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Not That Kind of Girl	By : reclininghorizontally Category: S through Z > Teen Wolf Views: 7308 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Not That Kind of Girl
- 1
“Why didn't you take care of that?”

Stiles is staring pointedly at the bulge in Derek's towel, which is wrapped tightly around his waist in an attempt to lessen its effect but ... apparently not tightly enough.

He'd just come out of Stiles' shower, which he uses from time to time when the youth's father is out. In this instance, the teenager had burst in while he was still stripping down – to grab and hide something he didn't want Derek to see – and had seen him in his ... full, erect glory. Stiles hadn't been able to do anything but stare for a moment, and the werewolf knew that Stiles was attracted to him, so he didn't find it strange (or bother to cover up) ... only more frustrating that the youth has denied his advances so far.

So to hear him make a comment about it now only earns Stiles an annoyed growl and a hard glare. “Why do you care?” He respects the other's reluctance to jump into anything, but he doesn't appreciate having it pointed out to him right now, especially when he really does feel quite sexually frustrated.

Stiles shrugs. “You're going to be even more cranky if you don't take care of it.” he replies in a matter-of-fact tone, a little smirk playing on his lips.

Derek had been about to reach for his boxers, but now he just turns back toward the teenager, rolling his eyes with a supremely annoyed (and maybe even a little pouty) face. “Yes, thank you for pointing that out.” he huffs, really not in the mood for this right now. He doesn't want to point out the reason why he feels so frustrated, because he really wouldn't be comfortable feeling like he was pressuring Stiles into doing something he didn't want to. But if that smirk has anything to say, it's that Stiles is fully aware, and fully teasing him about it ... which only sours Derek's mood further.

He feels a hand on his wrist as he makes his second attempt to grab his own boxers, and looks at Stiles with a confused and still annoyed face.

“I could uh ...” Stiles starts, rubbing the back of his own head a bit sheepishly. He lets go of Derek's wrist so he can make a jacking-off motion with his hand. “Help you with that, you know? As a favour.” He gestures with both his hands. “I mean, guys do that all the time for each other right? Or at least that's what I hear. It's not weird at all.”

The werewolf just stares as the teenager blathers on, blinking slowly and then tilting his head a bit. “... Why?” he asks simply; he didn't think Stiles was ready for something like this, though at the thought of it actually happening, he can feel his cock give a throb against the towel.

Stiles just shrugs again. “Always good to get experience, right? I mean, you know that I think you're pretty smokin', and uh ... I think it's safe to say you kinda sorta feel the same way about me or else you wouldn't get such massive erections over m—oh God”

Derek is slowly advancing toward him, an intense look in his eyes and a low, soft growl in his throat. The teenager had been too busy talking to really realize that he'd been walking backwards, and had suddenly run into his desk, snapping him back to focus. Everything about the werewolf is predatory, from the way he's looming over Stiles, to way his eyes are hungrily roaming his body, to the way he licks his slightly elongated fangs while taking him in. The teenager gulps, ducking down and slipping out from between the man and his desk.

“Uh, yeah, about that. Let's just ... sit on the bed, okay?” he chirps, hopping onto the edge of his bed and patting the spot next to him.

Derek flexes his hands, letting out a loud huff of air through his nose as his gaze shifts to the wide grin on Stiles' face. Being so frustrated and aroused and now tempted with the promise of release, he wants to just leap onto the other and ravage him into his mattress. But he knows that he can't – he has to control himself ... so he slowly stalks his way over to the bed, looking like a dangerous, powerful, seductive predator on the hunt, his eyes never leaving his prey, the moonlight playing on his muscles as they ripple with movement.

He can hear Stiles' heart pounding away in his chest, smell the arousal wafting from him, but he doesn't move until Derek sits. The werewolf stares intently at his face, watching as the teenager's eyes flit between Derek's and the towel almost uncertainly before he eventually reaches forward and undoes it. The older man just figures that he might as well let Stiles do whatever he's comfortable with, so he leans back on his hands, still watching every move carefully.

“Okay, let's unwrap this puppy – no pun intended.” says the youth, smirking a bit at his own joke as he peels away the fabric. Upon freeing the fully engorged arousal, Derek hisses softly and closes his eyes briefly, only to open them in time to see Stiles lick his lips idly, his heartbeat jumping.

“Whoa ... okay, um ... It looks bigger than I remember. Never dropping my pants in front of you.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I don't care how big your dick is, Stiles.” he growls, squirming his toes a bit, his breath already quickening. He didn't care about much of anything else either, except that he needed to be touched right now.

Luckily, Stiles seems to be thinking along the same lines, and has soon carefully wrapped his fingers around the throbbing erection, feeling it out a little and spreading some of the precome before getting a firmer grip. “Alright, yeah, just like by myself. Only bigger. And sexier. And--”

“Stiles.” Derek's voice was breathy, but the hint of annoyance was unmistakable.

The teenager shoots a pout in the werewolf's direction for interrupting his monologue, but then begins stroking his fingers along the rigid flesh tentatively, the frequent globs of precome oozing out making his fingers nice and slick. The stimulation is a little slow at first, a bit unsure, but it's already drawing little noises out of the older man, his hands and feet beginning to knead the blankets and floor respectively.

Stiles' hand seems to gain confidence as time passes, stroking faster and harder, his thumb swiping over the drooling slit both to tease him and spread more of the precome along his flesh. The werewolf's eyes are half-closed, a low, pleased purr in his throat, the occasional hitch in his breath followed by a huff of air out his nose indicating a particularly pleasurable jolt; and despite the slow start, Derek's just glad that it's happening at all. It's always that much better when it isn't his own hand, especially when he can smell his partner's arousal, hear his quickened heartbeat and breathing, see the way that his fingers move along the slippery, occasionally twitching erection.

Stiles begins changing his technique, varying the pressure and speed, apparently doing the things that he enjoys now that he's a little more sure of himself. It translates into a squirmy, panting werewolf, clearly enjoying the stimulation though ... he still seems rather tense, like he's holding himself back.

He wants more, he wants to do something other than just watch and smell; his hazel eyes start to flit between the teenager's hand and his neck, plotting his next move as he pants softly for air. His tongue flicks over the exposed, elongated teeth of his open mouth before he leans in and, deciding to start with something closer, begins gently gnawing on Stiles' shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, a pleased growl in his throat.

Though to his surprise, the younger man pulls away, his hand stopping and a slight blush spreading on his cheeks. “Okay, no, none of that.”

Derek's pleased growl turns into one of frustration, not only at Stiles pulling away, but at the stimulation halting as well. He fixes a hazy, annoyed look on the other, his hands fisting the blankets underneath them. “Why not?” he asks breathlessly, trying to blink his vision a little clearer as his cock gives an almost painful throb.

“Because no. I'm not ready to do that kind of thing – I'm not that kind of girl.” Stiles replies, shaking his head a bit.

“... You're not a--”

“So – ” the teenager continues, purposely talking over Derek and giving his cock a squeeze, which silences the werewolf with a hitch of his breath. “Yeah I'll jerk you off, but you keep your hands – and your muzzle – to yourself. 'Kay?”

The werewolf levels a dark glare at Stiles, his eyes briefly flashing red as he exposes his fangs in a quick snarl, which is accompanied by an equally quick, bestial huff. However, his display is borne of frustration rather than harmful intention, and he pulls back a bit as his fangs recede. “Fine.” he growls, averting his gaze and scowling as he awaits the other to begin moving again; he may have made a bigger fuss otherwise, but when it comes down to it, he still wants Stiles to do what's comfortable for himself ... even if it means that Derek can't touch him in return.

“... Thanks.” And with that, the stimulation resumes, causing the older man to gasp softly and push his hips up into the wonderful feeling. The urge to lick and bite and touch is still as strong as ever, making him squirm and knead the bed even more with his hands, the muscles in his arms and abdomen flexing, his knees spreading a bit as he lets out another frustrated groan. Yet as infuriating as it is to be denied this, he can't deny that it also heightens his pleasure in a way – he's so worked up and aroused without any kind of outlet besides the obvious one, it just keeps building and building, manifesting itself in steamy glares and canine growls.

He doesn't take his eyes off of Stiles', hoping that he can seduce him with his looks and maybe convince him that being touched wouldn't be such a bad thing, but the teenager is quite focused on his task, even sticking his own tongue out a bit in concentration. The scent of arousal from him is growing stronger, Derek knows he's getting off on this, which makes it all the more infuriating that he isn't giving into it – especially since the scent itself is only making him more aroused, more eager to touch and taste the source.

Instead Stiles seems to have taken this as a personal challenge, if the focused expression and now experimental strokes and touches are anything to go by. Along with skillfully stroking Derek's shaft, he's also been using his free hand to cup and rub his balls, though he soon shifts those fingers to instead rub behind them at the base of his perineum – likely all in the name of finding that one place that'll make the werewolf howl.

Derek at first wonders where those fingers are going, but suddenly understands once he feels the pressure there, a sharp jolt of pleasure making him tense up with a gasp, followed by a choked moan. Stiles finally glances up at the older male with a smirk, likely drawn by the sudden reaction, but instead of watching for long he just bites his lip and turns his attention back to rubbing and stroking ... and Derek suddenly wonders if he's avoiding watching so as not to be distracted.

He can't exactly be faulted for it – the werewolf can't stop squirming now, his eyes half-lidded in ecstasy as sweat rolls down his neck, chest and sides. He brings a foot up onto the bed to give the other more access to that wonderful place underneath him, the increased stimulation making his cock throb and drool an almost steady stream of precome. His quick breaths are occasionally halted when he swallows to wet his dry throat, his Adam's apple bobbing and especially prominent when he tilts his head back for a moan.

“You know,” the youth mumbles, varying the pressure he's placing on that one spot as he gauges Derek's reaction to it. “it's interesting to see things from this angle. It's a lot easier to put pressure on the right place when --”

“Stiles.”

“-- I can see what I'm doing, because you know, when I'm doing it to myself I can't--”

“Stiles. Shut up.” Derek's voice is hoarse and breathless, his brow drawn by both annoyance and bliss, but the look he shoots at Stiles comes off as lot more 'come hither' than anything threatening.

The teenager gulps at that look, seemingly unable to look away from it this time. He licks his own lips nervously. “Well, you know, I could just stop entirely -- oh God please don't eat me.”

At the mention of stopping Derek had leaned in close with his elongated canines exposed, uttering a threatening growl – though not touching him per se, certainly getting his message across that nothing of the sort is going to happen. He doesn't pull back, content to just keep his face uncomfortably (for Stiles anyway) close to the side of the teenager's, his breaths coming in short huffs that don't sound entirely human – yet the stimulation doesn't stop, making him feel like some part of the younger male is okay with this.

Derek can't help but push his new boundaries, especially as close as he is to his climax; his expression – and in particular, his eyes – clouded with erotic desire as he leans in further with his fangs bared, a lusty growl rumbling in his throat. He trails the tip of his nose upwards along the younger man's neck, leaving goosebumps and raised hair in its wake, his hot breath washing over Stiles' skin as he opens his mouth wider to give the teenager's jaw a surprisingly soft bite.

Stiles gives a visible shiver, his hands and his breath faltering as he suddenly whimpers, pulling his face away and down from Derek's as he pulls his own knees together. Before the werewolf can react with yet more annoyance, a new scent hits his nose, making it wrinkle slightly as he tries to make sense of it with his hazy mind. He soon puts two and two together as he gazes at the other's hunched form, listens to his erratic breathing and whimpering, his galloping heartbeat; and he can't stop himself from grinning with both amusement and pride.

Derek leans a little closer, inhaling a deep breath of the other's heady scent before pulling away himself; he leans on his hands, tilts his head back and lets the air out in a gutteral roar as he begins to orgasm. The sound seems to startle Stiles at first, but luckily it also seems to bring him back to focus, causing him to begin stroking Derek again and faster as his cock spits up thick white strings across his own abdomen. The werewolf just writhes, moaning in a much more human tone as he rides it out, his eyes squeezed shut but his mouth wide open, his fangs glinting in the moonlight and his chest heaving with uneven breaths.

Once he's finished and taken a few moments to catch his breath, he realizes that he's nearly pulled half the covers off of Stiles' bed; he shakes his head a bit and gingerly lets go, about to offer an apologetic smirk to the younger man when he notices the somewhat tense and ... embarrassed? look on his face. Before Derek can worry if that look means something serious, he suddenly remembers what happened a few moments ago, his eyes going directly to Stiles' crotch. He glances up in time to share a knowing look with the teenager.

“... What, don't act like it hasn't happened to you before.” Stiles says, trying to sound confident, but his reddening cheeks are contradicting that ... along with his sudden fidgeting.

Derek blinks ... and then shrugs. “Didn't have to. You could've let me touch you.” he replies coolly, now grabbing a length of the towel to start wiping his stomach off.

“... Yeah, well, look what happened when you did touch me.” Stiles murmurs, pushing himself off the bed and briskly walking away, presumably to clean himself up as well.

Derek pauses, watching the other leave while an amused smirk slowly comes to his lips.
- 1
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Not That Kind of Girl