Just Like Flappy Bird (Teen Wolf, Derek/Boyd/Stiles)

Stiles is in love with kissing. He could do it all day. He loves the way Derek’s stubble scrapes against his chin, loves the way Derek’s teeth occasionally nip at his lower lip, loves the way Derek holds him tight while they do it. He’s straddling Derek’s lap on the dingy old couch someone dragged into the train depot when Erica and Boyd walk in. Isaac is already here, somewhere, off doing his own thing. Stiles tries to pause, out of respect for the other couple in the room, but Derek doesn’t let him, dragging him back in with insistent lips and a firm hand cupping Stiles’s ass.

Erica lands heavily on an equally dingy armchair. Stiles can feel her eyes on them. “I think you should get in on that.”

At first Stiles isn’t sure who she’s talking to until Boyd asks “Derek?”

Derek pulls away for a second, leaving Stiles hard and gasping for air. He nods. Stiles is confused for a moment until Boyd settles beside them on the couch. Then Boyd is cupping Stiles’s face and leaning in. Boyd’s lips are rough. They cover Stiles’s mouth and coax him into opening up, into letting Boyd’s tongue in his mouth. Derek shifts beneath him, his hardness obvious where it pokes into Stiles’s leg. Derek grips Stiles’s hips hard and grinds up into him, making him moan into Boyd’s mouth.

“You should fuck him, right there on the couch,” Erica says, her voice floating in from the nebulous space that is anywhere not on the couch.

It’s all Stiles can do to focus on the hands on him. Derek’s hands slide from Stiles’s hips to the button on his jeans, opening Stiles’s fly so that he can shove his hands down the back of Stiles’s pants, gripping his ass tight in a way that makes Stiles moan. Boyd’s hand is in Stiles’s hair, holding his head. If he had more hair, Boyd would probably be pulling it.