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Stiles Stilinski, jailbait of the century is in Derek’s car and he’s naked.

-

In which there is Car Sex.

Derek is freaking out.



Stiles Stilinski, jailbait of the century is in Derek’s car and he’s naked.



He’s naked in Derek’s car.



Derek’s positive that every single deity in the world hates him because how else would these things just happen to him? First the pool (the wet, clinging clothing) then that one shirt (the one that was too thin to hide Stiles’ cold nipples) and all those times that Stiles had to bend over (his ass) and now—and now this.



A fairy (fairy, somewhere, Laura was laughing at him) had popped by, and for once, a nice supernatural being had taken note of Beacon Hills. Derek had gone to meet him and they had gotten along pretty well, miracle of miracles.



It was when they were talking about Derek’s pack when the fairy—Jeff, his name was—had mentioned “mates”…and then it had all fallen to pieces. Because not only had Jeff decided to take Derek under his wing, he had decided to “grant a wish to fulfill your heart’s truest desire, m’boy!”



And throughout it all, Derek had been helpless: every time he had opened his mouth to tell Jeff that no, his heart’s truest desire was not to bone Stiles, and really, Stiles was underage and—Derek had given up the third time Jeff had magically made Derek shut up.



Jeff had decided that the best way to accomplish giving Derek his “heart’s truest desire” was to magic Stiles into Derek’s Camaro. The backseat, more specifically, because according to Jeff, it was much less awkward when there was room to maneuver. Derek had to shake his head to get the resulting image from his mind—images of pale, mole-spotted legs hiked up—and snarled at Jeff, who, by this time, was immune (if he had ever been intimidated in the first place) to Derek’s scare tactics and had simply slapped Derek on the back and vanished with a smirk.



Derek had ignored Jeff’s flashy disappearance and had moved to wake Stiles up and lie about how he’d gotten there—but then he’d opened the back door and seen that Stiles was naked.



And so here Derek was, freaking out because how was he supposed to explain why a supernatural being had made Stiles naked before depositing him in Derek’s car?



It was then that Derek heard Stiles shifting in his sleep and murmuring something before flopping his arm around, presumably to roll onto the other side of his nonexistent bed. Derek cringed as Stiles’ arm smacked against the back of the seat and Stiles stiffened before jolting upright.



“Whoa!” cried Stiles, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings. Derek could barely make out the next muttered words that Stiles said—something about “dreams” and “missing the main character” before Stiles had turned his head and froze when he caught sight of Derek.



“Stiles…” Derek started, figuring that he might as well start lying about how he’d gotten before Stiles could start freaking out, but he was shocked to find Stiles grab onto Derek’s arm and pull him into the backseat. The surprise allowed Stiles to pull Derek’s bulkier frame into the car and after a second of awkward jostling, align Derek directly over Stiles.



“Whoa…” Stiles muttered, sliding his hands up and down Derek’s torso, “this is way more realistic than most dreams like this. Usually there’s a dreamlike feeling…this is so real-feeling.”



Derek gaped down at Stiles, feeling completely sidelined. What the hell was Stiles talking about?



“Stiles, you’re—“



Stiles interrupted Derek with an amused chortle, “Dude! Even your attitude’s different—way more realistic, good job brain! I knew that it’d get your characterization right at one point. Although I did enjoy the “mine, I’m gonna fuck you now” thing you had going the last dream.”



To say Derek was confused was the understatement of the year. “Stiles? You realize this is real?”



Stiles grinned up at him, amber eyes blinking lazily before surging up to capture Derek’s mouth.



Derek was going to pull away, he really meant to—but Stiles immediately turned the kiss dirty, licking into Derek’s mouth and hands tangled into Derek’s hair, pulling him down towards Stiles. Derek didn’t have the willpower to resist, not when this was what he’d wanted for so long. Biting down onto Stiles’ lower lip evoked a mewling sound from Stiles that shot heat straight down to Derek’s groin.



“Derek,” gasped Stiles, breaking away from the kiss, the last vestiges of sleep gone from his expression, “fuck, is—are you—is this?” Derek growled and said a mental fuck off to the voice in his head screaming “jailbait! Jailbait!” and brought a hand behind Stiles’ neck to drag him back into the kiss. Stiles moaned and kissed back enthusiastically, words of disbelief escaping every time they broke for air. Stiles’ hands pulled Derek’s shirt up and there was a sound of happiness as Stiles ran his hands up and down Derek’s torso.



“Fucking, your muscles,” Stiles muttered, head tilting back as Derek’s mouth moved down his jawline and he began mouthing at Stiles’ neck.



A hand scrabbled at Derek’s jeans and Derek sat up a bit, narrowly avoiding the roof of the car as he dragged his jeans down his hips but before he could pull them completely off, Stiles had made grabby hands at Derek and licked his lips, and said My what a big penis you have, Derek.” And even though it was a ridiculous thing to say, Derek still had to wrap his hand around the base of his cock to resist coming right then and there.



“Derek,” Stiles demanded, “Fuck, you’d better, this is real finally, get back down here.” The last command was a bit ruined by the whine in his voice but it was effective as Derek crowded back onto Stiles. Nipping and licking at Stiles’ neck, Derek made his way down Stiles’ body. Stiles was a writhing mess of pale limbs, panting as his arms braced himself against the car, one arm propped onto the other door, the other precariously perched on the console.



“Stiles,” Derek murmured, sucking a kiss onto the soft, pale inside of Stiles’ right thigh. His feet were planted on the ground outside the car, jeans bunched around his ankles, shirt ruched up around his armpits. Placing a kiss on Stiles’ leaking cock and ignoring the indignant cry, he stood up, ducking just in time to avoid hitting his head on the door frame and pulled off his shirt and to step out of his jeans. Leaving his clothes in a bundle on the ground outside his car, he crawled back inside.



“God—Derek, fuck, do something,” Stiles gasped as a large, warm hand wrapped around his cock. Derek smirked and leaned down to cover Stiles’ mouth again. The kiss was a fierce battle of tongues and Derek caught every gasp and moan that came out of Stiles’ mouth as they rutted against each other with Derek keeping a steady rhythm of strokes on Stiles’ cock.



“Derek,” Stiles breathed, trying to thrust into Derek’s hand but prevented from doing so as Derek’s weight pressed against his hip. His hand snaked down between them to trail against Derek’s cock and was rewarded with a jerk and grinning at Derek, he curled his fingers around Derek and started moving his hand.



“Two can play at this game,” Stiles whispered as he watched Derek’s eyes dilate further and buck his hips.



Derek growled as he began to stroke Stiles in turn, frustrated at Stiles’ slow and smooth strokes before finally knocking his hand away and shifted a bit to wrap his hand around both of their cocks—the feeling eliciting choked gasps from both of them—and stroking in earnest, the pre-come slicking the movements.



“Next time,” Derek rumbled out next to Stiles’ ear, hot breath curling around his sensitive skin, “I’m going to finger you until you’re pleading for it,” Stiles gave a loud, sharp grunt, “and then I’ll fuck you until you’re feeling who you belong to for a week.” Stiles whimpered, and another stroke was enough to take him over the edge, Derek following soon afterwards.



It was few minutes before they could breath properly again.



“Fuck,” Stiles breathed, head lolling backwards awkwardly against the door handle and the seat.



Derek grunted, spreading his hand through the cooling come and rubbing it into Stiles’ flat stomach.



“So…how’d I get here?” Stiles asked curiously, hastily adding “Not that I mind! I’ve wanted this for ages,” when he felt Derek stiffen against him. Derek slowly relaxed again, and laughed (Stiles smiled happily when he heard Derek laugh) a bit.



“A…friend…decided I needed an intervention.”



“So your friend somehow got me naked and in your car?” Stiles said, disbelief coloring his words. He chuckled and turned his head to face Derek, “If you abducted me and stripped me, I won’t complain, you know?”



Derek opened his mouth to explain but before he could, a terrifyingly familiar voice interrupted him.



“He might not complain—but I would.”



It was the Sheriff. Derek was so very fucked. And Jeff was so very dead (if hopefully maybe once Derek got out of this alive, that is).

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