[ stiles takes too long. he promises he's coming, he's promising it's okay, but he's gone, and derek's not in a place where he can deal with that. he feels like there's this fire right behind his forehead, burning the inside layer of his skin and his skull, just hurting and hurting and hurting. his eyes prickle with frustrated, pointless tears, so he shuts them to try and block out the sting of salt, and he runs his palms hard over his eyelids.
fuck, he hasn't been this out of control under the full moon since he was a kid. it makes sense, to an extent - he has a new anchor now, and they haven't had the chance to really explore how best stiles can be here for him when he's like this. that's his own fault. they should have... talked, they should have planned for this. derek should have done more than just yell at stiles today and build a setback that didn't need to be built.
the pain. the impatience, the hard, heavy arousal that beats in his chest. he needs to come, or-- fight, or move, or something, something to get out of this, and the longer stiles is gone, the worse he feels. his legs shake as water rains over him, and he paces the dimensions of the shower, slipping a little here and there. he has to breathe through his mouth in long, wet pulls, rasping and animalistic, intermittent with choked sobs and frustrated sounds that don't go anywhere. he drops back against the wall again, same place as before, arching his neck back and trying to swallow down some of his feelings, adam's apple bobbing beneath the tapering ends of his stubble.
and then - finally - finally, stiles is back. derek doesn't notice that he's shirtless, at first. he just sees stiles standing there, feels the soothing, loving touch of his hands against his body, and he makes this wavering, helpless sound in response. he rocks forward on the balls of his feet when stiles guides him closer, tilting into stiles, reaching his hands out to just - touch him, wherever he can. his sides, his lower back, his arms. ]
Where'd you go?
[ he still sounds whiny, which - could either be cute, for him, or just kind of sad. derek's hands wander a little higher up, and he realizes with a start that his fingers aren't catching on any fabric, which - is also kind of obvious, the more he stops to think about it, given that stiles might be self-conscious about his looks, but he probably showers as naked as anyone else.
derek swallows, dropping his eyes, taking him in. The curves of his collarbone, the freckles he's never seen. The start of muscles earned through lacrosse, through growing into the gangliness he had at sixteen, and through running with wolves for years, almost cancelled out by a predominantly shitty diet that probably only got worse the less time he spent worrying about The Sheriff.
stiles is - beautiful. the most beautiful person he's ever seen. derek doesn't say it, but maybe he doesn't need to. he smiles, soft and so, so fucking affectionate, hands set lightly against stiles' hips, and-- and it doesn't last, it can't last, the moon is still taking over his head, making everything feel like it's burning too bright and too hot, but just for a second, just for a few slow, happy heartbeats, derek looks more in love than he ever has.
and then stiles dotes on him, gets him clean. he shuts his eyes again and wills himself to be soothed by every touch, every light kiss, surrendering himself entirely to what he's feeling. his moods come and go in rapid, stuttering waves - sometimes his heartbeat stays steady and even, like he's swallowing down his anger below the surface enough to be almost okay, and sometimes he starts to get heated again, breathing hard and ragged and cringing like he's in pain.
his fingers roam lower and derek's breath gets caught, like he knows what's coming. he's still hard, of course he's still hard - thick and throbbing and kind of violent, with hard, reactive flexes that come every time stiles touches somewhere new. stiles grabs the base of derek's cock and he shudders, full-bodied, hard enough that it's like he's been caught in a blizzard. he steadies himself by trying to breathe through it, but it's coming faster now, more shallow. derek sets his hands on either side of stiles, stretching out to the wall behind him, shuddering a second time.
fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
stiles apologizes. stiles apologizes, and it's ludicrous, making derek shake his head as fast as he can. his eyes are still closed, scrunched up tight, and he keeps shaking his head like he's trying to block out what stiles is saying, because it's just-- wrong. stiles tells him he loves him and derek doesn't realize his claws are out until he's digging his nails into the tile next to the faucet, making it chip and splinter, little pieces of porcelain hitting the floor and rolling down the drain. ]
Don't-- don't. Don't. Shouldn't have yelled. Didn't mean any of it. Just got angry. You're not messy. You-- you know how to put the milk away, too. Better than anyone.
[ there's... well, it's kind of silly, but there's genuine, scrambling authenticity here. he seems to genuinely believe that stiles is... is better at putting the milk away than anyone else, but - honestly, it just speaks to how he's feeling. the moon's making everything muddled and difficult to deal with, he can't think straight - he just knows that he loves stiles more than anything, and he knows that he doesn't want that fight to be representative of how he feels, and he knows that right now, hearing stiles tell him he loves him is exactly what he needs.
stiles bumps their noses together, starts to jerk him off a little faster, and derek can't hold back at all. he pushes forward and takes stiles in a kiss the second that stiles does the same, searching out his tongue with his own. it's a little too wet, like he's barely in control of himself, dragging his tongue against stiles' and keening his hips forward the second he can really taste him, and he makes a strangled sound into the kiss, this desperate, relieved, horny cry.
stiles pushes him back against the wall and derek willingly follows, stumbling back and feeling stiles rut lightly against his hip, and derek's breathing faster and faster and faster, close to hyperventilating. he keeps making all these fucking noises, free and completely lacking in the kind of dignified quiet he tries to go for when they fuck. he's moaning and fucking up into stiles' fist like he's been kept at the edge for days, he's growling and scrambling his hands all over stiles' back, hands shaking with the barely contained effort to not claw or scratch. he doesn't-- want to do that, to stiles, if stiles doesn't want it. doesn't want to hurt him.
derek comes. it happens fast, without warning. he feels stiles' cock grinding against his thigh, feels the way his hand squeezes him, works him, and that's all it takes. he slams his back against the shower and he just-- shoots, shot after shot of cum erupting from the tip of his cock, messing up stiles' fist, almost even htiting the far wall they just walked away from. he comes and he comes, and it might be the hardest orgasm he's had in his life; his vision goes white and he thinks he's yelling, he can't tell, the world feels distant and faded and gone, and when he passes, when his load is draining down the shower like, he's--
still hard. harder, maybe. there's no refractory period, no-- no anything, he just-- he needs more. he needs more, he needs more, he needs-- more. he's breathing's a mess, his teeth are too long, and he thinks he opened his eyes when he came, because the world is red. everything is red. ]
Turn-- turn.
[ he doesn't need to be taken care of. he just needs to take. ]
no subject
fuck, he hasn't been this out of control under the full moon since he was a kid. it makes sense, to an extent - he has a new anchor now, and they haven't had the chance to really explore how best stiles can be here for him when he's like this. that's his own fault. they should have... talked, they should have planned for this. derek should have done more than just yell at stiles today and build a setback that didn't need to be built.
the pain. the impatience, the hard, heavy arousal that beats in his chest. he needs to come, or-- fight, or move, or something, something to get out of this, and the longer stiles is gone, the worse he feels. his legs shake as water rains over him, and he paces the dimensions of the shower, slipping a little here and there. he has to breathe through his mouth in long, wet pulls, rasping and animalistic, intermittent with choked sobs and frustrated sounds that don't go anywhere. he drops back against the wall again, same place as before, arching his neck back and trying to swallow down some of his feelings, adam's apple bobbing beneath the tapering ends of his stubble.
and then - finally - finally, stiles is back. derek doesn't notice that he's shirtless, at first. he just sees stiles standing there, feels the soothing, loving touch of his hands against his body, and he makes this wavering, helpless sound in response. he rocks forward on the balls of his feet when stiles guides him closer, tilting into stiles, reaching his hands out to just - touch him, wherever he can. his sides, his lower back, his arms. ]
Where'd you go?
[ he still sounds whiny, which - could either be cute, for him, or just kind of sad. derek's hands wander a little higher up, and he realizes with a start that his fingers aren't catching on any fabric, which - is also kind of obvious, the more he stops to think about it, given that stiles might be self-conscious about his looks, but he probably showers as naked as anyone else.
derek swallows, dropping his eyes, taking him in. The curves of his collarbone, the freckles he's never seen. The start of muscles earned through lacrosse, through growing into the gangliness he had at sixteen, and through running with wolves for years, almost cancelled out by a predominantly shitty diet that probably only got worse the less time he spent worrying about The Sheriff.
stiles is - beautiful. the most beautiful person he's ever seen. derek doesn't say it, but maybe he doesn't need to. he smiles, soft and so, so fucking affectionate, hands set lightly against stiles' hips, and-- and it doesn't last, it can't last, the moon is still taking over his head, making everything feel like it's burning too bright and too hot, but just for a second, just for a few slow, happy heartbeats, derek looks more in love than he ever has.
and then stiles dotes on him, gets him clean. he shuts his eyes again and wills himself to be soothed by every touch, every light kiss, surrendering himself entirely to what he's feeling. his moods come and go in rapid, stuttering waves - sometimes his heartbeat stays steady and even, like he's swallowing down his anger below the surface enough to be almost okay, and sometimes he starts to get heated again, breathing hard and ragged and cringing like he's in pain.
his fingers roam lower and derek's breath gets caught, like he knows what's coming. he's still hard, of course he's still hard - thick and throbbing and kind of violent, with hard, reactive flexes that come every time stiles touches somewhere new. stiles grabs the base of derek's cock and he shudders, full-bodied, hard enough that it's like he's been caught in a blizzard. he steadies himself by trying to breathe through it, but it's coming faster now, more shallow. derek sets his hands on either side of stiles, stretching out to the wall behind him, shuddering a second time.
fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
stiles apologizes. stiles apologizes, and it's ludicrous, making derek shake his head as fast as he can. his eyes are still closed, scrunched up tight, and he keeps shaking his head like he's trying to block out what stiles is saying, because it's just-- wrong. stiles tells him he loves him and derek doesn't realize his claws are out until he's digging his nails into the tile next to the faucet, making it chip and splinter, little pieces of porcelain hitting the floor and rolling down the drain. ]
Don't-- don't. Don't. Shouldn't have yelled. Didn't mean any of it. Just got angry. You're not messy. You-- you know how to put the milk away, too. Better than anyone.
[ there's... well, it's kind of silly, but there's genuine, scrambling authenticity here. he seems to genuinely believe that stiles is... is better at putting the milk away than anyone else, but - honestly, it just speaks to how he's feeling. the moon's making everything muddled and difficult to deal with, he can't think straight - he just knows that he loves stiles more than anything, and he knows that he doesn't want that fight to be representative of how he feels, and he knows that right now, hearing stiles tell him he loves him is exactly what he needs.
stiles bumps their noses together, starts to jerk him off a little faster, and derek can't hold back at all. he pushes forward and takes stiles in a kiss the second that stiles does the same, searching out his tongue with his own. it's a little too wet, like he's barely in control of himself, dragging his tongue against stiles' and keening his hips forward the second he can really taste him, and he makes a strangled sound into the kiss, this desperate, relieved, horny cry.
stiles pushes him back against the wall and derek willingly follows, stumbling back and feeling stiles rut lightly against his hip, and derek's breathing faster and faster and faster, close to hyperventilating. he keeps making all these fucking noises, free and completely lacking in the kind of dignified quiet he tries to go for when they fuck. he's moaning and fucking up into stiles' fist like he's been kept at the edge for days, he's growling and scrambling his hands all over stiles' back, hands shaking with the barely contained effort to not claw or scratch. he doesn't-- want to do that, to stiles, if stiles doesn't want it. doesn't want to hurt him.
derek comes. it happens fast, without warning. he feels stiles' cock grinding against his thigh, feels the way his hand squeezes him, works him, and that's all it takes. he slams his back against the shower and he just-- shoots, shot after shot of cum erupting from the tip of his cock, messing up stiles' fist, almost even htiting the far wall they just walked away from. he comes and he comes, and it might be the hardest orgasm he's had in his life; his vision goes white and he thinks he's yelling, he can't tell, the world feels distant and faded and gone, and when he passes, when his load is draining down the shower like, he's--
still hard. harder, maybe. there's no refractory period, no-- no anything, he just-- he needs more. he needs more, he needs more, he needs-- more. he's breathing's a mess, his teeth are too long, and he thinks he opened his eyes when he came, because the world is red. everything is red. ]
Turn-- turn.
[ he doesn't need to be taken care of. he just needs to take. ]
Wall. Face-- face the wall.