Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
It’s Stiles’ 21st birthday, and he’s at a strip club.
It wasn’t his idea - he wants that to be perfectly clear. It was Lydia’s. His appreciation for the male form is fairly new (though who is he kidding - he totally jerked off to all of the times Derek shoved him into things) and not really something that he can share with Scott. Or, he can share it with Scott, but it really puts a damper on things when Scott shoves his fingers in his ears and goes “shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up” until Stiles gives up.
Lydia, however, is much more interested in getting Stiles’ man virginity taken. (Stiles would like the record to show, however, that he is not in fact a virgin. He lost that senior year of high school). Which apparently means they’re at a strip club for his birthday. A male strip club. It’s Stiles, Lydia, Erica, Allison, and for some reason, Derek.
”Why is he here?” Stiles asks over the boom of bass. Lydia rolls her eyes, pushing a lime green drink into his hands.
”Derek is our designated driver.” She says, passing Erica a vial of wolfs-bane to toss into her pink margarita. Stiles eyes Derek for a moment, but concedes the point. He has plans to get incredibly shitfaced and maybe get a lap dance, and it’ll be easier if he doesn’t have to worry about getting home safe.
Stiles offers his drink, and Lydia clinks her glass against it daintily.
+ + + + +
It doesn’t take long for Stiles to accomplish one of his goals. Three of the weird, nameless drinks that Lydia pushes into his hands and he’s pleasantly drunk, slumped in a chair next to Derek, who’s eyeing him suspiciously. Stiles sighs, lolling his head to the side to stare at Derek.
”D’rek.” He slurs, patting a muscled forearm. “D’rek, wanna lap dance.” Derek raises an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes.
”You don’t need a lap dance.” Is all he says, and Stiles sticks his lower lip out in a pout.
”I want it.” He insists, sitting up. “It’s m’birthday, and I want a lap dance.” Stiles grins, an idea popping into his head. “Derek. Derek. You should give me a lap dance.”
”Why would I do that?” Derek asks, squinting at Stiles.
”It’s m’birthday and you’re hotter than all the people working here?” Stiles gives Derek his best come hither look, and probably ends up looking constipated judging from the little laugh that escapes him. It’s good that Derek can laugh, after everything. It makes Stiles curl his toes and smile fondly.
”Fine.” Derek says, standing. “But only because it’s your birthday.” He swings a leg over Stiles’, sliding into his lap easily. Derek’s wearing a short-sleeve black shirt that clings to his abs lovingly, and his stupid - brilliant - tight jeans. Stiles clamps his hands on Derek’s hips, grinning blindingly up at the wolf.
Derek rolls his eyes, puts his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, and rolls his hips, a long movement that screams sex. Stiles loses time in the grind of Derek’s body in his lap, the smooth undulations of all that muscled power right at his fingertips.
”I think you missed your calling.” Stiles says, feeling drunk with it.
Derek is staring at him, something unfathomable in his eyes, and he leans down slowly, carefully. His hips are still rolling, and Stiles is uncomfortably hard in his jeans. Derek grins, traces a finger along a vein in Stiles’ neck.
Abruptly, he stands up, pats Stiles on the shoulder, and leaves. Stiles watches Derek make his way to the bathroom, confused and strangely cold. He’s lost for a minute, unable to figure out why Derek just stood and left without a word, and then his phone dings from inside of his pocket. Stiles fumbles it out, blinking at the screen in confusion.
Come to the bathroom, idiot.
And even he, as drunk as he is, can;t misinterpret something that straightforward. Stiles stumbles to his feet, wiggles a little to adjust the boner that he’s sporting, and all-but runs to the bathroom. The second he makes it through the door, he’s being pressed back against it, a warm, solid body against his.
Stiles looks up at Derek, who’s smiling the stupid smile that he saves for special occasions, the one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and his whole face light up. Stiles touches the edge of it reverently.
”Happy birthday.” Derek whispers, and then they’re kissing. Stiles’ weight against the door keeps it closed, though soon enough there’ll be a line of people wanting in. Derek’s mouth feels perfect against Stiles’ - hot and slick and everything he’s ever jerked off about in the dark of his bedroom.
After a moment, Derek pulls away, eyes twinkling. Stiles is so drunk and happy he can hardly contain himself.
”Did you really make me come in here just to kiss?” He asks after a moment of silence, and Derek’s face softens.
”I was hoping you would come back to mine. We can celebrate a little more.” His face goes serious. “And then tomorrow, I was hoping you would let me take you out to breakfast.”
”Like a date?” Stiles can’t help but ask, and Derek grins, kisses him again - licks the taste of expensive alcohol out of his mouth for a few long minutes.
”Exactly like a date.” Stiles is nodding enthusiastically before the sentence even leaves Derek’s mouth, and he’s treated to another kiss before a banging on the door makes them jump apart.
”I need to pee!” A panicked voice calls, and Stiles and Derek are both laughing when they tumble out together and into the night.
