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“Top 10 Hottest Models of the Last 10 Years”
That’s what first catches his eye as he’s perusing the magazine rack as he waits for the cashier to hurry up and finish with the customer in front of him. Well, it’s the second thing that catches his eye. The first thing that actually catches his eye is the leggy brunette that’s gracing the cover. She’s dressed up like a modern-day Daisy Duke. It’s not a magazine he would usually read, but he picks it up and flips to the page that the list of models starts on, curious to see if they’re all as sexy as the one on the cover.
He freezes halfway through the list, because right there, on page 37, being touted as the hottest model of 2009, is Derek Hale. The picture is from a little over five years ago, and they actually have his name down as Derek Macoy, but that is most definitely his Derek.
The cashier gives him a look when she scans it that would normally embarrass him, but he just saw Derek Hale being sexier than he ever thought possible, and there’s no fucking way he is not going to buy this magazine.
-
When he gets home, he quickly puts the groceries away before running up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time. He makes sure to lock his door (because he does not want to be interrupted by his dad if he comes home while he’s looking at this) and then the window (because he definitely doesn’t want to be interrupted by Derek). Laying himself on his stomach, he opens the magazine to page 37 again and just stares at the picture as if he’s studying it.
Derek has definitely never looked as gorgeous as he does in this picture. He’s just standing there, hands behind his head, a pair of jeans resting very low on his hips and completely shirtless beneath a leather jacket.
“Figures this leather jacket fetish of his goes this far back,” Stiles says to himself, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it.
His chest is almost completely exposed, not a stray hair to be found on it. The way his arms are stretched is making his stomach even more enticing than it usually is, a thin line of hair leading from his navel to his waist. It’s a treasure trail that Stiles has definitely thought about more than once. Hell, it was that very strip of hair that first had him questioning his sexuality. Just the thought of touching Derek there has him involuntarily licking his lips and lightly grinding his hips down against his mattress.
It takes exactly 8 seconds for him to decide if it’d be wrong of him to use Derek’s picture to get himself off.
-
Twenty minutes later, and evidence of one very satisfying orgasm still on his stomach, he’s sitting at his desk looking up Derek Macoy on Google. Stiles is sitting there with seven different tabs open when a tapping at his window startles him. He slams his laptop shut and turns around, expecting a glaring Derek. It is Derek, but he isn’t glaring, so Stiles lets out the breath he’d been holding and gets up to unlock the window for him.
The first thing Derek does when he gets into Stiles room is sniff the hair. “Well, I was going to ask why you had the window locked, but I guess that’s been answered for me,” he sneers.
“Right,” Stiles mutters, cheeks flushed bright red. “I’ll just...be right back,” he continues, running to the bathroom to wash the stickiness from his stomach. He spends a little extra time in there, trying to will his heartbeat into something resembling normal before heading back to his room.
That extra time was a complete waste though, because when he gets back into his room, Derek’s standing in the middle of the room with the magazine open to what he can only issume is the 37th page. “Oh shit,” he whispers.
“Where. Did. You. Get. This.” Derek asks, although Stiles can tell that there was definitely not a question mark in Derek’s voice.
“Bought it,” Stiles replies, voice unshaken. No way is he going to let Derek think he’s intimidating him. At least no more than usual. “That Derek Macoy is quite the model, yeah?” he tries to joke.
That just seems to irk Derek even more, his shoulders practically at his ears. Okay, no more jokes then, Stiles thinks so himself.
“I swear to all that is evil in the world,” Derek starts, moving into Stiles’ personal space, “if you ever tell anybody about this, I will murder you in the most gruesome way I can think up. And if it isn’t gruesome enough, I’ll enlist Peter to help me think of a better way.”
“First off, dude, whoa, personal space. Get some,” Stiles says, backing away from Derek. “Second, why don’t you want anybody to know? Did you not see the same photo I did?”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Derek asks. “Of course I did.”
“Dude, you look hot in those,” Stiles answers. “You should be showing that shit off.”
“Those?,” Derek questions. “What do you mean those? There was only one picture there.”
“We’ve known each other for two years now, Macoy,” Stiles replies with a grin, slapping a hand onto Derek’s shoulder, quickly removing it when Derek shoots him a glare that could only be described as deadly. “You know I have to research everything I find interesting. And let me just say, you look very good on a motorcycle.”
Derek almost looks like he’s in pain as he says, “uh, thanks, I guess. Bye.” He’s sliding through Stiles’ window before Stiles can even register the fact that Derek actually just thanked him.
-
After that, Stiles finds himself slightly obsessed with Derek’s modeling career. He has printouts of his favorite pictures (all of them) in a folder beneath his bed, he has his very favorite set as the wallpaper on his phone and his laptop, and he even ordered two posters online. He has one poster pinned up on the inside of his closet, knowing it’s the only place in his room nobody would ever find it, and the second still rolled up under his bed with the folder of pictures.
It doesn’t even occur to him how creepy all of it is until he’s standing in front of his closet for no reason other than he wants to look at Derek’s poster a month later.
Shit, he thinks to himself. What’s happened to me?
“You’re talking to yourself,” he hears Derek say from behind him. He turns around so fast he almost falls over; he has to grab onto the handle of the closet door to steady himself. When he looks at Derek again, he can see a smirk on the werewolf’s face.
“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks him, shutting the closet door behind him and hoping that Derek didn’t see what he was looking at.
Derek turns to push the window down before turning around to face Stiles again. “I have something to give you.”
“What?”
Before answering, Derek moves over to the bedroom door, closes it, and then locks it. Stiles can feel himself holding his breath, but he can’t seem to let it out, too focused on Derek’s movements. He’s still holding his breath when Derek stands in front of him and leans in close to his ear. “The opportunity to take my final modeling picture,” he whispers, leaning in just a little closer to graze his teeth over the lobe of Stiles’ ear. “Nude.”
“Fuck,” Stiles breathes, dick already responding to Derek’s teeth on his ear.
“Had a feeling you’d like that,” Derek teases, moving even lower so he can lightly run his teeth over Stiles’ neck, grinning at the sound Stiles makes when he feels that Derek’s canines are slightly elongated. “I could smell your come all over you the last time I was here. You have no idea how hard I had to fight to not just drop to my knees and lick it off of you.”
“Fuck, Derek, please,” Stiles begs.
“Did you come while looking at me, Stiles?” he asks, ignoring Stiles’ plea, knowing the answer already. Stiles nods, and Derek continues. “What were you thinking about, Stiles? Tell me what was going through your mind while your hand was wrapped around your cock,” he commands, reaching between them with one hand to palm the front of Stiles’ pants.
“Derek,” Stiles whines, thrusting against Derek’s hand.
“Tell me.”
Stiles decides to show him instead, pushing Derek’s shirt up just enough to show the treasure trail Stiles has thought about so many times since he’s met Derek. He’s running his fingertips over it as he leans in and rests his forehead on Derek’s shoulder. “I was thinking about how badly I wanted to touch you right here,” he says, listening to the pleased sound Derek makes when he says it. “Thinking about how badly I wanted to drop to my knees in front of you and just kiss your stomach, my lips following this sexy trail of hair into your pants.”
“Keep going,” Derek tells him, pressing his palm against Stiles’ hardness.
“I was thinking about how badly I wanted to undo your jeans and watch as they slowly slid down your legs,” he answers, turning his face towards Derek’s neck and pressing his lips against it. “How I wanted nothing more than to take your dick between my lips the second it was free and give you the blowjob of your life.”
“Do it, Stiles,” he says, pressing Stiles’ face back into his neck. “Take my pants off,” Derek orders.
And he does. It takes him longer than he would like to get Derek’s pants undone, hands shaking, but once he does, he wastes no time in pushing them until they’re at Derek’s knees. “Fuck,” Stiles whispers. “Of course you’re not wearing anything under there.”
“Touch it, Stiles,” Derek instructs. “I know you want to.”
He can hear Derek letting out a groan that almost sounds like a growl when he wraps his hand around Derek’s dick. “It’s so fucking hot, dude,” Stiles says, Derek’s dick throbbing in his grip. “Please, Derek, please,” he begs, sounding almost pitiful, “let me taste you.”
Derek puts both of his hands on Stiles’ shoulders in reply and pushes him down onto his knees, a quiet moan escaping between his lips when he feels Stiles lips around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Stiles,” he groans, putting a hand behind Stiles’ head and pushing him down farther until Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s thighs to stop himself.
Looking up at Derek, Stiles can see the fire in his eyes. He imagines Derek has to be able to see the want in his. Stiles hasn’t ever wanted anybody as much as he wants Derek right in this moment, and he wants him to know that. He moves back just far enough for Derek’s dick to fall from his mouth before moving just a little lower to take both of his balls into his mouth. He can hear Derek muttering expletives above him, and he’s so turned on by it that he’s pushing the waistband of his bands just below his own balls and wrapping a hand around his dick.
It only takes a couple of strokes before he feels like he’s about to come, so he pulls back until Derek’s balls drop from his mouth with an audible pop! sound and licks his way back up Derek’s dick. “I’m so close Derek,” he whines before taking Derek back into his mouth again, going down until he feels like he can’t anymore, then sliding back again.
“Stand up,” Derek orders, already missing the heat of Stiles’ mouth when he obeys. He presses up against Stiles before taking both of their dicks in one hand, and never before has he been so grateful that there’s only a one-inch height difference between them. “Fuck, you’re gonna smell so good on me, Stiles.”
“And you’re gonna smell so good on me, Derek,” Stiles replies, knowing how much those words are gonna turn Derek on. “Come for me, Derek,” he says, pressing a kiss to Derek’s neck before lightly biting down on it. “Make me smell like you.”
Derek’s biting down on Stiles’ shoulder when his orgasm hits, his teeth sinking in a little deeper when he hears Stiles moaning. He can feel Stiles’ dick pulsing against his own at the same time he feels Stiles’ fingernails scratching down his back. He’s got one hand on Stiles’ ass, pulling him flush against him as they come in sync, scents mixing together on the hand Derek is gripping them both with. When their mixed scent hits his nose, he can’t help but grip Stiles’ ass even harder, Stiles’ dick throbbing once, twice more when he does.
They’re still standing there in the middle of Stiles’ room five minutes later, pressed against each other, coming down from their mutual highs. Derek is the first one to pull away, bringing his hand up to his mouth and slowly licking his hand clean as Stiles watches. Grinning when Stiles whispers “fuck” so quietly that even he almost doesn’t hear it.
-
“Now then,” Stiles starts, when they’re both lying on his bed later that night, finally resting after getting each other off three more times, “about those last modeling pictures you were promising me earlier.”
