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Stiles adjusted his bow tie in the mirror for the third time and finally huffed. “Derek,” he called, “you’re just going to have to fuck with this thing, because it’s still croo— Oh. Hello, there.” Stiles leered at his boyfriend appreciatively. “How you doin’?”
“I thought we agreed on no more Joey impressions,” Derek said, unfazed as he easily adjusted Stiles’ bow tie.
“How are you able to make these look right?” Stiles whined, staring at it in the mirror but not daring to even breathe on it for fear of fucking it up.
Derek rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “It’s just practice. You’d get good at it if I didn’t help you.”
“No, don’t abandon me!” Stiles cried dramatically.
“Start actually crying and you’ll ruin your eyeliner,” Derek said.
“Guyliner,” Stiles said. “It’s guyliner because I’m a guy.”
“Stiles.”
“I know Erica jokes, but seriously, I am a guy despite the makeup.”
“Stiles.”
“Like, guys can wear makeup, too, okay? It’s 2019, let’s get a move on.”
“Stiles.”
“What?”
Derek didn’t reply, though, just slid his hands along Stiles’ stomach, nuzzling into the back of Stiles’ neck.
“Oh. Dude, we just got ready! We’re all pretty and spiffy now, and you want to ruin that because the sight of my guyliner is making you hard?”
Derek snorted into Stiles’ ear. “Hush,” he murmured, and Stiles shuddered.
“Okay,” Stiles gasped. “Okay. Sure. You— On one condition.”
“Name it,” Derek said, nipping at his earlobe.
“You’re the one who tells Erica why my hair’s fucked up.”
“Done. On the condition—” Derek said, and Stiles groaned.
“I never like your conditions.”
“We don’t have to do anything, Stiles.” Derek pulled away, and Stiles whined. “It’s just—something I want to try. One time. You can say no, and I’ll never bring it up again, okay? And we can still do things now.”
Stiles nodded. “Okay. Fair. Go for it.”
“I want to do it here.”
“In the bathroom? I mean, kinky, dude, but—”
“In front of the mirror.”
Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “That’s—startingly kinky, Sourwolf. Why?”
Derek shrugged, making eye contact with him in the mirror. “I always get to see you, and when I’m fucking you, you look even more beautiful. You look free. Completely unworried and unguarded, and your eyes— I want you to see how beautiful you are to me.”
Stiles blinked. “Seriously? You want to fuck my ass in front of a mirror ‘cause you think I look pretty when I’m coming? Der, this is hard news, I get it, but nobody’s O-face is sexy. I mean, yours is, admittedly, but—”
“Yours is sexy to me,” Derek said softly. “And I want you to see it through my eyes. I want you to see how sexy and beautiful you are, Stiles. That’s all. We don’t have to.”
Stiles worried his lip for a moment but nodded. If nothing else, Derek would always stop if he asked. Derek would stop if he thought that Stiles wanted to stop but was refusing to admit it—he had, on multiple occasions.
(However, to be clear, Stiles had not once wanted to stop having sex with Derek, except for the very, very harrowing moment of shower sex and almost braining himself trying to fuck onto Derek’s cock harder, and, after that, neither of them had even sort of wanted to continue. For Stiles, though, he was ready to go as soon as he was sure that he wasn’t injured, and they ended up fucking on the bathroom counter on top of a towel so Stiles didn’t slip as much.)
“Fuck me,” Stiles said, moving to strip out of his clothes.
“Let me?”
Stiles nodded, raising his eyebrows. “Fancy,” he said. “Somebody to undress me personally, hmm?”
Derek grabbed him by the hips, pulling his ass back tight to Derek’s cock, and Stiles groaned, slipping to his elbows on the counter.
“Gotta say, Der,” Stiles gasped, looking at Derek in the mirror. “I’m loving this already.”
“Look at yourself, not me,” Derek said, and unbuckled his belt.
“You’re so much prettier, though,” Stiles muttered petulantly and yelped when Derek’s palm landed on his ass. “What the hell was that for?”
“Don’t compare yourself to me,” Derek said, and Stiles shivered with the intensity in his voice. “You’re gorgeous, Stiles. I want you to see that.”
Stiles huffed. “Fine.” He made awkward eye contact with himself in the mirror. “This is so fucking weird.”
Derek shrugged. “We can stop if you want.”
“Dude, I really don’t want to stop. Keep going.”
Derek opened a drawer and pulled out their bathroom lube—silicone-based because they’d fucked up and tried water-based all of one time. “Watch yourself, Stiles,” he said, pulling Stiles’ pants down just enough to expose his hole fully.
Stiles shifted his legs to the sides, grinning at himself like the Cheshire fucking cat. “Oh, I a—am.”
He looked like an idiot moaning. He just looked—
Desperate.
Admittedly, though, the bow tie wasn’t horrible on him. Derek had been right—red was definitely his color.
Derek slipped a second finger inside of him, evidently not wanting to waste time slowly prepping him and working him open. “How many fingers do you want?”
“Mmm… two. Two’s good. Just hurry up and fuck me.” Stiles glanced up to make brief eye contact with Derek and grinned impishly. “Fuck me, Der.”
Derek curved his fingers and Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut. “Watch yourself,” he reminded.
“Yep,” Stiles said, blinking at himself in the mirror. “Watching.”
Actually, the moment that Derek first fucked inside of him—seeing that on his own face rather than Derek’s—that might actually be at least interesting.
Stiles smiled, listening to Derek working lube over his cock. Probably more of it than he otherwise would, actually, because he always did when Stiles wanted to go light on the prep to feel the burn of Derek entering him b—
He groaned, unable to look away from himself as his face twitched and his eyes visibly glazed over, mouth opening wide, and suddenly he understood why Derek waxed poetic about his mouth.
It looked fucking obscene.
And not in a bad way, either.
Derek fucked into him hard, though, not giving him a moment to adjust, and Stiles moaned. “Der—Der, I’m not gonna— Keep it up and—”
“Come, Stiles,” Derek growled, “whenever you want.”
Stiles put his head on his forearms, squeezing his eyes tight, and remembered to look up just before he came.
He glanced between himself and Derek, and—
Shit. Derek wasn’t kidding about finding this hot—about finding him hot.
Stiles groaned, fucking back against Derek’s thrusts as he came, deep inside of Stiles’ ass, and worked him through the aftershocks.
A minute later, Derek smoothed down Stiles’ tux jacket. “Told you your ‘O-face’ was sexy.”
###
Stiles grinned on the red carpet, posing with more confidence than he’d ever felt before in his life.
Derek leaned in. “Think it helped?”
The mirror? Not that much. Knowing that Derek found him so sexy that he wanted Stiles to see himself during sex in the hopes of making him understand it better?
Stiles laughed, nodding. “Definitely, Sourwolf.”