Chapter Text
Having known Derek for over three years, Stiles had thought he knew everything there was to know about him. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was wrong. One of the things he’d assumed that he knew for certain was that Derek hated PDA.
He was dead wrong.
Once the two of them had finally gotten their acts together and realized that they were crazy about each other, Derek couldn’t keep his hands off him. Derek took every opportunity he could get to touch Stiles; everything from draping his arm over Stiles, when they were sitting on the couch, to holding his hand, when they were out in public, to kissing him goodbye, when they had to part. At first it confused the hell out of him, until he realized that Derek loved showing everyone that Stiles belonged to him.
But Derek’s hands-down favorite way to do that was to take Stiles to Jungle.
Stiles had never been much of a club kind of guy. Sure he’d tried to sneak—unsuccessfully—into a few, when he’d been in high school but, since becoming a werewolf, he didn’t really see the appeal of deafening, repetitive music and being crowded into a press of smelly, sweaty bodies.
Needless to say, it had come as quite a shock, when Derek suggested they go one night. He’d honestly thought Derek was joking. After all, Derek hated people and loud noise even more than Stiles, Peter, and Laura put together. When Derek continued to hold a serious face instead of busting out laughing, Stiles realized he was serious.
So, later that night, Stiles allowed Laura to dress him in a black shirt that he was convinced was few sizes too small, but that made his modest muscle definition look more impressive, and a pair of red skin-tight pants that made his ass look amazing. He remembered how ridiculous he felt, as he fiddled with his phone, waiting for Derek to finish getting ready. Those negative thoughts—along with any other thoughts at all—completely flew out of his mind, the second Derek walked down the stairs. Derek had dressed in a pair of sinfully tight black jeans, his black leather jacket, and nothing else. Not a scrap of clothing covered his magnificent chest and abs. Seeing his boyfriend like that, Stiles had been all for skipping the club and just devouring him on the spot, but Derek had insisted they go
When they pulled up to the warehouse district, Stiles had been a little worried that they wouldn’t let Derek into Jungle—you know the whole no shirt, no shoes rule—but then he remembered where they were going. There is no way in hell they would deny Derek entry, hell, they probably would have paid him to be seen at the club. They didn’t even have to wait in line to get in that night. The Bouncer had spotted Derek, as he was walking up, and just waived the two of them through.
It was a little surreal for Stiles, considering he was always the kind of guy who was picked last in gym class and generally ignored all through high school. Seeing the jealous glares of all the people still waiting in line, as the pasted, was the kind of thing he used to daydream about.
Once they were inside, Derek wasted no time on mingling or getting a few drinks. Derek had all but dragged him into the middle of the sea of gyrating bodies and pounding music that was the dance floor and just started grinding against him in the most arousing and provocative way. Even with clothes on, it had bordered on the obscene and Stiles was pretty sure they had been breaking some kind of public indecency law. Not that Derek cared the slightest bit. His mate had used the next few hours to get him so worked up and on edge that he was practically in tears, when Derek finally suggested they leave.
They didn’t even make it home. Stiles practically attacked him in the car, as soon as they were a few miles away. Of course, they did end up having even more scorching, hot sex with Derek still wearing his leather jacket, when they got back home.
After that night, going to Jungle became a regular thing. Stiles had never really considered himself much of a dancer—even once he grew into his gangly limbs, he still had a tendency to flail around and stumble—but then again you couldn’t really call what he and Derek did dancing. It was more like dry humping on the dance floor. And it wasn’t just Stiles who thought it was hot. Whenever they started dancing together, it seemed like every eye in the club was on them. The first few times, Stiles had been pretty nervous. Sure, he’d been checked out on the street before, but he’d never had an entire club eye-fucking him and his boyfriend. They weren’t even subtle about it; they would outright stare, like he and Derek were that night’s scheduled entertainment.
At first he thought it would piss Derek off and he’d have to stop his boyfriend from murdering an entire warehouse full of people. It wasn’t until about the third or fourth time it happened that Stiles realized that Derek was getting off on it. Derek was flaunting him, staking his claim on him, and showing them that he belonged to Derek. It was such a rush that he nearly lost it, right on the dance floor. After that, he really got into it.
He would grind and writhe against Derek, like a cheap dancer at an airport strip club. Any shred of shame he might have possessed completely evaporated the moment they set foot inside the club. It became a game between the two of them to see who could get the other more worked up. The loser was whoever flashed their eyes first, or came in their pants.
That’s not to say they didn’t have a few problems at first. Derek was easily the hottest guy in the club and Stiles knew he was the perfect model of a twink, so there were a few assholes who tried to cut in and hit on one or both of them. That ended after an incident involving some douche tried to move in and make a Stiles sandwich on the dance floor about a month after they started going to Jungle. Stiles had been too preoccupied in rubbing his chest against Derek’s to notice the guy approaching him from behind, until the guy’s boner was sticking into his lower back. His eyes had immediately snapped open to see his mate glaring murderously over his shoulder. If looks could kill, then that guy would have been dead and buried.
Derek had then reached around him, grabbed the front of the guy’s shirt, and launched him a good five feet away. His mate might have flashed his eyes at the dude as well. Stiles hadn’t seen the look of the guy’s face, but he could imagine the absolute terror it must have shown, given the level of fear Stiles could smell and how fast he heard the man scrabbling away.
After that, people knew to keep their distance. Even on a crowded dance floor, it was like there was an invisible bubble around them that no one dared pass.
*
Tonight, the club was in full swing and they’d already worked up a good sweat on the dance floor. Derek was being especially handsy and Stiles knew exactly why. For the past week, a few members of the Reyes Pack had been visiting, including Jace. The arrogant, red-headed werewolf has spent the entire visit shamelessly trying to flirt with him, much to Derek’s annoyance. It probably wouldn’t have bothered Derek so much, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Stiles and Jace had sort of, almost flirted a little, when they first met. Derek clearly saw Jace as a rival for Stiles’ heart. Which was ridiculous, because let’s be honest, no one could ever rival Derek in Stiles’ affections.
Letting his mate be so blatantly possessive in public was the least he could do, as Derek had been behaving himself so well. Stiles might have even been letting Jace get a little closer to him than he normally would have, just to rile Derek up. He couldn’t help it. Derek just looked so cute, when he was jealous. His face would get all adorably scrunched up and his eyebrows became even more judgy than normal.
They had been dancing for a while, when Stiles felt someone staring at them. Of course, nearly everyone in the club was watching them, but this felt more intense than usual. A man Stiles had never seen here before was definitely checking them out. The man looked like the typical sleazy middle-aged guy who trolled clubs for naïve, barely-legal boys trying to figure out their sexuality. He spotted Stiles looking at him and winked suggestively. Stiles had never seen him here before, and he had to be new, otherwise he would have known better than to try and hit on him.
Stiles could have just ignored the man and gone back dancing, but again, jealous Derek was just too cute. Tapping Derek’s shoulder, he subtly drew his attention to the guy at the bar. They both focused their hearing on the man, just as he started questioning one of the bartenders about whether or not they ever invited anyone for a threesome. Andrew, one of the regular bartenders was trying to warn the guy off, but the idiot ignored him.
“A tight little piece of ass like him,” the man at the bar admired. “I bet he’s a good little bottom boy. He looks like the kind that needs more than one dick to satisfy him.”
A growl reached Stiles’s ears and he was shocked to realize it was coming from himself. Assholes like this guy really pissed him off. They thought that, just because they were bigger that they should always top and they usually only cared about their own pleasure, regardless of whether their partner go off.
Wanting to show this moron how wrong he was, Stiles pulled Derek into a fierce kiss. He devoured Derek’s mouth and his mate had not issue with letting him completely control the kiss. So caught up the kiss, he didn’t even realize that Derek was backing them up to the side of the club, until his back hit the wall.
Derek had pushed him against the wall of a relatively dark corner of the club. Stiles had to admit that he had a bit of a thing for Derek manhandling him. He couldn’t help how turned he got, whenever Derek got all growly and possessive. He probably should try and get Derek to at least take this into the bathrooms but he knew it would be pointless. The whole point of them even being here was for Derek to stake his claim. Derek wanted everyone to see, and Stiles kind of did too, if the hard-on trapped in his now painfully tight pants was anything to judge by.
Who knew I had an exhibitionist kink?
Over Derek’s shoulder, Stiles could see the guy at the bar smirk at them. He probably saw stuff like this all the time and knew what came next. Or at least the guy thought he knew what came next. He had to choke back a laugh at the guy’s surprised look, as Derek sank down to his knees in front of Stiles.
In seconds, Derek had Stiles’s pants undone and was lapping at the head of his cock. Stiles was more than ready to fuck into Derek’s hot, wet mouth, but his mate had other plans. With devastatingly slow movements, Derek dragged his tongue up the underside of his shaft, ending at the head with a little flick. Stiles let out a little broken whimper, as precum started to dribble out of him. After months of being together, Derek knew exactly what to do to take him completely apart.
His mate continued this sweet torture, with light teasing movements of his tongue, all the while holding his hips firmly in place, so that Stiles couldn’t move them, even if he’d wanted to. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Derek opened his mouth and swallowed him down to the base. Just seeing his dick disappear into his mate’s mouth, let alone the feel of it, was enough to cause him to moan out loud, though the noise of the club drowned it out.
He dug his fingers into Derek’s hair and gripped the back of his neck. Derek’s low rumble of approval sent vibrations up his cock and jolts of pleasure up and down his spine. Trying desperately not to cum yet, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back to hit the wall. It didn’t take long for him to cum, not with Derek’s mouth bobbing up and down on him with just the right combination of suction and salvia. His orgasm ripped through him and his knees almost gave out. Derek swallowed every drop, as he continued to suck him through the aftershocks and then tuck him back into his pants, when he was finished.
“So, was that good enough for the adoring public,” Derek smirked.
“That was perfect,” Stiles sighed, then smirked suggestively. “Now you have to let me return the favor.”
“Why don’t we head home and you can really make it up to me,” Derek growled in his ear.
Making their way towards the exit, with his arm wrapped around Derek’s waist, Stiles winked at the asshole at the bar on the way out.