TattooedSiren (tattooedsiren) wrote,
TattooedSiren
tattooedsiren

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under the cover of darkness

Title: under the cover of darkness
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Ship: Derek/Stiles
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Say it with me now ~ me ... don't ... own.
Summary: Scott explained it to him once. Something about pack dynamics and proximity being conducive to better rest and expedited recuperation after a traumatic incident. All Stiles heard was after shit goes down, we have a sleepover.
Authors Notes: A big shout out to all my tumblr peeps who insisted I watch this show in the first place lol. And, as always, much love to smartalli for the beta.



under the cover of darkness


The pack has a tradition that, although Stiles has been aware of it for the last year, he has never felt the need to participate in. Until today.

Scott explained it to him once. Something about pack dynamics and proximity being conducive to better rest and expedited recuperation after a traumatic incident. All Stiles heard was after shit goes down, we have a sleepover.

Stiles isn't one to judge. If the pack sleeping on rollout cots and thin mattresses in the Hale living room means they feel better, then awesome. More power to them. They're his friends - he wants them to be okay. But as the only completely human pack member (he doesn't count Allison with her badass hunter skills) he doesn't need their proximity, and in fact sleeps better in the comfort of his own bed. So when, after the monster encounter of the month is finally over and he watches the pack head to the Hale home, he gets in his Jeep and drives in the complete opposite direction with no amount of envy.

He wouldn't be able to tell you why today is different. Maybe it's because of the way the witch had honed in on him, the way he could feel her magic draining the life-force from his body, his lungs struggling for breath, lightheaded and weak and so fucking terrified. So tonight, he doesn't want to go home. He can't say this of course. Because he is the only human, and already feels so inadequate in contrast to everyone else, and he doesn't want to give them any ammunition for future fights, doesn't want them to cast him aside all in the interests of "protecting him". Because he doesn't need their protection, okay? Fine, they totally saved his ass today, coming to rescue him like the awesome cavalry that they are, but taking into account everything that's happened over the last year he has saved them as much as he has been saved, and even if they forget it he never does.

So he assures everyone when asked that he's fine, ignores Scott's look of concern and Derek's gaze that somehow appears simultaneously stoic and disbelieving. And while the idea of driving home to an empty house hits him like a punch in the gut he doesn't know how to ask if he can come back to Derek's with them. Because, as much as Scott (and to a lesser extent, Erica and Isaac) assure him that he is pack, sometimes he just still feels like an outsider, like he is a mere witness to events outside his control, that he has no power and therefore no say.

Stiles is human, so achingly human, and he has never felt it more than he does right now.

So he watches the convoy of cars drive off and he gets into his Jeep and sits there for a really long time, trying to work up the energy and strength to start the car and drive home. He tells himself to calm the fuck down, to go home and get into bed, but his body is clearly feeling traitorous and instead it drives him to Derek's house.

He mentally curses himself as he gets out of the car and stalks up to the house. This is so fucking stupid. He is not pack, nor is he a twelve year old girl, so crashing the pack's group recuperation (read: slumber party) is completely idiotic and pointless. But that doesn't stop him from walking in the front door anyway.

He kinda expected to find everyone in varying states of pre-bedtime ritual, you know, with Erica making a nest of her bed and Isaac coming out of the bathroom having just brushed his teeth and Lydia mid night time beauty regime and Derek just standing in the corner, glowering at everyone. Either these battles exhaust everyone more than Stiles knew, or he sat in his car much longer than he realized, because when he silently enters the lounge the room it's dark and everyone is already in bed, asleep.

Most of the furniture has been pushed to the edge of the room, leaving space for mattresses and yoga mats and blow up lilo beds and whatever else they can find to sleep on in the small room. He can see Jackson on the couch, arm half flung over the edge. Scott and Allison share a single mattress just before the archway to the kitchen. He can see dark lumps spotting the room which can only be Boyd and Isaac and Erica and Lydia. And right before him, at the entrance to the lounge, is Derek, awake and looking at him.

Being Alpha must have its advantages, because even in the shadows of the room Stiles can see he has the biggest bed situation of everyone: a king single mattress. Derek is just looking at him, single eyebrow raised in question, and Stiles goes to speak, to babble incoherently about not wanting to be alone and crashing the wolf-pack rituals, but any words he may have spoken die when Derek simply shifts slightly in his bed, throwing the cover back.

Stiles is always quick on the uptake, but the fact that he recognizes that Derek is offering to share his bed doesn't make it any less ridiculous.

He briefly scans the room, looking for any other option, but short of fitting in the space big enough only for a small toddler between Lydia and Isaac, this is the only one. So he silently shucks off his shoes and socks, undoes his jeans and kicks those off too, and then he quickly takes off his hoodie, bundling it into a ball he uses as a pillow when he lies down in bed beside Derek.

In bed. Beside Derek. Nope, repeating it to himself multiple times doesn't make it any less surreal.

Despite having the most space of anyone in the room, it's still a small area for one adult werewolf and one not quite an adult legally but more grown up than any seventeen year old should be teenager. Stiles squirms to get comfortable, and even though he can't see it, he can feel Derek's glare.

He tries to go to sleep. Honestly. There is nothing he wants in this moment more than the sweet oblivion of slumber. But he just lies there, wide awake, for hours on end. He knows its equal parts the events of the day (he swears, that witch bitch messed up his insides somehow) and his proximity to a very warm Derek Hale that's keeping him locked out of the land of nod. Even the rhythmically hypnotic breathing of his fellow pack members isn't enough to lull him into sleep. The only upside is that Derek isn't awake with him, so he doesn't have to worry about feeling guilty about preventing Derek's rejuvenation via proximity thing, which, let's face it, is the point of this whole thing anyway.

But then, as if Derek has heard this very thought, Stiles feels a hand resting on his thigh. There is no way it could be mistaken as accidental, because while it isn't painfully hard or aggressive, there is still a deliberate feel to it, a slight pressure, a firm grip, which Stiles thinks is meant to be reassurance.

He would like to say he doesn't go into a panic over this very small touch, but who is he kidding, he is Stiles Stilinski, and he is never far from a flaily reaction to anything unexpected. Thankfully his whole body doesn't spasm or anything embarrassing like that. In fact, the opposite occurs. He goes rigid, every muscle tense and unmoving. That is, every muscle apart from his heart, which is beating so hard Stiles is convinced it's trying to escape his ribcage just to get the fuck away from this bizarre situation.

Stiles doesn't know how to react, but he thinks trying to calm the fuck down would be a good start. Because he figures if he can hear his heartbeat racing then Derek fucking alpha with his stupidly good hearing Hale absolutely can too. When that doesn't work, he thinks about whether he should acknowledge the presence of Derek's hand on his cotton clad thigh in any way, shape or form. The thought of acknowledging it seems really stupid, juvenile even, and what the fuck is he supposed to do – pat his hand in gratitude? Mumble a soft I know I crashed your sleepover and I've never done that before but I'm actually fine (which would be pointless anyway, coz Derek would know he was lying)? He thinks the better option is simply ignoring it, but then it occurs to him that if he doesn't acknowledge it, if he ignores it like it appears he is doing right now, then Derek might remove it. The thought troubles him more than he thought it would, so he slides his hand down from where it's resting on his stomach and covers Derek's hand with his own.

So now he is lying in the dark, holding Derek's hand. Yup. Okay.

His fingers slide between Derek's, and Derek appears to take that as a confession, some kind of consent, because his thumb starts brushing back and forth over his thigh. Stiles has no idea what is happening, why it's happening, where it's going, and that fucking terrifies him.

But not enough to stop.

Derek's hand slowly slides out from under Stiles' and starts travelling. The movement is slow, as if he is seeking permission, giving Stiles enough time to stop him if he wants. And then Stiles realizes where the hand's destination is, and there is no fucking way he is stopping this from happening.

Even so, the feel of Derek slipping his hand beneath his boxers and wrapping around his length is the most surprising thing to have ever happened in his whole life (and this is coming from someone whose best friend was turned into a werewolf and has made first line on several separate occasions and has been kidnapped and beaten and so many other really fucking surprising things). His breath hitches as Derek starts moving, a slow and steady rhythm that feels too incredible for rational thought.

Stiles doesn't think about how this is the first time someone other than himself has had their hand on his cock. He doesn't think about finally losing his virginity after all these years. He doesn't think about the fact that the occasional stray fantasy involving Derek is finally coming true. All he thinks about (and think is probably pushing it) is how fucking good it feels.

Derek increases his pace, and Stiles is a seventeen year old boy who's never been jerked off by anyone but himself, and he is going to come any second now. A low moan escapes the base of his throat and Derek stops, keeps his hand in place but completely still, and Stiles gets it, the stay fucking quiet pounding in his head as loudly as if Derek had yelled it into his ear. He nods, an apology and acknowledgement all in one, and it's at that moment he knows Derek is watching him because he starts moving again.

Stiles bites his lip, whole body stretching and squirming with the utter deliciousness of his building orgasm, and then he comes, mouth open and sucking for breath, his body still as he spills all over his boxers and t-shirt and Derek's hand.

He tries to regain his breath as quietly as possible. His own house has thin walls and his dad's bedroom is next to his so he is well practiced in keeping such activities quiet – but somehow when his orgasm is the result of a second party it's harder to control, to recover. He knows his breath is loud and echoing in the quiet room, that he could wake any of the others up at any moment, and he's trying, really he is.

Derek, however, is clearly impatient for him to move through his post-coital recovery, and he slaps a hand over Stiles' mouth to keep the noise to a minimum. If Derek thought that would help he is clearly mistaken, because it's surprisingly hot, even (especially) after Stiles realizes it's the same hand that just got him off.

But he eventually calms down, regains his breath, and Derek lets him go. They lie there in silence, and Stiles listens for any signs that their nocturnal activities have woken anyone, but the answering stillness indicates that the pack remains undisturbed.

Stiles doesn't know what to do now, all he knows is that if he thought it was hard to get to sleep before then it's going to be fucking impossible now. He feels twitchy and desperate, which was the complete opposite of what he thought he was supposed to feel. What happened to feeling drowsy and sated? Where is that relaxed bliss he has heard so much about?

The penny in his brain drops and he realizes he wants more. Wants Derek. Wants to feel his skin, his mouth, his dick, wants everything and then some. It's a desire that is always there, skirting safely beneath the surface of his subconscious, but Derek's actions have released them into awareness, and more than that, has made Stiles bold enough to think that he can have it. It's not even about the crassness of 'returning the favor' or anything like that, just a pure desire to share something with this man whom he (weirdly) likes and (actually) trusts and just plain wants.

So he pushes his ruined boxers down his hips, uses his feet to shuck them off completely. Derek looks at him then, obviously completely aware of what he is doing. Stiles lets him watch as he gets rid of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it to the foot of the so-called bed.

And then, in one of the boldest moves of his life, Stiles reaches over, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of Derek's boxers before he pulls them down. In the low light of the room he can see Derek with his traditional scowl, but he also lifts his hips to help Stiles divest him of the shorts, so Stiles calls it a win. He carefully slides over, keeps the blanket over them as he slides between Derek's legs, rests in the cradle of his hips, hands braced to the mattress beside Derek's upper arms.

He honestly has no idea what he is doing. It's like some internal instinct has taken over, and he doesn't even have time to think that this might suck or that he might be in the wrong position or that Derek might not be interested or that his inexperience could be shining like a beacon. He is too far gone in the moment for any doubt, all he has is the desire, and it pushes him forward.

He aligns their bodies, then very slowly slides his body forward, rubbing his cock against Derek's. That one movement causes Derek to suck in a sharp intake of breath, and Stiles would admonish him about the noise he made but he is too far gone to care. With a grin he starts moving, back and forth, up and down, slowly at first as he tries to keep a steady rhythm. He can feel himself hardening again (the joys of being a seventeen year old) as he thrusts against Derek, but he doesn't care about getting off, just wants to make Derek fall apart beneath him.

Derek presses his fingertips into his hips as he counters Stiles' thrusts, and the acknowledgement from him makes Stiles want to groan. He doesn't though, already slightly worried that the noise of the rustling blankets and shifting skin will wake everyone up, and settles for pushing in that much harder as he speeds his thrusts.

His arms are starting to bow, bringing his whole body closer to Derek's. His knees dig into the thin mattress and he can feel Derek's tee against his bare chest and their faces are so close they breathe the same air. And then Derek does it, finally does the one thing Stiles wants most of all, leaning up and kissing him.

It's just like Derek: hard, all teeth and tongues, hot and dirty and so fucking insistent. It's hard to keep thrusting when all he wants to do is slide into Derek's mouth, to kiss him until forever, but he keeps moving, feels Derek's thighs press into his as they both get closer. Derek's stubble is scratchy against his skin and, fuck, he so did not expect that to be as much of a turn on as it is. He can feel Derek starting to move even more against him, almost wild with abandon and want, and he knows he is getting close, can feel it in the grip at his thighs and the way the older man presses them together even more.

Derek only stops kissing him when he comes, head hitting the pillow with a thunk as he grips Stiles' hips hard enough to hurt, presumably all he can do to stop himself from crying out. Stiles feels it warm and wet on his stomach, but he doesn't stop moving, the wet stripe making everything that much hotter. Derek's body is limp as he comes down from his orgasm, but when Stiles keeps going he obviously realizes he is about to get off again, so he thrusts his hips in a counteracting movement and that's it, Stiles is done, collapsing boneless onto Derek as he comes.

Stiles feels like he has run a mile, but more than that, finally has that sleepy and sated afterglow he wanted. He has enough presence of mind to roll off Derek back onto his side of the bed, grabbing his t-shirt and wiping himself clean.

He settles back down beneath the covers, turning his head to look at Derek. It all hits him then. He just had sex. For the first time. With Derek friggin Hale. Whom he may also have feelings for. And with whom he did not exchange one word the entire time (and didn’t that just blow every expectation out of the water).

He wants to say something to Derek, is terrified that if this goes unacknowledged he will wake up in the morning to an empty bed and an indifferent Derek who pretends that the whole thing never happened. So he presses his lips to Derek's ear and whispers, "I'm so raiding your closet in the morning."

Okay, so not a great line, but it's 3am and he's just two orgasms mere hours after almost dying at the hands of a comic book cliché witch. What more do you want from him?

Derek chuckles softly, doesn't reply, and suddenly Stiles thinks of that one time Derek was in his bedroom, when he made Derek change shirts, and he wonders if Derek is thinking about that too. Stiles doesn't ask, never finds out, but that's okay, because Derek kisses him, a chaste but lingering kiss, and he finally manages to fall asleep.






......
ETA 15Mar13: Due to popular demand (both at LJ and AO3), I have started working on a sequel. :O) Fingers crossed I can a) get it completely written, and b) write something worthy of you guys.

ETA: Sequel posted. under the glow of a warm morning light
Tags: derek/stiles, other fandom fics, teen wolf
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