There are only a few people who know that Derek Hale is shortsighted. Shortsighted, as in, he can't function without his glasses on. Or his lenses in, which he opts for most days. It is way easier to blend in, to say the least.
Derek never felt that he should be ashamed of being a werewolf. It meant he had a family, a pack that he belonged to, and people who he could trust his life with
But being a werewolf who needs to wear glasses… Now that is something he would never post on his online dating profile. Not that he has one, no.
Everyone said it was impossible. That born werewolves can't have any visual impairment. You know, with the healing and all. But nobody said anything about having a mother who was a turned wolf and happened to have epically bad eyesight. Of course, it didn't magically get 'cured' after the bite, so she passed the genes on to her kids. As always, Laura was the lucky one and had no problem with her eyes or skin, for that matter… Meanwhile Derek… Well, he learnt it really quickly how contact lenses were much more comfortable than glasses.
First of all, he hated each and every pair of glasses his parents bought him. They were huge and ugly. You could call them fashionable these days though, but he just hated them. Can you imagine playing outside in the woods with your sister, whose life mission is to annoy you and make you turn into your little 5-year-old wolf self? Well that is what 8-year-old Laura always did; pushed Derek's buttons until he was so angry, that his shining green-blue eyes glinted with a bit more turquoise, his small, puffy fingers grew claws instead of his trimmed little nails, and his adorable ears elongated into pointy elf-like ones as sideburns burst out of the side of his baby face. To top all these off, the only way he could express his dislike and distress was with a high-pitched wail. When Laura started laughing at him (which was always), satisfied with her work, Derek felt so embarrassed that he started running on all fours, leaving the shreds of clothing and, of course, his glasses. Which meant that he fell face first in a deep puddle after approximately ten feet. Great.
So he decided that as soon as he could ask his ma and dad to buy him lenses, he would. He was 15 when he finally put the glasses down, at least during school. It was so much easier in training!
Ever since, he only puts glasses on when he is at home and on his own. He doesn't really want the pack to see him with them, because he is sure that they would mock him till he hit something – or someone. They would mock how he, a born wolf, has to wear glasses and that he looks like a nerd. Which he is, he admits it in the dark of the night to himself, but he doesn't want to let the others in on it. They would mock him. Again.
So no. No glasses, just at home.
And this is exactly how Stiles finds him when he bursts through the door of Derek's apartment on a Friday night; sitting by the window, floor lamp next to him turned on, listening to Carmina Burana, glasses on and his two favorite guilty pleasures in his hands: a John Grisham novel and a glass of white wine.
Stiles barely steps over the threshold when he stops dead and Derek can hear his heart literally skip a beat as he takes in the sight of his boyfriend.
"Wha – " is all Stiles can manage, very intelligently.
"Good evening, Stiles." Keep it cool, Derek tells himself, maybe that way he won't really see the huge-ass hipster glasses on your face. Really?! Ugh, hopeless.
"You…" Stiles is still shocked, which makes Derek worry a bit because hello, this is Stiles Stilinski, who never stops talking, not even when his mouth is full of– Not cool, focus! He runs straight to Derek and kneels next to the sofa Derek's sitting in.
"You wear glasses?" Stiles' mouth is hanging open and his heart beats an erratic rhythm. "Why haven't I seen them before? Does it mean that you usually have lenses in? Why haven't I seen them?!" And this is the Stiles Derek knows and loves.
It was really hard at first, admitting that he loved Stiles. But it came as an epiphany, when he realized that what he felt wasn't hate and annoyance, but deep-rooted… care. Which slowly, during the months of dating, turned into love. It was new and terrifying, because ever since Kate, he didn't really let anyone close. But this blabbermouth of a teenager cracked his stone fort and sneaked in; warming Derek's heart and making him crack a genuine smile for the first time in years.
Stiles reaches out, puts his hands on Derek's knees and looks him in the eye.
"They suit you." He smiles softly, intimately. "I know you don't really like the others to see how much of a nerd you are, but I know you, Derek, and you are a really big one."
Derek laughs at him, because he is so right. Stiles is the only one Derek is comfortable around enough to let his guard down and tell him everything. Even about his family, because he loves how Stiles looks at him every time when his voice quivers a little, runs his hand through Derek's hair and kisses his temple.
"I didn't really know how you'll react, to be honest. I mean, you are used to seeing me without them, so I thought not mentioning them would be the best."
"And here we are with your insecurities. I seriously don't get you Derek. You are HOT. Like, A LOT. Jesus, I literally could spend hours just looking at you. If you would participate in a charity program, you know the one where there is someone famous sitting on the stage and reading a short story? Now, if all you'd do there is sit, I would pay just to stare at you. I mean it, don't laugh – God, I love your laugh – I would sit there, in the front row and drool because you are stunning. I still can't believe how I landed you. But I am grateful every day that I did, because you're just like me, exactly what I need."
Derek just stares at him, his heart swelling, and heart rate elevating as Stiles rattles this little confession off. After a few moment of silently adoring – devouring – each other, Derek starts to smell something.
"Oh, I think I can show you exactly what you need," Derek says and lifts Stiles up from the floor.
Stiles' eyes widen as Derek pushes him back into his seat.
"What–, Derek–" Stiles is breathing heavily as Derek pushes his thighs apart and kneels between them.
This is something they haven't done yet. They made out, a lot to be quite honest; everywhere you can think of – okay, maybe not everywhere. Yet. – and came into their pants like teenagers. Well, Stiles is a teenager, so he has an excuse, but Derek isn't and he really hasn't. Apart from having Stiles in his arms, massaging his crotch. Which can make you forget a thing or two to say the least.
But Derek doesn't want to wait anymore. He is tired of it. He knows that the only reason Stiles has waited was because he thought Derek wasn't ready, and memories of her would come to him if they tried anything more. So Stiles waited – and jacked off every night after he left Derek's loft. Derek knows this because he could smell it in Stiles' room in the morning when he sneaked in to wake him up, but also because he followed him home those nights and sat outside his window, listening to Stiles' erratic heartbeat as he brought himself to completion, with Derek's name dying on his lips. Derek always had a hard time getting into his car fast enough, to finally put his hand down his pants, but not cream them in 20 seconds. Sometimes he even held off for 40…
"Is it okay?" He looks up at Stiles and runs his hands up his hip, under his shirt to feel the boy's heat.
"Ye– Yes. What– What made you change your mind?" His heartbeat is out of control, his cock hardening visibly in his jeans.
"Stiles, it was you who thought I needed time. You have no idea how I watched you jerk off every night, do you?" Derek asks and his hands trail even higher under Stiles' shirt, finding quickly hardening nipples and running circles around them with his nails.
Stiles' breath hitches as he stutters out.
"Y-You did? God, this is embarrassing."
Derek pushes his arms a bit more and helps Stiles out of his tee shirt. As he leans closer, he whispers in Stiles' ear.
"You can't imagine how hot it was, seeing you all flushed and rumpled in the sheets, your hand pumping your cock fast and hard. And then to hear you say my name… I thought I would come in my pants just from seeing and hearing that." He licks the shell of Stiles' ear downwards until he catches his earlobe in his mouth and sucks at it. Stiles' hip jerks forward involuntarily and he huffs a strangled breath somewhere between a moan and a groan.
Derek works his way down Stiles' neck, chest and stomach, leaving wet kisses and little bite marks behind. Stiles is already squirming under his touch, and whines softly at the little nibbles.
"Derek, please, hurry " the boy chokes and runs his fingers through Derek's hair as Derek starts working on his belt buckle, licking into Stiles' navel and laughing softly when Stiles tugs on the strings of his hair to urge him on.
"So bossy" Derek smirks up at Stiles. He pats Stiles' thigh and after a few short moments Stiles catches on and lifts his ass up off the sofa so Derek can take his jeans and underwear off – very elegant, black boxers with a yellow Batman logo in the middle. Which has lost its original shape, because the tent there strains the fabric rather considerably.
Derek takes Stiles' dick in his hand and just enjoys the warmth of it. He hasn't seen many dicks before – Stiles is the first male who caught his attention and he never felt anything towards men, but Stiles is different in this too –, but he thinks Stiles is average, maybe a bit thicker than he himself is. He runs the index finger of his other hand from base to tip and feels Stiles shudder underneath his touch.
Spitting in his palm, he starts slowly stroking Stiles, who is gripping the armrest of the sofa so hard that his fingers are white; his head thrown back, mouth open and eyes closed. He looks beautiful, Derek thinks, and this is all for him, because of him. He loves this feeling, having Stiles so pliant and receptive.
After the first lick and hearing Stiles' obscenely loud moan, Derek gets more courageous and sucks the tip in his mouth; laps at the slit and then sinks down all the way. Stiles moves without thinking, hip pistoling forward, choking Derek and pushing his glasses halfway off his head.
"Sorry, sorry" Stiles mumbles and sets the glasses right on Derek's head. His fingers come back to Derek's nape, who swallows around Stiles. Derek snakes his hands under Stiles' ass and lifts him a little, his dick brushing against Derek's throat, who hums a little at the touch.
"Der– Derek, I'm not really –" Stiles tries to grit through his teeth as Derek pushes at him again.
The boy holds Derek's head firmer this time and starts moving off the sofa with careful thrusts. The head of his cock pushes against Derek's throat every time which slowly opens up for him. Soon enough, Derek's nose is in Stiles' pubes, his glasses sliding lopsided on his face as with every thrust it wedges between his face and Stiles' skin.
As Stiles' sighs turn into little whimpers, Derek lets go of him and looks at him.
"I gotta take these off. I can't see a thing, there're smudges everywhere" he mumbles as he puts the glasses aside, ignoring Stiles' protest of "I liked the secretary look, it was really dirty."
When he turns back to Stiles, he realizes that taking his glasses of wasn't his best idea of the day, because without them, he can't see. Like, at all. He can make out Stiles' face, maybe his eyes are on me? He's not sure though, so instead of looking at his boyfriend and locking eyes with him, he goes back to work.
After a few minutes of methodically bobbing his head and playing with Stiles' balls – who turns out to be really sensitive there – the muscles of Stiles' thighs start shaking. He is still moving in time with Derek's head though the palm on his hip is holding him in place, and is making delicious aborted moans and swears without shame.
When his fingers dig into Derek's nape and his other hand comes to rest on Derek's on his stomach, all he can manage is a near whispered "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesss-" before he's bucking up, then goes still.
Derek barely has time to pull off, even less to move a bit away so the second spurt of Stiles' come hits him on the face, nearly missing his left eye. He rumbles a bit and wipes at his eye, getting the come off so at least he can see.
Or he could see, if he had his glasses on.
But before he has time to reach for them, Stiles huffs out a laugh and pulls at him, arranging him next to his own body on the sofa. He kisses Derek's lips, just lightly, before running his nose up his clean cheek.
"I told you, you should have kept them on. Now you have come in your eyes. They could have protected it," he laughs as Derek groans a "Yes, because glasses are actually a windscreen" under his breath.
Before he can argue more, Stiles leans closer and starts licking his own come off of Derek's face…