Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills years later for Scott & Allison’s wedding
And it is actually Derek whose room he goes to after, because the one and a half bottle of champagne is not really working for rational judgements.
“I thought we agreed we would never cross that line,” Derek greets him, fingers closed around the doorknob as if trying to keep himself from touching Stiles, run his fingertips along the silky edge of his vest.
Even so, his eyes are focused and impossibly bright under the soft hotel lights. It makes Stiles chuckle, fingers clutching the door frame as he leans forward, invading Derek’s space in a way he never dared before. “Room service, sir,” he shoots back, baring his teeth in a cheeky grin.
Derek’s nostrils flare in a too familiar way. “You are drunk.” A pause that looks dangerously like an hesitation. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, but it doesn’t sound like a dismissal at all.
Maybe, a few years back, Stiles would’ve gladly taken Derek’s words as his cue to flee back to his room and spend the rest of the night nursing the last half of his champagne bottle.
Maybe, a few years back, he would’ve been too blinded by Derek’s unwavering stare to notice the bobbing oh his throat, the way the Alpha seems to swallow around air as he tries not to lean toward Stiles, meet him halfway. To dive his nose between the open collar of Stiles’ shirt, where thin, sensible skin covers slim collarbones, or perhaps to intimidate him, bare his teeth as he did so many times-
“A waiter slipped his number in my pocket tonight,” Stiles blurts out instead, blinking at the deep lines suddenly forming between Derek’s eyebrows. “There is a fifty percent chance that he’d be glad to rim me until I’m begging him to, please, please, fuck me.” And it’s like pulling the tail of a huge, feral beast, but he won’t stop, not now. “But, you know what, I like the second option way more.”
Derek’s lips twitch in a way that probably means he’s trying not to crush the knob between his fingers. Stiles blinks at him, eyelashes slowly kissing skin as something claws at his insides.
“Second option,” Derek spits, his ability to form proper phrases suddenly abandoning him.
Taking a step forward isn’t so hard as Stiles thought it would, neither is closing his fingertips around the unfastened tie dangling from the sides of Derek’s neck. “Yes,” he breaths out, heart thumping crazily in his chest, “that’s where I drop on my knees, unzip this fabulous pair of haute couture trousers, and suck on your cock until you will the one begging.”
“There is no way-“
“Oh, you will.” Stiles doesn’t budge, not even when Derek steps away from him, fresh air replacing familiar warmth as the Alpha tries to put space between them. Anything to stop this madness. “And then maybe I’ll beg too. Plead you to use your fucking belt to tie my wrists, cover my body in marks while spreading me open for you. I don’t need champagne when I can have all of that.”
“Jesus.” Eyes closing under the force of Derek’s desires. “Stiles.”
Derek’s hands are trembling now, and Stiles promises to himself that he’ll be the one steadying them. “Yes,” he breathes out, kicking the door closed.