Sterek One Shots

Tempt My Trouble

Disclaimer #1: contains some smut
Disclaimer #2: I'm awful at writing smut

Derek and Stiles love provoking each other, they'll both be cynical assholes to one another with an underlying layer of sarcasm. Basically anytime one of the two speak, they have something to say, staring dead at each other and smirking.

If the pack notices the arousal wafting off Stiles, they don't mention it, but Derek knows exactly what this does to the human. The more they press, the more built up their sexual energy becomes until the pack leaves and they fuck roughly and relentlessly, fighting for dominance until someone gives in. While the alpha werewolf tends to end up on top, he has the few occasions where he allows Stiles to have control, whether that means he chooses to be a power bottom or fuck Derek. And if you ask either of them, cuddling after spending the last of their energy, it doesn't happen.

Stiles tends to rationalize it as not friends or lovers, just someone to burn off his frustration with. He pushes any thought about romance deep into the back of his mind, if they choose to rise, and continues on with his causal-sex-with-the-alpha-of-his-pack facade.

Derek rubs his thumb across Stiles' knuckles, staring at the far wall of his room with his chest pressed against Stiles' back. Despite their intentional insults and rude quips, leading to hot sex, it's always peaceful afterward. Calm. Comforting, even.

"I should probably get going," Stiles sighs, "I have an early shift at the station. I should really use my position as the sheriffs son to get later shifts, I hate waking up at six." Derek scoffs, sitting up when Stiles does to pull his clothes on. "That's an abuse of power," he mutters into the crook of Stiles' neck. "You call it abuse of power, I call it taking advantage of an opportunity the other deputies don't have," he grins over his shoulder at Derek, mischief flashing in his light brown eyes. "You would," the werewolf rolls his eyes, pulling back a bit as Stiles begins putting his pants back on. "Hey, this world isn't fair, everyone knows that," Stiles shrugs innocently, then reaches back to grab a handful of Derek's hair and pull him in for a thorough kiss. Derek bites onto the humans bottom lip, forcing him to follow the alphas movements, which lands them back in bed with Stiles straddling Derek.

"Damn werewolves," Stiles utters into the kiss, knowing full well he gets exhausted far before Derek does, "I seriously don't have time for this."

"Other parts of you disagree," Derek smirks, hand palming Stiles' half hard on through his jeans, earning a choked moan. "Mm, damn you," he whines breathlessly, grinding down onto Derek's bare thigh.

It's safe to assume that Stiles doesn't get home until nearly one in the morning, and he's tired as shit as he drags himself into work, grumbling his hello to everyone.

"Have a long night?" Jordan asks knowingly, glancing over his computer for a second, fingers still typing furiously. "Don't start with me," Stiles groans, resting his face behind both hands. "Come on, every supernatural in Beacon Hills knows who you're hooking up with," Jordan shrugs, and adds for clarification, "We can smell him on you."

"Yeah, well every supernatural in Beacon Hills has managed not to open their mouths about it until now." Stiles fixes a pointed glare on the hellhound, who raises his arms in surrender.

"Stiles," Noah calls, closing the short distance between them, "Our transfer from out of state starts today. You'll be giving him the tour of Beacon Hills." As much as Stiles wants to dramatically huff about the task, he waits until his father is gone before doing so. Jordan cocks an eyebrow at him. "What? I hate new people," Stiles defends, "Especially ones who aren't from around here. They know nothing about the area, so it's months of them using gps to get around. In emergencies, that wastes a lot of precious time!"