Archive of Our Own ^beta

Whatever Derek envisioned for his sexual future when he was a teenager, it definitely wasn’t ‘still a virgin as a junior in college’. Not that Derek planned it that way. There was no chastity vow. He didn’t avoid it because he was nervous. It just never happened in high school or the first two years in college.

High school was fine; it didn’t bother him. Sports and schoolwork kept him busy enough. He had to play hard enough to get a basketball scholarship, and have good enough grades to get an academic scholarship in case the basketball scholarship didn’t work out. Not to mention the extra curriculars to bulk up his college applications.

Being that busy meant that dates were few and far between. There were always dates to dances and people to see movies with, but attempting to form a relationship while maintaining a 3.8 GPA and keeping his position as captain was unthinkable. No matter how much shit he got from his friends for not chasing tail, sex wasn’t a priority.

It never became a priority, which was fine with him. Freshman year of college, there was a slew of people who wanted to know why he hadn’t had sex, how he hadn’t had sex. It became a topic of drunken discussion at parties, but he got tired of the attention. By sophomore year everyone either knew or didn’t care. When junior year rolled around the general assumption was that he had already found someone.

Derek had assumed he would have found someone by now too, but it hadn’t happened. There had been offers, sure, but Derek wasn’t interested in a one off or having sex before he got to know people. Dating was something that he wasn’t good at due to his limited experience. It felt like a vicious cycle, most days.

He usually doesn’t care.

Except for when he does. Like now. Drunk and a little lonely, nursing a beer on the patio. It’s late enough into the night that everyone is either paired off or passed out. It makes him wish he had someone in his lap to drunkenly ramble at, or someone to pull up to his room and hold close before sleeping.

The thought makes him achy, he hates that feeling. It’s getting worse, the desire to touch and be touched, to have someone to share things with. Intimacy. He has really good friends, he does, but Erica and Isaac don’t want to hear what he did that day just for the sake of knowing. Boyd and Malia aren’t looking at him like he’s the best thing in the universe. He knows what that looks like, from an outside perspective; it’s not a look that’s been directed at him before.

“Oops!” someone says, jarring the bench and pulling Derek out of his head. The person trips on nothing and lands in Derek’s lap, sloshing beer over the edge of his red solo cup and soaking them both. Derek’s beer drops on the bench when he tries to steady the person, adding to the mess, seeping through Derek’s jeans.

Derek’s had way too much alcohol to react properly, so instead of leaping up and shoving the stranger away, he blinks in confusion.

Dark brown eyes blink back at him before slamming shut in what appears to be mortification. There’s enough light on the patio to see that the person is turning pretty red.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he says. His weight shifts, sits bones digging into Derek’s thighs as he tries to sit up. Derek watches as he struggles, taking a few long seconds to get upright, wobbling when he’s finally vertical. “Sorry.”

“You’re still sitting on me,” Derek says, gruffly. Not a reassurance, of course not. Derek tends to get nonverbal around strangers. A bad habit made worse by alcohol. He probably hasn’t gotten laid because he’s not as approachable as he could be.

“Would you believe me if I told you you’re very comfy?” the stranger asks, giving Derek a small smile. He seems completely unconcerned with the fact that they’re very close. Close enough that Derek can make out his rough 5 o’clock shadow (or 1 am-o’clock shadow, in this case). There’s a mole under his right eye. He has unattached earlobes and a crooked jaw. All details that Derek can see clearly because he’s sitting. On Derek’s lap. Still.

“Not really,” Derek grunts, raising an eyebrow.

The kid -- he has to be a kid, even with the potential beard, he has a sweet face and a cheeky smile and wavy hair flipping out from under a backwards baseball cap like he’s in middle school -- giggles at him. Actually giggles.

“Well you are,” he says, seriously. He pats Derek’s chest with his free hand, then leaves it there as he looks up at Derek sincerely. “You’re big and warm.”

“And covered in beer,” Derek reminds him, charmed in spite of himself. This is terrible. Is this kid even legal?

“Sorry,” the kid repeats, blinking slowly again. His hand hasn’t moved. Derek likes the weight of it, how hot his palm feels, even through Derek’s shirt.

“You’re still sitting on me,” Derek repeats. The kid actually moves this time, scrambling up. When he stands, Derek can see how broad his shoulders are, how toned his arms are. He’s a few inches shorter than Derek, but he looks older when he stands. Definitely legal. Probably legal.

“I’m clumsy sober,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Drunk Scott is a disaster.”

“Did you just reference yourself in third person?” Derek asks, standing as well. Scott gives him a slow once over, eyes dragging down Derek’s body in a way that makes him feel hot and prickly. He ignores it, shaking out his beer sticky hands. The jeans are a lost cause, but luckily he lives in this house.

“Yeah,” Scott admits, with a sideways grin. He’s still staring at Derek. It looks hungry, wanting. Derek’s had enough alcohol that it probably isn’t hungry or wanting.

“You’re covered in beer,” Derek points out helpfully. Scott looks down like he’s surprised by it. “Do you want a change of clothes?” It’s not fun to be covered in beer.

“Yeah, sure,” Scott agrees.

Derek grunts an affirmation and grabs his cup to toss in the trash. He doesn’t bother waiting to see if Scott’s following before he goes into the house. The music is still on, but lower, so that all he can make out is the bassline, not the words. It’s not enough to cover some of the moans coming from the living room, but that’s not where they’re headed.

Derek hops up the stairs with more agility than he anticipated, considering how tipsy he is. They make it to his room in one piece. Scott comes in and closes the door behind him, but lingers in front of it like he doesn’t know whether or not to commit to being in the room.

A shirt is easy to find, but shorts aren’t. Scott’s waist looks pretty small compared to Derek’s -- his shoulders are broad but Derek can see where his torso narrows into his waist due to how tight his tank top is; there’s a curve to his hips that’s rare on stocky guys and Derek can feel his mouth go dry at the sight. He’s trying not to think about it.

There’s a pair of Beacon Hills High shorts shoved in the back of his drawer, a size too small with a drawstring. Derek throws them both at Scott’s head. Scott flails around, gathering them up in both of his arms.

“Thanks,” he says, with another grin.

“No problem,” Derek grunts, pulling off his own shirt. He can feel Scott staring at him. Sure enough, when he glances over -- Scott’s not even trying to be subtle, looking at Derek openly, clenching his clothes. The look is so assessing that Derek wants to wrap his arms around his torso, hide himself. He’s a little softer around the stomach than he used to be, a little bit thicker. He never got that basketball scholarship. Being stared at makes him feel itchy, hot.

He pulls on a new shirt, contemplating whether or not to change his pants in front of Scott. Luckily, Scott starts moving, peeling out of his shirt. Derek decides to go for it, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down. There’s a soft inhale from Scott. Derek can’t stop himself from looking over.

The shirt is over Scott’s head, half pulled down, but Scott’s staring at Derek. His legs, mostly. Probably his ass, too. Derek shoves his jeans off the rest of the way and reaches for his shorts, pulling them on. His briefs are damp from the beer, but there’s no way he’s doing anything about that with Scott here. By the time he sneaks another glance at Scott, Scott’s changed, standing there awkwardly. They stare at each other for a beat.

“Thanks for the clothes,” he says, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. “I can bring them back later this week.”

“Okay,” Derek says. “Are you staying?”

He regrets asking the moment it leaves his mouth. Scott smiles that small smile at him again.

“Nah, I was about to head out, actually,” he says, jerking his head towards the door. “My phone died, I don’t want Stiles to panic and call the cops if I’m not home in the morning, y’know.”

Derek nods, even though he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who ‘Stiles’ is, or why they would call the cops the morning after a party, especially when Scott is definitely hot enough to hook up at that party and have a perfectly good explanation for not being home.

“Good idea,” Derek says. What he wants to say is that he has a phone charger, that he could lend it to Scott. He wants to ask if Scott is sober enough to walk home, if he thinks it’s safe. Instead, he keeps quiet, reminding himself that Scott is a stranger. A cute stranger, but a stranger.

“Okay, I’m going to,” Scott shuffles sideways towards the door and pulls it open. Before he leaves he gives Derek another one of those sweeping looks. Derek goes warm and unsettled, stomach twisting nervously. “Gunna go.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding. They’re staring at each other again. Every time they’ve made eye contact in the past 15 minutes has been the most intense eye contact of Derek’s life. He can’t look away.

“Yeah,” Scott echoes. Then, he nods. Then, he disappears, pulling the door shut behind him. Derek’s whole body goes loose with an exhale, tension in the room snapping instantly.

He jumps when Scott slams back into the room. The door bounces harshly off the wall, Scott steadies it a panicked expression on his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, wide eyed. He licks his lips and walks into the room again. Instead of stopping inside the door, he strides right up to Derek. “Can I give you my number? So you can text me if you wake up, and you want to know more about the loser who spilled beer all over you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Derek says, chest tight from how close they’re standing. Scott definitely smells like beer, but there’s a lingering smell of cologne that makes Derek’s mouth water. It smells really good, Derek doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before.

“Okay?” Scott asks, face breaking out in a huge grin. All the air in Derek’s lungs vanishes at the sight. Okay, wow. “I can put it in your phone, yeah? I’ll put it under ‘Scott McCall’, hopefully you can find it when you’re sober.”

“I doubt I’ll forget,” Derek says, unthinkingly, handing Scott the phone. Scott’s eyes jump up to his in surprise. His smile has shrunk again, small and pleased and private.

“I hope not,” Scott says, swiping along the screen and putting his number in. Before he hands it back, he lifts it and takes a picture of himself smiling. “So you know it’s me.”

“Okay,” Derek says, staring at the picture. It’s blurry and Scott is very obviously drunk, but it’s. A picture of Scott. On his phone.

“Okay,” Scott says. He steps out of Derek’s space and he’s off again, giving Derek a little wave before he shuts the door behind him.

The day after the party, Derek rolls out of bed and texts Scott. So that Scott has his number. So that he can get his clothes back. Of course. The response comes within a minute, asking if Derek has a hangover because: I sure as shit do and I smell like beer. I feel so gross, dude.

Me: Ugh. Tell me about it.

Scott: Hangover breakfast? Stiles and Mal are headed to Denny’s.

Derek blinks at his phone, and then responds with an affirmation, spilling out of bed to hop in the shower as fast as his body will let him. The hangover isn’t terrible, but he has that full body headache, leftover liquor feeling.

“You look like you have a hangover,” Derek says, when he meets Scott outside the nearest Denny’s. Scott looks tired, mostly, bruises under his eyes and a wavering smile. Not that he doesn’t still look good with his damp hair curling under his floral snapback. He’s still wearing Derek’s clothes. They don’t match the hat at all. Heat curls up like a sleepy cat in the bottom of Derek’s stomach.

“Why thank you, you look radiant too,” Scott says, with a small laugh. He grabs the door for Derek, ushering him into the diner and leading him past the hostess. “We’re in the back.”

Scott takes him to a table in the back with two people facing away from them. That means he and Scott will be sitting next to each other. Derek tries to pretend that doesn’t excite him, but it’s a lost cause. Everything about Scott excites Derek, so far.

“Derek, that’s Stiles and Mal,” Scott says, waving Derek into the booth. He slides over, letting Scott in and then looks at the people across from him. The guy is pale and lanky, with moles dotting his face and fresh hickies on his long neck. The snapback on his head is also floral, in brighter colors. He looks as hungover as Scott does, but it’s less charming. The other is --

“Malia,” Derek says, surprised.

“Yo, dude,” she says, giving a little wave. There’s a collar of bruises on her too, in reds and purples. She’s halfway on Stiles’ lap.

“This is the dude you’ve been on and off with?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s heard talk about Malia seeing someone, but she never talks about it even though they live in the same house. It must come out sharper than he means it -- Stiles gives him an indignant look.

“Yeah, this is Stiles,” she says, letting Stiles pull her in more. Stiles smiles at her softly before nuzzling her shoulder with his forehead like a cat.

“I said that,” Scott says, as they start kissing. He shares a disgruntled look with Derek, wrinkling his nose adorably.

“I don’t think he would have noticed if you didn’t come home last night,” Derek says. Judging by the hickies, Derek doesn’t imagine that Stiles was keeping an eye out.

“You weren’t going to come home last night?” Stiles says, coming up for air with a deep breath. He raises an eyebrow at Derek, then Scott.

“I mean, the potential was there,” Scott says, with a shrug. He’s picking at his silverware, unwrapping it. “I was pretty drunk.”

“I thought you were going to pass out when we were in my bedroom,” Derek says, without thinking. Stiles and Malia both look at him at the same time.

“Your bedroom?” Stiles asks, eyes jumping to Scott. They stare at each other for a minute.

“I would have made my way to the couch,” Scott says, shooting Derek a smile so sweet Derek’s mouth goes dry. There were people dry humping on the couch, but Derek isn’t going to remind him of that. “Whatever would have worked.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Stiles says, with a laugh. There’s a bump and an inhale from Stiles and another bump that makes the table jump.

“That was the table,” Scott says, sounding smug about the fact that Stiles didn’t manage to kick him.

Derek knows he’s missing something, but he’s not sure what it is; luckily Malia saves him from overthinking.

“Okay, children, let’s order,” she says, sliding off Stiles’ lap onto the booth next to him. The server is waiting patiently at the end of the table; Derek hadn’t even noticed him.

There’s a two for one special so Malia and Stiles get a plate to share, arguing over every side and the way to get the eggs made and whether or not they should ask for seasoned potatoes. It’s obviously in good fun, they’re grinning at each other like loons while everyone waits. The whole thing is more endearing than it should be.

It’s easy to settle on something with Scott. They both seem to like the same things, and Scott doesn’t eat red meat so Derek gets all the bacon. The food won’t be enough to fill him up, since it’s a one person meal split between two, but it’s fun to fight Scott for elbow room and steal the hash browns from his side of the plate while he makes offended noises. He doesn’t do anything about it, much to Derek’s amusement.

Stiles and Scott both make noises when Derek orders the hot mocha coffee. Apparently, he looks like he drinks black coffee. Which is ridiculous -- black coffee tastes like hatred, which he explains to them immediately. They get both get riled up defending their love for nasty, plain coffee.

“Perfect hangover cure,” Stiles says, sighing romantically. “It’s a rite of passage in our kitchen. Wake up and taste the black coffee.”

“Puts hair on your chest,” Scott says, nodding sagely.

“You don’t have hair on your chest,” Malia says, pointing her fork at him. “Except around your nipples.”

The whole table erupts in laughter as Scott shields his chest defensively.

They go silent to concentrate on eating, but even that’s punctuated by ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ and ‘move your fucking elbow, Stiles, those are my eggs.’ Stiles starts talking as soon as he polishes off his half of the plate. Scott’s a close second, so they start rambling about the party and classes and whatever else seems to steamroll through their minds.

Derek likes listening to them talk. It’s a ping pong match. They finish each other’s thoughts and pick up each other’s sentences like they’re operating under a hive mind. He wonders how long they’ve known each other. It seems like it’s been forever, but some people click that way without effort.

Scott seems to do everything without effort. Effortless small talk and effortless smiles. Derek sits next to him feeling wound up; sweaty palms and a tight feeling in his stomach that could be excitement or fear or both.

“That was really fun,” Scott says, when they all finally stumble out of the diner. It’s close to lunch and Derek definitely missed his morning class. That’s what he gets for partying on a Sunday and having hangover breakfast with the cute boy he met there.

“Yeah, I had a good time,” Derek agree. He doesn’t actually care about his class or the hangover. “It’s nice to meet Malia’s boyfriend, finally. Or whatever they are.”

“I think they’re dating, but it’s hard to tell with them,” Scott says, with a crooked smile. “I have a class at 1:30 so I have to jet, but you should text me.”

“Will do,” Derek says, unable to keep the grin off his face.

They don’t stop texting after that. They text in the morning, between classes, before bed. Sometimes Derek wakes up in the middle of the night and responds to something Scott sent him before he passes out again. They’re definitely friends, definitely.

Scott is… everything.

Derek wishes he could be less dramatic about his feelings, but they're unrelenting. All of the thoughts in his head seem to revolve around Scott.

What he wants to talk to Scott about, how he hopes the conversation will go. If he has downtime, he checks his phone every two seconds to see if Scott has downtime, too. He's always thinking of ways they could run into each other, when they would both have time to meet up. For drinks, or a movie, or ice cream.

The worst part -- or the best part, Derek hasn't decided yet -- is that they are friends, so Scott goes out of his way to talk to Derek and see Derek. They're always around each other. It's gotten to the point that people will ask him where Scott is when he's alone.

He loves it and hates it in equal measure. The more he learns about Scott, the more relaxed he is, satisfied to know even the most minor details. But it's fueling his crush more than anything.

He's greedy for the moments they have together, when he gets to watch Scott and talk to Scott without anyone around them. They always default to teasing one another. It feels flirty, but Derek can't be sure. That's a line he doesn't want to cross, because he doesn't want to fuck things up.

Scott is so perfect, fitting in seamlessly with Derek's life. It's like he's always been there. Derek doesn't want to lose that; doesn't want to risk telling Scott and having everything fall apart. Being friends is better than stuttering over awkward confessions. He'll take what he can get. The sweet, dimpled smiles and the raucous laughter. It's not a relationship he wants to compromised. He cares too much.

Scott invites him to study at the coffee shop, introducing Derek to more of his friends: Kira, Liam, Mason.

At first, Stiles seems edgy around him, argumentative and mocking. He always looks between Scott and Derek whenever he says something suggestive. Double entendres seem to be his go-to whenever the conversation slows down. He lays it on thick when Derek is there. Derek can’t figure out if Stiles is trying to make him uncomfortable, or if that’s how he is on a regular basis.

The more Derek hangs around, the more Stiles seems to relax. There’s still a level of sharpness to him, but it starts to be more organic. He’ll still tease Scott and Derek when they’re together, but it’s less harsh. It’s a victory Derek didn’t know he wanted to win.

Derek makes sure to drag Scott around to meet his friends as well. He invites Scott over on a jam night, where his roommates drag out their guitars and get buzzed and play music.

“A freshman?” Lydia asks, when they’re in the kitchen making drinks. Scott stole Isaac’s ukulele. He and Boyd are running through the tabs of what sounds like a Brand New song.

“I didn’t know he was a freshman when I befriended him,” Derek says, with a shrug. There was no way to determine that from any of their interactions. Malia was the one who said something in the first place. Apparently dating a freshman isn’t weird for her because she’s a sophomore. “It’s not a big deal. You guys like him, right?”

“Well, yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes and adding more vodka to her drink. “But we’re not looking to date him.”

“I’m not trying to date him,” Derek hisses, lowering his tone of voice dramatically. He can feel his face and ears getting hot as Lydia raises an eyebrow at him.

“Please, you two have been attached at the hip since he spilled beer on you at the party. I can see the hearts in your eyes from across the quad. Your smile is soft and wistful.”

“Please, stop,” Derek says, rubbing the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. “We clicked. He’s really cool.”

“And you want to him to take your virginity by candle light while listening to slow jams.”

The smirk on Lydia’s face is infuriatingly smug. Sometimes, he wishes that she didn’t know him so well, but considering they’ve known each other for the better part of their lives, it’s not something that will ever happen.

“I don’t even know if he likes guys,” Derek concedes. Neither of them have talked about their dating history. It’s not something that comes up in casual conversation with anyone. It’s not as if Derek has whacky dating stories to tell, so he avoids it.

“He wears too many florals to not be queer,” Lydia says, in a sing song voice. She would be skipping away if her drink wasn’t so full. Derek flips her off when her back is turned and grabs the alcohol to make himself a drink. And make one for Scott.

When he wanders back into the living room, everyone is laughing and half-assed singing lyrics while Boyd jumps between songs. The look on Scott’s face is open and happy when he takes his drink from Derek with a soft ‘thank you’, making room for him on the couch. Derek squeezes in and tries not to think too hard about their thighs pressing together.

Apparently, Scott can play guitar and drums and ukulele and he might “remember some harmonica, still.” He’s not shy about his singing voice, smiles through cover after cover of pop songs and punk songs. Derek can’t stop staring at him, the way he’s all lit up when they’re playing. It’s hypnotic.

“What’s your favorite song?” Scott asks, turning to him. Derek blinks at him, wondering how much time he’s spent staring at the side of Scott’s head.

“Uh, I… don’t really have one?” he says, wincing. Scott blinks at him.

“Everyone has a favorite song,” he says, raising his eyebrows. Derek feels thoroughly judged, but he’s drawing a blank, so he shrugs.

“Play ‘Tear You Apart’,” Isaac says. “Derek listened to that song on repeat for three weeks when that album came out.”

“She Wants Revenge?” Scott asks. He’s looking at Derek. Derek rolls his eyes, but nods, heart leaping in his throat as Scott trades Isaac’s ukulele for Boyd’s guitar and resettles, turning his body towards Derek and strumming the opening chords.

The whole song he keeps his eyes on Derek, only breaking eye contact to look at the positioning of his fingers. Derek’s whole body is warm, face on fire. When he looks around, for something to do, so he’s not just locked in a stare with Scott, everyone is smirking at him from behind their cups. When he looks back, Scott’s still watching him.

Derek squirms, listening to the song. Some parts are entirely too relatable. The entire thing is too relatable. At some point, people start singing along, breaking the mounting tension between them. That draws away Scott’s attention, he starts playing a little louder, nodding encouragingly.

Derek starts singing too, for something to do. Their eyes catch again, and then slide away. That night Derek goes to sleep with She Wants Revenge stuck in his head, and an unrelenting ache in his chest.

It's only just a crush, it'll go away
It's just like all the others it'll go away
Or maybe this is danger and he just don't know
You pray it all away but it continues to grow

“You’re an idiot,” Erica whispers, fiercely. She’s sitting on the kitchen island eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch in booty shorts and a crop top and thick fuzzy socks. Her hair is in a messy bun, eye make up smeared so that she looks like a raccoon, and she’s judging him.

“Shut up,” Derek warns, lowly. He loves her, but he will hide her straightener if she doesn’t keep quiet. Things have been going well, Derek is even adjusting to his massive crush on Scott so that it’s not suffocating to be around him. She can’t mess this up for him.

“He slept on the couch,” she says, still quiet. The panic in Derek’s chest dies down a little. “You made him sleep on the couch.”

“I offered the couch and he accepted.”

“You should have offered your bed, you idiot.”

“I’m not going to ask if he wants to sleep with me,” Derek says, with a sigh. Scott’s still asleep in the living room. This is a terrible conversation to have right now. “I don’t even know if he’s interested in me.”

The last thing Derek needs is waking up to Scott’s face, soft and sleepy, or accidentally cuddling him while he’s sleeping, or -- god forbid -- morning wood.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” Erica asks. “He looks at you like you’re the best thing in the universe! You have to be completely oblivious to miss that! Or an idiot!”

Derek’s heart thuds hard behind his ribs.

“He hasn’t said anything,” Derek says, with a shrug, trying to squash the hope that’s blooming in his chest.

They’re friends. Really, really good friends. They talk about everything, spend most of their time together; Stiles now refers to Derek as ‘the best friend stealer’ and it brings out that immature smugness in Derek that makes Scott laugh. It’s the best sound Derek has ever heard and he gets to hear it every day.

“Because he’s an idiot, too,” Erica says, stuffing her face with another bite. Milk dribbles down her chin, Derek flips her off as he walks out to the living. Scott isn’t on the couch, because of course he isn’t. Of course he’s awake, and very possibly heard the conversation Derek was having with Erica.

Butterflies settle in Derek’s stomach as he tries to calm himself down. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Scott’s probably in the bathroom or something. He definitely didn’t hear anything.

Derek goes down the hall, forcing himself to breathe as he looks for Scott. As predicted, Scott’s heading towards him from the bathroom. He’s staring at Derek again. Derek doesn’t think he’ll get used to the intensity of it. Ever.

“Hey,” Scott says, so soft that Derek almost misses it.

“Hey,” Derek says, just as soft. It feels important that he keeps his voice low, too. Scott doesn’t come to a stop where he usually would, arm's length away from Derek. Instead he comes in close, rocking to a stop. Derek knows he lifts up on his toes, because they’re suddenly eye-to-eye. Scott wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and kisses him at the same time, mouth firm but sweet against his.

Derek doesn’t even think about it, he wraps both his arms around Scott and drags him in so that their bodies are flush. Scott sways and laughs and goes back to kissing Derek like his life depends on it, walking Derek backwards until his back hits the wall, leaning all his weight on Derek.

They kiss in the hall so long that Derek’s legs go numb from standing and his arms go tingly from holding onto Scott so tightly. They’re still all wrapped up in each other, clinging to each other. The only reason they pull away is because Erica finds them and screams “Finally!” so loud that Derek’s sure the whole house can hear her.

“Hey,” Scott says again, once she disappears around the corner again. His eyes are glassy, mouth red and puffy and slick. Derek’s lips are tingling more than his arms are.

“Hey,” Derek says. He doesn’t want to stop holding Scott like he is, doesn’t want to move out of the hallway, doesn’t want to leave the moment.

“Is this okay?” Scott asks, with a cheeky little smile.

“Definitely,” Derek says, nodding. It’s not fully processing that he was kissing Scott. All the evidence is there, but when Derek tries to articulate a thought in response to what happened, it’s a happy and fuzzy blank space in his mind.

“Good,” Scott says. He kisses Derek again.

And again and again and again and Derek hopes he never stops.

Nothing changes, but everything changes.

They’re still spending the same amount of time with each other as they were before, still texting each other every moment they’re apart. But now when Derek wants to talk to Scott, he doesn’t need an excuse besides the fact that he wants to hear Scott’s voice. He can grab Scott’s hand and hold it while they walk. He can stop in the middle of the sidewalk to lean down and kiss Scott. It’s all okay.

Now, Scott sits on Derek’s lap when he feels like it, which seems to be most of the time. Derek likes being his seat, getting to wrap his arm around Scott’s waist and hold him close. Now, when Scott trips and spills alcohol all over himself, he doesn’t bother asking before he takes clothes out of Derek’s closet.

(Sometimes he steals clothes for the sole purpose of wearing Derek’s clothes. Derek doesn’t understand it, but he gets warm and pleased when he sees Scott come out of his room in one of his shirts, despite the fact that it’s way too large for him.

“They’re comfy and they’re yours,” Scott says, snuffling into Derek’s neck when he finally asks. That’s a good enough excuse for Derek. Any excuse would be good enough for Derek.)

Now, when Scott stays over, he doesn’t sleep on the couch. He sprawls all over Derek’s bed and makes everything smell like him. Sometimes Derek comes home from class and Scott’s passed out in his room, or doing homework on his floor.

It’s new and exciting and Derek didn’t realize how nice it was to have someone around all the time. Someone who will ask about his day, and genuinely wants to know. Someone who wants to kiss him and touch him for no reason except to kiss him and touch him.

It’s even worth everyone constantly teasing him about finally having a boyfriend, and dealing with a revived interest in the status of his virginity. The majority of the time it’s when Scott isn’t there, or when he’s not in the room. That doesn’t last very long, because his friends are loud mouths.

“Derek, I have questions,” Isaac says, sliding across from Derek and Scott with a smirk on his face. This is probably not going to go well. Scott looks mildly confused. Derek raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement. “Were there candles? Slow Jams? You look like a slow jams kind of person.”

“Neither,” Derek responds, flatly. Lydia must have repeated her joke to Isaac, even though it’s not actually funny. It’s not a surprise. Everyone’s been edging around the topic, like they’re expecting Derek to make an announcement or throw a party: My Cherry Has Been Popped!

It hasn’t. He didn’t expect them to start sleeping with each other immediately, either. That’s not how he operates, and Scott hasn’t pushed the issue. The furthest they’ve gotten was dry humping in his bed before they went to sleep, but Scott pulled away before either of them came in their pants and kissed Derek’s nose.

“I thought you were the romantic type,” Isaac says, with exaggerated blinking. Derek knows he’s teasing them, but Scott’s quietly turning red.

“I am,” Derek responds, resisting the urge to smack Isaac across the back of his head. He doesn’t want to reach across the counter. Instead, he raises his eyebrows pointedly. There’s a moment of silence before Isaac gets it, comprehension blossoms across his face.

“Oh gotcha,” Isaac says, with faux surprise. “Well, you know. Everyone has their own pace with these things.” He comes around the island to nudge Scott with his elbow, winking. “You heard the man, he’s a romantic. Don’t forget the rose petals when you finally take his virginity.”

Scott makes a choked off noise in his throat as Isaac disappears through the back door. His cheeks are definitely red.

“I’m sorry. He’s a moron,” Derek says, hoping his smile is reassuring. He’s used to it. At this point, him being a virgin is practically an inside joke with everyone, but he’s pretty sure this is the first time Scott’s heard something from anyone in the house.

“Sorry, what?” Scott asks, blinking at Derek rapidly. “Did he say you’re a virgin?”

Derek freezes, heart tripping up. It was probably dumb to expect Scott to just know, even though he’s hung out at the house plenty and it’s not something that goes without mention. It’s hard to remind himself that it’s not a big deal when Scott is frowning in confusion at him.

Will he be mad that Derek didn’t give him full disclosure? No one really wants to date a virgin; they don’t know what they’re doing. Derek tries to swallow down the insecurities quietly.

“Yeah?” Derek says. It probably shouldn’t sound like a question. Scott’s eyebrows jump up, surprise colors his face.

“Really?” he asks, tilting his head curiously. The lump in Derek’s throat gets bigger.

“Yeah.”

“Oh okay,” Scott says, with a little smile.

“Okay?” Derek asks, waiting for the barrage of questioning that usually comes with the revelation. He’s tempted to start defending himself without preamble, but Scott doesn’t look like he’s going to pry. That’s new.

“Okay,” Scott says, smiling wider. “Are we going to the Alpha Tau party, or getting take out and arguing over what movie we’re going to end up falling asleep to?”

“We could do both,” Derek says, coming in close, reminding himself not to worry. It seems like Scott is sticking around, like he wants to stick around. It’s easy to get lost in the idea that things aren’t going to work out, since they tend not to, but this is Scott.

This is Scott giving him a warm, sincere smile and leaning in to kiss Derek breathless. This is Scott climbing onto Derek’s lap on the barstool, even though it’s probably dangerous, so he can frame Derek’s face with his hands and pepper his skin with kisses. This is Scott wiggling and giggling when the stool creaks loudly from their combined weight. This is Scott who rubs their faces together, pulls back and says, very seriously, “I like you a lot, Derek.”

It’s going to work out. It has to.

They don’t really talk about it past the: “so, why haven’t you had sex yet?” question. Derek has a pretty generic response for that. The timing was always wrong, he needed it to mean something. Growing up, he always imagined having sex with someone he cared deeply about, romantically. Someone he liked or loved with his whole entirely.

When he told Scott that, Scott grinned at him, eyes going soft and sweet.

Scott doesn’t make assumptions, but after he finds out, it comes up in conversation more and more. The flood gates getting released. There’s a party and he’s drunk, Scott clinging to his waist. Stiles is the one to find out this time. Another comment from Isaac, and Stiles is looking at Derek like the topic of his virginity is a personal offense. Considering how much Derek hears him going at it with Malia, it might be.

“Never?” Stiles asks, eyes darting between Derek and Scott, wide and confused.

The fact that Scott didn’t tell Stiles when he found out Derek was a virgin is pleasing in a way that Derek didn’t expect. He’s used to people telling other people and talking about it. It’s sweet of Scott to keep secrets for him.

“Never,” Derek confirms, with an exaggerated nod.

“Not even like, other stuff?” Stiles asks, scrunching up his face and making a jerk off motion. “Like a hand job or a blow job or whatever?”

“‘Or whatever’,” Scott echoes, with a giggle. He’s a little more drunk than Derek is; Derek can tell by how heavily he’s being leaned on. “There’s only so much to do, after that.”

“Well, yeah, but he’s never done it!” Stiles looks back at Derek, like he needs to check again. Derek nods. Again. “Never, ever.”

“Never, ever,” he says.

“Do you even like, want to?” Malia asks, hanging over Stiles’ shoulder. It’s not news to her that Derek’s a virgin, but she’s never asked questions. Apparently all it takes is Stiles being around to enable her.

(Not that it’s a surprise, the one and only time she’s been arrested was with Stiles for public indecency. Whenever they tell the story, the how and the why of it changes every time. Sometimes it’s skinny dipping, other times it’s having sex on the roof of the library. Derek’s pretty sure it’s a contest to see who can out lie the other.)

“Oh. Yeah,” Derek says. This conversation could get really awkward really fast if they start asking questions about him being with Scott.

“He’s not a prude,” Erica says, coming up with a smirk. Isaac’s at her back, mirroring her facial expression. Out of everyone in the house, they seem to enjoy the discussions about his virginity the most. They materialize instantly when sex is mentioned around him. They probably lurk in the background, waiting for it. They hand both Scott and Derek the extra drink in their hands. An alcoholic olive branch.

“It’s hard to tell who’s vibrator is louder, his or Erica’s,” Isaac says, sending a glare Derek’s way. Derek glares back, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out. Instead, his face stays perfectly schooled.

“We have contests to see who can moan the loudest,” Derek deadpans. He doesn’t actually use his toys when other people are in the house, but it’s worth it to see the expression on everyone’s face. Erica bursts out laughing.

The conversation jumps from there, which is good. The focus on his virginity has been overwhelming lately. Mostly because he’s stressed about whether or not Scott wants to have sex with him. It’s all so sweet and patient, Derek’s waiting for something terrible to happen. There’s no way he can untangle his tongue enough to ask what’s going on in Scott’s head, so he doesn’t.

Being with Scott is enough, definitely.

When they finally drop into bed after dominating the beer pong table and charming everyone with how disgustingly adorable they are, Derek’s pretty drunk. He hauls Scott up to him so that they can kiss until Derek’s too dizzy to keep kissing.

Scott wiggles around until he’s comfortable, leg slung over Derek’s hip, fingers scratching through Derek’s chest hair. He looks up at Derek at least three times before Derek gets his fingers in Scott’s hair and tugs to get his attention.

“What’s up?” he asks. His mind is too fuzzy to be properly concerned by any conversation that could happen right now. It’s him and Scott in his bed. It’s a safe place, even with impaired judgement. Scott sits up and looks down at him. The moonlight paints the side of his face with silver-blue.

Derek watches him chew on his bottom lip.

“Were you kidding about the vibrator?” Scott asks, suddenly. Derek wants to laugh at how concerned Scott looks.

“What, no,” Derek answers. That would be a weird thing to lie about. “I have like three.”

Scott’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“That’s cool,” he says, scrunching his nose up. “I was gunna ask you what kinda stuff you might like, at some point, but like. That clears things up, a little.”

“I’m pretty into that,” Derek says, nodding. The slow burn of arousal is curling through his veins, especially with the way Scott’s looking at him. He wants to kiss Scott again, see if Scott will touch him. Instead, he lies very, very still.

“Next time you do that, you should call me,” Scott says, with a couple of small nods.

“When I use my vibrator?” Derek asks. He can feel the surprise on his face. Or, he thinks he can. His lips are numb, he might not be able to feel anything about his face.

“Yeah,” Scott says, softly. “I mean, if that’s okay. If that would be something you would want to do. You don’t have to. If that’s like, your time. Either way --”

“Okay,” Derek says, giving Scott a squeeze so he quiets down.

“Okay?” Scott asks, blinking down at him, eyes wide as saucers.

“Okay,” Derek repeats.

It’s not okay.

It’s probably okay, but Derek is freaking out. He’s not good at this. He’s really, really sure he’s not good at this at all. Scott seems to have some sort of faith in him, but this is a lot. Phone sex. It’s so high school, and yet here Derek is: surrounded by toys, phone nervously cradled in his sweaty palm, waiting for Scott to call. When the phone finally rings, Derek nearly drops it, heart leaping to the top of his throat.

“Hey,” Scott says, low and quiet in his ear.

“Hey,” Derek says, clearing his throat. His mouth feels sticky.

“Are you alone?” he asks.

“Yeah, everyone in the house is gone,” Derek says. Which is why they’re doing this right now. In the middle of the day. No one can hear them. Derek can be as loud as he wants. And have Scott on speakerphone while he... Yeah.

“Awesome,” Scott says, excitement in his voice. There’s some shuffling, settling down. There’s white noise in Derek’s ears as he waits. He’s already chubbed up in his briefs from thinking about it. God, they’re really going to do this.

“You good?” Scott asks, in Derek’s ear. They haven’t said anything for at least a minute. Derek lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, shifting nervously. “I haven’t done this before.”

“I’m not going to pretend I don’t get a weird kind of gratification from that,” Scott says, laughing a little. It’s not his normal laugh; it’s throaty and makes Derek’s skin prickle. He’s about to ask how they should start when Scott says, “What are you wearing?”

Derek resists the urge to laugh. That is so cliche. He answers anyway. “A pair of briefs.”

“Are you hard?” he asks.

“Now I am,” Derek says, trying not to whine. He hasn’t heard Scott’s voice like this, silky and flirty. It’s making the back of Derek’s skull tingle, all of his nerves are alive, tension trapped in his body while he waits, dick aching.

“Me too,” Scott says. Derek groans, screwing his eyes shut. “God, I’ve been thinking about what noises you’d make. Are you noisy?”

“When I can be,” Derek admits. It takes too much effort to stay quiet, he likes to get into it. It’s more visceral when he’s breathing out all the tension, acknowledging how good he feels.

“Cool,” Scott says, it sounds breathless. “I can’t wait to hear you.”

Derek hums in acknowledgement, feeling flush. There’s always two kinds of embarrassment, that humiliated feeling that no one likes, and this -- whole body vibrating with awareness, face red and hot, ache in his chest that’s more pleased than anything. It’s embarrassing because he wants it so much, wants Scott to enjoy this as much as he does.

“How do you like it?” Scott asks, snapping Derek out of it. “You should tell me. If you wanna.”

“Uh, I like to go slow,” Derek says, taking care not to making it sound like a question. He doesn’t know what Scott wants to hear, but he knows what he likes. He’s spent all his time after puberty figuring out his body, exploring. It might be different with someone else, but he knows how to touch himself.

“I like my nipples being touched,” he says, trailing his hand along his chest to tug at them. They’re already hard from the air in the room. The touch makes him throb, dick jumping. His body knows that’s the cue: he’s definitely jerking off.

“Hard?” Scott asks.

“Yeah,” Derek groans, twisting his fingers the right way, back arching a little. “Sometimes I tease myself, touch myself all over. My hips and thighs.”

“Do you want to do that?” Scott asks. Derek can hear him breathing, quick and light.

“No,” Derek says, sucking in a breath. “I want to get to the…”

“Vibrator?” Scott supplies. His voice curls around the base of Derek’s spine, fills up his chest with want.

“Yeah.”

“Do you usually… on your back or your knees?”

“My back,” Derek says. “But I like it on my knees too. The angle’s better.”

“Okay,” Scott says, groaning. “Fuck, I’m so hard right now. I wish I could see you.”

“I don’t even have my briefs off,” Derek says. They sleep in their underwear, that’s nothing new.

“You should fix that,” Scott says. “I’m naked.”

“Naked?” he asks, scrambling to push his briefs down, kicking them away. He’s probably making a lot of noise over the line, but he doesn’t care. The relief when his dick bounces free of the material is glorious. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, I started naked,” Scott says, sounding coy. Or smug. Or both. “I’m trying not to touch myself, but you’re making it difficult.”

“You can,” Derek says. Not that Scott needs his permission, but god. He wishes he could see Scott. Derek wonders if his mouth is swollen from biting it, or if it’s slack while he breathes. He wants to see the way the muscles under Scott’s skin jump when he finally touches himself, wants to see him sprawled out with his hand on his cock.

“Wanna hear you come first,” Scott says.

“Okay,” Derek says, quickly. That sounds like a good idea. He’s past the point of caring whether or not he sounds over eager. There’s still a hot itch under his skin. He almost wants to stop, ask if Scott wants to talk instead, but he doesn’t. This is happening.

“What first?” Scott asks. He probably knows, but Derek humors him, reaching around for the lube.

“Lube,” he says. He puts the phone on speaker and drops it on the bed next to his head. Hopefully Scott will be able to hear him. The cap makes a ringing sound when he pops it open. The bottle wheezes out air before the cool oil hits his fingers. He’s so aware of everything that’s happening. Every panting breath that he can hear over the line, his own heart thudding in his chest.

He groans when he touches between his legs, finger nudging his entrance. No matter how many times he does this, it still feels so shockingly good.

“Yeah?” Scott asks. Probably encouraging him to talk. Derek forgot that Scott can’t see him.

“Yeah,” Derek says, sliding a finger into himself. “It doesn’t take too long, if I can relax.”

“Can you?” Scott asks. He sounds excited. Derek can’t help the small smile on his face.

“Yeah,” he says. “Your voice is good. Two fingers.”

There’s an intake of breath from the other line.

“Oh god, I bet you look so good,” Scott says. “I wish I was there to watch you. I want to open you up.”

Derek groans in response, brain going fuzzy at the thought.

“Do you want me to finger you?” Scott asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Derek says, dazed, fucking himself on his fingers. He wants Scott between his legs, watching him with an intensity that he can’t look away from. He wants Scott holding him down, screwing him senseless, making him beg to be touched.

“Good. Another?”

“Yeah, three,” Derek says, pressing the third finger in. The fit is tighter, the ache is more overwhelming, but it’s amazing, especially with Scott making soft noises in his ear.

“I bet you feel amazing, fuck,” Scott says, as Derek pulls his fingers out, too impatient to keep going. He picks up the vibrator, turning it on in hopes that Scott will hear it. He doesn’t know how to announce it, but the buzz is loud enough to get Scott’s attention. Scott groans.

They’re silent as Derek pushes the vibrator in, off now as he gets situated. The stretch isn’t overwhelming, he lets his body relax into it, lets it fill him up while he listens to Scott.

“Fuck, I gotta touch myself,” Scott says, followed by a low moan. “I wish you could feel how hard I am for you, babe. Listening to you is killing me.”

“Don’t die yet,” Derek says, panting, fucking the vibrator in and out of himself. He turns it on low, lets it hum through his body. This angle makes his wrist hurt, but he can skate along his prostate every now and then, body arching off the bed. Now he can’t shut up, little whines spilling from his mouth. He can hear Scott too. Neither of them are talking.

“Can you come like this?” Scott asks. It sounds so quiet, barely audible over the buzzing. Derek screws his eyes shut, tries to catch his breath.

“No,” he admits. Strictly penetration doesn’t make him come, he needs to get his hand on his dick, needs something to fuck into.

“You should touch yourself,” Scott says, so Derek does. He fumbles with his left hand to tug on his dick, groan tearing out of his throat. His muscles flutter as he tries to hold himself back, but he really can’t, cock throbbing from neglect.

“Oh fuck, Scott,” he whimpers, spilling over his hand, clenching down on the vibrator. He switches it off, but leaves it in as he catches his breath, body jumping as he finishes coming. He can hear Scott over the phone, groaning, the audible wet slapping of his hand on his dick.

When he comes, it’s less of a production, but Scott moans, “Derek,” loud enough for him to hear. Satisfaction burns through him. It takes a minute for both of them to stop panting, dragging in air like they ran a marathon. Derek’s heart is pounding so hard, he thinks his ribs are going to crack.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles. He’s a mess of lube and jizz, vibrator still buried inside of him.

“Fuck yeah,” Scott says, over the phone. Derek’s chest aches again. He wants to touch Scott, hold him, see what his smile looks like after he comes. Fuck. As always, Scott seems to know what he’s thinking. “I’m going to ditch my afternoon kinesiology class and take my boyfriend out to lunch. You down?”

Derek grins into the phone.

“I need a shower first,” he admits. “But ditching class and getting lunch is a good plan.”

“Lunch and making out on your couch until your roommates come home?” Scott asks. This time Derek laughs.

“Anything you want, Scott.”

Anything and everything.

“We don’t have to do this,” Scott says, for the thousandth time. He’s hovering in the doorway, and Derek gets a flashback of the very first night they met. Who knew that the kid who fell in his lap and spilled beer all over him would be the person Derek trusts with… everything. Absolutely everything.

Things shifted since the night they had phone sex. They press closer, grind together for longer. It feels like every touch has more intent, like every kiss is that much filthier. Derek's going to die if they don't fuck soon, just from the tension.

“I want to,” Derek says, he’s sitting on the bed, watching Scott. They cleared out the whole house for this. There are candles everywhere. Derek is very clean, all over. There’s soft music and lots of lube and -- they’re doing this.

The candles are Derek’s favorite part. Enough light to see by, but not enough to make him feel self-conscious. Or, more self-conscious than he will be, considering Scott’s about to see him very naked and very vulnerable.

“I want you to be comfortable,” Scott says, teeth digging into his bottom lip. The fact that he’s as nervous as Derek is reassuring, because he’s done this before. Plenty, apparently. But he wants to be careful, and that means it’s important to him.

“I am,” Derek reassures him.

“Okay,” Scott says, inhaling. He steps closer, coming up to Derek, standing in the space between his spread legs. He smiles, cupping Derek’s face in his hand, thumb rasping over his beard. It’s grown out now, more soft than not. “I’m going to make this good for you.”

“I know you will,” Derek says. He does. Scott bites his lip again, visibly steadying himself. It only takes a second for the hesitation to melt away from Scott’s face. When he looks at Derek again, there’s confidence in it.

He kisses Derek firmly, thumb pressing on his chin so that his jaw goes slack, letting Scott lick into his mouth. It’s slick and hot and Derek lets himself feel everything. The soft slide of their lips, the way Scott’s hand is warm against his face.

Scott draws back and reaches down, tugging Derek’s shirt off. They’ve gotten this far before. He’s almost gotten to the point where he doesn’t care about his body, especially when Scott looks at him with that sharp focus that means he wants Derek. Scott pulls his shirt off too, toned stomach flexing as he tosses it aside.

Scott crowds in again, kissing Derek again, pushing against his shoulders lightly, encouraging him to lie back. Derek complies, scooting up the bed so that Scott has space to crawl over him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Scott says, lowly. He presses kisses along Derek’s jaw, to his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth. Derek’s whole body goes hot and tingly, moan catching in his throat. “Please make noise, I want to hear you again. I love that.”

Scott licks down to Derek’s neck, sucks on his pulse point. Derek groans. An affirmation, encouragement, both, who knows. A sharp sensation follows as Scott drags his teeth over Derek’s skin and Derek’s whole body shudders in delight.

“Sensitive ears, sensitive neck,” Scott says, looking at him and smirking. Derek’s whole body is thrumming. He wants to grind up into the heat of Scott’s body, but he doesn’t want to risk coming before Scott’s done with him.

Scott drags his hands through the hair on Derek’s chest, nails catching on Derek’s skin. Derek inhales sharply at the contact, exhaling heavily when Scott’s nail catches on his nipple.

“Fuck,” Derek says, breathless. He barely recognizes his own voice.

His back arches minutely when Scott gets his mouth on Derek’s nipple. His dick leaps and throbs when Scott scrapes his teeth over it, sucking it to a hard point. He stays there, licking and sucking and biting until it’s almost too much -- until Derek wants to shove him off because it’s too good -- then he moves, like he can read Derek’s mind. He does the same thing to Derek’s other nipple, making his chest throb from the attention before kissing his way down Derek’s stomach.

“I don’t want to touch your dick, ‘cause I don’t want you to come yet,” Scott says, hands gripping Derek’s hips, thumb stroking over the bottom curve of his stomach. His voice is a low rasp. It sounds like he’s as turned on as Derek is. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding. He doesn’t want to come yet either; he wants Scott to fuck him.

“Cool,” Scott says, with that small, pleased smile again. He skates his fingers over Derek’s stomach before he undoes the button of Derek’s jeans with practiced ease. The jeans end up in a pile on the floor. Derek’s dick is throbbing. There’s a wet patch on his red briefs where the head of his dick is straining the material, dark and obvious.

“What now?” Derek asks.

Scott’s looking at him again, dragging his eyes over Derek’s body slowly, drinking him in. It doesn’t make Derek feel self conscious, it makes him… something else. Appreciated, maybe. He can’t really think, he’s so hard his dick is going to fall off.

“Flip over,” Scott says, moving so Derek can comply. After Derek flips, Scott drags his briefs down, tugging them over Derek’s knees and off. “Can I eat you out?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, quickly, chest going warm when Scott groans in response. His hands knead over Derek’s body, stroking up his back and down, gripping his ass before releasing it, making it bounce. Derek looks back, sees where Scott’s hand is gripping his thigh, the press of his fingertips making indents in Derek’s flesh.

“I’m not going to survive this,” Scott groans. He presses a sweet kiss to Derek’s right ass cheek before he bites it. Derek groans and thrusts back without thinking about it.

“I’m not going to survive if you don’t fuck me,” Derek growls. He’s starting to sweat from the heat in the room, the tension. Scott grabs his ass again, palming it before Derek feels his cheeks spread and Scott’s tongue lick over his rim.

It’s -- good. So good. Derek groans and thrusts his hips back against Scott’s face as he starts licking more deliberately. Derek can feel his tongue press against Derek’s rim, over and over, teasing. There’s spit slicking his crack, dripping down his balls. The only sound in the room is Derek’s whining as he tries to hold himself still and the smack of Scott’s mouth against Derek’s entrance.

Derek nearly collapses when he feelings Scott’s thumb rub against his hole. He can feel himself bloom open in response, the needy clench of his body.

“Fuck,” Scott says. The bed creaks as he leans over and grabs the lube. When his jeans drag over Derek’s ass, he groans and thrusts back. Scott repositions himself and starts eating Derek out again, more urgent this time. The coil of arousal at Derek’s core pulls impossibly tighter.

“I could eat you out forever,” Scott says, pulling away. Derek looks over his shoulder again, because he has to see. Scott offers him a smile, mouth swollen, chin slick with spit.

“I would let you,” Derek admits, biting the words off with a moan when Scott rubs over his hole with his thumb again. The lube opens with a click and wheezes as Scott squeezes it. He feels Scott’s fingers at his entrance, barely pressing. Derek’s body throbs in anticipation.

“Just relax,” Scott purrs, rubbing his fingers over Derek over and over again. When he finally sinks the first finger in, Derek gasps, breath catching in his throat. It’s so good.

“Holy shit,” Derek says, hands gripping the sheets under him for something to anchor him. It’s so much more intense when someone else is touching him. He can feel his whole body thrumming. Scott starts fingering him faster and Derek body yields so easy for him.

“God, I wanna touch you baby,” Scott says. His free hand is gripping the curve of Derek’s hip tightly, like he can barely restrain himself. “Wanna make you come.”

“I want to come when you’re in me,” Derek says. That makes Scott groan. Derek feels another finger start to press past his rim. He’s warm, head fuzzy as it goes in smoothly.

“That okay?” Scott asks.

Derek can’t articulate a response so he nods, whining when Scott starts moving his fingers. Derek collects enough brain cells to start moving, rocking back into Scott’s hand, arching his back. It feels amazing, Derek can barely breathe.

“Almost there,” Scott says, after awhile. The third finger is a stretch, but it’s good. The pain is a dull throb compared to how much his dick is aching. He knows he would come immediately if Scott touched him right now.

Slowly, his body accommodates Scott until all three fingers move effortlessly. It feels like it’s been hours. Derek’s whole body is overstimulated and more sensitive than he could have ever imagined.

“Okay, okay,” Scott says. The lube bottle makes more noise, but Derek barely registers it, too blissed out. Scott’s fingers come out and Derek’s body clenches down on nothing, leaving him empty, he whimpers, waiting. The bed shifts and Derek can hear Scott shoving his pants down. It only takes another moment and then there’s Scott’s dick, pressing against him. It feels huge as he starts to thrust in. Derek relaxes into it, letting his body adjust.

The stretch is a dull throb. Derek is so aware of Scott entering him, but it’s amazing. It makes Derek’s skin ache, makes him groan. He’s been saying Scott’s name over and over without realizing it. Scott starts slow, with long strokes. The drag of his dick is perfect, Derek can barely breathe.

His body yields completely to Scott. He wants to let himself drop to his elbows, let Scott fuck him into the mattress. This position is good though; Derek can feel Scott in him and around him. Derek could choke on how hard his heart is pounding. They’re pressed together so tightly, Derek doesn’t know how to feel anything other than completely overwhelmed.

“Good?” Scott asks, panting. It sounds slurred. His thrusts are faster now, harder. Their skin slaps together obscenely. Scott’s gripping Derek’s hips hard, fingertips digging into Derek’s skin. It’s grounding to have him at multiple points like that, where Derek can feel him.

“Good,” Derek says. It barely sounds like a word.

“Wanna come?” Scott asks. The rhythm is getting more erratic; Derek wonders if he’s going to come. He must be, if he’s asking.

“Yeah,” Derek says, then chokes on it as Scott grabs his dick and pumps once. Derek’s whole body tightens and he comes so hard that his vision whites out. There’s a dull ringing in his ears. He can feel his arms and legs shaking as he keeps himself up while Scott finishes.

It doesn’t doesn’t take long for Scott to stiffen and groan, pressing their hips together tightly and coming as deep in Derek as he can. Derek can feel Scott’s cock pulsing inside of him, body suddenly over sensitive and throbbing. He doesn’t want it to end.

Scott pulls out and they collapse in a heap. Derek’s still shaking as Scott flips him over, hole clenching down on nothing. Scott kisses him and slides two fingers back inside of Derek, filling him up again; Derek’s muscles flutter and quiver gladly, clinging to him. Scott fucks his fingers in and out of Derek, eyes hot on his face as he writhes and moans from the stimulation.

“I wonder if I can finger you until you’re hard again,” Scott says, slipping in a third one. It goes in easily. Derek can feel come and lube on his cheeks, down his balls. Scott starts to finger him harder, the slap of his fingers wet and dirty.

Derek wants to crawl out of his skin.

“Scott, Scott,” Derek’s chanting his name again. He can feel his body trying to get hard again, it wants to be able to come, speared on Scott’s fingers.

“I wanna eat you out again,” Scott says, nipping at Derek’s lips. “I want you to sit on my face.”

“I think I would squish you,” Derek says, honestly.

“Doubtful,” Scott says, pressing kiss after kiss to Derek’s lips, pulling away before Derek can draw him in for more. “I’ve fantasized about having your thighs wrapped around my head.”

“Yeah?” Derek asks. It comes out as a stuttered sigh as Scott screws his fingers into Derek even harder.

“Yeah,” Scott says. His fingers drag against Derek’s prostate and he yelps, arching into Scott’s hand. He does it over and over and over until Derek is quivering so hard he can barely see straight.

“I want to fuck you on your back so I can look at your face when I make you come,” Scott says. His hand is slowing. All of Derek’s atoms are concentrated on the sensation of Scott fingering him slowly, filling him up. “I want you to ride me, bounce on my cock until you can’t hold yourself up. I want you to open me up and fuck me for the first time, come inside me and fill me up.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Scott,” Derek says. He can barely think straight as it is, Scott’s words are obliterating any brain cells he has left. Scott kisses him again, desperately this time.

“Tell me I have time to do all that,” Scott says. Begs? Derek focuses enough to see the vulnerable look in Scott’s eyes. It seems ridiculous with Scott’s fingers still inside of him, but Derek doesn’t hesitate, he cups Scott’s face with both his hands.

“We have all the time in the world, baby,” Derek says. His fingers tremble as they stroke over Scott’s cheekbones. Scott smiles, small and pleased. “I love you so much, okay? I want us to have all the time in the world.”

“Me too,” Scott says, giddy again. “Me too, to both.”

It’s the perfect ending, even when it’s still only the beginning.