[ stiles stares down at his feet with half-lidded eyes, his vision slightly blurred by the water collecting on his eyelashes. he strokes his cock with slowly, lazy pulls, wanting to get himself off but also wanting to wait in anticipation of - being fucked. he assumes that's why derek commanded him to turn around and face the wall, but for a little while - it feels like it anyway - the only hands that touch him are his own, edging himself toward a desperate neediness to feel derek touching him, close to him, anything.
he's soothed when derek leans his forehead between his shoulderblades, only slightly, but it's enough to keep the quiet, frustrated whine that was building up, safe in his throat. he breathes out a sigh and lifts his head up, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes. he doesn't know why, but he imagines the broad expanse of derek's back, strong and solid and very lightly tanned, triskele spiraling out in three directions from the space between his shoulders. he imagines, for a moment, his own shoulders, marked with the same three swirls of dark ink in the same place derek's pressed his forehead, but stiles doesn't have anything like that, he just has—
he remembers his scar. it's not as if he's ever forgotten about the permanent mark donovan left behind after ripping the flesh from his shoulder with razor-sharp, needle-like teeth as if the psychological and mental trauma of having to kill him later wouldn't be enough of a lasting punishment - but he's been able to think about it gradually less and less with each passing day, even if it's now a very small part of the many reasons stiles doesn't lounge around on lazy days without a shirt on, or take it off during sex.
stiles remembers it now though, and his eyes fly open, stinging a little as the shower mists into them gently. derek is right there, and there's no way he hasn't seen it, there's no way he's going to be able to look at that and - not want to recoil. stiles can't even look at it without feeling some mild form of disgust, though a lot of that could probably be attributed to the memories and the emotional damage attached to it. his anxiety starts to climb. he tilts his head forward and he stares at the slick tiles in front of him with slightly-widened, unblinking eyes, his fingers curling against the wall in a loose fist.
he wants his shirt. stiles wants that security blanket back so badly that the thought of pushing derek back and getting out of the shower just to go and get dressed and maybe make up an excuse to be somewhere else briefly crosses his mind. he takes his hand off of his cock, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed and off balance, because derek thinks he's beautiful and he's caring and he's perfect— derek thinks he's all these wonderful things, but he doesn't know—
stiles shivers over the first kiss derek presses to his shoulder, and it's only then that he realizes he's been holding his breath. he breathes out in one big rush, head dropping forward again, his fingers uncurling to lay flat against the wall. his stomach still feels uncomfortably tight with uncertainty, but tension feels less and less the more and more derek keeps peppering his skin with kisses, following the edges of his shoulderblades, covering his skin. derek kisses the skin around stiles' scar and - stiles thinks that's going to be it, that he's going to drift back, but derek kisses that damaged, textured skin too with the same kind of gentleness, like it isn't any different, like he doesn't like it any less and - stiles isn't going to cry, but the immense relief he feels makes his eyes water slightly, makes his nose burn. he breathes out again, bringing his free hand up to brace his forearm back against the wall so he can lean a little more of his weight into it.
it's a good move. stiles doesn't expect what follows, doesn't even notice that derek's lowered himself to his knees. his thighs tighten up reflexively when he feels derek's hands on his ass, spreading him apart, and there's a part of him that starts to panic a little because - because he hasn't been prepped at all and sure, they're in the shower, there's water, it's not like derek would be pushing in completely dry, but stiles isn't naive enough to think it's not going to hurt like a bitch. ]
Derek—
[ he starts, but he doesn't finish, because the rest of whatever he was intending to say twists itself in a sharp but soft, surprised little cry when derek drags the flat of his tongue over him. he arches away at first, startled by the unexpected, foreign feeling, pushing up onto his toes and arching his back, but— fuck that felt good. stiles' legs shake a little as he sinks back down onto his heels, sinks back down toward derek's mouth, and the next sound out of him is a drawn out, throaty moan, muffled against his bicep when he turns his head.
derek eats stiles out like he's never been eaten out before — and he hasn't. it's a first for him, like many things with derek have been so far, and like many of those firsts, it's not unpleasant in the slightest. stiles - kind of loves it, if he's honest. his cock aches and throbs between his legs, begging to be touched, but derek beats him to it. stiles chokes out a small, whiny sob of a sound, squeezing his eyes shut as derek thrusts his tongue into him over and over, slow and deep and white-hot. he wants to come so badly, and the hand on his dick feels really, really good, but it's just the wrong side of too rough to get stiles off, keeping him right at edge, keeping him desperate for more, for something else, his cock red and positively weeping precome.
stiles sucks in a unsteady breath when derek finally relents and lets up, his thighs shaking and his knees a little weak. he hums a low note of approval without really meaning to when derek slaps his cock against his ass, hard and thick and hot, and stiles impulsively pushes his hips back an inch, leaning his head to the side and baring his neck to derek, silently pleading for more kisses. the more aggressive derek gets, the harder stiles breathes, quick and breathy and horny as fuck, but the first scrape of fangs makes him nervous, makes his skin flash hot, not necessarily in a good way, makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle with the forewarning of danger.
stiles knows derek wouldn't bite him. stiles knows he wouldn't use his vulnerability and his desperation to be close to derek, and take advantage of him by biting him. he desperately hopes that derek wouldn't do that to him - but derek backs off and slows down as soon as he seems to realize how thin the line is that he's walking and that's — that's good, that makes stiles feel better, makes him - harder and hornier, actually, even though he couldn't even begin to explain why if anyone asked.
the way derek says his name is - almost too much. it sounds like - liquefied sex and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. his entire body blooms with this hot, desperate need to have derek - everywhere, to feel him everywhere, on him around him, inside of him. derek puts his hands on his hips. stiles can feel the prick of his claws and he immediately drops one of his hands down to put it over derek's but it's not to stop him. he slides his hand back, rests it over derek's wrist, lets his head fall forward between his shoulders as he grinds his ass back against derek's cock incredibly, incredibly slowly.
he feels like he could almost come right here, right this moment when derek says his name again, he pushes up onto his toes a little, pushes back, braces the rest of his weight against the wall. he just - he needs derek to fuck him. there's a fleeting moment where he thinks about - protection, and how they've never really talked about the possibility of - not using it, but. to stiles' knowledge, as a werewolf, derek can't carry infection or disease, and stiles hasn't ever slept with anyone unprotected, and they're - exclusive, derek said there exclusive and stiles just wants this so badly, he trusts and he loves derek so much. ]
Please.
[ stiles sort of gasps the word. he takes his hand off of derek's wrist and he reaches back blindly, finding derek's elbow at first, which he pulls at kind of uselessly, but then his fingers slap against his flank and he digs his fingertips in, fingernails a little too short to bite into derek's skin. he grips and he pulls and he lifts his head and turns it a little. it's not enough that he can see derek, but it's enough so his plea isn't lost or muffled, even if it's rushed and breathy and unquestionably begging. ]
no subject
he's soothed when derek leans his forehead between his shoulderblades, only slightly, but it's enough to keep the quiet, frustrated whine that was building up, safe in his throat. he breathes out a sigh and lifts his head up, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes. he doesn't know why, but he imagines the broad expanse of derek's back, strong and solid and very lightly tanned, triskele spiraling out in three directions from the space between his shoulders. he imagines, for a moment, his own shoulders, marked with the same three swirls of dark ink in the same place derek's pressed his forehead, but stiles doesn't have anything like that, he just has—
he remembers his scar. it's not as if he's ever forgotten about the permanent mark donovan left behind after ripping the flesh from his shoulder with razor-sharp, needle-like teeth as if the psychological and mental trauma of having to kill him later wouldn't be enough of a lasting punishment - but he's been able to think about it gradually less and less with each passing day, even if it's now a very small part of the many reasons stiles doesn't lounge around on lazy days without a shirt on, or take it off during sex.
stiles remembers it now though, and his eyes fly open, stinging a little as the shower mists into them gently. derek is right there, and there's no way he hasn't seen it, there's no way he's going to be able to look at that and - not want to recoil. stiles can't even look at it without feeling some mild form of disgust, though a lot of that could probably be attributed to the memories and the emotional damage attached to it. his anxiety starts to climb. he tilts his head forward and he stares at the slick tiles in front of him with slightly-widened, unblinking eyes, his fingers curling against the wall in a loose fist.
he wants his shirt. stiles wants that security blanket back so badly that the thought of pushing derek back and getting out of the shower just to go and get dressed and maybe make up an excuse to be somewhere else briefly crosses his mind. he takes his hand off of his cock, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed and off balance, because derek thinks he's beautiful and he's caring and he's perfect— derek thinks he's all these wonderful things, but he doesn't know—
stiles shivers over the first kiss derek presses to his shoulder, and it's only then that he realizes he's been holding his breath. he breathes out in one big rush, head dropping forward again, his fingers uncurling to lay flat against the wall. his stomach still feels uncomfortably tight with uncertainty, but tension feels less and less the more and more derek keeps peppering his skin with kisses, following the edges of his shoulderblades, covering his skin. derek kisses the skin around stiles' scar and - stiles thinks that's going to be it, that he's going to drift back, but derek kisses that damaged, textured skin too with the same kind of gentleness, like it isn't any different, like he doesn't like it any less and - stiles isn't going to cry, but the immense relief he feels makes his eyes water slightly, makes his nose burn. he breathes out again, bringing his free hand up to brace his forearm back against the wall so he can lean a little more of his weight into it.
it's a good move. stiles doesn't expect what follows, doesn't even notice that derek's lowered himself to his knees. his thighs tighten up reflexively when he feels derek's hands on his ass, spreading him apart, and there's a part of him that starts to panic a little because - because he hasn't been prepped at all and sure, they're in the shower, there's water, it's not like derek would be pushing in completely dry, but stiles isn't naive enough to think it's not going to hurt like a bitch. ]
Derek—
[ he starts, but he doesn't finish, because the rest of whatever he was intending to say twists itself in a sharp but soft, surprised little cry when derek drags the flat of his tongue over him. he arches away at first, startled by the unexpected, foreign feeling, pushing up onto his toes and arching his back, but— fuck that felt good. stiles' legs shake a little as he sinks back down onto his heels, sinks back down toward derek's mouth, and the next sound out of him is a drawn out, throaty moan, muffled against his bicep when he turns his head.
derek eats stiles out like he's never been eaten out before — and he hasn't. it's a first for him, like many things with derek have been so far, and like many of those firsts, it's not unpleasant in the slightest. stiles - kind of loves it, if he's honest. his cock aches and throbs between his legs, begging to be touched, but derek beats him to it. stiles chokes out a small, whiny sob of a sound, squeezing his eyes shut as derek thrusts his tongue into him over and over, slow and deep and white-hot. he wants to come so badly, and the hand on his dick feels really, really good, but it's just the wrong side of too rough to get stiles off, keeping him right at edge, keeping him desperate for more, for something else, his cock red and positively weeping precome.
stiles sucks in a unsteady breath when derek finally relents and lets up, his thighs shaking and his knees a little weak. he hums a low note of approval without really meaning to when derek slaps his cock against his ass, hard and thick and hot, and stiles impulsively pushes his hips back an inch, leaning his head to the side and baring his neck to derek, silently pleading for more kisses. the more aggressive derek gets, the harder stiles breathes, quick and breathy and horny as fuck, but the first scrape of fangs makes him nervous, makes his skin flash hot, not necessarily in a good way, makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle with the forewarning of danger.
stiles knows derek wouldn't bite him. stiles knows he wouldn't use his vulnerability and his desperation to be close to derek, and take advantage of him by biting him. he desperately hopes that derek wouldn't do that to him - but derek backs off and slows down as soon as he seems to realize how thin the line is that he's walking and that's — that's good, that makes stiles feel better, makes him - harder and hornier, actually, even though he couldn't even begin to explain why if anyone asked.
the way derek says his name is - almost too much. it sounds like - liquefied sex and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. his entire body blooms with this hot, desperate need to have derek - everywhere, to feel him everywhere, on him around him, inside of him. derek puts his hands on his hips. stiles can feel the prick of his claws and he immediately drops one of his hands down to put it over derek's but it's not to stop him. he slides his hand back, rests it over derek's wrist, lets his head fall forward between his shoulders as he grinds his ass back against derek's cock incredibly, incredibly slowly.
he feels like he could almost come right here, right this moment when derek says his name again, he pushes up onto his toes a little, pushes back, braces the rest of his weight against the wall. he just - he needs derek to fuck him. there's a fleeting moment where he thinks about - protection, and how they've never really talked about the possibility of - not using it, but. to stiles' knowledge, as a werewolf, derek can't carry infection or disease, and stiles hasn't ever slept with anyone unprotected, and they're - exclusive, derek said there exclusive and stiles just wants this so badly, he trusts and he loves derek so much. ]
Please.
[ stiles sort of gasps the word. he takes his hand off of derek's wrist and he reaches back blindly, finding derek's elbow at first, which he pulls at kind of uselessly, but then his fingers slap against his flank and he digs his fingertips in, fingernails a little too short to bite into derek's skin. he grips and he pulls and he lifts his head and turns it a little. it's not enough that he can see derek, but it's enough so his plea isn't lost or muffled, even if it's rushed and breathy and unquestionably begging. ]
Please, can you just - I need you to just -