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Stiles only doesn’t crack the Dean Winchester jokes because his kinda-sorta-not-a-crush on Derek is obvious enough, thanks, and Derek had been there the last time Stiles had waxed drunk poetic after a clusterfuck about how he would let Dean do things to him man, you don’t even know.
"So is it the sounds?" Stiles knows that no one else will admit it without severe blood loss and/or fatal case of wolfsbane poisoning but his babbling is great for filling the silence and taking people’s mind off things. "I bet its the sounds. I mean, I bet you can hear the fucking engines, man, and the sound the metal of the hull is making because of the wind and the altitude and changes in air temperature, one day I am really going to figure out how to make a recording device that mimics werewolf hearing and I’m going to make so much money."
Derek’s got a death grip on the arm rests, and maybe possibly it wasn’t a good idea to have him take the window seat but it would have probably been worse to put him on the isle, oh god, the apologies Stiles would have had to make to the Stewardesses, no. Stiles pries the hand that’s closest to him off the arm rest and puts it on his leg instead. The way that Derek doesn’t protest tells Stiles a lot, the way that he clenches his fingers into Stiles’s thigh even more.
"Despite the fact that we aren’t going to crash, you know you’d live, right? I mean, I’m pretty sure as long as you stayed in your seat you’d survive anything that would happen."
"Crashes are usually on fire," Derek grits out, eyes coming barely open to glare. Which is an improvement to the barely there whining noises he’d been making. Which no one else had heard, thank god. First class had its benefits.
"And we’re not going to crash so you shouldn’t be thinking about that," Stiles points out.
"You brought it up."
"To distract you. Just, I can’t deal with you when you’re being a trufax puppy, man, I have limits. I’m already bummed I won’t get the chance to join the mile high club, that was going to be a thing." Stiles says, overdramatic. Ok, not about the puppy thing. He folds like wet paper whenever Derek does puppy noises ok, it’s a thing. He’s not even ashamed.
"I’m not stopping you," Derek says, flatly, trying to pry his fingers off Stiles’s leg, which, no. Stiles knows how to calm werewolves down, that isn’t happening.
"Yeah, ok, I’m going to leave you alone to go get laid in the bathroom, how heartless do you think I am?" Derek mutters something. "Did you just say we should have drove? Ok, Dean.” Well, there went the Dean joke. Puppy noises, man. Stiles is blameless. Derek doesn’t catch it though, small favors.
"Dean," Derek says. "Didn’t you rewatch that episode and say you had a foolproof way to keep his mind off planes?"
"Er," Stiles had in fact said that, but that was mostly because he never passed up an opportunity to fantasize about having Dean’s dick in his mouth. Don’t judge.
Derek unbuckles his seatbelt.
"Er," Stiles says again, because, this is not happening. They’ve actually crashed or something, and Stiles is in a coma, or hallucinating.
He’s nothallucinating, because five minutes later they’re in the bathroom and Stiles is on his knees with a dick so hard it could cut diamonds and Derek’s cock in his mouth. And that kinda-sorta-not-a-crush? Totally reciprocated.
(I’m sorry for the cop out on porn but I have like, no practical experience with sex irl so I’m really leery of trying to write play by play porn and it doesn’t seem far to make you wait while I try to write it out)