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Inspired by this lovely work of art
“Hey, let's do a shottie.” Stiles says, sitting up a little straighter in the driver's seat of his jeep. Their second blunt is already half gone and he feels heavy. It's not a bad thing, though. It's that comfortable kind of heavy. Like something warm and comforting is keeping him safe, rooted to the earth, and he's not sure why, maybe he's just that far gone, but he feels like that thing is Derek.
“What's a shottie?” Derek asks, attempting to take the blunt from Stiles, but he keeps a hold of it. “It's my hit.” he says.
“I know, but I'm giving you a shottie.” Stiles turns in his seat to face Derek and explains. “I take the lit end in my mouth and blow while you suck on this end and you get like way more smoke. Dude. It's awesome.”
“Won't that burn you?” Derek furrows his brow.
“If I fuck it up.” Stiles shrugs. “Or I could take the hit then we form a kinda tunnel with our hands and I blow through it and you suck in. Same principle. It's easier, but doesn't work as well.”
“Okay, then, whatever.” Derek shrugs. “Do whatever you want.”
“'Kay.” Stiles chuckles. “Face me.”
Derek turns a little reluctantly and Stiles holds out his hand for Derek to take. He shows him how to interlock their last three fingers, then form a ring with the thumb and forefinger where their mouths would rest. Stiles can't help but think how big and warm and nice Derek's hand feels, but he shrugs it off and takes the hit, blowing the smoke through their little tunnel. Derek inhales, but there are leaks through his fingers and stiles can see the smoke escaping between the cracks, curling into the air between them and he groans because he paid for this weed and he hates to see a good hit wasted. At least the doors and windows are shut.
Derek pulls away, puffing out the meager amount of smoke that he was able to capture and shakes his head. “That didn't work. Let me get a real hit.”
“No, we're doing this.” Stiles insists and takes a hard drag. Derek needs to learn how awesome shotties are. He holds out his hand, but Derek won't take it.
“No, just give me the blunt.” he refuses.
The smoke Stiles is holding in his lungs is beginning to burn and if Derek doesn't take the hit soon, he'll just about burst. He chokes out a strained, insistent whine, flailing his arms for Derek to take a fucking hint, but Derek just shakes his head. Stiles wants to scream, but he can't risk wasting the hit, so instead he grips the hair at the back of Derek's head and crushes their mouths together, allowing the smoke to pour from one to the other.
Derek's eyes are wide with shock, but a gentle poke in the ribs reminds him to inhale and he relaxes a little as he breathes in the smoke issuing from Stiles' lips, which are oh-so-soft. Stiles feels the elder go lax and he loosens his grip on his hair and leans away a little, so their lips are barely touching.
Derek doesn't like that. He likes feeling Stiles' mouth on his. He cups the younger man's nape and pulls him closer, closing his mouth over his again and exhaling through his nostrils, so that they're enveloped in a cloud of smoke. Stiles makes a little whimper of a sound that would have sounded like a protest had he not set the blunt down in the ashtray and gripped Derek's shoulders.
He darts out his tongue, just to see how Derek would react and is pleased to hear a deep rumble of approval as Derek slips his own tongue between Stiles parted lips. Stiles leans back to get more comfortable and Derek follows eagerly, but gets stopped by the gear shift.
“Fuck.” he complains, sitting back in his own seat and rubbing at the spot where the shift dug into his thigh.
Stiles brings his fingertips to his lips where he can still feel Derek on them, can still feel the stubble scratching at his cheeks. Stupid cockblocking jeep. No sorry, baby, I didn't mean that.
“Yeah.” Stiles says awkwardly. “S-So that's a shottie.”
Derek nods. “Can I give you one in the back seat?”
“Huh?” Stiles jumps up a little. “Oh- uh- yeah.”
Stiles refuses to open the doors because that would let the smoke out and waste a perfectly good bake, so he crawls in through the space between the front seats and nearly kicks Derek in the face as he basically falls into the back row. Derek doesn't really mind because he's given him a nice view of his ass and that's more than fine with him, but he grumbles about it anyway, just to watch the embarrassed look on Stiles' face. His own move to the back isn't exactly graceful, but he doesn't flail about like Stiles did, so Stiles can't come up with any kind of witty remark.
Stiles reaches up front, glad he didn't knock the ashtray over in his mad scramble to get to the back and lights the blunt again before holding it out to Derek. The elder doesn't take it. Instead, he dips his head down and puts his lips to the end, brushing them against Stiles' fingers. He can feel them tremble slightly as he inhales, hear Stiles' heart begin to race as he comes close to give Stiles his hit. He looks Stiles dead in the eyes the entire time and he knows that Stiles is aroused, can smell it even through the smoke. Derek cups his cheek and nuzzles their noses together as he releases the hit into Stiles' mouth. He takes the blunt from him and puts it back up front, eyes still boring into Stiles'.
“What are you-?” Stiles sputters as he exhales, but doesn't get to finish because Derek's mouth is back over his and it's hot and demanding.
His hands clamp onto the fabric of Derek's shirt as he's pressed back into the seat. Derek's on top of him and that weight, that comforting, heavy feeling is real now. It's Derek. This is where Derek belongs.
He moans when Derek nibbles at his bottom lip and the sound goes straight to the elder's groin. Their hands start to wander, slipping beneath t-shirts to feel flushed skin and soft hair. Derek pulls away and Stiles whines, lips swollen and wet and still puckered. Derek smirks, chuckles a little as he sits up on his haunches and pulls his own shirt off, tossing it up front.
“I'm just getting more comfortable.” he explains.
“Sh-Should I-” Stiles' hands fumble with his shirt as he attempt to take it off in his lying position and he just gets caught up in it. Derek laughs and takes Stiles' wrists to steady him.
“I want to do that part.” he says and brings Stiles hands down to his waistband. “You get these off for me.”
“Yeah. Right. Yes.” Stiles nods, sitting up a little to undo the button on Derek's jeans. “I can do that. That's total-”
“Stiles.”
“Huh?” he stops fumbling with the front of Derek's jeans and looks up at him.
“Shut up.” Derek puts his hands over Stiles' guides his fingers over the bulge there.
“Oh shit.” Stiles breathes and Derek closes his eyes and sighs softly. “You're- Are you-”
“Stiles, take them off.”
“Right.” he says again, this time taking a deep breath to steady his trembling fingers as he unbuttons and unzips and pulls down and holy fucking shit Derek isn't wearing underwear. “Why a-”
“The less clothes I have to ruin after a full shift.” Derek explains simply, running his hand over Stiles' buzzed hair. “Stiles?”
“Huh?”
“You talk too much when you're nervous.”
“Nervous?” he chuckles. “Who says I'm nervous? Do I look nervous to you? I've got this down. I can take whatev-”
“Stiles!” Derek sounds miffed, but he's smirking as he rolls his eyes. “Lay back.”
“Okay.” he nods and watches Derek pull his pants all the way off, struggling a bit in the tight space, and toss them to the front before hovering over him and pressing his lips to Stiles' jaw, hands finding his fastenings and undoing them with ease. He tugs them down to Stiles' ankles none too gently and is quick to spit into his palm and grip their dicks in his calloused hand.
“Fuck!” Stiles hisses when Derek fucks up into his fist, sliding hot and hard against his own erection. It's too dry, but Stiles pushes his hips forward desperate for more and Derek chuckles, bringing their lips together again as he grinds down on Stiles.
He nips at Stiles' lip and chuckles at the way he keens. He shimmies downward to pepper Stiles' lightly muscled chest with wet, scratchy kisses and releases his hold on their cocks to be able to continue his journey to Stiles' happy trail, running his tongue along the soft hair there before sucking a bright red stain into Stiles hip. He grips Stiles in his fist again and pumps him a few good times and Stiles is reduced to a panting mess, unable to form a coherent word. He watches him squirm, lust darkening his eyes, his alpha sparkling red in his irises as he darts out his tongue to wet his lips before stretching his mouth open wide and Stiles can't believe what he's seeing.
“D-Dude-” he stammers out. “A-Am I tripping sack or are you about to s-suck my dick?”
The flat of Derek's tongue is already running languidly along the underside of Stiles' cock when he chuckles and takes in as much of the younger man as he can.
“Oh!” Stiles grips Derek's hair. “That feels real!'
Derek growls a complaint, which only makes Stiles want to pull his hair more because growling is sexy as fuck and it feels nice around his dick. Derek smacks at Stiles hand as he hollows his cheeks and bobs his head faster.
“Dude!” Stiles gasps out. “I am not gonna last if you keep that up.”
Derek pulls his head back, hands firm on Stiles' hips, and a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his slick lips. “I don't mind making you come more than once.”
“Oh, fuck.” Stiles breathes as his erection jumps in anticipation. Derek's smug smile lingers in the crinkles of his green and red-flecked eyes as he stretches his mouth back over the head of Stiles' dick.
Derek's actions are slower this time, more teasing than anything and Stiles knows the fucker is doing it on purpose, but he's not going to complain because he's still questioning the reality of it all. Derek's hand slides up from Stiles' hip, roaming the curves of the younger's frame, leaving fresh waves of goosebumps wherever his fingers touch. He circles a stiffened nipple and Stiles shivers, hips winding in reaction to the added stimulation. Derek's fingers walk their way up to Stiles' lips, skirting his sensitive jaw on the way up.
Stiles' lips are already parted with quiet moans when Derek brushes his fingertips along them. Stiles' tongue darts out to taste them, salty and rough in texture. Derek pushes two inside and Stiles sucks on them instinctively, his tongue swirling around them. It sends a thrill through Derek. His eyes become darker, the ring of red around his pupils glowing brightly through the smoke-filled darkness, highlighting the fact that he's so close to losing control, but Stiles isn't scared because he knows. He and Derek have been through too much shit not to have formed an unspoken bond of trust. Stiles is relying on that now as Derek pushes his knees up to his chest, clearly impressed with how flexible Stiles is, and brings his slick fingers down to his entrance.
Stiles gasps a little when the first finger pushes through, but Derek is quick to soothe him, finding every mole on Stiles' front and kissing them lightly as he explores, a pleasant distraction as the next digit slides in and his fingers curve and twist to open him up. He's stretched carefully, Derek watching him intently, observing and reacting to every little sound he makes, every twitch of Stiles' face, his fingers, his thighs, his toes, every jump of his heart beat. He has three fingers running through him now and Stiles grows accustomed to the feeling, quickly craving something more substantial. He wants to be full, complete, his drug-addled brain tells him. His head is spinning from the weed and his arousal, but he's not stupid enough to let Derek do what he's thinking of doing as he pulls his fingers out and presses the blunt head of his cock to Stiles' hole. He can feel Stiles' anxiety and he stops, now mostly red eyes snapping up to meet Stiles' chocolate ones.
“W-Wait, dude!” Stiles stammers, and belatedly thinks he should have mentioned this sooner. “Condoms. Lube. Glove box.”
Derek shakes off his mistake and nods mutely as he leans back over to the front to retrieve what he needs, stifling the possessive growl bubbling in his chest because why the fuck would Stiles need to keep this shit in his jeep? But he's glad he has them because they're safer and smarter and it makes it so much easier for him to dive all the way into Stiles on the first push and fuck it's amazing to finally be here, fully seated in his tight heat, watching his eyes widen at the entry, feeling his muscles tense and relax beneath him, around him.
When he pulls his hips back, Stiles tilts his head back and exposes more of his neck. The alpha in Derek stirs, the desire to claim strong, but he holds back as he pushes forward and settles for nestling into the junction between Stiles' neck and shoulder because Stiles isn't his to claim as much as he'd like him to be. That's something they should have discussed before all this, but it's too late now. They're too far gone as Derek's hips meet Stiles' thighs over and over again, drumming lightly at his gentle pace.
Stiles digs his poorly manicured nails into Derek's back, tearing open rows of cuts that heal almost as quickly as they're made. His legs squeeze around Derek's waist and the elder is surprised at just how strong they actually are. He caresses, squeezes them as he picks up pace, rocking the jeep with every thrust, its creaking barely registering in his mind because all he can focus on his the way Stiles if breathing, ragged and rapid, his heart thrumming against his chest, almost at pace with his own, the way he mumbles a seemingly endless stream of curses and blasphemies and Derek's name. That's his favorite part. His name spilled so desperately, so needfully from Stiles' mouth, his ever-obscene mouth, the one that had haunted his dreams for years and why isn't he kissing it right now? He hurries to correct the problem, diving his tongue through those sinful lips as he drives into Stiles' prostate and swallows his moan.
Stiles comes undone when Derek brings his hand down to pump his cock. It only takes two hard tugs and he's spurting hot between their bodies, abs contracting in a way that shakes his whole body. Derek holds him steady, smoothing his hands over Stiles' thighs as he continues to fuck into him, faster now that he's close. He fills his condom with a strained grunt and drops his weight onto Stiles' chest, a solid mass that Stiles' doesn't mind in the slightest. For all of six seconds.
“Dude.” he wheezes. “Can't breathe.”
“Fuck.” Derek whispers and Stiles hisses as he slides out of him. “Sorry.”
“Wait.” Stiles says when he notices that Derek is about to move too far away from him. “Don't- Just- Ehh.” he whines as his fingers scrabble at the sweat-slicked skin of Dereks forearm.
Derek can tell what he wants, so he shifts the smaller man onto his side and tangles their legs up together to lie beside him. It's totally uncomfortable, but they're too high in so many different ways to notice.
“You're really articulate, college boy.” Derek comments as Stiles burrows into his chest, one arm draping over Derek's side so he can trace the pattern of the triskele between Derek's shoulder blades. He can't see it, so it's a wonder to Derek how he knows exactly which ways to twist and turn his finger, as if he had it memorized. Because he does.
“Shut up.” Stiles mumbles, buzzed hair tickling Derek's sternum.
There's a silence where they just hold each other. Derek listens to Stiles' anxious heart beat. He seems calm, but there's something bothering him and Derek thinks he already knows what it is.
“We didn't just fuck, did we?” Stiles asks quietly. “I mean- I know that's what we did, but it wasn't just sex. I mean-”
Derek smiles to himself and lifts Stiles chin to look up into his normal, green eyes. “No, it wasn't just fucking.” he presses his lips to Stiles', softly this time.
“Awesome.” Stiles grins, goofy and bright.
Derek rolls his eyes. “Awesome? That's your response? That's what you called shotties.”
“Well, they are.” Stiles laughs and Derek can't help but join.
“They are.” Derek concedes. “But I think this is a little better than awesome.”
“What's better that awesome?” Stiles asks.
Derek can think of a thousand words, all of them far too sentimental for his taste. “You're right. Awesome is good.”