/* represents a flashback */
Chapter Three
Stiles almost tripped three times on the way up the stairs, but Danny was there to catch him and prevent that potential disaster. It only seemed fair considering he was relatively certain that his hands under Stiles' shirt were fueling his boyfriend's lack of coordination.
By the time they'd made it into Stiles' room, Danny's pants were unzipped and sliding precariously over his hips. He'd managed to kick one shoe off, but the other must have been more tightly laced, because it was being stubborn. While Stiles was impatiently toeing off his own shoes and socks, Danny was trying – somewhat unsuccessfully – to tug Stiles' shirt off, but neither wanted to pull out of their kiss long enough to get it over his head.
"Don't move," Stiles gasped as he dragged himself away from Danny and closed the bedroom door, "unless it's to take off more clothes."
Danny didn't want to waste any more time and used the few seconds apart to wrench his other shoe off, ignoring the way it pulled uncomfortably. He dropped his pants and shirt onto the floor then wrapped his arms around Stiles, who had also taken advantage of the break to strip down to his underwear.
Before they could delve into another long and hungry kiss, Stiles snickered and dug his big toe into Danny's ankle.
"What are you doing?"
Stiles' toe somehow managed to wriggle its way between Danny's skin and his sock. "Taking your socks off. You look like a big dork."
"A dork, huh?" Danny challenged, although he used his own toes to peel his socks off, even as he spoke.
"The biggest."
Danny scooped Stiles up carefully but quickly, throwing him over his shoulder and tickling his fingers along the back of Stiles' knees. Stiles squirmed and squealed in a completely undignified way. Danny resolved to tease him about that later, although he knew Stiles would deny it with every breath. He moved to the bed and swung Stiles down onto the mattress, where he landed with a bounce.
He draped himself onto Stiles, settling his body and trailing his fingers threateningly over Stiles' most ticklish areas. "Want to say that again?"
"You are the biggest dork," Stiles started before he cringed, fighting a laugh when Danny's fingers began to move, "uh…strongest. You are the strongest, most manly dork. Um…man. Ever."
Danny snorted at Stiles' backpedalling, shaking his head in amusement. "You have absolutely no room to call someone else a dork."
"You love me."
Stiles went rigid under Danny, and for a second he looked a little wary, like he hadn't meant to say that; hadn't meant to put Danny on the spot with words like love. Neither of them had actually said it to each other before, so it had probably been a slip of the tongue.
It was true, though. Danny could admit he did love Stiles, he'd just never said it. Stiles looked like he wanted to bury himself in a hole – it was probably something Danny shouldn't make a big deal out of.
"Yeah," he replied casually flexing this feet in an attempt not to fidget self-consciously. "I must need professional help."
The tension melted out of Stiles, even as his eyes lit up brightly. His mouth twitched, like he was fighting a grin, and Danny's stomach swooped.
When Stiles replied his voice was low and rough. "Me too."
Danny's heart was threatening to thump right through his ribs. He might have been embarrassed about that, if he couldn't feel an answering rhythm from Stiles against his chest. He wanted to grin and laugh and do something mortifying like sing, but instead he pressed a kiss to the tip of Stiles' unfairly cute nose and nodded sagely.
"You definitely need professional help."
Stiles gasped in mock outrage and the next thing Danny knew they were wrestling, rolling back and forth and almost off the bed. Danny was a bit bigger than Stiles, a bit stronger, but it was fun to mess around, gaining and losing the upper hand until Stiles was pinning Danny to the bed. He was sure he could overpower Stiles but he was perfectly happy where he was.
His dick was hard as a rock, fighting the constraint of his boxer briefs and pushing along the ridges of Stiles' lower abs. He groaned when Stiles rocked his hips, heat and pleasure from the friction shocking through him.
"God, Stiles. Y-your dad is working late, right?"
"Most of the night."
"Oh, thank fuck."
Sheriff Stilinski was pretty awesome, as far as parents went, but Danny wasn't in a hurry to get caught by him again.
/*
Despite the noises Stiles was making, the sound of a throat clearing near the door – that they'd left open, dammit – echoed in Danny's ears like a gunshot.
He was incredibly glad that they'd only gotten so far as to strip Danny of his shirt and make out a bit. Stiles was still fully dressed, so even though he was sprawled on the bed under Danny with his legs splayed, Danny figured it could have been worse. He was ninety-eight percent sure that his body blocked the fact that his hand had slipped under the waistband of Stiles' jeans to palm at this muscles of his ass.
Danny stared at the pillow by Stiles' ear, frozen, while Stiles just squawked with embarrassment and buried his face into his shoulder, breath hot on Danny's skin.
He half expected to be dragged out by his ear – or, you know, shot – but instead Sheriff Stilinski just folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, with what Danny assumed had to be feigned nonchalance. No parent could be that cool the first time they walked in on their underage son being mauled by a semi-naked guy – even forearmed with the knowledge that they'd been dating.
Danny was almost certain that meant he hadn't been there long enough to hear Danny's comments about how he missed Stiles, had missed opening him up and making him beg, couldn't wait to get his fingers and cock inside him.
"Stay for dinner, Danny. We can all have a chat around some pizza." There was no question there – the challenge had been clear enough that Danny felt about seven shades of awkward until Stiles tensed beneath him and peeked out with a glare. When Danny looked at the Sheriff, he realized that the challenge hadn't been about him staying for dinner – not really, although that was clearly part of it – mostly it had been aimed at Stiles about the pizza.
When Stiles started muttering about manipulative fathers who didn't know what was good for them and took advantage of their son's embarrassment to eat whatever they wanted, Danny was sorely tempted to clamp a hand over his mouth and stop him from digging them into a deeper hole.
Danny relaxed, barely, when the Sheriff left the room with a simple, "See you boys downstairs in five."
"Vegetarian with low fat cheese for you!" Stiles had called out when he finally recovered.
"Don't push your luck!"
*/
It could have gone worse, much worse. Dinner had been awkward and conversation had been stilted, but that was to be expected.
Stiles' dad had made not-subtle-enough comments that were embarrassing, not just for Stiles and Danny, but most likely for the Sheriff, as well. Comments about being careful and taking precautions came paired with napkins being offered to them. Suggestions to wait until the pizza has cooled and is ready to be eaten followed Stiles burning his tongue on a slice.
So yeah, it had been awkward and skirted the line of mortification very closely, but it was bearable. Danny hadn't been banned from the house; they hadn't been lectured about their relationship or told to stop seeing each other. The Sheriff had simply made it painfully clear that they should be responsible, had grunted various incarnations of don't rush into anything and had stated just the once, that he better never see anything like that again.
Danny had taken that to mean no sex in the Stilinski house; had even lasted all of a week before Stiles promised him that he was being silly and blew Danny with his back against Stiles' bedroom door. He'd used his talent for rationalizing to convince Danny that as long as Stiles wasn't caught out of bed or worse, not alone in bed after curfew, it wouldn't be a problem. As long as his dad never saw anything, they'd be fine. It was the first time Stiles even acknowledged he had a curfew (one that the Sheriff had drilled into Danny repeatedly when he'd started dating Stiles even though Stiles had snorted at the idea of it).
That had been over a month ago, not long before the end of summer, and although Danny still felt vaguely wary about doing anything more than kissing in Stiles' room, he was mostly over it. Besides, he always, always made sure they weren't going to be interrupted, and they never forgot to close the door after that. Stiles' dad could just walk in, of course – there was no lock – but at least they'd have some warning.
None of that mattered, though. Not when Stiles licked a hot stripe along his neck; not when he curled his fingers into Danny's bicep for leverage while he ground their hips together intently.
"You know," Stiles breathed into the short hair right behind Danny's ear, "I remember promising you a pretty epic blowjob. I better make it worth the wait."
In seconds, the comfortable heaviness where Stiles had been resting against him disappeared. Stiles had slithered down the bed until his body was resting between Danny's legs, arms curling under his thighs while Stiles mouthed at his cock through the stretchy fabric of his underwear.
"Shit," Danny gasped. His hands snaked into Stiles' hair, long enough now that he could get a real grip, though he tried not to pull too hard. Stiles was leaving wet patches across the front of his boxer briefs – hot under his mouth but cooling whenever he shifted his attention to another patch. The saliva soaking in made the material cling even more than normal, made it drag roughly when Danny rocked or squirmed. The heat from Stiles' mouth was contrasting with the colder, air-exposed dampness, making Danny desperate. He'd been tormented all day, he needed to get off; needed to come with Stiles' weight pressing against him like it had been just minutes earlier.
He bit off a noise that was almost a whine, but Stiles heard it and tugged at his underwear with his teeth. The elastic snapped back against his hipbone and Stiles laughed when Danny's fingers twisted tighter in his hair. "Okay, I get it. No more teasing."
Stiles began peeling Danny's boxer briefs from him and Danny released his hold on the silky strands between his fingers to help. He lifted his hips, pushing against the already retreating fabric as though it would disappear faster. Without the cool dampness rubbing against his cock, Danny's tension eased slightly. "Fuck," he croaked, flexing the fingers of his right hand to keep from wrapping it around his own hard on. "Fuck, Stiles. I need…"
"I've gotcha, big guy." Stiles grinned, sliding back into the space between Danny's thighs. Wet heat surrounded the head of Danny's erection, just the right amount of suction to make Danny's hips roll involuntarily. Stiles' tongue swirled around the tip just so, reminding him of that afternoon in the locker room. His stomach fluttered when he remembered what they'd been doing, how Stiles had teased him with talk of a tongue stud and what it might feel like.
He wanted to feel that, wanted the smooth press of a hard ball along his shaft as Stiles blew him; wanted to feel it sliding along his skin wherever Stiles felt inclined to lick; wanted to feel it dip along the ridges of his abs when Stiles paid them special attention like he sometimes did.
But Stiles didn't have his tongue pierced, not yet, although Danny had no doubt Stiles would do it in the future. And that was fine, Danny was perfectly happy with Stiles just as he was, even if he already knew Stiles with a pierced tongue would be featuring pretty heavily in his fantasies for a while.
Danny's breath was heavier, his skin was hot and prickling, and he knew that he was close. Stiles was still sucking him, still bobbing up and down on his cock and sending sparks of pleasure up his spine, but Danny wanted more.
"Stop, stop."
Stiles pulled back immediately, eyes wide and forehead creased in concern, hand still squeezing the base of Danny's shaft firmly. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing, I just…I want you to fuck me."
The worry in Stiles' brow eased and his lips tilted in the beginnings of a smirk. "Are you sure? Because you nearly blacked out last time."
Stiles looked like a smug little shit and Danny sort of wanted to kick him, but that might ruin the mood and his cock was pretty adamant against him ruining the mood.
"That's a total exaggeration." His voice cracked as he spoke, but only because his boyfriend was devious and took the moment to stroke upwards and swipe his thumb over Danny's leaking slit. "I was…just a little dazed."
"That's one way to put it," Stiles said, licking his lips intently. "And it's not a total exaggeration, considering you did black out that one time."
"Only the first time, for, like, three seconds," Danny argued, pulling Stiles up by the shoulders until he was sprawled across Danny's chest. "And only because I didn't realize how intense it would be with your ring!"
Which was entirely true. And honestly, if Danny had known how extreme a Prince Albert would feel rubbing against his prostate, he might have developed a piercing kink sooner. But, it also meant that they couldn't do it often, because Danny might not admit it out loud – since Stiles would preen for ages – but he felt kind of tipsy and fuzzy for a while afterwards. It wasn't conducive to driving home, or interacting innocently with Stiles' dad or Danny's family. The one time his parents had come home about two minutes after Stiles had pulled out, they'd dressed hurriedly and sat through dinner, with Danny's mother asking him twenty minutes later if he'd been drinking.
"Yeah, yeah, blame the steel. We both know I'm just too hot to handle."
Danny grinned, because he couldn't help it. Stiles had propped himself up on one elbow, amber eyes sparkling down at Danny. He was kind of perfect, even when he was being an idiot.
Shifting a little, Danny hooked a leg around one of Stiles', rubbing their calves together until the friction from their leg hair itched faintly.
Feeling playful, he traced a finger along the elastic of Stiles' boxers, trailing it down until he felt the curve of the ring under the fabric. He flicked it carefully and spoke in a low, suggestive tone. "If you don't like making me come so hard I can't see straight, you probably shouldn't keep the piercing."
Stiles groaned, so low and quiet that Danny barely heard it, mostly just felt the warm air against his shoulder and the vibration where Stiles' chest rested beside Danny's ribs. Stiles pressed forward for a moment, rubbing his erection briefly along the ridges of Danny's fingers before pulling back with a grin.
"I see how it is," Stiles teased as he nipped at Danny's clavicle, "you're only with me for my cock piercing."
Danny's stomach fluttered and for a split second all he could think about was wrapping his arms around Stiles and basking in how warm and happy he felt – not because of the way Stiles was touching him, but because Stiles' words didn't hold a trace of self-deprecation, weren't twisted with concern. They'd come so far since their first night together, and Stiles was confident enough in their relationship to joke about it without even the tiniest layer of doubt.
He wasn't insecure about it in the slightest, not anymore, and Danny smiled with more joy than would probably make sense to Stiles. But maybe Stiles felt it too, because his eyes were bright and his grin was even wider than before.
"That's not true," Danny paused, trying to look serious. "I like your navel bar, too."
Stiles laughed, loud and long and completely open, until Danny couldn't resist chuckling and running his hand up Stiles' back, enjoying the way he shook with mirth, the way the muscles under his skin twitched and shifted until he settled. Eventually Stiles went quiet, shaking his head with amusement and pressing random kisses to Danny's neck and shoulders.
"Well, I kind of want you to stick around, so I guess I better keep them." Stiles was shifting lower and Danny could feel the way Stiles' mouth curved happily as it drew along his skin. "I guess I'll just have to put up with you always wanting to taste them and the way you go fucking crazy when I'm inside you," Stiles stopped speaking to lap at Danny's nipples, to drag the flat of his tongue firmly across them until Danny was groaning and squirming beneath him. Danny was torn between enjoying the soft wet heat exactly as it was and imagining a hard ball running across the now stiff and sensitive peaks. Stiles dropped an unexpectedly chaste kiss to each; his eyes were dancing and his lips were twitching as though he couldn't quite hold back a smirk. "It's a tough job, but I'm a tough guy. I can handle it."
"Yeah," Danny gasped when Stiles' tongue ran the line between his abs and dipped into his navel, "you're a martyr. V-very self-sacrificing."
Stiles hummed in agreement as he pulled away to lick his lips and stare down at Danny hungrily. "I'm still going to blow you, though," he said, matter-of-factly. "I'm going to suck you until you can't stop yourself, until you're begging and twisting into the sheets and pulling my hair to try to stop me because you're so close, but I'm going to keep going until you can't hold back and you come. Hard."
"Fuck, Stiles." Danny's throat felt rough and his skin was hot, prickling. His cock was hard and straining, drooling pre-come at Stiles' words. "That's– you're– fuck that's hot. But I really—"
"And then," Stiles cut him off, voice dropping low and suggestive, "then I'm going to fuck you. Or maybe I'll rim you until you're hard again, first. Because you're right, you only blacked out that first time, and I want to see if I can make you do it again."
Danny wanted to say something, anything, but he had no words and his tongue felt leaden, too heavy by far, anyway.
It wasn't until Stiles' mouth was sinking over his erection – hot, eager and wonderful; cheeks rosy with want and hollowing as he moved – that Danny managed to articulate anything at all.
"Oh Jesus," he ground out when Stiles began fisting what he couldn't fit into his mouth. "Oh, God."
Stiles pulled back, letting Danny's dick slip from his mouth with a filthy pop. Danny's eyes were drawn to Stiles' mouth, to the way his lips were glossy and shiny from his own saliva, to Stiles' tongue tracing wetly along his cupid's bow.
"I really prefer to go by Stiles," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows before dropping his head back to Danny's crotch, his pink lips flushing darker as they stretched around him.
Danny couldn't watch anymore, it was already too much, too good, without the added sensory input of actually seeing what Stiles was doing. He'd spent so much time that day being tortured, being teased all the way to the brink then left wanting, he had so little resistance left.
He squeezed his eyes shut, as though he could block out some of the sensation. The way Stiles was working him had him responding just as his boyfriend had predicted; he wasn't begging, not really, but only because the warm, slick slide of Stiles' mouth had driven away his words. He was definitely twisting in the sheets – squirming, maybe – and his fingers were curling into Stiles hair. When had that happened? When had his hands made the decision to weave into those strands instead of clutching at the pillow under his head and the comforter that had been rucked to the side?
It wasn't long before Danny was clenching his jaw; fighting the urge to thrust and rut up into Stiles' mouth when he slurped loudly and shamelessly on the head of Danny's cock, when Stiles snaked his wrist to give it a twist on the upstroke. Danny waited as long as he could, held back desperately even when the pleasure was humming along his skin, pooling inside him with every movement, every suck, every noise that vibrated along Stiles' tongue and through Danny's dick.
Eventually he couldn't control it anymore and he knew he was almost there, fingers tightening and toes curling. He cried out, tried to give Stiles some kind of warning, but either his boyfriend didn't hear or didn't care, just kept sucking and bobbing and pumping until Danny was falling over the edge, rocking through his orgasm and gasping for breath as his heart echoed in his ears.
Stiles didn't stop, not until Danny softened and whined at the sensation, prying his fingers from Stiles' hair to nudge him away because it was just too much. Even then Stiles didn't stop so much as shuffle over to mouth and bite at Danny's hip and thigh while Danny came back down, leaving shiny trails and red marks until he didn't flinch every time Stiles' cheek brushed against his now flaccid cock.
When Danny could breathe again, when his pulse was something at least approaching normal and his skin felt cool and clammy instead of hot and prickling, he reached down to stroke at the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles pushed back into the touch and Danny let his hand slide back to cup Stiles' jaw, trying to coax him back up.
Stiles' eyes, when they met Danny's, were wide and a little wild. His pupils were blown, his cheeks were flushed and his teeth were gnawing his already swollen bottom lip – like if he couldn't get his lips and teeth on Danny then they needed to be otherwise occupied. Danny's dick tried valiantly to stir at the sight of Stiles looking so turned on, but it was far too soon.
"Come on," he urged, trying to pull Stiles into a position where Danny could kiss him, touch him.
"Nuh-uh. No way, Danny-man," Stiles breathed, voice rough. He shook his head even as he pressed a kiss to Danny's palm. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what I said, because I haven't. We don't get to do this often enough, and I wanna get you shaking and falling apart underneath me…I wanna get you wrecked."
Danny felt his mouth go dry. He had no idea how to answer that, but Stiles was watching him intently. "I'm starting to feel like my mom should have warned me about guys like you. The innocent looking ones are clearly hiding something."
"Innocent?"
"I said innocent looking."
Stiles didn't laugh, not quite, although Danny could tell he really wanted to by the way his mouth parted and his lip quirked on one side. "It's always the quiet ones, huh?"
"Uh, I hate to break this to you, Stiles, but you are not quie—fuck!"
Even sort of knowing it was coming, he hadn't expected Stiles to move quite so fast, to slide his hands under Danny's hips and grip his ass, to lift and tilt him at just the right angle so Stiles could dip his head and swipe his tongue across Danny's hole.
He hadn't expected it, but he certainly wasn't complaining. One of the things that Danny loved about Stiles was that he didn't just do things to get Danny off – he did them because he enjoyed it too, because he got off on it almost as much as Danny. Stiles moved eagerly, enthusiastically, always put everything he had into what he was doing, and Danny was definitely benefitting from it.
The noises Stiles made as he mouthed at Danny almost did more for him than the feeling of the tongue sliding over him, pressing into him. Danny wasn't hard again, not yet, but he was getting there, his dick was starting to swell, thickening slowly.
When Danny was halfway erect Stiles sucked gently on the sensitive skin under his lips then pulled back with mischief coloring his expression.
"I better enjoy this while I can," he said quietly, his lips and chin shiny from spit, "who knows if I'll be able to get my tongue in you once it's pierced."
"Stiles."
"Do you think I could? I mean…I could still lick you. I could still drag my tongue across your hole and maybe that would feel even better for you with a piercing. But do you think I could get it right in there the way I like? Could I wiggle my tongue in past that muscle and spear you on it or would the steel bar get in the way?"
If Danny had had any doubts about whether Stiles could make good on his promises, they were long gone. He was almost fully hard again just hearing Stiles' words and he knew without a shadow of a doubt Stiles wouldn't just leave it at that.
"Maybe picture that," Stiles suggested, then sunk his teeth into the muscle of Danny's right ass cheek, close enough to his opening to make his balls twitch. "Just, you know, ponder it for a while and tell me whether you think it would work."
"I hate you so much." Danny tried to glower, but he was pretty sure it lost its effectiveness when his hand wrapped around his own cock against his will.
"Nope. You already said you love me. No take-backs."
Stiles' mouth was on him again before he could respond; movements far more deliberate, more pointed, than before. Whenever Stiles dragged his tongue he did it slowly, carefully, circling Danny's rim with the flat instead of the tip. The way he pressed the center of his tongue down as he circled had Danny picturing – even feeling – a metal ball that wasn't there. He could feel it dipping and bumping; gliding easily where his skin was smooth, catching where it was puckered. Danny's skin felt twitchy, delicate, dancing back and forth between ticklish and electric, until Stiles pressed his tongue firmly past the ring of muscle until it was inside him.
The noise he made was needy and embarrassing, but that didn't matter because Stiles was twisting and curling his tongue as much as Danny's ass would allow. He wasn't sure how he managed to consider it seriously past the sensations he was feeling – could only assume it was the way Stiles had questioned him so intently – but he found himself thinking logically about what Stiles was doing. He thought how it would work with a bar through the center of his tongue, how it probably couldn't get far enough in to matter, not really, but it could still work. Stiles' tongue could still spear and lap and coil until Danny was crying out, the bar could rest and rub against his opening; the tiny steel balls maybe pushing against the tender skin of his hole, slipping just barely in and out as Stiles worked him open.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His skin was buzzing and his stomach was clenching. He was hot all over, breath as shallow as it had been earlier and dick so hard that he knew he'd be leaking again soon. He needed Stiles so much, needed more than his tongue and couldn't stop the hand he had around his cock from stroking, from seeking some relief.
Danny was torn between pushing up into his fist and rocking back onto Stiles' tongue – trying to do both but not quite managing either – when Stiles sat up and swiped the back of his hand haphazardly across his mouth.
"So, what do you think? Would it work?" His voice sounded calm and steady even though one look made it clear Stiles was anything but. His ribcage was rising and falling faster than it should be, and his chest looked damp with sweat. Danny wanted to touch it, to run his fingers along the warm skin from Stiles' neck to his navel, but Stiles was raising his eyebrow because Danny hadn't answered.
"I think…shit…I think I need you to fuck me before I go insane."
"Well, I like the sound of that," Stiles admitted while he leaned over and pulled a tube of lubricant and a condom from his bedside table, waving them in front of Danny, "but that's not what I asked."
Stiles slicked up two fingers, rubbing them against the soft skin under Danny's balls and sliding them until they brushed over his entrance. Danny tried to push down onto them, but Stiles moved when he did, not letting his digits slip inside.
"Please."
For a moment, Stiles' expression changed like he was going to give in, but then he shook his head as if clearly away the cobwebs. "That's…" he licked his lips and shook his head again. "Tell me what you think. I wanna hear it."
"I think," Danny gasped when fingers moved against his hole, pressure persistent but not enough to breach the ring of muscle. Stiles didn't go any further, just waited, and Danny took the hint. "I think it would work. I—yeah, it would work."
Stiles pressed in further and Danny felt himself stretching, though the burn was negligible. He knew there had to be some resistance but he could barely tell; he just wanted more.
"Jesus, Danny, you're so fucking ready. I should make you pre-game shoot every time if it's going to relax you so much." His fingers scissored inside Danny, opening him up a little further, the stretch deepening until the probing digits disappeared and Stiles tugged off his boxers, exposing his erection, flushed with fluid gathering on the steel ring. "Turn over, then tell me more, okay?"
Danny was on his hands and knees before Stiles had finished speaking, encouraged by the sound of foil tearing and the slippery noise that he recognized as slicking lube over latex. Fingers pushed into him again, thicker this time – three maybe – but they were gone in seconds; one last check that he was ready rather than an attempt to loosen him any further. Then Stiles was lined up and firm against him, teasing him with slight brushes but not enough pressure.
A warm weight draped across Danny's back, followed by a wet line tracing his spine carefully where it separated his shoulder blades; the flat of Stiles' tongue running purposefully along the dip between them. It was a reminder.
"It-it would work," Danny repeated, breath catching when Stiles straightened away from Danny's back and rocked towards him, cock head momentarily breaching him, just a little, before sliding back out. Stiles let out a soft moan behind him, gripped his hips tighter as his thighs flexed where they were pressed along Danny's, but Danny could tell Stiles wouldn't give in, that he was determined. "You're right about…about licking me. It'd feel good," he flashed back to the idea of Stiles' tongue stud dragging along his hole and he jerked his hips back involuntarily but uselessly, "so…so good. Sliding and c-catching on…yeah." He paused and swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat. "But when you put y-your tongue inside—" Danny's words cut off when Stiles pushed in slowly. He tried to wriggle back, tried to take Stiles deeper, but Stiles had a tight hold on his hips.
"What— what would happen?"
"—fuck. It wouldn't go in, the bar I mean…I don't think…it'd—it'd just sit at the edge…just press and rub there—oh."
Stiles was all the way inside him, finally, pumping gently and shallowly, angling away from Danny's prostate. Danny knew what Stiles was trying to do – knew he was easing Danny into it – but it still felt amazing, still made his thigh muscles clench and his cock jerk towards his abs.
"Would it…" Stiles voice had pitched so much lower, rougher, and he was breathing unevenly, "…would it feel good like that?"
The thrusts were getting deeper and harder. Danny's hands were fisting the sheets under him as he rocked back into them, trying to breathe through the shocks of pleasure darting up his spine. "Yes. Shit, Stiles, it'd be so fucking good."
"Yeah? God that's..."
Without warning Stiles sped up and was rutting into him solidly; the muscle of his thighs slapped against the back of Danny's legs until the skin there was tingling. There was an ache in Danny's hips and he knew he'd have marks when they were done but he didn't care because he could feel his orgasm steadily building.
"Fuck waiting for college," Stiles grunted. "I'm getting my tongue pierced as soon as I turn eighteen and my piercer won't get arrested."
That sentence probably shouldn't have made Danny's balls tighten the way it did. He moaned and tried to fist his dick, but Stiles' hand was there pushing his hand away.
"No, not yet," Stiles told him, "just...just get on your back."
When Stiles pulled out, Danny protested with something much too close to a whimper. Then he was being coaxed to roll over and he obeyed, burying the back of his head into a pillow and letting his legs fall wide. Stiles sunk between them, bent Danny's knees until they were looped over his elbows, and slid back inside with one long, even stroke.
"Stiles, fuck!" Danny's voice was broken, wrecked, but that wasn't important because Stiles' dick was stabbing and sliding along his spot, sending sharp spikes of electricity along his nerve endings and through his cock.
Danny's hips were tilted off the bed, rocking with each movement as Stiles drove into him, aiming right for his prostate with every surge in. Danny almost couldn't breathe; the constant rub of Stiles' shaft across his prostate was only interrupted by the harsh bump of the steel ring. Every time it nudged him, hard and unyielding, Danny lost the air in his lungs and his vision blurred.
He was close – he had to be – every stroke left him sure he would come, built him even higher, coiled him even tighter. His skin was slick with sweat; he could feel it trickling along his hairline as his heart was pounding in his throat and his muscles shook. Danny could feel his mouth moving, he was making noise – he knew he was – but he didn't know what he was saying, if he were using actual sentences, or even words. He thought he'd said Stiles name a few times, but he wasn't sure of anything else.
Stiles leaned in to slam their lips together in a wet, messy kiss. It wasn't until then, when the steadily leaking head of Danny's erection slid along Stiles' torso, Danny realized that despite everything he was feeling, despite all the sensations crawling under his skin and rocketing through his body, his cock had been left alone and untouched.
When Danny slid his hand between them Stiles must have realized the same, because he broke out of the kiss to watch Danny's face intently. "Yeah, yeah, now. Fuck, Danny, I wanna see you."
Danny tried to nod, maybe succeeded, as he slithered his hand through the slippery gap between their stomachs to grip himself firmly. He tried to move his fist in time with Stiles' thrusts but it was pointless, in seconds he was crying out, vision dimming as he came hard and shot in thick ropes across their chests.
Stiles didn't stop rocking into him, working his spot right up until the grey spots dancing across Danny's eyes finally cleared. When Danny blinked the last of them away, still dazed but no longer on the verge of passing out, he could feel Stiles shift and the friction against that electric place inside him eased.
"Damn," Stiles bit out with a moan, beautiful honey eyes squeezing shut, "next time, then."
There was something behind that – a meaning Danny couldn't quite catch, a memory that was wispy and too hard to grasp when Danny was burrowed in a blanket of contentment. He wasn't worried, it wasn't bad – that much he remembered – how could it be bad when Stiles was with him, inside him?
He didn't know how long it took Stiles to finish, how long Stiles spent fucking into him while Danny was just edging on the wrong side of too sensitive, but it didn't matter because he was drifting on a blissed out haze. Stiles eventually tensed, cried out, pumped shallowly until he was spent, and Danny forced himself to fight past the fogginess in his brain, to lift his heavy arms past the lethargy until he could circle them around Stiles. He didn't like when Stiles slipped out of him, when he fidgeted between them and moved almost out of his reach for too long, for seconds that felt like minutes that felt like hours, before he was back, nudging Danny's legs until they were stretched out on the bed. Danny finally managed to tug his boyfriend down to rest on his chest until the welcome weight and heat of Stiles in his arms settled Danny into his afterglow.
