They'd been dating forever. At least that's what it seemed like. Life was generally pretty calm aside from the kerfuffles with supernatural and/or paranormal entities that happened on-and-off every month. But one thing remained pretty constant: second base.

Derek and Stiles had spent a good deal of time together since what happened in December. Stiles was even proud to announce that Derek was his New Year's kiss—and he announced it a lot. Because, yeah, Stiles liked kissing Derek. Every time they'd go out together he looked forward to the end-of-date kisses. He actually had to initiate most of them since Derek suddenly turned unduly shy like a flower that only bloomed under specific conditions. (But flower analogies were next to dog jokes—that is, off the table—so he kept that to himself.)

In any case, Derek was obviously not good at the dating game. He was romantic—for sure. And actually a pretty decent guy to hang around; his dry sense of humor and subtle expressions grew on Stiles to the point where he could practically read his mind. Except for one thing: why were they stuck on second base.

Second base was awesome—thrilling, chilling, and bittersweet. They had steamy make out sessions every other week. They were, as Stiles recalled, the hottest, most rewarding experiences of his short life. But they were probably the most painful, too.

It'd start out just a simple kiss. Sweet, poignant, and with a promise of something more. And then it would escalate. Hands went places—under shirts, around necks, through hair. They'd pressed close and then tongues would somehow enter the equation. But as soon as any hand—mostly Stiles' hands—went to the belt, Derek would break it off. Or he'd just move a little away, kiss him a few more times, and then send him home.

By the way, he'd gotten a loft. A shitty loft with a gigantic hole in the wall, but a loft nonetheless. And it had furniture, which was only a little bit funny because it meant that Derek walked into a furniture store—and by the looks of it, it was probably Ikea—and that was so damn domestic that Stiles had to chuckle a little every time he saw the pieces.

Most of their steamier make-out sessions happened in aforementioned loft.

So it probably couldn't quite be quantified as second base, but Stiles wasn't going to set himself back to first. He just wanted to know why they hadn't done anything aside from make-out.

It wasn't because he was underage. Because he'd turned eighteen two weeks ago.

It couldn't be because Derek didn't want to. He wanted to. There was no mind reading involved in this assessment. He'd felt those boners. He'd told Derek he would take care of it, but was obviously rejected.

It couldn't be because Derek didn't like him. He assured Stiles of his affection every time he dropped by just to sit while Stiles did his homework only for a single kiss in the end. And one time Stiles snorted Dr. Pepper through his nose and after nearly choking up all his organs and generally making a fool of himself, Derek had told him that he really liked him. He could go on listing all the embarrassing things he'd done, but he didn't really feel like recounting them.

So Stiles didn't know what the problem was. And it was driving him insane. It was also driving his masturbation habits insane. And the number of times he had to clear his browser history. Basically he had ninety-nine problems and about ninety of them were his hormones.

He was going to find out what the problem was. Tonight. Because they were meeting—just the two of them—for a sort of pre-Independence Day celebration. And they were going to watch Independence Day, make-out, and probably not get farther than that.

Stiles had his outfit planned three days in advance. They'd seen and spoken to each other several times in the last three days, but it had always been with the pack. (The pack had gradually become a tighter-knit group, even with all the problems they had, and they had also managed to be around every single time Derek and Stiles wound up alone together.)

His outfit was as provocative as he could manage without being too obvious about it. Snug, v-neck black tee and black skinny jeans. Comfortable. But it also accentuated his chest—which was fleshing out nicely if he said so himself—and his butt: the moneymaker.

Last minute touches on his hair and only the tiniest bit of cologne at the base of his neck and he was ready to go. His dad rolled his eyes at him as he cascaded down the steps.

"Derek's?" he shouted at Stiles when he was already a foot out the door.

"Yeah I'm late!"

"You better be here in the morning."

Stiles' face burned bright red. "Right." He didn't look at his father—who was looking particularly smug.

"Condoms," his father added for good measure.

Stiles thought his face was going to burn off. "I'm not going to answer that."

"Smart."

Stiles escaped as quick as he could. Twenty minutes later he was at Derek's shitty loft. I should really stop thinking of it as his "shitty" loft otherwise I'm going to actually say it to his face. Besides, Derek dressed it up pretty nice. Live-able. Sexy-times-able.

He was up there in a second. Derek opened the door looking a little frazzled and breathless but always smoking. "Hi," he breathed.

"Heeeeyyy," Stiles greeted, wagging his eyebrows. "I've got Dr. Pepper." He held up the liter bottle.

Derek's eyes swept up and down. His jaw went a little slack and his eyes widened. "Um, come in," he said, regaining a little composure.

Stiles dipped under his arm, set the soda on the counter, turned, and leaned on the granite surface. He smiled at Derek's pink tinged face when he saw.

Derek shut the door but didn't move. "Um. Movie."

"Lead the way."

Stiles stared at Derek's ass so pointedly that he was sure Derek could feel it. And when they were at the couch, Stiles lounged in such a way so that his shirt rode up to show just a sliver to skin and happy trail. He waited patiently—and with bedroom eyes that he was sure Derek could see in his periphery—as he set up the movie.

The living area was just a television set, a hideous shag (really, Derek?) rug, and a long black leather couch that was well worn and hardly squeaked at all. Stiles was sure Derek didn't find these particular pieces of furniture in a store. Stiles was in a love-hate relationship with the rug. It was tacky as hell but it was also really soft and on more than one occasion Stiles imagined taking Derek right there. This was one of those occasions.

Derek sat down a few minutes later. Stiles spread out his arms on the back of the couch, scooting in close until they were practically molded together. It took Derek a second but he eventually relaxed into his shoulder.

The movie began.

Twenty minutes in, as Stiles was fathoming what his next seduction move was going to be, he got impatient and decided to swing his leg over Derek's and sit on his lap. "Fuck this movie," he mumbled into a slow kiss.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked between kisses, hands sliding up Stiles' sides.

"Trying to seduce you."

"Trying…" His voice hitched for a second and he pulled away. "To seduce me?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Derek, I'm basically in love with yo—"

Derek crushed his lips into Stiles', cutting him off before taking it back and turning it light. "Sorry," he mumbled, pulling back only to press his face into the crook of Stiles' neck and resting his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath, burying his nose even closer.

Stiles was a little whiplashed but got over it quickly, sliding his hands around Derek's shoulders and closing his eyes as Derek pressed soft kisses into his neck. "What was that for?"

"You smell good. And you look good." Derek mumbled.

"I always look good."

"Even better. And…"

"And?"

"And you said…"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah I guess I did. You don't have to say anything you don't mean. I meant it. I did. And Derek?"

Derek was reluctant to look into Stiles' eyes but he eventually did.

"I also mean it when I say I'm trying to seduce you." He held eye contact as his hand slipped down between them, raking down Derek's chest and edging near the belt. He barely felt it, but it seemed like Derek's heart was beating right out of his chest. Derek made no move even when Stiles's hand grazed the top of the leather. And then when his fingertips touched the denim fabric, he twitched ever so slightly.

Stiles grabbed him then, feeling the raging boner pushing through Derek's jeans. Derek's eyes squeezed shut as he let out a choked sigh.

"God…"

Stiles let his hand roam up and down the fabric, feeling Derek's hard bulge. He bent forward and pressed a kiss to his lips and then his jaw and then down his neck until he was gently nibbling above Derek's collar.

"Fuck." Derek snatched Stiles' hand away from his pants. He bowed his head, resting it on Stiles' chest. "First you're underage and that's a damn good excuse, but now you aren't and I have no idea what to do."

"I've never done any of this, you know. All I have is my research from the Internet."

Derek's shoulders slumped. "Yeah but I… I feel like I should know more. I'm older. I have had sex. But it wasn't very good—the entire thing was awful—and I'm fairly certain sex doesn't really…happen that way. I honestly don't know what the hell I'm doing."

Stiles flashed a grin and cupped Derek's jaw. "Hey, it's okay. Besides, when the hell do you know what you're doing?"

Derek frowned. "Very funny."

Stiles kissed his frown invariably making it disappear. "We don't have—"

"No." Derek surprised himself. "I, uh." He paused to figure out what he was trying to say. "I think I want you to keep seducing me."

"Done."

Derek sounded shy and a little uncertain, but as soon as that word was uttered all pretext was lost. The kisses were not soft or sweet. They were hard and fast against each other's lips, unable to get enough. Shirts were stripped off as soon as they could and then Stiles had Derek on his back—on the floor and he was kneeling between his legs and unlatching the belt.

The zipper came down. Stiles bent down and nibbled around the bulge in Derek's underwear. His belly contracted at Stiles' touch, and he arched a little, reaching around to grasp the stringy rug.

Slowly, maddeningly, Stiles slid Derek's briefs down along with his pants, revealing the throbbing red cock pressed up along Derek's hipbone. Stiles watched the pupils in those hazel eyes blow wide with unfocused desire. He watched a flush spread under the fluffy black hairs on his chest and up to his stubbly neck.

Stiles slicked a finger up from the base of his balls to the tip of the head.

"Don't…be a tease," Derek said.

Stiles smiled, moving instead to kiss his way up Derek's chest to his lips and then bending back to take a good look.

Just looking at Derek like that made him painfully aware of his own erection pushing at the hem of his tight jeans.

"Your…" Derek started. And then just deciding actions speak louder than words, he sat up, shook out of his restrictive pants, and then helped Stiles out of his.

"Better?"

"Better." Derek took a long sweeping look at him.

Stiles raked his hands down Derek's torso, loving the rippling muscles under his touch. "God you're hot." He bent into a long kiss that had them tumbling back to the floor.

Derek hitched up his legs, letting Stiles settle more neatly into his hips. He broke off their kisses for a second to say, "I am in love with you, you know."

Stiles smiled full of embarrassment. "Well. I mean. Alright. You didn't. But. That's awesome. I should just shut up."

"Don't."

"Then I should tell you that you literally have the hottest body I've ever seen. And all I want to do right now is fuck you."

Derek's eyes widened. But not with fear. Desire. Face flushed he asked, "Are you sure?"

"I'm damn sure. What about you?"

"I've never done it with a guy."

"I've read everything the Internet has to offer."

Derek licked his lips. His cock twitched. "Do it then."

Stiles bent back and reached into the pocket of his jeans for a packet of lube and a condom. He rolled the condom on and tore open the packet of lube. He'd read this on the Internet. This wasn't rocket science. So why were his hands still shaking? Stiles took a second to find grounding. He looked Derek up and down. He was watching him carefully, eyes full of lust.

Swallowing, Stiles slid his hands around Derek's inner thigh. He crooked his thumb just below his balls where the tiny hole was. He was going to do this right. So, Stiles spread lube on his hands and gently opened him up and slid a finger in. Derek twitched a bit at the new sensation.

"Okay?"

"Weird but okay. You're not going to hurt me."

One hand on Derek's cock and the other relaxing his hole and it was short work before Stiles felt a small round bulge inside of Derek. At that touch Derek shuddered, eyes squeezing shut and muscles twitching along his legs and stomach.

"Right there… You can put it in now. Do it."

Stiles applied the last of his lube over his condom and then inch-by-inch he pushed in. It was tight and hot around his cock and for a second he couldn't move while Derek readjusted around him. Both were panting, tangled into each other, and neither daring to move first.

Derek couldn't help it; he nudged upward, making Stiles push back instinctively. "Go on…move." Achingly, Derek hiked his legs up, prompting Stiles into action.

With slow motion, Stiles crawled out and then thrust in. He hit the sweet spot perfectly. Derek arched on his back, gasping and reaching down to touch himself. Stiles, gaining confidence, slid his hands down Derek's sides and stopped to grip the carpet. He thrust in and out again. This time he didn't quite hit it and his thrust was a bit more uneven. He kept going. And eventually they came to a rhythm, pushing into each other, into the growing tension twisting in their gut and the building heat under their balls.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Stiles muttered, rolling in and out. He knew now where Derek's prostate was and it became simply a matter of keeping the rhythm to hit it with every thrust and pull. And every time he did, Derek's chest gave a little ripple and he let out a tiny gasp.

The tension twisted down into his balls too soon. "I'm gonna," Stiles choked, trying to keep the rhythm. But his thrusts started to become erratic.

"Me too—"

Stiles came, heat exploding through his entire body. He arched back, toes curling, mind going blank. "Holy God."

Derek gave himself a few quick pumps but as soon as he felt Stiles' heat fill him, he came all over himself.

Exhausted, Stiles pulled out, tossed off the condom, and collapsed on the rug next to Derek, panting like there wasn't enough air in the world.

In the background, there were the explosions of an alien-human war.

They lay there for several minutes before either had the energy to speak.

"Next time I'm going to fuck you," Derek said, curling into Stiles' side.

"Fine with me."


A/N:

And that's a wrap, folks~

Thank y'all for you reading. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing for you!

As per usual if you have questions go ahead and ask!

I don't know when/if I'll come back to write another story. Maybe I will again after season 3 of TW. I don't know. But I will check back here for comments, questions, etc. I always love hearing commentary so please continue to comment!

Thanks so much again!

-J

EDIT (30 March 2013) : I'm pretty sure I forgot to write about what Stiles was making in his "project" for really dumb reasons-sleep-deprived mind etc etc-but jsyk he was building a TARDIS cabinet.

Take lessons from me-don't forget your loose threads.