Disclaimer: Do I really need to say it? Teen Wolf isn't mine, which sadly means Stiles and Derek aren't mine either.

Warnings: It's slash, if you haven't picked that up. Swearing. Um, none I can think of besides the obvious.

A/N: Alright, so I don't even know what the fuck this is. I saw somewhere that someone wanted a make-out scene, and I thought "Hey, I haven't tried to write one of those in a while!" and this is what happened. Sorry if it's shit. May be a bit OOC, I don't even know. Also, no beta, all mistakes are mine.


It was one of those things that had been building up for weeks. Stiles was pretty sure he was three seconds away from using the pocket knife keychain on his car keys to stab Derek somewhere, anywhere. Normally, Stiles would feel a little guilty about hoarding serious violent homicidal feelings for another person, but it wasn't as if he wouldn't heal. In fact, it'd be payback for the nasty bruise he had on his arm from where Derek had smacked him.

Stiles, however angry, still had a pretty strong will to live, which was probably the only reason he hadn't already used the little knife to do some damage.

"You listen to me right the fuck now, because I'm only going to say this once!" he shouted instead, aware that probably half his neighbors and their cousins could hear him. Why Derek had confronted him on his front lawn, he would never know. "I need you and your pack of rabid puppies to stop acting like the group of kindergarteners who have the 96 pack of Crayons and help us come up with a goddamn plan!"

Derek growled, and his eyes flashed red. "There doesn't need to be a plan, Stiles, because unless you haven't noticed, my pack and I aren't the ones in danger!"

"But you are! Your pack is made up of geeky teens who don't know the first thing about fighting, and we both know you don't have time to teach them properly!" Stiles shoved at his shoulder without thinking, only to get pushed back with the double awesome of wolf strength. He stumbled backwards for a second before regaining his footing and glaring at Derek. Derek's eyes were bright red, and he knew he could feel it too. This was the bubbling up, the crescendo of the fear, anger, and irritation that always came with being around Derek.

But instead of reaching for the little knife clipped on to his keys, he launched himself at Derek, using his fingers to pull at hair and his legs to wrap around him, tying him to the older man tightly enough that he couldn't be shaken off. Even more surprisingly, instead of choking him, Stiles crushed his mouth against Derek's, all harsh pressure and no finesse.

At first, Derek was frozen, and Stiles hated him more in that moment than he ever had. He tugged at the hair in his hands, dug his feet into Derek's lower back, and bit the werewolf's lip. With another growl, Derek responded in kind, grabbing Stiles' ass and taking control over the kiss, if it could be called that. What had started as dry mouth against dry mouth became nothing but licking and biting and growling and oh god if he stopped, Stiles really was going to kill him.

Derek was everywhere, his hands, his smell, his stupid growl like he was an animal, his hair that really was just as soft as it looked, and his goddamn tongue was going to be the end of Stiles, seriously. That or lack of oxygen. Stiles started to pull away, gasping desperately and realising he sounded like an idiot doing so, but Derek gripped him tighter, shifted the teenager as if he weighed nothing and moved them into a more comfortable position that made Stiles have ideas dirtier than kissing.

"Really. Derek. I have. To. Breathe," Stiles managed in between Derek biting on his lower lip. Or sucking on it. Or running his tongue against his own and making him shiver.

With a quieter growl, Derek pulled away, only to kiss his jaw and then neck. Stiles felt as if his heart was going to pound its way out of his rib cage and onto the grass-

"Oh my god, we're making out in my front lawn. My neighbors can see us and hear us and holy shit my dad is inside." Stiles started to scramble away, shoving at the werewolf, who seemed completely oblivious to Stiles' attempts and put off by the sudden squirming. "Derek, stop, we need-" Derek's teeth scraped across his skin as a warning to Shut up, Stiles or I will rip your throat out with my teeth this time I swear to god. To his horror, he moaned and tightened his fingers that had moved out of Derek's hair and were now clutching his jacket.

Stiles squeaked, in an assuredly manly fashion, when he felt Derek's tongue smooth over the bite and renewed his attempts to get away. "My dad is going to come out here and shoot you and-"

"Stiles," Derek interrupted, his voice gravelly and Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, if Stiles could make a recording of hearing him say his name like that, he'd listen to it on a loop. That would be his ringtone, except not really because getting a hard on every time someone called you would be bad, and plus he didn't want anyone else but him to hear Derek sound like that, even if that thought alone made him a thirteen year old girl. Derek's eyes were back to their usual hazel, although Stiles could tell it was only because of the intense control Derek had on his wolf problem.

"Yeah," he squeaked back. He really needed to work on that.

Derek rested his forehead against the teen's before patting his leg. "You need to let go so I can put you down."

Even though Stiles nodded, his body wasn't cooperating, or at least not as fast as he would have hoped. When he finally stood on his own two feet, he was aware of the fact he still had a hand in Derek's hair, and his other arm had wrapped itself around him again. He met the older man's eyes and tried for a smile, which wasn't returned. "Yeah, okay, I'll just-" He willed his arms to work with him here and took a step back.

Only to be followed by Derek, who seemed very comfortable in his personal space. Stiles felt like his skin was too tight, and his heart pounded in his chest. He wondered if Derek could hear it, if he thought Stiles was just an idiot kid because of it or something. He wanted to break eye contact, to hide his face after that. What had he been thinking, jumping Derek. Actually, what the fuck, where had that even come from.

He was saved from thinking further by Derek's unyielding mouth and quick tongue. Though the kiss wasn't gentle, it wasn't a battle of teeth and will anymore. He could feel Derek's hand on his shoulder, thumb in the dip of his collarbone, spreading warmth against the chill of the night. His own hand was balled up in Derek's stupid black shirt that probably hadn't seen the inside of a washing machine in days or maybe even weeks. He was moving closer to the werewolf as the kiss became more heated. He suddenly needed pressure, heat, something, just more and-

"Stiles, Mrs. Jones just called to tell me you're having sex on the lawn with a-" Stiles had frozen in mortification the moment he had heard his dad's voice. "Oh, um, hello, Derek. Stiles."

Derek pulled away this time (because obviously Stiles' higher brain functions had not only quit but burned every thought besides oh fuck in their wake), and he did so with a small grin that made Stiles' heart beat just as fast as his stupid kiss. "Hello, Sheriff Stilinski," he replied, his eyes not leaving Stiles' and his grin definitely not doing anything good for the fact Stiles had heart problems running in the family. He wondered if it was possible to die from your stomach and other organs having a mosh pit inside you before turning to face the music.

How was this his life.