My first attempt at writing a Fan Fiction so reviews and constructive criticism is welcome - be kind!
The usual disclaimer crap applies, I do not own Teen Wolf blah blah blah.
Rated M for a reason so if you're not into smut don't go past about Chapter 6!
Hope you enjoy it.
Stiles stumbled down the last two steps of the staircase in his apartment building in the West Village, cursing and trying to grab the bruising toe as he hopped to the door. A beefy blonde with an amused expression smirked as he held the thick wooden door open for Stiles, who looked down, completely embarrassed. He had only lived in the building for a week and all his neighbors already thought there was something wrong with this boy, they had never seen so many accidents - falling down the stairs, tripping over his own feet, walking into walls - Stiles had done them all. Stiles was amazed his dad could afford such a nice building, granted his apartment consisted of a joint living/kitchen area the size of his bedroom back home, and a tiny box room which was completely dominated from wall to wall by the huge double bed Stiles had brought down in his U-Haul, as well as a tiny bathroom that didn't even have a bath, but it was a beautiful building, a converted factory which had been made into large studio apartments before they were cut apart and made into smaller apartments. There were still a few dotted about the building, though.
Running slightly, Stiles quickly made his way down the street, weaving his lithe body in and out of the early morning commuters, a mixture of students - some looking as hurried as he did - typical arty looking West Village types with flowing skirts to match their hair and easels under their arms, and a few business types, impeccably suited from head to toe apart from their running shoes in place of usual smart black shoes. Stiles hardly looked at anyone, all he thought about was being late for class. He was at NYU, his first choice (in the back of his mind he had been having doubts as to whether he would get in, though his dad said he always knew his som would be attending such a good school - Dads had to say that kind of thing) and no way did he want to miss his first day. It was only registration week, were he would get a chance to meet some fellow students and the academics he'd be learning from, but still, it was an important day. What he really wanted was some friends - yeah it had been his choice to move across the country to get away from all the werewolf craziness he had been having back in California, but he missed his best friend, Scott. The last week had been spent practically alone unless you counted the takeout girl from Madame Wongs and the friendly guy behind the counter at his local store, a place where he often went to utilise his fake ID which Jackson, in an uncharacteristic act of kindness, had given him as a going away present.
"Shit sorry." Stiles apologized to the pretty brunette he had bumped into as he - luckily - made the subway. The carriage was overflowing and he found himself with an ancient woman in a floral dress and too much makeup pressed against his back, and his face bumping into the pole he was gripping in front with every jerk of the subway. At the next stop the woman behind him was replaced by a hugely muscled guy, probably in his twenties, and a similar looking guy who was obviously his friend crammed in on the opposite side of the pole Stiles was still clutching. In order to talk to his friend the guy behind Stiles turned around, and due to the tiny space that the hundreds of strangers were crammed into he was pressed almost completely against Stiles' back, his muscular chest touching his back and his crotch grazing against his ass when the train jolted. The guy in front of him was almost as close, mercifully kept at bay by the pole, though it didn't stop Stiles from staring at his strong, square, lightly stubbled jaw, or his high cheekbones and startlingly bright blue eyes. As the two friends laughed with each other, hardly noticing the boy in between them, Stiles felt a familiar stirring in his crotch, enhanced every time the bulge of the Adonis behind him grazed his ass. He was trying his best not to gyrate against the man behind him - he had to remember where he was! He couldn't help but feel self-conscious, the bulge in his jeans was growing quickly, especially when he looked up at the guy in front of him, or more specifically the guys magnificently sculpted chest, which was hardly contained in a tight grey t shirt. Moving his back pack, which had been hanging over his left arm, round to the front to try and hide his arousal resulted in almost taking the guy in front out, who looked down at Stiles and flashed him a forgiving smile. Stiles blushed beet red, pulling the bag quickly round. Now that the guy had noticed him Stiles could feel his eyes glancing down every once in a while, his eyes roaming over Stiles.
"Hey - it's okay about the bag." The guy smiled, cocking his head to the side and trying to catch Stiles attention - who thought he was still talking to his friend. "Hey!?" The guy grabbed Stiles' arm to attract his attention, surreptitiously squeezing Stiles' bicep, which while nowhere near as developed as this gym-hounds were, were quite decent - he did play lacrosse after all.
"Wh- what?" Stiles asked nervously, thankful that his red face had cooled down - this blush could probably pass off as heat from the stifling carriage.
"The bag, don't worry. You don't have to look so embarrassed." He said, flashing a huge smile at him as he spoke. Stiles returned with his own half smile, looking into the mans eyes - he could hardly look away, this guy was the first real 'hot' guy he had been close to in New York. Sure the city was full of beautiful people, but it was full of a lot of ugly people too, seemed Stiles had only seen the latter, until now.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. It's just hot in here and I'm kind of in a tight spot." Stiles motioned to the huge guy behind him, who was now engaged in a conversation with an anorexic blonde, and to the guy himself.
"Yeah I know what you mean," he laughed, "I hate these trains sometimes, but every once in a while you get stuck next to someone cute." As the train jolted at the next station the guy was thrown off balance a little, and while he could have easily recovered, he leaned over with his left arm and wrapped it around Stiles' waist, as if to steady himself. Slightly startled, Stiles waited a beat for the arm to withdraw - when he found himself on four beats before the arm was back at the guys side he knew he wasn't imagining things.
"I've only been on once, this is my first week in the city, for school." Stiles explained, warming up to the guy now he knew his intentions, or at least he thought he knew them.
"Oh nice, I've been here about three years now. Best city in the world." He smiled another dazzling smile, the perfectly capped teeth gleaming. "You're gonna love it, do you know many people here?" He laughed as Stiles was knocked to the side by a stumbling passenger who looked almost as mortified as Stiles has earlier.
"No one." Stiles responded as he straightened himself up. "Hopefully I'll meet some people at school, registration week, you know."
"Oh shit I hate that week. Listen," the guy craned his neck as a voice ran through the train, stating the next stop, "if you don't have plans," he grabbed Stiles' hand without a trace of embarrassment, pulling a sharpie from his pocket, "call me later and meet up with us. Me and Carl -" he motioned to the wandering crotch behind Stiles "-and a few other friends are going out. You should come." His timing was perfect, as he wrote his last digit with a flourish the doors opened and he pushed through the press to the station awaiting him, flashing a last smile at Stiles as the doors closed.
Stiles was still flushed as he excited Spring St. Station, partly from the almost unbearable other worldly heat down there, and partly from the excitement of the guy from the tube. His number was written boldly across Stiles' hand and a little way up his arm, and looking at it made Stiles grin like an idiot. He had a ways to walk until he got to campus, but he didn't mind, he got to see more of New York and think about what tonight would be like, a New York night out! He prayed that his fake ID would get him served at wherever the hell they were going. Walking casually down the street (now that he had made his subway and wouldn't be late) he found himself thinking that New York was looking up after all. He had found the first week hard; being friendless in such a huge city wasn't exactly fun. Luckily he had been more than busy with all the unpacking, the purchasing of new stuff for his tiny apartment, and the nights of drinking and singing loudly in a drunk stupor before passing out and repeating the next day. He hadn't had time to actually see the city, so just walking down the streets on his way to school made him smile, jeez he was glad he hadn't missed that train.
"Fuck! I'm so sorry, that's the third time I've had an accident today." Stiles fumbled around on the floor, grabbing the scattered books he had knocked out of their owners arms when he had walked straight into her in his absent minded daze. As he reached for the last one he realized it was actually a pamphlet, a pamphlet for NYU.
"Watch where you're going asshole!" The girl shouted. Realizing it was an accident she calmed a little, smiling as she watched Stiles pick up her books.
"Here you go," he deposited the books into her open arms, "oh and this." He added the pamphlet from his other hand to the pile. "So your at NYU?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm just heading there now, I need the air though, I was just on the worst subway." The two of them continued their walk down the street.
"Really? I think I might have been on there too, I was crammed in the middle of everyone." He didn't mention the fact that in the end he was rather glad he had been crammed in, it gave him a chance to meet that guy.
"Oh yeah? I hate the subway but I grew up with it." Flicking a strand of stray brown - almost black - hair out of her eyes, she scanned the street before walking across, Stiles still at her side. "Are you going to NYU?"
"Yeah, kind of nervous though, registration week and all. I grew up where I practically knew everyone, I always had my friends for a new day of school."
"Oh you'll get used to it, I grew up here and my parents must have sent me to fifteen schools all over the city. I'm Emily by the way."
"Stiles." He responded as they exchanged an awkward handshake. The conversation lulled for a second, almost becoming an awkward pause, before Stiles went into one of his rambling modes and began regaling her with his week so far, the new apartment, getting furniture, the convenience store, the singing. As the two reached the building where - coincidentally - they had their welcome meeting together, Stiles found himself once again beaming, today was so right.
Standing by the doors of an almost equally packed subway as the one he rode this morning, having just said goodbye to Emily, who had turned out to be the only person he had really gotten to know during the day and whose number was now stored in his phone, Stiles found his eyes dropping. the day had been exciting - well, some of it - but most of the registration had just been bullshit welcome meetings and endless talks about rules and regulations. He hadn't expected much, but he had expected more than he got. The day had been tiring though, walking from building to building, trying to get his bearings, and he was in need of a nap and something to eat.
Entering his building with a ready meal under his arm Stiles headed up the stairs to the sixth floor. There was an elevator, but it was in the north entrance, when it was quicker for him to use the south entrance which was closer to his subway stop and convenience store. A little out of breath by the time he reached the door, Stiles flopped onto the huge brown leather chair in the corner of the room that his dad had gave him, kicking off his shoes and dragging his socks over his feet, followed by his jeans and t shirt, dumping them all in the center of the room. The apartment was stiflingly hot, and he mentally thanked his dad again for insisting on checking out if the apartment had air conditioning. Hopping over to the kitchen, turning the air con onto medium on the way, he stabbed a few holes in the ready meal before throwing it into the microwave for three minutes. Plugging his iPod into the speaker he started a little dance around the room as he headed to the bathroom. The bathroom was a nice room - it was just small, all cream tiles covering the walls and floor, with low lights on the walls and brighter lights on the ceiling which he never turned on. Idly he wondered what it would be like to have sex with the muscle guy from the train in that shower, which was rammed up between two tiled walls, with a glass door separating it from the rest of the room. Shaking those thoughts from his head - saving them for later - he relieved himself and headed back to his ready meal. He stood by the window to eat, looking down at the shifting spots as people went about their day, he smiled to himself at the thought of how many of them had drinks planned with a beefy guy from the train who they had just met, he didn't guess high. As thoughts of the guy came back in an atmosphere where he wasn't imagining their bodies pressed together in a shower he went over to where his backpack was dumped on the floor and fished out his phone from the mess inside, putting his meal down on the arm of his one and only chair as he typed the numbers in.
"Hello?" The deep voice rang through the reciever, and Stiles almost hung up - he hadn't been nervous, but he definitely was now.
"Yeah hi, it's Stiles." Dead silence greeted him from the other side. "You know, from this morning, on the train?" He pulled the phone from his ear to check the guy hadn't hung up.
"Ohh, right yeah. How are you?" Relief washed over Stiles, he had thought the guy might have forgotten who he was, or given him the wrong number as some kind of joke.
"Yeah fine thanks, just seeing whats happening tonight, do you still want me to come for drinks?" Embarrasment washed over Stiles for a second, worrying that the guy had forgotten about inviting him; worrying that he might say he didn't want Stiles to come with him and his friends after all.
"Yeah definitely." The relief coursed through him. "We're meeting at this bar called Thirty Three at about 8, I'll send you the address, now that I have your number." Stiles could sense a smile on the other end of the phone.
"Okay, thanks, see you later." Stiles hung up before they reached that awkward repetition of bye between each other before one of them hung up. It was only three o'clock, so he headed to his bedroom, which was separated from the living room by a set of double, pane glass doors, which he always left open. Deciding on something better than sleep Stiles moved to the window and pulled across the thin white drape, it was almost transparent from this side, but he knew no one on the other side could see.
Laying himself down on the bed he removed his last item on clothing and stretched out, fully naked. Grabbing his growing length he closed his eyes and imaged all the things he could get up to with the guy. Jeez, the things he could do to him. As he fantasized about the guy, unbidden thoughts of a more familiar face came into his head, and the face of the guy turned to that of Derek Hale; a somewhat friend back in Beacon Hills. With a huge smile on his face, Stiles returned to the fantasy.
Four hours later Stiles began to stir from his perfect nap, not because he was ready to get up, merely because nature was calling. Stumbling naked to the bathroom - not a long walk - while rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Stiles looked in the mirror after he emptied his bladder and found himself coated in dried cum, some of it had reached as far as his chest, and a huge blob of the crusted white substance was spattered across his left nipple. With a glance to the digital clock between the two windows in the living room Stiles realized he only had an hour to get ready and get to the bar, so he quickly jumped in the shower, scrubbing himself and making sure all the dried cum was off, washing his crew cut hair with soap seen as he'd forgotten to buy shampoo. Looking down at his dick he was tempted to jerk off again - a shower fantasy with the guy from the subway, no... with Derek, would be good, but he knew he didn't have time; peering through the open bathroom door to the living room he could see it was already twenty past seven, he still didn't know where he was going, hopefully when he checked his phone he would see a text from the guy.
After a quick towel dry he headed into the living room naked, picking up his phone from its position; dumped on the chair.
'Hey, we're meeting at 7:45 now, but we're gonna be there till about 9, so come anytime, just make sure its before then. Your phone has GPS right?' Stiles clicked the link embedded into his phone and was taken to Google Maps, which pinpointed the bar, just a few blocks from his apartment. Tripping over his bean bag and landing on all fours with a curse, Stiles headed back to his bedroom, rubbing his grazed knees as he went. He hadn't done any laundry all week - he wasn't used to his dad not doing it for him, so he slipped on the jeans he had been wearing for the past three days but decided not to wear any of the dirty underwear which was piled by his bed, going commando seemed a cleaner option. By the time he found a clean t shirt - plain black - in one of the kitchen cupboards (he had unpacked a few things when drunk...) it was seven forty. A quick spritz of his deodorant and a transfer of his phone, wallet (which he made sure had his ID in) and keys brought him to seven fifty; he didn't know how on earth it had taken ten minutes.
Forgoing his usual half-run so he wasn't flushed when he arrived at the bar Stiles set off down the street in the humid half night. His street had quietened down, though it was still pretty busy with late shift workers returning home, or people headed for a night out like he was. Fishing his phone out of his jeans pocket he decided to text Emily and see if she wanted to join, the air seemed to have given him some clarity about this guy and about how awkward the night would be if these friends he was meeting didn't even like him.
'Meeting some people at Thirty Three, wanna come?' He typed, adding the Google map before sending. The humidity would have been as opressive as it was this morning were it not for the huge streets of shade from the low sun, its top half just peeking over the horizon, and Stiles found himself happy he was in the city, and happy with how his time here was going in general. He missed his house, his dads food, his dad himself, his best friend Scott, his school, but one thing he didn't miss was all the supernatural shit they had been dealing with. He needed to get away from all that, to a new city filled with well, not exactly normal people but close enough, and a new set of friends who weren't fucking wolves. He did miss one wolf in particular, the wolf, Derek. The memory of his jerk off session brought a smile to Stiles lips and a slight twinge in his jeans, he was going to have to keep that under control tonight, without any underwear to obscure his cock it would become noticeable very quickly.
Three Thirty was a 'trendy' bar in the Meatpacking District - or the West Village, depending on who you talked to, on Hudson Street, it was packed when Stiles sauntered towards it, the doorways and street outside packed with smokers. Squeezing through two girls in leather jackets Stiles emerged from the cloud of smoke into the bar itself, a large space with booths lining the walls and tables and chairs dotted around the bar, which was in the center of the room and tended by two men and two women. Standing there alone Stiles felt self conscious and out of place, his eyes scanning the room for the guy. To stop looking like an idiot stood there craning his neck Stiles headed to the bar for a drink, thankfully he wasn't ID'd, he didn't want the thing taken off him, and he turned around to scan the room again as the barman prepared him a vodka and coke - he asked for beer, but apparently they didn't sell anything in a bottle. It wasn't really his kind of bar, it had more of a club feel to it, but Stiles didn't mind as long as he got a look at those muscles again. Across the room, on the other side of the bar, Stiles noticed his type. He could only see the bottom of his face, one of the shelves loaded with bottles was blocking the top, but he had a look of Derek to him, with the slight stubble on his cheeks, the lips set in a permanent line, the prominent cheekbones and hard jaw. Before he could get a chance to adjust position to get a look at the guy he felt a tap on his shoulders, and forgot all about his type as he came face to face with the guy.
"Hey glad you made it, even if you are a bit late." The guy smiled, a little awkwardly, before embracing Stiles for just a few seconds more than was necessary. Stiles could have sworn he felt a hand at the top of his ass, but he passed it off as someone brushing past him.
"Come meet my friends?" The guy asked, smiling his huge smile as he grabbed Stiles' shoulder and led him across the room. His friends were squashed together in a dark booth in the corner of the room, no wonder he hadn't seen them.
"This is," he looked at Stiles as if searching for his name, "Stiles." The guy shouted, "that's right isn't it?" he added in an undertone, his lips brushing against Stiles' ear.
"Hi." Stiles said awkwardly, his lips clamping together in a smile that didn't really feel genuine, this didn't seem like his kind of crowd. He had always been friends with athletes, and while the guy still looked sexy in a white t shirt that strained around his biceps, his friends seemed to be decked out in an odd assortment of designer clothes mixed with vintage stuff in a gaudy amalgamation - Emily had warned him about these types as they ate lunch together in Washington Square Park, she had called them 'New Yorker wannabes without a clue' and had been as rude about them as she had been about most people; he had begun to understand why she was thrown out of fourteen schools.
"Squeeze in here." The guy said as he hopped in next to a thin girl with red hair, her eyes obscured by black sunglasses and a red sunhat over her hair.
"I can't fit on." Stiles laughed as he tried to get on next to him, half his body on, the other half threatening to tip him onto the floor.
"Here, I'll help." Pushing Stiles forward a little, the guy wrapped his arm around Stiles' waist, his hand resting below his rib cage, stopping him from dropping off the stool and letting him know he was definitely interested in Stiles. Stiles looked at him and smiled, he had started to think he was just imagining things - he had expected to meet gay guys in New York, it was one of the reasons he came, there weren't many back home, minus Danny - but now he knew this guy was after him.
After a few more vodkas Stiles began to feel a little drunk, and was joining in and laughing with the odd group at the booth, with the guys arm still firmly wrapped around his waist. Taking his glass Stiles downed it in three huge gulps, and, hoping he didn't seem too drunk, turned to the guy and planted his lips on his. For a second it was awkward, the guy hadn't been expecting it - oh he had wanted to, but here? - but after a few seconds he began responding, his lips locking with Stiles, their mouths opening a little, tongues darting out as they explored each other. It wasn't a long kiss, but Stiles couldn't contain his smile as he broke away, especially when he saw the huge smile on the guys face, his white teeth practically blinding Stiles.
Two hours later - they decided not to leave the bar - Stiles stumbled up from his seat for another drink, now totally and completely drunk. His journey to the bar was hazardous, he was accosted by another patron after he slipped and had to grab his chair for support, got lost somewhere between table 6 and 9 and ended up back where he started, and was hit on by a forty year old woman in six inch heels; he gently told her that she really wasn't his type.
"Hello?! Can I get a drink here or what?" Stiles widened his eyes at the barman, who ignored Stiles completely. Flopping his head onto the bar in his irritation Stiles muttered to himself about New York service, not really grasping that the barman didn't want to see this kid even more drunk than he already was. Opening his eyes and glancing around the bar from his position of his head laid on the counter, Stiles could see 'his type' again, in the same place as earlier. The waiter kept taking away his empty bottles, if not he would have been surrounded by at least twenty empty beers; the guy sure knew how to drink. He could only see the lower half of his face, but memories of his Derek fantasy brought thoughts of him back to his head - the guy definitely looked like him, well his jaw did. Lightly stubbled, with strong, defined bones and good teeth. There were many negatives to Stiles' inebriated state, but confidence was one of the perks. Picking up all his energy (he felt more like going to sleep than hitting on a guy, and wouldn't have bothered if he didn't look so Derek like) Stiles picked himself up and moved around the bar, approaching the back of his target.
"Hey listen, can you get me a drink? They won't serve me any more, what am I invisible?" Stiles had to lean in very close because of the music, the smell of the guys new leather jacket and the shampoo he had obviously used earlier today morphed into aphrodisiacs.
"Maybe that's because you're drunk as shit, Stiles." As the guy turned his head to him Stiles did a classic double take, the guy didn't just have a look of Derek to him, it was Derek.
"Derek?!" Stiles mouth practically hit the floor, and a blush covered his cheeks as he realized he was fantasizing about having sex with this guy just a few hours ago, and now he was hitting on him. Derek looked exactly as he remembered, if not better; true it had only been two weeks or so since he last saw him, but it felt more like months.
"Why are you so drunk?" Derek asked as he drained his beer, motioning to the bartender for another, acting as if it was the most normal thing in the world that they just happened to run into each other in a New York bar when Stiles thought Derek was still in California. The signal for another beer turned Stiles on even more, he loved Derek's confidence and authority.
"Shit Derek, I'm just having fun." He pouted, attempting to turn and walk away for dramatic flair, but failing miserably, falling over his own feet and crashing to the floor in a fit of laughter.
"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" Stiles looked up and saw the guy in front of him, trying to help him up while staring at Derek as if it was his fault Stiles fell; which it kind of was in Stiles' twisted mind.
"Come on, I'll help you home." The guy held him up by the waist, looking warily at Derek who was staring back with narrowed eyes, assessing the situation.
"You know I don't even know your name." Stiles laughed as he pawed at the guys face, attempting to run his fingers through his hair.
"Yeah, yeah, come on."
"What about Derek?" Stiles craned his neck, searching for Derek's stool, trying to find him. They were halfway across the bar now and the press was getting thicker with every step. Although drunk, Stiles didn't want to walk off without at least talking to Derek, after all it was a huge chance that they happened to meet here.
"Forget that guy, I thought you liked me?" The guy looked a little hurt, but not enough to stop his ascent up the few stairs to the door.
"No, get off man, I know him from home." Stiles' drunk euphoria was dimming as the minutes passed, especially as he wasn't in control of himself, he could hardly even move in the guys vice-like grip, not to mention the spinning head and the taste of bile in his mouth.
"Get off him, I'll take him." Derek was there in an instant, "unlike you I actually know the guy?"
"I'm goin' with Derek." Stiles' extracted himself from the guys arms, arms that had loosened up as soon as he saw the snarl on Derek's face. He stumbled and fell from one pair of muscular arms to another, though he liked these ones a lot more. Derek hauled him up as if he weighed nothing and marched him out of the bar, leaving the guy with a look of a lost lamb, alone in the middle of the room.
The cool night air made Stiles feel a little better, but he still felt as if he might vomit any second. The perks of Derek carrying him, aside from the obvious infatuation with the man, were that Derek, with his superhuman strength, could haul Stiles around as if he was a child, giving him more energy to focus on not throwing up all over him.
"Where do you live?" Derek asked, stopping at the street corner and realizing he didn't have a clue where to take Stiles. "Stiles?!" His shout jolted Stiles from his state of ambiance - he was so comfortable in Derek's arms.
"Where do you live?" Stiles looked up and down the street, trying to remember how he got here. He knew where he lived, and how to get there, but he just couldn't remember the address or the directions in his state.
"Um - good question..." Stiles kept searching, but the motion of cars and taxis zooming by was making him feel sick. "I dunno." He laughed, resting his head on Derek's shoulder.
"God Stiles." He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Come on, you'll have to stay at my hotel." He set off down the street practically supporting Stiles' full weight, who giggled with every step, his head on Derek's shoulder.