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It's among the throng of people crowding them together on the dance floor of Jungle that Stiles first gets the idea. He whispers in the air with his back pressed against Derek, knowing he's attuned to his voice and will hear it, "Hey, how I make you come in your pants right here?"
Derek is nice enough to let out a loud enough groan at the idea that Stiles can hear it over the music. He turns toward him, fingers tracing down Derek's abdomen with a smirk, and lets his fingertips trace just beneath the waistband of Derek's impossibly tight pants. Derek catches him in a kiss and reaches down to pop open the button of his own fly, leaning his chin against Stiles' shoulder so that his breath is hot against the other man's neck. "Come on, then."
Stiles can't hear the sound of Derek's zipper sliding out, but he can feel the heat of Derek's breath against his neck as he exhales sharply, his hips pushing forward so that his cock just nudges against Stiles' wrist. "You didn't wear underwear again," Stiles finds himself whispering, moving even closer and reaching into Derek's pants to careful extract him, fingers looping tight against the base of Derek's rapidly hardening cock. He smiles and gives Derek an experimental stroke, his hips swaying to the pounding thrum of the music and his wrist starting to find that rhythm, too. He licks his lips and catches sight of the way Derek's bottom lip is hanging down, jaw slack and eyes shut tight.
They're starting to attract a bit of attention and Stiles isn't sure if he's glad of the relative darkness of the club or not, but he loves the eyes on them, loves people knowing that he can put that look on Derek's face with just a few touches. He tells the man as much as he digs the tip of his thumb underneath Derek's foreskin and swirls it around the tip before pulling away entirely and smirking at the way Derek's eyebrows knit together. Derek pushes closer, rutting against Stiles' hip with his eyes suddenly wide and locked on to Stiles', and Stiles takes pity on him, wrapping his hand around Derek's cock again and jerking him off with quick, even strokes until Derek fills the air with a keening wail and then suddenly Stiles' hand is wet and cooling and Derek is slumping forward against him, laughing softly as he tucks himself away.
Dancing only happens for a bit longer, anyway, as Derek insists on dragging Stiles back to the loft after watching him suck Derek's come off his fingers as he danced.
They don't actually get much time together for a few days with everything going on, but when they do, it's a warm enough day that Derek is wearing a tank top and Stiles had taken off his flannel almost the moment he stepped into the loft. Derek traces his fingers along the side of Stiles' arm, sucking in a breath at the look Stiles gives him in response. "We should do something outside," Stiles says softly, touching back.
"What do you want to do?" Derek lifts an eyebrow in question, not moving, and just letting Stiles touch him.
Stiles is slow with his answer, his fingertips moving along the edges of the straps of Derek's tank. "You. I want to do you outside." He jerks his head toward the balcony. "Maybe out there?"
It doesn't take long for Stiles to evaluate the situation: he doesn't have many neighbors, particularly any up as high as his loft, there's brick surrounding the balcony, and he'd gotten off pretty hard at Jungle thanks to the idea of people watching. "Yeah."
That's all it takes for Stiles to smile and rush over to grab the lube and a condom, laughing as Derek holds the door open for them to go outside. There's a little hesitation as they strip, but then Stiles is on Derek and licking the planes of his chest and moaning and his hands are doing a great job of getting Derek hard. Derek grabs the lube and pushes it into Stiles' hand, bends himself over the edge of the balcony, and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows lifted in anticipation. "Well?"
Stiles nearly trips in his enthusiasm to make his way over to Derek, quickly squeezing out lube onto his fingers and smoothing it across Derek's entrance. He presses his lips to Derek's shoulder and sucks a quickly disappearing bruise there and then bites down as he pushes the first finger into Derek. It's quick prep because it always is when Derek bottoms since he doesn't need it as much, and then Stiles is carefully pulling on the condom and slicking it up with a little more lube and then he's sinking in to Derek and trying to remember how to breathe.
Thanks to the sunshine, they're both sweating and gasping for breath only a few minutes later, but Stiles can't help but lean back as his hips are doing their best to bury his cock in Derek and then pull it almost entirely free just to enjoy the gentle breeze that's caressing his sweat-slick skin. Their moans drift away with it and Derek's fingers are clutching hard enough at the brick that some of the brittle edges are turning to dust which isn't a problem, exactly, until he twists awkwardly to brace himself and starts to stroke his own cock, gasping loudly and flailing his hand out, somehow managing to knock the lube off of the balcony's edge and down toward the street.
They both pause, but Derek just wipes his hand as clean as he can against his thigh and gets back to it, moving back against Stiles until he remembers just how good it feels to fuck Derek, and how exhilarating it is that there may be people down on the ground looking at an exploded container of anal lubricant and maybe catching the hints of moans and looking up and just knowing that someone is getting fucked. The sex doesn't actually last much longer though, just a few more minutes of glorious thrusting and groping, and then Derek is coming with a growl and practically dragging Stiles along with him. There's come dripping on the bricks after that, and even Stiles had scratches and brick dust on his palms, but he'd come pretty damn hard despite any setbacks. Judging by the come on the bricks, Derek had had a similar reaction.
Stiles looks for the lube when he leaves, but it's gone. If it did break, there's no sign of it. It's creepy to think that someone took it, though. Stiles just resolves to get new lube. Eventually they'll have a bottle that gets emptied through actual use and not because it gets stepped on or accidentally left open on the bed.
Somehow, Scott gets it in his head that lacrosse is the training exercise that all of the pack and younger associated members need to be doing in order to be ready for whatever trouble is coming their way. (He'd tried to include everyone at first, but quickly realized that would kind of include his mom.) And, hey, lacrosse. Several of them are already on the team, so it's not really a problem to just kind of treat it all like extra practices. Lydia doesn't exactly play, but she shows up and observes and, after a few sessions, starts coaching the stronger members of the group in how to disguise that strength, arguing that not looking supernatural in the first place is their first defense against hunters and assassins and whatever else is going to try to kill them. When Scott asks her why she's not getting prepared, she simply holds up the chemistry textbook in front of her, lips pursed so that her dimples show, and says simply, "I am."
The thing is, though, that Derek usually ends up on the other makeshift team from Stiles, but they're both pretty bad about ignoring each other in favor of actually playing. Being gentle as he must to appear human (and also having played basketball instead of lacrosse), it's kind of a thing where Derek inevitably ends up with his body pressed against Stiles' several times during the game.
This game is no different. They're nearly to the end and Stiles throws a pass to Scott with Derek running toward him and then he's suddenly on his back gasping for breath with Derek sprawled on top of him. It's not a big deal, really, except that Stiles knows that weight and likes it and it's kind of hard to separate how it feels to have Derek on top of him here versus on a bed, and that's completely the reason he spreads his thighs wider even as he's still trying to catch his breath and lets out a wispy excuse for a moan as his suddenly hard cock finds a friend in Derek's likewise suddenly interested cock.
In other circumstances, they might have taken it elsewhere or decided to just hold off until later, but they've been working on this public sex thing for a week or so now and it's working to desensitize them both from the idea of people actually watching. It's the only excuse Stiles can come up with for how neither of them say anything about the fact that they're in the middle of the fucking high school lacrosse field frotting like there's no tomorrow.
Stiles does try to hold back his moans a little out of some misguided sense of politeness, but it's hard when there's this perfect pressure working against his cock and Derek's breath is hot against his neck. It's quick and dirty and Stiles only spares a moment to be glad that it's Derek's knees bearing the brunt of the work instead of his own before he's coming in his pants like the teenager he is and Derek is biting down on his shoulder and stilling, tensing for just a second before rolling his hips once more.
Derek coughs as he pulls away, cheeks flushed pink from some combination of embarrassment and exertion, and gestures toward the locker room with his thumb. "Want to hit the showers real quick?"
Trying not to notice the way Lydia is turned toward them and smirked (and failing miserably), Stiles nods. "Yeah. Let's just go quick before these wet spots are really noticeable." From the look Scott gives them (his lips curled into something between disgust and amusement), they've failed that, too.
"Really, Stiles?" Derek only asks the question because he can feel Stiles' hard cock against his hip as they keep an eye on the road by the preserve where they're expecting to see a red Bronco drive by at any moment.
Stiles huffs out a breath and sighs. "I've been following behind you for the last twenty minutes and having to look down a lot so I don't fall. I have seen your ass quite a bit and I cannot help that my dick is interested."
It's lucky for Derek that his next glance toward the far end of the road is the one that spots said Bronco. He gestures to Stiles who sends on the info to Lydia who will get the rest of the plan into action. By the time the Bronco drives past them, Derek has already allowed Stiles to press him against the tree and get a hand down his pants.
They don't even really talk about it as it happens, both of them working each other's pants down to the knees and then Stiles is crouching down and bathing the inside of Derek's thighs with long licks of his tongue and then he's thrusting between Derek's thighs and giving him a reach around while Derek hangs on to the tree with his claws and growls softly each time Stiles' cock slides forward enough to nudge against his balls.
Derek comes on the tree a full minute before Stiles spills onto his thighs with a throaty laugh, glad of his healing to take care of the frictions burns. He sees some kind of Subaru swerve along the road headed toward them and it doesn't take much to connect that to the idea that they've been seen. At this point, it doesn't even seem like much of a big deal.
Stiles manages to find leaves to clean him up and everything's great until Derek realizes that Stiles has accidentally grabbed some poison ivy. They've got another twenty minute walk ahead of them which is plenty of time for Derek's body to reject the poison and for Stiles' to accept it. "Look, you can either have a rash on your hands or you can pee all over them and hope you get it off," he says when Stiles' eyes go wide in realization.
It's incredibly awkward for Stiles to pee on his own hands, but he manages. They get back to the Jeep and his palms itch, but he swears it's just from the dried urine. It is kind of fun to think that he and Derek both just marked the preserve as their own, though.
Stiles is, of course, wrong. The rash on his hands is horrible and awful and it's only been a few days but his hands are practically wrapped in layers of bandage and Calamine lotion. Derek doesn't seem to take this into account when he decides he needs to go shopping for new jeans and Stiles needs to come along to tell him how they look because dressing room mirrors are not to be trusted. So he's seated on the little shelf of a bench in the supposed dressing room which closes by a freaking curtain and watching as Derek tries on pair after pair of jeans, rejected some for being too large in the waist, others for not quite having enough room for his thighs, and finally buttoning on a pair that makes him turn to Stiles to ask about. "Well?"
With a turning gesture made with one bandaged finger, Stiles gets Derek to spin and it's enough to make his cock take notice because the jeans are doing a great job of clinging exactly where they need to in order to show off the bits of Derek's lower half that he loves. "Yeah. Those." He moves one hand to press against his cock and groans because his hand actually kind of hurts because he's a sleep scratcher, but it's been days since he's jerked off and those jeans just fit that well.
It should maybe surprise Stiles more when Derek drops to his knees and starts unbuttoning Stiles' fly, dragging out his hardening cock, but it's too appreciated for him to question it. Derek licks him from root to tip and swallows him halfway down, Stiles' resulting gasp loud and sharp. It's hot, really. It's kind of in public because there's no way no one hears them but they're still hidden from view so it's hard to argue they're breaking any laws, and that's great. But, then Stiles notices the mirror against the wall and how he can see Derek's head moving against his lap, and all it takes is a little shift and then it's like watching porn. He can see the way Derek's lips are stretched around his cock from a different angle than he normally gets to observe, and he can see the curve of Derek's ass and the way his back arches as he gets into what he's doing, and that helps to fill in for the sensations he normally gets to relish like his fingers sliding through Derek's hair as he fucks into his mouth.
So, really, the fact that he comes quickly can't only be blamed on the fact that he's used to getting off multiple times a day. It's also that Derek's ass in his new jeans is just as supernatural as the rest of him and his mouth is just as good as it always is and then there's that whole deal with the new kink they're sharing. It's awesome, and not just for the way Derek looks with his lips bright red and a hint of Stiles' come in his scruff afterward and the way his eyes get wide and bright as he tugs off the new jeans and pulls on his old ones and says, "I guess I'm getting these, and you're coming to my place because I know that wasn't enough for you."
It's not and never is, but Stiles leaves Derek to his illusions and does just manage to wipe the come from Derek's face and get himself tucked away before Derek tugs the curtain open.
They get naked and climb on the bed together back at the loft and it's soft and sweet and gentle at first as Derek kisses Stiles and slides his fingers across deltoids and pectorals and other firm planes of flesh over muscle. Stiles is happy for it, enjoying feeling pampered and wanted, but even he's not certain where Derek's intending to go with this. He's sure a moment later, though, when Derek flips him over and starts trailing a line of kisses down the center of his back. Stiles moans when Derek's fingers slide up the back of his thighs and spread him open so that Derek can keep his mouth moving further down, and it shocks him a bit how the sound echoes because he's forgotten it with all of the wide open kind of spaces they've fucked in lately.
Derek's tongue gets in on the kisses a moment later and then he's lapping at Stiles' entrance and his thumbs are digging into Stiles' ass and it's kind of great that Stiles can just lay there and groan and enjoy it, splayed out comfortably while Derek rims him.
Lube joins the mix after a while when Stiles is sure he's nearly wet enough just from Derek's tongue and the way his fingers had joined in on pushing that wetness inside of him, but it's not a ton (though it's a different brand than they last had because Stiles hadn't been able to bring himself to buy the same kind that may or may not have been stolen from the sidewalk) and it feels amazing to have this personal moment where Derek is testing just how much friction is enough before sliding on a condom and positioning himself behind Stiles. "You ready?"
Stiles laughs softly and lets his fingers curl in the sheets before bringing his knees up as close to his chest as he can, knowing they're going to be sliding all across the satin anyway. He knows these sheets because Derek prefers them near the full moon when he runs a bit hotter than normal anyway, and they've probably put enough stains on them that they'd look like a rare lost Jackson Pollock work under a black light. It's familiar and comfortable, but it's just as exciting as anything they've done since that hand job in Jungle because it's them, and Derek's cock sliding steadily inside of him is nothing to scoff at, but neither is any of the other stuff they've done.
It's as Derek pulls out and pushes back in in a way that nudges Stiles' prostate that he realizes maybe he's just been on a binge with this one kink and it's cool because Derek has obviously been into it, too, but this... This is what they can always come back to.
Derek drags another orgasm out of him as he fucks into Stiles, only barely touching Stiles' cock before he's painting the sheets with stripes of white, but he follows just as quickly with his own and it's so ridiculously quick for them, even after several kinds of sex that's over quick because they can't quite let it all go when just anyone could be watching, that Stiles collapses on the bed, laughing in a way that some people might call giggles. It shouldn't surprise him, but Derek joins him after throwing away the condom, and then they're spooning on Derek's bed with a wet spot beneath them and they're still laughing a little and Derek slides a hand around Stiles' waist and keeps it there as he says softly, "That was nice."
"Nice?" Stiles snorts. "That was fantastic." He pauses. "But, it's always fantastic, isn't it? Even when I use poison ivy to scrub jizz off your thighs and that time I kind of broke your dick and obsessed that it might heal crooked and whether it's here in your bed or against a tree or even when everything goes wrong. I'm with you, and that's the fantastic part."
"Yeah." Derek nuzzles against the back of Stiles' neck as if that's that.
Scooting back just a bit and grimacing because, ew, satin stuck to his thigh by quickly cooling come, Stiles says, "But, the doing it where people could see... Also nice?"
Derek grumbles, but lifts his head to answer. "Yes, but I don't want to make a habit of it. We'll run out of all of the good places too fast."
"There are a lot of trees along that road through the preserve," Stiles points out.
"And a lot more poison ivy," Derek retorts, reaching over to trace along the back of one of Stiles' bandaged hands.
Stiles nods. "Wet wipes. Next time, we just go prepared." There's a grunt out of Derek, but it's not a no, so Stiles grins and lets his eyes close, already trying to ignore the way his hands itch and attempting to override that with just how good it feels to relax naked with Derek after his second orgasm of the day, but mostly because that always tends to lead to a third.