[ the second stiles starts trying to calm him down, the second, derek feels himself balance out. his heartbeat slows to a steadier pace, and he finds it easier to stand taller, more sturdy. stiles squeezes his neck, gently shushes into his ear, and derek's breathing slows into longer, more stable drags. he's obviously not doing well - but he's doing better.
stiles promises he has him, and derek submits. he surrenders himself to stiles, having complete and total faith in him. if anyone can make this better, if anyone can make him stop-- wanting to hurt, then it's stiles. it's always been stiles. his anchor. his hero. his family, his mate. his everything.
the kiss, though. that's when things change.
derek's heartbeat picks up again, and his breathing gets faster, but it's far less irregular than it was before. that first chaste kiss pulls a quiet, needy, mewling noise from his throat, pathetic and small and pointedly god damn erotic. it's like just touching stiles is enough to fill his body with pulse after pulse of hope and need and want and need and need, and when stiles starts sucking on his bottom lip, making it deeper, derek actually starts to shiver, his cock instantly harder than it's ever been.
he doesn't want to move. stiles tries to ease him away, but derek resists, wrapping his arms tighter around him. he's hard against stiles' inner thigh, hips rolling forward in a blind, desperate search for contact, just hopelessly craving more of stiles, only stiles, always stiles. it's when stiles finds his hand again and squeezes tight enough to drag him away that he swallows air and lets it happen, shuffling back on his heels and staring at his anchor with hopeful, helpless eyes.
bathroom. bathroom. okay.
the kiss in the bathroom doesn't earn as strong as a reaction from him, but if anything, that's just because the walk is calming him down again. he's being soothed, even more than before, and as stiles kisses his jaw, gets the shower ready - dotes on him so fucking lovingly, so much more lovingly than derek deserves, especially after today, especially after what a shithead he's been - derek just stands there, jaw slightly unhinged, head tilted back and eyes softly shut.
he just - stays still, for a while. lets the sound of water hitting the walls and circling down the drain remind him of rain, lets the cooling touch of the tiles beneath him soothe the aches he earned from running so much. when stiles lowers down, kissing the curve of his hip and slowly peeling his clothes away, undressing him like-- like he loves him, like he loves helping him, like he loves doing this, it--
derek's so, so fucking hard, when stiles pulls the waistband of his pants down around his hips. he looks-- bigger, maybe, than usual, the head of his cock red and drooling a long, heavy string of precum that drops and breaks halfway to the floor. he flexes like he's already close to the edge, and his breath hitches with every soft kiss to his hip, every reassuring, intimate touch, and when he steps out of the rest of his clothes, barenaked and shivering, he looks like he's gonna come.
stiles tells him to get in the shower, that he'll be there in a second, and derek looks at him like he's being told the worst fucking news in the world. pitifully, he nods, but - ]
Don't... take too long.
[ - still makes his demands. he doesn't want to be away from stiles. not for longer than he has to be.
derek steps into the shower, leaving the door open behind him, slumping back against the far wall and closing his eyes again. he feels like he's detoxing, in a way. like he's washing the moon out of him. cleansing his system, despite the rush of arousal that's burning through him like a fucking wildfire any time stiles so much as looks at him. derek stays where he is for a good twenty, maybe thirty seconds, but not having stiles around is making him feel worse and worse, and he - can't. do this. he doesn't have the willpower to wait, and he opens his eyes, already calling out for him to come back. ]
no subject
stiles promises he has him, and derek submits. he surrenders himself to stiles, having complete and total faith in him. if anyone can make this better, if anyone can make him stop-- wanting to hurt, then it's stiles. it's always been stiles. his anchor. his hero. his family, his mate. his everything.
the kiss, though. that's when things change.
derek's heartbeat picks up again, and his breathing gets faster, but it's far less irregular than it was before. that first chaste kiss pulls a quiet, needy, mewling noise from his throat, pathetic and small and pointedly god damn erotic. it's like just touching stiles is enough to fill his body with pulse after pulse of hope and need and want and need and need, and when stiles starts sucking on his bottom lip, making it deeper, derek actually starts to shiver, his cock instantly harder than it's ever been.
he doesn't want to move. stiles tries to ease him away, but derek resists, wrapping his arms tighter around him. he's hard against stiles' inner thigh, hips rolling forward in a blind, desperate search for contact, just hopelessly craving more of stiles, only stiles, always stiles. it's when stiles finds his hand again and squeezes tight enough to drag him away that he swallows air and lets it happen, shuffling back on his heels and staring at his anchor with hopeful, helpless eyes.
bathroom. bathroom. okay.
the kiss in the bathroom doesn't earn as strong as a reaction from him, but if anything, that's just because the walk is calming him down again. he's being soothed, even more than before, and as stiles kisses his jaw, gets the shower ready - dotes on him so fucking lovingly, so much more lovingly than derek deserves, especially after today, especially after what a shithead he's been - derek just stands there, jaw slightly unhinged, head tilted back and eyes softly shut.
he just - stays still, for a while. lets the sound of water hitting the walls and circling down the drain remind him of rain, lets the cooling touch of the tiles beneath him soothe the aches he earned from running so much. when stiles lowers down, kissing the curve of his hip and slowly peeling his clothes away, undressing him like-- like he loves him, like he loves helping him, like he loves doing this, it--
derek's so, so fucking hard, when stiles pulls the waistband of his pants down around his hips. he looks-- bigger, maybe, than usual, the head of his cock red and drooling a long, heavy string of precum that drops and breaks halfway to the floor. he flexes like he's already close to the edge, and his breath hitches with every soft kiss to his hip, every reassuring, intimate touch, and when he steps out of the rest of his clothes, barenaked and shivering, he looks like he's gonna come.
stiles tells him to get in the shower, that he'll be there in a second, and derek looks at him like he's being told the worst fucking news in the world. pitifully, he nods, but - ]
Don't... take too long.
[ - still makes his demands. he doesn't want to be away from stiles. not for longer than he has to be.
derek steps into the shower, leaving the door open behind him, slumping back against the far wall and closing his eyes again. he feels like he's detoxing, in a way. like he's washing the moon out of him. cleansing his system, despite the rush of arousal that's burning through him like a fucking wildfire any time stiles so much as looks at him. derek stays where he is for a good twenty, maybe thirty seconds, but not having stiles around is making him feel worse and worse, and he - can't. do this. he doesn't have the willpower to wait, and he opens his eyes, already calling out for him to come back. ]
Stiles?