[ 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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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.