“Someone needs to sex me right now!”
Coach Hale turns on the bench, eyes lit up with amusement as he shoots Stiles a look over his shoulder. “Stilinski, you alright?”
Stiles slaps a hand to his face, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Yeah. Sorry, Coach.”
“Just sounded like you had something that needed taking care of,” Hale shrugs, eyes lingering on Stiles a few moments before he turns around again. Coach Hale takes the iPod from the speaker and scrolls through it for a few seconds before putting it back and pressing play.
The sound of Usher’s Scream starts playing through the locker room. Stiles tries not to throw up.
“I think Coach has a thing for you,” Scott teases.
“I think I’m gonna kick you in the face.”
Stiles doesn’t try to be the last one in the locker room when they get back from the track meet. It just happens. It’s a coincidence.
(Except it’s happened four times in the last two weeks, so maybe it’s somewhat on purpose. Maybe.)
“Stilinski? Any particular reason you’re still here?” Hale asks, leaning against the doorframe of his office.
Stiles shrugs, bottom lip jutting out before he replies, “No, just - I mean, I thought I forgot my gym bag, but I didn’t, so.”
“Kind of hard to forget it when you haven’t left yet, isn’t it?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, stomping his foot a little in frustration. “Look, were you serious? With the whole - Coach, you…”
“….okay, I swear to fuck, if you aren’t actually serious and willing to take my virginity, I’m gonna have to switch schools. I can’t look at you and not be able to…”
Coach - Derek steps closer, arms crossed over his chest. He grins slowly, lazily, eyes trailing down the length of Stiles’s body and back up. “Not be able to what, Stiles?”
Stiles gulps. “Not be able to have you. Or - or just. Just fuckin’ touch you. Kiss you, probably. That’s definitely a thing that should…”
Derek cuts him off with a kiss, lips firm against Stiles’s parted ones, but doesn’t take it any further. He pulls back and Stiles whimpers pitifully, clenching his hands into fists so he doesn’t tug Derek back in.
“Now you’re just being a tease.”
“Are you eighteen yet?”
Stiles groans in frustration. “Derek, fuckin’ come on. I will be eventually. This is a life or death situation, anyway. I will literally die if you don’t have sex with me. Just might die quicker now, since I know what you taste like and I swear to fuck I’m gonna die of blue balls.”
“Is that possible?”
Stiles curls both hands around the back of Derek’s neck and slots their mouths together again. Their tongues slide together and Stiles only pulls back when Derek’s fingers are curled in the back of his shirt. “Not really interested in finding out,” he pants, eyes dark when he meets Derek’s gaze.
“So, hypothetically speaking, if we did this,” Derek murmurs, “you wouldn’t tell anyone, right? Not even Scott?”
Stiles winces a little, because it’s Scott, but he’s shrugging and nodding moments later because life or death.
Sex with Derek might kill him, anyway, but he’d prefer that to a threefold death.
“C’mon, Coach,” Stiles grins, eyes vibrant with challenge. “Clock’s ticking.”
Derek smirks, circles his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, and tugs the teen into his office.
When Stiles walks into the locker room the next day, he avoids looking at Derek. Bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning, scratches the back of his neck to hide the blush that he can feel descending beneath the neckline of his shirt, and keeps his eyes on the ground as he moves to his locker.
“You seen Coach Hale yet?” Scott asks as he changes into his shirt.
Stiles shakes his head. “No. No, I haven’t. Maybe he’s just running late?”
Music starts up again in the locker room, synthesizers blaring from the speaker on the other side of the room, and Stiles can’t help but laugh when he realizes the song is I Just Had Sex.
“Asses on the track in ten minutes!” Coach Hale announces.
Stiles catches Derek’s eye as the older man passes and grins. His pulse rises when Derek winks and swats at his ass. “Ten minutes, Stilinski. Any later and you’ll stay after for an extra workout.”
Stiles is absolutely late on purpose.