[ there's too much emotion between them, heightened and hard for derek to read. the semi-soft thrums of deadening arousal, the panic that could belong to stiles just as easily as it could to him, the anguish, the fear, the love, the grief that comes from a love going unreturned. derek's head is spinning and it's not easing his heartbeat enough, not making the spark in his eyes die out, not making the brownish-black tips of his claws retreat back into his body. he never gets like this. he shouldn't get like this. he's an alpha, he's a born wolf, he's never so vulnerable and so quick to lose control. he's supposed to be more human. he has to be more human.
stiles tells him to look at him. derek resists, at first, a jarring yank of his neck that pulls his head away from the feather-light kiss of stiles' lips against his eyelid. he keeps his eyes scrunched tight, a dog that's been hit too many times to let humans hand-feed them. he keeps his eyes shut tight, but he doesn't let go of stiles, either, tightening his arm around his waist again, reflexively refusing to lose him, and stiles just... waits. he waits, and when he opens his eyes, stiles is just smiling, soft and faint and calm. derek's eyelids flutter, wanting to close. they don't.
he's teary. the red makes the gloss on his eyes more obvious, the sheen on his waterline lit up with the glow of them. he blinks a few times, tries to feel better, but it doesn't go away, and he takes a few breaths to stay steady. derek focuses on stiles, keeping his eyes open, and he listens. he listens to stiles lie. he listens to stiles pretend that he's a good person, he listens to him fake an apology, he listens to him bring up the things that other people have done as if everything that happened wasn't his fault. he could have saved laura. he could have saved peter. he could have saved so many people who he just let die, instead. ]
I...
[ he trusts stiles. he trusts the beat of stiles' heart, the steady rhythm and the way it jumps and spikes like he's in love and he's emotional and he cares, rather than jumps and spikes because he's a liar. he lays everything on the line, tells derek how he feels, both about him and about them, and derek's not as teary, not so much, not by the end. he's just... he's focused, and he's struggling. "i don't need you to say it back". derek's going to say it back. derek has to say it back.
after all, he loves stiles. of course he is. of course he's in love with stiles. his heart wouldn't break so cleanly in half every time stiles smiled at him if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have kissed him in the barracks, sweaty and scared and safe, if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have knocked over chess tables and gotten angry at elevators and found a reason to live and fight after being stripped of his pack if he wasn't in love with stiles. derek hale is in love with stiles stilinski.
he can pad it out all he like. justify it, explain away his feelings, try to make them smaller. he can say that he's only falling in love with him, as if pretending he's ever been slow to fall in love with someone will be enough to make this feel less heavy. he can say that he's just confused, under the weight of duplicity and the terror of fort harmony, and he can say that after six years of death and grief and loss, he's desperate for affection from whoever's brave enough to share it with him. he can say a lot of things.
but he's in love with stiles. he knows he's in love with stiles.
but.
but he told paige that he loved her, and then she died, skin ripped like paper and covered in foul, diseased blood. she was beautiful and she was kind and she had brown hair and moles, she was sarcastic and funny and intelligent and overlooked. she was warm and nobody knew it, she was attentive and paid attention and nobody knew it, and she was a single human life that was reduced to a carcass of gored meat and emptied flesh. she was brought to a halt by a sickening crunch that derek can still feel in his stomach whenever he hears a sound like breaking bone. she was ruined because of him.
he told kate that he loved her, smoothed back her hair behind her ear, smiled up at her from beneath the pinning weight of her body as she did things to him that were supposed to feel better than they did. she called him handsome, kissed his nose, and she thanked him after they fucked, once, and derek thought she was trying to make his heart skip a beat, trying to tell him she was grateful for their time together, but then he was covered in ash and the cloying, saccharine smell of whatever chemical was used to melt his family was stinging the back of his throat no matter how many times he made himself throw up in the sheriff's bathroom after meeting that sad little kid who lost his mom, and he realized she was thanking him for telling her where he lived. thanking him, so he would always remember he gave her what she needed to kill.
if he tells stiles that he loves him - ]
I don't want you to take it back. I don't want to pretend like you didn't say it.
[ he can't ruin this, too. he can't taste any more bad tastes, hear any more bad sounds. derek's a fucking curse, and he's risking hurting stiles just by being here, just by promising to change. refusing to let stiles go could be what triggers another sour flood of black fluid, or the searing sting of burning skin. telling stiles he loves him is out of the question.
but he can't... lose him. he won't survive another loss. is he selfish enough to let stiles burn, all for the chance of maybe not being alone anymore? how cruel, stiles is, to pin derek between telling him he loves him and letting him die, or telling him he doesn't and ruining what they've started to have. derek looks at stiles, panic a lump in his throat, and all he wants to do is fucking kiss him. ]
And I don't want... to be "friends". I don't want to just be "friends".
[ derek pitches forward, holding stiles close to his lap, and he lowers him back against the bed, pinning him down. he's firm, this time, because he knows that stiles doesn't want to leave, and he knows that he doesn't want to leave, and he just-- they both want to move forward. they both want to be something other than "friends". derek just has to figure out how to make it happen. ]
I...
[ derek sets his hand against stiles' shirt, balling the fabric of it in his fist and holding on tight, grabbing it the way he'd grab someone's shirt when he wants to punch them in the face and knock out their teeth. his hand shakes, but he keeps stiles pinned down, and he drops his other hand down to stiles' cock, slipping past it.
his fingers are still slick with his spit, and derek pushes stiles into the bed as he searchingly touches his middle finger to stiles' hole. he looks at stiles, waiting to be told this is too much, waiting to be told this isn't what stiles wants, waiting to be told that he's ruined this. carefully, he inches his finger forward, stretching the ring of muscle around the very tip of it and slipping inside to the first knuckle. ]
I want there to be an us. Not... "friends".
[ he holds his hand steady, and he leans down, hovering his lips half an inch from stiles'. he wants to be kissed like that again. the teeth on his lips, the love, the emotion. how can he ask stiles to kiss him when he doesn't even have the guts to take the lead and tell him how he feels? this is just like the barracks again - hands roaming over stiles' body, taking what they want to, while his head feels too fucked up by webbed cotton and stale panic and fresh anxiety to say what he needs to say. ]
[ for a second, stiles thinks derek is going to say it back. stiles told him he didn't expect him to return his feelings, and he meant that, but derek says i and stiles heart jumps, and he's stupid enough to allow himself to get his hopes up a little bit, in that quick span of five or so seconds of pregnant silence. his breath catches a little as he inhales, but he doesn't hold it.
and derek doesn't say it back — but that's okay. it's okay. even if stiles' chest aches for a moment with mild disappointment, it's okay. because derek doesn't want him to take it back and he doesn't want to just be friends and maybe that's enough for stiles. maybe this is more than he deserves.
stiles startles a little when derek suddenly pitches forward, his hands gripping over his shoulder blades as he's tilted back. he can't help the quick spike of anxiety that jolts through him, convinced for a moment that derek is just - dumping him out of his lap so he can get up or so he can leave, even though they literally just talked about neither one of them wanting to go, but anxiety quickly turns into arousal as derek grips the front of his shirt, pinning him down with a heavy fist to his chest. desire pulses through him put of nowhere, buzzing through his nerves and warming his skin and quickly filling his partially softened cock.
he makes room between his thighs for derek without being asked. stiles tilts his knees apart, and it's a little slutty, with his feet pressed flat against the mattress and his knees drawn up into low peaks and his thighs spread, shirt drawn up a little past his stomach with derek holding onto a fistful of it the way he is. he doesn't care, probably doesn't even know what he looks like. he just wants derek closer. he wants him so much closer.
stiles draws in a deep breath, and as he stares up at derek, he very deliberately tilts his chin up, lifts it just an inch, maybe two, baring a little more of his throat to him. he knows exactly what he's doing, keeps his eyes on derek's even as he tilts his head back, looks at him through the splay of his lashes, over the subtle shape of his cheekbones.
the press of derek's finger makes stiles' body jerk slightly, but he quickly relaxes, an anticipatory shiver racing up his spine. he breathes out a shuddery breath, and he takes one hand away from derek's shoulder to splay it across the thin blanket stretched underneath him, loosely curling his fingers in the threadbare fabric. he snakes his other hand down into the space between them and grips his cock, slowly dragging his fist up from the root up to the tip, and when dereks finger presses in, there's only minimal discomfort.
stiles keeps pumping himself lazily, eyes still half lidded as he watches derek. he nods before derek can even finish - yes, yes, stiles wants that, he wants there to be an us, he wants its so fucking badly. he wants to kiss derek so fucking badly, he wants derek to fuck him so fucking badly. he wants derek, however derek will allow stiles to have him.
stiles cranes his head up, closes up that half an inch of space but another half so there's barely any space left. he curls his other hand around derek's wrist and he squeezes around the bone, but he doesn't try to take his hand away. he likes being pinned down like this. ]
Yeah, yeah, yes, I want it. I want that too. [ he's close, so he's quiet, murmurs the words like they're something kept secret, meant only for derek. stiles stretches his neck so he can kiss him, pushes up against his fist just so he can reach, so he can kiss derek with an open mouth, pulling gently at his lower lip with his teeth only to sooth the scrape with smaller, feathery kisses ] We can be an us, we can be whatever - we can be whatever you want.
[ there's an atmosphere in stiles' room that derek feels with his gut. it's this isolated, slightly drunk happiness, where his body feels warm and his heart feels full and it's easy to forget the lack of privacy afforded to those who live in the down. every time derek's with stiles like this, he always ends up feeling like he's carved out a private, perfect bubble, still in stasis, where nothing can go wrong. this is something he's thought again and again and again, but it's as true now as it ever was: stiles makes him feel safe.
they kiss, and - and stiles has to know what he's doing to him. he bares his throat, and derek doesn't react, not verbally, but his expression darkens with lust, and when he pulls back, his eyes lower to the flushed curves of his neck, the pristine skin he's yet to mark with soft bites and swipes of his tongue. he leans in, sets his lips against the dip in stiles' throat above his collarbone, and he sighs against his skin as he kisses him again.
we can be whatever you want. all that anxiety derek was feeling, the worry that he wasn't going to be enough - it melts and dissolves, completely powerless in the atmosphere of stiles' room and the future stiles is offering him. the potential to really be something special. derek kisses up stiles' throat, over his jaw, up to his lips. ]
Good.
[ he's - reinvigorated. stiles wants him. stiles wants him, not as just some-- cheap fuck in the back of his car, not as some limited, physical expression of comfort who only serves to chase away some of the pain of duplicity. stiles wants to be something, whatever derek wants, and derek doesn't know what he wants, yet, not exactly, but he knows he wants this to be real.
derek presses his finger tighter against stiles' hole, adding the tiniest modicum of pressure to the touch. he sinks in further, stretches him a little more, giving stiles time to breathe and adjust as he's guided into gently, easily yielding for him. he scrapes the very edge of his teeth along stiles' throat, moving downwards, sinking blunt, human jaws around the bridge leading to stiles' shoulder, and he exhales through his nose.
he bites. not hard - at least, not as hard as it would be, if he weren't in control of himself. it's dulled and human but still hurts enough to leave a mark, just on the patch of skin derek can reach before stiles' collar. steadily, derek starts to fuck stiles with his finger, drawing out to the tip as he sucks the impression his teeth left at the edge of stiles' neck. he moves forward, pressing in, keeping stiles tilted down on the bed, held in place.
and he bites a little harder, though still not hard enough to bruise. it's this sharp, singing pain that derek quickly soothes with dragging laps of his tongue. he sucks, turning the skin beneath his teeth a soft and rosy pink, and he fingers stiles a little deeper, feeling almost dizzy from the tight, welcoming heat of him. derek closes his eyes and lets himself just - lose himself, for a second, in the tight grip stiles has on his wrist, in the rhythmic squeak of the messy, dishevelled bed, and in the light of the man he loves. ]
Stiles.
[ he inches forward, sinking his finger down to the second knuckle. he's deep enough in stiles to curl his finger and brush against his prostate, relentlessly trying to pull a reaction from him, to-- to overwhelm him with nerves and sensitivity. he's aggressive and consuming and going too fast, he gets that, but it feels like every second he spends disconnected from stiles is frantic, wasted time. how has he spent so long with stiles without - doing this? having him. fucking him. taking him. his stiles. his very good boy. ]
[ derek's breath is warm against his throat and his lips are soft and stiles should probably be more fearful about baring his throat to a predator - but if there's anything he knows like the back of his hand, if there's anything he's researched backwards and forwards to the best of his ability, it's werewolves. the hierarchy, general behavior and customs, displays of aggression and submission and respect. recognition of power and authority.
he knows what he's doing by baring his throat, even if he's never really had to do it before. even if he's never truly felt the desire to submit like this until now, until derek. stiles sighs, closing his eyes and exhaling a slow, fluttery breath as derek presses a line of kisses up the column of his throat, kisses his mouth, too. he says good, and stiles swallows and he nods because it is good. this is good and whatever derek wants, stiles will make that good, too, if it's the last thing he ever does.
by now, derek's gentle ministrations to stiles' throat has coaxed stiles into relaxing so much that he almost feels a little boneless, loose and easy and warm and safe and wanting, and there's little to no resistance or squirming from him when derek works his finger deeper. his body doesn't instinctively try to fight the intrusion, but he's still a little tight and the stretch is still slightly uncomfortable, if only because he isn't accustomed yet. stiles breathes in through his nose, impulsively drawing his knees in a bit closer to either side of derek between his legs, but he forces himself to relax as he exhales, easing the way with a couple of lazy, uncoordinated strokes of his dick as he spreads his thighs again.
the scrape of derek's teeth against his throat is a welcome distraction, but it's the fit of derek's jaws over the dip between his neck and his shoulder that has his heart beat jumping and his hand stuttering over his dick. it's not panic that floods through him, and it's not fear, either, but something stiles can't quite describe - something like absolute, unquestionable trust, and adrenaline, and the indescribable thrill of something else stiles couldn't put a name to if he tried.
derek bites down. derek bites down, presses the flat edges of his human teeth into soft flesh and tight muscle and it's not hard, but stiles feels the dull, hot pressure behind it and it does more for him that he expects it to. he clenches his teeth lightly, closes his eyes, and when he breathes out, there's a soft, unsteady moan that hovers just under his breath. his fist tightens up around his cock, fingers curled just below the head and his wrist flexing with short little pulses.
stiles' fingers grip a little harder at derek's wrist, not to push him off or get him to ease up, but almost as if to anchor himself instead, to stay connected with him at as many points as possible. derek starts to move his hand, starts to fuck him with his finger, fits his teeth back into the impressions they left before - and he bites again, but this time it's harder, and it hurts, and stiles... doesn't hate it. he shivers and he clenches his teeth and he closes his eyes a little tighter and he - likes it. his voice is a little gravely, a little thin, breathy, similar to a whine but not quite there. ]
God...
[ he really, really likes it, and that's somewhat unexpected considering that, in his experience, sex and pain have never really had any positive associations for him. but this is good. maybe there are limits they just haven't hit yet, but right now, this is really good.
stiles skin flushes with heat, eyes blinking open halfway because he wants to see derek, wants to look at him but he can't because derek's face is still pressed in close to his throat, hot, wet tongue licking and soothing the sharp imprint of his teeth. stiles is left staring up at the ceiling instead, feet pressed flat to the mattress and hips rolling in tiny little circles, trying to meet the steady thrust of derek's finger, seeking more.
derek says his name. stiles takes his hand off of his dick, not because he's close, because he isn't, not yet, but because he's aware enough to know that that could change very quickly, and he's nowhere near ready for this to be over when it's only just begun. he hums a soft, low note in acknowledgement, but it just sounds like another soft moan. stiles reaches backwards with his free hand, extending his arm up over his head like he's about to reach for a pillow that he doesn't actually have, but he never makes it that far.
stiles' fingers grip at the thin bed sheet, grabbing a fistful of it by his head with his elbow bent sharply as derek strokes his finger over his prostate. his eyes fly open the rest of the way and his mouth opens and his toes curl. he doesn't make a sound at first, but his body tenses up and he digs his heels into the bed, and then the breath comes rushing out of him and derek says his name again, and this time he does whine, soft and thin and completely unintentional. his nerves feel like they're buzzing, intense but quickly fading.
stiles pants, mildly overwhelmed and surprised and horny as fuck. he lets go of the sheet, his other hand still circled around derek's wrist, holding it so tightly that his knuckles are white and his fingers feel a bit numb, and he clumsily fits his hand over the back of derek's neck, stumbling through his words. ]
I need, I want— I need - more than this.
[ he needs more than just derek's finger, for one, even if knows somewhere in the corner of his mind that he probably shouldn't rush through prepping. but he also needs for this to be more than just sex - which they've already established that it is, that it will be, that they're more than just friends, but stiles still says it anyway, even if he doesn't clarify out loud what it is he needs from derek. ]
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no subject
stiles tells him to look at him. derek resists, at first, a jarring yank of his neck that pulls his head away from the feather-light kiss of stiles' lips against his eyelid. he keeps his eyes scrunched tight, a dog that's been hit too many times to let humans hand-feed them. he keeps his eyes shut tight, but he doesn't let go of stiles, either, tightening his arm around his waist again, reflexively refusing to lose him, and stiles just... waits. he waits, and when he opens his eyes, stiles is just smiling, soft and faint and calm. derek's eyelids flutter, wanting to close. they don't.
he's teary. the red makes the gloss on his eyes more obvious, the sheen on his waterline lit up with the glow of them. he blinks a few times, tries to feel better, but it doesn't go away, and he takes a few breaths to stay steady. derek focuses on stiles, keeping his eyes open, and he listens. he listens to stiles lie. he listens to stiles pretend that he's a good person, he listens to him fake an apology, he listens to him bring up the things that other people have done as if everything that happened wasn't his fault. he could have saved laura. he could have saved peter. he could have saved so many people who he just let die, instead. ]
I...
[ he trusts stiles. he trusts the beat of stiles' heart, the steady rhythm and the way it jumps and spikes like he's in love and he's emotional and he cares, rather than jumps and spikes because he's a liar. he lays everything on the line, tells derek how he feels, both about him and about them, and derek's not as teary, not so much, not by the end. he's just... he's focused, and he's struggling. "i don't need you to say it back". derek's going to say it back. derek has to say it back.
after all, he loves stiles. of course he is. of course he's in love with stiles. his heart wouldn't break so cleanly in half every time stiles smiled at him if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have kissed him in the barracks, sweaty and scared and safe, if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have knocked over chess tables and gotten angry at elevators and found a reason to live and fight after being stripped of his pack if he wasn't in love with stiles. derek hale is in love with stiles stilinski.
he can pad it out all he like. justify it, explain away his feelings, try to make them smaller. he can say that he's only falling in love with him, as if pretending he's ever been slow to fall in love with someone will be enough to make this feel less heavy. he can say that he's just confused, under the weight of duplicity and the terror of fort harmony, and he can say that after six years of death and grief and loss, he's desperate for affection from whoever's brave enough to share it with him. he can say a lot of things.
but he's in love with stiles. he knows he's in love with stiles.
but.
but he told paige that he loved her, and then she died, skin ripped like paper and covered in foul, diseased blood. she was beautiful and she was kind and she had brown hair and moles, she was sarcastic and funny and intelligent and overlooked. she was warm and nobody knew it, she was attentive and paid attention and nobody knew it, and she was a single human life that was reduced to a carcass of gored meat and emptied flesh. she was brought to a halt by a sickening crunch that derek can still feel in his stomach whenever he hears a sound like breaking bone. she was ruined because of him.
he told kate that he loved her, smoothed back her hair behind her ear, smiled up at her from beneath the pinning weight of her body as she did things to him that were supposed to feel better than they did. she called him handsome, kissed his nose, and she thanked him after they fucked, once, and derek thought she was trying to make his heart skip a beat, trying to tell him she was grateful for their time together, but then he was covered in ash and the cloying, saccharine smell of whatever chemical was used to melt his family was stinging the back of his throat no matter how many times he made himself throw up in the sheriff's bathroom after meeting that sad little kid who lost his mom, and he realized she was thanking him for telling her where he lived. thanking him, so he would always remember he gave her what she needed to kill.
if he tells stiles that he loves him - ]
I don't want you to take it back. I don't want to pretend like you didn't say it.
[ he can't ruin this, too. he can't taste any more bad tastes, hear any more bad sounds. derek's a fucking curse, and he's risking hurting stiles just by being here, just by promising to change. refusing to let stiles go could be what triggers another sour flood of black fluid, or the searing sting of burning skin. telling stiles he loves him is out of the question.
but he can't... lose him. he won't survive another loss. is he selfish enough to let stiles burn, all for the chance of maybe not being alone anymore? how cruel, stiles is, to pin derek between telling him he loves him and letting him die, or telling him he doesn't and ruining what they've started to have. derek looks at stiles, panic a lump in his throat, and all he wants to do is fucking kiss him. ]
And I don't want... to be "friends". I don't want to just be "friends".
[ derek pitches forward, holding stiles close to his lap, and he lowers him back against the bed, pinning him down. he's firm, this time, because he knows that stiles doesn't want to leave, and he knows that he doesn't want to leave, and he just-- they both want to move forward. they both want to be something other than "friends". derek just has to figure out how to make it happen. ]
I...
[ derek sets his hand against stiles' shirt, balling the fabric of it in his fist and holding on tight, grabbing it the way he'd grab someone's shirt when he wants to punch them in the face and knock out their teeth. his hand shakes, but he keeps stiles pinned down, and he drops his other hand down to stiles' cock, slipping past it.
his fingers are still slick with his spit, and derek pushes stiles into the bed as he searchingly touches his middle finger to stiles' hole. he looks at stiles, waiting to be told this is too much, waiting to be told this isn't what stiles wants, waiting to be told that he's ruined this. carefully, he inches his finger forward, stretching the ring of muscle around the very tip of it and slipping inside to the first knuckle. ]
I want there to be an us. Not... "friends".
[ he holds his hand steady, and he leans down, hovering his lips half an inch from stiles'. he wants to be kissed like that again. the teeth on his lips, the love, the emotion. how can he ask stiles to kiss him when he doesn't even have the guts to take the lead and tell him how he feels? this is just like the barracks again - hands roaming over stiles' body, taking what they want to, while his head feels too fucked up by webbed cotton and stale panic and fresh anxiety to say what he needs to say. ]
Please.
no subject
and derek doesn't say it back — but that's okay. it's okay. even if stiles' chest aches for a moment with mild disappointment, it's okay. because derek doesn't want him to take it back and he doesn't want to just be friends and maybe that's enough for stiles. maybe this is more than he deserves.
stiles startles a little when derek suddenly pitches forward, his hands gripping over his shoulder blades as he's tilted back. he can't help the quick spike of anxiety that jolts through him, convinced for a moment that derek is just - dumping him out of his lap so he can get up or so he can leave, even though they literally just talked about neither one of them wanting to go, but anxiety quickly turns into arousal as derek grips the front of his shirt, pinning him down with a heavy fist to his chest. desire pulses through him put of nowhere, buzzing through his nerves and warming his skin and quickly filling his partially softened cock.
he makes room between his thighs for derek without being asked. stiles tilts his knees apart, and it's a little slutty, with his feet pressed flat against the mattress and his knees drawn up into low peaks and his thighs spread, shirt drawn up a little past his stomach with derek holding onto a fistful of it the way he is. he doesn't care, probably doesn't even know what he looks like. he just wants derek closer. he wants him so much closer.
stiles draws in a deep breath, and as he stares up at derek, he very deliberately tilts his chin up, lifts it just an inch, maybe two, baring a little more of his throat to him. he knows exactly what he's doing, keeps his eyes on derek's even as he tilts his head back, looks at him through the splay of his lashes, over the subtle shape of his cheekbones.
the press of derek's finger makes stiles' body jerk slightly, but he quickly relaxes, an anticipatory shiver racing up his spine. he breathes out a shuddery breath, and he takes one hand away from derek's shoulder to splay it across the thin blanket stretched underneath him, loosely curling his fingers in the threadbare fabric. he snakes his other hand down into the space between them and grips his cock, slowly dragging his fist up from the root up to the tip, and when dereks finger presses in, there's only minimal discomfort.
stiles keeps pumping himself lazily, eyes still half lidded as he watches derek. he nods before derek can even finish - yes, yes, stiles wants that, he wants there to be an us, he wants its so fucking badly. he wants to kiss derek so fucking badly, he wants derek to fuck him so fucking badly. he wants derek, however derek will allow stiles to have him.
stiles cranes his head up, closes up that half an inch of space but another half so there's barely any space left. he curls his other hand around derek's wrist and he squeezes around the bone, but he doesn't try to take his hand away. he likes being pinned down like this. ]
Yeah, yeah, yes, I want it. I want that too. [ he's close, so he's quiet, murmurs the words like they're something kept secret, meant only for derek. stiles stretches his neck so he can kiss him, pushes up against his fist just so he can reach, so he can kiss derek with an open mouth, pulling gently at his lower lip with his teeth only to sooth the scrape with smaller, feathery kisses ] We can be an us, we can be whatever - we can be whatever you want.
no subject
they kiss, and - and stiles has to know what he's doing to him. he bares his throat, and derek doesn't react, not verbally, but his expression darkens with lust, and when he pulls back, his eyes lower to the flushed curves of his neck, the pristine skin he's yet to mark with soft bites and swipes of his tongue. he leans in, sets his lips against the dip in stiles' throat above his collarbone, and he sighs against his skin as he kisses him again.
we can be whatever you want. all that anxiety derek was feeling, the worry that he wasn't going to be enough - it melts and dissolves, completely powerless in the atmosphere of stiles' room and the future stiles is offering him. the potential to really be something special. derek kisses up stiles' throat, over his jaw, up to his lips. ]
Good.
[ he's - reinvigorated. stiles wants him. stiles wants him, not as just some-- cheap fuck in the back of his car, not as some limited, physical expression of comfort who only serves to chase away some of the pain of duplicity. stiles wants to be something, whatever derek wants, and derek doesn't know what he wants, yet, not exactly, but he knows he wants this to be real.
derek presses his finger tighter against stiles' hole, adding the tiniest modicum of pressure to the touch. he sinks in further, stretches him a little more, giving stiles time to breathe and adjust as he's guided into gently, easily yielding for him. he scrapes the very edge of his teeth along stiles' throat, moving downwards, sinking blunt, human jaws around the bridge leading to stiles' shoulder, and he exhales through his nose.
he bites. not hard - at least, not as hard as it would be, if he weren't in control of himself. it's dulled and human but still hurts enough to leave a mark, just on the patch of skin derek can reach before stiles' collar. steadily, derek starts to fuck stiles with his finger, drawing out to the tip as he sucks the impression his teeth left at the edge of stiles' neck. he moves forward, pressing in, keeping stiles tilted down on the bed, held in place.
and he bites a little harder, though still not hard enough to bruise. it's this sharp, singing pain that derek quickly soothes with dragging laps of his tongue. he sucks, turning the skin beneath his teeth a soft and rosy pink, and he fingers stiles a little deeper, feeling almost dizzy from the tight, welcoming heat of him. derek closes his eyes and lets himself just - lose himself, for a second, in the tight grip stiles has on his wrist, in the rhythmic squeak of the messy, dishevelled bed, and in the light of the man he loves. ]
Stiles.
[ he inches forward, sinking his finger down to the second knuckle. he's deep enough in stiles to curl his finger and brush against his prostate, relentlessly trying to pull a reaction from him, to-- to overwhelm him with nerves and sensitivity. he's aggressive and consuming and going too fast, he gets that, but it feels like every second he spends disconnected from stiles is frantic, wasted time. how has he spent so long with stiles without - doing this? having him. fucking him. taking him. his stiles. his very good boy. ]
Stiles.
no subject
he knows what he's doing by baring his throat, even if he's never really had to do it before. even if he's never truly felt the desire to submit like this until now, until derek. stiles sighs, closing his eyes and exhaling a slow, fluttery breath as derek presses a line of kisses up the column of his throat, kisses his mouth, too. he says good, and stiles swallows and he nods because it is good. this is good and whatever derek wants, stiles will make that good, too, if it's the last thing he ever does.
by now, derek's gentle ministrations to stiles' throat has coaxed stiles into relaxing so much that he almost feels a little boneless, loose and easy and warm and safe and wanting, and there's little to no resistance or squirming from him when derek works his finger deeper. his body doesn't instinctively try to fight the intrusion, but he's still a little tight and the stretch is still slightly uncomfortable, if only because he isn't accustomed yet. stiles breathes in through his nose, impulsively drawing his knees in a bit closer to either side of derek between his legs, but he forces himself to relax as he exhales, easing the way with a couple of lazy, uncoordinated strokes of his dick as he spreads his thighs again.
the scrape of derek's teeth against his throat is a welcome distraction, but it's the fit of derek's jaws over the dip between his neck and his shoulder that has his heart beat jumping and his hand stuttering over his dick. it's not panic that floods through him, and it's not fear, either, but something stiles can't quite describe - something like absolute, unquestionable trust, and adrenaline, and the indescribable thrill of something else stiles couldn't put a name to if he tried.
derek bites down. derek bites down, presses the flat edges of his human teeth into soft flesh and tight muscle and it's not hard, but stiles feels the dull, hot pressure behind it and it does more for him that he expects it to. he clenches his teeth lightly, closes his eyes, and when he breathes out, there's a soft, unsteady moan that hovers just under his breath. his fist tightens up around his cock, fingers curled just below the head and his wrist flexing with short little pulses.
stiles' fingers grip a little harder at derek's wrist, not to push him off or get him to ease up, but almost as if to anchor himself instead, to stay connected with him at as many points as possible. derek starts to move his hand, starts to fuck him with his finger, fits his teeth back into the impressions they left before - and he bites again, but this time it's harder, and it hurts, and stiles... doesn't hate it. he shivers and he clenches his teeth and he closes his eyes a little tighter and he - likes it. his voice is a little gravely, a little thin, breathy, similar to a whine but not quite there. ]
God...
[ he really, really likes it, and that's somewhat unexpected considering that, in his experience, sex and pain have never really had any positive associations for him. but this is good. maybe there are limits they just haven't hit yet, but right now, this is really good.
stiles skin flushes with heat, eyes blinking open halfway because he wants to see derek, wants to look at him but he can't because derek's face is still pressed in close to his throat, hot, wet tongue licking and soothing the sharp imprint of his teeth. stiles is left staring up at the ceiling instead, feet pressed flat to the mattress and hips rolling in tiny little circles, trying to meet the steady thrust of derek's finger, seeking more.
derek says his name. stiles takes his hand off of his dick, not because he's close, because he isn't, not yet, but because he's aware enough to know that that could change very quickly, and he's nowhere near ready for this to be over when it's only just begun. he hums a soft, low note in acknowledgement, but it just sounds like another soft moan. stiles reaches backwards with his free hand, extending his arm up over his head like he's about to reach for a pillow that he doesn't actually have, but he never makes it that far.
stiles' fingers grip at the thin bed sheet, grabbing a fistful of it by his head with his elbow bent sharply as derek strokes his finger over his prostate. his eyes fly open the rest of the way and his mouth opens and his toes curl. he doesn't make a sound at first, but his body tenses up and he digs his heels into the bed, and then the breath comes rushing out of him and derek says his name again, and this time he does whine, soft and thin and completely unintentional. his nerves feel like they're buzzing, intense but quickly fading.
stiles pants, mildly overwhelmed and surprised and horny as fuck. he lets go of the sheet, his other hand still circled around derek's wrist, holding it so tightly that his knuckles are white and his fingers feel a bit numb, and he clumsily fits his hand over the back of derek's neck, stumbling through his words. ]
I need, I want— I need - more than this.
[ he needs more than just derek's finger, for one, even if knows somewhere in the corner of his mind that he probably shouldn't rush through prepping. but he also needs for this to be more than just sex - which they've already established that it is, that it will be, that they're more than just friends, but stiles still says it anyway, even if he doesn't clarify out loud what it is he needs from derek. ]
Please.