."
"I know, Erica sent me pictures of you moping while staring at that calendar." Stiles jerks his head to the aforementioned calendar on Derek's wall; today's date is circled in red sharpie with a little heart on it.
Derek huffs this huge breath like his biggest secret just got found out and grumbles Erica's name like she's the bane of his existence. Stiles grins and burrows impossibly closer, happy and content to be back in Derek's arms where he belongs.