[ everything happens a little faster than stiles' mind can process. there's hardly even a second of time between when stiles finishes telling derek what he wants from him, and when derek literally crashes his mouth into stiles'. it's too quick, so he's not ready for it even though this is literally what he just asked for, and he's left sitting there, weight caught on his hands behind him with slightly widened eyes and pinched eyebrows. and then derek's fingers sink into his hair and they pull and that's all it takes for stiles to lean into this.
stiles slides his eyes closed and he breathes out though his nose and he presses the softest, appreciative whimper into derek's mouth, holding himself up on one hand and grabbing at the collar of derek's shirt with his other so derek won't pull away. but derek pulls away anyway, and stiles worries for a second that maybe he should't have tried to hold derek there, maybe that was a bad move, maybe that's why derek is — angry? derek shoves the table aside and sends everything on top of it toppling over with it and it doesn't scare stiles, but it does make him second-guess this for half of a second.
and then it clicks. derek isn't angry, not at him, anyway, he just — he wants to be closer to stiles and he wants to be closer as quickly as possible and the table is just a victim of derek's impatience. to get to stiles. instead of getting up and walking around the table, derek literally picked it up and pushed it over to cut out those few seconds of separation and stiles is - he's immediately turned on, and a little flustered because no one's ever - he's never had anybody feel that strongly about being separated from him that they would destroy anything in their way to get to him, not that he can ever recall.
derek moves in and he kneels over stiles and he puts his hands on him and he leans in, and stiles sits up. he stretches his body upward to meet him, but derek stops just out of reach. stiles tries to close the space, tries to sit up a little more, but it occurs to him that there's probably a reason for this. he wets his lips and he gently furrows his eyebrows, lifting his hand to touch his fingers to the back of one of derek's wrists, silently asking if something's wrong, if everything's okay. derek starts to speak, and then he stops, but stiles just makes sure he keeps looking at him. he makes sure he holds that eye contact, tries to to convey - comfort and security and trust. whatever it is, derek can trust him.
you deserve so much more [ ... ] you're-- so much.
his expression softens slowly, his eyebrows relaxing, smoothing out. stiles' chest feels a little tight all of a sudden. he closes his mouth and he swallows, and he stares up at derek in silence, his eyes shifting back and forth between derek's like he's reading a deeper meaning behind them. like he understands what derek is trying to say to him, even if he doesn't understand why.
nobody has ever really stopped to tell stiles that he deserves more, that he deserves better. he's never had anyone look at him the way derek is looking at him, he's never stared back at anyone and felt seen, the way he does right now. stiles doesn't think he deserves the world - he'd never be so conceited to believe anything so ridiculous - but there have been so many times where stiles has felt - invisible, or underappreciated, or overlooked. like he's less.
he doesn't feel like that right now.
stiles breathes in deep ask derek's hand drifts down his chest. he sucks in his stomach, his breath catching for a moment in his lungs, eyes watching derek's fingers as they pull at the drawstrings at the front of his sweatpants. derek towers over him on his knees, but it doesn't make him feel small the way it probably should. he just feels this swell in his chest, this pulsing burst of affection.
he doesn't reach to stop him even as his hands still, but he does reach out to rest his fingers against the side of derek's throat, thumb smoothing a gentle line across his adam's apple, and when derek leans down, when derek kisses him, a stark contrast from sharp and bruising kiss this all started with in that it's soft and it's slow and it's gentle - stiles understands.
derek pulls away from him, but stiles keeps his hand on his neck to keep him close, and as soon as derek's lips are gone he licks his own. he presses his forehead against derek's and he feels this rush of happiness in his veins, and he smiles. he smiles, and it's a little shy, and the breath that rushes out of him is soft, sounds like it could be a laugh. stiles nods, nose bumping against derek's. he doesn't know, specifically, what it is derek wants to do for him - he assumes, by the tug at the cord of his sweatpants, that derek is about to give him the best handjob of his life - but whatever it is, whatever derek wants to do, stiles wants it. his quiet little smile widens into something brighter, something sharp and teasing. ]
I have never loved the game of chess more than I do right now.
[ of course he has to say something a little stupid, a little shitty, a little - honest, if you squint. he presses his lips together, and he collects himself, reels himself in before he does something dumb to piss derek off, and he nods again. ]
no subject
stiles slides his eyes closed and he breathes out though his nose and he presses the softest, appreciative whimper into derek's mouth, holding himself up on one hand and grabbing at the collar of derek's shirt with his other so derek won't pull away. but derek pulls away anyway, and stiles worries for a second that maybe he should't have tried to hold derek there, maybe that was a bad move, maybe that's why derek is — angry? derek shoves the table aside and sends everything on top of it toppling over with it and it doesn't scare stiles, but it does make him second-guess this for half of a second.
and then it clicks. derek isn't angry, not at him, anyway, he just — he wants to be closer to stiles and he wants to be closer as quickly as possible and the table is just a victim of derek's impatience. to get to stiles. instead of getting up and walking around the table, derek literally picked it up and pushed it over to cut out those few seconds of separation and stiles is - he's immediately turned on, and a little flustered because no one's ever - he's never had anybody feel that strongly about being separated from him that they would destroy anything in their way to get to him, not that he can ever recall.
derek moves in and he kneels over stiles and he puts his hands on him and he leans in, and stiles sits up. he stretches his body upward to meet him, but derek stops just out of reach. stiles tries to close the space, tries to sit up a little more, but it occurs to him that there's probably a reason for this. he wets his lips and he gently furrows his eyebrows, lifting his hand to touch his fingers to the back of one of derek's wrists, silently asking if something's wrong, if everything's okay. derek starts to speak, and then he stops, but stiles just makes sure he keeps looking at him. he makes sure he holds that eye contact, tries to to convey - comfort and security and trust. whatever it is, derek can trust him.
you deserve so much more [ ... ] you're-- so much.
his expression softens slowly, his eyebrows relaxing, smoothing out. stiles' chest feels a little tight all of a sudden. he closes his mouth and he swallows, and he stares up at derek in silence, his eyes shifting back and forth between derek's like he's reading a deeper meaning behind them. like he understands what derek is trying to say to him, even if he doesn't understand why.
nobody has ever really stopped to tell stiles that he deserves more, that he deserves better. he's never had anyone look at him the way derek is looking at him, he's never stared back at anyone and felt seen, the way he does right now. stiles doesn't think he deserves the world - he'd never be so conceited to believe anything so ridiculous - but there have been so many times where stiles has felt - invisible, or underappreciated, or overlooked. like he's less.
he doesn't feel like that right now.
stiles breathes in deep ask derek's hand drifts down his chest. he sucks in his stomach, his breath catching for a moment in his lungs, eyes watching derek's fingers as they pull at the drawstrings at the front of his sweatpants. derek towers over him on his knees, but it doesn't make him feel small the way it probably should. he just feels this swell in his chest, this pulsing burst of affection.
he doesn't reach to stop him even as his hands still, but he does reach out to rest his fingers against the side of derek's throat, thumb smoothing a gentle line across his adam's apple, and when derek leans down, when derek kisses him, a stark contrast from sharp and bruising kiss this all started with in that it's soft and it's slow and it's gentle - stiles understands.
derek pulls away from him, but stiles keeps his hand on his neck to keep him close, and as soon as derek's lips are gone he licks his own. he presses his forehead against derek's and he feels this rush of happiness in his veins, and he smiles. he smiles, and it's a little shy, and the breath that rushes out of him is soft, sounds like it could be a laugh. stiles nods, nose bumping against derek's. he doesn't know, specifically, what it is derek wants to do for him - he assumes, by the tug at the cord of his sweatpants, that derek is about to give him the best handjob of his life - but whatever it is, whatever derek wants to do, stiles wants it. his quiet little smile widens into something brighter, something sharp and teasing. ]
I have never loved the game of chess more than I do right now.
[ of course he has to say something a little stupid, a little shitty, a little - honest, if you squint. he presses his lips together, and he collects himself, reels himself in before he does something dumb to piss derek off, and he nods again. ]
Sorry. Sorry - yeah, yes. Please. Whatever - whatever you want.