[ derek's heart breaks. the misery in stiles' voice, the unwavering faith he has in him - it's all so much. stiles hates the down, and derek's always known that about him, but it's something they tend to talk around out of this vague, half-hearted dance they do to maintain independence.
and doing that doesn't make sense anymore? stiles being tucked away down in the filth and the fear doesn't make any fucking sense. they're supposed to get through this hell together - it shouldn't have taken a horrible nightmare or the fear that something happened to put derek in a place where he could just... beg stiles to stay close to him. he should have done this sooner. he should have asked stiles to move in with him so much sooner.
his eyes are closed. he's starting to get angry with himself, so ready to poke at scars and burns to make himself feel worse, something he always does when he feels he deserves it. that's when stiles kisses him.
it's sweet, and it's chaste, and it takes derek's breath away. he knows - he knows what it means. stiles doesn't have to say that he loves him for derek to realize with a hard, crashing punch that all the moments they've been sharing together, all the quiet looks and hesitant touches and all those fucking smiles, have to have been more than just... loneliness, from stiles' part. he cares about derek, just like derek cares about him, and they're not drawn to each other because they're both stuck and gravitating towards familiarity. they care about each other because they care about each other.
derek parts his lips, just a little, and then he pushes forward. he moves fast. he steps forward again, and he pushes stiles along with him, and he keeps walking and forcing stiles backwards until the back of stiles' knees are up against his bed. he deepens the kiss with a grunt, desperate and frenzied, his tongue swiping over stiles' bottom lip before he adds teeth. his hands-- his hands slide back around stiles' body, smoothing down stiles' body, moving fast down his chest and his stomach and going straight for his cock, and for once in his stupid, stupid, anxiety-riddled, overly considerate life, he doesn't even stop to think about what he's doing.
derek's always been quick to second guess himself. always willing to believe that he'd only make things worse, if he asked for what he wanted. right now? right now, there's no fear in him. he trusts stiles to tell him if this is too much, and he trusts stiles to want to be with him as much as derek wants to be with him in turn. he wants to make stiles feel good. he wants to show him that he thinks he might be starting to love him, too.
derek's hand grips stiles' cock through his clothes, squeezing his shaft with barely shaking fingers, and he breaks the kiss with a hard hiss of air through his teeth. surging forward, derek kisses stiles' neck again, but it's harder, more focused than before. he slips his hand beneath stiles' waistband when touching him through his clothes isn't enough, and he curls his fist around his dick, and derek-- derek's hard, the obvious tent in his sweatpants giving it away. he sucks on stiles' neck, right above the bridge that connects him to his shoulder, and he bites down, just a little. trying to leave a mark.
he pushes into stiles, trying to angle him down towards his bed, wanting him to sit, or lay down, or-- or something, anything. it's clumsy and it's frantic, and derek only pulls his hand out of stiles' pants long enough for it to happen, but he needs this to happen. they both need this to happen. ]
Lay-- lay down, let-- fuck, I don't... I don't have anything.
[ "anything". lube, condoms. the things they might need. ]
no subject
and doing that doesn't make sense anymore? stiles being tucked away down in the filth and the fear doesn't make any fucking sense. they're supposed to get through this hell together - it shouldn't have taken a horrible nightmare or the fear that something happened to put derek in a place where he could just... beg stiles to stay close to him. he should have done this sooner. he should have asked stiles to move in with him so much sooner.
his eyes are closed. he's starting to get angry with himself, so ready to poke at scars and burns to make himself feel worse, something he always does when he feels he deserves it. that's when stiles kisses him.
it's sweet, and it's chaste, and it takes derek's breath away. he knows - he knows what it means. stiles doesn't have to say that he loves him for derek to realize with a hard, crashing punch that all the moments they've been sharing together, all the quiet looks and hesitant touches and all those fucking smiles, have to have been more than just... loneliness, from stiles' part. he cares about derek, just like derek cares about him, and they're not drawn to each other because they're both stuck and gravitating towards familiarity. they care about each other because they care about each other.
derek parts his lips, just a little, and then he pushes forward. he moves fast. he steps forward again, and he pushes stiles along with him, and he keeps walking and forcing stiles backwards until the back of stiles' knees are up against his bed. he deepens the kiss with a grunt, desperate and frenzied, his tongue swiping over stiles' bottom lip before he adds teeth. his hands-- his hands slide back around stiles' body, smoothing down stiles' body, moving fast down his chest and his stomach and going straight for his cock, and for once in his stupid, stupid, anxiety-riddled, overly considerate life, he doesn't even stop to think about what he's doing.
derek's always been quick to second guess himself. always willing to believe that he'd only make things worse, if he asked for what he wanted. right now? right now, there's no fear in him. he trusts stiles to tell him if this is too much, and he trusts stiles to want to be with him as much as derek wants to be with him in turn. he wants to make stiles feel good. he wants to show him that he thinks he might be starting to love him, too.
derek's hand grips stiles' cock through his clothes, squeezing his shaft with barely shaking fingers, and he breaks the kiss with a hard hiss of air through his teeth. surging forward, derek kisses stiles' neck again, but it's harder, more focused than before. he slips his hand beneath stiles' waistband when touching him through his clothes isn't enough, and he curls his fist around his dick, and derek-- derek's hard, the obvious tent in his sweatpants giving it away. he sucks on stiles' neck, right above the bridge that connects him to his shoulder, and he bites down, just a little. trying to leave a mark.
he pushes into stiles, trying to angle him down towards his bed, wanting him to sit, or lay down, or-- or something, anything. it's clumsy and it's frantic, and derek only pulls his hand out of stiles' pants long enough for it to happen, but he needs this to happen. they both need this to happen. ]
Lay-- lay down, let-- fuck, I don't... I don't have anything.
[ "anything". lube, condoms. the things they might need. ]