Work Text:
“Do you want to? Tonight?” Stiles asks, pushing the leftover food around his plate.
Derek frowns, reaches across the table with his fork, and stabs a speak of broccoli from Stiles’ plate.
“I know you don’t like to talk about it, or whatever. I get it. Sometimes I just can’t tell if you’re in the mood for that, or just like, regular sex, or if you just want to watch TV and go to bed. And it’s all fine with me--it’s all great, actually--but I was just wondering if you were feeling like doing you-know-what tonight, because I’m kind of feeling--”
“Okay,” Derek says, interrupting Stiles mid-ramble. He wipes his face with a napkin, picks up his own plate, and reaches for Stiles’.
Stiles mouth hangs open for a few seconds too long, and the only sound in the room is Derek scraping bits of food into the sink.
“Okay,” Stiles repeats, rising to his feet. He steps over to the counter, presses his left side against Derek’s right, and reaches out to turn on the hot water. “Why don’t you let me do this? And you can... you can go get dressed.”
Derek ducks his head, still embarrassed whenever Stiles brings up this aspect of their sex life outside the bedroom. Stiles just pries the dirty dishes from his hands and nudges him out of the way. “Shoo,” he teases, earning a growl from Derek as he walks away.
Stiles takes his time with the dishes, trying not to let his imagination get out of control. He hears Derek’s footsteps as he climbs the stairs, crosses the hall into their bedroom. Stiles can’t hear what happens next, but if he had Derek’s werewolf senses, he knows he would hear the bottom drawer of Derek’s bureau slide open. He would probably hear Derek whimper softly as he paws through the piles of silk and lace. After a few minutes--after Derek chooses--Stiles would hear the soft swish of fabric as Derek changes from jeans and a t-shirt into something sexier.
When he’s sure enough time has elapsed, and the dishes are washed, dried, and put away, Stiles climbs the stairs himself. Two at a time.
Derek’s waiting for him in their bedroom, standing in front of the full-length mirror on their closet door. He’s naked from the waist up, all smooth, tan skin and thick muscle. Stiles leans against the door jamb and takes him in; the stubble on his cheeks, the coarse hair covering his forearms, the perfectly formed washboard abs... the black lace panties wrapped around his hips.
Stiles bites his lips and takes in the rest of Derek’s body: the thick bulge of his cock straining against the panties, the soft skin of his thighs visible between the straps of his garters, and an unbearably sexy pair of fishnet stockings covering his legs.
“Fuck,” Stiles whispers. The fishnets are new.
Derek spins around slowly, pausing to check out his ass in the mirror before he turns to face Stiles.
“You look...” Stiles shakes his head, stepping closer. “God, Derek. You look so sexy. Your legs look amazing in those. So... so pretty.”
Stiles hears the rumbling in Derek’s chest, but it sounds more like a purr than a growl.
“So gorgeous. Come here, walk in them. Show me,” Stiles says, sitting on the end of their bed. He leans back on his palms, head tilted to one side--his posture submissive even as he’s ordering Derek around. It’s a careful balance, one Derek needs to feel safe enough to be this vulnerable.
Derek walks slowly across the room, stopping a few feet away from the bed. Stiles lifts one hand and motions for him to spin around. Derek complies, moving slowly, his arms at his sides and his fingers worrying the thin straps connecting his panties with his stockings.
“Beautiful.” Stiles flicks open the button on his jeans and slides the zipper down, relieving some of the pressure on his cock. “Always so pretty for me. So good, Derek. I bought you a present today--do you want it?”
Derek cocks his head, confused. Usually when Stiles buys him a present, it’s something new tucked into his lingerie drawer.
“C’mere,” Stiles says, nodding at the floor in front of him. Derek steps closer and falls to his knees freely, sighing happily when he drops his head against Stiles’ thigh. Stiles lets him nuzzle closer for a few seconds before laying his own hand flat on his thigh, facing up. He moves slowly, waiting for Derek to nip at his fingers and press a kiss to his palm before sliding his hand up into Derek’s hair.
“Good, that’s so good,” Stiles murmurs. Derek drops his head forward, nosing up the length of Stiles cock through his underwear, but Stiles pulls him back with a sharp tug.
Derek’s fangs pop out a little, but Stiles knows it’s just a reflex.
“Shh, sorry,” Stiles soothes, petting him until the fangs retract. “Just didn’t want you to get carried away. I got you something, remember?”
Derek nods eagerly, pushing back into Stiles’ hand.
“Okay, yeah. So, look, Derek, I just bought this on a whim, and I thought it might work with this whole sexy lingerie thing you have going on, but I want to preface this gift by saying that I won’t be disappointed at all if you don’t want it. At all. So if you don’t want it, just shake your head and I’ll throw it away and we’ll move on, okay?” Derek nods once, and Stiles frees his hand from Derek’s hair. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a tiny, pink tube. “It’s just this, Derek. And if you don’t want it, no judgment or any--”
“Please,” Derek moans, his voice low and throaty. “I want it.”
Stiles is so relieved that he laughs, a nervous, high-pitched sound. He gets control of himself quickly, though, and pulls the cap off the tube of lipstick. It’s a bright, cherry red color that looks obscene even in the dim evening light.
“I’m just gonna...” Stiles says, reaching forward to dab at Derek’s bottom lip with the lipstick. He frowns in concentration as he smooths the color over Derek’s bottom lip, then does his best to follow the shape of his top lip. His hand trembles and he gets a little lipstick on Derek’s skin, just at the corner of his mouth.
When Stiles tries to wipe it away, it just smears obscenely over Derek’s cheek.
“That’s good, that’s so good, Derek. So pretty. How does it feel?” Stiles asks, putting the cap back on the tube.
Derek rubs his lips together, then nods.
“You like it? We can take it off if you don’t. Just say--”
“I like it,” Derek says. “Do you?”
“Fuck yes I like it. God, you look so hot. All I can think about is getting your mouth on me, Derek, you look so good. So pretty, so perfect.”
Stiles tucks the lipstick back into the pocket of his jeans, then palms his erection through his boxer briefs. “Let me just get these off.”
Derek doesn’t give him a chance. Before Stiles can push his jeans or his underwear down, Derek is surging forward to mouth at the shape of his cock through his underwear, staining gray cotton with bright red lipstick.
“Yeah, okay. Or not,” Stiles mumbles. “Oh, Jesus.” He leans back on his palms again, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Derek making an absolute mess of him.
Stiles lets Derek take control, just watching as Derek pulls his cock free and licks one long, hot stripe up the underside before wrapping his lips around the head.
“There, yeah,” Stiles says. “That’s so good. Your lips are just... fuck.”
Derek bobs his head slowly, twisting his neck as he pulls off of Stiles’ cock, smearing the lipstick around. Usually Derek won’t stop sucking Stiles once he’s started, but tonight he keeps pulling back, stroking Stiles with his hand, and staring at the red staining Stiles’ pale skin.
“C’mon, Derek,” Stiles whines, the third time Derek pulls away. He threads his fingers through Derek’s hair again, careful not to pull too hard, and urges him back down. “There you go. Suck it. God, that’s so good.”
Stiles guides Derek’s movements gently, watches as his cock and Derek’s mouth become a mess of spit and red lipstick, marvelling the whole time that this--sex in general, and kinky sex with Derek in particular--is something he gets to do regularly.
“Yeah, that’s so good,” Stiles says, scratching the back of Derek’s neck as he praises him. “So pretty for me, so good. You’re gonna make me come.”
Derek whines, pushes closer and takes Stiles deeper, swallowing around the head of his cock.
“Yes, fuck. Take it, Derek,” Stiles groans. He fights for control as he starts to come, dropping his hand from the back of Derek’s neck to grip the comforter beneath him. “God, fuck, keep sucking me, yeah,” he rambles, unable to stop talking even as he comes down from his orgasm.
“So good,” he finally says, laying a hand flat on Derek’s shoulder to gently push him away. If Derek had his way, he’d always keep mouthing at Stiles until he got hard again, but Stiles needs a little recovery time these days.
He leans forward to kiss Derek, tasting the waxy remnants of the lipstick mixed with his own come. Derek is jerking himself off frantically, his hand shoved down the front of his sheer lace panties.
“More?” he says, looking up into Stiles’ eyes.
“More what?” Stiles asks.
Derek’s eyes drop down to Stiles’ hip, to the pocket where Stiles stashed the lipstick.
“You want more of this?” Stiles asks, pulling the tube out of his pocket again. “Yeah, okay.”
Stiles doesn’t try to keep it neat this time, it’s impossible anyway with the way Derek is moving and moaning and trying to kiss Stiles’ hand.
“There you go,” Stiles says. “All pretty for me, all dressed up... such a pretty girl.”
That’s enough for Derek, enough for him to arch his back and come, his eyes locked on Stiles’ the whole time.
“Fuck, that’s hot.” Stiles combs his fingers through Derek’s hair, tugs him down to rest his head against Stiles’ thigh. “You’re great, Derek. So good.”
They rest for a few minutes, until Derek lifts his head and says “We made a mess.”
Stiles barks out a laugh. “Yeah, but it was completely worth it. So the lipstick’s a ‘yes,’ then? Maybe we should get a few more, experiment with some colors, and gloss versus matte, or even--”
“Stiles.”
“Right, the mess,” Stiles says, ducking down to kiss Derek’s forehead. “Let’s go take a shower, okay?”
“Stiles?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe pink, next time.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says, grinning. “You got it.”