derek knew. derek knew that's what stiles wanted, or at least - he was hedging his bets on it. stiles has barely finished asking for a kiss before derek's darting forward, pressing their lips together and shutting his eyes. it's not the gentle, hopeful, romantic kiss that stiles might have expected - it's forceful and animalistic and frantic, it's open-mouthed and paired with derek's fingers going straight into stiles' hair, lightly tugging just to keep him close.
he wants more. he wants more, and he wants to give more, and he's sick of waiting, he's sick of being scared, he's sick of worrying about what this might mean or what he might feel or where it might go. the table between them is in the way, and derek gets frustrated enough to break the kiss and move it, toppling it over to join the discarded chessboard. the soda cans slide off and spill onto the carpet, the pizza box gets crushed underneath the table's side, but derek either doesn't notice or doesn't care.
derek closes the distance between him and stiles, moving forward on his knees. he puts his hands to stiles, one on his neck, one on his shoulder, and he bends down for another kiss. he leans in close, hovers his lips over stiles', and then - and then he stops. his chest clenches, and he worries that this is too much, too fast, but - but he can't have imagined that stiles wants this. stiles climbed those stairs, just for him. all they've wanted for a full fucking week now is to see each other, and he has to be right about this. he has to be right about this. ]
I...
[ he stops, and he hesitates, and he looks into stiles' eyes. he wishes his own were half as beautiful. that light amber, catching the light. those long lashes, framed by pale skin. derek's always liked brown eyes. ]
I can... you-- you deserve so much more than a kiss. You're-- so much.
[ he wants stiles to feel good. he wants stiles to feel loved, though he doesn't connect the word to his feeling when it hits him as hard as it does. stiles makes derek feel cared for and attended to and wanted, stiles makes derek feel like there's more to him than just a scared, angry wolf hidden behind slabs of muscle and a skin that was toughened against his will, more than the bullet wounds and the smell of ash and the grief. stiles makes derek feel like he matters. derek needs to be absolutely, absolutely sure that stiles knows he matters to derek, too.
but he's not good with words. not like this. it's always such a struggle for derek to communicate his feelings, when in the back of his mind there's always a voice telling him to stop and stay silent. he's never been able to filter honesty from self-deprecation, he's never been able to figure out which thoughts were real and which came from anxiety and trauma and inward hate. he's trying hard to get past that. he's always trying hard to get past that, with stiles. ]
Let me-- let me give you...
[ derek's hand slips down stiles' neck, down the front of his hoodie, settling just beneath his stomach. he doesn't ask for permission, when he starts to unthread the cord of stiles' sweatpants, but even like this, forceful and sturdy and broad, leaning down from a higher height, he's not... intimidating. he's not trying to be, at least. it would be easy for stiles to ask him to stop. one stray touch to his bicep and derek'll understand.
but he thinks he's reading this right, and he thinks that even if he doesn't know how to speak up, sometimes, stiles knows him well enough to fill in the blanks. he trusts stiles to understand what he's trying to say, or at least the vague feelings behind each fragmented false-start of a sentence. derek might be falling for stiles, and he wants to be good for him, he wants to be enough. he wants to show stiles how much he cares about him, how much he appreciates him, and he doesn't think the world has ever just given stiles the chance to - feel that kind of admiration. that blind, loving affection from someone who just wants him to feel good. derek doesn't know if stiles has ever felt... acknowledged. if he hasn't - he will tonight.
after undoing the knot on stiles' sweats, derek hesitates, looking at stiles' lips. carefully, he leans forward again, stopping and starting before they finally connect. he kisses him again, and it's-- it's soft, this time. carefully measured, with eyes half-open and breath painfully taut in derek's lungs. he doesn't break away until he needs to breathe so bad that his eyes are stinging, but he hopes that-- that that kiss communicated, maybe, that this isn't just lust, this is-- the opposite. derek's a little desperate, when he finds his voice, punctuating each word with a steady, calm insistence. ]
no subject
derek knew. derek knew that's what stiles wanted, or at least - he was hedging his bets on it. stiles has barely finished asking for a kiss before derek's darting forward, pressing their lips together and shutting his eyes. it's not the gentle, hopeful, romantic kiss that stiles might have expected - it's forceful and animalistic and frantic, it's open-mouthed and paired with derek's fingers going straight into stiles' hair, lightly tugging just to keep him close.
he wants more. he wants more, and he wants to give more, and he's sick of waiting, he's sick of being scared, he's sick of worrying about what this might mean or what he might feel or where it might go. the table between them is in the way, and derek gets frustrated enough to break the kiss and move it, toppling it over to join the discarded chessboard. the soda cans slide off and spill onto the carpet, the pizza box gets crushed underneath the table's side, but derek either doesn't notice or doesn't care.
derek closes the distance between him and stiles, moving forward on his knees. he puts his hands to stiles, one on his neck, one on his shoulder, and he bends down for another kiss. he leans in close, hovers his lips over stiles', and then - and then he stops. his chest clenches, and he worries that this is too much, too fast, but - but he can't have imagined that stiles wants this. stiles climbed those stairs, just for him. all they've wanted for a full fucking week now is to see each other, and he has to be right about this. he has to be right about this. ]
I...
[ he stops, and he hesitates, and he looks into stiles' eyes. he wishes his own were half as beautiful. that light amber, catching the light. those long lashes, framed by pale skin. derek's always liked brown eyes. ]
I can... you-- you deserve so much more than a kiss. You're-- so much.
[ he wants stiles to feel good. he wants stiles to feel loved, though he doesn't connect the word to his feeling when it hits him as hard as it does. stiles makes derek feel cared for and attended to and wanted, stiles makes derek feel like there's more to him than just a scared, angry wolf hidden behind slabs of muscle and a skin that was toughened against his will, more than the bullet wounds and the smell of ash and the grief. stiles makes derek feel like he matters. derek needs to be absolutely, absolutely sure that stiles knows he matters to derek, too.
but he's not good with words. not like this. it's always such a struggle for derek to communicate his feelings, when in the back of his mind there's always a voice telling him to stop and stay silent. he's never been able to filter honesty from self-deprecation, he's never been able to figure out which thoughts were real and which came from anxiety and trauma and inward hate. he's trying hard to get past that. he's always trying hard to get past that, with stiles. ]
Let me-- let me give you...
[ derek's hand slips down stiles' neck, down the front of his hoodie, settling just beneath his stomach. he doesn't ask for permission, when he starts to unthread the cord of stiles' sweatpants, but even like this, forceful and sturdy and broad, leaning down from a higher height, he's not... intimidating. he's not trying to be, at least. it would be easy for stiles to ask him to stop. one stray touch to his bicep and derek'll understand.
but he thinks he's reading this right, and he thinks that even if he doesn't know how to speak up, sometimes, stiles knows him well enough to fill in the blanks. he trusts stiles to understand what he's trying to say, or at least the vague feelings behind each fragmented false-start of a sentence. derek might be falling for stiles, and he wants to be good for him, he wants to be enough. he wants to show stiles how much he cares about him, how much he appreciates him, and he doesn't think the world has ever just given stiles the chance to - feel that kind of admiration. that blind, loving affection from someone who just wants him to feel good. derek doesn't know if stiles has ever felt... acknowledged. if he hasn't - he will tonight.
after undoing the knot on stiles' sweats, derek hesitates, looking at stiles' lips. carefully, he leans forward again, stopping and starting before they finally connect. he kisses him again, and it's-- it's soft, this time. carefully measured, with eyes half-open and breath painfully taut in derek's lungs. he doesn't break away until he needs to breathe so bad that his eyes are stinging, but he hopes that-- that that kiss communicated, maybe, that this isn't just lust, this is-- the opposite. derek's a little desperate, when he finds his voice, punctuating each word with a steady, calm insistence. ]
Let me... do more... for you.