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Stiles is visiting his mother’s family in Virginia this Christmas. He’s been gone exactly one week, five days and twenty-two hours and Derek has hated every second that’s ticked cheerfully by.
He’s lying in bed at a quarter past twelve on Christmas morning—Boyd’s gentle snoring and Isaac’s sleepy murmuring from two floors away doing nothing to lull him to sleep—when Derek decides to just call Stiles up and ask him to come home. The embarrassment sure to ensue can’t be any worse than the harassment he’s had to endure at the hands of Lydia and Erica since Stiles’ initial departure from Beacon Hills.
Ten minutes, four hastily aborted calls and six painfully long rings later a rather grumpy sounding Stiles picks up on the other line and says, “Three hour time difference, asshole. Three hours.”
There’s a pause as Stiles yawns hard enough to crack his jaw before he continues with a sleepy, “This better be good, Scott.”
“This isn’t Scott,” Derek growls, frowning at his ceiling. This was a really bad idea.
“Derek?” Stiles asks, going from apathetic to alert in two-point-two seconds. “Is everything alright? Do you need me to come home?”
Derek sighs heavily, mad at Stiles for automatically jumping to the worst possible conclusion—never mind that it’s nearly half past three in Virginia and Stiles was sound asleep— and even more angry with himself for being so needy that he’d called his husband at early o’clock in the morning.
“Everything’s fine,” he says moodily, instead of hanging up abruptly and making Stiles panic or going on a rant about how Stiles should be at home with him instead of on the other side of the country.
There’s a long, awkward pause and then Stiles is hissing, “I cannot have phone sex with you while I’m on the top bunk of my eight year old cousin’s bed, Derek.”
Derek blinks at the ceiling in disbelief. Really, Stiles? Really?
“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t call you for phone sex,” he snaps.
“So then what’d you call me for?” Stiles asks shortly. “I woke up at five yesterday to help my idiot cousin-in-law finish his Christmas shopping and was up until nearly two today wrapping presents and baking about fifty different desserts for dinner tonight. If no one is dying and Allison hasn’t gone into labor I’m going to need you to get to the point so I can go back to sleep.”
Derek bites his tongue against a growl and refuses to answer. Stiles will figure it out soon enough. He always does. Even when he’s sleep deprived and short-tempered.
Stiles exhales noisily into the phone and waits all of two seconds before saying, “Do not make me hang up this phone on you, Derek. If you miss me just say so. I really would like to go back to sleep sometime in the near future and I can’t do that when you’re sad facing at me from California.”
There’s a pause and a nervous shuffle of sheets before Stiles asks almost too casually, “You are calling because you miss me and not because you all blew something up in my absence, right?”
Under the irritation and seeming disregard Derek can hear the hopeful lilt to Stiles’ words and it makes his heart ache.
After so many years Stiles shouldn’t have to wonder. He should know.
“No,” Derek scoffs, much too quickly for it to actually be true. “I called because … I couldn’t find the band-aids.”
He can hear Stiles smiling into his pillow from three thousand miles away, can feel the tension bleeding out of the conversation with each passing breath.
“Oh, don’t lie to me. I may not be a walking lie detector but I know you miss my spastic rambling,” Stiles mumbles, the words just barely audible. “And the band-aids are under the sink in our bathroom. In the same spot they’ve been in since we bought them two years ago.”
Derek hums in acknowledgement, “Thanks. I never would have found them.”
Stiles scoffs over the line and Derek smiles at the sound, “Derek, we both know you’ve no use for the unopened band-aids under our sink so, why don’t you just tell me you miss me so that I can help you get off and then we can both go to sleep?”
After almost six years together Derek really shouldn’t be surprised by how easily it is for Stiles to read him, even when they’re separated by several dozen states and a number of time zones.
“Fine, I do miss you,” Derek grumbles into the near silence, “But only a little bit,” he adds hastily, kicking off his blankets and stretching out on Stiles’ side of the bed. After nearly two weeks his scent has faded away to almost nothing but Derek likes to pretend that he can still smell a hint of him under the soft mound of Stiles’ favorite pillow.
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Stiles says, chuckling at his own joke.
Derek rolls his eyes, even though Stiles can’t see him, and wiggles out of his underwear. He really hadn’t called for the phone sex but since Stiles offered—
“Are you out of your panties yet?” Stiles asks, drowsy. Derek grunts out a yes, palming at his half-hard cock and shifting around in order to get more comfortable.
“Alright, what’s going to get you off the fastest?” Stiles ponders aloud as Derek strokes himself idly. If he were a good person he’d probably feel guilty about keeping Stiles awake when it’s obvious that he’d like nothing more than to go to sleep but Derek can admit to himself, in the dark of their empty room, that he’s not a good person when it comes to hogging Stiles’ time and attention.
He does make a mental note to feel guilty later though (but only if Stiles complains about being exhausted after a day of keeping up with his tiny, hyperactive cousins).
“I could talk about sucking your cock,” Stiles offers and Derek hmphs a no at him because thinking about Stiles’ mouth on his cock is only going to lead to Derek thinking about how he hasn’t been able to kiss Stiles in over a week and a half and he’s already been in a bad enough mood for the past few days, thanks ever so much.
“What about you fucking me?” Stiles asks on the tail end of another yawn and no, Stiles doesn’t sound very enthusiastic and Derek prefers Stiles enthusiastic and screaming when he’s got Derek’s cock in his ass. He grunts out another no as he runs a thumb down the underside of his cock.
“Well I suppose that means you want me to talk about fucking you then, hmm?” Derek doesn’t bother answering, just tweaks a nipple while he waits, the silence heavy with his unconfirmed expectations. Stiles heaves a sigh. “You know, this would go a lot faster if you’d give me some actual feedback, Derek. Or, I don’t know, just asked for what you want in the first place.”
Derek’s right hand trembles as he puts his phone on speaker and rests it on the pillow beside his head. “And here I thought you enjoyed dragging things out for as long as possible.”
“Not when I’m exhausted and half asleep, I don’t.”
For some reason the thinly veiled irritation lacing Stiles’ words brings Derek to full hardness. He bites his tongue on a moan and tightens his grip on his next downward stroke.
“Moaning already, Derek?” Stiles laughs meanly and Derek hates him so much that he refuses to answer, this time out of spite. “And here I haven’t even begun to talk about how lovely it’ll be to hold you down and shove my way into you once I’m home.”
That gets a whine, hastily stifled but audible nonetheless.
“You wish I was there right now, don’t you?” Stiles asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer. “Hell, I wish I was there right now. I haven’t been able to get off in over a week. Every time I’m even about to try someone either walks in on me or demands I get out of the bathroom. I haven’t been this sexually frustrated since high school.”
Derek scoffs in mock dismay. “You poor thing.”
“… With all this animosity I’m currently feeling towards you I’m beginning to wonder why we never had a metric fuckton of hate sex back when I was in high school,” Stiles gripes.
“It probably had something to do with you being jailbait,” Derek snarks in reply, a smirk on his lips.
“I suppose. Although heaven knows I had enough wet dreams about those shoulders of yours to make up for it,” Stiles admits. Derek blinks at the ceiling in disbelief because he hadn’t known. Sure, Stiles had smelled like lust and frustration a good portion of the time during those first few years but so had everyone else (Derek had always assumed it was just a normal part of being a teenager on the cusp of self-discovery but then Stiles had turned nineteen and decided he was tired of waiting for Derek to catch a clue. Derek had never been so happy to be so terribly wrong).
“You still with me?”
Derek nods before realizing Stiles can’t see him. “Always.”
There’s a brief, shocked silence and then a small, happy giggle on the other end before Stiles says, “Don’t get sentimental on me now, Derek. You’ll kill the mood.”
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately.
Only he’s really not.
“No you aren’t,” Stiles chuckles.
Nope, not even a little.
“Am I going to need to spank you for lying to me when I get back?” Stiles asks.
Derek rolls his eyes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Stiles. Now go back to talking about my shoulders.”
Stiles calls him a pushy brat and few other choice words before continuing with, “I used to imagine running my hands across them while I was alone in my room. I’d think about the way they moved under the fabric of your shirts and about how much I wanted to bite my way across them. Hmm, I’ll have to actually do that one of these days. Get a little rough with it. I think you’d like that.”
Derek wouldn’t like that, he’d fucking love it. The way his cock is throbbing in his hand is a testament as to just how much.
“I’d try so hard to mark you and you’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d let me suck hickeys onto your skin and leave bite marks all over your shoulders and thighs and then I’d let you fuck my mouth until every bruise and bite had healed before starting all over again.”
There’s a pause as Stiles listens to the quiet noises Derek makes in his half-hearted attempt not to pant through the phone.
“I wonder how long you’d last,” he says, all casual contemplation and Derek feels his balls tighten at the total disregard.
“Not long,” he grits out, arching his hips and slamming into the tight clasp of his fist, pretending that Stiles and his sinful mouth are with him, in their bed, instead of too far away to touch and lying on someone else’s borrowed sheets.
“Hmm, not long at all. Everyone knows you love my mouth for more than just the noises that come out of it,” Stiles sniggers, voice thick with amusement.
Derek groans into the phone because Stiles is right and the little bastard knows it. “Even if you hate what I have to say you love it when I talk.”
Of course Derek does. The only thing he’s missed more than Stiles’ voice over the past week and a half is the brush of overgrown grass against his skin (the first time Stiles kissed him they’d been laying in Derek’s lush forest of a backyard. After all these years he still hasn’t gotten over his fondness for the scent of Stiles and Spring).
“But you don’t want to talk about that, do you? You want to talk about me fucking you.” Honestly, Derek doesn’t really care anymore. He smears a bead of pre-come down the side of his cock and let’s out a whine in the hopes that Stiles will get on with it.
“Hmm. Do you want me spread out on our bed so you can ride me?” Derek gasps at the mere thought of riding Stiles as fast and as hard as he wants. They’ve only managed it a few times—neither of them last very long when Derek is bottoming from the top and Stiles really and truly is a fan of doing things the long way—but Derek gives a full body shiver at the influx of memories all the same. “Or would you’d prefer me draped over your back instead? I do love being able to pull your hair while you’re on your knees for me.”
Yeah, option number two sounds pretty damn good right about now and Derek groans accordingly, the rhythm of his hand speeding up with every exhale.
“You always whimper so nicely when I start to get a little bossy; when I stop thrusting into you and start pulling you back and onto my cock instead. It’s like you enjoy the thought of being forced onto it.” Derek let’s out a sharp whine as he slides a finger down the cleft of his ass, rubbing gently as he continues to tug at his swollen cock. “You want that, don’t you Derek?”
More than air.
“And then, when you feel like you’re about to explode, I’ll pull out and push you onto your back so that I can lick up all the pre-come smeared across your skin. You’ll growl at me to get back inside of you, demand that I fill you up and make you come but I wouldn’t touch you until I’d cleaned off every drop.”
Derek quakes just thinking about it. Stiles is a tease at the best of times and a downright sadist at the worst, drawing things out until Derek is just on the edge of orgasm, until release is just a few strokes away, before stopping completely and making Derek beg for it.
“The bet I could make you scream for me if I teased you long enough. If I licked at your happy trail and sucked at just the tip of your cock until you were a writhing mess on our bed.” Derek can’t even reply, his finger in up to the first knuckle, wet with pre-come and spit and too damn small to scratch the itch that’s making him cry out in frustration as he hurtles towards the edge.
“I’m going to put my mouth all over you when I get home,” Stiles whispers, voice steady and sure, like he’s thought about this in great detail. Derek wouldn’t be surprised if he had a bullet-point list of all the things he wanted to do the moment he’d finished unpacking but he’s too distracted to ask, too busy to care. “I’m going to tell everyone to get out and then I’m going to drag you upstairs and fuck you until you’re too tired to move. By the time I let you come you’ll be so exhausted you won’t be able to do anything but breathe.”
And that’s it. Derek comes so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t hurt, his orgasm punching through him and stealing away every ounce of the breath in his lungs on its way through.
***
After a long bout of silence, during which Derek tries valiantly to catch his breath, Stiles asks, “Are you okay?”
No, he’s not okay. His husband is trying to kill him.
Derek grunts in reply to prove he’s alive and then asks, “My turn?”
Stiles chuckles quietly, “The talking may not have woken Brandon up but me beating one off on the top bunk of his rickety ass bed might. With my luck it’ll break and my Aunt Josephine will kill me for crushing her first-born so I’m going to go with no.”
“I’ll make it up to you then,” Derek says sympathetically. No one likes blue balls, least of all Stiles.
“Oh, I know you will,” Stiles whispers, voice wicked and full of promise. Derek feels his cock give a helpless, borderline painful twitch against his thigh in anticipation. “In fact, I’m looking forward to it,” Stiles continues, “But I have to be up in less than six hours and you need to go to sleep. I’ll be home before you know it.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Derek huffs, already beginning to drift off. “Merry Christmas, Stiles.”
“Merry Christmas, Derek.”
They hang up on the count of three (because they both have abandonment issues, don’t judge) and for a second Derek just stares at his phone, watching as the minutes crawl by on the digital clock that serves as his screensaver. At exactly one o’clock, Pacific Standard Time, he sets it back on his nightstand and finally, finally closes his eyes against the pale moonlight filtering in through his bedroom window.
Stiles may be visiting his mother’s family in Virginia for Christmas but there are only four days and seventeen hours left until he comes home.
Derek plans on counting every second.