[ being alone in the den typically doesn't bother stiles all that much, even if it doesn't happen all that often, but right now it's just making him feel kind of lonely. which isn't all that fair, considering he sent derek away to burn off some of his pent up energy and frustration. part of him wishes he hadn't. part of him wishes he'd stopped and compartmentalized and thought things through before kicking derek out in the late afternoon, so close to sunset. he wants to call him back in, figure out some other way to get him to settle down, but he knows derek didn't take his phone with him, and - yelling from the balcony is probably stupid.
all he can do is wait, so that's what he does. he sips from his water and he eats his peach really slowly, mostly because as soon as he starts to eat it, he doesn't want it anymore, but he also doesn't want to be wasteful. they're not struggling for money, but stiles comes from a household that's had only one functional, healthy parent in it for longer than it's had two, and wasting money - whether by way of throwing away good food, or leaving the lights on, or letting the sink run the entire time he brushed his teeth - just wasn't an option.
it drips a lot, which is annoying. he has to keep wiping up the counter with his paper towel, somewhat paranoid that derek's going to come home and rip him a new one for - what? eating? he's being stupid. stiles isn't afraid of derek, and he doesn't want to ruminate on things that are somewhat out of derek's control.
he hears derek coming up the stairs, his footsteps slower, and not necessarily lighter than they were when he left, but it sounds less like angry stomping and more like exhaustion. stiles doesn't move, doesn't get up from the counter. he's not sure what he's supposed to do, if anything, so he just keeps picking at his peach, nipping at the flesh around the pit as he listens to the door slide open and then closed again. derek's... breathing hard, but it's not the kind of breathing that comes from running around or exercising. it's familiar to stiles in a way that makes him feel a little ill, and for a moment, stiles holds his breath and turns his head, unbothered for now by the droplet of juice streaking down the inside of his wrist.
stiles can't see the front door from the kitchen, but he can hear derek moving through the den, his footsteps growing louder as he draws closer. stiles stays where he is, unsure of the state derek's in - if he's still mad, if he's better, if he's worse, though the latter seems most likely, all things considered. derek rounds the corner and he looks - pretty awful. filthy and pale and a little bit roughed up by nature. there are scratches and small abrasions scattered across his torso, some dotted with tiny specks of clotted blood.
he sets his peach down slowly when derek wanders closer, blindly wiping his fingers on his crumpled paper towel. derek says his name, and stiles turns slightly to face him, gearing up to ask him if he's okay, even if he's fairly sure he isn't. and then derek puts his hands on him, grabs at his waist at first before dragging him closer and sliding his hands up under his shirt, splaying them wide and holding him tight. stiles holds his breath for half a second, and then breathes out a sigh of quiet relief, putting his hand on the back of derek's head when he pushes his face against stiles' chest.
derek's shaking. it worries stiles that he's handling the full moon this poorly, because derek's always had full control of himself for as long as stiles has known him. stiles is - trying very hard not to panic, not to let anxiety creep up on him so he can be here for derek and help him figure out how to cope with this. ]
Shh, okay. Okay. I'm—
[ he squeezes at the back of derek's neck, feeling somewhat lost for a moment. he's - supposed to be derek's anchor. derek told him he's his anchor, and even though he feels a little doubtful after derek couldn't go more than five seconds just holding his hand in the living room earlier, obviously that - didn't mean anything. derek's got his hands on him now, pushed up under his shirt and holding him tight and - stiles trusts derek. he trusts derek more than anyone he knows, save for his father. if stiles is derek's anchor, then - this is his problem to solve.
stiles slides his hand from the back of his neck down derek's spine as far as he can reach before dragging it back up to his neck. he squeezes again, and then takes his other hand and does his best to cup it under derek's chin so he can lift his head and ease him back so he can look at him. he looks - wrecked, but still unbelievably beautiful, and stiles heart aches for him. stiles dips his head down, hand still under his chin, and kisses him gently at first, feeling a little unsure of what he's doing, if this is - going to work, or if he's about to make things worse, but he doesn't know what else to do, what else to offer. he kisses derek a second time, less chaste this time, gently sucking on derek's lower lip for a moment before he tilts himself back. ]
I've got you, okay? I have you... and you have me. Come on.
[ stiles lets his hand drift from derek's chin, down his throat, down to to the center of his chest, gently easing him back so stiles can get up. he lets his hand fall away, but immediately finds derek's, pushing his fingers into the spaces between and squeezing tight. with his other hand, he folds his mostly-eaten peach up in the napkin and decides one wasteful moment is acceptable, guiding derek away from the kitchen and tossing out the peach on the way.
he takes derek to the bathroom, flipping on the light and pulling him in. he leaves the door open, still holding onto derek's hand as he tugs open the shower door and leans in to turn the faucet on, twisting the dial for warmer water.
and then he turns, letting go of derek's hands so he can put both of his in the spaces where derek's neck swoops down to bridge with his shoulders. he steps close, careful not to lean too much into derek, and then tilts his head up slightly so he can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. his cheek, his eyebrow, his nose. his mouth, slow and gentle at first, his tongue dipping past his lips.
he breaks off gently, taking a half step back so he can drop into a crouch in front of derek. he pauses, then leans in to press a feather-light kiss to one of his hips, then curls his fingers in the waistband of his pants, stopping for a moment to look up just to make sure derek's as - okay as he can be right now. stiles eases his pants down his legs, gently touching both of his ankles to get him to step out of them, well aware that he's pretty much at eye-level with derek's dick. he swallows, leaves another kiss against his thigh, and then stands back up, setting one of his hands against derek's waist. ]
Get in the shower, okay? I'll - be there in just a second. I've got you.
no subject
all he can do is wait, so that's what he does. he sips from his water and he eats his peach really slowly, mostly because as soon as he starts to eat it, he doesn't want it anymore, but he also doesn't want to be wasteful. they're not struggling for money, but stiles comes from a household that's had only one functional, healthy parent in it for longer than it's had two, and wasting money - whether by way of throwing away good food, or leaving the lights on, or letting the sink run the entire time he brushed his teeth - just wasn't an option.
it drips a lot, which is annoying. he has to keep wiping up the counter with his paper towel, somewhat paranoid that derek's going to come home and rip him a new one for - what? eating? he's being stupid. stiles isn't afraid of derek, and he doesn't want to ruminate on things that are somewhat out of derek's control.
he hears derek coming up the stairs, his footsteps slower, and not necessarily lighter than they were when he left, but it sounds less like angry stomping and more like exhaustion. stiles doesn't move, doesn't get up from the counter. he's not sure what he's supposed to do, if anything, so he just keeps picking at his peach, nipping at the flesh around the pit as he listens to the door slide open and then closed again. derek's... breathing hard, but it's not the kind of breathing that comes from running around or exercising. it's familiar to stiles in a way that makes him feel a little ill, and for a moment, stiles holds his breath and turns his head, unbothered for now by the droplet of juice streaking down the inside of his wrist.
stiles can't see the front door from the kitchen, but he can hear derek moving through the den, his footsteps growing louder as he draws closer. stiles stays where he is, unsure of the state derek's in - if he's still mad, if he's better, if he's worse, though the latter seems most likely, all things considered. derek rounds the corner and he looks - pretty awful. filthy and pale and a little bit roughed up by nature. there are scratches and small abrasions scattered across his torso, some dotted with tiny specks of clotted blood.
he sets his peach down slowly when derek wanders closer, blindly wiping his fingers on his crumpled paper towel. derek says his name, and stiles turns slightly to face him, gearing up to ask him if he's okay, even if he's fairly sure he isn't. and then derek puts his hands on him, grabs at his waist at first before dragging him closer and sliding his hands up under his shirt, splaying them wide and holding him tight. stiles holds his breath for half a second, and then breathes out a sigh of quiet relief, putting his hand on the back of derek's head when he pushes his face against stiles' chest.
derek's shaking. it worries stiles that he's handling the full moon this poorly, because derek's always had full control of himself for as long as stiles has known him. stiles is - trying very hard not to panic, not to let anxiety creep up on him so he can be here for derek and help him figure out how to cope with this. ]
Shh, okay. Okay. I'm—
[ he squeezes at the back of derek's neck, feeling somewhat lost for a moment. he's - supposed to be derek's anchor. derek told him he's his anchor, and even though he feels a little doubtful after derek couldn't go more than five seconds just holding his hand in the living room earlier, obviously that - didn't mean anything. derek's got his hands on him now, pushed up under his shirt and holding him tight and - stiles trusts derek. he trusts derek more than anyone he knows, save for his father. if stiles is derek's anchor, then - this is his problem to solve.
stiles slides his hand from the back of his neck down derek's spine as far as he can reach before dragging it back up to his neck. he squeezes again, and then takes his other hand and does his best to cup it under derek's chin so he can lift his head and ease him back so he can look at him. he looks - wrecked, but still unbelievably beautiful, and stiles heart aches for him. stiles dips his head down, hand still under his chin, and kisses him gently at first, feeling a little unsure of what he's doing, if this is - going to work, or if he's about to make things worse, but he doesn't know what else to do, what else to offer. he kisses derek a second time, less chaste this time, gently sucking on derek's lower lip for a moment before he tilts himself back. ]
I've got you, okay? I have you... and you have me. Come on.
[ stiles lets his hand drift from derek's chin, down his throat, down to to the center of his chest, gently easing him back so stiles can get up. he lets his hand fall away, but immediately finds derek's, pushing his fingers into the spaces between and squeezing tight. with his other hand, he folds his mostly-eaten peach up in the napkin and decides one wasteful moment is acceptable, guiding derek away from the kitchen and tossing out the peach on the way.
he takes derek to the bathroom, flipping on the light and pulling him in. he leaves the door open, still holding onto derek's hand as he tugs open the shower door and leans in to turn the faucet on, twisting the dial for warmer water.
and then he turns, letting go of derek's hands so he can put both of his in the spaces where derek's neck swoops down to bridge with his shoulders. he steps close, careful not to lean too much into derek, and then tilts his head up slightly so he can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. his cheek, his eyebrow, his nose. his mouth, slow and gentle at first, his tongue dipping past his lips.
he breaks off gently, taking a half step back so he can drop into a crouch in front of derek. he pauses, then leans in to press a feather-light kiss to one of his hips, then curls his fingers in the waistband of his pants, stopping for a moment to look up just to make sure derek's as - okay as he can be right now. stiles eases his pants down his legs, gently touching both of his ankles to get him to step out of them, well aware that he's pretty much at eye-level with derek's dick. he swallows, leaves another kiss against his thigh, and then stands back up, setting one of his hands against derek's waist. ]
Get in the shower, okay? I'll - be there in just a second. I've got you.