Chapter Text
Stiles feels entirely justified in having a nice long sulk the next day. Well, a little justified. Well, OK, everytime he starts to get really upset about the fact that Derek is a cockteasing asshole, he reminds himself that at least he has a gold medal. It makes him feel better.
He’s seen Jackson wearing his medal around the Village like jewelry, and it’s only the knowledge of how much of a douchebag it had made him look that prevents Stiles from doing the same.
Still, he can’t stop putting it on and looking in the mirror four or five times that day. He probably would have done it more, except that Scott had been around for most of the day.
Scott and Allison drag him out of the room in the afternoon, because Scott still feels terrible about being almost as bad a cockblock as Derek himself, and because now they’ve all finished their events and it’s, apparently, time to party.
Stiles is OK with it, partly because he still doesn’t have to buy any of his own drinks. It’s a principle he can get behind pretty quickly.
The bar is outside the Village, so it’s about half and half athletes and fans. Anyone who didn’t fit into those categories had probably cleared out after their first drink, no doubt heading for a pub further away from the Village.
Stiles actually has to fight off a couple of offers, from men and women alike. Apparently, nothing is sexier than a gold medal. He turns them all down and realizes with horror that he is just gone on Derek, which is unfair on so many levels.
A pretty blonde girl makes it all the way to his corner and sits on Stiles’ lap without pause.
“Um?” Stiles says, taken aback He looks up at Scott for help. Scott is busy making out with Allison. Typical. As soon as he gets back to California, Stiles is getting a new best friend.
“Je m'appelle Audrey,” she says cheerfully. Stiles knows zero french, so he has no idea how to say ‘thanks but no thanks,’ and pushing her off seems kind of rude.
“Je m’appelle Stiles,” he replies for politeness’ sake, trying to nudge her off of his lap without being too obvious about it.
She giggles and says something that he has no chance of guessing from context. He looks around hopelessly, trying to see if she’d brought a handler, or at least a friend.
He meets dark eyes across the room instead, and he recognizes Derek’s intent gaze.
Stiles has a moment to be surprised that Derek had left the Village of his own free will before Derek is turning around and leaving. Which is about when it occurs to Stiles that he has a pretty girl on his lap less than 24 hours after Derek kissed him.
Stiles stands up fast enough that Audrey goes sprawling on the ground. He doesn’t bother to help her up, too busy trying to navigate through the crowd. Drunk people are seriously ridiculous, it’s like trying to part the freaking Red Sea. Derek is already at the end of the block when Stiles forces his way out.
Stiles breaks into a run, desperately hoping that Derek won’t start running too. He’s in the Olympics for it, Stiles won’t stand a chance.
Derek doesn’t start running, doesn’t even look back, though Stiles is sure that Derek can hear him.
Stiles catches up to him at the end of the block, putting a restraining hand onto Derek’s shoulder and turning Derek to face him.
“What are you doing out of your man-cave?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.
Derek hunches into his jacket a bit. “I was looking for you.”
“Looking for--are you kidding me?” Stiles demands.
Derek frowns and turns back to the road. “I can see you’re busy though.”
“Derek, what the hell!” Stiles shouts. “Are you actually trying to kill me? You are like the king of mixed signals. You like me, you don’t like me. You kiss me and then run away--twice, I might add. Then you get mad when some girl practically attacks me in a bar. You’re giving me whiplash here.”
“You can do what you want,” Derek says shortly. “She’s probably still in there.”
Stiles scrubs both of his hands over his head in frustration. “That wasn’t even close to the point I was trying to make! Are you actually insane?”
Derek just turns and keeps walking back to the Village. Stiles rolls his eyes and falls into step beside him. “Look,” he says, “can we just talk about this? Because you have not only been cockblocking me, you have been cockblocking yourself. Who even does that?”
Derek shrugs. “I told you before, it’s not about you.”
“Look, I am now very interested in this situation, so if you could just give me a brief summary, that’d be fine.” He pauses. “And by situation, I mean you.”
Derek gives a little laugh. “How about you just trust me. I’m not doing anything before my event, but that’s only another two more days to wait.” He ducks his head. “If you don’t want to to wait that long, I get it.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, were you dropped on your head as a baby? I’ve been waiting for you for over a month now. A couple more nights won’t kill me.”
They show their IDs to the guards at the entrance to the Village and move through.
Derek flashes him a grin, slow and bright. Stiles mentally revises his last statement, because if Derek continues to be this goddamn sexy, it might kill him after all.
They walk back to Derek’s building in silence. It feels quiet and intimate, and Stiles is pretty sure this is becoming more than a casual fuck. And, if he’s honest, he wants that. Which is a terrible idea, because Derek is from New York, and Stiles is literally across the continent from him.
Derek stops at his door, and Stiles feels like he’s trapped in a cliche teen movie, dropping the girl off at her house. Though, to be fair, Derek would probably punch him just for thinking it.
Stiles moves in, crowds Derek against the door when Derek takes a step back.
“Relax,” Stiles breathes, and presses his lips to Derek’s. He keeps it slow and gentle because he doesn’t want Derek to run, not this time.
Derek’s the one who deepens it, opening his mouth and letting Stiles slide his tongue inside. He licks over Derek’s teeth until Derek groans into his mouth.
Stiles pulls back and grins at him. He darts in, quick, just a closed mouth peck of his lips against Derek’s this time.
“For luck,” he says, and turns to leave.
He doesn’t look back.
--
“Laura! Over here!” Stiles waves at Derek’s sister from the stands. He’d really like to pretend that he got here early because he didn’t have anything better to do, but the truth is that he’d wanted to make sure that he would get a good spot to watch Derek race.
It’s only the qualifying, but Stiles is vibrating with tension. He’s almost as nervous now as he had been before his own event.
“So, what kind of name is Stiles, anyway?” Laura asks, grinning.
“Seriously?” Stiles laughs. “That’s what you have to say?”
“Well, it’s that or ask you if my baby brother has put out yet. Take your pick.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles replies. “Does insanity run in your family?”
Laura grins. “You better hope you never meet my uncle Peter.”
--
Team USA ends up getting first in the qualifying, but Derek, being an old man at heart, refuses to go out with them to celebrate.
Boyd and Danny do go out with them, but Isaac apparently agrees with Derek and decides to rest before the finals the next day.
--
Stiles is pretty sure that his voice is hoarse from cheering, from yelling every time team USA falls behind, and every time they manage to pull ahead. He’s glad that this is the kind of sport that one can cheer for, loudly and whole-heartedly. The spectators of diving are all
ooh
and
ahhhs
and respectful silences when your dive doesn’t warrent those.
Derek was the team’s last runner, Isaac the first. For such a skinny thing, Isaac sure is fast, breaking to the front of the line like it’s nothing. By the times the baton gets to Danny, and then to Boyd, Stiles is on his feet, hollering. When he sees the baton pass to Derek, he practically starts jumping up and down. Jamaica pulls ahead in the middle of Isaac’s run, but when the baton gets to Derek, he shoots off like a bullet.
Stiles cheers, whooping loudly when Derek pulls ahead of Jamaica and crosses the finish line first.
Stiles jumps up and punches the air because silver is still fucking great and it’s not like anyone ever beats Jamaica in running anyway.
“That was amazing!” Stiles exclaims when they reach Derek’s side. He’s still breathing heavily, but he’s grinning from ear to ear, looking happier than Stiles has ever seen him.
“Congrats, bro!” Laura says, hugging him tight. Stiles wishes that he could do the same.
Laura catches his eye over Derek’s shoulders and seems to read something in his face. She releases Derek and gives him a little shove in Stiles’ direction.
Stiles grins and opens his arms wordlessly. He’s surprised when Derek steps into him, wrapping strong arms around Stiles.
“So, you ready to celebrate?” Stiles asks. “I hear there’s this bar around here that’s very friendly to gold medalists.”
Derek shakes his head. “No thanks.” Stiles face falls, he can just tell. Derek grins at him. “I have a better idea.”
--
Stiles is kissing Derek before they’re all the way through the door.
Derek grins into the kiss and pushes Stiles up against the wall, kicking the door closed behind them.
“Impatient, Stilinski?”
“We could have had this weeks ago!” Stiles replies, the words muffled in the kiss.
"I told you that I didn't want to be distracted," Derek growls. He doesn't give Stiles a chance to answer, just takes his mouth in a fierce kiss. Stiles hardly has time to reciprocate before Derek is pulling back again. "And you are so fucking distracting."
"And what about you, Mr. Tall, dark and grumpy?" Stiles asks, straining against Derek's hold to get closer. "You are the biggest cocktease on the planet, I swear to god."
"You think it was easy?" Derek asks, bypassing Stiles' mouth completely and rubbing his stubble against Stiles' neck before worrying it with his teeth.
Stiles arches into the contact, hands grasping at Derek's shirt. "I'll show you easy," he mutters. He shoves off the wall with his hips and uses his shoulders to push back against Derek.
Surprised, Derek goes with the motion, ending up with Stiles pressing him to the wall. Stiles rolls his hips against Derek’s, making both of them moan, then kisses his way down Derek's neck. He pauses long enough to yank Derek's shirt over his head, then licks and bites his way across the broad planes of Derek's chest.
Derek hisses and arches up when Stiles reaches his nipples and Stiles grins. "Sensitive?" he asks and he gently scrapes his teeth over one.
"Shut up, Stilinski," Derek replies, voice gravelly in a way that makes Stiles shiver.
"Such a romantic," Stiles replies, but he mouths his way to Derek's other nipple, biting down and sucking hard.
Derek thrusts against him and Stiles drops his hands to Derek's hips, holding him still. When Derek settles again, Stiles slides one hand around to the button of his jeans, flicking it open.
Derek groans when Stiles gets his hand inside, wrapping it around his cock. Derek throws his head back when Stiles grips him tight and tugs. Stiles can’t resist such a tempting picture and he raises his head enough to suck on Derek's neck.
Derek's stubble prickles against his lips, new and exciting. He bites down to see what Derek will do, and Derek make a noise like this is killing him.
"You know, diving isn't my only skill," Stiles says, grinning wickedly.
"What?" Derek asks blurrily, lifting his head off the wall and giving Stiles a disconnected and heated stare. Stiles shivers as that look burns through him.
He pulls his hands out of Derek's briefs. Derek makes a low noise at the loss, and Stiles smiles at him. "I also know how to hold my breath for almost three minutes," he says, and slowly sinks to his knees.
Derek's hand immediately goes to his shoulder, the other resting lightly on Stiles' head.
"Do those lines actually work for you?" he asks incredulously, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Stiles looks up at him and grins. "I've got you here, don't I?" He doesn't wait for an answer, just pulls Derek's pants down his hips. Derek's cock presses obscenely against his black briefs and Stiles licks his lips.
"Just get on with it," Derek says, grip tightening on Stiles’ shoulder. He doesn't, however, do anything to push or pull Stiles closer, which is a big point in his favor.
"I thought you were all about patience?" Stiles asks, pressing close enough that his lips brush against Derek's cock when he speaks.
Derek groans, head thunking back. "Stiles, I swear to god."
Stiles wants to play with him some more, give Derek a small taste of what Stiles has been dealing with over the past few weeks, but the truth is that he wants this as bad as Derek does. He tugs Derek's briefs down, carefully lifting the fabric over his erection.
Stiles leans back a little just to look at him, enjoying the view. Derek was one long, lean line against the wall, flushed and panting and finally, finally for Stiles.
"Stiles," Derek growls impatiently.
"Oh, alright," Stiles replies, like it's a hardship. He licks his lips again before he wraps them around the head and sucks.
Derek's hips jerk forward, thrusting into Stiles' mouth, and Stiles chokes a little. He pushes Derek back and pins his hips to the walls.
"Stay," he says, before he sucks Derek down again. Derek groans, but doesn't thrust again, and Stiles settles in and lets himself enjoy this.
He licks up and down the shaft and sucks carefully, using his hand to touch what he can't reach with his mouth.
The noises that Derek is making are driving Stiles crazy, until he's almost dizzy with his own want. He looks up as he sucks, meeting Derek's eyes as Derek stares down at him.
Derek makes a gasping, desperate noise and his hips jerk again. Stiles rides it out, pulling back just enough that he doesn't choke this time. He doesn't break eye contact, just continues to lick and suck Derek while staring up at him. The look in Derek's eyes makes him feel like he's burning from the inside out, like he might catch fire if he gets any hotter.
Stiles fumbles at the clasp on his own jeans, trying to at least get some relief. He groans around Derek's cock, and Derek jerks again.
"Stiles," he gasps out. Stiles moans again and presses in closer, sucks Derek in deeper. "Stiles, stop." The hand on Stiles' shoulder tightens, then carefully pushes him away.
Stiles pulls free with a faint pop, glaring up at Derek reproachfully. "What?"
"Bed," Derek growls. OK, yeah, Stiles can get behind that. So to speak.
Derek grabs Stiles around the hips when Stiles stands, and pulls him into a kiss, tugging at Stiles’ jeans like they’ve personally offended him.
The kiss is raw and filthy, with just the right amount of desperate. Stiles fists one hand in Derek’s hair and starts walking back to the bed. Derek stumbles along with him, still yanking at Stiles’ clothes.
Stiles almost trips and falls when his pants end up around his knees, and he has to stop to kick them off. Derek’s hands land on his ass, and Stiles moans into the kiss, thrusting against Derek desperately.
They both fall when the back of Stiles’ knees hit the bed, and Derek uses the opportunity to strip Stiles’ shirt off.
Stiles opens his legs instinctively, letting Derek settle between them. They thrust against each other for a few fantastic moments, before Stiles pushes him off.
“Seriously, we are going to actually do this thing, I want your dick in my ass sometime tonight or I will kill someone.”
Derek drops his head onto Stiles shoulder and groans. “Jesus, Stiles, your fucking mouth.”
“Did you miss the part where I said I will kill you? Because that is not a joke.”
Derek rolls his eyes and shifts off of Stiles. “We’ll get there, Stiles. No need to resort to murder.”
Stiles grins and presses a quick kiss against Derek’s lips. “Well hurry it up, runner boy, I’m not getting any younger here.”
Derek stands, and Stiles lays back to enjoy the view. “I have no idea why I’m sleeping with you,” Derek says in exasperation.
“Well, you’re not yet, so get on that. I have stuff in my jeans, I can just-” He moves to get up, but Derek pushes him back.
“I have stuff, don’t worry.”
Stiles falters, surprised. “You, you do?”
Derek frowns at him. “Well, yes. I kind of assumed that sex was going to be the end result of tonight.”
“One of many,” Stiles leers. Then it falters. “I just kind of assumed-”
“You came prepared, didn’t you?” Derek cuts him off. His back is to Stiles as he rummages through his drawers for, Stiles can only assume, his supplies.
“Well, of course, but I’ve been wanting you for over a month now.”
Derek turns back to him, lube and condoms in hand. “Whatever you may think, Stiles, lack of interest was not the issue.”
Stiles flushes and ducks his head to try and hide it.
Derek makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat and kneels on the bed. He grips Stiles firmly by both ankles and tugs. Stiles squawks as he slides forward, ending up sprawled on his back beneath Derek.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Derek growls, and ducks his head to kiss Stiles until he’s dizzy with it.
“Yeah, OK,” Stiles replies. “No idiocy here. Can we make with the sex now?”
Derek huffs exasperatedly into Stiles’ mouth. “Sure. Roll over.”
Stiles think it over. “No.”
“No?” Derek repeats.
“No. I want to see your face. I’m not fucking some guy, Derek, I’m fucking you.”
Derek kisses him again, and Stiles can feel a pleased smile against his lips. “If you’re sure,” Derek says.
“Come on, we’re Olympic athletes here. I think we can manage sex.”
Derek laughs a little, and Stiles can hear the cap on the lube popping off. He lifts himself onto his elbows to watch as Derek lubes up his hand.
“Ready?” Derek asks, fingers paused just in front of Stiles’ hole.
“Oh my god, Derek. I have been ready for the past month, just do it already.”
Derek makes a low noise in his throat and presses one finger into Stiles without any more hesitation. Stiles groans, because it’s been a couple years since he did this. Olympic training doesn’t leave much time for a social life.
Derek slowly works in a second finger, scissoring them and watching Stiles for any signs of pain. Stiles squirms under him, gasping. Derek pushes deeper, and Stiles arches off the bed with a shout.
“Do that again,” he demands and Derek obliges, pressing harder. Stiles tosses his head back, moaning. “More,” he pants out. “Please.”
Derek works in three fingers, then four, making sure to hit that spot that makes Stiles writhe beneath him.
“Come on,” Stiles pants, pushing at Derek’s shoulder. “I’m ready, let’s go already.”
Derek doesn’t argue, fumbling with the condom and almost dropping it. His lube-slicked fingers slide on the plastic wrapping
“Here, let me,” Stiles says, pushing himself up and taking the condom from him. He has to rip it open with his teeth, but he finally gets it free and he carefully rolls it onto Derek.
Then he flops back down onto the bed, grinning broadly. “Come on Derek, my body is ready.”
Derek laughs, white teeth flashing against his dark stubble and Stiles takes a moment to marvel about the fact that he is here, in bed with Derek Hale, at the Olympics. How did he even get this lucky?
“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says affectionately.
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says , pushing off the bed and thrusting his cock against Derek’s hip. “Come on!”
Derek smiles down at him, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips. His hands grip at Stiles’ thighs, tugging them lightly apart.
Stiles shifts to wrap his legs around Derek as Derek thrust into him with one smooth thrust.
They both groan, Stiles throwing his head back into the pillow. Derek is burning hot inside him, and he feels so full, so fantastic. Totally worth the wait.
Derek pulls back and pushes in again, setting up a steady rhythm that is going to drive Stiles out of his mind.
“Faster,” Stiles pants out. “Please, Derek.”
“I thought patience was a virtue?” Derek replies, his voice is wrecked, words coming out as a rasp, but he keeps up the steady rhythm.
“Please!” Stiles keens when Derek hits that spot that makes sparks fly behind his eyes.
Derek gives two short, fast thrusts with his hips that makes Stiles cry out, but then settles back into the same steady rhythm.
“You’re a bad person,” Stiles moans, twisting up to meet him.
“I think I’ll live,” Derek gasps, and Stiles can tell that this pace is taking it’s toll on Derek as well.
He pushes himself up onto his elbows to kiss Derek, biting his lips and pushing his tongue into Derek’s mouth at the same pace that Derek thrusts into him.
When his arms buckle under a strong thrust and Derek follows him down so that they don’t break the kiss.
The new position presses their bodies together, so that Stiles’ erection is pressed between them. He squirms just to feel it against Derek’s hard stomach and moans into the kiss.
Waves of pleasure are crashing over him, Derek’s cock sending shocks through his whole body, the kiss making him dizzy. Stiles shakes with the need to come.
He works a hand down between their bodies to wrap around his own cock, but Derek bats it away. “No,” he growls. “That’s for me.”
And apparently possessive is a thing that really works for Stiles. He whimpers and lets his hand fall to the side.
“Please, Derek.”
Derek finally speeds up, pounding into with deep, body rocking thrusts that have Stiles shaking. He wraps one large hand around Stiles’ cock and begins to stroke him in time with his thrusts.
Derek combines a particularly strong thrust against Stiles’ prostrate with a twist of his wrist and Stiles arches his back and comes with a shout.
He rides out the thrills of pleasure running through him with minute shifts of his hips, whimpering as Derek doesn’t let up.
Stiles weakly pushes his hips into Derek’s thrusts, trying to help him along until Derek cries out and slumps against him.
Stiles pants weakly as Derek rolls off of him and carefully takes care of the condom.
“I think we both get gold medals for that,” Stiles says.
Derek snorts. “I’d put money on that having been said over a hundred times this month.”
“Oh, at least,” Stiles agrees, shifting so that he’s curled into Derek’s side, one arm flung over Derek’s broad chest.
--
Derek looks spectacularly grumpy as he crosses and uncrosses his arms over his chest.
“Oh come on, I think you look great in white,” Stiles laughs.
“This shirt doesn’t fit,” Derek grumbles.
Stiles rakes his eyes over Derek’s chest. “Hey, no complaints from me, big guy. But your hat is a little crooked.” He reaches out and straightens Derek’s white hat before Derek bats his hands away.
“Are you worried it’s going to mess up your hair?” Stiles smirks, straightening his own white cap.
Derek just scowls at him.
“Oh, you are!” Stiles grins. “Don’t worry, you look great no matter what.”
“You two are gross,” Scott remarks from Stiles’ other side.
Stiles just gives him a flat look, looking pointedly at the way Scott has his arm wrapped around Allison’s waist.
“Oh, hey, I think we’re moving now,” Allison says, and sure enough the crowd is surging around them.
Stiles reaches out and straightens Derek’s gold medal to the center of his chest and tries not to grin too hard when Derek does the same for him.
“Come on, smile for the camera,” Stiles says, just like he had at the opening ceremony. And this time, Derek’s smile is completely genuine, and when he holds up his gold medal to show the camera, his other hand is clasped in Stiles’.
--
The End