[ 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. ]
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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. ]