All Stiles had wanted were some 3 am pancakes (the best kind, in his opinion).
Three hours after he'd practically floated home on a heart-shaped cloud, Scott had called him up and demanded that Stiles come and drive him and Allison to Denny's for a drunken feast.
And Stiles, his buzz long faded, had grudgingly agreed. His stomach convinced him to say yes, the thing practically snarling at him for some blueberry pancakes and bacon.
So Stiles picked up the tipsy twosome and they all headed to the diner. They ordered and they laughed, giggling amongst themselves about anything and everything—but especially about Denise Morganblatt's costume—like, c'mon, a sexy Minion?
Seriously, some things just can't be unseen. And when Stiles says as much, Scott chokes on his orange juice and Allison laughs so hard she starts to cry.
Stiles was halfway through with his pancakes when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. He shivered, and slowly turned his head to look.
There in the doorway of this nearly-empty Denny's stood Derek fucking Hale, waiting for a table with three other leather-jacket-wearing model types.
Stiles decided there and then that he was glad Derek was wearing that mask when they hooked up—the sheer perfection of his face would've psyched Stiles out and he would've never gotten his mouth on the man's wonderful cock.
And to make matters worse than Derek's sexy face and sculpted body and his stupidly large penis, was the fact that Stiles was now hard as a rock at 3 am in a Denny's.
A Denny's.
And it didn't help the situation that Derek was staring right at him—the beautiful, beautiful creeper.
Stiles had gulped down his bite of blueberry-y goodness and nodded at Derek. Derek, the bastard, had smiled wide, curling in his bottom lip and biting down on it slowly.
Stiles whimpered, unable to look away. He watched as Derek's group—seriously not one ugly person amongst them, what are the odds?—followed after the hostess.
But Derek hung back.
He walked casually up Stiles' row, forcing Stiles to turn his head back around and act like nothing was going on.
Allison and Scott were taking turns feeding each other bites of eggs—which, in Stiles' opinion, is actually quite disgusting—and didn't seem to notice the frantic vibes emanating from Stiles' side of the booth.
His shoulders tensed as Derek passed by, and he couldn't help checking out the man's fine, fine ass.
He really can't stress that ass's fineness enough, goddamn.
When he raised his gaze, he found Derek turned toward him, walking backward and nodding towards the restroom with a quick jerk of his chin.
Stiles had blinked dumbly and nodded, causing Derek's grin to turn practically feral before he disappeared into the restroom alcove.
Stiles had spluttered out a hasty excuse about "explosive happenings" in his stomach and told his besties that he'd be a while, never looking back as he made his way after Derek. They say you gotta keep your eyes on the prize, after all—visualize what you want in order to will it into existence.
And when he locked the bathroom door and whipped around to find the visual of Derek Hale leaning back sexily against the sinks, well, Stiles became a fucking believer.
After all, all he had wanted were some pancakes.
What he got was so much better.
"Derek!" Stiles whines, the pitch too high, too needy, too desperate—but he can't find it in himself to care.
Derek lifts his darkly amused gaze until he meets Stiles', his tongue sweeping slowly over Stiles' bare asshole.
Stiles is trembling, that's the only word for it—for this. Derek had lifted him—fucking lifted him—and set him on the edge of the counter. Stiles' pants were yanked down to his ankles in record time, and in a matter of seconds, Derek Hale was on his knees and eating out Stiles' ass.
So here Stiles sits, at the edge of the sink with his hands wrapped under his thighs and holding himself open for Derek. His legs are shaking, his chest is heaving, and Derek's tongue is working its way inside of him.
"Derek, Derek, please!" he begs, falling back against the mirror—his body practically bent in half as Derek grabs ahold of his cheeks and spreads him even wider. "That feels s'good, Derek," he slurs.
Stiles feels his eyes drifting closed, completely losing himself to the wet heat of Derek's mouth pleasuring his asshole. A low growl forces his eyes wide, and Stiles feels himself flush as he makes eye contact with Derek. The man's dark head starts bobbing up and down as he sticks his tongue out straight and starts fucking it in and out of Stiles.
It's wet and it's filthy, and the slick sound of Derek's tongue plunging into his hole makes Stiles' toes curl and his ankles cross.
"Oh, fuck, just like that, Der—" Stiles moans. "Just, oh god, yes!" Stiles has to slap a hand over his mouth as Derek adds his middle finger into the mix. Derek never looks away as he crooks that thick finger just right until it's pressed up against Stiles' prostate.
Stiles whimpers into his hand and can't help but grind against Derek's face, his hips jerking in small, aborted thrusts.
Derek just leaves his finger pressed against that sweet spot, his hand unmoving as Stiles fucks himself helplessly on it.
Stiles watches in blissed-out awe as Derek spits on Stiles' taint and slowly starts rubbing it into Stiles' sensitive skin with small, seductive circles of his thumb.
Derek works another finger in with a growl when Stiles gasps out a pitiful, "Oh, please Derek! I want another, can I have another? I'll be so good—let you fuck me any way you want to, Der."
Stiles is feeling deliciously wrung out. His hole is twitching, clenching around Derek's fingers rhythmically. He can feel Derek's spit dripping down his ass, the man's stubble scraping the inside of his thighs.
And through it all, Stiles can feel his orgasm rising. Derek's finger keeps massaging his prostate and he's using his wicked tongue to work him from the other side.
It builds and it builds, and Stiles hangs onto that glorious edge until his eyes are watering and his breaths are hitching in his chest.
He still can't quite make it over, and it makes him mewl desperately.
That is, he can't, up until Derek lifts his head off of Stiles, fingers still relentlessly fucking into him, and murmurs, "This tight little mouth is just as sweet as the other, isn't it, baby?"
Stiles gasps and his dick twitches, and then Stiles is fucking gone.
He comes with a relieved sob all over his belly, cum spurting fucking everywhere as he rides it out on Derek's hand.
When he's done, Stiles falls even farther back against the mirror, head lolling to the side in a daze. He's only barely aware of what's happening as Derek cleans him up with paper towels and uncurls Stiles' hands from the backs of his knees.
Derek pulls Stiles up and wraps his arms around his neck and just holds him, the man nosing at his neck as he waits for Stiles to come down from his orgasm high.
"That was amazing," Stiles mumbles into Derek's neck. "I seriously want to give you my number because that needs to be a thing that happens again. Can that happen again? I would very much like that to happen again."
Derek chuckles and pulls back slightly, running a thumb along Stiles' cheekbone. "I told you I'd find you—"
"You absolute weirdo," Stiles mutters dopily.
Derek smirks. "You like it."
Stiles tilts his head back and pecks Derek on the cheek. "Yeah, big guy, I really do." He pulls out his phone and checks the time. Stiles slumps against Derek's chest and gives the guy a determined look. "Okay, now I have about five minutes to get you off before my friends start believing I've fallen in. You think you can handle it?"
Derek grins and nods, looking delightfully startled.
Yeah, Stiles has that effect on people.
He reaches a hand down Derek's pants and idly takes a moment to look at their surroundings. There's a clogged toilet and a suspicious stain on one of the stall doors.
He scrunches up his face a little and starts jerking Derek off faster.
Make that 3 minutes.
He wants to get Derek off, but he also wants to get the fuck out of this Denny's bathroom.
Jesus Christ, the things he does for love.