Stiles is in his apartment, writing another song. He's no longer in a band – he got kicked out because he was "too serious about his studies and that was so not 'punk'", whatever the hell that means – but he's still constantly writing songs. They just pop into his head in the middle of class or work or sex, and he has to write them down. Obviously he waits until he's not busy (or getting busy, heh). But he writes them down and then goes back to his apartment to work out all the sound kinks. Usually he starts with the percussion since, y'know, drums provide the base rhythm and everything. Plus it's the instrument he's still most comfortable with, since he's been playing drums the longest.

So he's working on the drum section of the latest song to stick in his head when there's a pounding on his door. Sighing because he was just starting to figure out a kink he had found, Stiles goes to see what the problem is. When he opens the door Stiles finds himself face-to-face with a very attractive, very disgruntled-looking man.

They're of a height and the other man has sleep-ruffled black hair, light scruff, the most chiseled jaw Stiles has ever seen in real life, sharp cheekbones, thick eyebrows, and indescribable eyes. Seriously, this guy has got some serious central heterochromia going on with blue, green, and brown all in there. Then there're the broad, muscled shoulders and the defined pecs that are very obvious in the tight tank top the guy is wearing, and then the narrow waist supporting loose sweatpants. The whole picture is really just too much for Stiles to handle.

Luckily, Stiles is good with details and is highly observant on a good day, so he's able to catalogue this in a fairly quick manner; probably only a few seconds. So he smiles at the guy, despite the scowl Stiles receives, and says, "Hey man, can I help you?"

The guy huffs and crosses his (nicely muscled) arms. "Yes, you can stop drumming at four in the fucking morning. I have to be up for work in an hour," he practically growls.

Stiles winces. "Is it that late? I am so sorry. I don't really sleep much so I tend to lose track of time. I'll stop, I promise."

Narrowing his eyes like he doesn't believe Stiles, the guy turns around and starts to stomp down the hall toward the stairs. Stiles steps into the hall and calls after him, "My name's Stiles by the way." He doesn't even pause though, just continues into the stairwell. Sighing, Stiles heads back inside and marks on his sheet music where he left off so he can get back to it later.

The next time Stiles sees the nameless upstairs neighbor – Stiles has taken to calling him Mysterious Grumpy Brows, or MGB for short, in his head – is when Scott's visiting and they're jamming out. And they may be a little drunk. Just a little.

So they're laughing as they fuck up "What's My Age Again?" when there's a pounding on door. Snickering, Stiles shushes Scott before he opens the door. On the other side is none other than –

"Mysterious Grumpy Brows!" Stiles yells happily, throwing up his arms. "Where you been, buddy?"

The guy raises those eyebrows – his judge-y, sexy eyebrows…

"Mysterious Grumpy Brows? Judge-y, sexy eyebrows?" he asks Stiles rhetorically and without inflection. He shakes his head and pinches his nose. "You know what, I don't care. Can you just keep it down? I have -"

"Work in the morning! Right!" Stiles interrupts, snapping both hands and then pointing fingerguns at MGB. "Sorry, we're a little drunk and lost track of the time. We'll quiet down."

MGB nods. "Good." He leaves without another word.

Behind Stiles comes Scott's voice. "Duuude," he stage whispers. "He was so…" He gestures, at a loss for words and having spent far too much time around Stiles. Stiles nods in agreement before joining Scott on the couch again.

After that, Stiles doesn't really see MGB for a while. Sure, they occasionally see each other outside the building when one is leaving and the other's coming home, or they'll pass each other in the hall, but they don't do more than nod each other. It's kind of sad because Stiles had actually wanted to maybe get to know MGB – beyond finding out his name, which Stiles seriously needs to do – unlike the rest of his neighbors, who Stiles could not care less about it. Which was one of the reasons why he had gotten into the habit of testing and working out new songs in the middle of the night. Well, other than his insomnia, but whatever.

Anyway, Stiles doesn't see MGB again until he's forced to finally do laundry a few weeks after the drunken encounter when Scott was visiting. Stiles is heading down to the basement with his laundry bag filled to the brim over his shoulder and his laptop under his arm. He's just started his load of colds and is putting in the warms when MGB comes in with an empty laundry basket under his arm and heads over to the only working dryer. Miraculously, his clothes are still inside and seem to be fine

Stiles whistles. "Wow, you're lucky; last time I left my laundry unattended I found half on top of the dryer and half on the floor. Wet. I had to wash everything again, forcing me to pay double for laundry that month."

The guy makes a humming sound as he puts everything in his basket. "Maybe you just pissed off somebody with all your drumming in the middle of the night."

Stiles can't help but laugh, surprised to have gotten a response. "Yeah, you're probably right." He hops onto one of the washers, laptop next to him and glasses pushed on top of his head, and watches the guy pull out the rest of his laundry. "I'm Stiles, if you don't remember me telling you, like, two months ago."

MGB huffs what sounds like a laugh. "Yeah, not really a name you forget," he says with a snort, looking up and giving Stiles a small but friendly smile. Once he has everything in his basket, he puts it under his arm and walks over, hand held out. "I'm Derek. Sorry I never introduced myself before; I'm not the nicest when I don't get sleep."

Grinning, Stiles takes the proffered hand and shakes it firmly. "No worries, man, I totally get it. You're actually the first person to confront me about it; everyone else has just done passive aggressive shit like take my laundry out of the dryer, so I never really felt inclined to stop."

Derek laughs – and what a nice laugh it is, especially paired with the eye crinkles and the bunny teeth. "From what I've seen of our other neighbors I'm not surprised."

"Right?" Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I'll let you go. You're probably busy and this paper isn't gonna write itself." He pats where he set his laptop next to him.

Eyes flitting from Stiles' laptop to his face, Derek huffs another laugh. "I can tell you from experience it really won't." He lifts a hand in a wave. "See you around, Stiles."

"See ya!" Stiles calls after him as Derek leaves, taking the opportunity to watch his ass. Once he's gone, Stiles pulls his laptop over, opens it, and starts typing away. By the time both washing machines have buzzed underneath him he has one more page, which isn't bad for half an hour. Hopping down, he opens the dryer to put his stuff in when he notices a pair of… Are those red cotton panties?

Suppressing a wave of disappointment – because of course Derek would have a girlfriend that he does laundry for – Stiles throws his stuff in the dryer and starts it before grabbing his laptop and heading upstairs to deliver the panties. It's the first time he's left his laundry alone since he found it thrown everywhere, but it should only take a couple minutes at most. No way is he leaving his laptop though, next to his drums and guitar this thing is his baby; it's got all his music and papers and shit.

On the second floor, Stiles knocks on the door of the apartment directly above his, figuring that's where Derek is if he always hears when Stiles is playing. Sure enough, after a few seconds Derek answers the door with a look of surprise.

"Stiles! What're you doing here? Isn't your laundry still going?"

Ignoring that Derek remembered his laundry story – he has a girlfriend, dammit – Stiles holds out the red panties. "You, uh, forgot these."

Derek takes them with a relieved grin. "Oh man, thanks so much, I was just looking all over for these."

"Yeah," Stiles huffs good naturedly, "I'm sure you wouldn't want to have to explain to your girlfriend how you lost her underwear."

His eyebrows furrow. "What? No, these aren't my girlfriend's. I don't have a girlfriend."

Stiles feels his own eyebrows rise on his forehead. "Wow, then you are the nicest fuckbuddy I've ever met, if you do her laundry for her after you've had a booty call."

Derek rolls his eyes. "I don't do fuckbuddies."

Stiles raises his hands in front of himself, careful not to drop his laptop. "Hey, I'm not judging; it's a good way to let off steam once in a whi-"

"The panties are mine," Derek interrupts with a huff.

That effectively shuts Stiles up. His mouth stays open as he tries to process that. Unfortunately, he also starts to picture it – and this is not something he should be imagining in public. So clearing his throat and ignoring the flush that has spread across his face and up his neck, Stiles takes a step back. "Well I – uh – I should probably get back to the laundry room…" He spins on his heel and walks away a few steps before he has to turn back around. He has a finger raised and he's about to say something when he notices the matching flush on Derek's cheeks.

Smirking like he isn't blushing in embarrassment, Derek says, "You want to see how they look?" And oh, that isn't a blush of embarrassment, that's a flush of arousal. "Or are you too worried about your laundry?"

"Fuck my laundry," Stiles huffs, marching up to Derek. "I need new clothes anyway."

Laughing, Derek pulls him into the apartment and shuts the door before pushing him against it and capturing his lips. Stiles moans and arches into Derek, his laptop falling from under his arm as he uses one hand to grab Derek's shoulder and the other to grab at his hair.

"Shit," he mutters against Derek's lips, starting to pull away to check on his laptop.

"It's fine, it landed on the rug," Derek says, pulling him back in to bite his bottom lip and pull it with his teeth. Once he releases Stiles' lip he licks over it and into Stiles' mouth, running his tongue from the hard to the soft palate. It gives Stiles a tickling sensation that makes his whole body shiver and his dick twitch, which Derek definitely notices with his leg wedged between Stiles'. He gives Stiles a quick, chaste kiss and pulls back with a smirk on his kiss-swollen lips as Stiles pants against the door. "Want to take this back to my room so I can show you these in action?" He lifts the panties in question.

"Oh hell yes," Stiles responds immediately, letting go of Derek and pushing him back. "Let's fucking go."

Derek laughs again as he grabs one of Stiles' hands and leads him back to his bedroom. "Bossy," he says with a smirk, turning Stiles around and pushing him back onto the bed with a bounce.

Stiles smirks back. "Only when I need to be." He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands as he watches with hungry eyes as Derek strips down to – down to nothing, apparently, as he isn't wearing any underwear. Licking his lips when he sets eyes on Derek's semi-hard cock, Stiles moves his gaze up to Derek's face with an eyebrow raised.

Shrugging, Derek starts to put on the red cotton panties Stiles came to give back. "It's laundry day," he says, nonchalantly tucking himself in. His dick actually seems to fit in pretty comfortably. Stiles must make a shocked face at that observation because Derek grins as he takes a step closer. "They're made for men."

"Really?" Stiles says, fascinated. He places his hands on Derek's hips as Derek straddles Stiles' legs, balancing himself with his own hands on Stiles' shoulders.

Derek hums in affirmation, leaning down to capture Stiles' lips in another open-mouthed kiss. They stay like that for a few minutes, making out with Derek kneeling over Stiles, his hands now in Stiles' hair, and Stiles' hands on Derek's hips. When he moves both hands back to lightly squeeze Derek's ass cheeks, Derek moans quietly and pushes back into Stiles' hands. Grinning into the kiss, Stiles squeezes again and pulls Derek's hips forward so his panty-covered dick brushes against Stiles' stomach. That seems to be all Derek needs to start grinding in Stiles' lap, pushing his dick forward into Stiles' stomach and his ass down onto Stiles' dick. Stiles groans and squeezes Derek's ass harder as he pushes up, seeking friction for his now-hard, still-clothed dick.

As they're grinding against each other, slowly sliding backwards on the bed, one of Stiles' hands slips and his middle finger pushes against Derek's cotton-covered hole. Derek has to break away from the kiss to pull in panting breaths when he whines. Eyes narrowing in concentration as he watches Derek's face, Stiles moves his finger more deliberately, rubbing over the covered hole. Derek pushes back onto the finger, another whine muffled into Stiles' neck where he has his face buried.

"Please," Derek pants, lifting his head to look at Stiles, his face thoroughly flushed and his lips red and swollen.

Stiles smirks. "Please what?"

Derek growls and pushes Stiles so he's lying fully back on the bed. "Please fuck me, asshole."

Pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows, Stiles props himself back up on his elbows. "See, I would, but I'm still wearing all my clothes, including my shoes. And I don't know where your lube and condoms are."

With an eye roll and a huff, Derek rolls off of Stiles to reach into the bedside table. As he's pulling out a half-full bottle of lube and a condom, he looks back at Stiles, his eyebrows raised as he looks Stiles up and down. "Well?"

"Jeez," Stiles stands up and starts pulling off his clothes without finesse, "and you said I was bossy," he grumbles, pretending not to be turned on by it.

Nose in the air, Derek says loftily, "Or I just know what I want." He pats the bed next to him. "Now hurry up and come back here."

Stiles finishes pulling off his socks and climbs back onto the bed still clad in Batman boxers. When Derek snorts Stiles pushes him down and climbs on top of him. "Shut up or I won't fuck you."

"Liar," Derek says with a smirk – a smirk that Stiles kisses away while he reaches down and palms Derek's dick. Derek grunts and jerks up into it. Laughing, Stiles breaks away to trail kisses over Derek's jaw and down his neck to his chest, nipping and licking along the way. His hand's still palming Derek as Stiles mouths over one of Derek's nipples, tonguing at it until it pebbles so he can pull at it with his teeth. Derek moans beneath him at the treatment, arching up as Stiles does the same to his other nipple. Once Stiles is satisfied he continues moving down Derek's torso, swirling his tongue in Derek's bellybutton. When he reaches the band of Derek's panties, Stiles removes his hand and looks up at Derek through his lashes as he licks at Derek's cock over the cotton. Derek moans, his legs falling open more and one of his hands finally gripping at Stiles' hair. Stiles hums and mouths at Derek's balls, making Derek's eyelashes flutter.

It's only after a few minutes of this that Derek tightens his hand in Stiles' hair and demands with a husky voice, "Stop fucking around and start prepping me already." Stiles starts to open his mouth to point out the obvious when Derek holds up his hand to stop him. "Don't say it."

Sitting back on his heels with a snicker, Stiles gestures at Derek. "However you wanna go about it."

Derek rolls his eyes and arches up off the bed to take off his red panties – and oh, is Stiles sad to see them go – before moving onto his hands and knees, ass arching up into the air. Dick twitching at the sight, Stiles quickly sheds his boxers and then moves to kneel between Derek's legs. He runs a hand up Derek's back before grabbing his ass cheeks to pull them apart, revealing his hole. Stiles brushes a thumb over it and watches it twitch as Derek huffs in annoyance.

"Just get on with it already, will you?" Derek glares at him over his shoulder.

"Aye aye, captain." Stiles briefly lets go of one cheek to mock salute him. Before Derek can start complaining though, Stiles pulls his cheeks apart again and leans in, running the flat of his tongue over Derek's hole. Derek lets out a shaky breath and drops his head down between his shoulders. Not satisfied with that reaction, Stiles licks harder and mouths at Derek's hole, his thumbs brushing the rim on each side. This draws a long moan out of Derek as he pushes back toward Stiles' mouth.

Since that got a great response, Stiles decides to push the tip of his tongue past the rim – and it goes in easier than he expected. Going with the flow, Stiles stabs his tongue in and out, moving it around as best he can as Derek instinctively thrusts back erratically. Stiles squeezes Derek's cheeks, digging his blunt nails in as he stuffs his face in Derek's ass to get better access.

Derek groans and pushes back harder. "More," he demands brokenly. Happy to please, Stiles pulls his face out of Derek's ass – much to Derek's disappointment, if his whine and ass wiggle are anything to go by.

"Hold on, just gotta lube up my fingers," Stiles says soothingly, rubbing his hand up and down Derek's back before grabbing the lube from next to Derek's knee. He squeezes some in his hand and warms it up before coating the middle and ring finger of his right hand. Placing his left hand on the small of Derek's back, Stiles pushes his fingers past the rim and to the first knuckle, stopping to give Derek a second to adjust.

Turns out he doesn't need to, though, because Derek pushes back on Stiles' fingers with relish. Chuckling, Stiles starts moving his fingers in and out, scissoring them slowly. As he's fingerfucking Derek, Stiles searches around until he finds Derek's prostate, making him jerk and moan even louder. Stiles rubs over Derek's prostate repeatedly, enjoying the sounds coming out of his mouth – especially when he adds a third finger, stretching him.

"Fucking – fuck me already, Stiles," Derek growls, glaring again as he keeps pushing back on Stiles' fingers. "I want to come with you inside me."

"Oh my god," Stiles moans, having to squeeze his dick at that, leaning his forehead on Derek's lower back for a few seconds. When he no longer feels like he's going to blow his load at the sight before him – a needy, demanding Derek is definitely a beautiful, torturous sight to see – Stiles grabs the condom from next to the lube and tries to open it. Unfortunately, his fingers keep slipping due to the lube they're covered in. "Dammit."

"Give it here," Derek huffs with a roll of his eyes, snatching the condom from Stiles and opening the foil with ease. When Stiles goes to take the condom back Derek slaps his hand away. "No." He moves Stiles until he's sitting with his back against the headboard, propped up by a couple pillows. Then he rolls the condom down Stiles cock, and Stiles has to close his eyes and take a deep breath as Derek adds extra lube. When he opens his eyes he sees Derek smirking as he straddles Stiles' lap again.

"Oh shut up," Stiles grumbles, grabbing Derek's hips.

Eyebrow raised, Derek poises himself over Stiles' dick, reaching back one hand to hold it steady. "From the way you've babbled every other time we've interacted, I'm actually surprised at how quiet you've been so far."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Please, I know how to be quiET!" he yelps as Derek seats himself on Stiles' cock without further ado. In his lap, Derek has his eyes closed and a self-satisfied smile on his face and Stiles – Stiles can't help but lean in and give that smile a kiss. Derek hums into it, wrapping his arms around Stiles' shoulders and starting to rock a little.

After a few moments Derek breaks the kiss to lean his forehead against Stiles' as he slowly lifts himself up and lowers himself back down, setting an even paced rhythm. They share warm, intimate breaths as they move slowly, Stiles lifting his hips to meet Derek as he thrusts down. Derek tries to start moving faster, but Stiles tightens his hands around Derek's hips to hold him in place while moving his own hips gently.

Growling in frustration, Derek grabs at Stiles' hair and tugs, pulling Stiles' head back to glare at him. "Stop being an asshole and use that surprising strength to fuck me harder."

Stiles whines this time, the hair tugging and the bossiness really working for him. This makes Derek smirk, especially when Stiles messes up his rhythm and thrusts up harder while his hands spasm in their hold. So he tugs on Stiles' hair again, drawing a moan and another ragged thrust out of him. With Stiles' head pulled back as he pants and fights not to give in to Derek's demands, Derek leans in and bites the juncture of Stiles' neck and shoulder – hard.

Caught off guard, Stiles keens and jerks up into Derek. He must hit Derek's prostate in the process, though, because Derek keens as well. "Ah fuck it," Stiles pants, wanting to hear that sound again. He tightens his hold on Derek's hips again but does it to help Derek move, taking some of the strain off of Derek. Mouth too busy moaning, Derek pulls off of Stiles' neck to lean his forehead back against Stiles'. Their hips work together making lewd slapping and squelching noises, joined only by their pants and moans.

When Stiles feels himself getting close, he takes one hand off Derek's hips to stroke his dick. He tries to time rubbing his thumb over the head of Derek's dick with hitting Derek's prostate. Derek's hand spasms in Stiles' hair and he pants, "So close." So Stiles thrusts harder against Derek's prostate and works Derek's dick faster and harder. After only a few more strokes Stiles feels Derek tighten around him and come hit his chest and stomach as Derek gives a long, loud moan.

Still hard, Stiles keeps thrusting into Derek, who's melted against him. His forehead against Stiles' shoulder now, Derek whines as Stiles keeps brushing against his prostate and his sensitive dick rubs between them. Derek seems to be able to tell that Stiles needs something more to push him over the edge though, because he lifts his head. He looks Stiles in the eye as he sticks a hand between them, scoops up some of his own cum off Stiles' chest, and holds his fingers in front of Stiles' mouth. Instinctively, Stiles parts his lips and wraps his tongue around Derek's fingers, pulling them in. He closes his eyes and moans as he licks Derek's cum off his fingers, reaching a hand up to hold Derek's wrist so he can't take his fingers back. As he's enjoying the taste of Derek on his tongue, Stiles feels Derek yank his hair again. That gives him the last push he needed, moaning around Derek's fingers.

While Stiles is coming down, head tilted against the headboard, Derek takes back both his hands and pulls off Stiles' softening cock. Stiles peeks an eye open to watch as Derek takes off the condom, ties it, and takes it with him out of the room. He comes back a minute later with a clean torso and a wet washcloth, which he hands to Stiles with a soft smile. Brushing fingers as he takes it, Stiles wipes himself off and then raises his eyebrows in silent question. Derek takes the cloth back with a huffed laugh and tosses it in the direction of the empty laundry basket. Then he leans in and gives Stiles a slow kiss, licking into Stiles' mouth with a hum as he tastes himself.

Smiling into the kiss, Stiles wraps his arms around Derek and pulls him down on top of him. Derek breaks the kiss to laugh before rearranging them so they're lying down on their sides with Derek's front against Stiles' back and Derek's arm wrapped around Stiles' waist.

"Ooh, cuddling. Awesome." Stiles wiggles back against Derek, getting comfortable.

Derek smacks his hip. "Stop moving around like that."

Humming, Stiles settles down and lets his eyes fall closed, happy and warm and sated.

They're lying there quietly, just breathing and enjoying each other's closeness, when Derek says quietly and a little sleepily, "Your laundry is definitely going to be on the floor now."

"Ehh," Stiles shrugs, "too comfy to care." He feels more than hears Derek laugh behind him.