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Derek makes it clear straight away that he has no intention of touching Stiles until he's eighteen. Not that Stiles doesn't try and change his mind. He's seventeen and a half - which is like most of the argument won already. But Derek has the self-control of a saint, because every time they get close enough for anything like friction to happen Derek will shove him away, all stiff fingers and disapproving eyes. Though he'll also stare at Stiles's mouth and do that sexy inhaling thing that makes Stiles feel like some sort on Incubus who's irresistible to men - or to Derek at least - which is still new and sort of amazing.
The minute Stiles turns eighteen, literally the minute it happens he's going to demand that Derek puts out. It's only fair. There's a chance he won't come out of it alive but he really doesn't care.
Only, ok, fine, it's not the minute he turns eighteen because he's asleep at the time, a day spent running through the woods from hunters will do that to you. Really it's three days later, because he's waiting for his dad to be on a night shift. Which doesn't mean he isn't thinking about it the whole time, because he is. There's barely a second where he doesn't think about it. And, seriously, sex has to become less of a thing when you actually start having it, because he's pretty sure if he has to live with this much jittery arousal in his system constantly he will go mad. Or possibly break some sort of public indecency law.
He stops thinking about anything when he finally gets Derek in his room and he doesn't even know if he shuts the door, but the house is empty so he doesn't care. There is officially an open door policy on his sex life now - only no, because that actually sounds really bad. He pushes Derek in the vague direction of his bed, because he can be proactive and he's pretty sure that getting Derek on his bed is a priority here. Derek goes stiff and awkward for a second, but then they're kissing and it's familiar and aggressive in a way that always leaves Stiles feeling clumsy and desperate. He's practically vibrating, because he's been waiting to have sex with Derek for what feels like years. This time they're not stopping. Even if a portal to hell opens in the middle of town. Scott's officially on portal to hell duty until Stiles has had sex.
He'd been more than a little worried that he wouldn't have a clue what he was doing, but at the moment he's just going with it and that seems to be working. He thinks Derek's trying to work out what Stiles wants, because one minute he's totally into it, all bruising fingers and teeth - and Stiles is going to have stubble burn everywhere - the next he's all stiff and awkwardly gentle. Stiles doesn't care because it's Derek, and any touching is good touching. He drags Derek's shirt off, digs his fingers in his crazy hair, which is much softer than it looks. He's not petting it, he isn't - except when he totally is.
Stiles makes Derek kiss him until his mouth feels scratched to hell and every breath comes out shaky, pressing himself against Derek's thigh hard enough to promise more than actually satisfy anything. Clothes first. But Derek's still tense as a brick, and he keeps asking Stiles if he's ok, he keeps asking him what he wants with this quiet sort of desperation. Which is confusing and sort of frustrating, but Derek is kind of intense and confusing on a regular basis. It doesn't really matter though, because Stiles is still a teenager and totally new to this, so everything, everything is good with him. So, yeah, he tells him that. He has his hand pushed into Derek's jeans, open zipper digging into the back of it, and he has a significant handful of Derek's naked dick. The little whimpering noises coming out of his throat are being smothered by Derek's mouth, and he shoves his hips in because they need to be naked right now. Derek doesn’t take the hint - is Stiles not hinting loudly enough? He really thought he was. He eases back enough to unzip his own jeans, shoves them down his legs and slips out of them, then plasters himself back against Derek's body, pushing at the waist of his jeans - and promptly getting distracted by all that naked skin, which he wants to put his hands all over. But he figures this a big enough hint that no one could possibly misinterpret it. There's a pause and then Derek gets with the program, hands slipping inside Stiles's shorts and tugging them down his thighs. Stiles kicks them off and pulls Derek down, takes his weight, and that's all sorts of amazing.
Stiles doesn't even try to censor himself. He just lets his mouth say whatever it likes. So, yes, he's slurring a lot of complimentary and occasionally awkwardly dirty things about Derek. Because Derek is huge and insanely hot and Stiles is pretty sure no one ever tells him as much - and they really should be doing that, all the time. Until Derek growls 'shut up,' against his mouth, rough and angry - which isn't all that surprising, angry kissing to shut Stiles up is kind of their thing. He doesn't even get offended by it much any more, because Derek's mouth is a pretty awesome compromise.
Stiles can't help it. They've been riding this wave of antagonism and sexual tension for far too long. Derek barely even touches him. There's approximately ten seconds of contact between his dick and Derek's hand and he just completely loses it. He can't stop it, doesn't really want to, he just clings to the closest part of Derek he can reach, and comes all over his hand. He makes shaky, blissed-out noises into Derek's mouth, some of which may be the mangled syllables of his name. Stiles isn't sure what he says after that, he's really not at his most coherent.
Until he remembers that this is a mutual thing - finally - and that he should be doing something.
"Wait, let me, I can -"
Derek goes very still and then just - stops touching him. He pulls away, untangling them just by leaning back. Which is abrupt in a way Stiles doesn't understand at all. Unless Derek's heard something, or someone - and ok, yes, being caught having sex is definitely a mood killer. But Derek just stops once he reaches the edge of the mattress. Stiles makes some sort of abortive attempt to follow him, awkward and halting, and very confused. Derek's sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his bare feet, face completely unreadable, and Stiles ends up curled round the muscle of his shoulder, which has no give in it at all.
Derek hasn't -
He's not even hard any more.
Which is the most obvious non-verbal clue in the world that Stiles sucks at everything.
"Derek?"
Stiles sits awkwardly behind him on the bed, he doesn't know what else to do. No one should feel this awful and confused after an orgasm. His body doesn't even know what the hell it's doing now. Derek's just this huge, tense line of fucking misery, and he's not even looking at him. Stiles is officially a complete failure at sex. There should be medals in his honor, Olympic medals of sexual failure. Stiles works his boxers back on, because suddenly being naked is the absolute worst thing about this situation. Derek doesn't say anything. Which is really - it's not helping at all. Surely he should be saying something - if Stiles did something wrong.
"I'm sorry," Stiles starts uncertainly, and it sounds so loud, makes him swallow and clear his throat, try for something a little less pathetic. "I can try again - I don't know - maybe if you just tell me what you want, I can do that?"
Derek makes a noise like Stiles is just making it worse. But he can't stop talking, because he has to fix this. He can fix this, this is fixable, right?
"I know I said I wasn't ready but if you wanted to - if you wanted - I have condoms." It comes out sounding like the least sexy invitation ever, and Stiles's heart is pounding so hard every werewolf within a thousand miles can probably hear it.
Derek sighs and puts a hand over his face, and Stiles is officially at the stage where he feels too awful to actually form words. Because clearly Derek doesn't want to.
He didn't even know it was possible to feel worse but now there's just a hole in his chest. He doesn't know if this is the sort of thing people break up over. He feels a little bit sick and a little bit like he's on the verge of a panic attack. Because clearly he's screwed this up somehow, and of course it was a terrible, terrible disaster because nothing ever goes right for them. Why should this be any different. It's not like it's fucking important or anything. To add to the humiliation he's pretty sure if he takes a couple more breaths there's a genuine danger that his eyes are going to start watering. Which will be a joy. That will just establish this as the worst day ever. The day that bombed so spectacularly the only possible option was to cry. He hasn't felt so much like hiding at the bottom of the wardrobe since - and comparing today to that one in any way is like the icing on top of the tragedy cake.
"Look," he says shakily. "Clearly I fucked up somehow, but just tell me how to fix it. I'm serious, I can fix it -"
"Stop," Derek says, gritty and awful, because of course he can smell the misery coming off him. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Oh my God, this is the 'it's not you, it's me' conversation isn't it?" Stiles's throat closes around a noise which he thinks is going to be a laugh but really isn't even close. Because, no, he's not going to listen to this. He can't listen to this. "Could you please kill me instead, because I think it will be less painful in the long run."
Derek's expression just kind of collapses, like he feels exactly as horrible as Stiles does. Like this is his fault, that he's the one who screwed up and broke them.
It occurs to Stiles with slow, horrible clarity that the last person Derek had had feelings for - and maybe the last person he had sex with - was Kate. And she'd lied to him, used him, and then killed his entire family. Which makes Stiles feel like an awful person in new and terrible ways. Because obviously rushing into this was an incredibly bad idea. Stiles had been so focused on what he wanted, he hadn't even thought - and he should have thought. He's so stupid.
The fact that they both sort of fucked this up kind of helps - well, ok, no it doesn't, it's still awful. But it makes him feel like maybe they can fix it.
Derek still looks stiff and awkward, holding his shirt like he's not sure whether to go or not. Which, no, really, no, because if he leaves they'll never talk about this. And Derek will probably never touch him again. Stiles tugs the shirt out of his hands, because if they've made it through shapeshifters and lizard monsters and a truly insane amount of unbelievable shit then they can fix this. Stiles shuffles up the bed, until he can feel the warmth of Derek's shoulder against his bare arm. Which he didn't even realise he needed until he's there. He lets his weight rest there for a second, and Derek doesn't pull away.
"You should have said something," Stiles says quietly because he knows that he's going to have to be the one that talks, that's what he does, even when he's kind of terrified. "If you weren't ready. We didn't have to -" he waves a hand to encompass the quality of fail that they have accomplished here tonight - and then really wishes he hadn't. Derek's jaw is doing that thing, that twitching thing like he'd rather be murdered than have this conversation. It isn't exactly easy for Stiles either.
"You wanted to." The words come out toneless, difficult.
"It doesn't matter what I want, I'm a teenager I'm used to not getting what I want. I am denied things constantly and it's ok. It's - do you have any idea what I would do for you? You don't have to do stuff you don't want to for me. I would never want to make you feel -" Stiles stops and watches the way Derek curls in on himself, just a little. As if he's bracing himself for something. "Like this," Stiles finishes helplessly.
It occurs to Stiles that he's never actually asked Derek what he wants. Had anyone ever asked Derek what he wanted? Could the man's life get any more fucking horrible.
"If you don't want - " Stiles starts, because he has to. It would be shitty to just assume.
"I do," Derek says, eyes cutting sideways long enough to catch his own and hold them, before dropping away. "I wouldn't have started this if I didn't."
Stiles thinks he's going to choke on relief for a second, and Derek digs his fingers into his knee like he can feel it - Stiles hadn't even noticed he'd moved his hand there.
This is the sort of thing you probably need to talk about if you're actually planning to have a relationship, and not just awkward post-fight sexual tension. But that clearly isn't going to happen. Stiles has only the vaguest idea of what he's doing, and trying to get Derek to use actual words is a constant struggle. They don't talk about this. They talk about rogue werewolves and magic circles and lizard monsters. They don't talk about them, about what they're doing, and part of Stiles kind of understands that now. He thinks the fact that Derek's still here is pretty huge. The fact that he didn't just leave the minute everything went to hell - Stiles thinks that says something.
But he's also smart enough to know that this isn't the sort of thing you can just expect to fix itself. The best Stiles can do right now is - what? Tell Derek that it doesn't matter. He doesn't know how people deal with this. He didn't expect to feel guilty about pressuring someone into sex today and - yeah, that feels pretty fucking horrible
"Will you come here for a minute." Stiles tugs on his arm. Derek tenses under his fingers, still not comfortable. "I'm not going to - just come lay down for a minute, please."
Derek goes willingly, if stiffly, back into the sheets. He takes up most of Stiles's bed, fingers twitching restlessly, jaw still tight. Stiles carefully lays down next to him, throws an arm round his waist and digs his fingers into the other side. Which he thinks says something about his intent. It's weird and intimate, and it's Derek in his bed, so Stiles is half hard again. But he's ignoring it, he's manfully ignoring it with a level of self-control he wasn't sure he possessed. Because this is more important at the moment, keeping Derek here, where nothing bad is going to happen at all. Where no one will be under any pressure to do anything. Derek plays mannequin under his arm for a long time, long enough that Stiles starts to worry that he's going to stay that way. But then he very slowly relaxes under Stiles's fingers, tension easing out of him. So, yeah, maybe Stiles did something right.
He was kind of looking forward to this part too, though he wasn't ever going to admit to that.
Derek's warmth seeps into him, and Stiles falls asleep without really meaning to - he wakes up on his back, and it's a lot darker than it was. Derek's hand is splayed possessively on his chest, heavy and warm. He's breathing slowly into the shell of Stiles's ear. Though he's pretty sure Derek isn't sleeping.
It's raining, Stiles realises, which may have been what woke him up. He should probably shut the window, but he doesn't want to move. This is - the way they're sort of sprawled together - this is really good.
He must make some sort of movement though, a reflexive twitch. Because Derek throws a heavy leg over his, gives a low rumble of noise.
"Stay," he says fiercely.