Sterek One Shots

One Night Stand?

Stiles needs to have sex. He's tired of waiting for someone and just needs a fling, a one night stand with a random guy that will mean nothing. No strings attached.

A hot guy approaches Stiles at the bar, Derek, and it's his perfect candidate. He doesn't seem to want an actual relationship, he's drop dead gorgeous, and he's coming onto Stiles.

Derek exuses himself to use the bathroom, sending a quick grin over his shoulder. Stiles exhales after the man is out of sight, quickly ordering a shot of whiskey to hopefully calm his nerves, and a glass to sip on on. He's painfully aware of how much he's sweating, but is glad it's only his armpits.

"Sorry, where were we?" Derek questions as he sits back down on his stool next to Stiles, beer immediately in hand. "Somewhere between crazy ex and psychotic Uncle," Stiles tells him with a smile. Derek chuckles and takes a short sip of his beer, nodding. "I've been talking all night. What about you?"

"See, I'm afraid if I talk I'll make a fool out of myself. So I think it's better that you keep talking." So Stiles asks questions, and Derek keeps answering them. As the night goes on, Stiles continues to order drinks, knowing where he wants this to lead and hoping he can get tipsy enough not to chicken out. However, tipsy ends up being drunk.

"Can I get another shot of—" Stiles begins to call out to the bartender, his words slurring together. "Ah, no thank you," Derek cuts him off, holding his hand out to stop the bartender holding another shot glass. "You're right," Stiles smiles drunkly, poking Derek in the chest, "We should jus' cut to the end of the night."

"Which is what, exactly?" Derek inquires with an amused grin. "Us," Stiles gestures between them, glancing around before lowering his voice to a not-so-quiet whisper, "Having hot sex." Derek smirks with a small shake of his head. "Come on, I think it's about time to get you home."

"Yes. Exactly!"

"No, not that," Derek laughs, "Do you remember where you live?"

"Mm...no." Derek sighs, contemplating what to do. He could always bring Stiles back to his place, but it would be a disaster if Stiles woke up not remembering what happened. "Wait!" Stiles suddenly exclaims, digging into the pockets of his jeans. He pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to Derek. Derek unfolds the slip to conveniently find Stiles' address and apartment suit.

Scott and Stiles had come up with a system after they turned twenty-one to always have their address written down and on them whenever they went out for drinks. That way if they got too drunk and needed to take a Uber or something, and couldn't recall their specific address, they would be able to give the driver the slip of paper.

"Alright," Derek nods, standing and taking his leather jacket from the back of the stool. Stiles goes to do the same, inevitably stumbling over absolutely nothing. "Okay," Derek ushers, catching Stiles and steadying him. The older male wraps an arm around Stiles and walks him out, glad he didn't park too far from the bar.

"Mm, nice car," Stiles hums, staring hazily at the black Camaro Derek is assisting him into. "I know. Please don't throw up in it." Stiles giggles, his head lulling to the side. Derek can't help but chuckle. He leans over Stiles to buckle him up before heading around to the drivers seat.

He misses a few turns because of Stiles—specifically, Stiles' hand on his thigh occasionally—but eventually makes it to the right apartment building.

"Two-A," Derek reads from the piece of paper in his hand. He has Stiles held up in his right arm, the other shoving the paper back into his pocket to open the door. Stiles trying to climb the stairs resembles a deer trying to walk for the first time. Derek watches with a grin before deciding to help before he hurts himself.