[ derek couldn't possibly look angry after stiles yelps like that. it's this startled, happy, endearing noise that just bursts out of him with a laugh and hits derek hard. it makes him want to laugh, too. it makes him want to laugh and cry and kiss and fuck and everything - this stupid, perfect piece of shit is happy and safe and here, all for derek, and derek doesn't know what to do with the overwhelming surge of emotion that crashes through his chest so quickly.
he thinks of the barracks. he thinks of jurassic park. he thinks of stiles running up those stairs, flushed and exhausted, as desperate to see him as derek was to see him back. he thinks of things from home, like stiles pimping him out to danny or the dumb jokes he would make at his expense, all these little goofy moments that just feel so much lighter and funnier now that he's had so much distance from who he was when they first met. angry and grieving, instead of happy and hopeful for the future, like he is now. stiles is so fucking cute. derek honestly might die, if his heart swells any bigger.
"you're way more attractive than hugh jackman" - derek laughs, helping stiles tug off his sweatpants, and he doesn't know why that just made him want to fucking hug the hell out of him, but it did. he keeps his hands to himself, but his heart is picking up, and he just keeps picturing it, he just keeps picturing stiles running up those stairs, he just keeps remembering how it felt to knock over the coffee table and ruin the carpet because he wanted stiles and he wants this and he wants them and he's-- he's just--
he's so happy. he's so fucking happy. he wants so badly to tell stiles that he loves him. he wishes, more than anything, that he could. ]
You're only saying that 'cause I'm the one sucking your dick. If Hugh Jackman wanted you to come in his mouth half as much as I want you to come in mine, there would be a Stiles-shaped dust cloud where you're sitting. There would be an equally Stiles-shaped hole in my wall as you rushed your unfairly impressive boner to New Zealand.
[ or wherever it is hugh jackman lives. australia? fuck, he doesn't care. stiles gets rid of his sweatpants and derek surges forward, kissing the top of stiles' thigh and working inwards. he loops his arms around stiles' legs and pulls him another few inches closer, dragging him across the carpet, and he doesn't ask, when he pushes stiles' legs back a little, spreading them apart.
derek's aggressive. he's always been aggressive. he nudges stiles' hand out of the way, and he kisses the base of stiles' cock. he gently rolls his tongue over stiles' balls, lightly sucking one, then the other, and when he drags his tongue back up to the head of stiles' cock and slips the length of him between his lips, he hums from the back of his throat like he missed this. the taste of him, the way he stretches his jaw open, the fucking feel of him. like he's incomplete without him.
he gets lost in the rhythm of this. of bobbing his head, of adding pressure, of adding suction. a minute passes, then two, then five, ten, more, and through it all, derek just disappears into giving stiles the best blowjob he can give him - going deep, bringing him to the edge, pulling back. he reacts so fucking eagerly to the things stiles does to him; a hand on his hair has him leaning into the touch, every hitched breath and quiet gasp and moan has derek working a little harder, making small, appreciative sounds from the back of his throat.
when he breaks away to catch his breath, red-faced and a little sweaty, he looks up at stiles, and he's wearing a lazy, almost cocky grin. like he's never been this relaxed. never been this happy. he presses a few kisses to the inside of stiles' thigh again, and then - he sits up, on his knees. he moves forward, just a little, and he brings his index and middle finger to stiles' lips.
his voice is dark. deep. commanding, when he makes its order. a single word, harsh and heavy with need. ]
no subject
he thinks of the barracks. he thinks of jurassic park. he thinks of stiles running up those stairs, flushed and exhausted, as desperate to see him as derek was to see him back. he thinks of things from home, like stiles pimping him out to danny or the dumb jokes he would make at his expense, all these little goofy moments that just feel so much lighter and funnier now that he's had so much distance from who he was when they first met. angry and grieving, instead of happy and hopeful for the future, like he is now. stiles is so fucking cute. derek honestly might die, if his heart swells any bigger.
"you're way more attractive than hugh jackman" - derek laughs, helping stiles tug off his sweatpants, and he doesn't know why that just made him want to fucking hug the hell out of him, but it did. he keeps his hands to himself, but his heart is picking up, and he just keeps picturing it, he just keeps picturing stiles running up those stairs, he just keeps remembering how it felt to knock over the coffee table and ruin the carpet because he wanted stiles and he wants this and he wants them and he's-- he's just--
he's so happy. he's so fucking happy. he wants so badly to tell stiles that he loves him. he wishes, more than anything, that he could. ]
You're only saying that 'cause I'm the one sucking your dick. If Hugh Jackman wanted you to come in his mouth half as much as I want you to come in mine, there would be a Stiles-shaped dust cloud where you're sitting. There would be an equally Stiles-shaped hole in my wall as you rushed your unfairly impressive boner to New Zealand.
[ or wherever it is hugh jackman lives. australia? fuck, he doesn't care. stiles gets rid of his sweatpants and derek surges forward, kissing the top of stiles' thigh and working inwards. he loops his arms around stiles' legs and pulls him another few inches closer, dragging him across the carpet, and he doesn't ask, when he pushes stiles' legs back a little, spreading them apart.
derek's aggressive. he's always been aggressive. he nudges stiles' hand out of the way, and he kisses the base of stiles' cock. he gently rolls his tongue over stiles' balls, lightly sucking one, then the other, and when he drags his tongue back up to the head of stiles' cock and slips the length of him between his lips, he hums from the back of his throat like he missed this. the taste of him, the way he stretches his jaw open, the fucking feel of him. like he's incomplete without him.
he gets lost in the rhythm of this. of bobbing his head, of adding pressure, of adding suction. a minute passes, then two, then five, ten, more, and through it all, derek just disappears into giving stiles the best blowjob he can give him - going deep, bringing him to the edge, pulling back. he reacts so fucking eagerly to the things stiles does to him; a hand on his hair has him leaning into the touch, every hitched breath and quiet gasp and moan has derek working a little harder, making small, appreciative sounds from the back of his throat.
when he breaks away to catch his breath, red-faced and a little sweaty, he looks up at stiles, and he's wearing a lazy, almost cocky grin. like he's never been this relaxed. never been this happy. he presses a few kisses to the inside of stiles' thigh again, and then - he sits up, on his knees. he moves forward, just a little, and he brings his index and middle finger to stiles' lips.
his voice is dark. deep. commanding, when he makes its order. a single word, harsh and heavy with need. ]
Suck.