[ stiles is only pretending to be confident, but honestly - derek's pretty sold. he leans down, eases derek up, and derek's swayed enough by the way he moves to follow him, stretching out his knees to meet him halfway. the thumb on his lip is surprising, but so is the softness of his kiss, the steadiness of his heartbeat. it's...
it's all very charismatic, honestly, and derek, despite his overall confidence and experience when it comes to sex, feels just a tiny bit rattled in the wake of it. when stiles stays close, when stiles touches his hair, when stiles says he'd fucking thank him instead of playing along and slapping at derek and calling him names, derek's expression is equal parts confused, pleased and impressed.
he, uh. he didn't think stiles had it in him. to surprise him, like this. to sound so charming, so in control. to be so fucking disarming. so - well. hot? derek thinks he's really, really hot, suddenly, and he actually has to scramble for something to say, caught off guard by how everything stiles is doing bolts straight to his dick. it's very, very rare for him to be flustered, and derek's not going to admit that that's what this feeling is, but he's obviously kind of embarrassed and maybe even a little shy as he tries to think of a response. stiles is gonna have to be pretty fucking lucky to ever see derek this thrown again. ]
Well - guess you're gonna be thanking me for a few things, then.
[ so, yeah. totally nailed that interchange, he thinks, nodding and trying to look very, very serious. he nods again, twists his very serious smile to the side like he's trying to very seriously hide it, and then very seriously shakes his head like he's embarrassed for thinking he could pull that off. god, okay. focus.
a part of derek feels as if he's slipping. the determination that got him to this point wavers like the tide, sometimes there, sometimes not. stiles is pressed up against the couch and every part of derek still knows in his heart of hearts that this is going to be good. he knows stiles is going to enjoy this, and he knows that he himself is going to enjoy giving him this - but now that he's at the eleventh hour, now that his body isn't soaked with adrenaline from table-flipping and chest-shoving, he's...
not anxious. something close to anxious. in the end, he's just gotta go for it, treat this like it's no big deal. he's gotta think of this as just one friend trying to take care of another, even if he knows that's not what they are. friends don't look at each other the way that stiles looks at derek, and friends don't get overwhelmed by a crashing tidal wave of hope and fear and longing the way that derek was fifteen fucking seconds ago. friends don't shove tables to the ground because it shaves three seconds off of being able to shove their tongue down their homie's throat. they stopped being friends a long time ago.
derek has to go for it. he has to go for it, both for the sake of his nerve and so he doesn't give stiles a fucking hernia from having to wait any longer.
crawling back down, derek stretches out over the carpet again when he drops between stiles' thighs. he's not going to waste time here with exploratory touches, he can't just keep staring. he has to go for it. he has. to just. do it.
one breath. one breath is all he takes to steel himself, and then he seals the very tip of stiles' cock between his lips. he sucks, just lightly, as he swipes the end of his tongue over the slit. he minds his teeth, and he swirls his tongue around the head until it's shiny with his spit, and he adds just a bit more suction, just enough to pull focus. derek wraps one hand around stiles' shaft and slowly starts to pump, using the other to roll stiles' balls between his fingers, gently massaging them, and he's already feeling more confident, already feeling more ready. more addicted. he likes this.
he fucking loves this.
he can feel the heat of stiles' dick now more than he did at the barracks. with his powers back, he can better sense his arousal, smell the blood and the lust crashing through his system. it makes his mouth water, which is conducive, to what they're doing, he guesses, and he closes his eyes to really focus. he thinks of the way stiles' hand felt on his chin, on his neck, in his hair, and he wants that again. his heart is a fucking mess, pumping loud enough to beat in his ears, and he loses a lot of shame, a lot of hesitation, the more this goes on. he stops trying to stay quiet. he doesn't mind if stiles hears the way his breathing comes staggered and needy, every time he pulls back to flood his lungs with air. he doesn't mind if stiles notices the way he rumbles in the back of his throat, deep and pleased and almost canine, every time stiles gives him a drop of pre to taste.
derek slips down lower, taking more of stiles in, taking him down inch by inch until he feels like he might gag. he squeezes his hand down stiles' cock as he goes, so that stiles is always feeling something - the soft, tight grip of his fingers, or the hot, wet suction of his mouth. derek squeezes his fist around the base of stiles' cock and he hums, appreciatively, like he's the one here who should be grateful, and if he drools a little from the corner of his mouth, he's far too engaged in what he's doing to care.
he slowly pulls back, keeping a long, dragging suction as he goes, his cheeks hollowed tight from the pressure of it. he lifts his lips from stiles' cock with a hard pop, and he gives himself a second to just collect himself. he looks up at stiles, and derek isn't smiling, not anymore. he's just - hazy, like he barely even notices stiles is there. he jerks stiles off, his hand wet and noisy, and his lips are red and glossy from precum and spit. he doesn't really think, when he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip to get it dry. to really taste stiles, already missing him. ]
You doing okay?
[ his voice is sort of raspy, but he clears his throat and fixes it, looking sharper now. he's enjoying himself, and he's pretty fucking positive that stiles is enjoying himself, too, but the last thing derek wants to do is overwhelm him. he only wanted a kiss, after all. ]
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it's all very charismatic, honestly, and derek, despite his overall confidence and experience when it comes to sex, feels just a tiny bit rattled in the wake of it. when stiles stays close, when stiles touches his hair, when stiles says he'd fucking thank him instead of playing along and slapping at derek and calling him names, derek's expression is equal parts confused, pleased and impressed.
he, uh. he didn't think stiles had it in him. to surprise him, like this. to sound so charming, so in control. to be so fucking disarming. so - well. hot? derek thinks he's really, really hot, suddenly, and he actually has to scramble for something to say, caught off guard by how everything stiles is doing bolts straight to his dick. it's very, very rare for him to be flustered, and derek's not going to admit that that's what this feeling is, but he's obviously kind of embarrassed and maybe even a little shy as he tries to think of a response. stiles is gonna have to be pretty fucking lucky to ever see derek this thrown again. ]
Well - guess you're gonna be thanking me for a few things, then.
[ so, yeah. totally nailed that interchange, he thinks, nodding and trying to look very, very serious. he nods again, twists his very serious smile to the side like he's trying to very seriously hide it, and then very seriously shakes his head like he's embarrassed for thinking he could pull that off. god, okay. focus.
a part of derek feels as if he's slipping. the determination that got him to this point wavers like the tide, sometimes there, sometimes not. stiles is pressed up against the couch and every part of derek still knows in his heart of hearts that this is going to be good. he knows stiles is going to enjoy this, and he knows that he himself is going to enjoy giving him this - but now that he's at the eleventh hour, now that his body isn't soaked with adrenaline from table-flipping and chest-shoving, he's...
not anxious. something close to anxious. in the end, he's just gotta go for it, treat this like it's no big deal. he's gotta think of this as just one friend trying to take care of another, even if he knows that's not what they are. friends don't look at each other the way that stiles looks at derek, and friends don't get overwhelmed by a crashing tidal wave of hope and fear and longing the way that derek was fifteen fucking seconds ago. friends don't shove tables to the ground because it shaves three seconds off of being able to shove their tongue down their homie's throat. they stopped being friends a long time ago.
derek has to go for it. he has to go for it, both for the sake of his nerve and so he doesn't give stiles a fucking hernia from having to wait any longer.
crawling back down, derek stretches out over the carpet again when he drops between stiles' thighs. he's not going to waste time here with exploratory touches, he can't just keep staring. he has to go for it. he has. to just. do it.
one breath. one breath is all he takes to steel himself, and then he seals the very tip of stiles' cock between his lips. he sucks, just lightly, as he swipes the end of his tongue over the slit. he minds his teeth, and he swirls his tongue around the head until it's shiny with his spit, and he adds just a bit more suction, just enough to pull focus. derek wraps one hand around stiles' shaft and slowly starts to pump, using the other to roll stiles' balls between his fingers, gently massaging them, and he's already feeling more confident, already feeling more ready. more addicted. he likes this.
he fucking loves this.
he can feel the heat of stiles' dick now more than he did at the barracks. with his powers back, he can better sense his arousal, smell the blood and the lust crashing through his system. it makes his mouth water, which is conducive, to what they're doing, he guesses, and he closes his eyes to really focus. he thinks of the way stiles' hand felt on his chin, on his neck, in his hair, and he wants that again. his heart is a fucking mess, pumping loud enough to beat in his ears, and he loses a lot of shame, a lot of hesitation, the more this goes on. he stops trying to stay quiet. he doesn't mind if stiles hears the way his breathing comes staggered and needy, every time he pulls back to flood his lungs with air. he doesn't mind if stiles notices the way he rumbles in the back of his throat, deep and pleased and almost canine, every time stiles gives him a drop of pre to taste.
derek slips down lower, taking more of stiles in, taking him down inch by inch until he feels like he might gag. he squeezes his hand down stiles' cock as he goes, so that stiles is always feeling something - the soft, tight grip of his fingers, or the hot, wet suction of his mouth. derek squeezes his fist around the base of stiles' cock and he hums, appreciatively, like he's the one here who should be grateful, and if he drools a little from the corner of his mouth, he's far too engaged in what he's doing to care.
he slowly pulls back, keeping a long, dragging suction as he goes, his cheeks hollowed tight from the pressure of it. he lifts his lips from stiles' cock with a hard pop, and he gives himself a second to just collect himself. he looks up at stiles, and derek isn't smiling, not anymore. he's just - hazy, like he barely even notices stiles is there. he jerks stiles off, his hand wet and noisy, and his lips are red and glossy from precum and spit. he doesn't really think, when he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip to get it dry. to really taste stiles, already missing him. ]
You doing okay?
[ his voice is sort of raspy, but he clears his throat and fixes it, looking sharper now. he's enjoying himself, and he's pretty fucking positive that stiles is enjoying himself, too, but the last thing derek wants to do is overwhelm him. he only wanted a kiss, after all. ]