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“You’re a wet dream, baby.” Derek murmurs wetly, low and reverent.
The words slur against Stiles’ neck, the wash of his breath is drenched with summer humidity and sex. Derek nips at the thin skin there, nose nudging against the sharp hinge of Stiles’ jaw while he suckles on it until blood pools, purpling it into a mark.
“Got me so hard with your pretty face.”
Stiles feels the pink bloom from his cheeks and rushes down low to the chub in his boxer briefs, already wetting with precome. His hands tighten its hold on Derek’s hips, gravitates him closer until their knees slot within each other.
He’s breathless when the words leak from his mouth, “You’re going to make me come before the drive, Derek.”
Derek smirks, eyes with arousal and tinged with faint amusement. He asks, rhetorically, “We don’t want that, do we?”
One of Derek’s hand that was cupping the back of his nape start to trail a path down the planes of Stiles’ back. The brush of his fingertips, gentle but focused, and the settling of his palm teases heat as they rest at the low of his back. They’re so close to where it aches that it gets his asshole clenching down.
“Is it in?” Derek whispers into a kiss.
He knows it is. Stiles practically gave an active commentary when he was preparing his asshole to get one of his new favourite plugs shoved in.
Instead, Stiles groans into Derek’s mouth as an answer. Derek must be quite content with it, because those teasing hands start to drift down. A faint nudge presses down against the denim seam of his ass that draws a glorifying pressure that curls tension in his balls—making Stiles even more aware of the plug inside him.
“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek grits out, all hoarse and broken syllables. “The noises you make. You’re definitely going to make me crash our ride.”
Stiles keens, hands clutching onto Derek’s arms, fingernails digging half-moons into his skin. “I might come too quickly.” He confesses, let the words get muffled against Derek’s shoulder. “I’m already so wet.”
Derek shudders against him, hips jerking up in a twitch and a hand cupping at Stiles’ ass, reeling him closer. From their close proximity, Stiles can feel the thick outline of Derek’s cock pressing against his thigh. It gives him that edge of assurance for the bite of embarrassment bubbling in his veins.
It’s comforting knowing that Derek’s as turned on from this. That the steady, fluttery throb of Stiles’ asshole making around the plug, getting him so hard up for release, isn’t completely one-sided.
“Love that you get so wet,” Derek whispers hotly against his cheek. “Always dripping for me. Wanna taste you after this.”
“Okay,” Stiles whines, eyes wetting and lips trembling. “Please. Derek, c’mon. Let’s go. Stop teasing, or I really might come before I get on your bike.”
Derek finally pulls away, reluctantly, of course. It’s in the simple gestures. How he releases this petulant huff when drawing away from Stiles, but there’s still a hand curled around Stiles’ wrist, loose but firm. It makes Stiles feel desirable, wanted—lusted for. Derek makes him feel like a porn star, all godly and glorified, regardless if he has pimples on his ass or stretch marks on his back from shooting up too quickly.
The last ten minutes have been spent against Stiles’ front door, mindlessly whispering dirty words and losing themselves in the soft, heated glide of each other tongues. They finally make their way outside to the driveway where Derek parked his bike.
(Well, Stiles waddled, but it’s not like a true suffering.)
Derek’s bike is a pretentious Harley that Cora pimped out with some little pony stickers. Derek hasn’t peeled them off either, argues that it might fuck up the paint. But, Stiles is pretty certain it’s mostly because Derek’s totally weak for his baby sister.
Stiles definitely did tease him about it, especially after Derek drove it over after last New Year’s.
Derek groaned into Stiles’ shoulder, saying it was Charles’ birthday and Christmas present for him. Said it was what he wanted to ride back in the day but didn’t have enough dough—that and he was chasing the skirts of Talia’s. Derek sounded embarrassed, but the way his eyes lit up with happiness when he was talking about it made Stiles’ cold, icy heart warm over.
That, and Stiles patted Derek on the shoulder, laughter bubbling, “Well, at least now you can be the true greaser you’ve set out to be. With your leather jacket to match, too!”
When Stiles didn’t stop mouthing off the similarities Derek and Danny Zuko shared, he got shoved to his knees and was stuck sucking Derek’s dick until his throat was filled with come and weak groans.
It was very effective. Stiles liked it a lot—bossy Derek.
(They’ve talked about it. It’s definitely a kink.)
Derek crowds him against the Harley, breathtaking eyes reflecting the rays of the summer’s sun. “You sure you want to do this, baby? Just say the word, and we don’t need to.” He says, voice worrying with concern. “It’s pretty dangerous, and I don’t want to risk it with you.”
Stiles grins, lips Derek a lazy kiss that separates with a too loud smack. “Is this your way of telling me I’m a sure thing, Hale?”
“You’ve been a sure thing since I asked you out when you were a freshman,” Derek shoots back, a ferocity in his voice. “That’s two years ago. I dig you. Get over it.”
Stiles snorts, returning with a smile, “I dig you too.” He gently pats the seat of Derek’s bike. “Now, are you gonna give me the ride of life? Or, should I just get head back upstairs and fuck my ass sore by myself?” He drawls, batting his eyelashes the way he knows gets Derek all riled up. “May be a chore, but I’m willing to suffer the drawbacks.”
“Drawbacks,” Derek echoes flatly, frowning. “Told you I’m going to get you to come on my bike. And I will.” He growls, ushering Stiles onto the seat, propping his waist while he gets on.
When Stiles is all situated, Derek swings a leg over and snugly settles behind him—chest to back, and kissed bruised lips against Stiles’ ear. “Maybe if you’re being really good, I’ll get you to come twice.”
Stiles hopes the ignition of the engine drowns out the high whining plead he makes.
-
They didn’t talk about this explicitly.
Derek’s still a little shy mouthed when it comes to verbalizing sex stuff. (Well, he’s a filthy dirty talker, but getting all technical about it? Nah.) Stiles is mostly the one that brings up things that he doesn’t mind trying—yeah, he isn’t totally vanilla, chill Lydia. But, he doesn’t push too hard on Derek’s boundaries either because whenever he’s ready, he’ll drop little hints.
He did that with this instead.
Coy, little chit-chat that would probably slip insignificant if Stiles doesn’t have a brain that tears apart conversations, trying to make a puzzle out of it. They’re often off-shouldered remarks too, like:
“Hey, is that a new toy?” Derek had asked and pointed out this purple, glittery ass plug as he rummaged Stiles’ little fun box.
Or the, “You wanna bike down for a movie later?” Just seconds after Derek pistoned his ass all sore and bruised, condom still hot on his cock with lube and spit, tip sagging with come.
Stiles only brought it up when Derek tried to shrug off a, “Do you think it’s okay if we did stuff outside sometimes?” His voice had lowered, emphasis on the ‘stuff’, which got the inner twelve year old in Stiles wagging his eyebrows.
Being Stiles, he persisted.
He asked Derek what kind of stuff would be okay and opened up the discussion. Derek’s ears bit with red, chin ducking and his eyes darted a quick glance over to the Harley propped beside them. It was cute, until Derek mustered the courage to lean into Stiles’ personal space, muttering, “Kind of want to feel you squirm on my bike.”
Stiles’ enthusiastic consent for that has since been filed into top embarrassing moments of his life.
Which brings them here—with Stiles curled small against Derek’s chest, and that wonderful, glitter sparkling ass plug twisted deep in him, moderately buzzing with the Harley’s speed.
The plug is settled at an off-angle of his prostate but it’s still a constant tension in his ass that gets his cock hole blurting out precome. He’s pretty certain his boxer briefs is absolutely disgusting right now and he hopes it doesn’t seep through and onto his jeans. Come stains are just a bitch to get rid of.
“You doing okay, baby?” Derek asks, his nose nudging against the shell of Stiles’ ear. “Does it feel good?”
The bike’s motor isn’t that loud that every bite of Stiles’ words get lost in the thrum of it. He still has to turn his head slightly just so that Derek catches certain syllables. (By syllables, Stiles means some of those filthy, wet moans he lets out that Derek loves.)
“Yeah,” Stiles shudders out a broken exhale, fingers twitching against the narrow console of the Harley. “You should totally try it next time. 10/10 would recommend.”
Derek exhales out a chuckle, darting forward to softly peck against Stiles’ nape. He shifts closer to him, the warmth of his body heat seeping onto Stiles’ skin, making him sweat around his pits and at the low of his back.
“Feel that?” He asks lowly, voice growling with that thick cadence that Stiles has categorized with horny Derek. “I’m so hard for you, baby. I’m actually quite jealous of that plug. I want to be inside you right now.”
“D’rek,” Stiles grunts, the vowels of his name getting lost with the wet, hollow gasp he makes.
He rolls his hips gently, slightly—and maybe because the plug’s been inside him for more than ten minutes now, all he feels is just tight, tight, tight. It moulds to the hot insides of his ass, the flare pressing against all the sensitive areas around his prostate. Meanwhile, the base swallows all of the Harley’s engine power, drawing it to life, imitating the sensitivity of a high powered vibrator.
“We definitely didn’t think this through,” Stiles groans, fingers twitching to grab at Derek’s forearms which are glistening with the sun’s humidity— thick veins that line them are all begging to be teased with tension.
Stiles has a vein kink, sue him.
“It’s vibrating. The bike. The plug. Fuck!”
Derek chokes out his erotic sound that Stiles would be jerking off to for the rest of his life. He doesn’t give a shit if it’s going to cause chafing. His cock would just have to endure it.
“Fuck,” Derek echoes lowly, slurs out another curse. “How does it feel?”
Stiles bites at his bottom lip, considering.
He’s not at the edge, yet. Not really, but the vibrations will definitely get him there soon. It’s pulsing in his clenching asshole, making him feel like he’s in some pseudo heat. It warms him from the low of his balls, travels up to the pebbling tips of his nipples, and gets his cock head tightening with each drool of precome.
“Feels good. Makes me want to sit on your cock.” Stiles blurts, shuffling his hips against to get the tip teasing against his prostate for a quick second. “I want to squirm on it, get you coming deep inside me, and fill me full on your little shit of a bike.”
“Fuck,” Derek spits, all vulgar this time. One of his hands pre-emptively lifts off from the bike handle but then decides against it, knuckles turning white as he tightens around them. “Wanna touch you, Stiles. Wanna fuck you. Shit, we really didn’t think this through.”
“Make me come?” Stiles asks hoarsely, throat getting parched with the combination of his hanging mouth and the wind. “And we’ll go home where you can slide inside me? I’m already all lax and wet for you.”
“God, your mouth,” Derek mutters. Stiles can feel the heating throb of Derek’s cock against the low of his back, insistent and almost prying to fuck its way into Stiles’ plugged up ass through their layers of clothes. “I wanna suck all that come off your briefs, okay? You gotta drench them for me, baby. Would you do that for me?”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Stiles stutters out, then bites off into a hiss.
The bike drives over a stray pebble which got Stiles’ ass to leave the seat for a tiny fraction of a second before it got plunged back down, driving the plug with motion and intensity. He lets out this whine that he’s pretty sure innocent creatures in the preserve must have felt assaulted.
“Shit! That felt really fuckin’ good, Derek.”
“Yeah,” Derek answers, all slow and blood rushed south. He clears his throat, “I know a bumpy road going back to your place. All gravel and sand. Do you think you can come from that?”
Stiles moans into a weak, shaky laugh, “We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”
Derek speeds up right then, making a sharp turn that jostles them momentarily before righting its balance again. Stiles’ heart stutters, adrenaline flooding his arms and toes while his cock fills up with more blood and a slow building urgency.
Derek’s never been a reckless person—never, but fuck if Derek didn’t just make Stiles almost come his pants from just that.
The dirt path Derek mentioned isn’t too far, just a minute drive before aces of forestry gets replaced with a smattering of suburbs and poorly constructed roads. Stiles holds his breath when Derek murmurs against the thin skin behind his ear, “Ready, baby?”
Then, he zips forward, motor burning with volume and intensity that leaves Stiles truly squirming against Derek’s chest, head hanging low while vague sounds get ripped out from his chest.
“Fuck! Derek, fuck!” Stiles cries out.
His bulge looks obscene from this angle—he’s never been a fan of non-nude erection with exception of Derek’s, because right now, his is jutting out against the seam of his jeans, an outline of his cockhead pushing tight against the denim and an evident dark spot around it.
Stiles looks away from his crotch, tries to pay attention to his surrounding instead. He doesn’t want to start thinking about the ways to get the stain off after this—not right now. So, he focuses on the uneven path that Stiles would probably curse a lot of people when he doesn’t have a four incher shoved up his ass.
That, and his poor jeep might suffer trauma from this road.
He also drives his attention to said plug, the pleasure that is kneading in him and this new smugness that is growing in Stiles’ chest, all warm and fond. At how Derek always know just how to get him to block his rocks off in a way that shatters his soul.
Derek breaks his concentration with a, “Don’t muffle your noises, baby. Love your pretty moans. Wanna hear it all the time. Please?”
Yeah, Stiles has been subconsciously holding it at the back of his tongue, so centered on trying to feel every minute pulse in his asshole. The way his prostate is throbbing with the stimulation, swelling with the vibrations, and how his cock is grinding against the precome of his soiling briefs—a soft friction that gives enough pressure against the under head of his cock.
”Oh god. Derek,” Stiles gasps out, a stringy high sound that is all wet with spit. He blabbers, “Please, Derek. I’m going to come. I’m going to fucking come.”
Derek must have been a god in his previous life because he totally does what Stiles asked for and he twists the handle bar which gets the Harley thrumming with a new enforced speed. It makes Stiles jerk forward, hands pushing against the console while his ass lands back onto the seat.
The tip of the plug lands directly beside his prostate—buzzing and fucking that sensitivity until his balls start twist all high and tight into his body, abdomen quivering with sheer need and hips start to undulate, chasing for his release.
Derek bites down on his shoulder when Stiles starts to garble out weak, choked up noises because—that’s it.
His cock goes rigid, at the very precipice of an orgasm that strings his back all tight with tension and a heat the furls at the soles of his feet until it shoots out of his cock hole, all heated white and darkening the already sad spot on his jeans. His asshole flutters and winks with each spurt, Stiles choking out a litany of Derek’s name like a goddamn fucking prayer as his orgasm declines from its high.
A heartbeat later, when the orgasm is slowly leaving his body and Derek’s still wrapped close behind him, drawing these loud, labored breaths that always gets him off during their phone sex conversations. (Well, coupled with the wet sounds the lube makes against his slicked up cock.) It’s so fucking hot that his spent cock gives a weak, undignified twitch in his messy pants.
“Stiles. Baby,” Derek whispers brokenly, kissing his sweaty nape that buzzes against Stiles’ skin. There’s the slow creeping twinge of ache and soreness from the oversensitivity that has his ass screaming to get the plug out—stat. “You’re so good to me. We’ll be home in a minute. I promise. Gonna clean you up.”
“Still want you to fuck me,” Stiles slurs, all come drunk and voice shot with thickness. “You said you’d fuck me full.”
“And I will.” Derek grins wolfishly against his shoulder, hears it in smugness of his words, “I did say that I was going to make you come twice, didn’t I?”
END