[ scars don't scare derek. lord only knows how riddled with them his own body would be if he were human; how cut up his hands would be from digging a grave for laura without a shovel, how burnt he'd be from electricity burned through his veins by kate. running through the woods from hunters never came easy - there were always nights when he'd catch himself on a branch and have to split up from the rest of his pack, in case the argents found his blood and tracked him to his death.
as it is, all his scars are internal. if stiles can love him despite being hardened and calloused and burnt, then derek can love him despite the burst of sunlight faded on his skin.
that being said - there's no word to describe the way it hurts, when stiles reacts like he's afraid of him. derek's teeth scrape a little too close to stiles' veins, hovering so intimately over them like one wrong move could break whatever willpower derek has, and he can taste the fear on stiles' skin, the heat prickling at the top of his spine. stiles rejects him, and it's this hard-hitting, core-rocking pain that...
that honestly doesn't hurt that much at all. it's funny - derek feels a lump of sad, shallow rejection in his chest, and he knows that it should hurt, but it just... doesn't. instead, there's just - a confident, loving security that wraps around his ribs and helps him see things through. helps him realize stiles isn't scared of him, isn't rejecting him. never in derek's life has he been more confident that stiles loves him, werewolf or not, and that his attachment to his humanity detracts absolutely nothing from that.
there's millions of years of instinct at play here. there's an evolutionary fear of predators hardwired into stiles, and that's the only reason he's afraid of him. they're - connected, in spite of that. in love. mates. stiles trusts him. stiles is the only human who would ever, ever trust him like this. deep in derek's core, he knows that. stiles is his last one.
derek cautiously sets his teeth back against stiles' neck, sharp pin-pricks that don't breach skin but easily, easily could. he needs to prep him more - to stretch him open on his fingers, to make sure this won't hurt. he can't, though, and stiles doesn't want him to, either; they're both shattered and desperate and they need to connect, they need to have this. stiles' fingertips indent his side, he looks at him from over his shoulder as best as he can, and derek bites a little harder. just a little.
he untightens his jaw, laps soft, soothing kisses against the marks he's left on stiles, then - presses forward. derek leans his weight against stiles and pushes his torso up against the cold tiles of the shower, his chest flush to his shoulderblades, and he reaches down to angle the base of his cock down. he drags his head over stiles' ass until it's pressing tight against his hole, and he's desperate to make him take him, desperate to feel him yield and welcome him in. by merit of how they're standing, with derek's entire weight weighing down on stiles' back, his breath is ghosting over the shell of stiles' ear, hot and staggered. he kisses him there, behind his ear, back down his neck. he can't wait any longer. ]
Love you. Love you so fucking much.
[ he rocks his hips back, tilts his waist so that he can make this work, then slowly, slowly, slowly fucks into stiles. he very, very shallowly breaches him and has to stop, just half of his crown prying stiles apart. it's-- harder, tighter than it's ever been, a mix of the lack of lube and what the full moon's doing to him, but it feels so much fucking closer, doing this without protection. the heat around him, the tight, pulling grip of stiles' body, it's just so intrinsically stiles, raw and together. derek's seeing stars, and he needs to shut his eyes, drag his nose against stiles' shoulder, breathe him in, relax.
derek curls one arm beneath stiles' stomach, squeezing him tight and holding him in place. his other hand grips stiles' ass, his claws lightly pressing in against him while he pulls him apart, trying to make him more-- more open, more accessible, more easy. derek opens his eyes and rests his mouth against stiles' shoulder, looking at him from over the curve of it, lips apart and breath still coming hot and sharp against him. he pushes in further, fucks stiles more, and it's-- it's a struggle, barely made easier by the long, heavy flow of precum running from his cock, but he sinks in, up to an inch.
he tries to say it again. stiles. he tries to find the word, but his voice just cracks, everything feels-- too much. he stares at stiles from over his shoulder, eyes red and unfocused and uncannily wolfish, more than they've ever been. ]
no subject
as it is, all his scars are internal. if stiles can love him despite being hardened and calloused and burnt, then derek can love him despite the burst of sunlight faded on his skin.
that being said - there's no word to describe the way it hurts, when stiles reacts like he's afraid of him. derek's teeth scrape a little too close to stiles' veins, hovering so intimately over them like one wrong move could break whatever willpower derek has, and he can taste the fear on stiles' skin, the heat prickling at the top of his spine. stiles rejects him, and it's this hard-hitting, core-rocking pain that...
that honestly doesn't hurt that much at all. it's funny - derek feels a lump of sad, shallow rejection in his chest, and he knows that it should hurt, but it just... doesn't. instead, there's just - a confident, loving security that wraps around his ribs and helps him see things through. helps him realize stiles isn't scared of him, isn't rejecting him. never in derek's life has he been more confident that stiles loves him, werewolf or not, and that his attachment to his humanity detracts absolutely nothing from that.
there's millions of years of instinct at play here. there's an evolutionary fear of predators hardwired into stiles, and that's the only reason he's afraid of him. they're - connected, in spite of that. in love. mates. stiles trusts him. stiles is the only human who would ever, ever trust him like this. deep in derek's core, he knows that. stiles is his last one.
derek cautiously sets his teeth back against stiles' neck, sharp pin-pricks that don't breach skin but easily, easily could. he needs to prep him more - to stretch him open on his fingers, to make sure this won't hurt. he can't, though, and stiles doesn't want him to, either; they're both shattered and desperate and they need to connect, they need to have this. stiles' fingertips indent his side, he looks at him from over his shoulder as best as he can, and derek bites a little harder. just a little.
he untightens his jaw, laps soft, soothing kisses against the marks he's left on stiles, then - presses forward. derek leans his weight against stiles and pushes his torso up against the cold tiles of the shower, his chest flush to his shoulderblades, and he reaches down to angle the base of his cock down. he drags his head over stiles' ass until it's pressing tight against his hole, and he's desperate to make him take him, desperate to feel him yield and welcome him in. by merit of how they're standing, with derek's entire weight weighing down on stiles' back, his breath is ghosting over the shell of stiles' ear, hot and staggered. he kisses him there, behind his ear, back down his neck. he can't wait any longer. ]
Love you. Love you so fucking much.
[ he rocks his hips back, tilts his waist so that he can make this work, then slowly, slowly, slowly fucks into stiles. he very, very shallowly breaches him and has to stop, just half of his crown prying stiles apart. it's-- harder, tighter than it's ever been, a mix of the lack of lube and what the full moon's doing to him, but it feels so much fucking closer, doing this without protection. the heat around him, the tight, pulling grip of stiles' body, it's just so intrinsically stiles, raw and together. derek's seeing stars, and he needs to shut his eyes, drag his nose against stiles' shoulder, breathe him in, relax.
derek curls one arm beneath stiles' stomach, squeezing him tight and holding him in place. his other hand grips stiles' ass, his claws lightly pressing in against him while he pulls him apart, trying to make him more-- more open, more accessible, more easy. derek opens his eyes and rests his mouth against stiles' shoulder, looking at him from over the curve of it, lips apart and breath still coming hot and sharp against him. he pushes in further, fucks stiles more, and it's-- it's a struggle, barely made easier by the long, heavy flow of precum running from his cock, but he sinks in, up to an inch.
he tries to say it again. stiles. he tries to find the word, but his voice just cracks, everything feels-- too much. he stares at stiles from over his shoulder, eyes red and unfocused and uncannily wolfish, more than they've ever been. ]