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Halfway through Stiles’s summer session Werewolves 101 class, he gets a text message. Which means he has to wait an hour and a half (damn those three hour blocks) before he can check it. Which means he’s almost ready to jump out of his skin, because he hates knowing something is waiting for him to look at but not being able to look at it. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch, somewhere in the back of his skull, and it sucks.
So as soon as the class his over and his students start filtering out of the lecture hall that is way too big for a class this small, he grabs his phone and checks it.
2:43 PM HMMARCW to Stiles Stilinski: want to watch movie at my aptmnt instd? Can cook for you
Trying to smother the smile on his face because are still kids (and they really do look like kids to him, and wow he feels old) in the classroom and he doesn’t want them to catch him grinning at his phone like a lunatic, he texts Derek back.
4:10 PM Stiles Stilinski to HMMARCW: Sounds good. What time?
4:11 PM Stiles Stilinski to HMMARCW: Also sorry had class.
Derek doesn’t respond immediately, which is probably fair given how long Stiles made him wait, but Stiles is already really excited. Because even though they’ve had a couple more dates (though they didn’t get to see the new Marvel movie because when they were going to go Scott freaked the fuck out and Stiles had to go talk him out of breaking up with Kira out of guilt for still being attracted to Allison), he hasn’t been back to Derek’s apartment, and Derek hasn’t been to his.
And it’s not like he doesn’t want Derek in his apartment, but currently his apartment reads somewhere between celebrity stalker and serial killer, and red string connecting to articles about terrorism hanging all over his bed is not really conducive to sexy-times. Which Stiles learned when he brought his last girlfriend over (and she screamed, threw her shoe at his head, grabbed her shoe back from him, and left).
So going to Derek’s apartment is a better option, and it also means more (assuming he’s not reading too much into it, which it’s totally possible he is, because that’s what he does) because Derek’s apartment is his territory, and it takes a lot of trust to invite someone into your territory as a werewolf, which is cool. And also Derek’s bed is super comfortable, which might mean that they do something in the bed.
Like sex.
Stiles wants sex.
He also wants to hang out with Derek and watch a movie with Derek (and now that they won’t be in a theater Stiles can make snarky comments without having people glare at him), and those few times when Derek does talk he’s really witty and clever and Stiles really likes him, and he wants to get him to talk more, and also wants to get him to smile and be happy and oh shit, Stiles really likes him.
After like three dates.
And the thing is that he’s gone down this road before; he falls in love too hard and too fast for people who are ultimately unattainable, and then he pines after them until he finds someone who will settle for him. And this is probably the same situation, but at the same time…
At the same time, Derek is letting him in. Derek is dating him, which is unbelievably bizarre, but maybe it means that he isn’t totally unattainable.
And oh look, his phone is ringing and he’s been ignoring it because he’s been too busy freaking out, and that’s awkward. Stiles scoops it up before it can go to voicemail, putting it up to his ear with a breathless, “Hello?”
“Hi.”
Stiles grins. “Hi. So, you’re finally thinking of letting me into your den of solitude again? You figure I’m not going to pass out the second I get to it?”
A low growl comes through the phone. “Are you trying to make me think of you in my bed?”
“I wasn’t, but that’s a great idea. You want me to start talking about how I want to—hello, Dr. Edwards, I’ll be handing off the classroom in a second.”
The teacher in the doorway (who Stiles had when he was a grad student, and who’s seriously like 85) honest-to-God-or-whoever-else taps her foot at him as he finishes packing up his stuff to Derek snickering in his ear.
Dr. Edwards smiles at him, weirdly white teeth glinting between thin lips. “Talking to your girlfriend, Stiles?”
“Boyfriend, actually.”
Her smile slips, and she pushes into the room and starts taking out her stuff. “That’s lovely.”
“I know. It’s great. Good to see you, Dr. Edwards.” And then he leaves the room, pressing the phone back to his ear.
And it’s silent.
Which is awkward.
“Are you still there?”
There’s a beat. “You called me your boyfriend.”
Oh, shit. “Yeah. I hope that’s not a problem. I mean, I know we haven’t been dating for that long, but, uh—Dr. Edwards is kind of a homophobic bitch, and yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to use you to get back at her, but…yeah.”
There’s another pause, and it’s heavier then. “Did you not mean it?”
“Oh. I mean, I did, if that’s okay.”
His voice comes lower now, that growl back. “I want you under me, in my bed, and to not let you leave.”
Wow. Stiles could get hard just from listening to that voice alone (and he did, and more, that night after their first date). “I’m assuming that means it’s okay.”
“It’s more than okay. Can you come over tonight?”
“I have nothing to grade tonight, so yeah, I’d love to. What time?”
There’s a second’s pause, and then he offers, “Six-thirty?”
“Six-thirty works for me. You want me to bring anything? I make a mean chocolate pudding pie.”
“Chocolate pie would be good.”
Stiles reaches the parking lot and pulls open the door to his car and is about to say goodbye when he realizes something. “Can you text me your address or something? I remembered I don’t actually know where you live, street-wise or, you know, how to get there.”
“I’ll send it to you. And, uh, Stiles?”
Halfway into sticking the key in the ignition, Stiles freezes. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to call you my boyfriend, too. Get home safely.”
More happiness than he expected to feel (he’s had boyfriends before, and girlfriends, but Derek is different, somehow, more) floods through him, and he manages to stammer out, “Yeah. Bye,” through a grin too wide for him to control.
--
Stiles gets to Derek’s house apartment, chocolate pudding pie in hand, at six-twenty-nine, hoping he doesn’t look like too much of a lunatic as he beams at the door that he just knocked on. Because Derek and territory and boyfriend and pie (Stiles loves pie), and this really is a good day.
And then Derek opens the door and Stiles beams at him and he kind of smiles back and then, because Stiles is a moron, he holds out the pie and announces, “Pie.”
A real smile grows across Derek’s face now, and he reaches out and takes the pie, setting it aside somewhere else so he can reach out and wrap his arms around Stiles, and oh, now they’re kissing, this is fantastic, and Stiles surges into it, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck and shoving both of them into the room as he nips at Derek’s bottom lip, and that gets a reaction, a growl starting low in Derek’s throat and vibrating through his chest and against Stiles’s.
They keep kissing, Derek pulling Stiles closer and closer until he’s practically riding his leg, breathless and needy and holy shit that feels good. And then, finally, when Stiles thinks his brain might burst from lack of oxygen, Derek pulls away to smile at him. “Hi.”
Between gasps, Stiles manages, “Hi. Good to see you, too.”
Derek buries his nose in his neck. “You smell like sugar. Jesus. We should go watch a movie before I fuck you against the wall.”
“I have no problems with that.” Especially with Derek’s hands running up under his shirt, hot and a little bit rough. “Absolutely no problem with it.”
But Derek pulls away anyway, even as Stiles clings on, and stupid werewolf strength makes it so there’s no way Stiles can hold him there. “Probably not a great idea, unfortunately.” He pulls his hands off of Stiles to wiggle them in front of him, and the nails are long and pointy. The only part of him that’s turned at the moment. “I’d rather not stab you.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Stiles shrugs, because, honestly, he wouldn’t. “Or I could give you a blow job or something. If you want.”
Derek’s pupils blow up wide, and for a second it looks like he’s going to say yes, but then he shakes his head, taking another step back. “Not right now. And besides, I have food for you, and we have pie.”
--
Stiles ends up on the couch next to Derek, The Avengers playing on the television and Derek’s hand resting on the back of his neck. There’s something possessive about his hand there, somewhere between claiming him and marking him, because there’s so little he needs to elongate his nails and pierce Stiles’s skin with them. And honestly, he’s not sure if he has a problem with that.
He’s always had a bit of a thing for dominance and for dominant guys—and girls, too, hence his thing for Lydia—but he’s really not submissive enough for capital-D Dominants (werewolf or non-werewolf). Werewolves are actually a pretty good compromise to that; they tend towards dominance without expecting total submission. They don’t even want total submission; it’s not interesting or strong enough for them.
And Derek is really good with that, because he seems to know what he wants and isn’t afraid of it—like with the guy sitting at their table—though there has been some weirdness with the whole sex thing. And Stiles has grown out of that feeling that he’s not supposed to want a possessive person; as long as they’re not abusive or an asshole, he can take a bit of possessiveness.
“What are you thinking about?”
Stiles shrugs, because this is honestly kind of embarrassing to say aloud. “Just that I like the idea of, you know, possession.” He reaches back and touches the hand resting on his neck, and Derek lifts his fingers so they can tangle them together. “Which is probably me going too fast, but, well, that’s kind of what I do, so…yeah. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make this weird. But, you know, you asked.”
The hand tightens, then pulls away from his fingers to slide up into his hair (and he really is glad he grew is hair out, because this feels so much better with long hair). “I like that idea, too.”
Stiles hesitates (because hearing that feels fucking fantastic, and he doesn’t want to ruin the glow of the moment, but he also really wants to know) then asks, “Can I know about, you know, the sex thing? Or really the lack of sex thing? I mean, not that I’m complaining, because I’m totally cool with waiting or whatever, but you seem to want sex when we’re not near each other, but then you always stop, and I don’t know if it’s something I’m doing or if it’s just you wanting to wait, and if it’s you wanting to wait then that’s totally fine, I can live on fantasies for an embarrassingly long time, and also we have fantastic phone sex if I may say so myself.”
Derek snorts, leaning over to lick the side of his neck (and that really shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but holy shit, that sends a bolt of sensation through his whole body). “It’s not about waiting. Just don’t want to hurt you.” He shrugs. “Been a long time since I had sex with a human—or anyone.”
“You’re not going to hurt me.” And if he does, just a little, Stiles is kind of okay with that. Not serious injuries, and he was never into blood play or anything like that, but some nails and teeth never bothered him, and it’s not like Derek is an alpha where he could turn Stiles if he isn’t careful enough. “But we can just…do whatever you’re cool with, and hopefully keep having fantastic phone sex until then.”
Something complicated goes across Derek’s face, too fast for Stiles to track in profile. “You sure you’re okay with that?”
“I spent three years pining after a girl I never ended up with. I’m okay with waiting a while to have sex with my boyfriend. As long as I get to show you off occasionally to piss off Dr. Edwards. Do you have any Dr. Edwards in your life? You can show me off to them.” Insecurity strikes him, and he ducks his head down a little so Derek can’t see his face. “If you want to, I mean.”
“I wish, but other than my family you’re basically the only person I talk to. No homophobes in my life, unless you’re hiding something.” Stiles still doesn’t look at him, because it really is hard to throw away that insecurity, and really, someone like Derek doesn’t talk to anyone else? He’s hot and occasionally articulate and…doesn’t talk. Which is kind of fair. But still, really, Stiles is the only person he talks to? “Hey.”
“Hi.”
There’s a pause, and then Stiles is in the air, hands under his thighs moving him until he’s straddling Derek’s legs, and hello lots of dicks touching dicks (or dick touching dick, through jeans, but still, it’s something). And also, wow, not what he was expecting, but there’s a mouth on his and hands up his shirt, and he has his hands halfway up Derek’s, and yeah, this is okay, he doesn’t really need any reassurance, because this is pretty good on its own.