Pretty View

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Story Notes:
Written for the Beach Vacation square on my Sterek Summer Bingo Card

The resort is fancier than it looked on the internet. Photos can’t really do justice to the white sand, flowers, and turquoise water because the colors are so bright and vibrant that Stiles feels like he’s looking at a painting or something. Derek’s booked them into a private villa that’s more like a mini-house. It’s right on the beach, not even a minute’s walk to the ocean, and it’s surrounded by greenery and flowers that also look too pretty to be real.

“When you mentioned finding the perfect place to stay, I didn’t think you’d literally found paradise.” Stiles turns away from the gorgeous view and finds himself looking at an even prettier one. Derek’s bent over by the large king size bed, his shorts pulled taut across his ass, and Stiles can’t resist stepping back into the bedroom to touch that ass.

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Derek straightens up and turns around when Stiles slaps his ass. “We haven’t even been here five minutes, Stiles, so get that look out of your eyes. You wanted a dreamy beach vacation, so there’s no way we came all the way here just to end up spending the week in bed.”

“What look?” Stiles bats his eyelashes and attempts innocence but totally fails because he can’t pull it off when Derek’s eyebrows are judging him that way. “Stop looking so smug. It’s not my fault that I have poor impulse control when faced with you wearing shorts and a tank top. That’s all on you, babe.”

“That’s victim blaming.” Derek reaches out and pulls Stiles closer. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss against the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “At least, that’s what you’ve always said when I point out that it’s impossible to resist you when you’re walking around wearing those old grey sweatpants and nothing else.”

“It’s not fair using my own flirty arguments on me,” Stiles mutters, moving his hand along the neckline of Derek’s tank top. He curls his fingers into the blue cotton, knuckles rubbing against wiry hair, swaying closer to Derek. Rubbing his cheek against Derek’s jaw, thick beard scraping his skin, he listens to Derek’s intake of breath and feels warm fingers gripping his hips. After being together nearly a decade, he knows what buttons to push to turn Derek on, and he’s having to resist the urge to gloat because he’s still got it. “We should test out this bed, see if it’s worth however much you’re paying for this place.”

“What happened to all that talk about going into the ocean as soon as we get here?” Derek asks. “All I’ve heard for weeks is plans for swimming and making out on the beach.” He’s nuzzling Stiles’ neck now, barely touching his mouth to the skin, just being a teasing tease who knows exactly what buttons to push for Stiles, too.

“You already nixed the make outs on the beach, remember? All that grumpy old man grumbling about sand getting into uncomfortable spots?” Stiles has to up his game because there’s no way he’s letting Derek get the advantage here.

He’s the seducer this time, so he needs to make sure Derek understands that. Stiles moves his other hand behind Derek’s head, stroking the nape of his neck before moving his fingers into Derek’s hair. Derek bucks forward when Stiles starts stroking his scalp, unable to keep himself from reacting. Stiles smiles somewhat smugly as he rolls his hips to lazily grind against Derek. Oh yeah. Clothes are definitely coming off soon.

“You complain about sand on your feet when we go to the beach back home. There’s no way I’m listening to you bitch about sand on your ass when we’re on vacation.” Derek moves his hands, warm air brushing across Stiles’ bare skin in a humid caress. God, he knew he shouldn’t have read that trash romance novel on the plane because his inner monologue is totally tainted right now.

“Who said I’d be the one getting sand on my ass?” Stiles teases, lightly scratching Derek’s scalp while pulling the neck of his tank top down further to reach more bare skin. He’s careful not to rip it, even if he has to bite his lips to keep from moaning at that particular mental image. “Fuck, Derek. You feel so good.”

“You do, too, Stiles. And you smell so…God, you smell like airport, stale air, and floral perfume.” Derek’s voice is raspy, his lips ghosting along the shell of Stiles’ ear. Stiles can feel his fingers on his ribs, under his own tank top, calloused fingertips brushing against sensitive skin with increasing pressure.

“Wait. What?” Stiles stops being distracted enough to realize what Derek’s said. He makes a startled squawking noise that’d be pretty embarrassing if he weren’t currently being tickled by his obnoxious boyfriend who apparently hadn’t been as seducible as Stiles had believed. “You asshole!”

Derek just laughs and keeps tickling him as Stiles slaps at his hands. “Gotcha,” he says finally, grinning down at Stiles as he stops tickling.

“Such a jerk,” Stiles mutters even as he returns the grin. “Fine. I acknowledge that you totally got me back for the hand job incident on the plane. We’re even now.”

“Right. As if I believe that.” Derek smiles. “We’ve been playing this game since our third date, which was over nine years ago. We’re never even, Stiles.”

“I know, and you enjoy it just as much as I do, so stop pretending otherwise.” Stiles kisses him then, a thorough ‘I love you, you’re mine’ kind of kiss that practically makes his toes curl when Derek returns the kiss just as passionately. When they pull apart, Stiles takes Derek’s hand and squeezes. “Come on, Der. Let’s go check out the beach. The water looks amazing.”

They go outside, both of them being romantic saps as they walk on the beach smiling and holding hands. The water is beautiful, and Stiles decides there’s definitely going to be moonlit skinny-dipping later.