[ derek resists. when stiles presses his palms to his cheeks, when stiles pulls derek's hand from his cock, and when stiles pushes him backwards to lay in a bed too small for the both of them, derek resists. not a lot; he still moves willingly, leaning into each touch and letting himself be directed when he needs to be, but his muscles are tense and his eyebrows are pulled taut and his eyes are still clenched shut as tight as they can be through all of it, but it's just... he's just -
he's scared. the noise he makes when stiles adds a little distance between them is barely even there, but every pause and every adjustment makes him feel like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the dark, not knowing what's waiting down there to cushion his fall or let him die. he doesn't know what stiles wants from him, he doesn't know if he's doing anything wrong, he doesn't know if the desperate crawl of his hands over stiles' face, each hard kiss, each panicked attempt to reassure himself that this is real, and that stiles is real, and that stiles wants him is... okay, he doesn't know if he's okay, he doesn't know if they're okay, he just -
he doesn't know if this is too much. for stiles, more than for himself. he doesn't know if he should be trying hard to keep joking and making this light and making this easy, he doesn't know if he should keep trying to be honest or if he should just shut his mouth and stop making things harder. he's a wreck of emotions and that makes him feel worse, because stiles doesn't need someone like him in his life, always making everything a big deal, always making everything serious and heavy and important. stiles doesn't need to be with someone so broken and so unstable, so incapable of being who they want to be, someone who demands so much.
and then stiles talks, and it's like time stands still.
stiles talks about-- the belief derek has in him, he talks about the respect that derek shows him, he talks about how there's an us. derek listens, and everything hurts, because somewhere in his mind in some distant, locked away corner, he knows full god damn well that if he just listens to stiles, listens to his heartbeat and his chemosignals and the quiver in his voice, if he just breathes him in, he'll know that he doesn't need to be afraid. he'll know that stiles loves him.
it's so hard. it's so, so, so hard. after kate - he just can't. he can't do any of this. not the way that he should. stiles deserves so much more from someone so much better. stiles deserves someone human.
stiles straddles his waist and derek's fully, completely hard again, and he's ashamed of himself, when his dick grinds against soft flesh and his heart catches in his throat, but - stiles is beautiful, and stiles is here, and derek can't help but want him. stiles is light, and he's considerate, and he's giving derek plenty of room to leave, if he wants to, but derek wishes he wouldn't. derek just wants stiles to keep him pinned down, keep him trapped against this bed. when stiles starts talking about-- about summer, he touches derek's abs, and derek breathes in at every touch, reflexive and almost ticklish. sensitive, as always, to everything stiles does.
he listens. he listens, and he watches, and he wants to make eye contact but he can't, because his eyes are still red, and he still needs to keep them hidden. derek listens, and it's hard to unpack how he feels right away. everything stiles tells... none of it really sinks in, despite the cold rush of shock that wraps around his heart when he says the word "love" and the queasy, hopeful swoop in his stomach that comes paired with it. he doesn't know what to do, and he doesn't get the time to figure out what to do, because then stiles is leaving, he's sniffling and he's moving and he's going to disappear, derek's going to lose him-- ]
Stop. Stop.
[ he can't do this. he can't hear the panic in stiles' voice and just lay there, silent, he can't-- he can't. he wants to kiss stiles. he wants to shut stiles up and show him in one swift, romantic gesture that he wants to stay, but that's-- that's not enough, he thinks, that's cheap. he's spent years, hiding how he feels behind silence and action and physicality, and he can't do that, not when stiles is pouring so much on him at once.
panicked, derek puts his hands on stiles' hips, slipping underneath his shirt to get a better hold of him. he holds onto stiles a little too tightly, keeping him against his waist, and he knows that he shouldn't force him to stay, not if he wants to go, but he-- he doesn't want to go, not really, he just thinks that derek doesn't want him to stay. ]
Stop.
[ derek's fingers dig into stiles' sides, leaving streaks of color beneath his fingers. he sits up on the bed, keeping stiles anchored to him, holding him in his lap. he pulls one arm around stiles' waist, the other behind his shoulderblades, and he buries his nose in his neck, breathing hot, shaky breaths against his throat. for a second, derek just - holds him, refusing to let him leave, eyes still shut tight, still completely blind. there's so much he wants to say. so much he wants to apologize for.
he's sorry he hasn't lived through that summer. he's sorry he never pushed stiles to talk about those months where they fell in love - because he knows those feelings couldn't have been one sided - and he's sorry if he never talked about it either. he's sorry he shut down under the weight of a complicated life. it wouldn't be the first time, for him, that he ruined something good by staying quiet and denying himself out of an overwhelming fear of the circumstances he's in. he wants to say sorry, but he doesn't know if he can, because he hasn't lived that life yet and it would all sound so fucking hollow.
derek shakes his head, hunching forward, pulling stiles even closer. he hugs him tight enough to hurt, and he lowers his neck, pressing his forehead against stiles' chest. he needs a few seconds, he needs to just - think. when he finally figures out what he wants to say, he stays where he is, fingertips curled tight against stiles' bare lower back and in the cotton against his shoulderblades. he swallows, and he feels dizzy, but he needs-- he needs to say how he feels. ]
When I'm with you... I feel better. Here, in my head - [ he leans back, and he lets go of stiles' waist, and he finds stiles' wrist. he brings stiles' hand to his temple, he kisses the bottom of his wrist, and he leans against it. ] and here.
[ he moves stiles' hand down to his chest, setting it over his heart. derek swallows, and he lets stiles' arm go. he moves until he's got both arms back around stiles' hips, tight enough to hold him in place, loose enough to let him leave if he needs to, and then... and then he tries to keep his voice soft, but he doesn't think it works. he just sounds scared, and he has to keep clearing his throat while he talks to fix it. ]
I don't know... how to be enough for people. I'm trying? I've been trying, ever since Laura, to be enough for everyone. For you, and for Scott, and for Peter, when he was still alive. I'm trying to be-- better, that's half the reason I-- I killed Peter, but--
[ he can't keep his eyes closed. carefully, and visibly, visibly guiltily, derek opens his eyes. they're blood red, bright and illuminating, and it's-- embarrassing, more than anything. it's a sign that he's losing control of himself, it's a sign that he's weak, it's a reminder that he's inhuman. he'd always been proud of his lycanthropy, but then there was kate, and now there's stiles, and maybe, deep down, stiles resents werewolves, too, even if he thinks otherwise. maybe this is the moment he'll realize that if peter had never bitten scott - if stiles had never gotten caught up in a life like this, forced onto him by monsters - he could have been happier. better. safer. ]
I'm not... good? I know I'm not. And I don't know why I left, back home, but - that has to be a part of it. I had to know there was someone better for you, someone good, and I had to know I would ruin you if I stayed.
[ if he's falling in love with stiles now, after a few short months, then - back home, he must be a fucking wreck, ruined by years. the summer after stiles turned seventeen - they're not far from that, back where derek's from. it feels more and more like-- like feelings like these might just be inevitable. maybe he can trust them. ]
But I don't...
[ he hesitates. he looks at stiles, direct and piercing. still glowing red. his eyelids flutter, and he looks away, still scared that if he stares at stiles for too long, he'll... leave. ]
I don't want to lose anyone else. I don't think I could survive another loss. I don't even know how I've survived until now - there have been so, so many times where I'd wished I hadn't. I can't lose you, and I can't lose my pack, and I can't...
[ derek loosens his arms around stiles' waist. gives him a quiet invitation to leave, if he needs to, while hopefully making it clear that that's the last thing derek wants. he blinks a few times, shakes his head, scrunches his eyes up tight. trying to will them back to hazel. failing. ]
I don't want to go. I don't want you to go. I'll be better. I'll-- be enough, so I won't-- so I won't have to go, this time.
no subject
he's scared. the noise he makes when stiles adds a little distance between them is barely even there, but every pause and every adjustment makes him feel like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the dark, not knowing what's waiting down there to cushion his fall or let him die. he doesn't know what stiles wants from him, he doesn't know if he's doing anything wrong, he doesn't know if the desperate crawl of his hands over stiles' face, each hard kiss, each panicked attempt to reassure himself that this is real, and that stiles is real, and that stiles wants him is... okay, he doesn't know if he's okay, he doesn't know if they're okay, he just -
he doesn't know if this is too much. for stiles, more than for himself. he doesn't know if he should be trying hard to keep joking and making this light and making this easy, he doesn't know if he should keep trying to be honest or if he should just shut his mouth and stop making things harder. he's a wreck of emotions and that makes him feel worse, because stiles doesn't need someone like him in his life, always making everything a big deal, always making everything serious and heavy and important. stiles doesn't need to be with someone so broken and so unstable, so incapable of being who they want to be, someone who demands so much.
and then stiles talks, and it's like time stands still.
stiles talks about-- the belief derek has in him, he talks about the respect that derek shows him, he talks about how there's an us. derek listens, and everything hurts, because somewhere in his mind in some distant, locked away corner, he knows full god damn well that if he just listens to stiles, listens to his heartbeat and his chemosignals and the quiver in his voice, if he just breathes him in, he'll know that he doesn't need to be afraid. he'll know that stiles loves him.
it's so hard. it's so, so, so hard. after kate - he just can't. he can't do any of this. not the way that he should. stiles deserves so much more from someone so much better. stiles deserves someone human.
stiles straddles his waist and derek's fully, completely hard again, and he's ashamed of himself, when his dick grinds against soft flesh and his heart catches in his throat, but - stiles is beautiful, and stiles is here, and derek can't help but want him. stiles is light, and he's considerate, and he's giving derek plenty of room to leave, if he wants to, but derek wishes he wouldn't. derek just wants stiles to keep him pinned down, keep him trapped against this bed. when stiles starts talking about-- about summer, he touches derek's abs, and derek breathes in at every touch, reflexive and almost ticklish. sensitive, as always, to everything stiles does.
he listens. he listens, and he watches, and he wants to make eye contact but he can't, because his eyes are still red, and he still needs to keep them hidden. derek listens, and it's hard to unpack how he feels right away. everything stiles tells... none of it really sinks in, despite the cold rush of shock that wraps around his heart when he says the word "love" and the queasy, hopeful swoop in his stomach that comes paired with it. he doesn't know what to do, and he doesn't get the time to figure out what to do, because then stiles is leaving, he's sniffling and he's moving and he's going to disappear, derek's going to lose him-- ]
Stop. Stop.
[ he can't do this. he can't hear the panic in stiles' voice and just lay there, silent, he can't-- he can't. he wants to kiss stiles. he wants to shut stiles up and show him in one swift, romantic gesture that he wants to stay, but that's-- that's not enough, he thinks, that's cheap. he's spent years, hiding how he feels behind silence and action and physicality, and he can't do that, not when stiles is pouring so much on him at once.
panicked, derek puts his hands on stiles' hips, slipping underneath his shirt to get a better hold of him. he holds onto stiles a little too tightly, keeping him against his waist, and he knows that he shouldn't force him to stay, not if he wants to go, but he-- he doesn't want to go, not really, he just thinks that derek doesn't want him to stay. ]
Stop.
[ derek's fingers dig into stiles' sides, leaving streaks of color beneath his fingers. he sits up on the bed, keeping stiles anchored to him, holding him in his lap. he pulls one arm around stiles' waist, the other behind his shoulderblades, and he buries his nose in his neck, breathing hot, shaky breaths against his throat. for a second, derek just - holds him, refusing to let him leave, eyes still shut tight, still completely blind. there's so much he wants to say. so much he wants to apologize for.
he's sorry he hasn't lived through that summer. he's sorry he never pushed stiles to talk about those months where they fell in love - because he knows those feelings couldn't have been one sided - and he's sorry if he never talked about it either. he's sorry he shut down under the weight of a complicated life. it wouldn't be the first time, for him, that he ruined something good by staying quiet and denying himself out of an overwhelming fear of the circumstances he's in. he wants to say sorry, but he doesn't know if he can, because he hasn't lived that life yet and it would all sound so fucking hollow.
derek shakes his head, hunching forward, pulling stiles even closer. he hugs him tight enough to hurt, and he lowers his neck, pressing his forehead against stiles' chest. he needs a few seconds, he needs to just - think. when he finally figures out what he wants to say, he stays where he is, fingertips curled tight against stiles' bare lower back and in the cotton against his shoulderblades. he swallows, and he feels dizzy, but he needs-- he needs to say how he feels. ]
When I'm with you... I feel better. Here, in my head - [ he leans back, and he lets go of stiles' waist, and he finds stiles' wrist. he brings stiles' hand to his temple, he kisses the bottom of his wrist, and he leans against it. ] and here.
[ he moves stiles' hand down to his chest, setting it over his heart. derek swallows, and he lets stiles' arm go. he moves until he's got both arms back around stiles' hips, tight enough to hold him in place, loose enough to let him leave if he needs to, and then... and then he tries to keep his voice soft, but he doesn't think it works. he just sounds scared, and he has to keep clearing his throat while he talks to fix it. ]
I don't know... how to be enough for people. I'm trying? I've been trying, ever since Laura, to be enough for everyone. For you, and for Scott, and for Peter, when he was still alive. I'm trying to be-- better, that's half the reason I-- I killed Peter, but--
[ he can't keep his eyes closed. carefully, and visibly, visibly guiltily, derek opens his eyes. they're blood red, bright and illuminating, and it's-- embarrassing, more than anything. it's a sign that he's losing control of himself, it's a sign that he's weak, it's a reminder that he's inhuman. he'd always been proud of his lycanthropy, but then there was kate, and now there's stiles, and maybe, deep down, stiles resents werewolves, too, even if he thinks otherwise. maybe this is the moment he'll realize that if peter had never bitten scott - if stiles had never gotten caught up in a life like this, forced onto him by monsters - he could have been happier. better. safer. ]
I'm not... good? I know I'm not. And I don't know why I left, back home, but - that has to be a part of it. I had to know there was someone better for you, someone good, and I had to know I would ruin you if I stayed.
[ if he's falling in love with stiles now, after a few short months, then - back home, he must be a fucking wreck, ruined by years. the summer after stiles turned seventeen - they're not far from that, back where derek's from. it feels more and more like-- like feelings like these might just be inevitable. maybe he can trust them. ]
But I don't...
[ he hesitates. he looks at stiles, direct and piercing. still glowing red. his eyelids flutter, and he looks away, still scared that if he stares at stiles for too long, he'll... leave. ]
I don't want to lose anyone else. I don't think I could survive another loss. I don't even know how I've survived until now - there have been so, so many times where I'd wished I hadn't. I can't lose you, and I can't lose my pack, and I can't...
[ derek loosens his arms around stiles' waist. gives him a quiet invitation to leave, if he needs to, while hopefully making it clear that that's the last thing derek wants. he blinks a few times, shakes his head, scrunches his eyes up tight. trying to will them back to hazel. failing. ]
I don't want to go. I don't want you to go. I'll be better. I'll-- be enough, so I won't-- so I won't have to go, this time.