Here’s a short and sweet chapter because the next installment will be IMMENSE. 😇
18+, MM, MDNI. Sterek. Read it on AO3 if you’d like.
Eight games in a row. Eight straight wins.
Derek Hale had always been good at baseball. Solid bat, reliable arm, the kind of player coaches liked to trot out when they needed someone steady. But lately he wasn’t just good. He was unstoppable. His home runs cleared the fence by twenty feet. Base steals that left the other team’s catcher staring at empty air.
The team joked that must’ve sold his sou to the baseball gods. But Derek knew the truth.
The truth was currently kneeling between his spread thighs in the empty visitor’s locker room, lips stretched wide around his cock, eyes half-lidded in a dreamy haze.
Stiles Stilinski had turned pre-game blowjobs into a ritual more sacred than Coach Finstock’s pre-game speeches. Home games gave them the luxury of time—locker room lights still off, the rest of the team still on the bus.
Away games were tighter: ten minutes max between Coach’s pre-game speeches and the moment the team spilled onto the diamond for warm-ups. Stiles had perfected the art of working within those constraints. If they only had 10 minutes, Stillinski could drop to his knees and transform into a cocksucking machine, making Derek see stars with a minute to spare.
Today they had nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Stiles was making every one of them count.
“Derek’s head thunked back against the locker.
A low, pleased hum vibrated around his shaft. Stiles hollowed his cheeks and took Derek’s cock deeper, throat fluttering in a way that short-circuited Derek’s brain. The wet, rhythmic sounds echoed off the walls, obscene and perfect. Derek’s fingers tightened in the boy’s messy brown hair—not guiding, just holding on.
When Stiles finally eased back with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen, he looked ridiculously proud of himself. “Thanks, buddy,” Derek managed, voice rough. He buttoned his baseball pants with fingers that still trembled. “That was… incredible.”
“My pleasure,” Stiles said, wiping his mouth. The grin he flashed was pure Stilinski—equal parts smug and delighted.
Derek stepped in close, crowding him until their chests brushed. He settled both hands on the curve of Stiles’s ass, squeezing appreciatively.
“You sure I can’t return the favor? We’ve been doing this for weeks and you still haven’t let me help you out the way you help me…”
Stiles tried to squirm away. Derek didn’t let him. “I—I’m good. Seriously. You’re helping me by letting me help you… that’s what I like.”
Derek searched his face. Stiles’s cheeks were flushed, pupils blown, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw that Derek had learned not to push. Instead he leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, tasting himself on Stiles’s tongue. Stiles melted into it the way he always did, a soft little noise escaping his throat that made Derek’s spent cock twitch valiantly in his pants. When Derek finally pulled back, he swatted Stiles’s ass once, light and affectionate.
They fell into their usual post-blowjob rhythm with ease. Derek was grateful for the simplicity of their fuckbuddy arrangement.
At first, Derek was afraid Stiles would catch feelings. Like real feelings. The boy practically worshipped the ground Derek walked on. Also, Derek was his first kiss as well as his first dick. But he’d been pleasantly surprised to see Stiles match his energy…well the Stiles Version of his energy. Genuine friendship, genuine eroticism, and that’s it. Friends with benefits. Bros who kissed. And did other stuff.
They never had to stumble through any awkward conversations about labels or boundaries. Somehow, they’d just naturally found something that worked for them, without having to talk about it. Which was fortunate for Derek, because there were so many other things he wanted to talk to Stiles about.
Most people thought Derek Hale was the strong-and-silent type…stoic face, subtle scowl, averse to small talk. The truth was simpler: Derek loved talking to people almost as much as he loved listening to them. He just needed the right conversationalist to get him started.
Stiles Stilinski happened to be the best conversationalist on the planet.
“You keep getting better and better,” Derek said as they straightened their uniforms. His cock was still half-hard and overly sensitive from the way Stiles had kept suckling him even after he came—gentle, rhythmic pulls that rode the edge between pleasure and pain. Derek would’ve pushed anyone else off after it became too much. With Stiles he endured the overstimulation like a badge of honor. It was the least he could do.
“You been getting extra practice somewhere?”
“Mhmm,” he mumbled around the tip. The vibrations were maddening.
Derek laughed, breathless. “C’mon, man, don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. Finally, he came off the cock with a wet pop. He kissed the head before tucking Derek’s spent dick back into its place with careful reverence.
Derek watched as Stiles stood up, brushed dirt off his knees, and smirked. “To answer your question, yes. I have been practicing elsewhere.”
Derek’s stomach did a weird little flip. “Practice with who?”
“Practice with whom,” Stiles corrected automatically.
“Brat.” Derek groaned. “Practice with whomst?”
Stiles’s grin turned downright wicked. “Practice with Stiles Stilinski.”
Derek’s brain shorted out. “You suck your own cock?”
“Goodness, no. Calm down, gooner.” Stiles patted Derek’s chest like he was soothing a startled horse. “I practice on dildos. Also, I’ve been reading a couple books about dick stuff. Surprisingly informative. Very scientific.”
Derek’s cock gave a heroic twitch at the mental image of Stiles on his knees in front of a suction-cup dildo, practicing deep-throating like it was a varsity sport. He had to adjust himself again. “I need to hear more about this dildo situation. Eventually. And the research. You’re actually reading books about blowjobs?”
Stiles tried to look sheepish, but landed on mischievous. “Well, yeah.”
Derek barked out a laugh and slung an arm around Stiles’s shoulders, steering them toward the door. “I can’t decide if you’re a nerdy slut or a slutty nerd.”
“Slutty nerd feels right.” Stiles leaned into the contact, letting Derek guide him. The dreamy little smile on his face made something warm unfurl behind Derek’s ribs.
“I agree. So tell me, Slutty Nerd, any interesting takeaways from your cock research?” Derek asked as they stepped out into the concrete hallway that led to the field.
“It’s a lot. I wouldn’t even know where to start. I can send you my notes if you want.”
“Of course you have notes.”
“I’ll drop a link to my Google Drive after the game. Color-coded and everything.”
Derek shook his head, fondness making his chest tight. “You’re ridiculous.”
Stiles beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners, and let himself be led toward the diamond.
