Stiles has lots of reasons to be glad Derek has an actual bed now. There’s the obvious fact that making out on something soft and springy with actual sheets is way better than dodging Stiles’ gearshift in mid-grope. There’s the lack of waking up with a crick in his neck because no, a blanket strewn over a couple of wooden crates does not a good sleeping surface makes.
And then there’s the little box of naughty magazines that Derek keeps under said bed.
So I made a thing..
Peter would totally pose for NECKZ ‘n THROATS just to make everyone else uncomfortable
Yes. Yes he would. :D
“Did you know about this?” Stiles asks, raising his voice over the fluttering noise of the glossy pages as they hit the table.
Derek frowns at him, because okay he kind of barged in, but then his eyes drop to the table — to the magazine, and his whole expression does a kind of slow slide right off his face. It’d be funny, if Stiles hadn’t just spent way too many minutes staring at a photo spread of Peter Hale as he looks like something out of a noir vampire porn flick.
The irony is almost unbearable.
“I—” Derek starts, and wow is he blushing? “No. I uh— No.”
Stiles waits, but apparantly that’s all Derek’s got to say about his uncle spread casually on a leather couch with a white shirt open halfway down his chest and a smirk on his face that says he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
God, he hopes Derek can’t smell that he totally jerked off before speeding over, even though the nasty-smelling soap he’d washed his hands with three times.
But Derek’s still slackjawed and looking at the biggest picture of Peter’s three page feature, his hands flat to the table either side of the off-kilter magazine like he can’t quick make himself touch it.
It’s not even that Peter’s eyefucking the camera. It’s more that he’s cornered the camera in a quiet room at the end of a party, smiled seductively at it and offered it more wine while touching it on the knee.
Stiles knows he’s blushing, and now he’s hoping he can just back out of the room without Derek noticing. Hell he thinks you could bring an entire dance troupe through the house right now and Derek wouldn’t notice.
He just wishes he hadn’t read the column, which is suspiciously short and sweet, and Stiles can just imagine the kind of badtouch answers he’d given the interviewer purely to see if he could get a rise out of them.
As it is, there’s enough there about Peter preferring partners a little younger and with a certain feistiness in the eyes, someone who knows when to push back to make Stiles feel like his cheeks are on fire.
“I’ll have a— a talk with him,” Derek finally says, his frown fixed firmly back in place.
“Uh yeah, good plan,” Stiles stammers out, already halfway to the door, hand out behind him in anticipation of the handle and sweet, non-awkward freedom.
Derek looks up just as he opens it and stumbles out of the house, and Stiles trips on the bottom step like his legs are mostly rubber.
He can’t tell if he just ruined Derek’s day, or if Peter just ruined the whole year for the both of them.
But good luck getting Stiles to admit he bought two copies of that issue.
Dan I really can’t tell you how glad I am you’ve finally joined us on tumblr.
Sterek | Baseball AU: where Derek Hale is one of the best players of the BH Beacons and Stiles is his new bodyguard.
“Erica. He’s 15. Minutes. Late. I know you said you’d trust him with your life but if he can’t even be on time for his first day, I-” Derek stops short in his punctuated rant, the sound of the office door opening causing him to stop pacing across from his agent.
“Sorry I’m late, I just-whoa.” And Derek could say the same thing because holy shit. Derek doesn’t know if he wants to run his fingers through the guy’s hair or pull on it while he licks a strip along that perfect jawline and while the sudden strain in his pants tells him both are a good idea, Derek decides to look away before he says anything or tries to rip that fucking suit off. (And jesus does that suit looks so good on him.)
Meanwhile, Stiles is two seconds from a heart attack because what? He’s going to be guarding Derek fucking Hale? One of the best players on his favorite team who not only has a great batting average but should be arrested for looking so damn good in a baseball uniform?
“Are you done fanboying yet or should I give you a few more minutes,” Erica asks, the smirk on her face clearly for Stiles and his mental breakdown. Derek feels like it’s more of him though.
I could put him up against the door and blow him, Derek thought idly, while Stiles sprawled open-legged in his desk chair, gnawing on a marker while the bestiary’s search engine slowly crawled along.
Kiss him a little first, because his mouth was a thing of beauty. Open his pants with one hand while he held the back of Stiles’ neck with the other and fucked his mouth with his tongue. Look him in the eye when he slid to his knees, so he could see the look on Stiles’ face when he figured out what Derek was going to do. Tease him a little first, slowly tasting him before getting serious about it. Just suck on the head for a minute, because it would feel so smooth and hot and right in his mouth, and then start moving up and down, take as much as he can, which is usually a lot. Maybe all of it, depending on how big Stiles is.
Hold him by the base, tease his balls with his fingers, maybe tease him a little further back, see if that’s a possibility later. It’s a safe bet no one’s ever done any of that before; Stiles is pretty vocal in his complaints that he never gets any action. Derek would be the first person to put their mouth on him, to make him come, to make him give up control of his orgasm to another person, helpless to speed it up or slow it down, just stand there on shaky knees and give into it.
Stiles would probably be really responsive, dig his hands into Derek’s hair, tip his head back and moan, just wallow in it. Derek would probably have to hold his hips, maybe even reach up, at the end, and put his hand over Stiles’ mouth to stifle the sounds he made when he came. Derek would be the first person to know what Stiles tastes like when he gives it all up.
The grating screech and clack of Stiles’ printer drags Derek back to reality. He’s hard now, throbbing, hot and damp inside his jeans. Stiles has no idea.
“Here you go,” Stiles says, reaching to hand Derek a thin stack of papers. The movement shows Derek a long, pale stretch of skin from his ear to his collarbones, the bump of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. “Need anything else?”
Derek takes the papers and slowly folds them into thirds and then shoves them in the inside pocket of his jacket. When he stands up, he doesn’t miss the way Stiles’ eyes snag on the crotch of his jeans before darting away, not for the first time.
“Not right now,” Derek says. “Thanks. See you later.”
“Yeah, later,” Stiles says, already turning back to his computer.
I. I had words. And now I don’t. Yeah.
OMFC! I swear if Scott becomes an Alpha… I am going to cry.
I really don’t see him as an Alpha… Nothing against him, but he’s not alpha material. If he learns to control himself 110% then yeah but right now. No…
As far as I can tell, everyone who actually gets to be an alpha in this show is terrible at it while the best alphas would be Lydia and Stiles and Boyd.
eeames asked: Yesterday my friend got an angry message from another tumblr user saying they'll eat their shoes (or w/e) if my friend can find a person more knowledgable about hockey than Don Cherry because apparently no one compares. I'm like, are you joking, Don Cherry is the Tyra Banks of hockey, so much of what they both say is all showy flashy wtf is going on-y.
Dead accurate. Don Cherry is all flash and no substance; he’s for Toronto Sun readers, let’s be real.
I’d take Ron any day of the week for my hockey commentary. Or Kevin Weekes!