"Let's talk about sex, baby. Let's talk about you and me.." Stiles sang, sliding neatly across the loft, arms flared out to the sides, his hands vaguely twitching downwards to 'entice' his audience of one before suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

Derek, having slowly glanced up from his book when the word sex was sung a little (waaaay) too suggestively - though, given the song and the person singing it, Derek wasn't surprised -, Derek was mortified to feel the tips of his ears burning, because holy fuck, Stiles could sound lewd when he wanted, look it too; the seductive narrow of his bright (smouldering?) golden-brown eyes, the wicked curve of his lips, to the enticing column of his throat Stiles was unconsciously showing, down his lean chest and to his seemingly spread legs (they weren't, really, but his stance certainly allowed his pants - not too baggy, not too tight - to accentuate the outline of -

Jesus Christ, what the fuck was he doing?!

Derek snapped his eyes back up, (Jesus, how long had he been staring?) pursing his lips with a deep breath, deliberately staring over Stiles' left shoulder to try [and fail, to] ignore the expectant quirk of an eyebrow and biting of the corner of his lip.

He dropped his eyes back to the book, fingers curling tightly over the edges.

"No. Go home, Stiles."

Stiles slumped, as did the air around him, in exasperation and leaned heavily on the table, gesturing wildly to convey to severity of the situation.

"Dude, aren't you the tiniest bit concerned? Virgin's are dying and you want to leave me like this, like some vulnerable.. virgin!" Yeah, Stiles had no idea where he was going with that, but he hoped the emphasis would be enough.

Derek huffed, finally setting aside his book (as if he could focus on it anyway) and cocked an eyebrow.

"Vulnerable is the last thing you are," Stiles rolled his eyes, grumbled that he was completely missing the point, Derek! "and there is nothing to be concerned about, because nothing is going to happen." Stiles widened his eyes as if to say that's my problem and Derek rolled his own.

"I already told you my terms when we started this relationship. No sex till you're of age.."

"..Because the last thing you need to your record is statutory rape, despite me giving consent, yada yada, yes, we've been over this." Stiles frowned. This was not how he planned the evening going.

Though, he tried not to let that deter him as he grinned suddenly, standing straight and sliding smoothly into Derek's lap, long fingers carding through the small hairs at his nape as Derek's arms circled around his waist, a warm, comfortable weight.

"What about blow jobs?"

Derek groaned, dropping his head onto Stiles' shoulder, shaking it a little and tucking his nose over Stiles' pulse. "You're insufferable," he murmured, pressing an open mouthed kiss over his pulse, and sucked.

Stiles' breath stuttered, tilting his head to allow more room for Derek to trail hot, wet kisses up his throat, teeth scraping lightly along the hinge of his jaw that made Stiles shiver.

"B-blow jobs are a perfect c-compromise."

Derek hummed, maybe not quite agreeing, but certainly not disagreeing either. He leaned backwards, much to Stiles' disappointment and drank in darkened, blown pupils, flushed cheeks and self-bitten lips.

Stiles offered him a smile and shrugged one shoulder, as though suddenly shy.

"Someone's gotta help you break that bed in." His brow jumped, and he smirked, like it was a perfect seal to a deal. It was.

Derek huffed a laugh and trailed his hand up to cup the back of Stiles' head gently, fingers tangling in the longer strands of hair, and pulled him down to settle his mouth over Stiles'.

He kept the pace unhurried, just lips gliding together, sucking lightly and the arm still around Stiles' waist tightened briefly in warning, before he smoothly rose to his feet, Stiles tightening his knees against Derek's waist and groaning in triumph as they moved toward the bed.

finish.