[ when stiles panics, derek knows. the elevated spikes in his system, fuelled by ingrained, biological fight or flight reflexes. derek knew, on one level, that saying this is a big deal after stiles explicitly said that it wasn't might not have been... the best thing to do, but it felt like it would have been worse to lie. to trick stiles into something physical, to say this means one thing when it really means another. that's what kate did to him. in derek's mind, he and her would be the same, if he'd just...
if he'd just acted like this didn't matter.
so he swallows, and he feels a little less crazed by this desperation to feel the tight, warm heat of stiles' body embracing his own. he strokes stiles slower, figures he could at least offer to get him off without fucking him, just so it counts towards his quota without... having to matter. it's then that stiles sets his hand against his wrist, and derek stops moving, figuring that that's the sign to stop. maybe he was pushing his luck, after all.
he's crestfallen, when he looks at stiles, but he doesn't let it show. he thinks he doesn't, at least - but then stiles admits that he lied, admits that he's scared, admits that he wants this to be important and special and meaningful. derek's... suspicious, and maybe that's unfair, but he's always been paranoid, even before... even before. stiles said, right to his face, that this wasn't a big deal. derek wants to believe him, but it just... it feels like he's compensating. trying to make derek feel better.
so derek laughs, and it's forced, not the sweet laughter stiles can tuck away in his memories to warm himself with when he's alone, but the sour, rotten sound of someone who's trying to act like they aren't hurt. it would be selfish, derek thinks, to be hurt. stiles isn't doing anything wrong. he's just being kind. derek could listen to his heartbeat, see if he's telling the truth through the pump of blood beneath his chest - but why would he do that, when he can just hurt himself by assuming the worst? that's what he deserves.
-- and then stiles keeps talking. tells him he really, really likes derek. he leans up, he pulls him into a kiss, ghosting over him with the same feeling and the same determination that derek tried to put in his own. derek wants to trust him. derek wants to believe him. derek wants to stop second-guessing the huge slew of evidence that just keeps telling him, again and again, obviously, concretely telling him, that stiles cares. that stiles wants him. that stiles really, really, likes him.
there's two paths he could take here. he could wall himself off - shut this down, apologize, and leave. or he could... do more.
derek swallows the fire in his throat. he looks into stiles' eyes, searching for something. he looks at his lips, and he thinks of home, and he thinks of the fire, and he thinks of how fucking lonely he was until stiles. he thinks of the guilt he feels, when he thinks of the execution, when he thinks of kate, when he thinks of his mother, his father, his sisters, his uncle. he thinks of how - when he's with stiles - he forgets that guilt, just for a while.
his eyes are stinging. ]
There's something here. You and me.
[ he says it low. quiet. right against stiles' lips. slowly, gingerly, he starts to beat stiles off again, rhythmic and easy. his other hand comes up to his neck, palm splayed over his throat. his hand is trembling, he thinks. maybe that's stiles. it's hard to say. ]
Right? I'm not imagining it. There has to be something. This... this can't just...
[ he's pleading. he's pleading, for stiles to tell him he's right. to validate this. to say that "i really, really like you" means-- more. derek hasn't had a friend for years, he hasn't ever been relied on the way that stiles relies on him, and that should be enough, that should be more than enough, but -
but it isn't. not anymore. not after stiles. he wants more than that. ]
I just-- this can't just be in my head. After Kate, and after-- after Paige, I didn't think... I didn't think I'd ever...
[ does stiles know about paige? he hasn't talked to stiles about paige, but there's two years. two years, where derek could learn to trust him, where derek could talk to him about the people he's hurt, the lives he's ruined. derek moves closer to stiles, pressing their foreheads together again, and his voice is getting a little louder, a little more frantic. the hand on stiles' throat gropes blindly up to his jaw, to his cheek, and just-- touches, hard and fast and clumsy, like he's making sure that stiles is real, and he's here, and he's with him. ]
I thought this was over. For me.
[ and maybe it is. his heart is breaking. this could all be in his head, he doesn't know, this doesn't feel real. "i really, really like you", what does that mean? why does stiles like him? what happened, in those two years? did anything happen in those two years? derek jerks stiles off faster, faster, squeezing tight with a shaky hand, and he kisses stiles like it's the last time he'll ever get the chance. he can't think straight, he's-- panicking, and he keeps thinking of how he felt when stiles sent him that text, he keeps-- he keeps thinking about how fucking easy it would be for stiles to just go. ]
I feel like-- I feel like... if this were real, something would have happened back home. Between us. You have two years on me, and... and if something was going to happen, it should have happened. If this much can change between us in a few months, then... then why...
[ then why didn't it ever change back home? stiles would have told him when he arrived, if it did. if they were ever more than just... antagonistic. they can't spend two years together and... not become something. not if these feelings are real. he doesn't want to ask the question, but - but what if this is just - something that happens, to people who are contracted? what if he's being tricked, like he was with vitd? he doesn't want this to be in his head, he wants-- he wants proof that this is more than just here, more than just this fucking city.
he breathes. he breathes, because it shuts him up, and if he shuts up, he can't keep making this conversation all about him, and his worries, and his anxiety. his lips are sore from kissing stiles, he's a little less hard. his eyes are closed, and he's holding them shut as tight as he can, because he knows that they're red, and he's scared of stiles seeing. he needs to calm down. ]
Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm... I'm sorry.
no subject
if he'd just acted like this didn't matter.
so he swallows, and he feels a little less crazed by this desperation to feel the tight, warm heat of stiles' body embracing his own. he strokes stiles slower, figures he could at least offer to get him off without fucking him, just so it counts towards his quota without... having to matter. it's then that stiles sets his hand against his wrist, and derek stops moving, figuring that that's the sign to stop. maybe he was pushing his luck, after all.
he's crestfallen, when he looks at stiles, but he doesn't let it show. he thinks he doesn't, at least - but then stiles admits that he lied, admits that he's scared, admits that he wants this to be important and special and meaningful. derek's... suspicious, and maybe that's unfair, but he's always been paranoid, even before... even before. stiles said, right to his face, that this wasn't a big deal. derek wants to believe him, but it just... it feels like he's compensating. trying to make derek feel better.
so derek laughs, and it's forced, not the sweet laughter stiles can tuck away in his memories to warm himself with when he's alone, but the sour, rotten sound of someone who's trying to act like they aren't hurt. it would be selfish, derek thinks, to be hurt. stiles isn't doing anything wrong. he's just being kind. derek could listen to his heartbeat, see if he's telling the truth through the pump of blood beneath his chest - but why would he do that, when he can just hurt himself by assuming the worst? that's what he deserves.
-- and then stiles keeps talking. tells him he really, really likes derek. he leans up, he pulls him into a kiss, ghosting over him with the same feeling and the same determination that derek tried to put in his own. derek wants to trust him. derek wants to believe him. derek wants to stop second-guessing the huge slew of evidence that just keeps telling him, again and again, obviously, concretely telling him, that stiles cares. that stiles wants him. that stiles really, really, likes him.
there's two paths he could take here. he could wall himself off - shut this down, apologize, and leave. or he could... do more.
derek swallows the fire in his throat. he looks into stiles' eyes, searching for something. he looks at his lips, and he thinks of home, and he thinks of the fire, and he thinks of how fucking lonely he was until stiles. he thinks of the guilt he feels, when he thinks of the execution, when he thinks of kate, when he thinks of his mother, his father, his sisters, his uncle. he thinks of how - when he's with stiles - he forgets that guilt, just for a while.
his eyes are stinging. ]
There's something here. You and me.
[ he says it low. quiet. right against stiles' lips. slowly, gingerly, he starts to beat stiles off again, rhythmic and easy. his other hand comes up to his neck, palm splayed over his throat. his hand is trembling, he thinks. maybe that's stiles. it's hard to say. ]
Right? I'm not imagining it. There has to be something. This... this can't just...
[ he's pleading. he's pleading, for stiles to tell him he's right. to validate this. to say that "i really, really like you" means-- more. derek hasn't had a friend for years, he hasn't ever been relied on the way that stiles relies on him, and that should be enough, that should be more than enough, but -
but it isn't. not anymore. not after stiles. he wants more than that. ]
I just-- this can't just be in my head. After Kate, and after-- after Paige, I didn't think... I didn't think I'd ever...
[ does stiles know about paige? he hasn't talked to stiles about paige, but there's two years. two years, where derek could learn to trust him, where derek could talk to him about the people he's hurt, the lives he's ruined. derek moves closer to stiles, pressing their foreheads together again, and his voice is getting a little louder, a little more frantic. the hand on stiles' throat gropes blindly up to his jaw, to his cheek, and just-- touches, hard and fast and clumsy, like he's making sure that stiles is real, and he's here, and he's with him. ]
I thought this was over. For me.
[ and maybe it is. his heart is breaking. this could all be in his head, he doesn't know, this doesn't feel real. "i really, really like you", what does that mean? why does stiles like him? what happened, in those two years? did anything happen in those two years? derek jerks stiles off faster, faster, squeezing tight with a shaky hand, and he kisses stiles like it's the last time he'll ever get the chance. he can't think straight, he's-- panicking, and he keeps thinking of how he felt when stiles sent him that text, he keeps-- he keeps thinking about how fucking easy it would be for stiles to just go. ]
I feel like-- I feel like... if this were real, something would have happened back home. Between us. You have two years on me, and... and if something was going to happen, it should have happened. If this much can change between us in a few months, then... then why...
[ then why didn't it ever change back home? stiles would have told him when he arrived, if it did. if they were ever more than just... antagonistic. they can't spend two years together and... not become something. not if these feelings are real. he doesn't want to ask the question, but - but what if this is just - something that happens, to people who are contracted? what if he's being tricked, like he was with vitd? he doesn't want this to be in his head, he wants-- he wants proof that this is more than just here, more than just this fucking city.
he breathes. he breathes, because it shuts him up, and if he shuts up, he can't keep making this conversation all about him, and his worries, and his anxiety. his lips are sore from kissing stiles, he's a little less hard. his eyes are closed, and he's holding them shut as tight as he can, because he knows that they're red, and he's scared of stiles seeing. he needs to calm down. ]
Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm... I'm sorry.