Archive of Our Own

When Derek blatantly rejected Stiles, after clearly returning his kiss, hands just beginning to dance under Stiles’ shirt, he dug his fingers into Stiles’ shoulder and simply said, “No, Stiles,” before slinking back into the darkness. Stiles was confused. He sniffed at his shirt, his skin, hair, armpits, before spending an excessive amount of time in the mirror, feeling his self-confidence dropping.

***

He didn’t give up, though. If anything, it only made him try harder. Stiles spent more time in the gym, ignoring the questioning glares from his lacrosse teammates, and pushing himself harder and harder, toning up. When he began to see a change, he decided to try again, this time, parading around shirtless on a particularly hot day. He’d never seen Derek show less interest in him than that day. Stiles was embarrassed.

***

Stiles still didn’t give up. He trained harder and decided to be more helpful with were-stuff, even going as far as trying to be less snarky to Derek. (Key word “trying,” because that broody bastard didn’t make it easy at all.) But as Stiles helped Scott haul things into Derek’s new place, Derek just grumbled something about going to get food and left them there to do all the work.

“I give up,” Stiles said, dropping the box he was holding and earning a displeased grunt from Scott.

“Oh, thanks, leave me to do all the heavy lifting when this was your idea.” Scott put down his box and tossed Stiles a water bottle. “What do you give up on, anyway?”

“Derek. He’s just so-“ Stiles threw up his hands. “I’ve done everything, Scott. I don’t know what he wants from me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t-“

Stiles splashed water at Scott’s face. “No, Scott, shut up. He kissed me back, then nothing. So, I give up. We’ll finish helping him here, and I’ll wait for the food, and then I’m just going to eat until there’s an actual reason why he doesn’t want to fuck me.”

“TMI, dude,” Scott said, but he bumped his shoulder against Stiles’, and they got back to work in silence.

***

So Stiles gave up his previous plan. He stopped going to the gym, sticking to his previous lacrosse-only routine, but he did start baking. At first, it was because baking calmed him down (and how cliché is that), it helped him find focus so he wouldn’t do stupid shit like text Derek, or worse yet, text or call everyone else to ask about Derek. The baking kept him busy in mind and body, the house smelled great and he always had awesome snacks to share.

Which he did. All the time. But soon enough, all of Stiles’ amazing cakes, pies, turnovers and cookies weren’t getting picked up as often, everyone claiming worry over youth diabetes and sugar crashes. This only left Stiles to say, “More for me!” as he scarfed down the rest. And because he wasn’t a complete dickbag, he didn’t just abandon Scott and Derek and their efforts, even though his sweets consumption nearly doubled on those days. (No one had to know, right?) Stupid fucking Derek Hale.

***

Because he didn’t just sit down and eat a million calories at once, Stiles hadn’t noticed a change, not really, not until some asshole called him “tubby” in the changing room, and he was surprised to find himself staring in the mirror at a person he only vaguely recognized. It wasn’t that he was big, but he was definitely pudgy where he’d been lean before, had a bit more meat in his face, a bit more jiggle in his belly. Stiles got dressed quickly and thought about ordering pizza for dinner. That’d show them! It wasn’t like he was getting laid anyway.

His pizza plans got foiled, sadly, when Stiles got a call from Derek to help him with his computer. And because the 21st century and Derek still didn’t quite agree, and Stiles was truly a glutton for punishment (even more-so than delicious Meat Lover’s pizza), he went.

Derek’s place was looking good. Many of the boxes were already unpacked and the sofa was not completely littered with junk. Stiles told him as much before getting down to work. “Work” was too big a word for it; all Stiles had to do was plug in the charger. When he got up to make fun of Derek, he was surprised to find Derek looming over him wordlessly with a beer, but he took it all the same.

They sat in silence, watching TV, but whenever Derek got up to get something (another beer, a bag of chips, some cookies, a giant bowl of gummy bears, all placed in front of Stiles), he’d sit down closer to Stiles every time. Stiles was confused.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“Hm?” Derek grunted, taking a swig of his beer with his eyes still trained on the TV.

“This.” Stiles gestured around, nearly spilling the beer in his hand. “All this junk food, you sitting all close, and us hanging out? It’s pretty weird, man, especially after you so fucking clearly rejected me.”

Derek put his beer down on a coaster (of course he did) before turning to Stiles. He stared at Stiles for what seemed like an eternity, making Stiles’ hands itch for the gummy bears. When he finally said “Stiles-“ Stiles was having none of it.

So instead of reaching for the bowl on the table, Stiles reached for Derek. He pulled him in and pressed their lips together. Again. This time, Derek kissed him back. His hand went to Stiles’ hips again, sneaked under his shirt and instead of the push Stiles was expecting, Derek’s fingers dug into the flesh there, almost kneading, and pulled him closer. What.

He pushed Derek away to question it, but Derek only saw this as a chance to latch onto Stiles’ neck instead. Stiles wanted to know what the hell was going on, but his dick had other plans. And yeah, okay, Stiles could definitely get on board with these plans, especially when Derek practically tore off his tee and licked a stripe across one of his pecs.

"Fuck. Look so good like this." Derek’s voice was rough, he kissed at Stiles’ neck as his hands continued to roam, moving all over Stiles’ torso. Stiles wanted to push away, embarrassed.

Derek pushed him down, then, and slid himself between Stiles’ thighs, kissing him again as he ground his hips down, rubbing up against Stiles. Stiles forgot all about his embarrassment.

When Derek pushed Stiles’ hands up to hold the side of the couch, Stiles felt like he was on display, especially with the way Derek’s eyes looked him over, the way Derek would push his face down and sniff then pull back to look. He was being a damn tease, and Stiles just wanted him to get on with it, the friction on his cock not enough.

Derek kissed Stiles again, pulling away too soon, making Stiles let out an embarrassing whine, but then he kissed down Stiles’ jaw, his neck, and buried his face in Stiles’ armpit, never stopping the movement of his hips. Derek’s thrusts were getting harder, faster and fuck, Stiles was going to come in his pants if he didn't stop.

He might’ve said that last part out loud because Derek didn't stop. Instead, he ran his lips over Stiles’ neck, up to his ear, body covering Stiles’ completely, hot and suffocating in the best way. Derek slid his hands to hold Stiles’ over the arm of the couch and rubbed himself against Stiles completely, all muscle and power and fucking werewolf furnace heat. Stiles tried thrusting up, getting more, but Derek nipped at his ear, started to babble a bit, about how scared he’d been of hurting Stiles before and how much he just wanted to feel him, more of him.

Stiles would’ve had a retort ready, but one of Derek’s hands slid back along his arm, down his torso and held onto Stiles’ ass, while the other gripped Stiles’ side, thumb kneading at the love handle above Stiles’ jeans. He let Derek hold him in place like that, finally getting the proper amount of pressure, not even caring about all the things about his "perfect, soft curves," and his "beautiful belly," Derek was moaning into his ear.

At this point, Stiles was so close the pleasure was verging on pain and just needed – more – something, anything. Derek licking into his armpit seemed to have been the thing (though he’d deny it forevermore) as Stiles’ entire body trembled with his orgasm. He felt breathless in the best way, even though he’d just come in his pants. His cock felt too sensitive, almost painful but Derek kept going, snuffling into Stiles’ neck now, both hands gripping his ass, clinging. His thrusts got more erratic, his breathing turned to short gasps and he shuddered above Stiles before practically collapsing on top of him.

They stayed like that, nothing but their heavy breaths filling the silence, but once both their pulses died down, and the come in their pants undoubtedly began to crust over, the silence felt awkward.

"So. That happened," Stiles said dumbly, for the lack of anything better because how do you even start.

"Shut up, Stiles."

Apparently, you don’t.