Of Sharing Shirts
M, Derek/Stiles, 3,152 words
warnings: PWP, rough sex
It's cold in Derek's room, even though it's one of the few rooms inside the entire house with four mostly solid walls. The mattress is rough and lumpy under his back, but he's got Derek to pillow himself on and keep warm with, so it's not as bad as it could be.
Stiles likes this part almost as much as the actual fucking. He likes the way it feels to have Derek's fingers tracing patterns into the cooling sweat on his back and the lazy, content expression on Derek's face. Stiles especially likes the part where he gets to touch Derek as much as he wants and he isn't shoved back because they've already been through the needy part of this.
He's free to explore Derek's body with his fingertips, if he wanted. Instead, Stiles settles for pillowing his head on Derek's shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, clinging to him tightly. The threadbare blanket does nothing to chase away the chill, but Derek's body is hot to the touch and Stiles would rather be curled around the werewolf anyway.
"I should be getting home," Stiles mumbles, but he doesn't make any move to get it up. He nuzzles in closer to Derek's side, tucking his face against Derek's skin to hide his smile when Derek's arm wraps around his hip lazily. He's totally shamelessly stealing cuddles because he can, and Derek is just letting him, encouraging him just as quietly. "My dad gets off work soon."
"So go," Derek says, but he doesn't loosen his grip on Stiles any. It's hard to leave him when he's being quiet and pliable and Stiles pretends his heart doesn't ache when he pushes himself up onto and elbow and Derek's face closes off a little. "You're going to be late."
"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "But it's not like my dad isn't used to me gallivanting around town at o'dark-thirty with Scott anyways." He leans forward to kiss the tip of Derek's nose, pushing himself up and away before Derek can bat at him in annoyance, and he laughs when Derek wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Don't get up or anything."
"I hadn't planned on it," Derek huffs out. He stretches languorously, completely unashamed of his nudity, and the pull of his muscles is tantalizing and distracting.
Stiles manages to get his boxers and jeans on, somehow. It's difficult to do when he's trying to stare at Derek without actually staring at him. He's plopping back onto the mattress to pull on his socks when he realizes Derek's shirt is closer than his own, and as soon as he's got his socks on, he's reaching for it and pulling the dark grey tee over his head before he can change his mind.
Derek makes a sound, something low and close to a growl, and Stiles freezes. Derek doesn't say anything though, just shifts his weight and moves closer until he can nuzzle against the back of Stiles' neck. There's something about him, the way his breath is hot and wet on Stiles' skin, that makes the hair on Stiles' arms stand up.
"Can I help you with something?" Stiles asks. He tips his head to the side to encourage a kiss or a bite, but Derek just noses his neck lightly, his stubble scraping enough to make Stiles' breath catch. "Okay," Stiles adds slowly, "did you really have to wait until I was done getting dressed before you decided you wanted to go again?"
"Just go home," Derek says, his voice low and rough, and Stiles really doesn't want to walk away from the voice and the promises it's making, but Derek is already pushing away from him and curling up in the middle of his mattress.
Stiles stares at him for a minute, trying to decide if this makes Derek a cockblock or not. He gives up, snatching his shoes and jacket off the floor, and for once, does what he's told without putting up a fight.
The first thing Stiles does when he gets home is log onto Skype and shoot Scott a message, hoping he shows up. He spends half an hour following links on Wikipedia, bored out of his mind, before he gives up when it becomes obvious Scott isn't going to message him back anytime soon.
His dad doesn't knock, but Stiles' door isn't closed all the way, and he leans against the doorjamb. "You going to go to bed anytime soon, kiddo?"
Stiles startles, nearly tipping back in his seat before he manages to catch himself on the edge of his desk. "I didn't hear you get home," he says, flashing wide eyes at his dad, and as soon as his dad opens his mouth to speak, Stiles continues. "I'll probably go to bed soon. Uh, I know it's a school night and all. I was just waiting to hear from Scott. Sorry."
There's a wry little smile on his father's face, and Stiles flashes him a small one in return. "Don't stay up all night. I'm not writing you a note to excuse you if you oversleep again."
"Eh, I've been forging your signature since I was like twelve anyways," Stiles says, pushing himself away from his desk and twirling in his chair until he faces his father. He tips back in his chair and smiles. "I won't be up all night, I promise."
"That's not reassuring," his dad says. "If I ever hear about you forging my signature – "
"You'll beat me, I know," Stiles replies. "You've told me that like a million times since I got caught doing it in the third grade." He doesn't add that his father won't actually beat him, because they both know he won't. "And I promise you I won't get caught."
"That is definitely not reassuring," his father deadpans. He shakes his head though, sighing heavily. "I want you in bed before midnight. Seriously, kiddo."
Stiles glances over at his clock, taking in the hour and some odd minutes he has left, before nodding his head in agreement. "I can definitely be in bed before midnight."
He's left alone by his father, the door closing after him so Stiles doesn't flood the hall with light and noise, and he spins his chair back to face his desk. There's still no sign from Scott and he gives up on waiting for him. His father brings up a good point about oversleeping so Stiles powers down his laptop and shuts the lid.
Stripping out of his clothes slowly, Stiles leaves a messy trail across his floor as he makes his way over to the light switch to flip it off. He hesitates before taking off Derek's shirt, fingering a tear in the stitching along the hem before deciding to keep it on. It could get cold in his room tonight. It has nothing to do with the fact it's soft against his skin and smells a little bit like Derek.
That's the story Stiles is going with and he's sticking to it.
When Stiles wakes up, it's with the knowledge that he's going to be late for class. He doesn't know how he knows, just that he does. He doesn't have to look at his alarm to know that he's right, but he does anyway so that he can silence the stupid thing.
Grumbling under his breath about his father not bothering to wake him up before he left, Stiles rushes around to take a quick shower and pull on clean clothes. He hesitates when he drops his clothes on the floor, picking Derek's shirt back up and curling his fingers into it tightly.
It's stupid, Stiles tells himself, but he still folds the shirt and places it on top of his bed. If Derek wants the thing back, he can come and take it. It wouldn't be the first time he broke into Stiles' room when he wasn't around, anyway.
With that thought though, Stiles spares a glance at his watch and curses under his breath. He's going to be lucky if he makes it to the school before the first bell at this point, and he wiggles into his sneakers and grabs his bag before running out the front door.
By some sort of luck, Stiles makes it to class before the tardy bell rings and he has to go to the main office to get a pass. He flashes the teacher a cheeky grin who just frowns at him in return, and makes his way over to his desk and collapse in it.
"I thought you were going to skip again," Scott says, looking at Stiles with an amused grin. "How late were you up last night with Derek working on the Alpha thing?"
Stiles has to bite his tongue before he says he was up with Derek pretty late but they definitely weren't working on the Alpha thing, because now is not the right time to admit to his best friend that he's sleeping with Derek. "A little before midnight."
"Nice," Scott says, but his smile is fading. "You and Derek figure anything new out?"
Before Stiles can answer no, the teacher interrupts with a loud "Stilinski! McCall!" and they both melt back into their seats with a guilty expression. "I'll tell you later," Stiles mouths, and Scott nods his head in acceptance.
There's really nothing to tell Scott about the Alpha situation, and Scott spends more time ogling Allison than listening anyways. Stiles doesn't actually feel all that bad about spending the evening naked under Derek. It's not like Scott wasn't thinking about doing the exact same thing with Allison.
Idly, Stiles wonders if Derek will be available for make-outs and sex again tonight, and if he's taken shirt back yet. There are probably more important things to be thinking about, but he's sixteen, and Derek started it anyway.
Derek's shirt is still sitting on Stiles' bed when he gets home, exactly where Stiles left it. Stiles pointedly spends the rest of the afternoon and evening avoiding it, tooling around on the internet and texting his father and Scott to keep himself amused.
Derek doesn't come by, and Stiles gives up on thinking he might when he stands in the middle of the kitchen and eats easy mac by himself, staring out the back window and listening to the neighbors' dog bark at everything. The rest of the evening is spent in the same manner as the first half, Stiles treading through Google for anything that could possibly be of use but finding nothing.
Stiles doesn't bother staying up until midnight again, getting bored around ten and just deciding to call it quits. He strips quietly without even thinking about it until he's just standing in his boxers and he pulls on Derek's shirt again, because he can, because it still smells like him and maybe Stiles is a little bit of a teenage girl, but he likes wearing Derek's shirt.
He lays in the dark for half an hour thinking about Scott, about Chemistry, about the way Derek's stubble feels when it scrapes along his skin, but eventually the lure of sleep takes over and he drifts off without a problem.
It's still dark when Stiles blinks back sleep, but something is different. His room is colder, there's an unnatural dip in the bed, and by the time Stiles is awake enough to realize what those two things mean there's a hand pressed over his lips and he can hear Derek's low murmur of, "it's me."
"Dude, do you have any idea what time it is?" Stiles hisses the second Derek pulls his hand away. He doesn't shove Derek away, even though he probably should, because he doesn't want to. He can feel his cheeks start to flush when Derek tugs off his jacket and starts to do the same to his shirt. "My dad – " Stiles starts.
"Isn't home," Derek replies. He crowds back into Stiles' space, touching two fingers to Stiles' jaw to get him to tip his head back, and he licks a line up Stiles' throat. "Relax."
"Wait, did you just come here for sex?" Stiles asks, and he isn't sure if he should be insulted or kind of thrilled. "Because, I'm probably supposed to tell you I'm not your goddamn booty-call, even if you didn't technically call first, because I have way more self-respect than that – "
Derek nips at Stiles' throat, scraping his teeth lightly before starting to suck. It's as good a shut up, Stiles as any. He keeps working at the mark until he's satisfied it'll stay, pressing his lips against it lightly. "Mine."
"Yours," Stiles agrees, nodding weakly. "Especially if you get to the part where you fuck me, after you showed up in the middle of the night to do it."
"Roll over," Derek says, ignoring Stiles. He backs off so Stiles can obey, tugging off the rest of his clothes quickly and pulling slick and a condom out of his pocket and tossing them next to Stiles onto the bed. He's at Stiles' side in an instant when Stiles moves to tug off his shirt and stops him. "Leave it."
Stiles blinks in confusion up at Derek, but doesn't challenge him. Derek can do whatever he wants to Stiles as long as he gets to the point soon. Stiles shifts impatiently when Derek tugs at the elastic of his boxers, and he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees without being told. He's not disappointed when he hears the snick of the lid from the lube container, and he doesn't have to wait long until he feels one of Derek's fingers pressing against his rim.
Derek doesn't waste any time in stretching Stiles, pressing his fingers deep, twisting and crooking them until Stiles is a shuddering mess underneath him. He doesn't stop until he's sure Stiles is slick enough and he's barely got his fingers out before he's lining up his cock and pressing back in.
Stiles makes a strangled sound, but he pushes back for more anyway. "I think we should probably talk about your addiction," Stiles breathes out, fists clenching in the sheets beneath him as he hangs his head. "Because I don't think we've gone three days – " The rest of his sentence is cut off by a low moan as Derek pulls out and pushes back in a rough shove.
"Are you really complaining?" Derek asks, and Stiles shakes his head, no. He tightens his grip on Stiles' hip, holding him in place while he keeps thrusting into him. "You smell like me," Derek adds with a groan, and Stiles has no idea what that's supposed to mean, but he's not going to complain if it means he's got Derek behind him and fucking him hard.
Derek doubles over Stiles' back, nosing at the back of his neck and laving at the skin there. He starts to nibble lightly, working a trail along the curve of his shoulder until he can find a place to bite. He noses the shirt out of the way before he sinks his teeth in, and Stiles cries out when he feels it.
The next thrust of Derek's hips is hard enough for the headboard to smack against the wall, and a stack of books Stiles has balanced on it falls to the mattress. Stiles laughs, startled and a little hysterical, because he has no idea what his response is supposed to be and Derek just thrusts into him harder, growling about the interruption.
It doesn't take long for Stiles to get off, even without Derek touching him. Not when Derek is trailing bites along his shoulder and slamming into him hard enough he has to brace himself just so he doesn't topple over. He's going to be covered in bruises that he prays to God no one asks about because he really doesn't want to have to explain it, but he loves every minute of it. He comes all over himself, Derek's shirt, his blanket, and he doesn't give a fuck about any of it because Derek is still moving in him and it feels so good.
Derek keeps thrusting, his hips stuttering and going wild, and he comes with a low growl in the back of his throat. He doesn't pull out, opting to rest bodily on top of Stiles, not even moving when Stiles has to drop from his palms to his elbows just to keep them both up. Derek noses at the back of Stiles' neck, licking a bite mark, and he makes a happy sound.
Stiles just grunts and takes the weight, because he supposes it's only fair for Derek to use him as a pillow every once in a while if he gets to use Derek as one. He holds on as long as he can, trying to catch his breath despite being slowly crushed until eventually his elbows give up and he collapses. "You're smothering me," Stiles breathes.
Derek growls lightly but he pulls out of Stiles and pushes away from him. He tugs the condom off and drops it in the trashcan by Stiles' desk – which now he has to remember to empty because he's so not ready to explain this to his dad – before he crawls back onto the bed. He waits for Stiles to roll onto his back, away from the wet spot, and settles in at his side.
"So most people say hello before they fuck their host senseless," Stiles offers, rolling his head to flash a cheeky smile up at Derek. He shudders when he feels Derek's fingers at his throat, and he tugs at his shirt idly as the chill creeps through his veins.
Derek growls softly, and it's more of a response then Stiles thought he would get.
"Your shirt – " Stiles starts, because he feels like he's obligated to say something, even though Derek is the one who told him to keep it on. Which is weird, but Derek had gone all rough sex on his ass and maybe he likes it when Stiles wears it as much as Stiles does, so Stiles isn't going to complain.
"Keep it," Derek replies with a low murmur. He tips Stiles head back until they can brush their lips together in a light kiss, thumbing at the bite mark he left behind gently. "It'll wash out."
"Okay," Stiles says weakly. He tries to push himself up onto an elbow, to reach for his boxers and pull them on because he feels ridiculous lying around half-naked, but Derek's arm wraps around his waist and stops him, tugging him back until Derek can lay flush against his back and nose at the back of his neck. "Derek – " he starts, but he's cut off with a low growl and a later, and Stiles thinks, fuck it, because he doesn't really know what he was objecting to in the first place.