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If Stiles actually knew how to hum 'Tiptoes Through Tulips' that's what he'd be doing right now. Though it would probably be more accurate to hum something that goes like 'Skulks Through Produce' or 'Fondles Tomatoes with Ulterior Motives' but the music industry can't anticipate every eventuality.
This dude is hot. Like h-to the-o-to the-YIKES YOWZA CHICKABOW. Like hawt.
Stiles may or may not be stalking him.
No.
He totally is.
He blames Scott. Because Scott dates Allison, and Allison is an enabler.
"’Go boy crazy,’ she says," Stiles mutters under his breath as he tries blend in with the blueberries. "'Act like a teenager when you are a teenager'" he mocks in a squeaky faux-Allison voice. Stiles winces as his hand lands amidst the pineapple display as he levers himself up to take another cautious peeksy. “‘Don’t let that hot man of your dreams out of your sight,’” he mocks again. Hot guy is fondling a pair of avocadoes, both held in one overly large hand. Stiles' libido tries to go 5 different directions with that at the same time. “Aw yeah,” Stiles hisses under his breath, “fondle the pair of balls-shaped produce.” Hot guy starts to turn and Stiles skitters sideways and ducks back down behind the lettuce.
"I'm a stalker," Stiles realizes, "This is what I have been reduced to."
Stiles has seen hotness before (the gene pool in Beacon Hills is strangely gifted) but this guy is a whole ‘nother level of 6 feet of pure muscle, stubbled jaw line, piercing eyes, powerful thighs, panther-like swaggering grace...the whole hunky enchilada.
He's so ridiculously out of Stiles' league.
Plus he's older, like stranger danger older, and he radiates sex!fiend whilst Stiles must content himself with the awkward!virgin twink schtick he has going on.
“Hale,” someone greets Hot Guy as they wheel their shopping cart by him, and they’re acknowledged with a languid wave and head jerk of recognition.
“Hale,” Stiles murmurs like a true creeper, rolling the name around on his tongue.
There is no universe in which any kind of anything is happening and yet Stiles is naming their children (Hale Jr. and little Słoneczko, for starters) and planning their honeymoon and stalking him. Christ, his own father is going to show up to arrest him.
Stiles wants to rub up against all of this dude's (Hale’s) body parts like a fucking cat. In heat. He shifts and peeks out from behind the lettuce. "Shit," Stiles hisses. The space in front of the avocado display is empty. He's fucking losing his tail! (Stiles appreciates himself and his pun abilities in moments like these, he really does). Hale is not in sight anywhere. Stiles flails about as he turns, tries to put eyes on his true love (probably) again. Did Hale leave the produce section? Did he move on to meat? Stiles squints across the store.
Fuck. He did, he moved on to the meat section.
Fuck. Just. Fuck. On so many levels. Except the literal ones. Stiles scopes his options. Not a lot of cover in the meat section. He hijacks a cart and saunters casually over to the pork selection, a respectable distance from the beef.
"Yeah you like beef," Stiles mutters to himself as he simultaneously tries to keep up his (dubious) cover of reading the label on a package of pork loins and continuing to oogle hot dude from the corner of his eye. There’s no way Hale could have heard that and yet Stiles swears his spine stiffens and he turns his head slightly in Stiles’ direction.
Stiles flicks his eyes back down to the pork. Which, ew gross, by the way, and yet there are so many opportunities for jokes about raw meat that he’ll be able to make when retelling this story.
When Stiles peeks up again, Hale has just finished tossing a few steaks into his cart. Stiles’ heart gives an alarming double thump as it looks like he’s moseying on over - on over - on over to Stiles. Oh fuck fuck Stiles has fucked up he's headed to pork Stiles is in pork fuck.
Keep calm, keep cool.
Stiles holds his breath and nonchalantly (he hopes) continues to pretend to give a shit about this package of pork in his hand. Hale is...stopped right behind Stiles. And he's not moving. Why is he not moving? What is happening? Stiles heart-rate moves up into ‘going to keel over and die now’ territory, and he’s pretty sure that new pores have formed all over his body, just so that he can sweat out of them.
"Excuse me," Hale says. God his voice, it’s not deep or growly like Stiles was expecting, it’s soft and smooth and sex on a stick and wow Stiles needs to get a grip.
Stiles swallows down a 'meep'. He turns and gulps. "Yes?" He says in a passable imitation of a functioning human being.
"You’re in my way. Move. I need to get to the pork chops," Hale says with no discernible trace of patience or fucks given or politeness. Fuck. He's an asshole. Stiles is doomed. Beautiful mean people are his kryptonite. Hale gives Stiles the bitchface version of the 'can we get a move on please' look and Stiles falls just a little bit more in love.
"Yeah sure, no problem," Stiles says, shrugging his shoulder, and then (like the asshole he is) Stiles goes back to contemplating the mysteries of packaged pork. Hale drums his fingers on the bar of his cart.
"Will you please move," he states, sounding like some part of his soul has died with the uttering of 'please'.
"I was here first, and I'm not done yet," Stiles says loftily.
Hale makes a - a growling sound.
Which, of course, travels straight down to Stiles' dick. “You know how it is,” Stiles begins airily, high on his own horniness, “so much meat, so little time.” And then with the image of both Scott and Allison dimpling at him encouragingly in his mind, he turns and graces Hale with the best, most inappropriate leer he possesses. Holy shit, forget his dad, Stiles should just arrest himself, haul his own self down to the station, save the police force of Beacon Hills some time and manpower.
“Are you kidding me right now,” Hale accuses flatly. Goddamn Stiles has been shutdown.
Well, Scott thinks Stiles is perfect and that’s all that matters, Stiles reminds himself. No douche canoe in the meat section of Beacon Grocer’s is going to put a dent in Stiles’ parade. Or whatever.
Maintaining an aura of the supremely unconcerned, Stiles tosses the pork loins back in with the other slabs of meat and says, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, “Well that package just isn’t doing it for me, guess I’ll move onto other, more well-endowed meat selections.” Stiles directs an unimpressed look at Hale’s crotch...and holy rice krispies batman, look at that bulge. Stiles arches an eyebrow and sticks his nose up in the air (hopefully) intimating to the guy that he is wholly lacking in that department and totally not enough for Stiles.
Which is a terrible lie. Stiles would ride that like a bronco.
For the record and in compliance with full disclosure (which no one else will be getting, Stiles is going to have to heavily edit this tale for public consumption), it’s hard to stalk snootily away while pushing an empty shopping cart in front of you.
Stiles doesn’t know why, but it really is.
Stiles leaves the meat section, maintaining a sedate pace, and turns down the water and juice aisle. He’d been planning on cutting his losses and fleeing the store, but out of sight of Hale, Stiles regroups.
Now that he’s been had (in a completely non literal sense), there’s no reason to strain himself with stealth, so Stiles is just gonna lurk and enjoy the view.
Which he does with a complete lack of shame and the shining beacon of Scott and Allison’s smiles of approval glowing in his mind. Look at him. Stiles is getting out there and meeting people and putting himself forward and behaving inappropriately in a public space, all that teenage jazz.
Everytime Hale turns to glare over his shoulder, there Stiles is, skulking inefficiently behind some display or another, gazing at food products with an innocent expression, and the second Hale turns back around, BAM. Back to leering like a creeper at his ass.
It is a fabulous ass, quite possibly the most glorious ass in all of Beacon Hills, Stiles is positive. It’s tight and perfectly formed and just biteable.
Stiles trails along behind Hale, his shopping cart remaining brazenly empty through the dairy section, then the freezer section, and they’re heading towards the veritable mountain of stacked water bottles and gallons at the back wall of the store when Hale abandons his shopping cart and smoothly slips through the double doors into the employee-only stocking storage back area.
Excitement! Adventure! Discovery! And Stiles has always wanted to see what goes on back there. He feels completely justified as he (much less gracefully) stealths his way over to the swinging doors and pushes himself through them in a tangle of limbs.
He spins around, orienting himself, and just catches a glimpse of the Hale’s back as it disappears around the corner of a far aisle of stacked boxes.
Stiles’ own genius amazes even himself when he turns down the aisle just before the one Hale had used. Stiles can be tricksy, oh yes he can.
An “Oh my God,” wheezes out of Stiles in shock when a hand descends and hauls him off down the aisle by the scruff of his neck. Ok so that plan backfired. “I’m delicate, I’m delicate,” Stiles hisses as he does his best to get his feet back under him. There’s no response and Stiles gets a glimpse of Hale’s face, scrunched up in anger over his shoulder. Uh-oh.
“Why are you following me?” Hale snarls and slams him up against the wall once he’s finished towing Stiles to the far corner of the stocking area. Stiles opens his mouth to answer (answer what, Stiles doesn't know, but he’s definitely going to say something), but Hale doesn’t give him a chance, demanding, “Did Argent put you up to this? Just because my sister dumped his crazy-ass sister doesn’t give him the excuse for this sort of harassment.”
“Huh?” is all Stiles can say to that. His mind is trying to process, but other than Hale obviously slapping him with a different set of ulterior motives than Stiles possesses, not a whole lot of his mini-interrogation makes any sense.
“I’ll have my Alpha call a meeting with his Matriarch, again, and you can tell him that yes, that is a threat.”
“Argent?” Stiles pants around the arm Hale has him pinned up against the wall by. Fuck that thing feels like a bar of iron or something. Jesus. Stiles feels his eyes go all squinty in confusion. “You mean like Allison?”
Hale gives Stiles a look like he’s some kind of bizarre specimen in a jar. “You’re acquainted with Allison...” he pauses on her name, like he’s unsure of it, “Argent?”
“Uh...yeah?” Stiles says, about 75% sure that they’re not having the same conversation anymore.
Hale glares at him suspiciously then huffs in annoyance, “What are you kid? In training or something?” Hale’s arm on his chest loosens up a bit. “God knows you could use it,” he mutters under his breath.
Stiles takes offense at that. He doesn’t know what Hale’s talking about exactly, but he knows when he’s been insulted. “Look,” Stiles begins, but Hale cuts him off.
“Don’t move,” he says dangerously, and leans in close to Stiles. Stiles has time for an amazed glimpse of Hale’s eyes (a myriad of greens and blues and gold) before he shuts them and (as far as Stiles can tell) breathes him in.
Stiles realizes with a jolt of arousal that he’s hard already, his cock a defined line against the inseam of his pants. Hale’s eyes snap open and he leans back a little and glares at Stiles. Stiles licks his lips nervously and can’t stop his eyes from flicking down to the bulge in Hale’s jeans again.
Hale stares at him with a dumbfounded expression on his face. “What was your plan,” he says incredulously, “stalk me back in here until we fuck on the ground or something?”
Stiles licks his lips reflexively again, knows his cock gives an obvious twitch against the confines of his pants. Is Hale looking at his mouth?
“I hadn’t really thought it through?” he hazards. Is that his imagination, or are Hale’s pupils dilated? Hale inhales another deep breath and leans in, braces his forearm just above Stiles’ head, and lets his arm slowly press back against Stiles’ chest harder.
“You want a piece of me?” Hale taunts.
Stiles is, like, 95% sure that Hale is dicking around with him right now. But if it’s a game of sex chicken or whatever Hale wants to play, Stiles will not be the loser. Actually Stiles is pretty sure this is a win-win situation for him. Either Hale is bluffing and he’ll eventually fold, in which case, aha! Stiles wins, or he’s serious and Stiles gets laid. In which case, Stiles also wins.
“Fuck yeah,” Stiles breathes out, as provokingly as he knows how. Which, since he’s y’know, Stiles, is pretty fucking provoking. More puns! Stiles is so awesome, Scott was right.
“Oh?” Hale questions and leans in to breathe on the shell of Stiles’ ear. Stiles shudders, and his hands flex against the shelf behind him. “Are you a boy scout? Are you prepared?” Hale pulls back and lifts an eyebrow (and wow, those are magnificent impressive eyebrows). “Or were you planning on having me fuck you dry?”
Stiles’ eyes dart to the side, and he catches a familiar brand out of the corner of his eye. “It’s a moot point,” he says, “as you are molesting me up against a case of KY.”
Hale glares at Stiles for a moment, then shrugs and brings his arm down to the box and rips into it. Stiles wonders how he did that for a moment but his attention is drawn back to Hale as he twists open the cap and tears through the seal on the tube of KY with his teeth. He spits out the cap and then raises an eyebrow again at Stiles as if to say, ‘your move’.
Ok. Fine. Stiles will see your KY maneuver and raise you some good old fashioned teenage grinding. Stiles reaches up and slides his hands under Hale’s green v-neck, just like he’s been dying to do since he tripped into the Grocer’s, following after Hale. Stiles strokes his hands down the hard plane of Hale’s back, and uses his grip to rock his hips forwards into Hale’s.
Oh God. Fuck. Hale is hard and yes, that bulge wasn’t telling any lies either because Holy Jesus on a pogo stick, that is a fucking monster cock, if Stiles knows anything about cocks. Which he does. He really really does.
“You want me,” Stiles gasps in surprise. The scenario in which Stiles wins by getting fucked is looking a lot more likely all of a sudden.
“Oh yeah,” Hale says, voice dipped deep in sarcasm, “I’m gonna take your underage ass right here on the concrete.”
Stiles grins, and decides to call. He falls to the cold concrete on his ass, catching himself on his palms. He lets his legs fall open, arches his back and lets his head tip towards the ceiling. “I’m all yours,” he says, high pitched and breathy.
Hale kneels down carefully between his legs, and leans over Stiles, bracing himself up with his arms on either side of Stiles, caging him in. He dips his head down to Stiles’ neck, his lips as close as they can possibly be without actually coming into contact with Stiles’ skin. He draws that phantom not-kiss up Stiles neck, Stiles’ skin prickling and shivering underneath him, and up along Stiles’ jaw. Just before he reaches the corner of Stiles’ mouth, Stiles abruptly stops playing around. His eyes fall half closed and his stomach flutters like the wings of caged things as he turns his head to the side and carefully presses his lips to Hale’s.
They stay like that unmoving, their lips pressed together and breathing carefully through their noses, Stiles’ heartbeat quickening and his cock aching. Then Hale cautiously, seriously, tilts his head to the side until their mouths are slotted perfectly together. Stiles makes a low wanting sound in his chest, and Hale slowly sucks on Stiles’ bottom lip and releases. Stiles mirrors the action, sucks tentatively on Hale’s bottom lip, his body quivering with the effort of holding still. Hale shifts closer and presses their mouths together more firmly.
They kiss slowly, thoughtfully, disbelief (at least on Stiles’ end) that this is actually happening. The length of time they’ve been kissing evades Stiles, but at some point, Hale presses his mouth against Stiles’ more aggressively, just for the fleetest second before backing off again. When their lips meet up again, Stiles boldly slips his tongue out, and runs it along the swell of Hale’s bottom lip.
Hale breathes in sharply, and the next time Stiles tries it, Hale’s tongue brushes against Stiles’, and he chases it back inside Hale’s mouth and like a switch being flipped the kiss becomes furious. Stiles thrusts his tongue into Hale’s mouth with a complete lack of finesse and Hale’s tongue tangles with his, then plunders into his own mouth. Teeth, sharp like the edge of desire, bite at his bottom lip and Stiles moans, so hard he’s sure his cock could cut diamonds.
They’re tearing at each other’s shirts, kissing like they’re dying. Stiles gets his hands all over the muscles of Hale’s chest, gasps out, “Yes yes, fuck me, do it.” Hale growls and wraps his hands around Stiles’ bare waist and jerks him off his ass and up onto his knees, off balance so that he’s falling into the unyielding mass of Hale’s body.
Hale starts sucking his way down Stiles’ neck, leaving his mouth free to gasp in air, lips stinging, and then Hale is shoving a hand inside Stiles’ pants and groping at his bare ass. Stiles rocks his hips back, pressing more firmly into that grip with a grunt of pleasure that turns into a whine of displeasure as the hand withdraws. Stiles doesn’t have time to even put voice to his outrage before Hale’s sliding his fingers inside his own mouth and sucking on them, right in front of Stiles’ shocked eyes.
“Yes,” Stiles gasps, and fumbles at the fastening of his pants, barely getting the zipper down before Hale’s hand is sliding down along his back, underneath the waistband of his briefs and then there’s a spit-slick finger slipping in between his ass cheeks and rubbing around his hole. Dry shocks of pleasure radiate through Stiles, his entrance clenching down in a thrill of terror and want.
All Stiles can do is scrabble uselessly at Hale’s shoulders and rock his hips desperately forward to grind his cock against Hale’s hard thigh and back against that agonizingly teasing pressure against his entrance. Stiles throws his head back, baring the column of his neck and gaps out deliriously, “Take me, take me right here, do it now.”
“You…” Hale growls but doesn’t finish his thought, he manhandles Stiles around onto his hands and knees instead, yanking his pants and briefs down and off of him, tossing them to the side. Stiles shivers at the cool concrete on his bare skin and the barely contained want within his flesh.
Stiles hears the sound of a zipper and the rustling of denim, and looks back to see that Hale has shoved his pants and underwear down to his thighs, leaving the view of his hard, flushed cock, jutting out from a dark thatch of pubic hair unobstructed. Stiles’ mouth runs dry at the sight of it. Hale isn’t just impressive in girth or length, he’s huge. Stiles’ mouth falls open and he pants for it unabashedly.
Hale reaches out and presses a hand on Stile’s back, pressing him down onto his elbows, which levers his ass into the air. Stiles jumps when Hale grabs a handful of cheek in each hand and pries them apart, baring Stiles’ hole. His fingers form fists, then release, and his hole clenches open and closed with pure want.
Hale just stares at him, at the little pucker of his asshole, for minutes, until Stiles looks over his shoulder and glares, says, “Were you gonna fuck me or what?”
“Gonna fuck you,” Hale snarls at him, eyes flashing in anger, “I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re gonna feel it for days.”
Stiles is so on board with that, they’re going to have to build the ship around him. “Then do it,” he demands. Without warning, Hale grabs at Stiles’ hips and jerks him back, punching a surprised sounding grunt out of Stiles. “Fuck yeah,” Hale says, “you’re going to make the prettiest sounds.”
Stiles tries out a whimper, just to see how it feels. Hale stiffens behind him, and Stiles skin flushes pink. “Oh God,” he whispers, and then yelps in surprise when Hale drops a dollop of cool liquid against Stiles’ puckered entrance. It warms up fast into a maddening tingling sensation.
Stiles groans, and then Hale’s fingers are rubbing around his rim, slicking him up. Slicking him up to be fucked. Stiles is no slouch, ok? He fingers himself well, and often. But Hale’s fingers are large and thick, and he plunges two smoothly inside of Stiles with no warning.
Stiles claws at the concrete and chokes back on a howl. He burns inside with the ache of it, with his longing for it. Hale spreads his fingers inside Stiles immediately, stretching him, making way for the third finger, which Hale gradually sinks inside beside the other two. “Open for me,” Hale demands breathlessly. All of Stiles’ limbs feel like liquid. He feels like heat and frisson. His muscles relax, and he opens, as Hale fucks his fingers in and out of Stiles relentlessly, pressing against him until it feels like Stiles’ hole must be gaping open. Then Hale removes his fingers and Stiles whines petulantly at the loss, until he feels the blunt head of Hale’s cock, pressing at his entrance. And Stiles realizes, he’s not open yet, not really.
Hale presses his hard, hot, slicked up cock into Sitles, one tortuous inch at a time. It hurts, but Stiles wants it. Wants it like he didn’t know it was possible to want something. He fists a hand around his flagging cock and bears down. And suddenly, between one moment and the next, the pieces of it that truly hurt resolve into pleasure, and Hale’s cock is sinking into him like he was made for it.
“God you’re tight,” Hale mutters, “when was the last time you…” He trails off with a grunt, as he nudges his hips forward, sliding even further inside.
Stiles swallows. “Well, technically, never. No one has been in there before you kind of thing.”
Hale freezes. “Fuck,” he says, voice wound tight. Stiles swears he can feel Hale’s dick twitch inside his ass. His own cock jumps in response, and Stiles reaches down to wrap a hand around it.
“You like that?” Stiles says lowly, his eyes fluttering closed as he rubs his thumb on the underside of his cockhead.
“Yes,” Hale grits out. Stiles releases his hold on his cock to clench at Hale’s thigh, and Hale grunts as he pulls out and thrusts back in, “Gonna fuck you now.”
“Do it,” Stiles challenges, “ruin me for anyone else, ever,” and then promptly loses his train of thought as Hale begins to fuck him with a punishing rhythm, the ‘slap slap slap’ of their flesh meeting and Stiles panting for air the only sounds.
Stiles almost didn’t bother with showering this morning, and here he is, getting the virginity fucked right out of him on his hands and knees in the back of Beacon Grocer’s, with this unbelievably hot man named Hale, and it’s amazing, it’s incredible. Stiles doesn’t ever want it to stop.
He revels in the hard, hot length of Hale’s cock plunging in and out of him, the slap of his heavy balls against the back of Stiles’ thighs, the bruising iron grip of his hands around Stiles’ waist. The friction and the heat of it are destroying him, and Stiles strips his dick hard and fast, desperate to come, clenched around the cock inside of him.
“That’s it,” Hale groans, “show me,” and the pace of his thrusts quickens; pistoning himself in and out of Stiles in shallow fucks that Stiles feels like ripples of bliss running through his whole body. Stiles lasts for a few more moments of this, and then he comes hard along the pavement underneath him with a half swallowed shout, his cum in white ropes along the grey slate.
Stiles embraces the high of his orgasm and goes almost boneless, Hale’s grip on his hips the only thing holding him up. “Fuck me,” Stiles slurs, “Fuck me, do it, cum inside my ass.”
Hale’s thrusts start to come erratically, and then his body bows over Stiles, and he can feel Hale’s dick twitching inside of him. “Fuck,” Stiles groans.
“Yes,” Hale gasps, “Yes,” and then his dick is slipping out of Stiles and sliding up the crack of his ass, and Stiles feels the hot liquid of Hale’s cum splattering along his back. Stiles forgets to breathe for a moment as his body flares again with heat and want at the shear erotic charge of it.
"Fuck," Hale groans, "Fuck," as he slides the tip of his cock back inside Stiles, and thrusts forward all the way into him once more.
"Oh God," Stiles moans, "God that's hot, yes, don't stop."
They remain in that position, Stiles on his knees and elbows, shuddering with the intensity of it all, with Hale half collapsed along his back for a few minutes, catching their breath, riding the tremors and aftershocks of bliss.
"What the fuck just happened," Hale groans into Stiles' shoulder, sounding completely destroyed.
"Theia Mania," Stiles says, matter of factly, shivering under his lips.
"I - what?"
"Divine Madness," Stiles clarifies.
Hale snorts, "Oh it's madness alright."
Stiles rolls his eyes, and even though Hale can't see it, Stiles is sure his huffy sigh will get his point across. "Love at first sight."
"No way," Hale says immediately.
But Stiles thinks he sounds unsure and shaken.
"Think about it, I fell in love with you when you were an asshole to me, you fell in love with me when I was an asshole right back, we're a match made in heaven!"
"Fuck," Hale says and shifts his hips. Stiles' breath hisses out through his teeth. "Christ," Hale says, almost wonderingly, "I could go again."
"The benefits of dating a teenager," Stiles says brightly, "You know I'm ready to go whenever!"
“We’re not dating.”
Stiles rocks his hips, slides himself back and forth on Hale’s dick.
He curses at Stiles.
Stiles smirks. “Keep telling yourself that, big guy.”
Hale groans and starts thrusting into Stiles again, the ache and heat and bliss of it causing Stiles’ eyes to roll back in his head. He’s hardening up inside Stiles fast and fuck that’s good. Stiles feels so stuffed full of cock, he wants to cry with happiness.
“God,” Stiles groans, “how much bigger is your dick going to get?” It didn’t feel that big the first time? Right?
An agonized sounding moan is all that answers him. God that’s so - just - fuck, what is that? It’s like Hale’s dick is swelling up into a ball or something, near the base, Stiles can feel it catching on the rim of his ass as Hale fucks in and out.
It’s making sparks fly up behind his eyes and his thighs tremble like they’re on the verge of giving out.
“What is happening?” Stiles gasps, feeling like he’s going to pass out as the swelling gets larger, making it more and more difficult for Hale to thrust out and back in him.
Stiles whines and scrabbles at the smooth concrete under his fingertips at the too-much feeling of that hard ball of flesh popping in over his rim and sliding snug inside him as Hale snaps his hips forward one last time and then stills.
It keeps growing, it’s getting bigger inside Stiles, and he’s--God he’s gonna come, and Hale rolls his hips around in a circular motion, causing the swelling to press against Stiles harder.
“Oh God,” Stiles chokes out, black spots dancing in front of his eyes as Hale’s movements rub that hard swollen flesh over his prostate again and again, smoothly, rhythmically.
Then Hale starts making these gasping sounds behind him, high-pitched and un-done sounding, and Stiles can’t feel it, not precisely, but he still knows it, Hale is coming inside him, a lot, like a tide or a flood and at that thought Stiles comes with an outrush of air, hands slapping at the cool ground. He comes so hard his vision blacks out completely. He can’t feel his arms or his legs, or the heat of his cum splashing against his chest, he’s been transported; a moment of ecstasy completely contained inside his own flesh.
Hale folds his body down over Stiles’ back, gasping for air like he's dying, crying out as his hips rock shallowly into Stiles, “I think I do love you, I love you.”
Tremors run the length of Stiles’ body at that, and somewhere deep inside, where he’s weird and probably not very normal, he’s jumping up and down, chanting ‘yes love me love me yes’ but not in a sappy teenage way, in a triumphant, victorious and entirely selfish way.
And then Hale moans out, “Yes I do love you you’re mine.” And then he bites Stiles, sinks his teeth into the juncture of where Stiles’ neck meets his shoulder. Stiles jolts and experiences something like a second orgasm, dry, shallow shocks of pleasure through his body as his cock twitches valiantly, still hanging heavy and half-hard between his legs.
“Aw fuck,” Stiles whines.
There’s a few minutes of silence where Stiles tries to catch his breath and regain feeling in his body, which still feels sort of fuzzy and separated from his brain.
It’s then that Stiles realizes he feels kind of strange, like his abdomen is heavy or full or something. “Are you, are you still coming?” Stiles’ voice cracks.
Hale hums in his ear, and presses dry kisses down the back of his neck and over his shoulders; mouths sloppily at the place where he’d sunk his teeth into Stiles. Hale strokes a hand clumsily through Stiles’ hair, and says, sounding fucking strung out or something, “It feels so good I didn’t know how good it would be, and you’re mine, you feel so good and I love you and you’re mine.”
Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that, with any of this. He should be freaking out. He really should, but other than the growing discomfort in his hands and knees and along his back, Stiles feels pretty good.
Scratch that, he feels amazing. Sex is - fuck - incredible Stiles knew he was made for it, he knew it. Well, the sex is fabulous, but Stiles’ knees are really starting to hurt. “Hey,” he croaks, “I need…” but he isn’t quite sure how to finish that. He needs what, Hale to pull out? Forgetting the fact that it’s most likely physically impossible right now, Stiles doesn’t want him to pull out, he want’s Hale and his freakishly pleasurable cock to stay right where they are.
Stiles shifts uncomfortably. Hale hums soothingly and pets comfortingly down Stiles’ sides.
“My knees hurt,” Stiles says pathetically, and knows it.
Hale hums again and wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist and lifts up, pulling them back as he crosses his legs and settles Stiles gently in his lap. This new and exciting position, whilst relieving the pressure off of Stiles’ knees and back, has the added bonus of pushing Hale’s cock so deep inside him, Stiles feels like it’s going to come out of his throat. Stiles’ eyes roll back and his head thumps against Hale’s chest.
“How long,” Stiles murmurs lazily, gesturing vaguely down between them.
“A while,” Hale says vacantly, still sounding totally gone.
“Hale,” Stiles sighs happily.
“Derek,” Hale says.
Stiles frowns. “Hale,” he insists.
“Derek,” Hale repeats.
“Hale.”
“Derek Hale,” Hale clarifies.
“Oh,” Stiles says, the light of understanding dawning.
Derek nuzzles under Stiles’ ear, and Stiles reaches an arm languidly back to dig his fingers into Derek’s scalp.
“Can you come again,” Derek whispers like the devil in Stiles’ ear.
“Oh please,” Stiles whimpers, and he’s pretty sure that was both a ‘no’ and a ‘yes’ at the same time.
Derek reaches awkwardly for the abandoned tube of KY and squeezes some on his hand, and when he wraps that hand around his dick, Stiles is almost positive he sees the face of God.
He orgasms quickly, Derek’s fingers large and perfect around him. He’s only able to produce two little spurts of cum, and it feels like wing beats inside his skull, pleasure that fragments off inside his skin
“Just to clarify,” Stiles says, stroking his fingers back and forth along Derek’s beautifully muscled thigh, “you are dating me now.” He does not phrase that as a question.
“I really don’t think that’s up for debate,” Derek says like sin against his neck, “considering the amount of my cum that’s going to come gushing out of you in a moment.”
Stiles shivers inside Derek’s hold. He glances around the floor at the already copious amount of mess they’ve made of it and can’t keep from saying, “Cleanup, on aisle 6.”
“Did you just?”
“Oh yes.”
"Oh no," Derek groans.
“You love me,” Stiles reminds him smugly, and wriggles his hips.
“I don’t.” Derek gasps out around his pleasure, but it doesn’t even sound like he’s managed to convince himself. Stiles sighs, and tries his best to sink back even further into Derek, who accommodates him by enfolding him even deeper into his embrace, until Stiles is wholly surrounded and consumed by Derek.
“Theia Mania,” Derek muses.
Not bad for a day of illicit stalking, if Stiles does say so himself, not bad at all.