[ seems like something derek should charge extra for, bearing someone else's pain for an extended period time, paired with still having to focus and concentrate enough so he doesn't fucking up someone's tattoo or piercing.
not that that's why stiles is asking, but he's just curious. he could also probably just as easily check derek's paperwork and rate sheet, considering stiles is the fucking bookkeeper and it's his job to keep track of everyone's profits and payouts, etc., but. then he'd have less of a reason to text derek.
less of a legitimate reason. stiles can and does text derek about everything under the fucking sun when he feels like it. ]
Maybe you can start some kind of underground business when we get home. Like a speakeasy, but instead of slinging booze you sling ink and werewolf morphine, for people who know the password.
[ that's not something that's ever occurred to him - he had been lucky enough back home to never really worry about money, and while that's changed since coming to duplicity, he's briefly confronted with the idea that maybe this is something he should have thought about. ]
It's just something I can do. I offer it. Doesn't seem like a service. Just an option. Do you think I should start charging people? Seems like a shitty thing to do. Hey, I can make this a more comfortable experience for you, but you have to give me money.
And. No. You can do that. Start a speakeasy. Come up with passwords. I'll take naps.
I mean, at the end of the day, it is a service. Don't some of the other artists offer like... numbing cream? I'm pretty sure it's on our expense reports, so someone's using it, and that cost is factored into their rates whether their client uses it or not, if I'm remembering correctly. But that's pretty much the same thing, only, you know... they're not suffering by slathering that on someone's arm/leg etc.
I know you've got a pretty high pain tolerance as it is, so it's probably not a huge deal, but I don't know. Seems like something to think about. Maybe you shouldn't suffer for free is all I'm saying. You've done enough of that already.
Anyway. You're the whole draw of the speakeasy, buddy. There wouldn't be any naps for you. Who do you think is going to do all the tattooing and pain syphoning? Because it sure as hell isn't going to be me.
That's a product. Products are expenses. I don't have to buy accelerated healing to use it. It's nice that you're worrying about me. But. It's okay. I'm okay. Don't worry. Is there a reason this was on your mind?
Too tired to read all that. Think I need a nap. Find another werewolf to cover my shift.
Yeah, but you pay for it with stress and tension and, as I've already said before, in case you missed it: suffering at the expense of others. It's an expense. Just because you can handle it doesn't mean it's not, dude.
[ but stiles isn't going to sit here and argue until he's blue in the face for once - at least not now, anyway. derek might here more about this later once stiles gets home, but for now, he's willing to concede. ]
How many werewolves do you think I know?
[ correction: ]
How many werewolves do you think I know who would be willing to work under my direction and also be capable of keeping their chatty little werewolf mouth shut when it comes to the secrecy of said imaginary speakeasy?
[ those are all rhetorical questions anyway. the answer is "one", and that's derek. sorry, pal.
anyway, back to the point, and the reason stiles brought any of this up in the first place: ]
I'm not telling you to change what you do I'd just wondered if it was anything you'd thought about Not to like, shit talk you to your face, but you do sometimes forget to worry about you. So. Just checking.
If you want to keep doing it for free, by all means. Just promise me you'll dial it back if it ever gets to be, you know. A lot.
[ dot. dot. dot. ]
Bold of you to pretend you wouldn't.
[ but - it'd be a partnership, if any sort of business were to ever exist. equals, like they always are.
stiles kicks his feet up on his desk and snorts a little at his phone, propping it over his ribs and holding it with both hands as he ignores the low hum of the shop just beyond the office door. ]
Don't need to worry about myself when I have you to worry for me. Which. By the way. That's something I can say. Not something you can say. You have to worry about yourself. With or without my additional influence.
Could ask you to blow me. Could tell you to do the dishes for a month. Won't really know how we feel until it's time to give you the bill. Still haven't told me what you're interested in getting.
Worrying about myself is included in worrying about you. I need you to be okay for me to be okay. Totally selfish, I know. I can hardly live with myself.
Hold on. You think a BJ is equal to a month's worth of dishes??? Those two things aren't equivalent at all. Also, that's not how this works? That's like going into a restaurant and asking for I don't know - a bottle of wine? And letting the restaurant decide how much it's going to cost after you've finished the whole bottle. No one would do that.
[ rich people would probably do that, but shut up? not his point. ]
Anyway. I got about as far as "maybe I'll get something done" before I got super woozy thinking about the pain and getting stabbed by a needle 1-20,000 times, so. You know about as much as I do.
Okay. Okay, then. I promise I'll be careful. I'm sorry if you've been worrying about this. At all.
[ and he's sorry if all the yelling at camp harmony that got them both put into time out a couple of times is why stiles is worrying particularly hard about derek not worrying about himself. heeee tries not to let the guilt get to him, but he's derek hale, so. moving on. ]
I don't think they're equivalent. That's my point. I don't know what I'm going to charge you with. It could be anything. Any price. That's the gamble you'll have to take. Pretty much what relationships are all about.
You could sleep through it. Theoretically. I mean, if I'm quick enough, I might be able to take your pain from you before you even feel it. You could sleep, I could tattoo you, and you could wake up without ever knowing it happened. Wouldn't feel a thing. It'd be like getting your tonsils out. Or being fucked by that Theo kid.
I don't even know what to say to you right now. I think that's the worst thing you've ever said to me.
[ he's joking. well - it is probably the worst thing derek's ever said to him, but he can take a joke, however much he fucking despises theo's entire existence and all the bullshit stiles had to go through because no one wanted to listen to him, and theo knew it.
it's funny, but it's not. either way, because it's derek that's saying it, stiles can roll with it. ]
I'd rather die on the operating table a thousand times. In no world would I willingly fuck Theo. But also let's get this straight: he would never get to fuck me. He would never be so lucky.
[ how fucked up is it that it takes hypotheticals about fucking one of his worst enemies to make him talk himself up? anyway, that's not even the point derek is trying to make. ]
I wouldn't want to sleep through it though. Gotta make sure you don't draw dicks on my face. Or put that stupid double-ring shit somewhere on my body.
[ sorry not sorry, scott. your tattoo still and always will suck. ]
I mean, I was speaking generally. Really didn't want this to turn into you talking about getting fucked by another guy. Even negatively. Even hypothetically. I mean, I nearly said Peter instead of Theo. I thought - hey, that's a funny joke. Calls Peter out for being a lousy lay. Probably hurts his feelings. But then I thought - no. Weird. Don't say that about your uncle. Didn't think it would still get weird despite my best efforts to avoid such an ending. Should've seen it coming.
Not going to draw dicks on your face. Or boobs on your arm. You're going to have to give me some kind of guidance here, though. Or else just trust me to do something you'll like.
Let's just brush that one under the rug. Not my favorite thing to think about in any sense.
[ theo doesn't deserve anyone's time in any capacity as far as stiles is concerned, so. moving on.
for the next minute or so, stiles doesn't really say anything else. it's impossible for derek to know this - or maybe he could guess, maybe he knows stiles well enough - but stiles spends that minute chewing on the skin around his thumb nail, a little anxious, just because he's not exactly sure what derek will say.
you'd think he'd have some kind of idea, but it's... very easy for stiles to psyche himself out sometimes. self-doubt and second-guessing are, sometimes, his downfall. eventually, though, he takes his hand away from his mouth and texts with both hands, quick before he can change his mind. ]
I was thinking about maybe getting a triskele? Small, nothing anywhere near as big as yours, maybe not the same place, but.
[ ... ]
I don't know. The... mark on my neck tells the people who recognize what it is that I'm yours, right? But this would be different, you know? This would let everyone know what pack I belong to.
[ not that he's particularly worried about people knowing or not knowing, and it's not like packs traditionally get their symbol tattooed in general, but. it's something he's thought about more than once since starting his job at the tattoo shop.
he keeps typing. ]
But obviously the triskele is like a Hale thing, so it's totally cool if that's not... cool. I could just get a piercing or something. No big deal.
[ derek's always had a sixth sense for how stiles feels. the silence doesn't mean much, at first - maybe a customer came in, maybe stiles got caught up in cleaning, maybe harley told him to get back to work, or something - but the minute stretches out enough for derek to wonder what if, and when stiles finally gets back to him with something raw and real, derek's pretty confident in thinking stiles was tripping over his thoughts.
it - means a lot, what stiles wants. derek's message is a little delayed, too, but he types fast, when he knows what it is exactly he wants to say. he doesn't want stiles to sit there stewing in his own anxiety, wondering if derek is trying to figure out how to reject his proposal, or something. as if he would ever. ]
I've been thinking about getting more ink, too. Something on the front of my body, instead of on the back. Behind me. An anchor, maybe.
[ stiles is... immediately relieved that derek doesn't shut him down or reject him. he could have handled it if he had, tucked his tail (ha) between his legs and sulked about it at work for a bit while trying not to drown in his own embarrassment, but - well, he doesn't have to. he exhales, not realizing until then that he'd been holding his breath, and sinks a little more into his chair, smiling a little to himself. ]
I thought for sure you'd go for something shitty. Can of Mountain Dew, something dweeby and mocking.
[ he's kidding, obviously, trying to gloss over how touched he is at the idea of derek getting something done for him. that's not at all what stiles was implying or expecting. an anchor. it's still weird to stiles that he could be that important to anyone. ]
An anchor could be cool, though. Where would you put it? Somewhere on your front, obviously, but.
[ the last thing derek would do is reject stiles. fuck, if he's honest, he wants to pack up his shit and walk all the way to the down so they can do this right now. his chest is vibrating with energy and he's biting his teeth down against each other, trying not to be too overwhelmed. the primal, primitive part of him loves the idea of stiles being his, like that. claimed, publicly, seen as his wherever he goes. the more emotional part of him - ]
Don't want to be corny and say over my heart. So.
[ the more emotional part of him is talking about getting a fucking anchor tattoo over his heart. ]
Left pec. Maybe. I don't know. What about you? Could get it right on your cheek. Big, swirly spiral, right there for the world to see. Face tattoos can be pretty rough, you know. You feel your skull literally vibrating against your brain.
Okay, stop. You're gonna make me barf at work and I cannot afford that blow to my rep.
[ his "rep". okay. also, it's unclear if he's nauseated over the idea of derek getting an anchor over his heart, or the thought of a needle in his face and his skull rattling. actually, it's probably pretty obvious which one it is. ]
Jesus.
[ he takes his feet off of his desk, lets his weight bring him forward in his chair so h can lean his arms against the desk. ]
Maybe my wrist? Or my forearm, on the inside. I like the idea of it being somewhere visible. But I'm also kind of into putting it somewhere only you know about.
[ not like - on his ass or anything, but it's rare that stiles is less than 50% dressed around other people, so. the chances of it being kept hidden would be pretty high. ]
[ he knows stiles does not believe for one fucking second that he has a rep, and he knows it's wildly unnecessary to pile onto him by pointing that out, but oops, too late, it's done. derek assumes that stiles is talking about the needle in his face, once he brings up nausea, less because he thinks stiles is above roasting his ass when he says something overly romantic and emotionally vulnerable, but more because he doesn't think stiles would say that as an initial, immediate response to something derek genuinely wants to do, however couched in casual irony the suggestion might be. ]
Could have two. One on your arm. Another somewhere else. Right above your thigh. Small. Something to press my lips against every time I'm down there.
[ god. the thought of getting tattooed twice sounds like literal insanity - however, stiles is... very, very into the mental image of derek down between his legs, mouth hot and featherlight as it brushes against ink meant for him only. his leg starts to bounce a little and he swallows, quietly clearing his throat.
it's... weird, to feel both anxious and aroused over getting a tattoo. or, well - tattoos. who the hell is he anymore? his thumbs fumble for a moment. ]
Maybe. I don't hate the idea. Kinda... weirdly hard over it, actually. Not sure how I feel about that.
[ he already is, actually. there's a little bit of a delay again as derek just... lets those thoughts of stiles percolate in his brain for a while. ]
I doubt we'd get it finished.
Maybe we would. In my head, it's this - close, intimate, sexy experience. Taking away your pain while I mark you as mine in a way that only I'll ever know about. But. In reality, you'd probably complain about it being ticklish or painful even while I'm taking your pain away. You'd kick me in the face. I can tell.
[ stiles should have more to say. he should have a hell of a whole lot more to say than this, but all he comes back with is: ]
You could tie me down, if you're so worried about it.
[ okay. no. he does have more to say, it just takes him a minute to pull himself out of whatever daydream he's half-slipping into already. ]
I'd be good. I promise. Okay, no, I can't promise that. But I'd try really hard to stay still.
[ ... ]
You're really good at knowing how to make me feel good. And it'd be important enough to me to make sure we'd get it finished. That it looks good. Just like yours.
You're never good. You're never still. Wouldn't want you to be. Both things I like about you.
[ they're getting into dangerous territory, now. swerving away from everything they're supposed to talk about, replaced instead by images of stiles spread eagle on his bed, wrists bound by the soft, secure tug of silk ropes. derek needs to do anything other than pursue this - stiles is at work - but... ]
I'll make you relaxed. Before we do it. Get you boneless. Tired. Sweaty and panting and red. You won't be able to move. Barely be able to breathe. You'll be staring up at the ceiling, feeling the sky spinning, exhausted and exilirated and alive. That's when I'll mark you.
[ is stiles wasn't so distracted by the rest of derek's reply, and the fact that he's half hard under his desk, at work, the small, bratty side of him would probably try to argue that he's plenty good, and plenty capable of keeping still.
as it stands, stiles wants nothing more than to go home right now. but going home early would require asking harley, and he's not about to walk out onto the floor half hard. over his dead body.
( besides, with his luck, he'd catch a glimpse of someone's bloody, inky arm and pass out in the middle of the shop with half a boner. how the fuck would he live that down? he'd have to quit, never leave the den again. )
he shifts in his chair, crossing his ankles under the desk and parting his knees a little, weight braced on his forearms. hunched a little over his phone. ]
You're kind of making me want to practice tonight. After work. You know - make sure you can put your money where your mouth is before we put something permanent on my body.
[ it's weak dirty talk, stiles is very aware. weak goading, too, but half of his brain is focused on keeping his hands on his phone, above his desk, instead of below it, working into the front of his pants. ]
[ honestly, of all the half-boners harley must have seen in the shop by now, stiles' would hardly (ha ha) be the worst. still, it's a good point, and derek finds himself having to move, if he's going to really focus on this conversation. its been years since he's needed to close his bedroom door for privacy, but he still does it after heading towards the bed, out of some long unbroken habit he grew into as a teenager.
he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs slightly apart, and writes something that - might push stiles' boundaries a little, but who's going to walk into the office at this time of day, honestly? there's just been a flood cleanup - nobody's going to be rushing out to get a tattoo right now. ]
You still gonna have the energy? You know - after I make you come now.
[ well. stiles lays his phone down flat for a second, puts his hands on the desk on either side of it, palms down. he breathes out for a second, eyes darting upwards as he glances at the door. closed, but not locked, just in case any of the artists need to talk to him about something - reordering supplies that may have been lost or damaged in all of the flooding, changing their rates to compensate for money lost while the shop wasn't open, etc.
he could just get up and lock it though. cover his ass by saying he was taking his allotted 30 minute break, if anyone does try to come in while he's... occupied.
stiles picks his phone back up, wets his lips. catches his bottom one under the edge of his upper teeth. ]
You think after being with you for this long that I haven't built up some stamina? I should be offended. But if you're posing a challenge
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ seems like something derek should charge extra for, bearing someone else's pain for an extended period time, paired with still having to focus and concentrate enough so he doesn't fucking up someone's tattoo or piercing.
not that that's why stiles is asking, but he's just curious. he could also probably just as easily check derek's paperwork and rate sheet, considering stiles is the fucking bookkeeper and it's his job to keep track of everyone's profits and payouts, etc., but. then he'd have less of a reason to text derek.
less of a legitimate reason. stiles can and does text derek about everything under the fucking sun when he feels like it. ]
Maybe you can start some kind of underground business when we get home. Like a speakeasy, but instead of slinging booze you sling ink and werewolf morphine, for people who know the password.
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[ that's not something that's ever occurred to him - he had been lucky enough back home to never really worry about money, and while that's changed since coming to duplicity, he's briefly confronted with the idea that maybe this is something he should have thought about. ]
It's just something I can do. I offer it. Doesn't seem like a service. Just an option.
Do you think I should start charging people?
Seems like a shitty thing to do. Hey, I can make this a more comfortable experience for you, but you have to give me money.
And. No.
You can do that.
Start a speakeasy. Come up with passwords.
I'll take naps.
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Don't some of the other artists offer like... numbing cream?
I'm pretty sure it's on our expense reports, so someone's using it, and that cost is factored into their rates whether their client uses it or not, if I'm remembering correctly.
But that's pretty much the same thing, only, you know... they're not suffering by slathering that on someone's arm/leg etc.
I know you've got a pretty high pain tolerance as it is, so it's probably not a huge deal, but
I don't know. Seems like something to think about.
Maybe you shouldn't suffer for free is all I'm saying. You've done enough of that already.
Anyway.
You're the whole draw of the speakeasy, buddy.
There wouldn't be any naps for you.
Who do you think is going to do all the tattooing and pain syphoning?
Because it sure as hell isn't going to be me.
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I don't have to buy accelerated healing to use it.
It's nice that you're worrying about me.
But.
It's okay. I'm okay. Don't worry.
Is there a reason this was on your mind?
Too tired to read all that.
Think I need a nap.
Find another werewolf to cover my shift.
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It's an expense. Just because you can handle it doesn't mean it's not, dude.
[ but stiles isn't going to sit here and argue until he's blue in the face for once - at least not now, anyway. derek might here more about this later once stiles gets home, but for now, he's willing to concede. ]
How many werewolves do you think I know?
[ correction: ]
How many werewolves do you think I know who would be willing to work under my direction and also be capable of keeping their chatty little werewolf mouth shut when it comes to the secrecy of said imaginary speakeasy?
[ those are all rhetorical questions anyway. the answer is "one", and that's derek. sorry, pal.
anyway, back to the point, and the reason stiles brought any of this up in the first place: ]
I was contemplating getting something done.
no subject
I appreciate what you're saying.
I can't promise I'll change.
But I promise I'll be less reckless with it.
I like helping people.
Gives me a sense of purpose. Security.
I don't want to help people in exchange for a debt.
[ dot dot dot. ]
Bold of you to think I'd ever work under your direction.
I can help you get something done.
Take your pain for you.
You I'd have to charge, though.
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I'd just wondered if it was anything you'd thought about
Not to like, shit talk you to your face, but you do sometimes forget to worry about you. So.
Just checking.
If you want to keep doing it for free, by all means.
Just promise me you'll dial it back if it ever gets to be, you know. A lot.
[ dot. dot. dot. ]
Bold of you to pretend you wouldn't.
[ but - it'd be a partnership, if any sort of business were to ever exist. equals, like they always are.
stiles kicks his feet up on his desk and snorts a little at his phone, propping it over his ribs and holding it with both hands as he ignores the low hum of the shop just beyond the office door. ]
Yeah? You'd charge me?
What's your going rate?
no subject
Which.
By the way.
That's something I can say. Not something you can say.
You have to worry about yourself. With or without my additional influence.
Could ask you to blow me.
Could tell you to do the dishes for a month.
Won't really know how we feel until it's time to give you the bill.
Still haven't told me what you're interested in getting.
no subject
I need you to be okay for me to be okay.
Totally selfish, I know. I can hardly live with myself.
Hold on.
You think a BJ is equal to a month's worth of dishes???
Those two things aren't equivalent at all.
Also, that's not how this works?
That's like going into a restaurant and asking for
I don't know - a bottle of wine? And letting the restaurant decide how much it's going to cost after you've finished the whole bottle.
No one would do that.
[ rich people would probably do that, but shut up? not his point. ]
Anyway.
I got about as far as "maybe I'll get something done" before I got super woozy thinking about the pain and getting stabbed by a needle 1-20,000 times, so.
You know about as much as I do.
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Okay, then.
I promise I'll be careful.
I'm sorry if you've been worrying about this. At all.
[ and he's sorry if all the yelling at camp harmony that got them both put into time out a couple of times is why stiles is worrying particularly hard about derek not worrying about himself. heeee tries not to let the guilt get to him, but he's derek hale, so. moving on. ]
I don't think they're equivalent. That's my point.
I don't know what I'm going to charge you with. It could be anything. Any price.
That's the gamble you'll have to take.
Pretty much what relationships are all about.
You could sleep through it. Theoretically.
I mean, if I'm quick enough, I might be able to take your pain from you before you even feel it.
You could sleep, I could tattoo you, and you could wake up without ever knowing it happened. Wouldn't feel a thing.
It'd be like getting your tonsils out.
Or being fucked by that Theo kid.
no subject
I think that's the worst thing you've ever said to me.
[ he's joking. well - it is probably the worst thing derek's ever said to him, but he can take a joke, however much he fucking despises theo's entire existence and all the bullshit stiles had to go through because no one wanted to listen to him, and theo knew it.
it's funny, but it's not. either way, because it's derek that's saying it, stiles can roll with it. ]
I'd rather die on the operating table a thousand times.
In no world would I willingly fuck Theo.
But also let's get this straight: he would never get to fuck me.
He would never be so lucky.
[ how fucked up is it that it takes hypotheticals about fucking one of his worst enemies to make him talk himself up? anyway, that's not even the point derek is trying to make. ]
I wouldn't want to sleep through it though.
Gotta make sure you don't draw dicks on my face.
Or put that stupid double-ring shit somewhere on my body.
[ sorry not sorry, scott. your tattoo still and always will suck. ]
no subject
I mean, I nearly said Peter instead of Theo. I thought - hey, that's a funny joke. Calls Peter out for being a lousy lay. Probably hurts his feelings.
But then I thought - no. Weird. Don't say that about your uncle.
Didn't think it would still get weird despite my best efforts to avoid such an ending.
Should've seen it coming.
Not going to draw dicks on your face. Or boobs on your arm.
You're going to have to give me some kind of guidance here, though.
Or else just trust me to do something you'll like.
no subject
Not my favorite thing to think about in any sense.
[ theo doesn't deserve anyone's time in any capacity as far as stiles is concerned, so. moving on.
for the next minute or so, stiles doesn't really say anything else. it's impossible for derek to know this - or maybe he could guess, maybe he knows stiles well enough - but stiles spends that minute chewing on the skin around his thumb nail, a little anxious, just because he's not exactly sure what derek will say.
you'd think he'd have some kind of idea, but it's... very easy for stiles to psyche himself out sometimes. self-doubt and second-guessing are, sometimes, his downfall. eventually, though, he takes his hand away from his mouth and texts with both hands, quick before he can change his mind. ]
I was thinking about maybe getting a triskele?
Small, nothing anywhere near as big as yours, maybe not the same place, but.
[ ... ]
I don't know.
The... mark on my neck tells the people who recognize what it is that I'm yours, right?
But this would be different, you know?
This would let everyone know what pack I belong to.
[ not that he's particularly worried about people knowing or not knowing, and it's not like packs traditionally get their symbol tattooed in general, but. it's something he's thought about more than once since starting his job at the tattoo shop.
he keeps typing. ]
But obviously the triskele is like a Hale thing, so it's totally cool if that's not... cool.
I could just get a piercing or something. No big deal.
no subject
it - means a lot, what stiles wants. derek's message is a little delayed, too, but he types fast, when he knows what it is exactly he wants to say. he doesn't want stiles to sit there stewing in his own anxiety, wondering if derek is trying to figure out how to reject his proposal, or something. as if he would ever. ]
I've been thinking about getting more ink, too. Something on the front of my body, instead of on the back. Behind me.
An anchor, maybe.
[ ... ]
Something that makes me think of you.
no subject
I thought for sure you'd go for something shitty.
Can of Mountain Dew, something dweeby and mocking.
[ he's kidding, obviously, trying to gloss over how touched he is at the idea of derek getting something done for him. that's not at all what stiles was implying or expecting. an anchor. it's still weird to stiles that he could be that important to anyone. ]
An anchor could be cool, though.
Where would you put it?
Somewhere on your front, obviously, but.
no subject
Don't want to be corny and say over my heart.
So.
[ the more emotional part of him is talking about getting a fucking anchor tattoo over his heart. ]
Left pec.
Maybe.
I don't know.
What about you?
Could get it right on your cheek. Big, swirly spiral, right there for the world to see.
Face tattoos can be pretty rough, you know.
You feel your skull literally vibrating against your brain.
[ that's not true, but. hey. ]
no subject
You're gonna make me barf at work and I cannot afford that blow to my rep.
[ his "rep". okay. also, it's unclear if he's nauseated over the idea of derek getting an anchor over his heart, or the thought of a needle in his face and his skull rattling. actually, it's probably pretty obvious which one it is. ]
Jesus.
[ he takes his feet off of his desk, lets his weight bring him forward in his chair so h can lean his arms against the desk. ]
Maybe my wrist? Or my forearm, on the inside.
I like the idea of it being somewhere visible.
But I'm also kind of into putting it somewhere only you know about.
[ not like - on his ass or anything, but it's rare that stiles is less than 50% dressed around other people, so. the chances of it being kept hidden would be pretty high. ]
no subject
[ he knows stiles does not believe for one fucking second that he has a rep, and he knows it's wildly unnecessary to pile onto him by pointing that out, but oops, too late, it's done. derek assumes that stiles is talking about the needle in his face, once he brings up nausea, less because he thinks stiles is above roasting his ass when he says something overly romantic and emotionally vulnerable, but more because he doesn't think stiles would say that as an initial, immediate response to something derek genuinely wants to do, however couched in casual irony the suggestion might be. ]
Could have two.
One on your arm.
Another somewhere else.
Right above your thigh. Small.
Something to press my lips against every time I'm down there.
no subject
it's... weird, to feel both anxious and aroused over getting a tattoo. or, well - tattoos. who the hell is he anymore? his thumbs fumble for a moment. ]
Maybe.
I don't hate the idea.
Kinda... weirdly hard over it, actually.
Not sure how I feel about that.
[ ... ]
You'd have to do that one at home.
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I'll get distracted.
[ he already is, actually. there's a little bit of a delay again as derek just... lets those thoughts of stiles percolate in his brain for a while. ]
I doubt we'd get it finished.
Maybe we would.
In my head, it's this - close, intimate, sexy experience. Taking away your pain while I mark you as mine in a way that only I'll ever know about.
But.
In reality, you'd probably complain about it being ticklish or painful even while I'm taking your pain away.
You'd kick me in the face.
I can tell.
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You could tie me down, if you're so worried about it.
[ okay. no. he does have more to say, it just takes him a minute to pull himself out of whatever daydream he's half-slipping into already. ]
I'd be good.
I promise.
Okay, no, I can't promise that.
But I'd try really hard to stay still.
[ ... ]
You're really good at knowing how to make me feel good.
And it'd be important enough to me to make sure we'd get it finished.
That it looks good. Just like yours.
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You're never still.
Wouldn't want you to be. Both things I like about you.
[ they're getting into dangerous territory, now. swerving away from everything they're supposed to talk about, replaced instead by images of stiles spread eagle on his bed, wrists bound by the soft, secure tug of silk ropes. derek needs to do anything other than pursue this - stiles is at work - but... ]
I'll make you relaxed. Before we do it.
Get you boneless. Tired.
Sweaty and panting and red.
You won't be able to move. Barely be able to breathe. You'll be staring up at the ceiling, feeling the sky spinning, exhausted and exilirated and alive.
That's when I'll mark you.
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as it stands, stiles wants nothing more than to go home right now. but going home early would require asking harley, and he's not about to walk out onto the floor half hard. over his dead body.
( besides, with his luck, he'd catch a glimpse of someone's bloody, inky arm and pass out in the middle of the shop with half a boner. how the fuck would he live that down? he'd have to quit, never leave the den again. )
he shifts in his chair, crossing his ankles under the desk and parting his knees a little, weight braced on his forearms. hunched a little over his phone. ]
You're kind of making me want to practice tonight.
After work.
You know - make sure you can put your money where your mouth is before we put something permanent on my body.
[ it's weak dirty talk, stiles is very aware. weak goading, too, but half of his brain is focused on keeping his hands on his phone, above his desk, instead of below it, working into the front of his pants. ]
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he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs slightly apart, and writes something that - might push stiles' boundaries a little, but who's going to walk into the office at this time of day, honestly? there's just been a flood cleanup - nobody's going to be rushing out to get a tattoo right now. ]
You still gonna have the energy?
You know - after I make you come now.
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he could just get up and lock it though. cover his ass by saying he was taking his allotted 30 minute break, if anyone does try to come in while he's... occupied.
stiles picks his phone back up, wets his lips. catches his bottom one under the edge of his upper teeth. ]
You think after being with you for this long that I haven't built up some stamina?
I should be offended.
But if you're posing a challenge
[ ... ]
I accept.
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