#coyotequeens

“Did he, uh, give a name?” Stiles asks her and she stares at him pointedly, and okay, maybe it was a stupid question. Nobody ever gives their name. “Fair enough.”

He takes a long draw of his beer to steel himself, cards his fingers through his damp hair, and then slides out of his seat to bite the bullet. But even when he’s standing beside the guy, he doesn’t look up, and Stiles wonders if maybe the bartender made a mistake, but it’s not like there are any other people around that might buy Stiles a beer.

“Is this seat taken?” Stiles asks, belatedly realizing what a cliché he’s become. But, finally the man looks up and meets his gaze for the first time, and he might as well go for the cliché bingo, because his knees feel weak and his heart seems to skip a beat.

The man shakes his head in response to Stiles’ question, and Stiles blindly drags himself backwards onto the chair, unwilling to take his eyes away.

“Thanks for the, uh,” Stiles says, holding up his beer awkwardly. “I’m Stiles.”

“I know,” the man says, “I’ve seen you here before.”

Which just makes him sound like a stalker and Stiles apparently doesn’t have any self-preservation because he doesn’t care at all.

“Oh,” Stiles replies, “yeah it’s a nice place. And they’re the only bar in the area that sells the local brews.”

“You looked like you needed one.”

“Guess I really am that transparent, huh?”

The guy pauses and darts his gaze quickly along Stiles’ body.

“The shirt definitely is.”

Which is when Stiles finds out that the crisp, starched shirt he’d put on to look slightly more professional for his thesis defense, is now see-through and stuck to his skin. He’d forgone an undershirt solely because he knew he’d sweat through everything otherwise, but now, as he stares at his own nipples through the sheer fabric, he regrets it.

“This just isn’t my day,” Stiles mumbles, pulling his beer closer because maybe he can just work on blacking out instead. “Thanks for helping—”

“Derek,” the man supplies. “And you’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Derek,” Stiles repeats. “Hope you’re having a better day than I am.”

Derek shrugs loosely and says, “I am now.”

Stiles almost chokes on his beer.

“You don’t beat around the bush,” Stiles tells him, eyebrows raised and Derek glances at him, appearing casual.

“What’s the point?” Derek asks and Stiles can’t help but laugh.

“You’re a man who knows what he wants, huh?” he jokes, but Derek levels him with an unwavering gaze.

“I am.”

It sends a shiver of anticipation down Stiles’ spine and his mouth drops open in a mix of surprise and interest. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he takes a long drink, practically chugging it until he has to pull the glass away and draw in a breath. Which is when he finds Derek regarding him with amusement.

“I’m fine,” Stiles says, despite Derek not asking.

“You are,” Derek says, obviously seeing the opportunity and taking it, which only makes things worse.

Stiles really needs to shut his mouth, but he’s never been much good at that.

“Look,” Stiles says bluntly. “I haven’t done this is a long time. And I don’t mean like a month or something; I’m talking like since high school.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise and he seems to take in Stiles’ appearance a little closer.

“How old are you?” he asks and Stiles narrows his eyes and leans back, pretending to be offended.

“Old enough,” he argues and Derek just smiles, which is disgustingly endearing.

“I haven’t done this in longer,” Derek promises and Stiles really doesn’t believe him.

“Are you serious?” he asks skeptically and Derek nods. “Are you married or something?”

Stiles drops his gaze to the hand Derek has on his beer, but there’s no ring on his finger, and when he glances up, Derek shakes his head.

“Not married,” he replies carefully. “I would never do that.”

“Get married?” Stiles asks, but he knows that Derek means he would never be unfaithful and Derek doesn’t respond, clearly taking it for what it is—a joke. “For the record, I’m not either.”

Derek’s eyes drop to Stiles’ chest as though he can hear his heartbeat, which isn’t even a thing, but when he meets Stiles’ gaze again he smiles as though he likes what he finds. Stiles finds himself smiling back.

“So, what’s a place like you doing in a person like this?” Stiles asks before pausing, realizing what he’s said, but there’s something in Derek’s eyes that makes it look as though he enjoys it.

“Probably the same reason as you,” Derek tells him, figuring out what Stiles means.

Stiles widens his eyes in surprise as he says, “You’re here for karaoke night, too?”

“Funny,” Derek says, but his voice is monotone, his face expressionless.

It makes Stiles laugh and he finds himself leaning towards Derek, an elbow on the bartop as he realizes he’s flirting with his body, something he hasn’t done in years. Derek casually rests his arm on the back of Stiles’ stool, and Stiles suspects they’re heading in the right direction.

“So, what do you do, Derek?” Stiles asks, trying to make casual conversation and Derek actually seems receptive.

“I’m a land surveyor,” he says and Stiles blinks.

“That—that’s not what I expected.”

Derek huffs a soft breath through his nose and says, “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles starts. “Male model?”

Derek pauses for a long second.

“Does that work on anyone?” he asks and Stiles shrugs.

“Don’t know; has it worked on you?”

Derek eyes him carefully before asking, “What do you do?”

“I’m working on my master’s and helping out with a few classes.”

Derek nods, looking slightly impressed, which Stiles is happy about. He’s finally found someone to appreciate his life choices.

“Yeah, so as a broke student, thank you for the drink.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek tells him and Stiles is quick to clarify.

“I mean, I’m not just here for free drinks,” he says and Derek leans in just a little closer.

“What else are you here for, Stiles?”

God, Stiles thinks. Derek could probably talk him through an orgasm alone. He reaches for his beer to save himself from answering, but Derek reaches out and gently but firmly traps his hand against the top of the bar.

“What do you want?” Derek asks and Stiles really can’t look away from Derek, caught by his gaze, which is unwavering.

“I don’t know,” Stiles gets out eventually and Derek traces his thumb over the bones of Stiles’ wrist.

“Stiles,” he presses and Stiles really needs a drink now because his mouth is dry.

“I—I want to go home with you.”

Derek nods, his thumb never stopping from where it’s now rubbing tantalizing circles on Stiles’ skin.

“Do you want to finish your drink?” he asks and Stiles glances over at his half-empty beer.

“No,” Stiles blurts out immediately. “I mean, if we’re being honest here.”

Derek passes a glance over him, but seems just as interested; he nods again and curls his fingers around Stiles’ wrist. Gently, he tugs, but Stiles really doesn’t need any encouragement to get up, he’s already sliding off his stool, nudging into Derek’s space. Derek stares at him for a long moment without moving, his mouth looking inviting. Stiles tilts his head, practically asking to be kissed, but Derek takes a step back.

“Not here,” he says, and the noise of the bar slowly filters back into Stiles’ consciousness, reminding him that he was totally ready to jump a stranger in public. He blinks and feels himself flush hard.

Derek shares a small smile with him and then tugs him towards the door.

“Let’s go,” he says.

It’s finally stopped raining outside, but it’s still on the cooler side of things and goosebumps immediately bloom across Stiles’ skin. Stiles rubs his hands along his arms to ward off the chill and Derek spares him a glance.

“It’s not far,” he promises.

And it really isn’t. He leads Stiles three blocks and then cuts through the entranceway of what appears to be a fairly new apartment complex. Stiles would take the time to look around if he wasn’t so eager to get Derek inside, but as it is, he is, and so he follows Derek closely as they make their way up two flights of stairs.

Derek stops in front of a door marked 270 and quickly unlocks it. When Derek flicks the lights on, it seems bigger than it did from the outside, but it’s sparsely furnished with only a few photos around, which just makes Stiles wonder what kind of person Derek is. When Stiles shuts the door behind them, Derek shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over the nearby kitchen counter.

He turns to Stiles after, as though looking for validation, but Stiles just nods and reaches out for him, drawing him closer without a word. Stiles doesn’t kiss him; instead, he waits, both of them breathing quietly as Stiles settles his hands on Derek’s hips. Derek feels so steady against him, as though Stiles could lean his entire weight against him and he wouldn’t budge an inch. But he also seems soft, as though he would move wherever Stiles wanted him if he only just nudged him with his hands.

Their noses brush and Derek is the one to finally press forward the final inch to kiss Stiles.

It’s surprisingly gentle, for all the eagerness they’d both had when they left the bar. Derek’s hand cups Stiles’ face and it’s just a series of closed-mouth kisses until Stiles accidentally lets out a soft noise and Derek chooses to deepen things. Not that Stiles is complaining. Derek’s tongue is hot and insistent, his hands even more so.

Stiles slides his own hands around to the small of Derek’s back, holding him close before letting one drop lower to grip his ass. Derek rocks against him, letting him feel his interest as he crowds forward, and Stiles is just as into it, if not more so. He licks into Derek’s mouth and enjoys the way Derek responds, clutching at Stiles with possessive hands.

He nudges Stiles backwards a step and Stiles thinks he’s going to pin him against the countertop to have his way with him, but instead he turns them and continues guiding Stiles back, kissing him all the while. He figures he’s being lead to the bedroom, but he breaks the kiss to glance around, noticing the blank walls along the hallway, despite there being nails dotted sporadically along it as though they should hold photo frames. It’s strange, but not enough to make him want to stop.

He presses his mouth to Derek’s jaw, trusting Derek to keep him from hitting anything as they continue along. And Derek does because when Stiles opens his eyes again, they’re in the bedroom where there’s a large, incredibly soft looking bed to the left. On the right, the closet door is open and Stiles can see a handful of shirts hanging up that look precisely like the sorts of things Derek might wear.

But Stiles isn’t interested in Derek’s clothes, only that he gets out of the ones he’s wearing.

He hooks his hands under the hem of Derek’s shirt and tugs, and Derek doesn’t put up a fight. He helps Stiles get it off and then starts in on the buttons of Stiles’ own shirt. Derek nips gently at Stiles’ throat while he does it and Stiles’ cock throbs with the need for attention.

Stiles grunts wordlessly when he’s finally able to shrug out of his shirt, and slides his fingers down to the fastenings of Derek’s pants, needing to get his hands on as much of Derek’s skin as possible. Derek helps by kicking off his shoes and Stiles rewards him with a hand down the front of his open pants, fingers edging into his boxers. Stiles would be happy to just jerk him off, but Derek catches his wrist and halts him.

“C’mon,” Derek insists, pulling Stiles’ hand free and working Stiles out of his own pants.

They pool around his ankles and Stiles has to pull away to bend down and untie his shoes to get everything off, even his socks. He feels bare in front of Derek, but Derek appears to appreciate the view, and he wastes no time in stripping himself of his remaining clothes to match Stiles anyway.

“Fuck,” Stiles murmurs, one hand reaching out to touch Derek’s hip, eyes trailing along the vee of Derek’s groin, down, down to where Derek is hard and uncut and ready for him.

“What do you want?” Derek asks, his voice a mix of amusement and lust.

Stiles knows exactly what he wants, and what he wants is Derek on his back in the middle of the bed immediately. Derek goes willingly when Stiles directs him with his hands and he flops out, his cock bobbing enticingly.

“Where’s your lube?” Stiles asks glancing at the nightstand because that seems like where it would be.

“Top drawer,” Derek tells him and Stiles crawls to the edge of the mattress and opens it to search.

Inside is an assortment of things: a few papers and leftover receipts, a watch that doesn’t seem to be working, a few bills in a money clip. It’s nothing telling, but Stiles likes the glimpse into Derek’s life. At the back, there’s the promised bottle of lube, and it seems well-used in a way that makes Stiles’ eyebrows raise. But it’s not his place to judge when he went out to the bar with the sole intention of finding someone to hook up with.

He grabs a condom at the same time, and then shuts the drawer and moves back over to straddle Derek’s thighs. He drops the condom onto Derek’s stomach and then opens the lube to slick his own fingers.

“I can—” Derek begins, but Stiles waves him off.

“No offense, but I’ll be faster.”

Derek lifts his eyebrows, amused, but doesn’t say anything. Which is perfect because that means Stiles can get to it. He presses a hand to Derek’s shoulder for balance and reaches behind himself. Derek watches him carefully, putting a flush on Stiles’ face at the attention, but Stiles works himself with insistent fingers and doesn’t let Derek distract him, not even when Derek moves his hands to Stiles’ ass, holding him open.

Stiles moans softly with Derek’s fingers so near to where he’s slicked and almost ready, but Derek doesn’t nudge them any closer, just rubs soft circles against his skin with his thumbs. Stiles knows exactly how much stretching his body needs, even with it having been a while since the last time he was fucked, and he works his way up to four fingers, just to be sure.

He finds himself moaning when he pulls his fingers free, and Derek finally rubs his own fingertips over where Stiles is open for him.

“Feel that?” Stiles asks, grabbing the condom from Derek’s stomach and gently tearing into it with his teeth. “That’s for you.”

Derek’s cock twitches at the words and Stiles takes it in hand and rolls the condom onto him, enjoying the way Derek’s breath hitches. He slicks him up with a little extra lube and then tosses the bottle aside.

Derek moves his hands back to Stiles’ hips as Stiles raises himself up and shuffles forward to line up with Derek’s cock.

“Okay?” he asks, checking in one last time, and Derek nods without hesitation.

“Yeah, c’mon, Stiles.”

Stiles nods in return and slowly begins to lower himself down.

The stretch of Derek inside him is perfect; he’s thick and hot and Stiles can feel him twitching against the tightness of Stiles’ body. He takes it slow and steady to let them both adjust, but when he’s finally fully seated on Derek’s hips, he lets out a sigh of contentment and stares down at him.

“Fuck, you feel good.”

Derek lets out a noise like he might be feeling the same way, and Stiles takes a moment to enjoy every sensation. When Derek’s grip tightens on his skin, as though he can’t stand the lack of movement, Stiles finally starts rocking his hips. He keeps it shallow, barely more than a grind, but he slowly picks up the pace, needing more. He presses both palms flat against Derek’s chest, using him to get the best leverage for when he begins moving in earnest, and Derek doesn’t complain in the slightest.

In fact, he seems to encourage the position with tiny bucks of his hips whenever Stiles raises himself up, which feels amazing each time Stiles slams back down. The sound of their bodies moving together is crude, but with how good it feels, Stiles doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care that no one is touching his cock, because he’s pretty sure if he kept it up, he would be able to come untouched anyway. His prostate is being constantly nudged and it’s hard to ignore.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles sighs out, mostly because he wants to keep riding Derek forever, but his thighs might not hold out for that long.

But he keeps going for as long as possible, bouncing in Derek’s lap like he was made for it, taking his cock without an inch of shame. For a second, he thinks about how it might feel if Derek fucked him bareback, how the sensation of skin on skin would feel more intimate, would get him there faster.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles starts chanting, because Derek begins thrusting up into him harder and faster and Stiles has to curl his fingers up over Derek’s shoulders just to stay seated. “This isn’t—I can’t—”

But Stiles can’t get it out that it’s not the best position to be pounded within an inch of his life, not that he isn’t loving every minute of it. He just has visions of falling off and tumbling over the side of the bed, and he doesn’t want a trip to the ER to ruin the best hookup of his life so far.

“Wait, wait,” he tries instead, which is something Derek instantly understands because he stops completely, the lack of motion throwing Stiles off balance until Derek grips his arms and keeps him steady.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, concerned, and Stiles is sure to nod quickly.

“I’m fine, I’m great,” he promises between uneven breaths. “Can we just change position?”

Derek blinks at him for a long moment, but eventually nods, slightly slack-jawed.

“What do you want?”

Stiles wants everything, in all honesty, but he does have something specific in mind. He carefully slips off of Derek’s cock and moves into the space beside Derek, his forearms pressed to the mattress and his ass in the air as though presenting. Derek’s breath turns unsteady, but he gets the hint.

“Fuck me like this,” Stiles tells him, just to see Derek’s reaction, and throws in a wiggle of his hips for good measure.

“God, Stiles,” Derek mutters under his breath, but in an instant, he’s rolled over and up onto his knees, shuffling into the space between Stiles’ spread legs and gripping his hips tightly.

He taps the head of his cock against Stiles’ hole, and Stiles knows he must look debauched, stretched open and wet with lube; it’s probably running down between his legs now. But he doesn’t care, because then Derek’s shoving back inside and it feels so much deeper than before.

“Oh,” Stiles gasps out. “Yeah, like that.”

Derek gives a few warm-up thrusts, but then he doesn’t hold back and Stiles finds himself moaning with every slam of their hips. God knows what Derek’s neighbors must think, but fuck, it feels good to let Derek know exactly how much he’s enjoying it.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he encourages, shifting one hand to press against the headboard of the bed, just to keep himself from sliding up the mattress. “As hard as you can.”

It still feels as though Derek is holding back slightly, but his thrusts are hard enough to satisfy Stiles and he lets Derek know, vocally.

He really doesn’t think he’ll last long, not when Derek nudges his right leg out wider, changing the angle yet again, making things feel even better somehow. He clutches at the covers with his free hand and tries his best to push backwards to meet Derek’s thrusts. Derek moves faster, his thrusts becoming shallower, barely pulling out before pushing back in.

He thinks Derek himself might be close to losing it, but he can’t keep track when one of Derek’s hands moves around to grip his cock. It feels like too much, and he pushes his face into the pillows below, muffling the noises that he can’t keep inside. He feels Derek lean over him, his mouth brushing the back of Stiles’ neck, his breath hot, panting against his skin.

“I’m gonna—” Stiles gets out, though he’s not sure if Derek hears him, but Derek keeps going and Stiles hurtles towards the edge.

His whole body locks up as he comes and he knows he shouts, but he doesn’t know how loud it is. It seems to stretch on for a lifetime and Derek keeps stroking him through it, his hand wet and messy and so firm, guiding Stiles through. He has to pull his face away from the pillow to draw in a fresh breath and he feels the pinch of teeth on his shoulder, pinning him in place as Derek shudders against him.

“God,” Stiles huffs out. “Fuck that was good.”

Derek pulls his teeth away from Stiles’ shoulder, instead peppering kisses across the skin, but he lets out a noise that sounds like agreement and then presses his face into Stiles’ back, seeming content to slump against Stiles for a while. Stiles locks his knees and lets him, trying to catch his breath in the meantime.

It’s a long few minutes before Derek finally blows out a heavy breath and lifts himself away from Stiles, and Stiles grunts when he pulls out, his body feeling well-used. He collapses down onto the mattress as Derek moves away, and turns his head to watch Derek tie off the condom and throw it into the trash can. He still looks unfairly attractive, now with a side of bedhead and a flush on his face that Stiles likes more than he wants to admit.

Derek glances over at him and offers a small smile, and Stiles figures it’s probably time for him to clean up.

“I’m gonna use your bathroom,” he says and Derek nods while Stiles finds the motivation to finally roll over and get up off the bed.

He takes a few stumbling steps, his legs feeling like jell-o, and he glances at Derek over his shoulder.

“You fucked the walk right out of me,” he jokes, but if Derek replies, he doesn’t hear it because he shuts the bathroom door behind him and moves towards the sink.

There’s already a wash cloth there and he wets it and carefully cleans himself, knowing it won’t get rid of all the lube, but the worst of it at least. He washes his hands after and then sticks his head under the faucet to take a long drink, putting moisture back in his mouth.

When he turns the water off, he wipes his lips with the back of his hand and stares at himself in the mirror, tracing his fingers along the edge of the new bite mark Derek has left. He enjoys the ache of it, knowing it will last for at least a week before it starts to fade for good.

His eyes drop briefly to the cup beside the sink that holds a tube to toothpaste and two toothbrushes. Beside it, there are two rings that are identical apart from their sizes, and Stiles picks them up and smiles.

It’s easy to slip his own wedding band on before he turns away, flicking off the light and heading back into the bedroom, where Derek is already tucked up in bed, on his side of the mattress. Derek watches him silently for a long moment before Stiles finally moves closer, slipping under the sheets in the free space and curling in close to Derek.

“Your ring,” Stiles says, holding it out, and Derek takes it carefully before slipping it onto the finger of his left hand.

It falls quiet between them and Stiles rubs an idle path with his palm along Derek’s side.

“Did you pass?” Derek asks quietly and Stiles blows out a long breath.

“Yeah, god, I don’t think I would have been able to do this if I hadn’t.”

“I knew you would,” Derek tells him, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of Stiles’ head. “You worked so hard on your thesis.”

“Yeah, and you worked hard on this place,” Stiles says incredulously, leaning up on one elbow to stare down at Derek, who smiles. “Where did our wedding pictures from the hallway go?”

“The guest room.”

“And my clothes from the closet?”

“Guest room,” Derek repeats and Stiles laughs, loud and bright.

“You’re unbelieveable.”

“You said you wanted it to be like our very first time again.”

“Yeah, but I—I didn’t expect this.”

For a second Derek looks unsure, but Stiles cups his face with one hand and presses a kiss to his mouth.

“It was amazing, Derek. It was way better than I was expecting and I won’t be able to look the neighbors in the eyes for the next year.”

“You were pretty loud,” Derek agrees with a grin and Stiles can’t help but kiss him again.

“Best plan ever,” Stiles tells him and Derek laughs.

“What will we do on our next anniversary?” Derek asks thoughtfully and Stiles wiggles his eyebrows at him.