thedamnriddler said: Prmt: Derek/Stiles. Road head. Because Derek's too uptight and Stiles is enough of a little shit to trap him at a stop sign.
The buckle clicks and hisses as it slides back into its place, hanging between seat and door, and Stiles leans over. Derek doesn’t really have time to process what’s happening until his fly is already open, and even then his hands don’t move from where they’re locked at ten and two on the steering wheel. Stiles palms him, rough and unfinessed, and Derek lets out a punched sound.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks with wide eyes.
Stiles rolls his eyes, fingers pushing up the hem of Derek’s shirt as he leans down into his lap. “You’ve been stupidly tense. All day.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, voice reedy, and his foot is pressing down hard on the brakes even though they’ve been sitting at this stop sign for at least twenty seconds. “You are not—“
“Oh, I definitely am.” Stiles says, glancing up at him, expression earnest.