[ this might be the most obvious thing ever said, but derek likes teasing stiles. he like watches him scramble and flail and act like an idiot, and he likes watching him ultimately give up and surrender and accept defeat. derek's the kid in a playground who pulls a girl's pigtails to show that he likes her, he's always been that kid. it was the same with paige - he'd play basketball in the halls to annoy her, he'd make fun of her in front of his friends. he's always been stupid and boyish and undeveloped, when it comes to expressing his feelings, even before the fire made it even harder for him to understand himself. he never really had the chance to grow. he should have with paige. he should have with kate.
stiles is just... stiles is fun. derek doesn't have fun, all that often. he has fun with stiles. even in a place like this one. even if he complains the entire time they're together. maybe he shouldn't tease him so much. maybe it borders on bullying, sometimes. it's just so hard to stop himself from having fun, with stiles. from goofing around with him, teasing him, and hopefully, making him have fun, too.
either way. they move away from one another, and derek heads out of the kitchen in time to see stiles opening the bathroom door, catching a glimpse of an elbow as it ducks out of sight. again, derek finds himself feeling impatient. he wanted stiles to come over early, which is why he told him to shower here, and that worked out much, much better than expected, but now derek's alone and has to wait. again. this is so frustrating.
he retreats to the sofa, sitting on the very edge of the seat with his hands between his knees, looking down at the chessboard solely because it's something for him to focus on. he can't tell that stiles messed with it, but that doesn't stop him from fidgeting with the edge of it, running his thumb along the closest of the grooves drawn into each edge. he pulls his hands back, holds them between his knees again. he sighs through his nose, and he scratches his palm with his thumb, and he slaps his knuckles against his other fist. bored. bbbbbbored. already bored.
derek can hear the shower turn on. he can hear the rush of water through the pipes as it heats up, he can hear the spray of it hit the tiles, he can smell the steam. he can hear, through the door, the rustle of stiles' clothes as he undresses, and that's not good, because he shouldn't be listening to that. derek slowly drops onto his side, unemotionally sinking onto the cushion like a felled tree. he stares at the chessboard, and he tries not to listen. he genuinely does try not to listen.
he keeps listening.
stiles is naked, he thinks. after a while, there's just - no more clothes being removed, no more fabric brushing against fabric, which means stiles is naked, and soon he's going to be in his shower. naked. inside of derek's shower, stiles is going to be naked. and that's, uh. well, that's something.
derek might still tug on pigtails and call people names, but he's not this adolescent little idiot who only thinks with his dick. he's not scott. he doesn't have a hair-trigger on his boner, just fucking. waiting to get hard the second someone flashes him some skin. behind a fucking door. while they shower. nonsexually. like a person does. unaware that there's a fucking creepy werewolf stalker straining his advanced senses to hear him, letting his pulse quicken in his veins as he wonders, quietly, if stiles realizes that using his shampoo and smelling like him is going to drive him fucking insane. he can't know. he wouldn't have said it, if he did.
jesus. okay. derek needs to stop, he's feeling skeevy. he resituates himself on the couch a little better, rolling to face the wall of it and curling up a little, his legs too long to fit neatly in front of the arm. he's been getting carried away, lately, and he knows it's just... high emotions from finally being away from the fort, but he needs to roll it back. he's so tired of himself. of being this happy because of one person. of only being attracted to this one person. he needs to stop. can't rely on stiles. can't keep pushing this shit on him. can't keep wanting to go back to the barracks. that night.
so he waits. he'll wait, and he'll let stiles have his shower, and, okay, maybe, maybe, he'll think about knocking on the bathroom door and asking stiles if he wants company, and he'll maybe let himself think about what that would be like, if it was a successful way to proposition someone instead of creepy and kind of a lot. jesus christ.
[ stiles is used to rushing. when you've only got about thirty seconds of barely-hot water before it starts to run cold, every second counts, and stiles has gotten his showers down to about a minute and a half. which still leaves him standing in icy water for way, way longer than anyone should have to unwillingly suffer a cold shower for, but the half a minute of warm water makes the rest of it tolerable.
but he doesn't have to rush right now, and it takes him a second to remember that, half way through dragging his shirt off over his head before he realizes he can take his time. he stands there with his arms tangled in his t-shirt, pulled up over his face, and then he sighs, because it's nice to not have to scramble for a fucking semi-decent shower. stiles tugs his shirt the rest of the way off and drops it in the sink, briefly glancing at his reflection in the mirror, but it's already starting to fog up with the steam.
stiles can take his time here without having to worry about the water running cold, but the thing is... he doesn't actually want to. he ran up sixty-something flights of stairs because he wanted to see derek, which sounds kind of insane when he actually stops to think about it. he can hardly get through running suicides at school without wanting to throw up and toss himself off of a cliff afterwards, but he ran up sixty. fucking. flights. he could have stayed in the elevator and found some patience, but he chose to run some kind of crazy marathon instead just for a couple extra minutes with derek. they have the entire evening and night ahead of them, and however long it takes before derek kicks him out in the morning, and stiles still ran for it.
jesus.
stiles swallows thickly and tries not to think about derek and whatever he's doing while stiles faffs around in the bathroom wasting time. he peels off his socks, then unbuttons, unzips, and steps out of his pants, dragging his boxers down with them, and he tries really, really hard not to think about the fact that he's butt-ass naked. in derek's apartment. he tries not to think about derek being like, thirty feet away from him at most no matter where he is in the apartment. while he's naked. stiles is suddenly glad that the mirror is fogged up to hell and back.
the spray of water is a little too hot for stiles' taste when he finally steps in, but he doesn't move to turn the temperature down at all. too hot water is better than no hot water, and the heat makes his tight muscles feel a little better anyway. he breathes a sigh of sweet relief, head tilted forward so the water sprays over the back of his neck, and he just takes a couple long seconds to breathe. a hot shower with actual water pressure shouldn't feel this good, but it does. god, it does.
stiles lifts his head, tilts it backwards, drags his hands down over his face, stifling a quiet groan of contentment. okay. okay, enough wasting time. stiles breathes out, does a little twist one way and then the other before he finds the bottle of shampoo propped up on the narrow bar that runs around the back of the shower at about eye-level. he squeezes a generous amount into his palm, lathers his hair up, scrubs at the nape of his neck with his fingertips and drags his fingernails over his scalp. he rinses without getting suds in his eyes, then lathers his hands up with soap and gives himself a quick, full-body rub down. his hands stroke over his dick just once, but his mind immediately wanders to derek and what he's doing and if he could get away with— like really quick— ]
Nnnope.
[ stiles takes his hand off of himself with a decisive murmur because thaaat's dangerous. he scrubs under his armpits, rubs his fingers behind his ears, passes his soapy fingers over the back of his neck one more time, and calls it a successful shower. less than five minutes, probably, which still feels like an hour in comparison to what he's accustomed to.
stiles shuts off the water and he climbs out and he grabs the nearest towel he can find, patting himself dry. he rubs the towel over his hair, scrubs at his scalp, and then wraps the towel around his waist so he's not just standing there with his dick out in derek's bathroom. even though the door is closed. even though the bathroom is like, the most appropriate place for him to have his dick out. he rifles through his backpack, weighing his options. he could just pull on his sweats and a t-shirt, but it's not even really that late yet and that almost seems a little too comfortable for anything other than bed. he could pull on some khakis, throw on a hoodie. he could—
this is dumb. it literally does not matter, and stiles is just being dumb and nervous and stupid for no reason and he knows this and he's just wasting more time, which is annoying him too. he settles for sweats, grey and loose and threadbare, a plain black t-shirt, and a navy hoodie, unzipped, because he likes layers. he's more comfortable in layers most of the time. he worries about his hair next, but only goes so far as finger-combing it to the side a bit, just so it's out of his eyes and won't dry weird without any product in it.
okay. okay, cool, that's. as good as it's gonna get. they're not going anywhere, right? ... right? this is fine. stiles grabs his dirty clothes and folds them a little haphazardly, piling his shirt and his pants and his socks and his underwear on top of each other before scooping up his backpack. a cloud of rolling steam precedes him as he steps out of the bathroom and into the hall with all his stuff. which he decides to leave on the floor, leaned up against the wall just outside of derek's bedroom door. he decides to leave his phone, too, plopping it down on top of his clothes.
time to find derek, wherever he is. stiles calls out as he's making his way down the hall back toward the center of the apartment, wigging a finger in his ear to try and shake some water out of it. ]
it's torture, but it shouldn't be. realistically, derek understands that he barely knows stiles. he's analyzed himself and how he's behaved over these past few weeks enough times now to realize that any feelings he has for stiles can be easily explained away as just... a side effect of what they are to each other. these feelings are a byproduct of their contract, or of their time together. they're not real. how could they possibly be real, when there's so much about stiles he just doesn't know?
maybe he's just being possessive. maybe he's just so moved by the fact that he has a friend after spending so many years without one, he's confusing those feelings as romantic. stiles is filling a void in him, making him less lonely, and derek has to remember that, because that's not how a healthy relationship starts, he thinks. he's a romantic at heart, and it would be so easy for him to get carried away with this, and he just - can't do that. not to himself, and certainly not to stiles.
so. he needs to stop thinking. needs to stop being excited all the time, needs to stop treating a fifteen minute shower break like it's the end of the world. it's ludicrous, to derek, that he's in his twenties and pining over someone again. derek's so much better than that.
ugh, whatever. derek moves around a few more times, searching for a way to sit comfortably, before he finally ends up settling. he sits up, leans into the corner of the couch, elbow on the arm of it. it's really, really hard not to fixate on stiles. on the sigh of relief he heard when the warm water started easing away the tension on stiles' muscles - that groan he heard that he shouldn't have been listening to. it's hard not to feel-- so many things. lust. joy. comfort. loneliness. he's stewing in it all, waiting in silence, staring at the chessboard like it'll solve all his problems.
stiles comes out of the shower, eventually, and derek briefly panics about whether or not he'll need spare clothes, but stiles took care of that on the way over, it turns out. derek remembers the conversation they had earlier; stiles was insecure about the way he dressed, and derek, with a pang of guilt, remembers that he made that feeling worse, for a second. he looks up with just his eyes, resting his cheek on the lazy curl of his fist, and he watches stiles walk over.
derek's appraising him. it's obvious, because derek never hides the penetrating way he looks at people, but for all the apparent self-evaluation he's been doing these last few weeks, he doesn't seem to realize that judgmentally staring at someone right after they get out of the shower might be kind of awkward. he's just - curious, about the clothes stiles is wearing. he wonders if he can say something without it sounding forced. a... compliment. maybe. like "i notice you're wearing clothes - good work".
or something. that won't work. that's nothing. jesus christ. derek's eyes lift a little. stiles looks good in layers. he could at least say that. maybe. stiles asks about food, and derek looks away, back to the chessboard. he lifts his other hand and scratches the space between his eyebrows with his thumb, taking a long, deep breath. food. right. okay. ]
Pizza. Microwave. Should still be warm. Grab me a drink, too, while you're at it.
[ he doesn't care what of, but he only really owns soda and milk, so. probably soda.
derek stretches out on the couch, pops his shoulders as he does it. he props his heel up on the table, next to the chessboard, and he straightens out his leg until his knee gives a satisfying crack. he breathes out again, leans back against the sofa, and he tilts his head back, exposing his neck and closing his eyes. it doesn't look like much - he's just relaxing - but blinding himself and baring his throat means that he trusts stiles, and that he feels safe around him.
but he's also impatient to play fucking chess. ]
C'mon, hurry up. Everything's ready. I wanna make you cry already.
[ stiles slows to a stop at the mouth of the hallway, not quite in the living room, but not quite not in it either, but derek is just looking at him and stiles feels. kind of weird about it, like he's being scrutinized for his stupid, stupid choice in clothes. or maybe his hair is a fucking disaster, and he should have taken a few extra seconds to slap some pomade in it. maybe he shouldn't have gotten so comfortable in his soft clothes, like this is some kind of fucking sleep over and not - whatever this is. stiles has no idea what this is, except for subtle but embarrassing desperation on his part.
( derek was waiting for him by the elevator, though. he has to remind himself of that. )
changing his clothes now would just be suspicious and weird though, so - stiles owns his decision to be comfortable as best as he can own it. he stares at derek, slowly inching his eyebrows up his forehead while he waits for derek to say something - about food, hopefully, and not his clothes, because that'll shatter this whole illusion of stiles owning his stupid sweatpants and his stupid hoodie, probably. he's not typically insecure about his style, if you want to call his tendency to gravitate toward plaid overshirts style (stiles doesn't), but having two people he highly respects criticize him over it is enough to rattle his previously-solid foundation.
stiles takes his finger out of his ear and makes a small gesture with the same hand, like, well? because he's not really sure if derek heard him or if derek's just ignoring him or what, and he doesn't really want to repeat himself and look like a dumbass if it's the latter. he flexes his toes over the carpet to keep himself from rocking back on his heels in all of his awkwardness, watches as derek looks away and scratches between his eyebrows—
pizza. hell yeah, okay. great. pizza in the microwave, stiles can get behind that. he smiles a little without really thinking about it and shoots derek a pair of half-assed finger guns before setting off for the small kitchen.
briefly, he considers nuking the pizza for half a minute just to make sure it's nice and warm, but stiles would eat cold pizza without hesitation, and he's hungry, and derek said it should still be warm, so that's good enough. he grabs the box, sets it on the counter so he can tug open the fridge to grab a couple drinks, and really, really contemplates whether he wants a soda, which would be easier, or a glass of milk, which he hasn't actually had in like. months. because he sure as shit doesn't trust milk in the down to not be spoiled, or if not spoiled, at the cusp of going bad.
in the end, he doesn't want to search through derek's cabinets for a cup, and derek apparently already washed and put away the one he was drinking from earlier, so he settles for soda. he grabs two cans, sliding one into a hoodie pocket, nudges the refrigerator closed with his knee, and then grabs the pizza with his other hand, rolling his eyes as derek whines from the living room. he snags a napkin or two on the way out, too. ]
Yeah, yeah. I can't wait for you to make me cry, either. From laughing at how confident you were that you could play me in a game of chess and actually win.
[ stiles reaches out with a soda in his hand, ready to press the cold can to derek's throat for a second before he thinks better of it. instead, he just stands there for a beat, quietly considering the way derek is sitting, the way his head is tilted back, throat bared, eyes closed. it makes his lungs feel weird for a moment, makes his stomach dip a little, because he knows werewolves. he knows what it looks like to submit, and maybe that's not what derek is doing, because stiles is not a werewolf at all and not someone anyone would ever submit to the way wolves might, but - derek's relaxed enough to be vulnerable, and that makes stiles feel... something.
he doesn't touch the can to derek's throat, but he thumps it twice against his shoulder instead and then lets it go, counting on derek to exercise his reflexes before it can fall into his lap. stiles circles around to the other side of the coffee table, setting the pizza box down near the edge as he sits himself down on the floor. his muscles are still fairly tight and sore, so it's a little bit of an awkward struggle complete with a thin noise of discomfort and a half-grimace, but. he has pizza, and he's spending time with derek like he wanted, so it's all good. he's not going to complain.
stiles flips the pizza box open, then flicks at derek's ankle a couple times in an attempt to get him to move it, setting his own can of soda down on the table by his foot regardless of whether derek moves or not. he pops the tab, nodding his chin at the board as he reaches to separate a slice of pizza for himself, fingers pulling at the edges of the crust. ]
[ derek stays where he is while stiles fucks around in the kitchen, eyes closed and breath slow. his ears are pricked, listening to stiles' heart, comforted by the safe, steady beat through his clothes, and he feels warmed, for the first time, in this worthless cage of an apartment. this doesn't feel like his territory, but with stiles here, it's something close.
there's nothing stopping them from seeing each other for the rest of the evening and all through tomorrow morning, and that's just... the best. it's just going to be the two of them, some lukewarm pizza and a night in one bed. he's missed this.
stiles blearily opens his eyes when stiles stands over him, soda in hand, nudged against his shoulder. there's - a delay. he doesn't think to look at the soda, not at first. he just... looks up at stiles, takes him in. the color of his eyes, the softness of his hair. the way he smells like derek's shampoo, his soap, which puts a lump in his throat like he knew it would. it's only for a second, but he looks a little entranced, which is why when stiles lets go of the can, derek has to struggle to catch it.
it's not exactly the comical flailing of limbs stiles would have if their positions were reversed, but he grabs at the can and completely misses it, which is pretty unusual for him. a sign that he's distracted. the soda bounces off his seat and tumbles to the floor, rolling forward until it's stopped by the table leg, and derek stares after it, sighing a little. he pitches forward and has to stretch out to reach it, rolling it towards him with his fingertips, then leaning back just in time for stiles to flick at him and tell him to move.
ugh. ugh. ugh. okay. he slides off the couch and joins stiles on the floor, sitting on the opposite end of the table, crossing his legs and resting his forearms on the edge of it. the table has just enough room for their arms, the chessboard, the pizza and their drinks, which is good, but also optimal conditions for cheating. he will have to watch stiles pretty fucking closely.
the pizza's half-and-half, one side covered in barbecue sauce and different cuts of meat, the other slightly less carnivorous. derek knows stiles' order, or at least he thinks he does, because he's seen him eat pizza back home and he'd committed it to memory, as if it would one day come in handy to know that stiles has pineapple on his pizza and scott's an idiot who likes idiot mushrooms like an idiot. guess he was right.
derek takes a slice of his side, biting in and getting a mouthful of bacon. stiles tells him to take the first move, and derek only raises his eyebrows. whoever goes first actually tends to win, so this feels like an insult. like stiles is trying to give him a handicap. the only reason he agrees is because he's already on white's side and he's too lazy to make stiles move. ]
You're a dick.
[ but it's fine, whatever. he moves a pawn forward two spaces, eyebrows raised. there's this one really obvious trick you can do in chess, something peter used to pull with him all the time when he was a kid - move a pawn, move a bishop, move a queen, capture a pawn with your bishop, checkmate. he's not dumb enough to do that here, because stiles would see it coming a mile away, but the idea of beating stiles in three or four moves actually gives him a bit of a boner. that's not great. that says something about him. ]
[ stiles is a little too distracted with splitting his attention between the pizza on the table and the fumbling idiot across from him to actually realize that derek never actually asked him what he likes on his pizza, but still somehow managed to order exactly what he likes. it'll strike him later, probably, maybe as he's just about to fall asleep, or maybe even later than that, when he's waking up tomorrow. but right now he's preoccupied, watching derek with quiet curiosity as he reaches for the can he didn't catch (odd) and slides himself down onto the floor on the other side of the table.
stiles knows exactly what he's doing and it's clear by the shit-eating grin that he tries to smother by cramming a bite of pizza into his mouth. derek would have gone first anyway just by the rules of the game, but making it seem like he's letting derek have the advantage, like he's being gracious enough to let derek have a fighting chance at beating him is too good of an opportunity to pass up. ]
Mmhmn.
[ he flaps his other hand at derek, smiling around a mouthful of pizza as he sinks his teeth into warm-ish bread and less-warm-ish cheese and tangy pineapple, and it doesn't even matter that it's not hot, because it's still so fucking good. stiles has to take a second to really savor the moment. he sighs through his nose, his shoulders sagging a little and his eyes closing. fuck, pizza is so good. pretty much anything that doesn't come from the down is delicious, but this pizza is doin' it for him.
stiles flutters his eyes open in time to see derek make his first move. it's not anything that's particularly unusual or interesting - yet -, but stiles still narrows his eyes the tiniest bit, gaze flickering from the pawn to derek and back again. he wipes his fingertips on his thigh even though he barely touched the crust with this hand, then reaches out to move a pawn two spaces in the same column, right up to derek's.
if you'd told stiles at sixteen that one day he'd be sitting around in sweatpants and a hoodie, splitting a pizza with derek hale while playing an actual game of chess, stiles probably would have laughed until he gagged because in what world? if you'd told him at eighteen, before duplicity, he'd have laughed then too, maybe not as hard, maybe with a little sadness souring the edges, because stiles would have given damn near anything just to know where derek was, let alone play a game of chess with him.
in all honestly, stiles couldn't give a shit if he winds up losing this game. it would bruise his ego a little, probably dampen his pride for all of ten minutes, but it would be worth it all the same. he's said it already, but he's missed derek, not only here, but back home, too. don't get him wrong - he's glad derek finally got the hell away from beacon hills, but there were some days when things got really rough, where stiles would find himself wishing derek had just taken him with him.
he'd have gone, he thinks. but he has this, now. this fragile, tentative thing, whatever it is. and that's good too.
stiles crams another bite of pizza in his mouth, reaching for his drink. he doesn't sip from it right away, electing to set it down on the floor in the triangle formed by his leg instead, bent at the knee and laid flat. ]
I like this board.
[ he says, apropos of nothing, really, but it's the truth. it's nicer than the one he has, even before the many years and the many games played on it with his father wore it down. stiles gently pulls the pads of his fingers along the edge of the board, watching his own hand for a moment before he glances up. ]
[ keep grinning, you bastard. derek'll knock that smug look off your horrible, horrible face before too long.
derek sets down his pizza and taps the bottom of his soda before he opens it, like that'll somehow stop it from exploding a little after being dropped and shaken up. surprisingly, it doesn't work. he cracks open the tab and it starts to bubble over, but derek seals the hole with his lips and drinks the head, foam and a thin line of coke dribbling down the corner of his mouth. he coughs a little when he peels off, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. decent damage control, but not the best. pretty much an analogy for his life as an alpha.
but whatever. it's fine. derek sets his soda on the table, smears away a little extra coke with his wrist, then dries his hands off on his shirt. stiles said something about how he's surprised derek bought a chessboard, and derek's defensive and a hypocrite, so he uses the opportunity to be a snippy little bitch. ]
Yeah, well. I did, and it was expensive, so. Don't grease it up with your dirty pizza fingers.
[ as if he doesn't have dirty pizza fingers himself. as if he doesn't have dirty soda fingers, too, for that matter. derek wipes his hand on his shirt again, just really double-dosing this, then scoots a little closer to the table. stiles made a move, and it's kind of annoying, because moving their pawns together is the chess equivalent of cockblocking. but fine. whatever. he moves a pawn, too, one of the pawns guarding his rooks. figures he'll bring that out and go on the offensive.
once he's made his move, he leans back, propping himself up on one hand and picking up his pizza again. he bites, and he chews, and he looks at stiles, kind of... entertained. stiles is fun to watch. the expressions he makes, the way he looks at derek. it's... nice. fun. if someone had told him he'd spend an afternoon splitting a pizza and playing chess with stiles, he probably would have laughed. he can't possibly know that stiles is thinking the exact same sentiment - but he wonders if he feels the same way. ]
Anyway. I don't know. This is nice.
[ derek sets his pizza back down, and again, wipes his fingers on his shirt. he's not talking about the pizza, or about the chessboard that wasn't half as expensive as he's making it out to be, he's talking about... this. all of this. derek gestures with his hand a little, pointing at stiles, then pointing at him. it's been - nice, having each other. it was nice, waiting to see stiles come over. it was nice, knowing that stiles ran up to see him. everything is just... nice, and maybe drawing attention to it will break the magic a little, but he wants to talk about it. he promised himself he'd be honest with stiles, back in the barracks. he needs to keep pushing for that, even when it's kind of hard to do. like now. ]
I mean - this is nice, right? All of this. Kind of makes me wish I'd given you more of a chance back home. Maybe I could have been happier, if I tried harder to connect with you. With Scott, too.
[ but that's easier said than done. stiles didn't treat him back home the way he treats him here. derek was on the run from hunters, constantly, and while veracity scares the shit out of him, the argents are so much worse. the death of the hales, the loss of laura, all of that is still so fresh back home. the kanima, gerard. there are so many factors in why derek couldn't have given stiles a chance that just... aren't here. but.
he still just - wants that. to have a relationship like this with stiles back home. caring and kind. supportive and understanding. he hopes he won't forget, when he's finally removed from duplicity.
derek shrugs, shaking his head. he looks away from stiles and the board like he's in thought, but then he frownss and looks back, just in case stiles decided to cheat and move a piece on the board while derek wasn't paying attention. this might be a sentimental and emotionally freeing moment, but derek still won't let his guard down enough for stiles to cheat. ]
Then again - you did get me arrested, and Scott is trying to convince my pack that I'm a murdering psychopath while simultaneously trying to blow his load in an Argent, so. Neither of you deserve me. Should've just let Peter eaten you.
[ he's teasing. well, he's teasing stiles, at least. scott's still on his shit list after not answering his fucking phone in the pool. ]
[ stiles knows that derek tapping the bottom of his soda can isn't going to do shit for the carbonation, and he could stop derek, tell him to wait, let him have a sip of his until derek's soda has settled a little more - but that would be too easy and stiles would be a liar if he said he didn't want to watch this unfold. he's not expecting a volcanic eruption of coca-cola, but there was some bounce when derek failed to catch the can, so it's bound to be at least a little entertaining.
still, he casually reaches for the napkin on the table, makes like he's just trying to wipe some grease on his thumb when really he's just readying himself to wipe up the table and spare the chess board should things go better than he expects them to. better, in that things go worse.
derek handles it like a pro, for the most part, and there's minimum spillage, though stiles' eyes immediately hone in on the little streak of soda that drips from the corner of derek's mouth. there's... nothing remotely sexy about someone dribbling on themselves - except to stiles, apparently, but he's thinking less about the mess and more about cleaning it up, swiping his tongue up derek's chin and licking into his mouth for that sweet, almost acidic taste—
jesus christ. stiles clears his throat and puts the rest of his pizza in his mouth, tearing the crust away. he drops the crust in the box and then crumples the napkin in his hand up a bit so he can toss it at derek for being. stupid. and dumb. stop wiping your hands on your shirt like a twelve year old, you massive child.
derek makes another move, and stiles shifts his attention to the board again, forcing himself to focus on this game and not on the fact that he totally just disappeared into his own head for a second. definitely not on the fact that derek could probably smell the brief spike of unexpected arousal— no. he was not aroused and he is not aroused and if he just keeps telling himself that, then it's true, right? if he can manage to steady his heartbeat enough now to get away with lying to werewolves, surely he can will himself into feeling absolutely nothing.
stiles doubles down on his concentration, sitting forward a little and ducking his chin slightly so he's eye-level with the game pieces. they've only just started, but stiles is already thinking far ahead, his eyes shifting from piece to piece, mapping out different plays in his head, trying to guess derek's most likely counter for any move he decides to make.
he glances up at derek, peers at him over the top of his queen. it takes him a second to realize derek isn't talking about the board and the craftsmanship, but that he's talking about the company. he confirms it with a little flap of his hand between himself and stiles, and stiles feels - good. it makes stiles feel really good and if he thins his lips a little, it's just to suppress a small smile.
and then derek keeps going, and stiles feels great, and then he feels a little sad because derek talking about wanting something that could potentially make him happier is just. it's hard to know about all the things to come for derek, all the things he'll go through, all the things that'll hurt him. stiles' smile fades a little as he suddenly remembers allison, and how stiles didn't get to tell her.
he should really tell derek. he needs to tell derek about erica and boyd. he needs to tell him about scott's plan for gerard, about the bite. he needs to tell derek about peter, and cora. about mexico. he needs to tell him a lot, before he can't.
stiles makes his move instead, picking up a piece and placing it down with intent, a clear counter to whatever derek may have had planned, if anything at all. he draws his hand back, pays attention to the rest of what derek is saying, and finds something to focus on. the worst thing to focus on, apparently.
stiles cringes slightly, because the last thing he wants to do is think about scott blowing his load anywhere, but especially not - jesus. he may have never been best friends with allison, but she had her moments when she wasn't trying to murder scott and derek and derek's pack. derek may not thinks so - and stiles wouldn't necessarily blame him -, but allison deserves a little more respect than that. maybe stiles just feels bad for his own failure to protect her. ]
Come on, man. [ stiles picks up his soda takes a sip, licks his top lip. he keeps it vague on purpose, doesn't specify what he has a problem with in that sentence. ] I thought we were over the Derek's The Murderer thing?
[ stiles sets his drink down on the floor again, fingers pushing the tab back and forth until it snaps off. he puts that on the table so he doesn't do something stupid like drop it in his drink, then reaches for the pizza crust he discarded earlier, folding it in half. he bites at the crease, separating it into two pieces, squashed up against each other. ]
And [ he gestures at derek with his crusts, emphasizing his point, ] I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could have done to make Scott like you back then. Don't get me wrong— I love the guy, but he's pretty blind to everything and everyone else when it comes to... girls.
[ he was going to say allison, but then there was kira, who scott was also pretty obsessed over. maybe not to the same extent as he was with allison, but. stiles is just calling it like it is. the next thing he says is a little quieter. ]
Trust me. It's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
[ scott, he means - it still kind of baffles stiles that scott really forced derek to bite the man who orchestrated the murder of most of derek's family, even if the plan was more complicated than that - but also life for all of them in general. there's never time to breathe, never time for a break.
except right here, right now, which is almost kind of surreal. stiles drags himself away from that darker mood that's threatening to creep up, smirking as he tries to lighten things up. ]
If you'd have let Peter kill me, then where would you be? You told me I need you to survive - [ stiles hesitates for half a second, shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. he's not going to try and argue that point, ] and you're not wrong. ... Obviously. But you need me just as much.
[ stiles' eyes flicker briefly toward derek's bicep. his sleeves may cover his arms, but stiles knows what's there, what's healing. he'd promised derek that if he ever got shot for pushing the guards too far, that he'd dig the bullet out with his own hands if he had to, and when it came down to it, that's exactly what he had done.
stiles picks up the tab he broke off of his can and flicks it at derek, his eyes shining slightly, crinkled near the edges. ]
[ whatever. derek doesn't need a napkin. derek pointedly and stubbornly swats the napkin away when stiles throws it away, and this time, it's actually a decently impressive swing. he bats it out of the air with the back of his palm and sends it rolling away under one of the armchairs, marginally improving his athleticism average after that sorry display with the coke can. great. yes. he is the basketball legend. 15-love or whatever. that's tennis. moving on.
he wipes his hands on his shirt again, sullenly twelve year olding. he takes a sip of his drink, he shifts his ass a bit to get comfortable, and he waits for stiles to make his move. it's in this new stretch of silence that - it hits him. he feels the heartbeat of arousal between them, that tiny little spike of adrenaline and energy and heat in stiles' stomach, and it catches on derek, almost even affects him empathetically. his eyebrows pinch and his lips drop open, and he stares at stiles.
he stares at stiles like he knows.
but he says nothing. even if the conversation didn't take a turn for the Slightly More Real, he would have said nothing. he gets through the come on, mans without really reacting, but - he does know he screwed up.
allison's gone. derek actually fucking forgot that allison's gone, through all the joy he felt in seeing stiles, and that's just... another reason why it's dangerous for him to treat this crush as something real. if he gets caught up in these... feelings, then he's going to fuck up. lose priorities, make stupid jokes without thinking. say stupid shit, like he always does when he's too happy. he needs to be logical, critical. mechanical, all the time. can't keep forgetting that.
stiles says it's going to get a lot worse. derek doesn't see how that's possible. ]
It can't get worse for me.
[ no more hales. peter - his best friend, once - dead, by his own hand. laura gone, because derek never told her the truth about the fire and let her go back home alone. things are supposed to get better for him, now that he's an alpha. just because scott's a horny little toad doesn't mean things are going to get worse for derek. he's already hit rock bottom. he refuses to believe things can be worse than they've been since the fire.
though - he knows that's not true. he knows the precarious situation he's in back home. the kanima, the alpha pack. allison's death and stiles' involvement in it. there's so much coming. so much he's not prepared for. just because things won't get worse for him - something he has to believe - doesn't mean things won't get worse for stiles and the rest.
derek sighs. rubs the side of his nose with his palm, avoiding getting pizza grease on it. he takes another bite, makes another move on the board, pushing his rook forward. he's taking aggressive actions, staying on the attack. can't let the tide turn. ]
If I go home, and I can remember, then - I'll do a better job.
[ he sets his piece down, right in position to capture one of stiles' pawns. he leans back on his ass, sets his hands on the ground after freeing them up a little, then stares at stiles, hoping this is... okay to say. ]
You didn't tell Allison about her death, but you told me. You told me about the Oni, and about the Nogitsune, and - and she's still alive, in my timeline. If I remember when I go back, then I'll save her.
[ he was always supposed to save everyone. the fact that he couldn't means - he wasn't good enough. and he can't go back and become an alpha that isn't good enough. what would laura's death be for, if derek just... misused her power, now that it's his own? he needs to save everyone. that's what he's been trying to do since peter. whether he likes it or not, allison is a part of everyone. ]
Like I said before. You gave her a second chance at being happy, while she was here. If I can save her, then - you did everything right by only telling me.
[ it's always the survivors who have to clean up after the dead. if stiles puts this in his hands - he'll do better. he takes a breath, looks away, trusts stiles not to screw with the pieces while his eyes are staring at... nothing. a spot on the wall, maybe. he grabs a slice of pizza, putting his weight on his other hand, then takes another huge bite. ]
Anyway, [ he says, through a mouthful of sausage, which is, indeed, what she said. ]
Scott couldn't have liked me back then. Agreed. But. [ he swallows. ] What about you? Anything I could've done to win you over? Other than not bleeding on your car. Or hitting you all the time.
[ stiles knows he's being stared at. he knows it because he can feel it and he very pointedly does not look at derek, focusing instead of the spread of the board in front of him. focusing, instead, on keeping his heartbeat steady and his breathing even and the tiny thrill of anxiety at bay that he can feel starting to tickle at the back of his neck. because derek is staring at him and stiles isn't stupid. he knows why.
his skin feels warm, so he drags both of his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows. that little flash of arousal is mostly gone already, but he still takes a couple seconds to think about unattractive things. cold french fries, sunburns, sticking his fingers his derek's open wound to fish out a bullet. stiles shudders a little, pulls a tiny face as he blinks back into the present. he feels briefly queasy, but chases the feeling away with a slow, deep breath.
stiles still hasn't looked at derek, but his gaze lifts at the sound of his voice. he pulls another face, this one a little doubtful, and tries to cover it up by taking a long sip from his drink. stiles wishes derek was right. he wishes that there was nowhere for him to go but up, but stiles knows better. there's no sense in opening up that can of worms, though, not when things feel - okay. and maybe that's selfish, to want to keep this comfortable feeling that they've got going, to want to enjoy derek's company, to not want to hurt him, at least not yet. stiles will beat himself up over it later.
stiles reaches for another slice of pizza, folding this one in half this time. he watches derek take his turn, following the movement of his hand as he places his rook down. hmm. okay. a little forward, but he can work with it. stiles doesn't feel even remotely threatened yet even with his pawn in jeopardy, hands hovering over the pizza box with his attention drawn to the game. he plays out a couple moves in his head, plays out a couple more as he takes a bite of his slice, and then finds his attention pulled to derek as he continues.
it's honestly the last thing stiles expects to hear from derek - that he'll save allison. that he'll try, at the very least. allison's an argent. allison will hurt derek and his pack, and scott will hurt derek because of allison, and derek doesn't know any of that. but he doesn't ask, either, and that says - a lot. stiles doesn't want to assume that derek would put aside his animosity for all things argent for stiles, because derek barely knows him in his own timeline, but.
something in stiles' chest tightens slightly and he has to swallow to dislodge the breath stuck in his lungs. you did everything right. he did everything right. even if he couldn't bring himself to tell allison about her life and how its cut short - he still told someone, and that someone can still save her. he still gave her a chance. stiles' nose burns a little. he has to avert his eyes for a moment as he feels them prick with heat, but he doesn't cry. his eyes remain dry.
he does smile, though, small and faint and private. it feels good to not feel so guilty. he nods slightly, forcing himself to look at derek, but derek's looking away from him, so stiles just looks at the side of his face. the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the line of his neck.
thank you, he wants to tell him, but his tongue feels stuck and derek spares him anyway, posing him more questions. stiles makes a curious, thoughtful sound, shifting his attention back to the game. he reaches out, fingers touching a bishop for a moment before he seems to change his mind, moving a knight instead. ]
I mean - definitely that. Like, definitely less hitting and less bleeding. In general. Anywhere. [ his fingers linger on the knight on purpose, almost like he's doubtful of finalizing the move, but he isn't. he's confident in the play. stiles licks at his top lip, then takes his hand off, setting his slice of pizza down afterward. ] But - and don't let this go to your head - but I think you'd already kind of won me over. I didn't understand you for a while, but once I stopped to listen to more than just Scott— once I started paying attention...
[ stiles shrugs, scratching between his eyebrows with his thumb nail. ]
I dunno. Talk to me more? Tell me things. I get that you were trying to like - protect yourself, and that me and Scott kind of stuck our noses in places where we didn't really belong, and Scott was just - willingly blind and deaf and love-struck, but. I mean, I figured out that Scott was a werewolf before Scott even figured it out. And I wasn't scared, you know? Like, everything pointed to my best friend being this mythical, mystical, dangerous creature, and it should have scared me, but all I wanted to do was - be there, I guess. Help him.
[ stiles shrugs again, lightly thumping the side of his loose fist against the edge of the table as he looks at derek. ]
I think I would have been pretty open to listening to you and like - being there. Too. For you. If you had just - pulled me aside, away from Scott, and just... talked to me. We're a lot better when we talk.
If you ever actually listened to me when I told you to do something, maybe I'd have tried harder to include you in things.
[ derek condescendingly holds out his pizza crust to stiles, punctuating each peak and valley in his sentence with it. he holds it like he's aiming a gun at stiles, eyebrows raised as he waggles the crust a little, a speck of ham dropping off and onto the floor. derek frowns, picks it up, and eats it. three second rule.
anyway. whatever. he's just trying to keep the tension light. he doesn't know if he helped, promising to save allison. he doesn't know if stiles believes him - and even if he does, derek doesn't know if stiles has faith in him to see that promise through. after all, it's no secret that derek could hardly bring himself to feel too torn up over the idea of one less argent in the world. she's only seventeen, and that might make it harder to watch her die, but derek's still going to kill her mother when he goes back home, and he's not going to feel all that bad about it. the argents are... they deserve any tragedy that comes for them. including the death of a young girl.
but. stiles cares about her. scott cares about her, too - he shouldn't, but he does. derek's own relationship with allison doesn't matter, if saving her means protecting those two from heartache. he means it, when he says he's going to keep her safe. he wants to make stiles proud, and he wants to be the guardian and the hero that he always wanted to be. the man he'll never become, but can still dream of.
plus, he felt the emotion in the room. the spike of relief, the salt behind stiles eyes that barely started to sting. that's enough for him to know he's helping, by making a vow like that. derek's going to do everything he can, to be there for stiles. to help him. they're friends. from now on, they'll always be friends.
still. stiles has a point, telling him to talk to him more back home. derek needed some time to circle back to it, chugging back some coke and pulling a face when the bubbles burn his throat, but he gets there, in the end. he puts down his soda, wipes his hands off on his shirt again, like a douchebag. he doesn't make a move just yet, even though it's his turn. he just - rests his thumb over his own knight, idly stroking its tiny horse nose like it can actually feel it. eventually, he looks at stiles, and his voice comes out surprisingly soft. ]
You... are the only human I've ever met who hasn't thought of me as a monster. I'm already realizing that, back home. Realizing it even more, here. It's like - I don't know. You're...
[ good. empathetic. kind, perfect. so many things he could say. instead, he runs his thumbnail down the dark, wooden mane of his knight, looking at the chessboard. again, he needs to stay aggressive. can't risk losing the (perceived, but ultimately non-existent) upperhand that comes from going first. derek hops his knight forward, then leans back. ]
But - even if you're openminded - there's gotta be a limit to that. If I came up to you, two years ago, and I said...
[ he leans forward again. he loaf-hands, and he stares at the space between his palms, like he's reading a map, or deciphering kind of old stone tablet found outside of a pharaoh's tomb that's proven particularly difficult to translate. ]
"This is going to sound crazy, but I was trapped in some kind of Quantum Leap-esque Twilight Zone situation with you. We were in another world, living different lives, only instead of Scott Bakula and gremlins tearing up school buses, we --" wait.
[ wait, hold on. derek loaf-hands again, swinging his arms down hard like he's trying to kickstart a TV by hitting it. the gremlin tearing up a school bus thing was the simpsons parody of the twilight episode he's thinking of. what was the original episode? a monkey on an airplane's wing, or something? derek looks up from the chessboard, looks up from his hands. he stares at stiles and realizes he's spiralling drastically off-track. whatever. he snarls a little. fucking wait, he has a point, jesus. ]
If I said - "instead of being stuck with Scott Bakula and planes-slash-automobiles, we were trapped in a sexy hellscape with nothing but each other and the ever-present thread of BDSM, or murder, or murder-BDSM," [ he drops his arms to his sides, lowers his eyebrows. ] "And - I don't know - we got through it together, and now I trust you more than anyone, and we have to be friends because we were friends back in Cum City USA, or something, and I'm kind of running out of steam here, but -"
[ but. he... looks at stiles. a little deflated. ]
It's just - you wouldn't believe me. Right? I know I wouldn't believe me.
[ talking to stiles about laura, and peter, about how responsible he feels over the kanima, over kate, over scott, over how afraid he is of the alpha pack - he doesn't even know how he'd breach all of that here, let alone at home, when he's so much more guarded and afraid of letting someone like stiles in. he has no idea how he could talk to stiles honestly and just... not bring up duplicity, but he has no idea how he'd avoid it, either. ]
[ stiles rolls his eyes with so much exaggeration that he actually just rolls his whole entire head on his shoulders, his chest vibrating with a quiet but emphasized groan of annoyance. stiles listens to derek all the time. maybe not as closely back then as he does now, and maybe he was a little bit doubtful of derek when he was sixteen, when they barely knew each other, at least not the way stiles knows derek now.
he has half the mind to point out the flaw in derek's logic, to highlight all the times stiles actually listening to derek would have gotten derek hurt or killed. like how, for instance, if stiles had run when derek told him to, when derek had turned his back to the kanima just to put his hand to stiles's chest and push— if stiles had done what he was told, derek probably wouldn't be alive. not that stiles has any interest in boosting his own ego and making himself sound more important than he actually is, but. he kind of likes derek better when he's breathing.
stiles is tempted to reach for the piece of crust derek is pointing at him with, pluck it from his fingers and eat it just to be a little shit. he almost, almost goes for it when derek looks down, his fingers twitching impulsively, shoulder tightening in anticipation. he curls his fingers into a loose fist instead, tilts his head to bite his folded triangle of bread and sauce and cheese and fruit, and snorts a quiet laugh through his nose when derek... eats off the floor. three second rule indeed. stiles would have given him two extra seconds, probably, before giving him shit.
or maybe not, just because derek keeps wiping his hands on his shirt, which has zero relevance to him eating a piece of ham off the carpet, but stiles still wants to slap a bib on him anyway just to get him to stop. he doesn't actually care about the state of derek's shirt and how much grease he wants to spread everywhere, but derek slapped stiles' napkin missile away, so he's allowed to be just a little bit bitter.
stiles' gaze drops to derek's hand, watching him touch the knight. he immediately starts to try to figure out where derek's going to move it and what each move means for his own pieces, and he only glances up to see if he can work it out just by following the shift of derek's eyes. derek's looking at him, though, which stiles doesn't really expect, so he finds himself just looking back. he finds himself listening intently. he takes another bite of his pizza, the last bit before the crust, and he listens and he feels a quiet plume of affection swoop through his chest just over the softness in derek's tone, the honesty.
stiles presses his lips together, wrinkles his nose a little like it itches when he's actually just trying to bite back a smile, pizza tucked into his cheek so it puffs a little. he chews slowly, eyes flickering down only briefly to watch derek move his knight, and then back up again when derek keeps talking. it's not very like stiles to be quiet for long periods of time unless his life depends on it, but it's so easy to go lengths without speaking when derek is filling that silence with his truths and vulnerabilities.
stiles tosses his crust back into the box. he could probably eat another slice, maybe two, but. pizza might be good in the morning, too. or later. pizza again. whenever.
the twilight zone reference surprises him, but it's the simpsons reference that really tickles him. unexpectedly, his face breaks out with a big, dumb, grin and his eyes crinkle at the corners and he looks vaguely intrigued and more-than-vaguely impressed and. charmed, actually. the star wars reference was one thing. shakespeare. derek just keeps giving stiles these tiny glimpses of more, and stiles is. he loves it. he loves all these seemingly meaningless details, the insight.
stiles' grin softens a little as derek goes on, and he cringes at cum city usa, but by the end of it, stiles just looks... thoughtful. derek looks deflated, but stiles is still attentive, still watching him with curious non-judgmental eyes.
after a moment, he clucks his tongue. ]
Okay, well. First and foremost, [ loaf-hand, just one, ] don't ever try to top Bonertown, like, ever. Bonertown is gold, so you can get out of here with your try-hard [ he squints slightly, wrinkles his nose just barely ] Cum City USA.
[ stiles drops his loaf hand, then reaches out to make a move without any apparent thought, pushing a pawn forward and setting one of derek's pieces up to be captured unless he moves it. which stiles is maybe counting on, not for his next move, but possibly the one after, if things work out the way he wants them to. ]
Secondly... we - human, alpha werewolf [ stiles points to himself, then points to derek, just in case there was any confusion on who is who. also, this is probably the first time he's said the word werewolf out loud since being in the city. boy keeps his secrets and he keeps them well. ] - we were being chased by a freaky lizardy asshole? Like. That's... pretty crazy. Like, I know your life is wild but objectively, that is not a very normal thing that happens every day. To anyone. But it happened.
[ stiles pauses for a moment to take a sip of his soda, leaning back on one of his hands and stretching his legs out in the narrow space under the table. one of his knees pops loudly. he winces a little, then draws his legs back in so his feet aren't all up in derek's space. ]
So... who knows. I might believe you. I mean, don't say Cum City USA to me because sixteen year old me will absolutely, one hundred percent laugh in your face and also probably want to die at the same time, but.
[ he shrugs, sitting forward and setting his can down. he crosses his arms and leans them against the edge of the table, resting his chin on the criss-cross of his forearms. he tilts his head slightly, looking across the table at derek. ]
I'm a lot more open to things than you think. But I mean. I don't think you even need to mention - this place. I think if you just. Start talking to me, and explaining things to me when I get something wrong or I don't understand why you're doing something - without smashing my face into something first, thank you - I don't... think I'd see that as a reason not to trust you.
[ stiles scrunches his nose up again, but this time it is because it itches. he turns his head and tilts his head down for a moment, tucking his nose into the crook of his elbow to itch it because apparently uncrossing his arms and using his hands to scratch it is just way too much effort at the moment. he looks at derek for a couple beats of silence, after. ]
But... if you want to tell me about all of this, and you're not sure I'll believe you, just. Tell me something you wouldn't know if we weren't friends. Something I would know, too.
[ he pops his lips a couple times quietly, trying to come up with something. ]
Tell me about - I don't know, Julius Squeezer. Tell me about how I used to sit in the driveway in my Jeep for hours when I first got it. Tell me about -
[ stiles groans, annoyed, and derek can't possibly express how happy that makes him. he loves annoying stiles, and he's comfortable enough with him by this point to just - smile, happy and bright, in response. his smile fades with time, but not by much. it shifts from a mischievous, sunny glow into something more lukewarm and restful, like he's just... quietly safe, quietly content. peaceful. stiles makes everything feel peaceful.
derek's done eating, if only because stiles is done, too, and he doesn't feel like eating alone. he closes the box and tucks it away under the table; he'd take it out to the kitchen, if he trusted stiles alone with the board, but that's sure as shit not going to happen. when stiles cringes and gives him shit for Cum City USA, derek's got a litany of sick burns to throw back in his face, fully prepared to defend the name and entirely ready to die on Cum City USA's largest and stickiest hill, but.
he opens his mouth, says the start of the word well, and then stiles makes a move. it's fast. distracting. he just - pushes a pawn forward when derek's not looking, and that's, well. that's alarming. what? what just happened. derek sits up straight and instantly puts on his game face, staring down at the board and trying to figure out what the fuck he just missed. what the fuck stiles is thinking.
truthfully, stiles is always good at reassuring him. derek doesn't respond to everything he's saying about julis squeezer, about the jeep, about the station. he just...
he's going to have to go on the defensive, if he wants to save his piece, but that's not how he plays chess. he's reckless. derek ignores stiles' pawn and uses his rook to capture another piece, completely missing the fact that it puts his rook in danger until he's already made his move and taken his hand away. he winces, and it's obvious he's made a mistake, but he tries to wear a poker face anyway.
poorly. because he just looks mad. he takes a breath, shakes it off, hopes that stiles doesn't see the stupid shit he just pulled. right, okay. home. ]
Okay. The station. Yeah.
[ derek sighs through his nose, then leans back on his palms. for a second, he looks at stiles like he's still only concerned about the game, smile gone like it was never there. they were both so young, during the fire. would his life have been any different, if he stayed in beacon hills? if, instead of running from the argents with his tail between his legs, he'd realized how badly this poor, grieving kid had needed someone who understood what it was like to lose family, and just - stayed, and helped, and listened? would stiles have been happier? would derek?
sometimes, everything just hurts. the clouds cover the sun and make everything cooler, and derek realizes, when his eyes adjust to the shade, just how hard he's been hit by life. he feels a disconnect from his own body, like he's outside of himself. that happens here. he never should have been at that station. stiles should have never lost his mother. everything is always so... hard.
but then he looks up, and stiles is resting on the table, and he's safe, and he's quiet, and he's happy. life can't be all bad. not if he has stiles. how the fuck did he go so long without realizing how fucking likeable stiles is? kind and beautiful and honest. derek just-- stares, like he's seeing him for the first time. he has stiles. he can't lose stiles. ]
I never want to lose you. I hope I never... I mean - I hope we always...
[ his eyebrows pinch, and he sits up on his knees. he looks at the board, and he's almost annoyed that it's there. annoyed with himself for caring so much about whether he fucked up one move or not, like any of this actually matters. why are they wasting time playing chess? why are they playing chess, when they could be-- they could be... ]
I forfeit. I don't want to play anymore.
[ he looks at stiles, and his temper rises in him like a bullet, because it's been half of half a second since he's spoken and stiles still hasn't replied, so maybe derek's not making himself clear. in one hard, sweeping motion, derek pushes the chessboard and it's pieces off the table and onto the floor, each loose wooden game piece hitting the carpet so quietly they're barely even heard, but rolling and scattering across the apartment.
which means he's lost. he loses the game, he loses, he's lost, and that means stiles wins, and that means stiles can make him do something, and that's fine, derek doesn't care. they should be doing things. they should be doing things, they should be-- derek should be doing so much for stiles. he needs to show him how devoted he is to making this contract work, how desperately he wants this friendship to last, how terrified he is that he might go home and forget about the city and go back to being shallow and angry and alone, staring at stiles with resentment and disappointment instead of fucking realizing that stiles is his hero, and stiles is his savior, and stiles is smart and beautiful and could maybe even be his, if he just stopped being stupid and realized that this thing he feels between them goes both ways.
derek grips the side of the table, leaning forward, barely managing to avoid knocking over his soda. he doesn't know how to speak up. how to tell stiles he wants him. he just - stares, intense and frustrated and desperate, like he's on a time limit. like he's suddenly realizing how easily one of them could just go. like scott. like allison. like the nogitsune. like so many others who came before them.
he pitches forward, and his voice is deep, steady and demanding. his eyes are sharp, wolfish, predatory. he only has eyes for stiles. ]
Tell me what you want from me. Whatever it is, you can have it.
[ it goes exactly as planned. his seemingly thoughtless play throws derek for a loop and stiles just sits there and watches him quietly, casually dipping his chin down a little to hide his mouth behind the fold of his arms, just in case he's tempted to smile. he needs derek to believe that he's just being careless, and not setting a trap for him. a trap that could very well fall apart if doesn't play the way stiles thinks he will, but stiles feels confident.
stiles stares at his own pawn, at derek's piece that he used to bait this trap like he's just anticipating that derek will move it because that's the obvious play here. but he moves his rook instead, just like stiles thought he would, and he leaves himself wide open. stiles could probably end this game in two moves.
he takes his time. he really plays it up. stiles already knows what he wants to move next, but he lets his eyes wander from piece to piece like he doesn't have a solid plan, rubbing his lips together thoughtfully, his chin still rested on his arms. it's a terrible angle to see the board from.
derek is unusually quiet through all of this, but stiles just assumes he's sweating over his dumb mistake and trying not to draw attention to it or himself, unaware that he's actually drifted away a little in thought. he taps two of his fingers against the top of the table and he sighs, lifting his chin up off of his arm and reaching a hand over the board - only to stop and let it hover, because derek is saying something.
derek says something stiles doesn't expect and stiles takes his eyes away from the board to look at him, his hand still hovering over the pieces. his fingers curl a little, his brows furrow gently and his stomach swoops at the same time that his heart skips a single beat. stiles lips part. he starts to pull his hand back.
he doesn't know what to say. stiles doesn't want to lose derek either, but the reality is that he already has. in his timeline, derek has been gone for months and stiles has spent countless hours late at night, combing through different news outlets for reports of unusual wolf activity or trying, uselessly, to track down any recently-created social media profiles, just - trying to find him in the downtime. stiles doesn't want to think about the possibility of having to let him go again, so he thinks about chess instead.
and then derek is forfeiting and it catches stiles off guard enough that he sits up kind of abruptly, knocking his chest against the edge of the table. he's slightly confused, but he also kind of wants to laugh if this is how derek is going to handle a potential loss. it's not as if derek couldn't come back from his mistake. there are still moves he could make—
oh. okay, no, there are no moves left to make because derek just. sweeps the whole game onto the floor and stiles sits up and throws his hands out and looks at derek like— ]
Dude? Whoa, hey, what the - hell.
[ okay. well. game over then. forfeiture confirmed. stiles huffs a sigh. he drops one hand, scratches over his left eyebrow with his thumb on his other hand. he pauses when derek sits up, when he grabs onto the table, when he leans over it. stiles swallows quietly, instinctively, and slowly lets his fingers fall from the arch of his eyebrow.
okay. okay something is definitely happening here, but stiles isn't sure what. derek just stares at him and it's super intense and he looks kind of pissed off, and then suddenly he's leaning even closer and stiles feels something shift.
tell me what you want from me. whatever it is, you can have it.
stiles stares at derek for a handful of seconds that feel a lot longer than they are. he looks him right in the eyes, and he holds his gaze, and derek may not be shifted at all, but stiles can almost feel the wolf in him, thrumming just beneath the surface.
derek lost. they made a deal and derek lost and there's a power in stiles' hands now that he didn't have before, but he already knows what he wants from derek. he's known since before derek decided to call him a coward for not wanting to tell him.
but he's not a coward. he's not going to be a coward about this.
stiles leans forward slowly. derek is up on his knees, which puts him above stiles, but stiles doesn't make any move to get up from where he's seated on the floor, doesn't try to put himself on the same level as derek. he's okay with looking up at him. stiles leans forward until he's close enough to be considered in derek's space. and he says nothing.
for a solid ten seconds, he just looks derek in the eye and he says nothing. and then he does say something, and his voice is low, too, quiet because he's tilted in close. ]
I want you... [ stiles pauses for another second or two for suspense. really, he's just steeling himself. this isn't a big deal, but rejection still sucks, so he's preparing for the possibility of being laughed at. or, of derek smashing his face into the table. he does look kind of mad. stiles wets his lips, possibly deliberately, possibly in anticipation, and he presses on, tipping himself just the slightest bit closer. ] ... to kiss me.
derek knew. derek knew that's what stiles wanted, or at least - he was hedging his bets on it. stiles has barely finished asking for a kiss before derek's darting forward, pressing their lips together and shutting his eyes. it's not the gentle, hopeful, romantic kiss that stiles might have expected - it's forceful and animalistic and frantic, it's open-mouthed and paired with derek's fingers going straight into stiles' hair, lightly tugging just to keep him close.
he wants more. he wants more, and he wants to give more, and he's sick of waiting, he's sick of being scared, he's sick of worrying about what this might mean or what he might feel or where it might go. the table between them is in the way, and derek gets frustrated enough to break the kiss and move it, toppling it over to join the discarded chessboard. the soda cans slide off and spill onto the carpet, the pizza box gets crushed underneath the table's side, but derek either doesn't notice or doesn't care.
derek closes the distance between him and stiles, moving forward on his knees. he puts his hands to stiles, one on his neck, one on his shoulder, and he bends down for another kiss. he leans in close, hovers his lips over stiles', and then - and then he stops. his chest clenches, and he worries that this is too much, too fast, but - but he can't have imagined that stiles wants this. stiles climbed those stairs, just for him. all they've wanted for a full fucking week now is to see each other, and he has to be right about this. he has to be right about this. ]
I...
[ he stops, and he hesitates, and he looks into stiles' eyes. he wishes his own were half as beautiful. that light amber, catching the light. those long lashes, framed by pale skin. derek's always liked brown eyes. ]
I can... you-- you deserve so much more than a kiss. You're-- so much.
[ he wants stiles to feel good. he wants stiles to feel loved, though he doesn't connect the word to his feeling when it hits him as hard as it does. stiles makes derek feel cared for and attended to and wanted, stiles makes derek feel like there's more to him than just a scared, angry wolf hidden behind slabs of muscle and a skin that was toughened against his will, more than the bullet wounds and the smell of ash and the grief. stiles makes derek feel like he matters. derek needs to be absolutely, absolutely sure that stiles knows he matters to derek, too.
but he's not good with words. not like this. it's always such a struggle for derek to communicate his feelings, when in the back of his mind there's always a voice telling him to stop and stay silent. he's never been able to filter honesty from self-deprecation, he's never been able to figure out which thoughts were real and which came from anxiety and trauma and inward hate. he's trying hard to get past that. he's always trying hard to get past that, with stiles. ]
Let me-- let me give you...
[ derek's hand slips down stiles' neck, down the front of his hoodie, settling just beneath his stomach. he doesn't ask for permission, when he starts to unthread the cord of stiles' sweatpants, but even like this, forceful and sturdy and broad, leaning down from a higher height, he's not... intimidating. he's not trying to be, at least. it would be easy for stiles to ask him to stop. one stray touch to his bicep and derek'll understand.
but he thinks he's reading this right, and he thinks that even if he doesn't know how to speak up, sometimes, stiles knows him well enough to fill in the blanks. he trusts stiles to understand what he's trying to say, or at least the vague feelings behind each fragmented false-start of a sentence. derek might be falling for stiles, and he wants to be good for him, he wants to be enough. he wants to show stiles how much he cares about him, how much he appreciates him, and he doesn't think the world has ever just given stiles the chance to - feel that kind of admiration. that blind, loving affection from someone who just wants him to feel good. derek doesn't know if stiles has ever felt... acknowledged. if he hasn't - he will tonight.
after undoing the knot on stiles' sweats, derek hesitates, looking at stiles' lips. carefully, he leans forward again, stopping and starting before they finally connect. he kisses him again, and it's-- it's soft, this time. carefully measured, with eyes half-open and breath painfully taut in derek's lungs. he doesn't break away until he needs to breathe so bad that his eyes are stinging, but he hopes that-- that that kiss communicated, maybe, that this isn't just lust, this is-- the opposite. derek's a little desperate, when he finds his voice, punctuating each word with a steady, calm insistence. ]
[ everything happens a little faster than stiles' mind can process. there's hardly even a second of time between when stiles finishes telling derek what he wants from him, and when derek literally crashes his mouth into stiles'. it's too quick, so he's not ready for it even though this is literally what he just asked for, and he's left sitting there, weight caught on his hands behind him with slightly widened eyes and pinched eyebrows. and then derek's fingers sink into his hair and they pull and that's all it takes for stiles to lean into this.
stiles slides his eyes closed and he breathes out though his nose and he presses the softest, appreciative whimper into derek's mouth, holding himself up on one hand and grabbing at the collar of derek's shirt with his other so derek won't pull away. but derek pulls away anyway, and stiles worries for a second that maybe he should't have tried to hold derek there, maybe that was a bad move, maybe that's why derek is — angry? derek shoves the table aside and sends everything on top of it toppling over with it and it doesn't scare stiles, but it does make him second-guess this for half of a second.
and then it clicks. derek isn't angry, not at him, anyway, he just — he wants to be closer to stiles and he wants to be closer as quickly as possible and the table is just a victim of derek's impatience. to get to stiles. instead of getting up and walking around the table, derek literally picked it up and pushed it over to cut out those few seconds of separation and stiles is - he's immediately turned on, and a little flustered because no one's ever - he's never had anybody feel that strongly about being separated from him that they would destroy anything in their way to get to him, not that he can ever recall.
derek moves in and he kneels over stiles and he puts his hands on him and he leans in, and stiles sits up. he stretches his body upward to meet him, but derek stops just out of reach. stiles tries to close the space, tries to sit up a little more, but it occurs to him that there's probably a reason for this. he wets his lips and he gently furrows his eyebrows, lifting his hand to touch his fingers to the back of one of derek's wrists, silently asking if something's wrong, if everything's okay. derek starts to speak, and then he stops, but stiles just makes sure he keeps looking at him. he makes sure he holds that eye contact, tries to to convey - comfort and security and trust. whatever it is, derek can trust him.
you deserve so much more [ ... ] you're-- so much.
his expression softens slowly, his eyebrows relaxing, smoothing out. stiles' chest feels a little tight all of a sudden. he closes his mouth and he swallows, and he stares up at derek in silence, his eyes shifting back and forth between derek's like he's reading a deeper meaning behind them. like he understands what derek is trying to say to him, even if he doesn't understand why.
nobody has ever really stopped to tell stiles that he deserves more, that he deserves better. he's never had anyone look at him the way derek is looking at him, he's never stared back at anyone and felt seen, the way he does right now. stiles doesn't think he deserves the world - he'd never be so conceited to believe anything so ridiculous - but there have been so many times where stiles has felt - invisible, or underappreciated, or overlooked. like he's less.
he doesn't feel like that right now.
stiles breathes in deep ask derek's hand drifts down his chest. he sucks in his stomach, his breath catching for a moment in his lungs, eyes watching derek's fingers as they pull at the drawstrings at the front of his sweatpants. derek towers over him on his knees, but it doesn't make him feel small the way it probably should. he just feels this swell in his chest, this pulsing burst of affection.
he doesn't reach to stop him even as his hands still, but he does reach out to rest his fingers against the side of derek's throat, thumb smoothing a gentle line across his adam's apple, and when derek leans down, when derek kisses him, a stark contrast from sharp and bruising kiss this all started with in that it's soft and it's slow and it's gentle - stiles understands.
derek pulls away from him, but stiles keeps his hand on his neck to keep him close, and as soon as derek's lips are gone he licks his own. he presses his forehead against derek's and he feels this rush of happiness in his veins, and he smiles. he smiles, and it's a little shy, and the breath that rushes out of him is soft, sounds like it could be a laugh. stiles nods, nose bumping against derek's. he doesn't know, specifically, what it is derek wants to do for him - he assumes, by the tug at the cord of his sweatpants, that derek is about to give him the best handjob of his life - but whatever it is, whatever derek wants to do, stiles wants it. his quiet little smile widens into something brighter, something sharp and teasing. ]
I have never loved the game of chess more than I do right now.
[ of course he has to say something a little stupid, a little shitty, a little - honest, if you squint. he presses his lips together, and he collects himself, reels himself in before he does something dumb to piss derek off, and he nods again. ]
[ every square inch of derek's expression is... soft. clear, open, understanding. past the gentle kiss, through quiet, happy breaths, and through quick, hopeful touches across his throat, his wrist, and his lips, derek is... derek's just looking at stiles like he's already in love with him. expressive and adoring and completely, totally under stiles' spell. he wishes he'd kissed him against his door, even before they had even headed inside. he wishes he'd kissed him in the shower, pressed up against the glass, the two of them naked and warm and together. he wishes he'd... done this sooner.
one last pull, and the thread on stiles' sweatpants comes completely undone. derek's expression slips, just a little, just enough to make him look awed less by stiles himself and more by what he's about to do. it was just... instinct, that got him to this point, with his knees sore against the carpet and his heart a jackhammer against his ribcage. it's gotta be courage that gets him the rest of the way.
he's about to tug stiles' sweatpants down when he looks back up and sees stiles' expression. the bratty little smirk, the glint in his eyes. he wants to reel himself in before he pisses derek off, but, well. ]
Shut up.
[ that doesn't happen. well, derek pretends that doesn't happen, at least. he sounds annoyed, but he's not, not really, and that's actually kind of obvious, try as he might to pretend otherwise. when derek rolls his eyes, he makes absolutely sure to shake his head at the same time, trying to compensate for the stupid smile that creeps into his expression. when he laughs, he tries to make it a snort, like he's scoffing and judgmental and frustrated, and that works, at first, but then he laughs again, clear as a bell, ruining the attempt. fucking stiles. fucking stiles.
truthfully, though? this is better. this helps. it was adrenaline and a fresh surge of fear that had derek panic about losing stiles, and that same impulse was what pushed him to corner stiles against the foot of the sofa, the cream-colored carpets well and truly fucked by soda by now. but derek doesn't want this to be... desperate. he wants this to be safe, he wants this to be happy, he wants this to be warm. he wants stiles to feel relaxed and loved and wanted just as he is, without heightened emotions playing too much of a role in this, and, well.
the two of them are assholes to each other. playfully. it hits derek, suddenly, that that's just how they flirt. the bullying, the namecalling. that was flirting. does stiles realize that? he'll have to ask. one day.
so derek keeps the act going. he huffs through his nose, he puts his hand on stiles' chest, and he pushes him back against the bottom of the couch, forcing him to lean back. he dips down and goes straight for his neck, swiping his tongue down the length of it and gently applying pressure to the first pressure point he finds. there's no subtlety, when he slowly reaches his hand into stiles' sweatpants, past his boxers, and straight for his cock. he squeezes, just lightly, coaxing him to a full hardness, and then - he moves.
derek moves until he's practically on all fours, his head between stiles' legs. he keeps eye contact as he lowers himself down, even as he tugs stiles' sweats and underwear down, exposing his cock to the cool afternoon air and tucking his waistbands beneath his balls. he's focused on stiles' expression, because he wants to see it change when he realizes what derek's about to do for him, but derek looks away before he really gets the chance to see the shift. he drops his eyes to stiles' dick, and he's... just...
he's stunned, for a second. he stares, but he doesn't let himself stare for too long, because he thinks stiles might get self-conscious, if he does. it's just - seeing stiles for the first time like this? up close, hard, all for him? it's... ]
Holy fuck.
[ a lot. derek swallows, wetting his lips, and he's fucking-- needy, suddenly. his chest feels tight and his cheeks get red and his mouth is actually watering, which he thinks must be pretty god damn pathetic. he has to swallow a few times, just to ground himself, and he feels like he's never done this before, when he finally wraps his hand around the base of stiles' cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. he's never... he hasn't ever felt like this. this consumed by want, for someone. this intensely aroused.
he takes another few breaths, and it hits him, again, that smiles smells like him. the soap, the shampoo. he smells like derek. he smells like he's derek's, like he's already been marked. jesus, he's not going to be able to get through this. derek looks up at stiles, and it takes a few tries for him to talk, just because his brain needs some time to remember how his mouth works. he laughs, again, but it's breathless and sorta slutty and-- really, really fucking horny. ]
You're... not going to get all self-conscious and contrary if I tell you that you've got a nice dick, right? I'm not going to have to deal with you whining and saying something annoying like -
[ he imitates stiles' voice, all high pitched and whiny - ] Nooo, my dick's stuuupid, I don't have a nice diiiick, don't saaay thaaaat - [ - and it's not an accurate imitation, but, still - ]
- or something, are you?
[ he starts to stroke stiles' dick, long and slow, just one firm, squeezing tug. derek... doesn't think he can wait for this much longer, and it's there in his voice, try as he might to sound normal. he arches his back a little, spreads his knees, still on all fours. he's-- uncomfortable, with his cock so tight and confined in his own pants. he clears his throat, keeps trying to talk, holding eye contact. ]
Because I'll kick you out with your sweats around your ankles if you pull that shit on me. I'm not kidding.
[ stiles reads him easily. derek sounds annoyed, but it's not the same tone, not the same timbre in his voice that there is when he's truly agitated. stiles has been on the end of derek's genuine annoyance enough times to know the difference. but derek smiles, too, and it gives him away. he laughs, and stiles' shy little smile spreads and he finds himself laughing too, a little dumb with - happiness. he likes it when derek smiles.
he's still laughing to himself under his breath when derek plants his hand up against his chest and pushes him backwards. stiles goes easily, lets himself be tilted back with zero resistance, and when his shoulders thump against the bottom of the couch, it knocks the breath out of him a little. his smile fades slightly, not because he feels any less happy, but because he's sensing a shift in the atmosphere, and he's curious and - really horny. like, really unexpectedly turned on.
derek goes for his neck and stiles instinctively tilts his head back, lets the back of his skull rest against the top of the couch cushion behind him. he can't help the soft sigh of a sound that slips out as derek gently closes his mouth over his pulse and sucks, fingers flexing aimlessly by his thighs. he wants to put his hands on derek, wants to feel his skin warm under his hands, the solid muscle.
it doesn't take a lot from derek to get him fully erect. he's practically already there when derek sinks his hand past the waistband of his sweats and closes his hand around his cock, strokes him slowly. stiles lifts his head back up and tilts his chin forward, looks down to watch. the last time derek had his hand on stiles' dick it was dark and the space was close and tight, but he wants to see what it looks like, derek's hand curled tight just underneath the crown, but his sweats are still in the way—
and derek is moving. derek moves, and he dips his head in low between stiles lazily-parted thighs and he keeps his eyes on stiles' while he does it. stiles tenses immediately, but it's not a bad thing. his cock flexes in derek's grip and his lips part and his pupils dilate minutely, and stiles doesn't want to assume, but he feels like this is not something that's very easy to misinterpret. he wets his lips and he closes his mouth and he swallows hard. fuck. fuck, he's never— god. his dick is out and practically in derek's face and derek is staring at it and stiles doesn't know what to make of it. he starts to feel nervous, a little self-conscious because derek's not saying anything. until he does.
stiles' toes flex and he feels this weird wave of something close to pride roll through him, and he watches as derek swallows and as his face flushes red, he watches as he wets his lips and stiles— stiles really hopes this is going to turn out to be more than the handjob he originally thought he was about to get from derek - which would have been fine, too, don't get him wrong, but now he can't stop thinking about what it would feel like to slide his cock into derek's mouth.
stiles whimpers. it's just a tiny, swallowed sound, but he has to close his eyes for a second. he brings one of his hands up and he bumps the back of his fingers against the edge of his own jaw, like he doesn't even know what to do with his hands. derek's voice is - fuck, it's something else right now. it's a little deeper, smooth and rough at the same time and stiles doesn't realize it, but he starts to tighten the muscles in his lower back very slowly, arching it in, pushing his cock into derek's hand, pushing it closer to derek's mouth.
and then derek imitates him and his voice goes from attractive as fuck to annoying as hell. stiles closes his eyes in the slowest blink just to keep from rolling them instead, and without stopping to think about it, he takes his hand away from his own face and he reaches out and he slides his palm underneath derek's chin, fingers and thumb on either side of his jaw, and he lifts his head to make derek look at him.
it's hard to keep his voice steady when derek starts to stroke his cock, and it's hard to stay focused with his mouth so close to his dick, with his knees spread and his back arched. it's hard to say anything at all with derek looking up at him from between his legs, but damn it, he's going to try and he's going to nail this.
with much more confidence than he's actually feeling, stiles tilts his head and he leans in close, and it's slightly awkward and a little bit of a strain because he has to practically fold himself over, but stiles does it anyway, lifting derek chin a little bit more to lessen the reach. he tilts his face in close, and he purposely touches his thumb to derek's lower lip. just for a second, very light, and he kisses derek, soft and easy and appreciative of his subtle ("subtle") praise. it's just a brief brush of their lips, but stiles stays close when he parts from him. ]
I'd say thank you, actually. [ his heart's a little quick, but it's consistent, there's no skip. stiles wets his lips, sits back a little and lets his hand drift from under derek's chin, down the side of his neck. he doesn't know why, but he really wants to push his fingers through derek's hair - so he does. he slides his fingers through the dark strands and he lets his hand drift down the back of his neck. ] Now can you just - shut up and do something? Please?
[ he means to sound sarcastic and teasing, but he misses his mark by a mile because he just sounds soft and fond and quietly desperate, quietly needy instead. ]
[ stiles is only pretending to be confident, but honestly - derek's pretty sold. he leans down, eases derek up, and derek's swayed enough by the way he moves to follow him, stretching out his knees to meet him halfway. the thumb on his lip is surprising, but so is the softness of his kiss, the steadiness of his heartbeat. it's...
it's all very charismatic, honestly, and derek, despite his overall confidence and experience when it comes to sex, feels just a tiny bit rattled in the wake of it. when stiles stays close, when stiles touches his hair, when stiles says he'd fucking thank him instead of playing along and slapping at derek and calling him names, derek's expression is equal parts confused, pleased and impressed.
he, uh. he didn't think stiles had it in him. to surprise him, like this. to sound so charming, so in control. to be so fucking disarming. so - well. hot? derek thinks he's really, really hot, suddenly, and he actually has to scramble for something to say, caught off guard by how everything stiles is doing bolts straight to his dick. it's very, very rare for him to be flustered, and derek's not going to admit that that's what this feeling is, but he's obviously kind of embarrassed and maybe even a little shy as he tries to think of a response. stiles is gonna have to be pretty fucking lucky to ever see derek this thrown again. ]
Well - guess you're gonna be thanking me for a few things, then.
[ so, yeah. totally nailed that interchange, he thinks, nodding and trying to look very, very serious. he nods again, twists his very serious smile to the side like he's trying to very seriously hide it, and then very seriously shakes his head like he's embarrassed for thinking he could pull that off. god, okay. focus.
a part of derek feels as if he's slipping. the determination that got him to this point wavers like the tide, sometimes there, sometimes not. stiles is pressed up against the couch and every part of derek still knows in his heart of hearts that this is going to be good. he knows stiles is going to enjoy this, and he knows that he himself is going to enjoy giving him this - but now that he's at the eleventh hour, now that his body isn't soaked with adrenaline from table-flipping and chest-shoving, he's...
not anxious. something close to anxious. in the end, he's just gotta go for it, treat this like it's no big deal. he's gotta think of this as just one friend trying to take care of another, even if he knows that's not what they are. friends don't look at each other the way that stiles looks at derek, and friends don't get overwhelmed by a crashing tidal wave of hope and fear and longing the way that derek was fifteen fucking seconds ago. friends don't shove tables to the ground because it shaves three seconds off of being able to shove their tongue down their homie's throat. they stopped being friends a long time ago.
derek has to go for it. he has to go for it, both for the sake of his nerve and so he doesn't give stiles a fucking hernia from having to wait any longer.
crawling back down, derek stretches out over the carpet again when he drops between stiles' thighs. he's not going to waste time here with exploratory touches, he can't just keep staring. he has to go for it. he has. to just. do it.
one breath. one breath is all he takes to steel himself, and then he seals the very tip of stiles' cock between his lips. he sucks, just lightly, as he swipes the end of his tongue over the slit. he minds his teeth, and he swirls his tongue around the head until it's shiny with his spit, and he adds just a bit more suction, just enough to pull focus. derek wraps one hand around stiles' shaft and slowly starts to pump, using the other to roll stiles' balls between his fingers, gently massaging them, and he's already feeling more confident, already feeling more ready. more addicted. he likes this.
he fucking loves this.
he can feel the heat of stiles' dick now more than he did at the barracks. with his powers back, he can better sense his arousal, smell the blood and the lust crashing through his system. it makes his mouth water, which is conducive, to what they're doing, he guesses, and he closes his eyes to really focus. he thinks of the way stiles' hand felt on his chin, on his neck, in his hair, and he wants that again. his heart is a fucking mess, pumping loud enough to beat in his ears, and he loses a lot of shame, a lot of hesitation, the more this goes on. he stops trying to stay quiet. he doesn't mind if stiles hears the way his breathing comes staggered and needy, every time he pulls back to flood his lungs with air. he doesn't mind if stiles notices the way he rumbles in the back of his throat, deep and pleased and almost canine, every time stiles gives him a drop of pre to taste.
derek slips down lower, taking more of stiles in, taking him down inch by inch until he feels like he might gag. he squeezes his hand down stiles' cock as he goes, so that stiles is always feeling something - the soft, tight grip of his fingers, or the hot, wet suction of his mouth. derek squeezes his fist around the base of stiles' cock and he hums, appreciatively, like he's the one here who should be grateful, and if he drools a little from the corner of his mouth, he's far too engaged in what he's doing to care.
he slowly pulls back, keeping a long, dragging suction as he goes, his cheeks hollowed tight from the pressure of it. he lifts his lips from stiles' cock with a hard pop, and he gives himself a second to just collect himself. he looks up at stiles, and derek isn't smiling, not anymore. he's just - hazy, like he barely even notices stiles is there. he jerks stiles off, his hand wet and noisy, and his lips are red and glossy from precum and spit. he doesn't really think, when he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip to get it dry. to really taste stiles, already missing him. ]
You doing okay?
[ his voice is sort of raspy, but he clears his throat and fixes it, looking sharper now. he's enjoying himself, and he's pretty fucking positive that stiles is enjoying himself, too, but the last thing derek wants to do is overwhelm him. he only wanted a kiss, after all. ]
[ stiles isn't entirely sure what to make of derek's reaction, but he feels... weirdly endeared to him and kind of proud of himself if he's honest. his false confidence worked out well, which is a miracle because stiles was like, ninety-nine percent sure derek was going to call him out on it and then tease the shit out of him for thinking he could ever be so suave. but derek doesn't poke fun, which is about as unexpected to stiles as stiles being charismatic was to derek. he looks - shy, and ruffled, and stiles just.
he kind of wants to laugh. not at derek, he just. he feels really happy? giddy and stupid and horny as fuck and it's such a good mix of feelings stiles isn't sure he's ever felt before all at once, at least not this intensely. he starts to smile, tries to hide it by tucking his lower lip under the flats of his teeth, and then derek says something that stiles doesn't really... understand, so his expression becomes this mix of amused and confused. kind of like a puppy that's excited, but also confused as shit about something their owner is doing, tilting their head this way and that.
what is that even supposed to mean? is derek about to compliment the shit out of stiles? because stiles has like, zero complaints if that's the plan here, even if he'd probably get all shy and bashful and embarrassed and entirely flustered. like, one compliment about how nice his dick is - that's like, up there as far as compliments go, for stiles. which is dumb, and kind of shallow, but 90% of it is because it came from derek, who stiles really, really fucking likes. derek likes his hands, derek likes his body, derek likes his dick. derek thinks he's attractive.
stiles is so turned on just thinking about derek being into him that it's not even funny. it's actually kind of painful, and stiles needs at least a little bit of relief here or he's - going to die, probably. he flexes his fingers gently in derek's hair, rolling his hips forward just a little, so, so slowly, pushing his dick through the tight circle of derek's fist just that fraction of a fraction of an inch. jesus christ - derek's not doing anything and it feels like an eternity is passing by but stiles is just overly-aroused and impatient. it's only been like. five seconds.
but then derek starts to sink back down, long and lean where he's stretched out across the living room floor and stiles' heart skips with anticipation. he feels the warmth from derek's breath spread over his hip, his stomach tightening briefly, and when derek lowers his head, stiles fingers slide out of his hair, hand just - hovering in the empty space above it.
derek's mouth is so fucking warm and it's wet and his lips are soft. stiles sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, hisses quietly through parted lips. he breathes so deep that his shoulders kind of rise with it, chest expanding, fingers clenching into a fist where his hand still lingers just above derek's head - and he holds his breath. he has no idea why he holds his breath, barely even realizes he's stopped breathing for a handful of seconds, but he just stares at derek.
he's only got the very tip of his cock in derek's mouth but this is already better than the handjob he was originally anticipating. derek sucks gently and he swipes his tongue around the crown of his dick, over the head and it's just - stiles has never had the pleasure of anyone sucking him off before, but he's imagined what it would be like. he's licked his hand and he's kept his fist tight and he's closed his eyes and pretended to the best of his ability, but that almost seems like a joke now, in the face of the actual thing, and derek has only just barely gotten started.
this could be over quickly. if stiles isn't careful, if he lets himself slide too deep too quickly into the warm, delicious buzz of pleasure, he's going to come before he's ready for it, before he wants to, and this will all be over in an embarrassingly short amount of time. it doesn't help his composure when derek starts to stroke him off as well, sliding his fist around the parts of him that his mouth doesn't reach, massaging his balls with his other hand.
stiles hums. just one long, soft note, low in his throat and hanging out on the edge of a whimper. he closes his eyes and his hand drops without him realizing it until he's already got his fingers back in derek's hair. there's no pressure behind his palm. he doesn't push, doesn't hold derek in place. he just wants to touch him, just needs something to keep him grounded, keep him anchored. stiles lets his head fall back against the couch cushions, throat extended and exposed, and his words are sighed more than they're spoken, breathy and barely murmured. ]
Hhhhoh - my god.
[ stiles only keeps his head tilted back for a couple of seconds before he's tilting it forward again. he wants to watch. his fingers drift down the back his derek's head, ghost over the back of his neck and settle, thumb on one side, the rest of his fingers on the other. he squeezes gently, eyes half-lidded and a little dazed as derek swirls his tongue around the crown of his dick and hollows his cheeks and sucks. stiles fingers press and shift and move in tight, lazy circles, like he's - trying to massage the back of derek's neck while derek blows him.
stiles has no idea what he's fucking doing, but he doesn't fucking care, either. he doesn't give a shit about looking stupid anymore, has stopped caring about being bashful of shy, he just - he's deep in this feeling of pure contentment and hot, slick pleasure, and every time derek rumbles a little, the vibrations just coax a little more precum out of him, drop after drop after drop.
the further derek takes him into his mouth, the more stiles just wants to push his hips up, sink himself as far as he can into the wet, silky heat, replace as much of derek's hand with his mouth as possible. he's a good boy, though, he he holds onto the thinning shreds of composure he still has - and then derek hums, and stiles feels it pulse through his cock and he almost loses it. he's not close enough to the edge yet that there's any risk of this being over so soon, but he's still grateful for the tight squeeze of derek's hand at the base of his cock, helping to stave off his orgasm for that much longer.
stiles does his best to swallow the moan that tries to claw it's way out of his throat, but his best is not nearly enough. he makes this quiet, thin whine instead his fingers gripping a little tighter at the back of derek's neck before they relax and his whole palm slides, following his spine down to the space between his shoulders. he feels - so fucking good, and he just wants derek to feel good too.
the slow, tight drag is as derek eases off is - a lot. stiles starts to sag a little against the back of the couch. he feels tense and he feels a little boneless and derek is just so, so attractive and he's always been so attractive to stiles and stiles kind of wants to tell him. derek pulls off and he looks up at stiles and stiles can't do anything but stare back down at him, at his impossible eyes, at his reddened lips, wet with spit, with precum.
stiles takes his hand away from derek's shoulders, and it takes him a second to absorb the question derek asks him, fingers gently touching the side of his face, thumb gentl touching at the corner of derek's lips. he swallows hard, opens his mouth to answer, but can't find his voice right away, so he just nods. it's just a small shake at first, but as stiles gathers a little more of composure back, he nods with more certainty. ]
... Yeah. Yeah, I'm... very okay. Okay-plus. [ which is supposed to be a play on a+, excellent, good job so far derek, but his brain to mouth filter is growing a little thin and letting some of the dumber things escape before stiles can catch them. he wets his own lips, smiles kind of suddenly and fleetingly before it fades. ] You're kind of - you're really... really hot.
[ the more he does this, the more confident derek feels. it's music to his fucking ears, the way stiles breathes out that oh my god, like derek wasn't wrong to hype him up for this. like he's enjoying himself as much as derek hoped he would. it's-- actually been a long, long time since derek's done something like this, and there's a pretty big difference between getting on your knees for a stranger when you're nineteen, lonely and trying to figure out who you are, and then... this. trying to make someone you care about feel loved and wanted and as desirable as they really are.
he loves this. he loves stiles' voice, he loves the shape of him on his tongue, he loves the way his jaw is already starting to ache. if he leans into stiles' hand when it's pressed against his hair, silently encouraging him, asking for more - well, nobody has to know.
when he pulls off and stiles assures him he's okay, derek wants to kiss him. wants to share the taste of him between them, wants to hear stiles moan when he realizes he can taste his own precum on derek's tongue. he doesn't, because stiles takes that moment to compliment him, instead, and derek's glad that his filter's at it's weak point. he laughs, stroking stiles slower, tries to get him to last. thankfully, derek's got enough control over himself at this point not to get too flustered. ]
I know. [ he grins, cocky and pointed, the tip of his tongue pressed against one of his canines. he presses his lips together, chases away the smile, and he wraps both of his hands around stiles' cock, resting on his elbows. he leans down, leaves a kiss against the V of his hips, then rests his ear against his thigh as he looks up at him, almost adoring. ]
But - you're hotter. To me.
[ which might sound like he's just trying to butter stiles up, but honestly, it's the truth. at any other point in time, derek might have thought twice about saying something like that, if only because he would know that stiles wouldn't have the confidence or at least enough of a lack of skepticism to believe him. scratch that - he knows stiles wouldn't believe him to such a degree that he would assume derek is making fun of him.
but that's not what derek's doing. not at all. he knows he's the one with the jawline, the arms, the one with the body that gets admired and used and taken advantage of by people like kate, by people like veracity, but stiles is the one with the eyes, the hands, the nose, the moles, the neck, the smile, the personality. the dick. derek loves this fucking dick even more than his own, jesus christ.
but rather than let stiles argue, derek goes back to work, dragging his tongue down the underside of stiles' cock until he hits the base. he sucks on his balls, each in turn, letting his eyes drift closed. he hums again, that same soft, appreciative, unconscious hum, and then he's lapping his tongue back up to stiles' tip, keeping him wet and a little sloppy. he sets his hands against stiles' hips, holding him down, and then sucks him in again.
stiles seems to fill his mouth even more than before, once derek takes him in again, but maybe it's just that he's started to feel empty without him. again, he's not exactly slow when he escalates things; he's methodical and constant, trying to give stiles a second to be overwhelmed by whatever new sensation derek puts on him but not letting him take enough of a break to breathe. he'll add suction, then take stiles a little more, he'll moan and send a solid vibration down stiles' dick, then take him a little more. the tip of stiles' cock taps against the back of his throat, but derek doesn't gag. he breathes through his nose, opens his throat, then takes him down all the way.
he presses his nose to stiles' skin, to the tidy patch of hair that meets him there, and every fucking inch of stiles' cock stretches derek's jaw apart. there's a muscle just beneath his cheek that's really starting to hurt and his lungs are almost burning with the need to breathe, before too long, but derek doesn't pull away until his eyes are watering and his body's making him cough. he pulls back, drooling a little, a strand of spit connecting his tongue to stiles' cock when he eases off. ]
Fuck.
[ he wipes his hand over his eyes, stopping them from watering, and then, pleased, he does it again without waiting for stiles' go ahead. he deepthroats him, faster this time, much less exploratory. he loops his arm beneath stiles' waist and he pulls him up from the ground, trying to get him to fuck up into his face and really feel as much of the wet confines of derek's mouth as he can, and derek lasts longer this time, it takes a while for him to need to breathe, but then he's gagging and has to pull back, disconnecting from stiles and sitting upright on his knees, just for a second.
his cheeks are red. his whole face is red, actually. he's sweaty, just on his forehead and by his sideburns, and he swallows and rubs his hand over his throat to try and get it to work right. stiles earns another smile, but it's softer, less teasing. purely aroused. the smile fades, and derek looks down at stiles' cock, lazily stroking it with one hand. he wants... more. he wants more.
derek bends back down, and he tugs on the waistband of stiles' sweats, urging him to lift up his hips so he can strip them off completely. again, before even giving stiles the chance to react, derek gets annoyed with him for being so fucking slow. ]
I want these off. They're in the way.
[ he tugs harder, but the sweats don't come off - he just sort of manhandles stiles a little, pulling him forward a few inches, forcing him to slide his ass across the carpet. it pulls stiles away from the back of the couch and drops his back more directly onto the floor, and derek takes a short, hard breath, nostrils flared and lip curled like he's in one of his particularly grumpy moods. he looks at stiles, raises his eyebrows as high as they can go, widens his eyes. it's kind of hard to look this pissed off when you're very visibly covered in signs that you've been sucking dick, but derek's talented. ]
Seriously - help me out. Get these off. Don't make me bring out the claws. I'm not above Wolverine-ing you.
[ he's threatening to shred these sweats, and, look. he'd do that. of course he'd do that. stiles saw what he did to the table. ]
[ of course derek has to be cocky about it. stiles tells him he's hot and derek pulls a fucking han solo and it should be annoying. it is annoying, but it's also a very derek thing to say and stiles is weirdly charmed, and only ten percent of that comes from the fact that derek just made a star wars reference in the middle of a fucking blowjob. probably unintentionally, but the parallel is still there and stiles' brain has already made the connection. han solo was kinda hot. derek hale is so, so much hotter.
stiles smiles, but he does it in a way that makes him look like he's purposely baring his teeth. he rolls his eyes, lulls his head a little, and breathes out quietly when derek curls both hands around him. his cock flexes in response to the gentle kiss derek presses to his hip, to the barely-there scrape of derek's scruff before he's resting his cheek on stiles' thigh.
he looks so fucking beautiful. maybe stiles is a little lust-drunk, but derek looks so god damn attractive and soft, and the way he looks up at stiles makes stiles' heart flutter and his stomach swoop. stiles cards his fingers through derek's hair, slow and gentle and affectionate. he looks a little stupid with love, doesn't even really try to hide how much he likes derek.
stiles is skeptical, just like derek thought he would be. derek calls him hot, calls him hotter, and it sounds so impossible to stiles - pale and thin and speckled, frenetic and fragile in comparison - that it has to be a joke. derek's just telling him what he thinks stiles wants to hear — and he's right. stiles does want to hear it. even if he doesn't actually believe derek, it still makes his cheeks a little rosy and sends a flush of color down his throat.
he opens his mouth to argue. tell derek to shut up at the very least, but derek puts his mouth back on stiles cock and the only thing that comes out of stiles' mouth is a tight, breathy squeak of a sound when derek pays attention to his balls. his toes curl and uncurl at the same time that his fingers do, tugging gently in derek's hair, and he barely catches a second to breathe before derek sinks his mouth down over stiles' dick, hands heavy and firm over his hips.
stiles arches. it's not much, not with derek pinning him down at the waist, but he bows his back slightly, tightens the muscles at the base of his spine. derek just keeps taking more and more of him into the hot, wet heat of his mouth, slowly easing down another inch, and another until he hits the back of his throat, and stiles' eyes fly open. he has no idea when he closed them, but he opens them now and he looks down and - that's a bad idea. he looks at derek with his lips stretched around his cock, with his tight jaw, so close to fitting his entire dick in his mouth, and it's so fucking hot that it drags stiles very close to the edge very fast.
and then derek opens his throat, and he sinks the rest of the way down, and stiles has to squeeze his eyes shut. he doesn't want to come, not yet, not so easily, but if he keeps watching derek, if he keeps looking at what derek is doing for him, it'll be over whether he wants it to be or not.
the fit of derek's throat around his cock is tighter than stiles expects. it feels fire-hot and his tongue feels silky-soft pressed to the underside of his dick, and it takes everything stiles has to keep himself from rolling his hips forward to seek out even just another centimeter of smooth, tight warmth. he drops his head back and he drapes his arm over his eyes, and even with half of his face covered he looks like he could cry.
he feels the convulsion of a cough more than he hears it. when derek starts to ease back, stiles suddenly feels a little desperate, immediately misses his mouth on him. he lift his head up and he holds onto the back of his own head, and he should have just kept his eyes closed because that little thread of spit that stretches from derek's tongue to his dick is probably one of the hottest things stiles has ever witnessed. ]
Fuck.
[ he says it at the same time as derek, weak and whispered, but as much as he wants derek's mouth back on him, as much as he wants to use the hand on the back of derek's head to pull him back down— as much as he wants to drag the tip of his dick over derek's lower lip— he's glad for the break, glad to take a second to try and get his shit together so he doesn't blow his load less than five minutes into this like some horny teenager. which he is, but that's not the point.
derek gives him about three seconds. three seconds to fill his lungs and calm his nerves and it's just barely enough time for stiles to get a grasp on what few shreds of self-control he has left. it's a very loose grasp, though, because as soon as his dick slides past the back of derek's throat again — stiles holds him there. he doesn't mean to, doesn't even stop to think about it as he presses his hand over the back of derek's head, firm and heavy. encouraged by derek lifting his hips, stiles thrusts up twice, slow and easy, only pulling back an inch or two so he can slide right back into the narrow squeeze of derek's throat.
it's too much, though. it's way too much for stiles to handle, fucking into derek's mouth, and he stops himself so he doesn't end this prematurely, his entire body shaking with the effort. he takes his hand out of derek's hair and he forms a fist and he brings it to his mouth, sinking his teeth around a knuckle, hard enough that he's in danger of splitting the skin, but he doesn't care. the tiny flare of pain helps him focus.
he's panting a little by the time derek sits up, chest rising and falling with short, needy breaths. his heart is pumping hard, blood rushing loudly in his ears, and derek smiles at him. he's sweaty and he's red and he's so, so beautiful when he smiles at stiles, and stiles can only manage a dorky, embarrassing little lopsided smile in return.
stiles lifts his hips almost instinctively when derek pulls at his sweats, pressing his feet into the carpet and arching his lower back, a little clumsy and uncoordinated and heavy-limbed, but derek doesn't give him any time before he's dragging him him closer and taking away the support of the couch. stiles laughs around a soft, startled yelp, and he just feels - so incredibly happy and horny for a moment that he can't do anything but lay back, arms flung out on either side of him, cock hard and red and heavy against his abdominals, grinning like a big, stupid idiot up at the ceiling.
holy fuck. holy fuck, what a day. stiles lifts his head to look at derek, because he's happy and he just - wants to look at him, wants to see him. derek looks pissed, which shouldn't turn stiles on even more, but it does, because he also looks like he's just had stiles' dick all the way down his throat, and stiles likes that it's obvious.
he snorts when derek threatens him, lifting his hips and curling up a little so he can reach the waistbands of his pants and his underwear. he shoves them down to his knees with both hands, then sits up halfway so he can grab at the material bunched around his calves. ]
You're way, way more attractive than Hugh Jackman. Like, mmno - [ his knee pops as he kicks his legs free. ] - ow, jesus - no contest.
[ stiles drops his sweatpants in a pile off to the side, only barely conscientious of the soda soaking the carpet. he looks up at derek, reaches out with one hand to tug at the bottom of his shirt like he's trying to get derek's attention even though derek has been paying him pretty close attention thus far. he curls his other hand around his cock, gives it a couple lazy pumps to make up for the loss of derek's mouth. ]
[ derek couldn't possibly look angry after stiles yelps like that. it's this startled, happy, endearing noise that just bursts out of him with a laugh and hits derek hard. it makes him want to laugh, too. it makes him want to laugh and cry and kiss and fuck and everything - this stupid, perfect piece of shit is happy and safe and here, all for derek, and derek doesn't know what to do with the overwhelming surge of emotion that crashes through his chest so quickly.
he thinks of the barracks. he thinks of jurassic park. he thinks of stiles running up those stairs, flushed and exhausted, as desperate to see him as derek was to see him back. he thinks of things from home, like stiles pimping him out to danny or the dumb jokes he would make at his expense, all these little goofy moments that just feel so much lighter and funnier now that he's had so much distance from who he was when they first met. angry and grieving, instead of happy and hopeful for the future, like he is now. stiles is so fucking cute. derek honestly might die, if his heart swells any bigger.
"you're way more attractive than hugh jackman" - derek laughs, helping stiles tug off his sweatpants, and he doesn't know why that just made him want to fucking hug the hell out of him, but it did. he keeps his hands to himself, but his heart is picking up, and he just keeps picturing it, he just keeps picturing stiles running up those stairs, he just keeps remembering how it felt to knock over the coffee table and ruin the carpet because he wanted stiles and he wants this and he wants them and he's-- he's just--
he's so happy. he's so fucking happy. he wants so badly to tell stiles that he loves him. he wishes, more than anything, that he could. ]
You're only saying that 'cause I'm the one sucking your dick. If Hugh Jackman wanted you to come in his mouth half as much as I want you to come in mine, there would be a Stiles-shaped dust cloud where you're sitting. There would be an equally Stiles-shaped hole in my wall as you rushed your unfairly impressive boner to New Zealand.
[ or wherever it is hugh jackman lives. australia? fuck, he doesn't care. stiles gets rid of his sweatpants and derek surges forward, kissing the top of stiles' thigh and working inwards. he loops his arms around stiles' legs and pulls him another few inches closer, dragging him across the carpet, and he doesn't ask, when he pushes stiles' legs back a little, spreading them apart.
derek's aggressive. he's always been aggressive. he nudges stiles' hand out of the way, and he kisses the base of stiles' cock. he gently rolls his tongue over stiles' balls, lightly sucking one, then the other, and when he drags his tongue back up to the head of stiles' cock and slips the length of him between his lips, he hums from the back of his throat like he missed this. the taste of him, the way he stretches his jaw open, the fucking feel of him. like he's incomplete without him.
he gets lost in the rhythm of this. of bobbing his head, of adding pressure, of adding suction. a minute passes, then two, then five, ten, more, and through it all, derek just disappears into giving stiles the best blowjob he can give him - going deep, bringing him to the edge, pulling back. he reacts so fucking eagerly to the things stiles does to him; a hand on his hair has him leaning into the touch, every hitched breath and quiet gasp and moan has derek working a little harder, making small, appreciative sounds from the back of his throat.
when he breaks away to catch his breath, red-faced and a little sweaty, he looks up at stiles, and he's wearing a lazy, almost cocky grin. like he's never been this relaxed. never been this happy. he presses a few kisses to the inside of stiles' thigh again, and then - he sits up, on his knees. he moves forward, just a little, and he brings his index and middle finger to stiles' lips.
his voice is dark. deep. commanding, when he makes its order. a single word, harsh and heavy with need. ]
[ stiles' hand immediately stops at the base of his dick, fingers squeezing tight. his face flushes with color just as his veins flood with a fresh, hot wave of heavy desire, breath catching lightly. his brain stops for a moment, and then hones in, narrowing down further and further from if hugh jackman wanted you to come in his mouth half as much as i want you to come in mine to half as much as i want you to come in mind to i want you to come in mine and he just - he whines. he whimpers, and it's thin and pathetic holding onto the root of his dick with a tight fist, he probably would have come right there. done, over, the end. good night.
for whatever reason, he hadn't pictured this ending with him coming in derek's mouth. he hadn't really pictured this ever happening to him, if he's honest, not for real. not outside of the handful of fantasies he may or may not have entertained in the middle of the night when he was sixteen, freshly seventeen. eighteen. but derek just - says it, like that's been the plan all along and stiles has never wanted anything so badly in his entire god damn life. which probably isn't true. there are things he's wanted more, but right now he feels like the possibility of not coming in derek's mouth is just - unacceptable now.
stiles shivers a little, gently easing his grip a little, just in case he's still too close. he tries for a laugh, but he just sounds dumb and awkward, his voice sandpapery. ]
You couldn't - pay me enough to come in s-someone else's mouth over yours. Jesus - christ.
[ and hugh jackman is probably loaded, so that's saying something. something like - money is irrelevant. fame is irrelevant. derek is so - fucking attractive that it hurts, sometimes. something like that. stiles is still just thinking about his dick in derek's mouth, down his throat. god. his thighs flex when derek's stubble scrapes over his thighs, his lips soft against his skin. he grunts quietly when derek pulls him closer, taking away any possibility of him leaning back against the couch anymore, his shirt riding up just a little with the drag, exposing his lower stomach from just above his navel and down. stiles doesn't bother tugging it down, doesn't even really notice.
stiles balances his weight on his elbows at first, shoulders inched up a bit toward his ears. he slaps at derek's hand lazily, playfully when derek bats his away, legs spread just the way derek positioned them, like it hasn't even really registered for stiles yet just how vulnerable and exposed he is. he's too distracted anyway, first by the kiss derek presses to the base of his cock, and then by the warmth of his tongue as he laps up to the tip. stiles sighs, tilts his head back a little as he exhales, eyes drifting closed, and then derek sinks his mouth around him and he hums like he's tasting his favorite desert and stiles can't sit up anymore.
he flops back with a rushed breath, lifting his arms and crossing them lazily above his head, shirt dragging up an inch more, knees bent and parted, skin warm and lightly flushed, and derek works him. derek builds him up and up and inches him closer and closer, but every time stiles thinks he's about to come, every time he decides he's fucking ready for it, derek eases him, teases him away from it and it drives stiles - crazy. he starts to feel a little crazy with it, with the need to come, to flood derek's mouth like he's imagined so many times before, the way derek wants him to, and if he pushes his fingers into derek's hair once or twice in a poor attempt to keep him from pulling away— if he can't hold back a tiny, frustrated growl in the back of his throat, if he fucks up into derek's mouth once when he thinks derek's about to leave him hanging again, well. he can hardly be blamed for derek's teasing.
he's red by the time derek takes his mouth off of him, maybe darker than derek is, and his skin is a little tacky with sweat by his temples and near the base of his throat, the center of his chest where his shirt is just a shade darker than the rest of it. he's not quite panting, but he keeps taking deeper breaths, like he's on the tail-end of a cool-down after running a couple miles. stiles scrubs a hand down over his face, down his throat, settles his hand against his chest for a moment like he's checking if his heart is still beating. it is. ]
God, [ he starts, and it's breathy and weak and he doesn't finish the rest of whatever it was he was planning to say. i hate you, maybe, for torturing him like this, for making him feel so, so fucking good, but never letting him find that sweet, sweet explosive release that he feels stupidly desperate for. i love you, maybe, for all the same reasons.
it takes some effort to lift himself back up onto his elbows, but he wants to look at derek and he wants to know why he stopped. he kind of wants to shove derek's face, smush his stupid, beautiful, insanely sexy stupid dumb grin. he doesn't, though, or maybe that's his intention when he lifts his hand, but he just ends up pushing his fingers through derek's hair kind of clumsily, a low, pleased hum vibrating at the base of his throat. his hand falls away, and stiles pulls his arm back so he can prop his weight back on both elbows again, watching with half-lidded eyes as derek kisses his thighs.
this has to be a dream. this is too good to be an actual thing that's happening to him right now. like, the barracks was one thing, but this? this is different, somehow, and too much for stiles, too good for him.
derek sits up and stiles is still kind of stupid with lust, a little panicky for a split second that derek's done. that he's just gonna leave him there with a painfully hard dick and let him finish himself off - which he is very capable of doing but derek put the idea of coming in his mouth in stiles' head and he still wants that. he still wants that so bad that he's almost willing to beg for it, which is gross and pathetic but he kind of doesn't care too much about looking pathetic right now. his eyebrows pinch in the center and his mouth starts to twist--
--but then derek reaches and he presses his fingers to stiles lips and he tells him to suck. he commands him, his voice firm and authoritative and stiles cock instantly leaks a little pre. he's hit with another sharp wave of arousal, knees shifting slightly as he subconscious inches his knees a little bit further apart.
stiles stares up at derek. he looks up at derek with his fingers still presses to his mouth and his pupils are slightly blown, heart rate spiking up a couple more beats per minute. his fingers flex slowly at his sides, sliding over the carpet, and he just keeps - staring. when he finally blinks, it's like he's sliding out of a trance. he tilts his weight back over onto one elbow, lifts his hand, curls his fingers around derek's wrist, and with a much confidence he can muster - which honestly isn't very much, especially because he's not entirely sure what derek is aiming for here -, he opens his mouth.
he licks the pads of derek's fingers are first, tentative as he drags the flat of his tongue from the first knuckle to the tips. okay, not weird so far. well, only a tiny bit weird, but that's only because he's nervous about - looking like an idiot. like more of an idiot than usual. embarrassing himself. but it's not weird enough and derek doesn't laugh at him so he keeps going. he wets his lips, glances up from derek's hand for a moment to look at his face, and then he just. does what he's told. he opens his mouth and he tilts his chin down a fraction and he leans forward, taking both of derek's fingers into his mouth to the second knuckle before he closes his lips around them.
stiles just lets them sit there on his tongue for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of having someone's fingers in his mouth. his throat flexes a little even though derek's fingertips are nowhere near it, but he's got a little bit of strong gag reflex, and ignoring it just makes his mouth water in anticipation. he breathes out through his nose, and then finally, he adds a little suction and pulls his head back, dragging the tip of his tongue along the seam between derek's fingers, slicking them up. he doesn't necessarily feel uncomfortable about it, but he does feel - shy, and he can't look at derek, eyes downcast as he focuses on the curl of his hand around derek's wrist instead. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
stiles is just... stiles is fun. derek doesn't have fun, all that often. he has fun with stiles. even in a place like this one. even if he complains the entire time they're together. maybe he shouldn't tease him so much. maybe it borders on bullying, sometimes. it's just so hard to stop himself from having fun, with stiles. from goofing around with him, teasing him, and hopefully, making him have fun, too.
either way. they move away from one another, and derek heads out of the kitchen in time to see stiles opening the bathroom door, catching a glimpse of an elbow as it ducks out of sight. again, derek finds himself feeling impatient. he wanted stiles to come over early, which is why he told him to shower here, and that worked out much, much better than expected, but now derek's alone and has to wait. again. this is so frustrating.
he retreats to the sofa, sitting on the very edge of the seat with his hands between his knees, looking down at the chessboard solely because it's something for him to focus on. he can't tell that stiles messed with it, but that doesn't stop him from fidgeting with the edge of it, running his thumb along the closest of the grooves drawn into each edge. he pulls his hands back, holds them between his knees again. he sighs through his nose, and he scratches his palm with his thumb, and he slaps his knuckles against his other fist. bored. bbbbbbored. already bored.
derek can hear the shower turn on. he can hear the rush of water through the pipes as it heats up, he can hear the spray of it hit the tiles, he can smell the steam. he can hear, through the door, the rustle of stiles' clothes as he undresses, and that's not good, because he shouldn't be listening to that. derek slowly drops onto his side, unemotionally sinking onto the cushion like a felled tree. he stares at the chessboard, and he tries not to listen. he genuinely does try not to listen.
he keeps listening.
stiles is naked, he thinks. after a while, there's just - no more clothes being removed, no more fabric brushing against fabric, which means stiles is naked, and soon he's going to be in his shower. naked. inside of derek's shower, stiles is going to be naked. and that's, uh. well, that's something.
derek might still tug on pigtails and call people names, but he's not this adolescent little idiot who only thinks with his dick. he's not scott. he doesn't have a hair-trigger on his boner, just fucking. waiting to get hard the second someone flashes him some skin. behind a fucking door. while they shower. nonsexually. like a person does. unaware that there's a fucking creepy werewolf stalker straining his advanced senses to hear him, letting his pulse quicken in his veins as he wonders, quietly, if stiles realizes that using his shampoo and smelling like him is going to drive him fucking insane. he can't know. he wouldn't have said it, if he did.
jesus. okay. derek needs to stop, he's feeling skeevy. he resituates himself on the couch a little better, rolling to face the wall of it and curling up a little, his legs too long to fit neatly in front of the arm. he's been getting carried away, lately, and he knows it's just... high emotions from finally being away from the fort, but he needs to roll it back. he's so tired of himself. of being this happy because of one person. of only being attracted to this one person. he needs to stop. can't rely on stiles. can't keep pushing this shit on him. can't keep wanting to go back to the barracks. that night.
so he waits. he'll wait, and he'll let stiles have his shower, and, okay, maybe, maybe, he'll think about knocking on the bathroom door and asking stiles if he wants company, and he'll maybe let himself think about what that would be like, if it was a successful way to proposition someone instead of creepy and kind of a lot. jesus christ.
jesus
christ.
when did he get like this. ]
no subject
but he doesn't have to rush right now, and it takes him a second to remember that, half way through dragging his shirt off over his head before he realizes he can take his time. he stands there with his arms tangled in his t-shirt, pulled up over his face, and then he sighs, because it's nice to not have to scramble for a fucking semi-decent shower. stiles tugs his shirt the rest of the way off and drops it in the sink, briefly glancing at his reflection in the mirror, but it's already starting to fog up with the steam.
stiles can take his time here without having to worry about the water running cold, but the thing is... he doesn't actually want to. he ran up sixty-something flights of stairs because he wanted to see derek, which sounds kind of insane when he actually stops to think about it. he can hardly get through running suicides at school without wanting to throw up and toss himself off of a cliff afterwards, but he ran up sixty. fucking. flights. he could have stayed in the elevator and found some patience, but he chose to run some kind of crazy marathon instead just for a couple extra minutes with derek. they have the entire evening and night ahead of them, and however long it takes before derek kicks him out in the morning, and stiles still ran for it.
jesus.
stiles swallows thickly and tries not to think about derek and whatever he's doing while stiles faffs around in the bathroom wasting time. he peels off his socks, then unbuttons, unzips, and steps out of his pants, dragging his boxers down with them, and he tries really, really hard not to think about the fact that he's butt-ass naked. in derek's apartment. he tries not to think about derek being like, thirty feet away from him at most no matter where he is in the apartment. while he's naked. stiles is suddenly glad that the mirror is fogged up to hell and back.
the spray of water is a little too hot for stiles' taste when he finally steps in, but he doesn't move to turn the temperature down at all. too hot water is better than no hot water, and the heat makes his tight muscles feel a little better anyway. he breathes a sigh of sweet relief, head tilted forward so the water sprays over the back of his neck, and he just takes a couple long seconds to breathe. a hot shower with actual water pressure shouldn't feel this good, but it does. god, it does.
stiles lifts his head, tilts it backwards, drags his hands down over his face, stifling a quiet groan of contentment. okay. okay, enough wasting time. stiles breathes out, does a little twist one way and then the other before he finds the bottle of shampoo propped up on the narrow bar that runs around the back of the shower at about eye-level. he squeezes a generous amount into his palm, lathers his hair up, scrubs at the nape of his neck with his fingertips and drags his fingernails over his scalp. he rinses without getting suds in his eyes, then lathers his hands up with soap and gives himself a quick, full-body rub down. his hands stroke over his dick just once, but his mind immediately wanders to derek and what he's doing and if he could get away with— like really quick— ]
Nnnope.
[ stiles takes his hand off of himself with a decisive murmur because thaaat's dangerous. he scrubs under his armpits, rubs his fingers behind his ears, passes his soapy fingers over the back of his neck one more time, and calls it a successful shower. less than five minutes, probably, which still feels like an hour in comparison to what he's accustomed to.
stiles shuts off the water and he climbs out and he grabs the nearest towel he can find, patting himself dry. he rubs the towel over his hair, scrubs at his scalp, and then wraps the towel around his waist so he's not just standing there with his dick out in derek's bathroom. even though the door is closed. even though the bathroom is like, the most appropriate place for him to have his dick out. he rifles through his backpack, weighing his options. he could just pull on his sweats and a t-shirt, but it's not even really that late yet and that almost seems a little too comfortable for anything other than bed. he could pull on some khakis, throw on a hoodie. he could—
this is dumb. it literally does not matter, and stiles is just being dumb and nervous and stupid for no reason and he knows this and he's just wasting more time, which is annoying him too. he settles for sweats, grey and loose and threadbare, a plain black t-shirt, and a navy hoodie, unzipped, because he likes layers. he's more comfortable in layers most of the time. he worries about his hair next, but only goes so far as finger-combing it to the side a bit, just so it's out of his eyes and won't dry weird without any product in it.
okay. okay, cool, that's. as good as it's gonna get. they're not going anywhere, right? ... right? this is fine. stiles grabs his dirty clothes and folds them a little haphazardly, piling his shirt and his pants and his socks and his underwear on top of each other before scooping up his backpack. a cloud of rolling steam precedes him as he steps out of the bathroom and into the hall with all his stuff. which he decides to leave on the floor, leaned up against the wall just outside of derek's bedroom door. he decides to leave his phone, too, plopping it down on top of his clothes.
time to find derek, wherever he is. stiles calls out as he's making his way down the hall back toward the center of the apartment, wigging a finger in his ear to try and shake some water out of it. ]
Hey, what did you end up picking up to eat?
no subject
it's torture, but it shouldn't be. realistically, derek understands that he barely knows stiles. he's analyzed himself and how he's behaved over these past few weeks enough times now to realize that any feelings he has for stiles can be easily explained away as just... a side effect of what they are to each other. these feelings are a byproduct of their contract, or of their time together. they're not real. how could they possibly be real, when there's so much about stiles he just doesn't know?
maybe he's just being possessive. maybe he's just so moved by the fact that he has a friend after spending so many years without one, he's confusing those feelings as romantic. stiles is filling a void in him, making him less lonely, and derek has to remember that, because that's not how a healthy relationship starts, he thinks. he's a romantic at heart, and it would be so easy for him to get carried away with this, and he just - can't do that. not to himself, and certainly not to stiles.
so. he needs to stop thinking. needs to stop being excited all the time, needs to stop treating a fifteen minute shower break like it's the end of the world. it's ludicrous, to derek, that he's in his twenties and pining over someone again. derek's so much better than that.
ugh, whatever. derek moves around a few more times, searching for a way to sit comfortably, before he finally ends up settling. he sits up, leans into the corner of the couch, elbow on the arm of it. it's really, really hard not to fixate on stiles. on the sigh of relief he heard when the warm water started easing away the tension on stiles' muscles - that groan he heard that he shouldn't have been listening to. it's hard not to feel-- so many things. lust. joy. comfort. loneliness. he's stewing in it all, waiting in silence, staring at the chessboard like it'll solve all his problems.
stiles comes out of the shower, eventually, and derek briefly panics about whether or not he'll need spare clothes, but stiles took care of that on the way over, it turns out. derek remembers the conversation they had earlier; stiles was insecure about the way he dressed, and derek, with a pang of guilt, remembers that he made that feeling worse, for a second. he looks up with just his eyes, resting his cheek on the lazy curl of his fist, and he watches stiles walk over.
derek's appraising him. it's obvious, because derek never hides the penetrating way he looks at people, but for all the apparent self-evaluation he's been doing these last few weeks, he doesn't seem to realize that judgmentally staring at someone right after they get out of the shower might be kind of awkward. he's just - curious, about the clothes stiles is wearing. he wonders if he can say something without it sounding forced. a... compliment. maybe. like "i notice you're wearing clothes - good work".
or something. that won't work. that's nothing. jesus christ. derek's eyes lift a little. stiles looks good in layers. he could at least say that. maybe. stiles asks about food, and derek looks away, back to the chessboard. he lifts his other hand and scratches the space between his eyebrows with his thumb, taking a long, deep breath. food. right. okay. ]
Pizza. Microwave. Should still be warm. Grab me a drink, too, while you're at it.
[ he doesn't care what of, but he only really owns soda and milk, so. probably soda.
derek stretches out on the couch, pops his shoulders as he does it. he props his heel up on the table, next to the chessboard, and he straightens out his leg until his knee gives a satisfying crack. he breathes out again, leans back against the sofa, and he tilts his head back, exposing his neck and closing his eyes. it doesn't look like much - he's just relaxing - but blinding himself and baring his throat means that he trusts stiles, and that he feels safe around him.
but he's also impatient to play fucking chess. ]
C'mon, hurry up. Everything's ready. I wanna make you cry already.
no subject
( derek was waiting for him by the elevator, though. he has to remind himself of that. )
changing his clothes now would just be suspicious and weird though, so - stiles owns his decision to be comfortable as best as he can own it. he stares at derek, slowly inching his eyebrows up his forehead while he waits for derek to say something - about food, hopefully, and not his clothes, because that'll shatter this whole illusion of stiles owning his stupid sweatpants and his stupid hoodie, probably. he's not typically insecure about his style, if you want to call his tendency to gravitate toward plaid overshirts style (stiles doesn't), but having two people he highly respects criticize him over it is enough to rattle his previously-solid foundation.
stiles takes his finger out of his ear and makes a small gesture with the same hand, like, well? because he's not really sure if derek heard him or if derek's just ignoring him or what, and he doesn't really want to repeat himself and look like a dumbass if it's the latter. he flexes his toes over the carpet to keep himself from rocking back on his heels in all of his awkwardness, watches as derek looks away and scratches between his eyebrows—
pizza. hell yeah, okay. great. pizza in the microwave, stiles can get behind that. he smiles a little without really thinking about it and shoots derek a pair of half-assed finger guns before setting off for the small kitchen.
briefly, he considers nuking the pizza for half a minute just to make sure it's nice and warm, but stiles would eat cold pizza without hesitation, and he's hungry, and derek said it should still be warm, so that's good enough. he grabs the box, sets it on the counter so he can tug open the fridge to grab a couple drinks, and really, really contemplates whether he wants a soda, which would be easier, or a glass of milk, which he hasn't actually had in like. months. because he sure as shit doesn't trust milk in the down to not be spoiled, or if not spoiled, at the cusp of going bad.
in the end, he doesn't want to search through derek's cabinets for a cup, and derek apparently already washed and put away the one he was drinking from earlier, so he settles for soda. he grabs two cans, sliding one into a hoodie pocket, nudges the refrigerator closed with his knee, and then grabs the pizza with his other hand, rolling his eyes as derek whines from the living room. he snags a napkin or two on the way out, too. ]
Yeah, yeah. I can't wait for you to make me cry, either. From laughing at how confident you were that you could play me in a game of chess and actually win.
[ stiles reaches out with a soda in his hand, ready to press the cold can to derek's throat for a second before he thinks better of it. instead, he just stands there for a beat, quietly considering the way derek is sitting, the way his head is tilted back, throat bared, eyes closed. it makes his lungs feel weird for a moment, makes his stomach dip a little, because he knows werewolves. he knows what it looks like to submit, and maybe that's not what derek is doing, because stiles is not a werewolf at all and not someone anyone would ever submit to the way wolves might, but - derek's relaxed enough to be vulnerable, and that makes stiles feel... something.
he doesn't touch the can to derek's throat, but he thumps it twice against his shoulder instead and then lets it go, counting on derek to exercise his reflexes before it can fall into his lap. stiles circles around to the other side of the coffee table, setting the pizza box down near the edge as he sits himself down on the floor. his muscles are still fairly tight and sore, so it's a little bit of an awkward struggle complete with a thin noise of discomfort and a half-grimace, but. he has pizza, and he's spending time with derek like he wanted, so it's all good. he's not going to complain.
stiles flips the pizza box open, then flicks at derek's ankle a couple times in an attempt to get him to move it, setting his own can of soda down on the table by his foot regardless of whether derek moves or not. he pops the tab, nodding his chin at the board as he reaches to separate a slice of pizza for himself, fingers pulling at the edges of the crust. ]
Go ahead. You can have the first move.
no subject
there's nothing stopping them from seeing each other for the rest of the evening and all through tomorrow morning, and that's just... the best. it's just going to be the two of them, some lukewarm pizza and a night in one bed. he's missed this.
stiles blearily opens his eyes when stiles stands over him, soda in hand, nudged against his shoulder. there's - a delay. he doesn't think to look at the soda, not at first. he just... looks up at stiles, takes him in. the color of his eyes, the softness of his hair. the way he smells like derek's shampoo, his soap, which puts a lump in his throat like he knew it would. it's only for a second, but he looks a little entranced, which is why when stiles lets go of the can, derek has to struggle to catch it.
it's not exactly the comical flailing of limbs stiles would have if their positions were reversed, but he grabs at the can and completely misses it, which is pretty unusual for him. a sign that he's distracted. the soda bounces off his seat and tumbles to the floor, rolling forward until it's stopped by the table leg, and derek stares after it, sighing a little. he pitches forward and has to stretch out to reach it, rolling it towards him with his fingertips, then leaning back just in time for stiles to flick at him and tell him to move.
ugh. ugh. ugh. okay. he slides off the couch and joins stiles on the floor, sitting on the opposite end of the table, crossing his legs and resting his forearms on the edge of it. the table has just enough room for their arms, the chessboard, the pizza and their drinks, which is good, but also optimal conditions for cheating. he will have to watch stiles pretty fucking closely.
the pizza's half-and-half, one side covered in barbecue sauce and different cuts of meat, the other slightly less carnivorous. derek knows stiles' order, or at least he thinks he does, because he's seen him eat pizza back home and he'd committed it to memory, as if it would one day come in handy to know that stiles has pineapple on his pizza and scott's an idiot who likes idiot mushrooms like an idiot. guess he was right.
derek takes a slice of his side, biting in and getting a mouthful of bacon. stiles tells him to take the first move, and derek only raises his eyebrows. whoever goes first actually tends to win, so this feels like an insult. like stiles is trying to give him a handicap. the only reason he agrees is because he's already on white's side and he's too lazy to make stiles move. ]
You're a dick.
[ but it's fine, whatever. he moves a pawn forward two spaces, eyebrows raised. there's this one really obvious trick you can do in chess, something peter used to pull with him all the time when he was a kid - move a pawn, move a bishop, move a queen, capture a pawn with your bishop, checkmate. he's not dumb enough to do that here, because stiles would see it coming a mile away, but the idea of beating stiles in three or four moves actually gives him a bit of a boner. that's not great. that says something about him. ]
no subject
stiles knows exactly what he's doing and it's clear by the shit-eating grin that he tries to smother by cramming a bite of pizza into his mouth. derek would have gone first anyway just by the rules of the game, but making it seem like he's letting derek have the advantage, like he's being gracious enough to let derek have a fighting chance at beating him is too good of an opportunity to pass up. ]
Mmhmn.
[ he flaps his other hand at derek, smiling around a mouthful of pizza as he sinks his teeth into warm-ish bread and less-warm-ish cheese and tangy pineapple, and it doesn't even matter that it's not hot, because it's still so fucking good. stiles has to take a second to really savor the moment. he sighs through his nose, his shoulders sagging a little and his eyes closing. fuck, pizza is so good. pretty much anything that doesn't come from the down is delicious, but this pizza is doin' it for him.
stiles flutters his eyes open in time to see derek make his first move. it's not anything that's particularly unusual or interesting - yet -, but stiles still narrows his eyes the tiniest bit, gaze flickering from the pawn to derek and back again. he wipes his fingertips on his thigh even though he barely touched the crust with this hand, then reaches out to move a pawn two spaces in the same column, right up to derek's.
if you'd told stiles at sixteen that one day he'd be sitting around in sweatpants and a hoodie, splitting a pizza with derek hale while playing an actual game of chess, stiles probably would have laughed until he gagged because in what world? if you'd told him at eighteen, before duplicity, he'd have laughed then too, maybe not as hard, maybe with a little sadness souring the edges, because stiles would have given damn near anything just to know where derek was, let alone play a game of chess with him.
in all honestly, stiles couldn't give a shit if he winds up losing this game. it would bruise his ego a little, probably dampen his pride for all of ten minutes, but it would be worth it all the same. he's said it already, but he's missed derek, not only here, but back home, too. don't get him wrong - he's glad derek finally got the hell away from beacon hills, but there were some days when things got really rough, where stiles would find himself wishing derek had just taken him with him.
he'd have gone, he thinks. but he has this, now. this fragile, tentative thing, whatever it is. and that's good too.
stiles crams another bite of pizza in his mouth, reaching for his drink. he doesn't sip from it right away, electing to set it down on the floor in the triangle formed by his leg instead, bent at the knee and laid flat. ]
I like this board.
[ he says, apropos of nothing, really, but it's the truth. it's nicer than the one he has, even before the many years and the many games played on it with his father wore it down. stiles gently pulls the pads of his fingers along the edge of the board, watching his own hand for a moment before he glances up. ]
Didn't think you'd actually buy one.
no subject
derek sets down his pizza and taps the bottom of his soda before he opens it, like that'll somehow stop it from exploding a little after being dropped and shaken up. surprisingly, it doesn't work. he cracks open the tab and it starts to bubble over, but derek seals the hole with his lips and drinks the head, foam and a thin line of coke dribbling down the corner of his mouth. he coughs a little when he peels off, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. decent damage control, but not the best. pretty much an analogy for his life as an alpha.
but whatever. it's fine. derek sets his soda on the table, smears away a little extra coke with his wrist, then dries his hands off on his shirt. stiles said something about how he's surprised derek bought a chessboard, and derek's defensive and a hypocrite, so he uses the opportunity to be a snippy little bitch. ]
Yeah, well. I did, and it was expensive, so. Don't grease it up with your dirty pizza fingers.
[ as if he doesn't have dirty pizza fingers himself. as if he doesn't have dirty soda fingers, too, for that matter. derek wipes his hand on his shirt again, just really double-dosing this, then scoots a little closer to the table. stiles made a move, and it's kind of annoying, because moving their pawns together is the chess equivalent of cockblocking. but fine. whatever. he moves a pawn, too, one of the pawns guarding his rooks. figures he'll bring that out and go on the offensive.
once he's made his move, he leans back, propping himself up on one hand and picking up his pizza again. he bites, and he chews, and he looks at stiles, kind of... entertained. stiles is fun to watch. the expressions he makes, the way he looks at derek. it's... nice. fun. if someone had told him he'd spend an afternoon splitting a pizza and playing chess with stiles, he probably would have laughed. he can't possibly know that stiles is thinking the exact same sentiment - but he wonders if he feels the same way. ]
Anyway. I don't know. This is nice.
[ derek sets his pizza back down, and again, wipes his fingers on his shirt. he's not talking about the pizza, or about the chessboard that wasn't half as expensive as he's making it out to be, he's talking about... this. all of this. derek gestures with his hand a little, pointing at stiles, then pointing at him. it's been - nice, having each other. it was nice, waiting to see stiles come over. it was nice, knowing that stiles ran up to see him. everything is just... nice, and maybe drawing attention to it will break the magic a little, but he wants to talk about it. he promised himself he'd be honest with stiles, back in the barracks. he needs to keep pushing for that, even when it's kind of hard to do. like now. ]
I mean - this is nice, right? All of this. Kind of makes me wish I'd given you more of a chance back home. Maybe I could have been happier, if I tried harder to connect with you. With Scott, too.
[ but that's easier said than done. stiles didn't treat him back home the way he treats him here. derek was on the run from hunters, constantly, and while veracity scares the shit out of him, the argents are so much worse. the death of the hales, the loss of laura, all of that is still so fresh back home. the kanima, gerard. there are so many factors in why derek couldn't have given stiles a chance that just... aren't here. but.
he still just - wants that. to have a relationship like this with stiles back home. caring and kind. supportive and understanding. he hopes he won't forget, when he's finally removed from duplicity.
derek shrugs, shaking his head. he looks away from stiles and the board like he's in thought, but then he frownss and looks back, just in case stiles decided to cheat and move a piece on the board while derek wasn't paying attention. this might be a sentimental and emotionally freeing moment, but derek still won't let his guard down enough for stiles to cheat. ]
Then again - you did get me arrested, and Scott is trying to convince my pack that I'm a murdering psychopath while simultaneously trying to blow his load in an Argent, so. Neither of you deserve me. Should've just let Peter eaten you.
[ he's teasing. well, he's teasing stiles, at least. scott's still on his shit list after not answering his fucking phone in the pool. ]
no subject
still, he casually reaches for the napkin on the table, makes like he's just trying to wipe some grease on his thumb when really he's just readying himself to wipe up the table and spare the chess board should things go better than he expects them to. better, in that things go worse.
derek handles it like a pro, for the most part, and there's minimum spillage, though stiles' eyes immediately hone in on the little streak of soda that drips from the corner of derek's mouth. there's... nothing remotely sexy about someone dribbling on themselves - except to stiles, apparently, but he's thinking less about the mess and more about cleaning it up, swiping his tongue up derek's chin and licking into his mouth for that sweet, almost acidic taste—
jesus christ. stiles clears his throat and puts the rest of his pizza in his mouth, tearing the crust away. he drops the crust in the box and then crumples the napkin in his hand up a bit so he can toss it at derek for being. stupid. and dumb. stop wiping your hands on your shirt like a twelve year old, you massive child.
derek makes another move, and stiles shifts his attention to the board again, forcing himself to focus on this game and not on the fact that he totally just disappeared into his own head for a second. definitely not on the fact that derek could probably smell the brief spike of unexpected arousal— no. he was not aroused and he is not aroused and if he just keeps telling himself that, then it's true, right? if he can manage to steady his heartbeat enough now to get away with lying to werewolves, surely he can will himself into feeling absolutely nothing.
stiles doubles down on his concentration, sitting forward a little and ducking his chin slightly so he's eye-level with the game pieces. they've only just started, but stiles is already thinking far ahead, his eyes shifting from piece to piece, mapping out different plays in his head, trying to guess derek's most likely counter for any move he decides to make.
he glances up at derek, peers at him over the top of his queen. it takes him a second to realize derek isn't talking about the board and the craftsmanship, but that he's talking about the company. he confirms it with a little flap of his hand between himself and stiles, and stiles feels - good. it makes stiles feel really good and if he thins his lips a little, it's just to suppress a small smile.
and then derek keeps going, and stiles feels great, and then he feels a little sad because derek talking about wanting something that could potentially make him happier is just. it's hard to know about all the things to come for derek, all the things he'll go through, all the things that'll hurt him. stiles' smile fades a little as he suddenly remembers allison, and how stiles didn't get to tell her.
he should really tell derek. he needs to tell derek about erica and boyd. he needs to tell him about scott's plan for gerard, about the bite. he needs to tell derek about peter, and cora. about mexico. he needs to tell him a lot, before he can't.
stiles makes his move instead, picking up a piece and placing it down with intent, a clear counter to whatever derek may have had planned, if anything at all. he draws his hand back, pays attention to the rest of what derek is saying, and finds something to focus on. the worst thing to focus on, apparently.
stiles cringes slightly, because the last thing he wants to do is think about scott blowing his load anywhere, but especially not - jesus. he may have never been best friends with allison, but she had her moments when she wasn't trying to murder scott and derek and derek's pack. derek may not thinks so - and stiles wouldn't necessarily blame him -, but allison deserves a little more respect than that. maybe stiles just feels bad for his own failure to protect her. ]
Come on, man. [ stiles picks up his soda takes a sip, licks his top lip. he keeps it vague on purpose, doesn't specify what he has a problem with in that sentence. ] I thought we were over the Derek's The Murderer thing?
[ stiles sets his drink down on the floor again, fingers pushing the tab back and forth until it snaps off. he puts that on the table so he doesn't do something stupid like drop it in his drink, then reaches for the pizza crust he discarded earlier, folding it in half. he bites at the crease, separating it into two pieces, squashed up against each other. ]
And [ he gestures at derek with his crusts, emphasizing his point, ] I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could have done to make Scott like you back then. Don't get me wrong— I love the guy, but he's pretty blind to everything and everyone else when it comes to... girls.
[ he was going to say allison, but then there was kira, who scott was also pretty obsessed over. maybe not to the same extent as he was with allison, but. stiles is just calling it like it is. the next thing he says is a little quieter. ]
Trust me. It's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
[ scott, he means - it still kind of baffles stiles that scott really forced derek to bite the man who orchestrated the murder of most of derek's family, even if the plan was more complicated than that - but also life for all of them in general. there's never time to breathe, never time for a break.
except right here, right now, which is almost kind of surreal. stiles drags himself away from that darker mood that's threatening to creep up, smirking as he tries to lighten things up. ]
If you'd have let Peter kill me, then where would you be? You told me I need you to survive - [ stiles hesitates for half a second, shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. he's not going to try and argue that point, ] and you're not wrong. ... Obviously. But you need me just as much.
[ stiles' eyes flicker briefly toward derek's bicep. his sleeves may cover his arms, but stiles knows what's there, what's healing. he'd promised derek that if he ever got shot for pushing the guards too far, that he'd dig the bullet out with his own hands if he had to, and when it came down to it, that's exactly what he had done.
stiles picks up the tab he broke off of his can and flicks it at derek, his eyes shining slightly, crinkled near the edges. ]
Your turn, hotshot.
no subject
he wipes his hands on his shirt again, sullenly twelve year olding. he takes a sip of his drink, he shifts his ass a bit to get comfortable, and he waits for stiles to make his move. it's in this new stretch of silence that - it hits him. he feels the heartbeat of arousal between them, that tiny little spike of adrenaline and energy and heat in stiles' stomach, and it catches on derek, almost even affects him empathetically. his eyebrows pinch and his lips drop open, and he stares at stiles.
he stares at stiles like he knows.
but he says nothing. even if the conversation didn't take a turn for the Slightly More Real, he would have said nothing. he gets through the come on, mans without really reacting, but - he does know he screwed up.
allison's gone. derek actually fucking forgot that allison's gone, through all the joy he felt in seeing stiles, and that's just... another reason why it's dangerous for him to treat this crush as something real. if he gets caught up in these... feelings, then he's going to fuck up. lose priorities, make stupid jokes without thinking. say stupid shit, like he always does when he's too happy. he needs to be logical, critical. mechanical, all the time. can't keep forgetting that.
stiles says it's going to get a lot worse. derek doesn't see how that's possible. ]
It can't get worse for me.
[ no more hales. peter - his best friend, once - dead, by his own hand. laura gone, because derek never told her the truth about the fire and let her go back home alone. things are supposed to get better for him, now that he's an alpha. just because scott's a horny little toad doesn't mean things are going to get worse for derek. he's already hit rock bottom. he refuses to believe things can be worse than they've been since the fire.
though - he knows that's not true. he knows the precarious situation he's in back home. the kanima, the alpha pack. allison's death and stiles' involvement in it. there's so much coming. so much he's not prepared for. just because things won't get worse for him - something he has to believe - doesn't mean things won't get worse for stiles and the rest.
derek sighs. rubs the side of his nose with his palm, avoiding getting pizza grease on it. he takes another bite, makes another move on the board, pushing his rook forward. he's taking aggressive actions, staying on the attack. can't let the tide turn. ]
If I go home, and I can remember, then - I'll do a better job.
[ he sets his piece down, right in position to capture one of stiles' pawns. he leans back on his ass, sets his hands on the ground after freeing them up a little, then stares at stiles, hoping this is... okay to say. ]
You didn't tell Allison about her death, but you told me. You told me about the Oni, and about the Nogitsune, and - and she's still alive, in my timeline. If I remember when I go back, then I'll save her.
[ he was always supposed to save everyone. the fact that he couldn't means - he wasn't good enough. and he can't go back and become an alpha that isn't good enough. what would laura's death be for, if derek just... misused her power, now that it's his own? he needs to save everyone. that's what he's been trying to do since peter. whether he likes it or not, allison is a part of everyone. ]
Like I said before. You gave her a second chance at being happy, while she was here. If I can save her, then - you did everything right by only telling me.
[ it's always the survivors who have to clean up after the dead. if stiles puts this in his hands - he'll do better. he takes a breath, looks away, trusts stiles not to screw with the pieces while his eyes are staring at... nothing. a spot on the wall, maybe. he grabs a slice of pizza, putting his weight on his other hand, then takes another huge bite. ]
Anyway, [ he says, through a mouthful of sausage, which is, indeed, what she said. ]
Scott couldn't have liked me back then. Agreed. But. [ he swallows. ] What about you? Anything I could've done to win you over? Other than not bleeding on your car. Or hitting you all the time.
no subject
his skin feels warm, so he drags both of his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows. that little flash of arousal is mostly gone already, but he still takes a couple seconds to think about unattractive things. cold french fries, sunburns, sticking his fingers his derek's open wound to fish out a bullet. stiles shudders a little, pulls a tiny face as he blinks back into the present. he feels briefly queasy, but chases the feeling away with a slow, deep breath.
stiles still hasn't looked at derek, but his gaze lifts at the sound of his voice. he pulls another face, this one a little doubtful, and tries to cover it up by taking a long sip from his drink. stiles wishes derek was right. he wishes that there was nowhere for him to go but up, but stiles knows better. there's no sense in opening up that can of worms, though, not when things feel - okay. and maybe that's selfish, to want to keep this comfortable feeling that they've got going, to want to enjoy derek's company, to not want to hurt him, at least not yet. stiles will beat himself up over it later.
stiles reaches for another slice of pizza, folding this one in half this time. he watches derek take his turn, following the movement of his hand as he places his rook down. hmm. okay. a little forward, but he can work with it. stiles doesn't feel even remotely threatened yet even with his pawn in jeopardy, hands hovering over the pizza box with his attention drawn to the game. he plays out a couple moves in his head, plays out a couple more as he takes a bite of his slice, and then finds his attention pulled to derek as he continues.
it's honestly the last thing stiles expects to hear from derek - that he'll save allison. that he'll try, at the very least. allison's an argent. allison will hurt derek and his pack, and scott will hurt derek because of allison, and derek doesn't know any of that. but he doesn't ask, either, and that says - a lot. stiles doesn't want to assume that derek would put aside his animosity for all things argent for stiles, because derek barely knows him in his own timeline, but.
something in stiles' chest tightens slightly and he has to swallow to dislodge the breath stuck in his lungs. you did everything right. he did everything right. even if he couldn't bring himself to tell allison about her life and how its cut short - he still told someone, and that someone can still save her. he still gave her a chance. stiles' nose burns a little. he has to avert his eyes for a moment as he feels them prick with heat, but he doesn't cry. his eyes remain dry.
he does smile, though, small and faint and private. it feels good to not feel so guilty. he nods slightly, forcing himself to look at derek, but derek's looking away from him, so stiles just looks at the side of his face. the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the line of his neck.
thank you, he wants to tell him, but his tongue feels stuck and derek spares him anyway, posing him more questions. stiles makes a curious, thoughtful sound, shifting his attention back to the game. he reaches out, fingers touching a bishop for a moment before he seems to change his mind, moving a knight instead. ]
I mean - definitely that. Like, definitely less hitting and less bleeding. In general. Anywhere. [ his fingers linger on the knight on purpose, almost like he's doubtful of finalizing the move, but he isn't. he's confident in the play. stiles licks at his top lip, then takes his hand off, setting his slice of pizza down afterward. ] But - and don't let this go to your head - but I think you'd already kind of won me over. I didn't understand you for a while, but once I stopped to listen to more than just Scott— once I started paying attention...
[ stiles shrugs, scratching between his eyebrows with his thumb nail. ]
I dunno. Talk to me more? Tell me things. I get that you were trying to like - protect yourself, and that me and Scott kind of stuck our noses in places where we didn't really belong, and Scott was just - willingly blind and deaf and love-struck, but. I mean, I figured out that Scott was a werewolf before Scott even figured it out. And I wasn't scared, you know? Like, everything pointed to my best friend being this mythical, mystical, dangerous creature, and it should have scared me, but all I wanted to do was - be there, I guess. Help him.
[ stiles shrugs again, lightly thumping the side of his loose fist against the edge of the table as he looks at derek. ]
I think I would have been pretty open to listening to you and like - being there. Too. For you. If you had just - pulled me aside, away from Scott, and just... talked to me. We're a lot better when we talk.
no subject
[ derek condescendingly holds out his pizza crust to stiles, punctuating each peak and valley in his sentence with it. he holds it like he's aiming a gun at stiles, eyebrows raised as he waggles the crust a little, a speck of ham dropping off and onto the floor. derek frowns, picks it up, and eats it. three second rule.
anyway. whatever. he's just trying to keep the tension light. he doesn't know if he helped, promising to save allison. he doesn't know if stiles believes him - and even if he does, derek doesn't know if stiles has faith in him to see that promise through. after all, it's no secret that derek could hardly bring himself to feel too torn up over the idea of one less argent in the world. she's only seventeen, and that might make it harder to watch her die, but derek's still going to kill her mother when he goes back home, and he's not going to feel all that bad about it. the argents are... they deserve any tragedy that comes for them. including the death of a young girl.
but. stiles cares about her. scott cares about her, too - he shouldn't, but he does. derek's own relationship with allison doesn't matter, if saving her means protecting those two from heartache. he means it, when he says he's going to keep her safe. he wants to make stiles proud, and he wants to be the guardian and the hero that he always wanted to be. the man he'll never become, but can still dream of.
plus, he felt the emotion in the room. the spike of relief, the salt behind stiles eyes that barely started to sting. that's enough for him to know he's helping, by making a vow like that. derek's going to do everything he can, to be there for stiles. to help him. they're friends. from now on, they'll always be friends.
still. stiles has a point, telling him to talk to him more back home. derek needed some time to circle back to it, chugging back some coke and pulling a face when the bubbles burn his throat, but he gets there, in the end. he puts down his soda, wipes his hands off on his shirt again, like a douchebag. he doesn't make a move just yet, even though it's his turn. he just - rests his thumb over his own knight, idly stroking its tiny horse nose like it can actually feel it. eventually, he looks at stiles, and his voice comes out surprisingly soft. ]
You... are the only human I've ever met who hasn't thought of me as a monster. I'm already realizing that, back home. Realizing it even more, here. It's like - I don't know. You're...
[ good. empathetic. kind, perfect. so many things he could say. instead, he runs his thumbnail down the dark, wooden mane of his knight, looking at the chessboard. again, he needs to stay aggressive. can't risk losing the (perceived, but ultimately non-existent) upperhand that comes from going first. derek hops his knight forward, then leans back. ]
But - even if you're openminded - there's gotta be a limit to that. If I came up to you, two years ago, and I said...
[ he leans forward again. he loaf-hands, and he stares at the space between his palms, like he's reading a map, or deciphering kind of old stone tablet found outside of a pharaoh's tomb that's proven particularly difficult to translate. ]
"This is going to sound crazy, but I was trapped in some kind of Quantum Leap-esque Twilight Zone situation with you. We were in another world, living different lives, only instead of Scott Bakula and gremlins tearing up school buses, we --" wait.
[ wait, hold on. derek loaf-hands again, swinging his arms down hard like he's trying to kickstart a TV by hitting it. the gremlin tearing up a school bus thing was the simpsons parody of the twilight episode he's thinking of. what was the original episode? a monkey on an airplane's wing, or something? derek looks up from the chessboard, looks up from his hands. he stares at stiles and realizes he's spiralling drastically off-track. whatever. he snarls a little. fucking wait, he has a point, jesus. ]
If I said - "instead of being stuck with Scott Bakula and planes-slash-automobiles, we were trapped in a sexy hellscape with nothing but each other and the ever-present thread of BDSM, or murder, or murder-BDSM," [ he drops his arms to his sides, lowers his eyebrows. ] "And - I don't know - we got through it together, and now I trust you more than anyone, and we have to be friends because we were friends back in Cum City USA, or something, and I'm kind of running out of steam here, but -"
[ but. he... looks at stiles. a little deflated. ]
It's just - you wouldn't believe me. Right? I know I wouldn't believe me.
[ talking to stiles about laura, and peter, about how responsible he feels over the kanima, over kate, over scott, over how afraid he is of the alpha pack - he doesn't even know how he'd breach all of that here, let alone at home, when he's so much more guarded and afraid of letting someone like stiles in. he has no idea how he could talk to stiles honestly and just... not bring up duplicity, but he has no idea how he'd avoid it, either. ]
no subject
he has half the mind to point out the flaw in derek's logic, to highlight all the times stiles actually listening to derek would have gotten derek hurt or killed. like how, for instance, if stiles had run when derek told him to, when derek had turned his back to the kanima just to put his hand to stiles's chest and push— if stiles had done what he was told, derek probably wouldn't be alive. not that stiles has any interest in boosting his own ego and making himself sound more important than he actually is, but. he kind of likes derek better when he's breathing.
stiles is tempted to reach for the piece of crust derek is pointing at him with, pluck it from his fingers and eat it just to be a little shit. he almost, almost goes for it when derek looks down, his fingers twitching impulsively, shoulder tightening in anticipation. he curls his fingers into a loose fist instead, tilts his head to bite his folded triangle of bread and sauce and cheese and fruit, and snorts a quiet laugh through his nose when derek... eats off the floor. three second rule indeed. stiles would have given him two extra seconds, probably, before giving him shit.
or maybe not, just because derek keeps wiping his hands on his shirt, which has zero relevance to him eating a piece of ham off the carpet, but stiles still wants to slap a bib on him anyway just to get him to stop. he doesn't actually care about the state of derek's shirt and how much grease he wants to spread everywhere, but derek slapped stiles' napkin missile away, so he's allowed to be just a little bit bitter.
stiles' gaze drops to derek's hand, watching him touch the knight. he immediately starts to try to figure out where derek's going to move it and what each move means for his own pieces, and he only glances up to see if he can work it out just by following the shift of derek's eyes. derek's looking at him, though, which stiles doesn't really expect, so he finds himself just looking back. he finds himself listening intently. he takes another bite of his pizza, the last bit before the crust, and he listens and he feels a quiet plume of affection swoop through his chest just over the softness in derek's tone, the honesty.
stiles presses his lips together, wrinkles his nose a little like it itches when he's actually just trying to bite back a smile, pizza tucked into his cheek so it puffs a little. he chews slowly, eyes flickering down only briefly to watch derek move his knight, and then back up again when derek keeps talking. it's not very like stiles to be quiet for long periods of time unless his life depends on it, but it's so easy to go lengths without speaking when derek is filling that silence with his truths and vulnerabilities.
stiles tosses his crust back into the box. he could probably eat another slice, maybe two, but. pizza might be good in the morning, too. or later. pizza again. whenever.
the twilight zone reference surprises him, but it's the simpsons reference that really tickles him. unexpectedly, his face breaks out with a big, dumb, grin and his eyes crinkle at the corners and he looks vaguely intrigued and more-than-vaguely impressed and. charmed, actually. the star wars reference was one thing. shakespeare. derek just keeps giving stiles these tiny glimpses of more, and stiles is. he loves it. he loves all these seemingly meaningless details, the insight.
stiles' grin softens a little as derek goes on, and he cringes at cum city usa, but by the end of it, stiles just looks... thoughtful. derek looks deflated, but stiles is still attentive, still watching him with curious non-judgmental eyes.
after a moment, he clucks his tongue. ]
Okay, well. First and foremost, [ loaf-hand, just one, ] don't ever try to top Bonertown, like, ever. Bonertown is gold, so you can get out of here with your try-hard [ he squints slightly, wrinkles his nose just barely ] Cum City USA.
[ stiles drops his loaf hand, then reaches out to make a move without any apparent thought, pushing a pawn forward and setting one of derek's pieces up to be captured unless he moves it. which stiles is maybe counting on, not for his next move, but possibly the one after, if things work out the way he wants them to. ]
Secondly... we - human, alpha werewolf [ stiles points to himself, then points to derek, just in case there was any confusion on who is who. also, this is probably the first time he's said the word werewolf out loud since being in the city. boy keeps his secrets and he keeps them well. ] - we were being chased by a freaky lizardy asshole? Like. That's... pretty crazy. Like, I know your life is wild but objectively, that is not a very normal thing that happens every day. To anyone. But it happened.
[ stiles pauses for a moment to take a sip of his soda, leaning back on one of his hands and stretching his legs out in the narrow space under the table. one of his knees pops loudly. he winces a little, then draws his legs back in so his feet aren't all up in derek's space. ]
So... who knows. I might believe you. I mean, don't say Cum City USA to me because sixteen year old me will absolutely, one hundred percent laugh in your face and also probably want to die at the same time, but.
[ he shrugs, sitting forward and setting his can down. he crosses his arms and leans them against the edge of the table, resting his chin on the criss-cross of his forearms. he tilts his head slightly, looking across the table at derek. ]
I'm a lot more open to things than you think. But I mean. I don't think you even need to mention - this place. I think if you just. Start talking to me, and explaining things to me when I get something wrong or I don't understand why you're doing something - without smashing my face into something first, thank you - I don't... think I'd see that as a reason not to trust you.
[ stiles scrunches his nose up again, but this time it is because it itches. he turns his head and tilts his head down for a moment, tucking his nose into the crook of his elbow to itch it because apparently uncrossing his arms and using his hands to scratch it is just way too much effort at the moment. he looks at derek for a couple beats of silence, after. ]
But... if you want to tell me about all of this, and you're not sure I'll believe you, just. Tell me something you wouldn't know if we weren't friends. Something I would know, too.
[ he pops his lips a couple times quietly, trying to come up with something. ]
Tell me about - I don't know, Julius Squeezer. Tell me about how I used to sit in the driveway in my Jeep for hours when I first got it. Tell me about -
[ stiles wets his lips. ]
Tell me about the station.
no subject
derek's done eating, if only because stiles is done, too, and he doesn't feel like eating alone. he closes the box and tucks it away under the table; he'd take it out to the kitchen, if he trusted stiles alone with the board, but that's sure as shit not going to happen. when stiles cringes and gives him shit for Cum City USA, derek's got a litany of sick burns to throw back in his face, fully prepared to defend the name and entirely ready to die on Cum City USA's largest and stickiest hill, but.
he opens his mouth, says the start of the word well, and then stiles makes a move. it's fast. distracting. he just - pushes a pawn forward when derek's not looking, and that's, well. that's alarming. what? what just happened. derek sits up straight and instantly puts on his game face, staring down at the board and trying to figure out what the fuck he just missed. what the fuck stiles is thinking.
truthfully, stiles is always good at reassuring him. derek doesn't respond to everything he's saying about julis squeezer, about the jeep, about the station. he just...
he's going to have to go on the defensive, if he wants to save his piece, but that's not how he plays chess. he's reckless. derek ignores stiles' pawn and uses his rook to capture another piece, completely missing the fact that it puts his rook in danger until he's already made his move and taken his hand away. he winces, and it's obvious he's made a mistake, but he tries to wear a poker face anyway.
poorly. because he just looks mad. he takes a breath, shakes it off, hopes that stiles doesn't see the stupid shit he just pulled. right, okay. home. ]
Okay. The station. Yeah.
[ derek sighs through his nose, then leans back on his palms. for a second, he looks at stiles like he's still only concerned about the game, smile gone like it was never there. they were both so young, during the fire. would his life have been any different, if he stayed in beacon hills? if, instead of running from the argents with his tail between his legs, he'd realized how badly this poor, grieving kid had needed someone who understood what it was like to lose family, and just - stayed, and helped, and listened? would stiles have been happier? would derek?
sometimes, everything just hurts. the clouds cover the sun and make everything cooler, and derek realizes, when his eyes adjust to the shade, just how hard he's been hit by life. he feels a disconnect from his own body, like he's outside of himself. that happens here. he never should have been at that station. stiles should have never lost his mother. everything is always so... hard.
but then he looks up, and stiles is resting on the table, and he's safe, and he's quiet, and he's happy. life can't be all bad. not if he has stiles. how the fuck did he go so long without realizing how fucking likeable stiles is? kind and beautiful and honest. derek just-- stares, like he's seeing him for the first time. he has stiles. he can't lose stiles. ]
I never want to lose you. I hope I never... I mean - I hope we always...
[ his eyebrows pinch, and he sits up on his knees. he looks at the board, and he's almost annoyed that it's there. annoyed with himself for caring so much about whether he fucked up one move or not, like any of this actually matters. why are they wasting time playing chess? why are they playing chess, when they could be-- they could be... ]
I forfeit. I don't want to play anymore.
[ he looks at stiles, and his temper rises in him like a bullet, because it's been half of half a second since he's spoken and stiles still hasn't replied, so maybe derek's not making himself clear. in one hard, sweeping motion, derek pushes the chessboard and it's pieces off the table and onto the floor, each loose wooden game piece hitting the carpet so quietly they're barely even heard, but rolling and scattering across the apartment.
which means he's lost. he loses the game, he loses, he's lost, and that means stiles wins, and that means stiles can make him do something, and that's fine, derek doesn't care. they should be doing things. they should be doing things, they should be-- derek should be doing so much for stiles. he needs to show him how devoted he is to making this contract work, how desperately he wants this friendship to last, how terrified he is that he might go home and forget about the city and go back to being shallow and angry and alone, staring at stiles with resentment and disappointment instead of fucking realizing that stiles is his hero, and stiles is his savior, and stiles is smart and beautiful and could maybe even be his, if he just stopped being stupid and realized that this thing he feels between them goes both ways.
derek grips the side of the table, leaning forward, barely managing to avoid knocking over his soda. he doesn't know how to speak up. how to tell stiles he wants him. he just - stares, intense and frustrated and desperate, like he's on a time limit. like he's suddenly realizing how easily one of them could just go. like scott. like allison. like the nogitsune. like so many others who came before them.
he pitches forward, and his voice is deep, steady and demanding. his eyes are sharp, wolfish, predatory. he only has eyes for stiles. ]
Tell me what you want from me. Whatever it is, you can have it.
no subject
stiles stares at his own pawn, at derek's piece that he used to bait this trap like he's just anticipating that derek will move it because that's the obvious play here. but he moves his rook instead, just like stiles thought he would, and he leaves himself wide open. stiles could probably end this game in two moves.
he takes his time. he really plays it up. stiles already knows what he wants to move next, but he lets his eyes wander from piece to piece like he doesn't have a solid plan, rubbing his lips together thoughtfully, his chin still rested on his arms. it's a terrible angle to see the board from.
derek is unusually quiet through all of this, but stiles just assumes he's sweating over his dumb mistake and trying not to draw attention to it or himself, unaware that he's actually drifted away a little in thought. he taps two of his fingers against the top of the table and he sighs, lifting his chin up off of his arm and reaching a hand over the board - only to stop and let it hover, because derek is saying something.
derek says something stiles doesn't expect and stiles takes his eyes away from the board to look at him, his hand still hovering over the pieces. his fingers curl a little, his brows furrow gently and his stomach swoops at the same time that his heart skips a single beat. stiles lips part. he starts to pull his hand back.
he doesn't know what to say. stiles doesn't want to lose derek either, but the reality is that he already has. in his timeline, derek has been gone for months and stiles has spent countless hours late at night, combing through different news outlets for reports of unusual wolf activity or trying, uselessly, to track down any recently-created social media profiles, just - trying to find him in the downtime. stiles doesn't want to think about the possibility of having to let him go again, so he thinks about chess instead.
and then derek is forfeiting and it catches stiles off guard enough that he sits up kind of abruptly, knocking his chest against the edge of the table. he's slightly confused, but he also kind of wants to laugh if this is how derek is going to handle a potential loss. it's not as if derek couldn't come back from his mistake. there are still moves he could make—
oh. okay, no, there are no moves left to make because derek just. sweeps the whole game onto the floor and stiles sits up and throws his hands out and looks at derek like— ]
Dude? Whoa, hey, what the - hell.
[ okay. well. game over then. forfeiture confirmed. stiles huffs a sigh. he drops one hand, scratches over his left eyebrow with his thumb on his other hand. he pauses when derek sits up, when he grabs onto the table, when he leans over it. stiles swallows quietly, instinctively, and slowly lets his fingers fall from the arch of his eyebrow.
okay. okay something is definitely happening here, but stiles isn't sure what. derek just stares at him and it's super intense and he looks kind of pissed off, and then suddenly he's leaning even closer and stiles feels something shift.
tell me what you want from me. whatever it is, you can have it.
stiles stares at derek for a handful of seconds that feel a lot longer than they are. he looks him right in the eyes, and he holds his gaze, and derek may not be shifted at all, but stiles can almost feel the wolf in him, thrumming just beneath the surface.
derek lost. they made a deal and derek lost and there's a power in stiles' hands now that he didn't have before, but he already knows what he wants from derek. he's known since before derek decided to call him a coward for not wanting to tell him.
but he's not a coward. he's not going to be a coward about this.
stiles leans forward slowly. derek is up on his knees, which puts him above stiles, but stiles doesn't make any move to get up from where he's seated on the floor, doesn't try to put himself on the same level as derek. he's okay with looking up at him. stiles leans forward until he's close enough to be considered in derek's space. and he says nothing.
for a solid ten seconds, he just looks derek in the eye and he says nothing. and then he does say something, and his voice is low, too, quiet because he's tilted in close. ]
I want you... [ stiles pauses for another second or two for suspense. really, he's just steeling himself. this isn't a big deal, but rejection still sucks, so he's preparing for the possibility of being laughed at. or, of derek smashing his face into the table. he does look kind of mad. stiles wets his lips, possibly deliberately, possibly in anticipation, and he presses on, tipping himself just the slightest bit closer. ] ... to kiss me.
no subject
derek knew. derek knew that's what stiles wanted, or at least - he was hedging his bets on it. stiles has barely finished asking for a kiss before derek's darting forward, pressing their lips together and shutting his eyes. it's not the gentle, hopeful, romantic kiss that stiles might have expected - it's forceful and animalistic and frantic, it's open-mouthed and paired with derek's fingers going straight into stiles' hair, lightly tugging just to keep him close.
he wants more. he wants more, and he wants to give more, and he's sick of waiting, he's sick of being scared, he's sick of worrying about what this might mean or what he might feel or where it might go. the table between them is in the way, and derek gets frustrated enough to break the kiss and move it, toppling it over to join the discarded chessboard. the soda cans slide off and spill onto the carpet, the pizza box gets crushed underneath the table's side, but derek either doesn't notice or doesn't care.
derek closes the distance between him and stiles, moving forward on his knees. he puts his hands to stiles, one on his neck, one on his shoulder, and he bends down for another kiss. he leans in close, hovers his lips over stiles', and then - and then he stops. his chest clenches, and he worries that this is too much, too fast, but - but he can't have imagined that stiles wants this. stiles climbed those stairs, just for him. all they've wanted for a full fucking week now is to see each other, and he has to be right about this. he has to be right about this. ]
I...
[ he stops, and he hesitates, and he looks into stiles' eyes. he wishes his own were half as beautiful. that light amber, catching the light. those long lashes, framed by pale skin. derek's always liked brown eyes. ]
I can... you-- you deserve so much more than a kiss. You're-- so much.
[ he wants stiles to feel good. he wants stiles to feel loved, though he doesn't connect the word to his feeling when it hits him as hard as it does. stiles makes derek feel cared for and attended to and wanted, stiles makes derek feel like there's more to him than just a scared, angry wolf hidden behind slabs of muscle and a skin that was toughened against his will, more than the bullet wounds and the smell of ash and the grief. stiles makes derek feel like he matters. derek needs to be absolutely, absolutely sure that stiles knows he matters to derek, too.
but he's not good with words. not like this. it's always such a struggle for derek to communicate his feelings, when in the back of his mind there's always a voice telling him to stop and stay silent. he's never been able to filter honesty from self-deprecation, he's never been able to figure out which thoughts were real and which came from anxiety and trauma and inward hate. he's trying hard to get past that. he's always trying hard to get past that, with stiles. ]
Let me-- let me give you...
[ derek's hand slips down stiles' neck, down the front of his hoodie, settling just beneath his stomach. he doesn't ask for permission, when he starts to unthread the cord of stiles' sweatpants, but even like this, forceful and sturdy and broad, leaning down from a higher height, he's not... intimidating. he's not trying to be, at least. it would be easy for stiles to ask him to stop. one stray touch to his bicep and derek'll understand.
but he thinks he's reading this right, and he thinks that even if he doesn't know how to speak up, sometimes, stiles knows him well enough to fill in the blanks. he trusts stiles to understand what he's trying to say, or at least the vague feelings behind each fragmented false-start of a sentence. derek might be falling for stiles, and he wants to be good for him, he wants to be enough. he wants to show stiles how much he cares about him, how much he appreciates him, and he doesn't think the world has ever just given stiles the chance to - feel that kind of admiration. that blind, loving affection from someone who just wants him to feel good. derek doesn't know if stiles has ever felt... acknowledged. if he hasn't - he will tonight.
after undoing the knot on stiles' sweats, derek hesitates, looking at stiles' lips. carefully, he leans forward again, stopping and starting before they finally connect. he kisses him again, and it's-- it's soft, this time. carefully measured, with eyes half-open and breath painfully taut in derek's lungs. he doesn't break away until he needs to breathe so bad that his eyes are stinging, but he hopes that-- that that kiss communicated, maybe, that this isn't just lust, this is-- the opposite. derek's a little desperate, when he finds his voice, punctuating each word with a steady, calm insistence. ]
Let me... do more... for you.
no subject
stiles slides his eyes closed and he breathes out though his nose and he presses the softest, appreciative whimper into derek's mouth, holding himself up on one hand and grabbing at the collar of derek's shirt with his other so derek won't pull away. but derek pulls away anyway, and stiles worries for a second that maybe he should't have tried to hold derek there, maybe that was a bad move, maybe that's why derek is — angry? derek shoves the table aside and sends everything on top of it toppling over with it and it doesn't scare stiles, but it does make him second-guess this for half of a second.
and then it clicks. derek isn't angry, not at him, anyway, he just — he wants to be closer to stiles and he wants to be closer as quickly as possible and the table is just a victim of derek's impatience. to get to stiles. instead of getting up and walking around the table, derek literally picked it up and pushed it over to cut out those few seconds of separation and stiles is - he's immediately turned on, and a little flustered because no one's ever - he's never had anybody feel that strongly about being separated from him that they would destroy anything in their way to get to him, not that he can ever recall.
derek moves in and he kneels over stiles and he puts his hands on him and he leans in, and stiles sits up. he stretches his body upward to meet him, but derek stops just out of reach. stiles tries to close the space, tries to sit up a little more, but it occurs to him that there's probably a reason for this. he wets his lips and he gently furrows his eyebrows, lifting his hand to touch his fingers to the back of one of derek's wrists, silently asking if something's wrong, if everything's okay. derek starts to speak, and then he stops, but stiles just makes sure he keeps looking at him. he makes sure he holds that eye contact, tries to to convey - comfort and security and trust. whatever it is, derek can trust him.
you deserve so much more [ ... ] you're-- so much.
his expression softens slowly, his eyebrows relaxing, smoothing out. stiles' chest feels a little tight all of a sudden. he closes his mouth and he swallows, and he stares up at derek in silence, his eyes shifting back and forth between derek's like he's reading a deeper meaning behind them. like he understands what derek is trying to say to him, even if he doesn't understand why.
nobody has ever really stopped to tell stiles that he deserves more, that he deserves better. he's never had anyone look at him the way derek is looking at him, he's never stared back at anyone and felt seen, the way he does right now. stiles doesn't think he deserves the world - he'd never be so conceited to believe anything so ridiculous - but there have been so many times where stiles has felt - invisible, or underappreciated, or overlooked. like he's less.
he doesn't feel like that right now.
stiles breathes in deep ask derek's hand drifts down his chest. he sucks in his stomach, his breath catching for a moment in his lungs, eyes watching derek's fingers as they pull at the drawstrings at the front of his sweatpants. derek towers over him on his knees, but it doesn't make him feel small the way it probably should. he just feels this swell in his chest, this pulsing burst of affection.
he doesn't reach to stop him even as his hands still, but he does reach out to rest his fingers against the side of derek's throat, thumb smoothing a gentle line across his adam's apple, and when derek leans down, when derek kisses him, a stark contrast from sharp and bruising kiss this all started with in that it's soft and it's slow and it's gentle - stiles understands.
derek pulls away from him, but stiles keeps his hand on his neck to keep him close, and as soon as derek's lips are gone he licks his own. he presses his forehead against derek's and he feels this rush of happiness in his veins, and he smiles. he smiles, and it's a little shy, and the breath that rushes out of him is soft, sounds like it could be a laugh. stiles nods, nose bumping against derek's. he doesn't know, specifically, what it is derek wants to do for him - he assumes, by the tug at the cord of his sweatpants, that derek is about to give him the best handjob of his life - but whatever it is, whatever derek wants to do, stiles wants it. his quiet little smile widens into something brighter, something sharp and teasing. ]
I have never loved the game of chess more than I do right now.
[ of course he has to say something a little stupid, a little shitty, a little - honest, if you squint. he presses his lips together, and he collects himself, reels himself in before he does something dumb to piss derek off, and he nods again. ]
Sorry. Sorry - yeah, yes. Please. Whatever - whatever you want.
no subject
one last pull, and the thread on stiles' sweatpants comes completely undone. derek's expression slips, just a little, just enough to make him look awed less by stiles himself and more by what he's about to do. it was just... instinct, that got him to this point, with his knees sore against the carpet and his heart a jackhammer against his ribcage. it's gotta be courage that gets him the rest of the way.
he's about to tug stiles' sweatpants down when he looks back up and sees stiles' expression. the bratty little smirk, the glint in his eyes. he wants to reel himself in before he pisses derek off, but, well. ]
Shut up.
[ that doesn't happen. well, derek pretends that doesn't happen, at least. he sounds annoyed, but he's not, not really, and that's actually kind of obvious, try as he might to pretend otherwise. when derek rolls his eyes, he makes absolutely sure to shake his head at the same time, trying to compensate for the stupid smile that creeps into his expression. when he laughs, he tries to make it a snort, like he's scoffing and judgmental and frustrated, and that works, at first, but then he laughs again, clear as a bell, ruining the attempt. fucking stiles. fucking stiles.
truthfully, though? this is better. this helps. it was adrenaline and a fresh surge of fear that had derek panic about losing stiles, and that same impulse was what pushed him to corner stiles against the foot of the sofa, the cream-colored carpets well and truly fucked by soda by now. but derek doesn't want this to be... desperate. he wants this to be safe, he wants this to be happy, he wants this to be warm. he wants stiles to feel relaxed and loved and wanted just as he is, without heightened emotions playing too much of a role in this, and, well.
the two of them are assholes to each other. playfully. it hits derek, suddenly, that that's just how they flirt. the bullying, the namecalling. that was flirting. does stiles realize that? he'll have to ask. one day.
so derek keeps the act going. he huffs through his nose, he puts his hand on stiles' chest, and he pushes him back against the bottom of the couch, forcing him to lean back. he dips down and goes straight for his neck, swiping his tongue down the length of it and gently applying pressure to the first pressure point he finds. there's no subtlety, when he slowly reaches his hand into stiles' sweatpants, past his boxers, and straight for his cock. he squeezes, just lightly, coaxing him to a full hardness, and then - he moves.
derek moves until he's practically on all fours, his head between stiles' legs. he keeps eye contact as he lowers himself down, even as he tugs stiles' sweats and underwear down, exposing his cock to the cool afternoon air and tucking his waistbands beneath his balls. he's focused on stiles' expression, because he wants to see it change when he realizes what derek's about to do for him, but derek looks away before he really gets the chance to see the shift. he drops his eyes to stiles' dick, and he's... just...
he's stunned, for a second. he stares, but he doesn't let himself stare for too long, because he thinks stiles might get self-conscious, if he does. it's just - seeing stiles for the first time like this? up close, hard, all for him? it's... ]
Holy fuck.
[ a lot. derek swallows, wetting his lips, and he's fucking-- needy, suddenly. his chest feels tight and his cheeks get red and his mouth is actually watering, which he thinks must be pretty god damn pathetic. he has to swallow a few times, just to ground himself, and he feels like he's never done this before, when he finally wraps his hand around the base of stiles' cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. he's never... he hasn't ever felt like this. this consumed by want, for someone. this intensely aroused.
he takes another few breaths, and it hits him, again, that smiles smells like him. the soap, the shampoo. he smells like derek. he smells like he's derek's, like he's already been marked. jesus, he's not going to be able to get through this. derek looks up at stiles, and it takes a few tries for him to talk, just because his brain needs some time to remember how his mouth works. he laughs, again, but it's breathless and sorta slutty and-- really, really fucking horny. ]
You're... not going to get all self-conscious and contrary if I tell you that you've got a nice dick, right? I'm not going to have to deal with you whining and saying something annoying like -
[ he imitates stiles' voice, all high pitched and whiny - ] Nooo, my dick's stuuupid, I don't have a nice diiiick, don't saaay thaaaat - [ - and it's not an accurate imitation, but, still - ]
- or something, are you?
[ he starts to stroke stiles' dick, long and slow, just one firm, squeezing tug. derek... doesn't think he can wait for this much longer, and it's there in his voice, try as he might to sound normal. he arches his back a little, spreads his knees, still on all fours. he's-- uncomfortable, with his cock so tight and confined in his own pants. he clears his throat, keeps trying to talk, holding eye contact. ]
Because I'll kick you out with your sweats around your ankles if you pull that shit on me. I'm not kidding.
no subject
he's still laughing to himself under his breath when derek plants his hand up against his chest and pushes him backwards. stiles goes easily, lets himself be tilted back with zero resistance, and when his shoulders thump against the bottom of the couch, it knocks the breath out of him a little. his smile fades slightly, not because he feels any less happy, but because he's sensing a shift in the atmosphere, and he's curious and - really horny. like, really unexpectedly turned on.
derek goes for his neck and stiles instinctively tilts his head back, lets the back of his skull rest against the top of the couch cushion behind him. he can't help the soft sigh of a sound that slips out as derek gently closes his mouth over his pulse and sucks, fingers flexing aimlessly by his thighs. he wants to put his hands on derek, wants to feel his skin warm under his hands, the solid muscle.
it doesn't take a lot from derek to get him fully erect. he's practically already there when derek sinks his hand past the waistband of his sweats and closes his hand around his cock, strokes him slowly. stiles lifts his head back up and tilts his chin forward, looks down to watch. the last time derek had his hand on stiles' dick it was dark and the space was close and tight, but he wants to see what it looks like, derek's hand curled tight just underneath the crown, but his sweats are still in the way—
and derek is moving. derek moves, and he dips his head in low between stiles lazily-parted thighs and he keeps his eyes on stiles' while he does it. stiles tenses immediately, but it's not a bad thing. his cock flexes in derek's grip and his lips part and his pupils dilate minutely, and stiles doesn't want to assume, but he feels like this is not something that's very easy to misinterpret. he wets his lips and he closes his mouth and he swallows hard. fuck. fuck, he's never— god. his dick is out and practically in derek's face and derek is staring at it and stiles doesn't know what to make of it. he starts to feel nervous, a little self-conscious because derek's not saying anything. until he does.
stiles' toes flex and he feels this weird wave of something close to pride roll through him, and he watches as derek swallows and as his face flushes red, he watches as he wets his lips and stiles— stiles really hopes this is going to turn out to be more than the handjob he originally thought he was about to get from derek - which would have been fine, too, don't get him wrong, but now he can't stop thinking about what it would feel like to slide his cock into derek's mouth.
stiles whimpers. it's just a tiny, swallowed sound, but he has to close his eyes for a second. he brings one of his hands up and he bumps the back of his fingers against the edge of his own jaw, like he doesn't even know what to do with his hands. derek's voice is - fuck, it's something else right now. it's a little deeper, smooth and rough at the same time and stiles doesn't realize it, but he starts to tighten the muscles in his lower back very slowly, arching it in, pushing his cock into derek's hand, pushing it closer to derek's mouth.
and then derek imitates him and his voice goes from attractive as fuck to annoying as hell. stiles closes his eyes in the slowest blink just to keep from rolling them instead, and without stopping to think about it, he takes his hand away from his own face and he reaches out and he slides his palm underneath derek's chin, fingers and thumb on either side of his jaw, and he lifts his head to make derek look at him.
it's hard to keep his voice steady when derek starts to stroke his cock, and it's hard to stay focused with his mouth so close to his dick, with his knees spread and his back arched. it's hard to say anything at all with derek looking up at him from between his legs, but damn it, he's going to try and he's going to nail this.
with much more confidence than he's actually feeling, stiles tilts his head and he leans in close, and it's slightly awkward and a little bit of a strain because he has to practically fold himself over, but stiles does it anyway, lifting derek chin a little bit more to lessen the reach. he tilts his face in close, and he purposely touches his thumb to derek's lower lip. just for a second, very light, and he kisses derek, soft and easy and appreciative of his subtle ("subtle") praise. it's just a brief brush of their lips, but stiles stays close when he parts from him. ]
I'd say thank you, actually. [ his heart's a little quick, but it's consistent, there's no skip. stiles wets his lips, sits back a little and lets his hand drift from under derek's chin, down the side of his neck. he doesn't know why, but he really wants to push his fingers through derek's hair - so he does. he slides his fingers through the dark strands and he lets his hand drift down the back of his neck. ] Now can you just - shut up and do something? Please?
[ he means to sound sarcastic and teasing, but he misses his mark by a mile because he just sounds soft and fond and quietly desperate, quietly needy instead. ]
no subject
it's all very charismatic, honestly, and derek, despite his overall confidence and experience when it comes to sex, feels just a tiny bit rattled in the wake of it. when stiles stays close, when stiles touches his hair, when stiles says he'd fucking thank him instead of playing along and slapping at derek and calling him names, derek's expression is equal parts confused, pleased and impressed.
he, uh. he didn't think stiles had it in him. to surprise him, like this. to sound so charming, so in control. to be so fucking disarming. so - well. hot? derek thinks he's really, really hot, suddenly, and he actually has to scramble for something to say, caught off guard by how everything stiles is doing bolts straight to his dick. it's very, very rare for him to be flustered, and derek's not going to admit that that's what this feeling is, but he's obviously kind of embarrassed and maybe even a little shy as he tries to think of a response. stiles is gonna have to be pretty fucking lucky to ever see derek this thrown again. ]
Well - guess you're gonna be thanking me for a few things, then.
[ so, yeah. totally nailed that interchange, he thinks, nodding and trying to look very, very serious. he nods again, twists his very serious smile to the side like he's trying to very seriously hide it, and then very seriously shakes his head like he's embarrassed for thinking he could pull that off. god, okay. focus.
a part of derek feels as if he's slipping. the determination that got him to this point wavers like the tide, sometimes there, sometimes not. stiles is pressed up against the couch and every part of derek still knows in his heart of hearts that this is going to be good. he knows stiles is going to enjoy this, and he knows that he himself is going to enjoy giving him this - but now that he's at the eleventh hour, now that his body isn't soaked with adrenaline from table-flipping and chest-shoving, he's...
not anxious. something close to anxious. in the end, he's just gotta go for it, treat this like it's no big deal. he's gotta think of this as just one friend trying to take care of another, even if he knows that's not what they are. friends don't look at each other the way that stiles looks at derek, and friends don't get overwhelmed by a crashing tidal wave of hope and fear and longing the way that derek was fifteen fucking seconds ago. friends don't shove tables to the ground because it shaves three seconds off of being able to shove their tongue down their homie's throat. they stopped being friends a long time ago.
derek has to go for it. he has to go for it, both for the sake of his nerve and so he doesn't give stiles a fucking hernia from having to wait any longer.
crawling back down, derek stretches out over the carpet again when he drops between stiles' thighs. he's not going to waste time here with exploratory touches, he can't just keep staring. he has to go for it. he has. to just. do it.
one breath. one breath is all he takes to steel himself, and then he seals the very tip of stiles' cock between his lips. he sucks, just lightly, as he swipes the end of his tongue over the slit. he minds his teeth, and he swirls his tongue around the head until it's shiny with his spit, and he adds just a bit more suction, just enough to pull focus. derek wraps one hand around stiles' shaft and slowly starts to pump, using the other to roll stiles' balls between his fingers, gently massaging them, and he's already feeling more confident, already feeling more ready. more addicted. he likes this.
he fucking loves this.
he can feel the heat of stiles' dick now more than he did at the barracks. with his powers back, he can better sense his arousal, smell the blood and the lust crashing through his system. it makes his mouth water, which is conducive, to what they're doing, he guesses, and he closes his eyes to really focus. he thinks of the way stiles' hand felt on his chin, on his neck, in his hair, and he wants that again. his heart is a fucking mess, pumping loud enough to beat in his ears, and he loses a lot of shame, a lot of hesitation, the more this goes on. he stops trying to stay quiet. he doesn't mind if stiles hears the way his breathing comes staggered and needy, every time he pulls back to flood his lungs with air. he doesn't mind if stiles notices the way he rumbles in the back of his throat, deep and pleased and almost canine, every time stiles gives him a drop of pre to taste.
derek slips down lower, taking more of stiles in, taking him down inch by inch until he feels like he might gag. he squeezes his hand down stiles' cock as he goes, so that stiles is always feeling something - the soft, tight grip of his fingers, or the hot, wet suction of his mouth. derek squeezes his fist around the base of stiles' cock and he hums, appreciatively, like he's the one here who should be grateful, and if he drools a little from the corner of his mouth, he's far too engaged in what he's doing to care.
he slowly pulls back, keeping a long, dragging suction as he goes, his cheeks hollowed tight from the pressure of it. he lifts his lips from stiles' cock with a hard pop, and he gives himself a second to just collect himself. he looks up at stiles, and derek isn't smiling, not anymore. he's just - hazy, like he barely even notices stiles is there. he jerks stiles off, his hand wet and noisy, and his lips are red and glossy from precum and spit. he doesn't really think, when he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip to get it dry. to really taste stiles, already missing him. ]
You doing okay?
[ his voice is sort of raspy, but he clears his throat and fixes it, looking sharper now. he's enjoying himself, and he's pretty fucking positive that stiles is enjoying himself, too, but the last thing derek wants to do is overwhelm him. he only wanted a kiss, after all. ]
no subject
he kind of wants to laugh. not at derek, he just. he feels really happy? giddy and stupid and horny as fuck and it's such a good mix of feelings stiles isn't sure he's ever felt before all at once, at least not this intensely. he starts to smile, tries to hide it by tucking his lower lip under the flats of his teeth, and then derek says something that stiles doesn't really... understand, so his expression becomes this mix of amused and confused. kind of like a puppy that's excited, but also confused as shit about something their owner is doing, tilting their head this way and that.
what is that even supposed to mean? is derek about to compliment the shit out of stiles? because stiles has like, zero complaints if that's the plan here, even if he'd probably get all shy and bashful and embarrassed and entirely flustered. like, one compliment about how nice his dick is - that's like, up there as far as compliments go, for stiles. which is dumb, and kind of shallow, but 90% of it is because it came from derek, who stiles really, really fucking likes. derek likes his hands, derek likes his body, derek likes his dick. derek thinks he's attractive.
stiles is so turned on just thinking about derek being into him that it's not even funny. it's actually kind of painful, and stiles needs at least a little bit of relief here or he's - going to die, probably. he flexes his fingers gently in derek's hair, rolling his hips forward just a little, so, so slowly, pushing his dick through the tight circle of derek's fist just that fraction of a fraction of an inch. jesus christ - derek's not doing anything and it feels like an eternity is passing by but stiles is just overly-aroused and impatient. it's only been like. five seconds.
but then derek starts to sink back down, long and lean where he's stretched out across the living room floor and stiles' heart skips with anticipation. he feels the warmth from derek's breath spread over his hip, his stomach tightening briefly, and when derek lowers his head, stiles fingers slide out of his hair, hand just - hovering in the empty space above it.
derek's mouth is so fucking warm and it's wet and his lips are soft. stiles sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, hisses quietly through parted lips. he breathes so deep that his shoulders kind of rise with it, chest expanding, fingers clenching into a fist where his hand still lingers just above derek's head - and he holds his breath. he has no idea why he holds his breath, barely even realizes he's stopped breathing for a handful of seconds, but he just stares at derek.
he's only got the very tip of his cock in derek's mouth but this is already better than the handjob he was originally anticipating. derek sucks gently and he swipes his tongue around the crown of his dick, over the head and it's just - stiles has never had the pleasure of anyone sucking him off before, but he's imagined what it would be like. he's licked his hand and he's kept his fist tight and he's closed his eyes and pretended to the best of his ability, but that almost seems like a joke now, in the face of the actual thing, and derek has only just barely gotten started.
this could be over quickly. if stiles isn't careful, if he lets himself slide too deep too quickly into the warm, delicious buzz of pleasure, he's going to come before he's ready for it, before he wants to, and this will all be over in an embarrassingly short amount of time. it doesn't help his composure when derek starts to stroke him off as well, sliding his fist around the parts of him that his mouth doesn't reach, massaging his balls with his other hand.
stiles hums. just one long, soft note, low in his throat and hanging out on the edge of a whimper. he closes his eyes and his hand drops without him realizing it until he's already got his fingers back in derek's hair. there's no pressure behind his palm. he doesn't push, doesn't hold derek in place. he just wants to touch him, just needs something to keep him grounded, keep him anchored. stiles lets his head fall back against the couch cushions, throat extended and exposed, and his words are sighed more than they're spoken, breathy and barely murmured. ]
Hhhhoh - my god.
[ stiles only keeps his head tilted back for a couple of seconds before he's tilting it forward again. he wants to watch. his fingers drift down the back his derek's head, ghost over the back of his neck and settle, thumb on one side, the rest of his fingers on the other. he squeezes gently, eyes half-lidded and a little dazed as derek swirls his tongue around the crown of his dick and hollows his cheeks and sucks. stiles fingers press and shift and move in tight, lazy circles, like he's - trying to massage the back of derek's neck while derek blows him.
stiles has no idea what he's fucking doing, but he doesn't fucking care, either. he doesn't give a shit about looking stupid anymore, has stopped caring about being bashful of shy, he just - he's deep in this feeling of pure contentment and hot, slick pleasure, and every time derek rumbles a little, the vibrations just coax a little more precum out of him, drop after drop after drop.
the further derek takes him into his mouth, the more stiles just wants to push his hips up, sink himself as far as he can into the wet, silky heat, replace as much of derek's hand with his mouth as possible. he's a good boy, though, he he holds onto the thinning shreds of composure he still has - and then derek hums, and stiles feels it pulse through his cock and he almost loses it. he's not close enough to the edge yet that there's any risk of this being over so soon, but he's still grateful for the tight squeeze of derek's hand at the base of his cock, helping to stave off his orgasm for that much longer.
stiles does his best to swallow the moan that tries to claw it's way out of his throat, but his best is not nearly enough. he makes this quiet, thin whine instead his fingers gripping a little tighter at the back of derek's neck before they relax and his whole palm slides, following his spine down to the space between his shoulders. he feels - so fucking good, and he just wants derek to feel good too.
the slow, tight drag is as derek eases off is - a lot. stiles starts to sag a little against the back of the couch. he feels tense and he feels a little boneless and derek is just so, so attractive and he's always been so attractive to stiles and stiles kind of wants to tell him. derek pulls off and he looks up at stiles and stiles can't do anything but stare back down at him, at his impossible eyes, at his reddened lips, wet with spit, with precum.
stiles takes his hand away from derek's shoulders, and it takes him a second to absorb the question derek asks him, fingers gently touching the side of his face, thumb gentl touching at the corner of derek's lips. he swallows hard, opens his mouth to answer, but can't find his voice right away, so he just nods. it's just a small shake at first, but as stiles gathers a little more of composure back, he nods with more certainty. ]
... Yeah. Yeah, I'm... very okay. Okay-plus. [ which is supposed to be a play on a+, excellent, good job so far derek, but his brain to mouth filter is growing a little thin and letting some of the dumber things escape before stiles can catch them. he wets his own lips, smiles kind of suddenly and fleetingly before it fades. ] You're kind of - you're really... really hot.
no subject
he loves this. he loves stiles' voice, he loves the shape of him on his tongue, he loves the way his jaw is already starting to ache. if he leans into stiles' hand when it's pressed against his hair, silently encouraging him, asking for more - well, nobody has to know.
when he pulls off and stiles assures him he's okay, derek wants to kiss him. wants to share the taste of him between them, wants to hear stiles moan when he realizes he can taste his own precum on derek's tongue. he doesn't, because stiles takes that moment to compliment him, instead, and derek's glad that his filter's at it's weak point. he laughs, stroking stiles slower, tries to get him to last. thankfully, derek's got enough control over himself at this point not to get too flustered. ]
I know. [ he grins, cocky and pointed, the tip of his tongue pressed against one of his canines. he presses his lips together, chases away the smile, and he wraps both of his hands around stiles' cock, resting on his elbows. he leans down, leaves a kiss against the V of his hips, then rests his ear against his thigh as he looks up at him, almost adoring. ]
But - you're hotter. To me.
[ which might sound like he's just trying to butter stiles up, but honestly, it's the truth. at any other point in time, derek might have thought twice about saying something like that, if only because he would know that stiles wouldn't have the confidence or at least enough of a lack of skepticism to believe him. scratch that - he knows stiles wouldn't believe him to such a degree that he would assume derek is making fun of him.
but that's not what derek's doing. not at all. he knows he's the one with the jawline, the arms, the one with the body that gets admired and used and taken advantage of by people like kate, by people like veracity, but stiles is the one with the eyes, the hands, the nose, the moles, the neck, the smile, the personality. the dick. derek loves this fucking dick even more than his own, jesus christ.
but rather than let stiles argue, derek goes back to work, dragging his tongue down the underside of stiles' cock until he hits the base. he sucks on his balls, each in turn, letting his eyes drift closed. he hums again, that same soft, appreciative, unconscious hum, and then he's lapping his tongue back up to stiles' tip, keeping him wet and a little sloppy. he sets his hands against stiles' hips, holding him down, and then sucks him in again.
stiles seems to fill his mouth even more than before, once derek takes him in again, but maybe it's just that he's started to feel empty without him. again, he's not exactly slow when he escalates things; he's methodical and constant, trying to give stiles a second to be overwhelmed by whatever new sensation derek puts on him but not letting him take enough of a break to breathe. he'll add suction, then take stiles a little more, he'll moan and send a solid vibration down stiles' dick, then take him a little more. the tip of stiles' cock taps against the back of his throat, but derek doesn't gag. he breathes through his nose, opens his throat, then takes him down all the way.
he presses his nose to stiles' skin, to the tidy patch of hair that meets him there, and every fucking inch of stiles' cock stretches derek's jaw apart. there's a muscle just beneath his cheek that's really starting to hurt and his lungs are almost burning with the need to breathe, before too long, but derek doesn't pull away until his eyes are watering and his body's making him cough. he pulls back, drooling a little, a strand of spit connecting his tongue to stiles' cock when he eases off. ]
Fuck.
[ he wipes his hand over his eyes, stopping them from watering, and then, pleased, he does it again without waiting for stiles' go ahead. he deepthroats him, faster this time, much less exploratory. he loops his arm beneath stiles' waist and he pulls him up from the ground, trying to get him to fuck up into his face and really feel as much of the wet confines of derek's mouth as he can, and derek lasts longer this time, it takes a while for him to need to breathe, but then he's gagging and has to pull back, disconnecting from stiles and sitting upright on his knees, just for a second.
his cheeks are red. his whole face is red, actually. he's sweaty, just on his forehead and by his sideburns, and he swallows and rubs his hand over his throat to try and get it to work right. stiles earns another smile, but it's softer, less teasing. purely aroused. the smile fades, and derek looks down at stiles' cock, lazily stroking it with one hand. he wants... more. he wants more.
derek bends back down, and he tugs on the waistband of stiles' sweats, urging him to lift up his hips so he can strip them off completely. again, before even giving stiles the chance to react, derek gets annoyed with him for being so fucking slow. ]
I want these off. They're in the way.
[ he tugs harder, but the sweats don't come off - he just sort of manhandles stiles a little, pulling him forward a few inches, forcing him to slide his ass across the carpet. it pulls stiles away from the back of the couch and drops his back more directly onto the floor, and derek takes a short, hard breath, nostrils flared and lip curled like he's in one of his particularly grumpy moods. he looks at stiles, raises his eyebrows as high as they can go, widens his eyes. it's kind of hard to look this pissed off when you're very visibly covered in signs that you've been sucking dick, but derek's talented. ]
Seriously - help me out. Get these off. Don't make me bring out the claws. I'm not above Wolverine-ing you.
[ he's threatening to shred these sweats, and, look. he'd do that. of course he'd do that. stiles saw what he did to the table. ]
no subject
stiles smiles, but he does it in a way that makes him look like he's purposely baring his teeth. he rolls his eyes, lulls his head a little, and breathes out quietly when derek curls both hands around him. his cock flexes in response to the gentle kiss derek presses to his hip, to the barely-there scrape of derek's scruff before he's resting his cheek on stiles' thigh.
he looks so fucking beautiful. maybe stiles is a little lust-drunk, but derek looks so god damn attractive and soft, and the way he looks up at stiles makes stiles' heart flutter and his stomach swoop. stiles cards his fingers through derek's hair, slow and gentle and affectionate. he looks a little stupid with love, doesn't even really try to hide how much he likes derek.
stiles is skeptical, just like derek thought he would be. derek calls him hot, calls him hotter, and it sounds so impossible to stiles - pale and thin and speckled, frenetic and fragile in comparison - that it has to be a joke. derek's just telling him what he thinks stiles wants to hear — and he's right. stiles does want to hear it. even if he doesn't actually believe derek, it still makes his cheeks a little rosy and sends a flush of color down his throat.
he opens his mouth to argue. tell derek to shut up at the very least, but derek puts his mouth back on stiles cock and the only thing that comes out of stiles' mouth is a tight, breathy squeak of a sound when derek pays attention to his balls. his toes curl and uncurl at the same time that his fingers do, tugging gently in derek's hair, and he barely catches a second to breathe before derek sinks his mouth down over stiles' dick, hands heavy and firm over his hips.
stiles arches. it's not much, not with derek pinning him down at the waist, but he bows his back slightly, tightens the muscles at the base of his spine. derek just keeps taking more and more of him into the hot, wet heat of his mouth, slowly easing down another inch, and another until he hits the back of his throat, and stiles' eyes fly open. he has no idea when he closed them, but he opens them now and he looks down and - that's a bad idea. he looks at derek with his lips stretched around his cock, with his tight jaw, so close to fitting his entire dick in his mouth, and it's so fucking hot that it drags stiles very close to the edge very fast.
and then derek opens his throat, and he sinks the rest of the way down, and stiles has to squeeze his eyes shut. he doesn't want to come, not yet, not so easily, but if he keeps watching derek, if he keeps looking at what derek is doing for him, it'll be over whether he wants it to be or not.
the fit of derek's throat around his cock is tighter than stiles expects. it feels fire-hot and his tongue feels silky-soft pressed to the underside of his dick, and it takes everything stiles has to keep himself from rolling his hips forward to seek out even just another centimeter of smooth, tight warmth. he drops his head back and he drapes his arm over his eyes, and even with half of his face covered he looks like he could cry.
he feels the convulsion of a cough more than he hears it. when derek starts to ease back, stiles suddenly feels a little desperate, immediately misses his mouth on him. he lift his head up and he holds onto the back of his own head, and he should have just kept his eyes closed because that little thread of spit that stretches from derek's tongue to his dick is probably one of the hottest things stiles has ever witnessed. ]
Fuck.
[ he says it at the same time as derek, weak and whispered, but as much as he wants derek's mouth back on him, as much as he wants to use the hand on the back of derek's head to pull him back down— as much as he wants to drag the tip of his dick over derek's lower lip— he's glad for the break, glad to take a second to try and get his shit together so he doesn't blow his load less than five minutes into this like some horny teenager. which he is, but that's not the point.
derek gives him about three seconds. three seconds to fill his lungs and calm his nerves and it's just barely enough time for stiles to get a grasp on what few shreds of self-control he has left. it's a very loose grasp, though, because as soon as his dick slides past the back of derek's throat again — stiles holds him there. he doesn't mean to, doesn't even stop to think about it as he presses his hand over the back of derek's head, firm and heavy. encouraged by derek lifting his hips, stiles thrusts up twice, slow and easy, only pulling back an inch or two so he can slide right back into the narrow squeeze of derek's throat.
it's too much, though. it's way too much for stiles to handle, fucking into derek's mouth, and he stops himself so he doesn't end this prematurely, his entire body shaking with the effort. he takes his hand out of derek's hair and he forms a fist and he brings it to his mouth, sinking his teeth around a knuckle, hard enough that he's in danger of splitting the skin, but he doesn't care. the tiny flare of pain helps him focus.
he's panting a little by the time derek sits up, chest rising and falling with short, needy breaths. his heart is pumping hard, blood rushing loudly in his ears, and derek smiles at him. he's sweaty and he's red and he's so, so beautiful when he smiles at stiles, and stiles can only manage a dorky, embarrassing little lopsided smile in return.
stiles lifts his hips almost instinctively when derek pulls at his sweats, pressing his feet into the carpet and arching his lower back, a little clumsy and uncoordinated and heavy-limbed, but derek doesn't give him any time before he's dragging him him closer and taking away the support of the couch. stiles laughs around a soft, startled yelp, and he just feels - so incredibly happy and horny for a moment that he can't do anything but lay back, arms flung out on either side of him, cock hard and red and heavy against his abdominals, grinning like a big, stupid idiot up at the ceiling.
holy fuck. holy fuck, what a day. stiles lifts his head to look at derek, because he's happy and he just - wants to look at him, wants to see him. derek looks pissed, which shouldn't turn stiles on even more, but it does, because he also looks like he's just had stiles' dick all the way down his throat, and stiles likes that it's obvious.
he snorts when derek threatens him, lifting his hips and curling up a little so he can reach the waistbands of his pants and his underwear. he shoves them down to his knees with both hands, then sits up halfway so he can grab at the material bunched around his calves. ]
You're way, way more attractive than Hugh Jackman. Like, mmno - [ his knee pops as he kicks his legs free. ] - ow, jesus - no contest.
[ stiles drops his sweatpants in a pile off to the side, only barely conscientious of the soda soaking the carpet. he looks up at derek, reaches out with one hand to tug at the bottom of his shirt like he's trying to get derek's attention even though derek has been paying him pretty close attention thus far. he curls his other hand around his cock, gives it a couple lazy pumps to make up for the loss of derek's mouth. ]
I coulda been into it, though...
no subject
he thinks of the barracks. he thinks of jurassic park. he thinks of stiles running up those stairs, flushed and exhausted, as desperate to see him as derek was to see him back. he thinks of things from home, like stiles pimping him out to danny or the dumb jokes he would make at his expense, all these little goofy moments that just feel so much lighter and funnier now that he's had so much distance from who he was when they first met. angry and grieving, instead of happy and hopeful for the future, like he is now. stiles is so fucking cute. derek honestly might die, if his heart swells any bigger.
"you're way more attractive than hugh jackman" - derek laughs, helping stiles tug off his sweatpants, and he doesn't know why that just made him want to fucking hug the hell out of him, but it did. he keeps his hands to himself, but his heart is picking up, and he just keeps picturing it, he just keeps picturing stiles running up those stairs, he just keeps remembering how it felt to knock over the coffee table and ruin the carpet because he wanted stiles and he wants this and he wants them and he's-- he's just--
he's so happy. he's so fucking happy. he wants so badly to tell stiles that he loves him. he wishes, more than anything, that he could. ]
You're only saying that 'cause I'm the one sucking your dick. If Hugh Jackman wanted you to come in his mouth half as much as I want you to come in mine, there would be a Stiles-shaped dust cloud where you're sitting. There would be an equally Stiles-shaped hole in my wall as you rushed your unfairly impressive boner to New Zealand.
[ or wherever it is hugh jackman lives. australia? fuck, he doesn't care. stiles gets rid of his sweatpants and derek surges forward, kissing the top of stiles' thigh and working inwards. he loops his arms around stiles' legs and pulls him another few inches closer, dragging him across the carpet, and he doesn't ask, when he pushes stiles' legs back a little, spreading them apart.
derek's aggressive. he's always been aggressive. he nudges stiles' hand out of the way, and he kisses the base of stiles' cock. he gently rolls his tongue over stiles' balls, lightly sucking one, then the other, and when he drags his tongue back up to the head of stiles' cock and slips the length of him between his lips, he hums from the back of his throat like he missed this. the taste of him, the way he stretches his jaw open, the fucking feel of him. like he's incomplete without him.
he gets lost in the rhythm of this. of bobbing his head, of adding pressure, of adding suction. a minute passes, then two, then five, ten, more, and through it all, derek just disappears into giving stiles the best blowjob he can give him - going deep, bringing him to the edge, pulling back. he reacts so fucking eagerly to the things stiles does to him; a hand on his hair has him leaning into the touch, every hitched breath and quiet gasp and moan has derek working a little harder, making small, appreciative sounds from the back of his throat.
when he breaks away to catch his breath, red-faced and a little sweaty, he looks up at stiles, and he's wearing a lazy, almost cocky grin. like he's never been this relaxed. never been this happy. he presses a few kisses to the inside of stiles' thigh again, and then - he sits up, on his knees. he moves forward, just a little, and he brings his index and middle finger to stiles' lips.
his voice is dark. deep. commanding, when he makes its order. a single word, harsh and heavy with need. ]
Suck.
no subject
for whatever reason, he hadn't pictured this ending with him coming in derek's mouth. he hadn't really pictured this ever happening to him, if he's honest, not for real. not outside of the handful of fantasies he may or may not have entertained in the middle of the night when he was sixteen, freshly seventeen. eighteen. but derek just - says it, like that's been the plan all along and stiles has never wanted anything so badly in his entire god damn life. which probably isn't true. there are things he's wanted more, but right now he feels like the possibility of not coming in derek's mouth is just - unacceptable now.
stiles shivers a little, gently easing his grip a little, just in case he's still too close. he tries for a laugh, but he just sounds dumb and awkward, his voice sandpapery. ]
You couldn't - pay me enough to come in s-someone else's mouth over yours. Jesus - christ.
[ and hugh jackman is probably loaded, so that's saying something. something like - money is irrelevant. fame is irrelevant. derek is so - fucking attractive that it hurts, sometimes. something like that. stiles is still just thinking about his dick in derek's mouth, down his throat. god. his thighs flex when derek's stubble scrapes over his thighs, his lips soft against his skin. he grunts quietly when derek pulls him closer, taking away any possibility of him leaning back against the couch anymore, his shirt riding up just a little with the drag, exposing his lower stomach from just above his navel and down. stiles doesn't bother tugging it down, doesn't even really notice.
stiles balances his weight on his elbows at first, shoulders inched up a bit toward his ears. he slaps at derek's hand lazily, playfully when derek bats his away, legs spread just the way derek positioned them, like it hasn't even really registered for stiles yet just how vulnerable and exposed he is. he's too distracted anyway, first by the kiss derek presses to the base of his cock, and then by the warmth of his tongue as he laps up to the tip. stiles sighs, tilts his head back a little as he exhales, eyes drifting closed, and then derek sinks his mouth around him and he hums like he's tasting his favorite desert and stiles can't sit up anymore.
he flops back with a rushed breath, lifting his arms and crossing them lazily above his head, shirt dragging up an inch more, knees bent and parted, skin warm and lightly flushed, and derek works him. derek builds him up and up and inches him closer and closer, but every time stiles thinks he's about to come, every time he decides he's fucking ready for it, derek eases him, teases him away from it and it drives stiles - crazy. he starts to feel a little crazy with it, with the need to come, to flood derek's mouth like he's imagined so many times before, the way derek wants him to, and if he pushes his fingers into derek's hair once or twice in a poor attempt to keep him from pulling away— if he can't hold back a tiny, frustrated growl in the back of his throat, if he fucks up into derek's mouth once when he thinks derek's about to leave him hanging again, well. he can hardly be blamed for derek's teasing.
he's red by the time derek takes his mouth off of him, maybe darker than derek is, and his skin is a little tacky with sweat by his temples and near the base of his throat, the center of his chest where his shirt is just a shade darker than the rest of it. he's not quite panting, but he keeps taking deeper breaths, like he's on the tail-end of a cool-down after running a couple miles. stiles scrubs a hand down over his face, down his throat, settles his hand against his chest for a moment like he's checking if his heart is still beating. it is. ]
God, [ he starts, and it's breathy and weak and he doesn't finish the rest of whatever it was he was planning to say. i hate you, maybe, for torturing him like this, for making him feel so, so fucking good, but never letting him find that sweet, sweet explosive release that he feels stupidly desperate for. i love you, maybe, for all the same reasons.
it takes some effort to lift himself back up onto his elbows, but he wants to look at derek and he wants to know why he stopped. he kind of wants to shove derek's face, smush his stupid, beautiful, insanely sexy stupid dumb grin. he doesn't, though, or maybe that's his intention when he lifts his hand, but he just ends up pushing his fingers through derek's hair kind of clumsily, a low, pleased hum vibrating at the base of his throat. his hand falls away, and stiles pulls his arm back so he can prop his weight back on both elbows again, watching with half-lidded eyes as derek kisses his thighs.
this has to be a dream. this is too good to be an actual thing that's happening to him right now. like, the barracks was one thing, but this? this is different, somehow, and too much for stiles, too good for him.
derek sits up and stiles is still kind of stupid with lust, a little panicky for a split second that derek's done. that he's just gonna leave him there with a painfully hard dick and let him finish himself off - which he is very capable of doing but derek put the idea of coming in his mouth in stiles' head and he still wants that. he still wants that so bad that he's almost willing to beg for it, which is gross and pathetic but he kind of doesn't care too much about looking pathetic right now. his eyebrows pinch in the center and his mouth starts to twist--
--but then derek reaches and he presses his fingers to stiles lips and he tells him to suck. he commands him, his voice firm and authoritative and stiles cock instantly leaks a little pre. he's hit with another sharp wave of arousal, knees shifting slightly as he subconscious inches his knees a little bit further apart.
stiles stares up at derek. he looks up at derek with his fingers still presses to his mouth and his pupils are slightly blown, heart rate spiking up a couple more beats per minute. his fingers flex slowly at his sides, sliding over the carpet, and he just keeps - staring. when he finally blinks, it's like he's sliding out of a trance. he tilts his weight back over onto one elbow, lifts his hand, curls his fingers around derek's wrist, and with a much confidence he can muster - which honestly isn't very much, especially because he's not entirely sure what derek is aiming for here -, he opens his mouth.
he licks the pads of derek's fingers are first, tentative as he drags the flat of his tongue from the first knuckle to the tips. okay, not weird so far. well, only a tiny bit weird, but that's only because he's nervous about - looking like an idiot. like more of an idiot than usual. embarrassing himself. but it's not weird enough and derek doesn't laugh at him so he keeps going. he wets his lips, glances up from derek's hand for a moment to look at his face, and then he just. does what he's told. he opens his mouth and he tilts his chin down a fraction and he leans forward, taking both of derek's fingers into his mouth to the second knuckle before he closes his lips around them.
stiles just lets them sit there on his tongue for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of having someone's fingers in his mouth. his throat flexes a little even though derek's fingertips are nowhere near it, but he's got a little bit of strong gag reflex, and ignoring it just makes his mouth water in anticipation. he breathes out through his nose, and then finally, he adds a little suction and pulls his head back, dragging the tip of his tongue along the seam between derek's fingers, slicking them up. he doesn't necessarily feel uncomfortable about it, but he does feel - shy, and he can't look at derek, eyes downcast as he focuses on the curl of his hand around derek's wrist instead. ]