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Beacon Hills is what most would classify as a run-of-the-mill small town. Not, like, one of those The-Hills-Have-Eyes towns sort of deals, but you know - a small town.
They have a tiny mall that features none of the cool stores a teenager would want but all of the stores his dad likes, a locally owned coffee shop but no Starbucks and a greasy restaurant called Sandy-Lou's, which ironically tries to imitate a fifties style diner (only minus the actual irony since it hasn’t changed its interior - nor their menu - since the genuine fifties). Throw in a few Mom-and-Pop shops and a rundown laundromat, and there you have it - Beacon Hills. They used to have a Target back in the day, which lasted all but two years before it declared bankruptcy, mostly due to the overwhelming popularity of the well established and Beacon Hills owned Jumpin' J-Hill Grocers, run by the Johnson-Hillberg family.
Yeah, Stiles isn't even going to comment on that one. Like he said, it's a small town.
Everyone that lives in a small town knows that nothing, absolutely nothing, happens on Sundays. Except church, but neither Stiles nor his dad has set foot on grounds of worship since his mother died four years ago, which means not even religious fear mongering can raise him out of the Sunday flunk he's fallen into.
In other words, Stiles is bored.
He's haunted all his usual places, mainly consisting of obscure Reddit forums and the odd Tumblr blog, jerked off two times and even cleaned his room and half of the kitchen. Not even a trip down to the lake, though usually a viable option, can save this day since Melissa's decided that this summer is apparently the perfect time for Scott to visit his deadbeat dad that lives four towns and six hours away from Beacon Hills. Since Scott is his only friend, it's left Stiles in quite a bit of a conundrum as to what he's supposed to do with all of his time.
He thought this summer was supposed to be good. Lazy days on the beach with Scott, luke warm nights with his dad’s misappropriated beer in the old treehouse they had built when they were nine and an ungodly amount of time spent in the basement rec room playing Assassin's Creed with Scott and more Cheetos than they could logically consume.
So far he's mostly spent the summer trapped in his hot box of a bedroom and watched the sun slowly set behind the hills outside his window while trying to will the time to go faster.
It's true that when they say nothing happens on a Sunday in a small town, absolutely nothing happens.
So when it does happen, of course it happens on a fucking Sunday.
----
The sun is beating down relentlessly from a clear blue sky. The air vibrates with heat, shimmering over the asphalt, making each step feel like walking through a thick, invisible barrier. Even the trees, their browning leaves drooping, seem to yearn for even the slightest breath of wind.
In other words; it’s hot as fucking balls.
Stiles is tired, sticky and in a foul mood. He pulls his cap further down his face and squints as he steps out onto the street. The asphalt sticks to the soles of his sneakers as he walks down the deserted road to the small cluster of trees at the edge of Beacon Hills’ only gas station, clutching a cone of melting ice cream in his hand.
The shade feels nice as he sits down on a bench under a branching oak and he lifts the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his sweaty and flushed face. He’s just contemplating getting in another round of Candy Crush just to have something to do when the distinct rumble of a motorcycle engine cuts through the quiet of the late afternoon. Stiles glances up from his phone as a tall, muscled guy kills the engine and swings a jean-clad leg over the bike. Removing his helmet, revealing short, dark hair and a sharp jawline, the guy's eyes scans the surroundings before landing on Stiles with an unreadable expression.
The guy pauses for a moment, surveying the gas station quickly, then, with a decision seemingly made, he starts walking towards Stiles.
Stiles watches him approach, heart picking up pace, and as the guy gets closer, Stiles can see the faintest hint of a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.
“Hey, mind if I join you, kid?”
"Uh, sure," Stiles manages and pockets his phone. “Go ahead.”
Stiles eyes his muscled biceps under the curve of the white t-shirt as the guy tucks his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and leans back against the tree.
"What's a pretty boy like you doing out here all alone?"
Stiles draws his eyes up and glances around before coming to the conclusion that the question is addressed to him. His face heats. "Um, eating ice cream?"
The guy smirks and pushes his sunglasses up on top of his head. "That a question or an answer?"
Stiles licks away a trickle of melting ice cream running down his wrist to distract himself from staring. "Unless this ice cream is a sudden mirage due to heat stroke - which, honestly, legit - I'm pretty sure I am, in fact, eating ice cream, dude."
The guy’s eyes track the movement as Stiles licks his lips, removing any remnants of ice cream. "Shouldn't you be hanging out with your friends - school’s out for summer, right?"
Stiles snorts, pushing the last bit of mushy ice cream cone into his mouth. "What friends?"
The guy’s eyebrows crinkle slightly and before this turns into more of a pity party for one (well, two, now) than it already is, Stiles asks, "So, what brings a guy like you to the deserted and desolate grounds of Beacon Hills?"
"Just passing through."
"No one just passes through Beacon Hills, man.” Stiles wrinkles his nose. “For such a small place, it still manages to be spectacularly shitty."
The guy shrugs, looking at Stiles intently. “Why not Beacon Hills?”
“Because it’s Beacon Hills,” Stiles answers, “there’s literally nothing to do here.”
“Can’t be that bad,” the guy says with an easy smile. ”Found you here, didn’t I?”
"Wow, dude,” Stiles says, a nervous laugh working its way up his throat, “did you just pull that out of a Top Ten Cheesiest Pickup Lines book, or what?"
"Maybe,” the guy admits, stepping closer. “How else am I gonna convince you to get up back on that bike of mine?”
Stiles knows he shouldn't, his dad's a cop for fuck’s sake, and he's grown up with lectures on men in white vans and the importance of saying no to candy from strangers. But he’s tired of always saying no, tired of being the Sheriff's weird kid that doesn't get invited to Lydia Martin's Sophomore Summer Bash and tired of feeling like everyone is three years ahead of him in everything.
“Okay,” Stiles finds himself saying, the word escaping him before he can second-guess his decision. "Yeah, okay, let’s do it."
“Cool,” the guy says and flashes white teeth in a wide grin. “Name’s Derek by the way.”
Stiles nods and takes the extended hand to help him off the bench. He doesn’t offer his name back.
----
Twenty minutes later, Stiles is seriously questioning his decision making skills and regrets everything.
"Watch out for the pot holes, you - oh my God!" Stiles grabs for Derek’s waist and pushes his face into the damp fabric clinging to Derek's back.
Stiles feels the vibrations through his chest as Derek laughs. "Hold on tight, kid," he says. “I know a place.”
“You know a place?” Stiles snaps, with a tad bit more hysteria tingeing his voice than he would like to admit. “You’re not even from here!”
The motorcycle jolts beneath them. Stiles' heart leaps into his throat, and his grip around Derek tightens instinctively, nails digging into Derek’s skin through his t-shirt. The sudden, rough transition from smooth asphalt to terrain catches him off guard, and a startled yelp escapes him.
“Almost there,” Derek calls, turning his head to flash a quick grin at Stiles.
“Oh my god,” he yells back. “Eyes on the fucking road.”
Fifteen minutes or so later, Derek kills the engine and the world settles into silence as the hum from the engine dies out. Stiles slowly unwraps his arms from around Derek, suddenly extremely conscious of the closeness they'd shared during the ride. Derek turns towards Stiles, removing his helmet before setting it on the bike. “Okay there, kid?”
“Peachy,” Stiles grits out and releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Just fucking peachy.”
----
"Won't your parents wonder where you are?"
Stiles shifts the dirt under his foot with the top of his beat up sneaker. "Dad's working a double so he's not home until morning." He glances up with a wry grin. “You'd think you'd have considered that before dragging me out into the woods on the back of your bike, dude.”
The sun is casting long shadows through the thick trees of the forest on the outskirts of Beacon Hills. The air is cooler here, the light softer, and the sounds of the forest more pronounced as day slowly shifts towards early evening.
"Fair enough," Derek concedes, a slight, smug smile playing on his lips. He reaches behind his ear and holds out a battered and badly creased joint in Stiles direction. “Probably shouldn’t offer this, right,” he laughs and lights it up, inhaling. “But life is short, ain’t it, kid?”
"I've smoked weed before, dude, chill," Stiles says as he plucks the joint from Derek’s hands and takes a deep drag, neglecting to mention that before means once, back in ninth grade, after which he spent the rest of the night trying not to suffocate while Scott fed him his asthma medication behind Jessica Torres backyard shed.
Eyes tearing, he coughs helplessly while trying to drag air into his burning lungs. "I’m good," he tries to say, but all that comes out is this wheezing sound before he succumbs to the coughing fit again.
Derek smirks and pats him on the back. "I can tell." He takes the joint from Stiles' fingers and puts it between his teeth. "Come 'ere."
Stiles tries to follow Derek's hand as it slowly grabs hold of his jaw, fingers pressing into his flushed skin. "What are you doing," he asks and winces at the hoarseness of his voice.
"Open up." Derek's mouth curves into a small smile. His lips close around the butt of the joint and he inhales deeply, holding Stiles' jaw in place as he brings himself closer.
Stiles' heart starts pounding at the first touch of Derek's lips against his own. The smoke fills his mouth and trickles down his throat smoothly and he holds his breath as Derek draws back.
He blows out in a thick cloud of hazy smoke and Stiles feels a wide grin spread across his face when Derek laughs.
"Look at that," Derek says gently, running a calloused thumb down the side of his face. "Has anyone ever told you what a pretty smile you have?"
Stiles eyes quickly darts down to look at his scruffy sneakers and he feels his face heat. "Nah, man, come on." He laughs and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, embarrassed. "I think the weed has gone to your head, dude."
Derek takes a final drag of the joint and blows it out in a weed-scented gush of air across Stiles' face. He drops it on the floor and crushes it out with the heel of his boot. "No girlfriend, then?"
Stiles shakes his head, a dizzy, warm feeling spreading through him. "Nope," he says, laying on an upbeat quality to his voice. "I'm one of thirty fluent Klingon speakers in the world, dude, what do you think?"
"I think they're all fucking idiots, 's what I think," Derek mumbles and raises a large hand to stroke down the side of his neck, fingers trailing slowly along his collarbone.
Stiles’ breath hitches slightly. "Yeah, in total agreement there, man. I mean, who wouldn't appreciate the subtle nuances that make up the wonderfully complex and intricate Klingonese language?"
Derek hums and Stiles eyes widen as he closes the distance between them, almost bringing them chest to chest. "No boyfriend either then, I guess?"
Stiles takes a wobbly step back. "I'm not," he counters quickly. "I mean, I don’t -"
Derek's eyes rake up his body, then cocks his head. "Sure, kid," he says slowly. "You might be able to fool the redneck population of Beacon County, but ain't no man jumping on the back of a stranger's bike that's not looking for some action."
Stiles barks out a strangled laugh. "Lies," he says, "I'm can come up with several reasons, including, but not limited to, acute emergencies, sudden heavy rainfall, alien invasion and -"
Derek's fingers wind their way into the back of his hair and crushes their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss.
Stiles draws in a sharp breath through his nose. "I maybe am a little bit," he mumbles and feels it against his lips when Derek smiles.
"Just take it easy, kid," Derek whispers before sucking Stiles’ bottom lip into his mouth, his hands cradling the sides of his face. He tastes like old beer and weed and Stiles’ can’t remember anything ever tasting better than this.
"I'll take good care of you.”
Stiles remembers playing seven minutes in heaven at Scott's fourteenth birthday party and the brief peck he'd shared with Lydia Martin's unwillingly puckered lips in Melissa's hallway closet. She'd spent most of seven minutes looking faintly disgusted before finally giving him a quick, closed-mouthed kiss at the last second. She'd wiped her lips after and Stiles had spent the rest of the party fighting back tears behind a locked bathroom door.
This is nothing like that.
Heat pools in his stomach as Derek licks into his mouth with an almost feral enthusiasm. There's no finesse and all clacking teeth and saliva and Derek's teeth tugging on his bottom lip, mouth sucking on his tongue like he wants to devour it.
Stiles fucking loves it.
Hands glide along his flushed skin, tracing the dips of his ribs and down over his stomach to finally settle on his narrow pelvis; thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the hollows of his hips. Stiles is pushed back against a tree, rough bark cutting into his back through his t-shirt, and sucks in a desperate breath as he drops his head to rest on Derek’s shoulder.
"Shit," Derek groans next to his ear, tiny puffs of hot air sending shivers down Stiles’ spine. "You should fucking see yourself." One hand slides down to cup his cock through his shorts, squeezing, and Stiles hips stutter helplessly as he lets out a moan.
"Yeah, that's it, kid," Derek whispers, "that's it."
Stiles can feel the hot press of Derek's dick pushing against his thigh as he nestles himself closer. "I can't wait to get inside of you," Derek mumbles, "I'm gonna make you feel so good."
Two fingers press against his lips and Stiles opens his mouth with a soft groan. He swirls his tongue around them before sucking them down his throat.
"You're practically practically gagging for it, aren't you, kid?" Derek asks, voice rough, and Stiles nods jerkily around Derek’s fingers.
There's a part of him that whispers that he should feel a hint of embarrassment for being so easily swayed, for jumping on Derek's motorcycle without a second thought, for kissing a complete stranger in the middle of the woods, driven by sheer excitement and the allure of the unknown and just pure want. But with Derek’s fingers down his throat and his own cock throbbing hotly in his pants and the sense of pure freedom coursing through his body, Stiles can't summon even a trace of regret.
Derek grabs Stiles’ shorts and pulls them down. Stiles angles his hips to help; dick slapping wetly against his stomach when it springs free from the material.
Derek laughs softly as he tucks his face into Stiles’ throat. "No underwear?"
"Too fucking hot," Stiles mumbles and fights the urge to cover himself. He squirms a bit as Derek pulls back, eyes travelling the length of his body appreciatively.
"None of that crap, kid," Derek says and leans forward to trail a few lazy kisses along his jaw. "You're fucking gorgeous."
One hand comes up to rest above Stiles' head as Derek undoes the button on his jeans and pulls down the zipper. He leans forward and grabs his shirt by the neck, pulling it off quickly, and drops it on the ground.
"Fuck," Stiles murmurs softly as his eyes takes in Derek’s body.
Derek smirks slowly and grabs Stiles' hands. "Go to town," he says and drags Stiles' trembling fingers down the rigid planes of his stomach. “Touch me.”
Stiles hands are shaking as he lets his fingers map out the harsh cut of Derek's abs. Slowly growing bolder, he runs his palms up over the well defined pecs of Derek's chest, feeling his nipples grow stiff under his fingers. Stiles' cock gives a small twitch against his stomach, almost begging for some kind of friction; hips making small aborted movements as he explores Derek's body. He's so hard it almost hurts, balls drawn tight and precome running down his length in thready pulses.
"Shit - I," breathes out on a soft moan. “Fuck.”
Derek hushes him gently. "I got you, kid," he says and pushes his jeans down the rest of the way, tangling with his boots, but he doesn't seem to care.
"Oh," Stiles laughs nervously, eyes flicking down to Derek’s cock. "it's, um, yeah."
Derek's cock is big; uncut and thick and veiny as it stands proudly from an unruly nest of dark, coarse hair.
"Yeah," Derek smiles and gives it a quick tug, pulling back the foreskin to circle his thumb over the wet head.
"It won't fit."
Derek raises an eyebrow. "It will, I promise you, kid." He spits in his palm before circling his hand around Stiles' cock. "Just gotta get some lube first."
Stiles spreads his legs with a groan and lets his head fall back against the tree. "No holding back then, I guess," he mumbles. “Which, you know, I don’t think I could do even if I tried.”
"Get it, kid," Derek laughs and ups his pace, squeezing his fingers gently under the head on every upstroke while his other hand drops down to caress Stiles’ balls.
Stiles nails dig into the bark, panting breaths forcing their way out of his throat as Derek's hand works his cock. Thighs trembling, he fucks into his fist as Derek mumbles, "Come on, kid, come on."
Stiles tenses his thighs, back arching, and with a punched out moan, comes all over Derek's hand. He falls back against the tree, panting. "Fuck," he says and runs a trembling hand over his face.
"There you go," Derek says with a small, huffing laugh. "Shit, kid, that was fucking hot."
Stiles shifts awkwardly. "Uh, you're welcome, I guess?"
Derek gathers Stiles come in the palm of his hand and slides it over his cock. "Turn around for me, yeah?" A wet hand comes down to cradle Stiles' hips gently, thumb running soothingly across his skin.
The bark is rough beneath his hands as he turns around and braces himself against the tree. He feels Derek's hands stroke up along the inside of his thighs, spreading his legs. He jumps and draws in a startled breath as a finger travels down his crack to circle his rim.
"Easy there, kid," Derek says, "I promise I'm gonna make it so good for you."
Stiles hears the sound of Derek spitting and then the finger is back, pushing in slowly. He tenses, unwittingly, and feels Derek's hand stroke down his back. "Push out," he mumbles gently against the small of his back, "it's gonna help."
Stiles exhales slowly, feeling awkward and exposed as he does as Derek says. Focusing on his breaths, he feels his muscles slowly unwind from their tensed up position and he relaxes into Derek's movements.
"That's good, kid," Derek says, letting out a ragged breath, "just like that."
The finger retreats slowly, but soon comes back, more slick. It's his own come, Stiles realises, and somehow the thought sends a thrill up his spine. The first finger is soon joined by another and Stiles struggles to adapt to the intrusion. "Lots of work," he grunts, resting his cheek against the tree.
Derek huffs a small, rasping laugh. "Worth it." He twists his fingers up and Stiles lets out a long groan as Derek touches something in there that sends tiny shivers of pleasure coursing through his body. His dick is starting to get hard again and he spreads his legs further apart to give Derek more room.
"See, worth it, yeah?"
"Fuck, yeah," Stiles breathes and palms his cock, hips snapping up into his hand.
"Yeah, yeah, do it, kid, touch yourself," Derek urges and nudges a third finger inside Stiles.
Stiles hisses at the burn, but grabs his cock and starts jerking it slowly. The stretch isn't comfortable, but it doesn't exactly hurt either, and once in a while Derek's fingers nudge that spot inside of him that makes it all worth it.
"I think you're ready," Derek murmurs from behind him and places a soft kiss on the inside of his thigh as he stands up.
Stiles feels him shuffle closer, placing himself between Stiles' legs. Derek spreads his cheeks with both hands and then stops, releasing a deep groan. "Shit, look at you, kid," he says, "just fucking look at you."
"Derek, fuck, just do it," Stiles says, a bit breathless, and pushes his ass back against Derek's hands.
"Just remember to breathe," Derek answers, amused, and gives him a gentle swat on the ass. "Ready?"
Stiles nods, but tenses up again when the wet, cold head of Derek's cock nudges against his hole, though he forces himself to relax into it. "I'm good," he says tightly when Derek pauses. "Keep going."
Derek strokes the sides of his hips as he inches in and as soon as he bottoms out he digs his fingers into Stiles' skin, breathing heavily.
Stiles pushes back against him impatiently. "Come on, I'm not made of fucking glass here."
"Pushy," Derek laughs, but it soon tapers off into a moan as Stiles clenches around him. "It's not for your benefit, kid," he continues. "You looked so fucking hot bent over that tree, you have no idea."
"Yeah?" Stiles lets out a small groan as Derek starts rocking into him and Stiles moves his hand faster as he jerks his cock.
"Fuck, yeah, you have no idea, have you?" Derek says, grabbing his hips tighter as he fucks into him. "I wanted to eat you out right there, wanted to get my fucking tongue into that tight little hole of yours and lick you out until you came."
"Fuck, Derek," Stiles moans and pushes back against the thrusts. “You can’t just say shit like that.”
Derek gets an arm around him and pulls him back against his chest, hips grinding up into him. Stiles braces himself against the tree with one hand and snakes the other one behind Derek's neck, tugging at his hair.
"You feel so fucking good around my cock," Derek grunts and bends him forward slightly.
The shift in angle nudges Derek's cock against that place inside of him again and Stiles cries out, cock jerking against his stomach. "Fuck, yes, right there."
"You gonna come on my cock?" Derek asks. "You gonna come from just my cock and nothing else?"
Stiles' mouth falls open and he sobs out a strangled moan. "Yeah, yeah, Derek -"
Derek takes his wrists in one hand and jams them up against the tree. "Don't touch yourself," he pants. "You're doing so good, kid, so fucking good."
"Derek," Stiles sobs as he arches his back against Derek, breathing soft pants and quivering moans into the crook of his arm; clenching tightly around Derek’s cock as he comes in thick spurts all over his stomach.
"Shit," Derek grunts and bites down on Stiles’ neck. His hips break rhythm and slam into him twice in rapid succession and then stills, a burst of warm liquid coating Stiles’ insides.
Derek pants against the back of his neck as he slowly slips out of Stiles with a wet sound. “Fuck, kid.”
Stiles legs are trembling as he pushes himself off the tree and rubs at his wrists. He wrinkles his nose as something wet trickles down his thighs. "Oh, ew."
Derek picks up his discarded t-shirt with a small laugh and bends down on one knee. "Here ya go, princess," he says and wipes up the length of Stiles' legs. "Squeaky clean again."
Stiles breathes out a shaky laugh and supports himself on Derek’s shoulders, the world swaying a bit around him. "Whoa, shit."
Derek stands quickly, pulling him tight against his chest. "You okay, kid?"
Stiles nods, running a hand down his face. "Yeah, just a bit dizzy." He closes his eyes and breathes, Derek's pulse a steady thump against his ear.
"Come on," Derek says and turns him around in his arms, leaning back against the tree. He inches them both down slowly.
"Sorry," Stiles mumbles around a yawn.
"Nothing to be sorry about." Derek settles him between his splayed legs and winds an arm around his stomach, pulling him closer. "Rest for a bit, kid. You did good."
Stiles leans back against Derek's chest and lets his eyes fall closed. Breathing in the scents of forest, summer and Derek, he mumbles, "Fuck, yeah, I did."
He falls asleep to Derek's gentle laughter and a hand softly carding through his hair.
----
Stiles sits on the porch and watches as the first golden tendrils of summer morning climbs over the top of the hills. He looks up as the sound of crunching gravel hits his ears.
"Hi, kiddo." His dad sits down next to him. "You're up early."
"Thought I'd seize the day or something like that," Stiles mumbles and tries to hide the way his face heats up at the roughness of his own voice.
"Uh huh." His dad narrows his eyes skeptically. "Haven't gone to bed yet?"
Stiles snorts and bumps his shoulder gently against his dad. "Got me there, daddy-o."
His dad wraps his arm around Stiles' shoulder and pulls him into a brief hug. "Good night, then?"
Stiles' eyes follow the road down to the bend where Derek's bike had disappeared. "Yeah."
He smiles.
"Really good."