[ every square inch of derek's expression is... soft. clear, open, understanding. past the gentle kiss, through quiet, happy breaths, and through quick, hopeful touches across his throat, his wrist, and his lips, derek is... derek's just looking at stiles like he's already in love with him. expressive and adoring and completely, totally under stiles' spell. he wishes he'd kissed him against his door, even before they had even headed inside. he wishes he'd kissed him in the shower, pressed up against the glass, the two of them naked and warm and together. he wishes he'd... done this sooner.
one last pull, and the thread on stiles' sweatpants comes completely undone. derek's expression slips, just a little, just enough to make him look awed less by stiles himself and more by what he's about to do. it was just... instinct, that got him to this point, with his knees sore against the carpet and his heart a jackhammer against his ribcage. it's gotta be courage that gets him the rest of the way.
he's about to tug stiles' sweatpants down when he looks back up and sees stiles' expression. the bratty little smirk, the glint in his eyes. he wants to reel himself in before he pisses derek off, but, well. ]
Shut up.
[ that doesn't happen. well, derek pretends that doesn't happen, at least. he sounds annoyed, but he's not, not really, and that's actually kind of obvious, try as he might to pretend otherwise. when derek rolls his eyes, he makes absolutely sure to shake his head at the same time, trying to compensate for the stupid smile that creeps into his expression. when he laughs, he tries to make it a snort, like he's scoffing and judgmental and frustrated, and that works, at first, but then he laughs again, clear as a bell, ruining the attempt. fucking stiles. fucking stiles.
truthfully, though? this is better. this helps. it was adrenaline and a fresh surge of fear that had derek panic about losing stiles, and that same impulse was what pushed him to corner stiles against the foot of the sofa, the cream-colored carpets well and truly fucked by soda by now. but derek doesn't want this to be... desperate. he wants this to be safe, he wants this to be happy, he wants this to be warm. he wants stiles to feel relaxed and loved and wanted just as he is, without heightened emotions playing too much of a role in this, and, well.
the two of them are assholes to each other. playfully. it hits derek, suddenly, that that's just how they flirt. the bullying, the namecalling. that was flirting. does stiles realize that? he'll have to ask. one day.
so derek keeps the act going. he huffs through his nose, he puts his hand on stiles' chest, and he pushes him back against the bottom of the couch, forcing him to lean back. he dips down and goes straight for his neck, swiping his tongue down the length of it and gently applying pressure to the first pressure point he finds. there's no subtlety, when he slowly reaches his hand into stiles' sweatpants, past his boxers, and straight for his cock. he squeezes, just lightly, coaxing him to a full hardness, and then - he moves.
derek moves until he's practically on all fours, his head between stiles' legs. he keeps eye contact as he lowers himself down, even as he tugs stiles' sweats and underwear down, exposing his cock to the cool afternoon air and tucking his waistbands beneath his balls. he's focused on stiles' expression, because he wants to see it change when he realizes what derek's about to do for him, but derek looks away before he really gets the chance to see the shift. he drops his eyes to stiles' dick, and he's... just...
he's stunned, for a second. he stares, but he doesn't let himself stare for too long, because he thinks stiles might get self-conscious, if he does. it's just - seeing stiles for the first time like this? up close, hard, all for him? it's... ]
Holy fuck.
[ a lot. derek swallows, wetting his lips, and he's fucking-- needy, suddenly. his chest feels tight and his cheeks get red and his mouth is actually watering, which he thinks must be pretty god damn pathetic. he has to swallow a few times, just to ground himself, and he feels like he's never done this before, when he finally wraps his hand around the base of stiles' cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. he's never... he hasn't ever felt like this. this consumed by want, for someone. this intensely aroused.
he takes another few breaths, and it hits him, again, that smiles smells like him. the soap, the shampoo. he smells like derek. he smells like he's derek's, like he's already been marked. jesus, he's not going to be able to get through this. derek looks up at stiles, and it takes a few tries for him to talk, just because his brain needs some time to remember how his mouth works. he laughs, again, but it's breathless and sorta slutty and-- really, really fucking horny. ]
You're... not going to get all self-conscious and contrary if I tell you that you've got a nice dick, right? I'm not going to have to deal with you whining and saying something annoying like -
[ he imitates stiles' voice, all high pitched and whiny - ] Nooo, my dick's stuuupid, I don't have a nice diiiick, don't saaay thaaaat - [ - and it's not an accurate imitation, but, still - ]
- or something, are you?
[ he starts to stroke stiles' dick, long and slow, just one firm, squeezing tug. derek... doesn't think he can wait for this much longer, and it's there in his voice, try as he might to sound normal. he arches his back a little, spreads his knees, still on all fours. he's-- uncomfortable, with his cock so tight and confined in his own pants. he clears his throat, keeps trying to talk, holding eye contact. ]
Because I'll kick you out with your sweats around your ankles if you pull that shit on me. I'm not kidding.
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one last pull, and the thread on stiles' sweatpants comes completely undone. derek's expression slips, just a little, just enough to make him look awed less by stiles himself and more by what he's about to do. it was just... instinct, that got him to this point, with his knees sore against the carpet and his heart a jackhammer against his ribcage. it's gotta be courage that gets him the rest of the way.
he's about to tug stiles' sweatpants down when he looks back up and sees stiles' expression. the bratty little smirk, the glint in his eyes. he wants to reel himself in before he pisses derek off, but, well. ]
Shut up.
[ that doesn't happen. well, derek pretends that doesn't happen, at least. he sounds annoyed, but he's not, not really, and that's actually kind of obvious, try as he might to pretend otherwise. when derek rolls his eyes, he makes absolutely sure to shake his head at the same time, trying to compensate for the stupid smile that creeps into his expression. when he laughs, he tries to make it a snort, like he's scoffing and judgmental and frustrated, and that works, at first, but then he laughs again, clear as a bell, ruining the attempt. fucking stiles. fucking stiles.
truthfully, though? this is better. this helps. it was adrenaline and a fresh surge of fear that had derek panic about losing stiles, and that same impulse was what pushed him to corner stiles against the foot of the sofa, the cream-colored carpets well and truly fucked by soda by now. but derek doesn't want this to be... desperate. he wants this to be safe, he wants this to be happy, he wants this to be warm. he wants stiles to feel relaxed and loved and wanted just as he is, without heightened emotions playing too much of a role in this, and, well.
the two of them are assholes to each other. playfully. it hits derek, suddenly, that that's just how they flirt. the bullying, the namecalling. that was flirting. does stiles realize that? he'll have to ask. one day.
so derek keeps the act going. he huffs through his nose, he puts his hand on stiles' chest, and he pushes him back against the bottom of the couch, forcing him to lean back. he dips down and goes straight for his neck, swiping his tongue down the length of it and gently applying pressure to the first pressure point he finds. there's no subtlety, when he slowly reaches his hand into stiles' sweatpants, past his boxers, and straight for his cock. he squeezes, just lightly, coaxing him to a full hardness, and then - he moves.
derek moves until he's practically on all fours, his head between stiles' legs. he keeps eye contact as he lowers himself down, even as he tugs stiles' sweats and underwear down, exposing his cock to the cool afternoon air and tucking his waistbands beneath his balls. he's focused on stiles' expression, because he wants to see it change when he realizes what derek's about to do for him, but derek looks away before he really gets the chance to see the shift. he drops his eyes to stiles' dick, and he's... just...
he's stunned, for a second. he stares, but he doesn't let himself stare for too long, because he thinks stiles might get self-conscious, if he does. it's just - seeing stiles for the first time like this? up close, hard, all for him? it's... ]
Holy fuck.
[ a lot. derek swallows, wetting his lips, and he's fucking-- needy, suddenly. his chest feels tight and his cheeks get red and his mouth is actually watering, which he thinks must be pretty god damn pathetic. he has to swallow a few times, just to ground himself, and he feels like he's never done this before, when he finally wraps his hand around the base of stiles' cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. he's never... he hasn't ever felt like this. this consumed by want, for someone. this intensely aroused.
he takes another few breaths, and it hits him, again, that smiles smells like him. the soap, the shampoo. he smells like derek. he smells like he's derek's, like he's already been marked. jesus, he's not going to be able to get through this. derek looks up at stiles, and it takes a few tries for him to talk, just because his brain needs some time to remember how his mouth works. he laughs, again, but it's breathless and sorta slutty and-- really, really fucking horny. ]
You're... not going to get all self-conscious and contrary if I tell you that you've got a nice dick, right? I'm not going to have to deal with you whining and saying something annoying like -
[ he imitates stiles' voice, all high pitched and whiny - ] Nooo, my dick's stuuupid, I don't have a nice diiiick, don't saaay thaaaat - [ - and it's not an accurate imitation, but, still - ]
- or something, are you?
[ he starts to stroke stiles' dick, long and slow, just one firm, squeezing tug. derek... doesn't think he can wait for this much longer, and it's there in his voice, try as he might to sound normal. he arches his back a little, spreads his knees, still on all fours. he's-- uncomfortable, with his cock so tight and confined in his own pants. he clears his throat, keeps trying to talk, holding eye contact. ]
Because I'll kick you out with your sweats around your ankles if you pull that shit on me. I'm not kidding.