[ see, this is why derek prefers stiles goading him over calmly dealing with his shitty attitude. once he's pulling on derek's arm and guiding him over to the couch, derek's immediately made to feel childish and stupid and irresponsible - the same things he's been projecting onto stiles for no reason, the same things he's been yelling about for the past, like, five minutes. he feels petty and small and ugly. like stiles has to fucking manage him.
stiles drags him along and it would be easy enough for derek to just dig his heels in and weaponize his weight against him, anchoring them both in place, but he doesn't, because the prickle of shame down his neck and the lack of an easy target to yell at makes him feel too sick to really do anything but walk. he's led to stiles' laptop and told to sit, and that, at least, he takes issue with. ]
You can't just tell me what to do. Don't bark orders at me.
[ ... he says, before obediently sitting down. he drops into the couch hard and spreads his legs, putting his elbow on the armrest and massaging his temple. stiles is sitting on the edge, but derek's taking up enough space to really force him into the corner, and he doesn't seem to feel all that bad about it. he does feel all that bad about it, but he's not going to stop.
he doesn't say anything, while stiles scrolls through his movie list, opening up the first mkv he stumbles over. derek looks sullen and annoyed, but he's keeping all his negativity to himself, and that's - maybe not an improvement on his mood, and maybe not doing anything to make the atmosphere less thick and oppressive between them, but it's at the very least a change from all the yelling. for the most part.
the movie starts up, and derek's leg starts bouncing. he drops his hand from his temple to his mouth, rubbing at his lip, then scratching at his jaw. he balls his hand back into a fist and doesn't know what to do with it, so he uncurls it again, shaking it out. his knee bounces a little faster once the movie gets past the logos and into the opening act, and derek's staring at the laptop, but he's seeing through it, rather than paying attention to what's on screen.
he needs to keep moving, he needs to burn out. staying still makes him feel like a rubber band being pulled taut, ready to snap. he scratches at his wrist, making it red, then scratches at his neck, like he's covered in fleas. his leg bounces more. and more.
a minute passes, then two, and derek's still restless. the sun is blearing on the screen and hitting his eyes in such a way that gives him a bit of a headache, and he's not going to complain, but it's just another fucking thing rubbing him the wrong way. derek makes a few noises, irritated and fidgety, but again - he doesn't say a word.
he finds stiles' hand. he does it without thinking, at first - it's this reflexive, needy move, where he drags his fingers up stiles' wrist and takes his palm in his own, squeezing tight. his tantrum's still there, under the surface, and this is more of a half-time than an ending, but he's sane enough right now to feel fucking horrible, and he needs the reassurance that they're okay. he holds stiles' hand for a good two, maybe three seconds, and then he seems to realize what he's doing, because he pulls it back like he's been burned.
he's just been yelling at this poor guy for... literally no reason. he can't just grab his hand, act like they're okay. that's not allowed.
derek's knee bounces more and more, and he stretches it out straight, dropping his back onto the couch with a hard thud to try and just. stop. he's still scratching, still trying to do things with his hands to keep them busy, and he's-- a timebomb. he's ticking down, waiting to start another scene, and when babe starts talking, that's the breaking point, apparently. ]
This movie's just going to make me feel bad for eating meat.
[ it's got a pretty strong message about how eating animals is kind of fucked up, right? there are some feral dogs in this, too. he hasn't seen babe for years, but that's what he remembers, and the last thing derek wants after jumping down stiles' throat for making werewolf jokes is a movie where the lesson is humans like to kill animals sometimes, and also, dogs are bad, and also, eating meat is super wrong. like. ]
Which - you know - werewolf. In case you forgot. Slightly carnivorous.
[ stiles wants to argue. he wants to push back so badly when derek tells him he can't just command him to do something - but stiles has a little more of a grasp on what's going on here now, and as much as he would like to dish it back out to derek, he knows that adding fuel to this fire isn't going to help anything. derek is also - right, though. stiles doesn't have any authority to tell derek what to do, just as derek has no authority over stiles, either.
he just wants him to relax. honestly, that's what stiles is trying to go for here without saying as much. telling derek to relax earlier did absolutely nothing - though stiles isn't surprised, because telling someone to relax when they're angry has worked zero times in the history of ever, but in stiles' defense, he hadn't realized yet just how angry derek actually was.
stiles is half tempted to shove derek over, though. by the time he gets the movie going and derek's seated, he's spread himself out enough that stiles only really has the corner of the couch to himself, and even then, it's like - half of the corner. stiles pulls one of his legs up and - hugs his knee. makes himself a little smaller just so it feels like he has more room, and watches the opening credits start to roll.
his plan of getting derek to relax and focus on something else backfires almost immediately. derek starts to bounce his leg, he rubs at his face - he's just this massive ball of tense energy and stiles picks up on it fast. it's making him anxious, the more derek shifts and fidgets, but - he's gotta give it time. derek will settle eventually. he hopes. stiles presses his teeth together, not entirely on purpose, his building anxiety needing somewhere to go, and he tries to focus on this movie he hasn't seen in years.
he picks at the hem of his pants to try and expel of the nervous energy filling him up, twisting his fingers at the bottom of his chinos and squeezing the shin of his bent leg. derek makes a quiet sound beside him, and stiles doesn't ignore him, but he doesn't acknowledge him either, hoping that if he doesn't do or say anything that derek could twist into something negative, then he'll eventually settle down.
derek takes his hand instead, and for a moment, stiles feels - relief. he feels derek's fingers on his wrist and he lets derek push his fingers into his palm and spread them out, curl them around his hand and squeeze. foolishly, stiles thinks derek's doing it for two reasons: to help soothe himself, but also to try and ease stiles' own anxiety. but then derek yanks his hand out of stiles' after only a few seconds, like touching stiles is the last thing he wants to do.
stiles' anxiety spikes sharply and quickly enough that for a second he kind of feels like he could vomit. he curls his hand into a fist and quietly pulls it back into his own little corner of space and he closes his eyes and takes a breath to try and pull himself together.
his patience lasts about two more minutes, and then derek speaks up. stiles is biting at his thumb nail by then, and he pauses with his thumb on his lower lip, just staring at his computer screen as babe babbles away. he sighs, but then derek pulls the werewolf card again, as if stiles could ever or would ever want to forget what he is.
stiles darts his hand out, slapping his fingers against the space bar a little too hard to pause the movie, sliding his leg down off the couch. he flexes his fingers slowly, and then decides to - get up. the little corner of the couch feels slightly claustrophobic the more he continues to sit there anyway. ]
Okay, look. [ he puts some distance between himself and derek by pacing away, shaking one of his hands out by his side to get rid of some anxiety build-up, but he circles back pretty quickly. ] Get out of the house. You're - squirming around like this place is too small for you, and you're—
[ acting like an asshole, which is true, but also sort of unfair to throw at derek when stiles is pretty sure he knows why all of this is happening. he loafs his hands, his shoulders tense, and then he throws one of his hands toward the balcony door, indicating - outside. ]
Just - go outside and run your little werewolf ass around in the woods until you burn this out of you.
[ ah, man. derek can practically taste stiles' anxiety. it's thick and oily and flooding the room. derek's too in his own head to fully connect the dots and know that stiles is suffering just as much as he is. the writing is written on the wall, and derek's still in this half-conscious self-aware state where he knows he's being horrible, but he's too short and fidgety to see past his own problems. the world just feels angry and miserable and directionless. everything feels bad and it's making him sick.
and out of nowhere, stiles is shutting off the movie and pointing at the balcony, catching derek off guard. for a second, it's enough to make derek stop bouncing in his seat, and the list of complaints about how bad 90s CGI was dies in his throat. he follows stiles' hand with his eyes, looking from stiles' aggressively pointing finger, then to the balcony, then back again.
oh.
it's selfish, and again, it's childish, but derek feels honestly very hurt, now that he's being kicked out. his eyebrows pinch and he does one of those frustrated, sad breaths, where he breathes in hard through his nose and slumps his shoulders when he exhales. he feels like he's being put in timeout, or something. he wants to stomp his feet and yell about how this is just so unfair, and he wants to miserably curl in on himself and apologize for being such a prick.
ultimately, neither option feels particularly. sustainable. he's done enough damage for one day, and he's not going to apologize when he knows he's just going to start yelling in another few minutes. getting out of the house is the best idea, so.
fine. ]
Fine.
[ fine.
derek gets to his feet, and he just - turns. there's no goodbye, no half-hearted attempt to convince stiles to let him stay. it'd be easy to jump on that little werewolf ass comment and make another scene, but he doesn't have it in him. he'll actually appreciate the direction to get out once he's had some time to wear off what he's dealing with, because staying really would only make things worse, and he wouldn't have thought to leave without being told to; but right now, he's just.
very miserable.
it turns out that it's hard to slam a sliding door shut. derek tries, after storming out through the front entrance, but the safety mechanism kicks in, letting the door glide to a gentle and anti-climactic stop. still, derek's footsteps are pretty loud as he jumps down the steps leading up to the den, and stiles can probably hear him kicking up dirt and rocks all the way to the woods.
[ stiles only makes the 'little werewolf' comment because derek has been so adamant in reminding him that that's exactly what he is, as if stiles doesn't know. first with the accusation of making dog jokes when he wasn't, and then implying that stiles has a problem with derek's lycanthropy, and then going further still to make sure stiles knows that he. is. a. werewolf.
he stands there with his hand out, waiting for derek to say something, anything, practically daring him to snap at him again over something either unimportant, or out of his control. but derek just - deflates a little, and stiles starts to feel kind of bad for basically kicking him out of their own home, which is not what he intended this to feel like, but he holds his ground. derek needs to do something and burn off this excess energy and stiles has absorbed too much of derek's anxious energy to realize that sending derek outside might not be the best solution here.
derek - obeys, and that brings a modicum of relief. stiles drops his arm and sighs quietly, and he's not sure what else he expected from derek other than obedience (which he didn't actually expect, at least not so easily), but it kind of makes him feel a little hollow that derek doesn't even say goodbye. no 'i'll be back later', or anything like that.
and then he tries to slam the door. stiles can tell just by the sound of it, loud and reverberating before the safety catches and eases the door shut the rest of the way. it pisses stiles off all over again, but the most he does is curl his fingers into tight fists at his sides and make a quick, frustrated sound in the back of his throat before he forces himself to relax.
for about a minute, stiles just stands there in the middle of the den. it's... uncomfortably quiet. he hates it already, but there's nothing to be done about it. he's not in the mood to put a movie back on just for background noise, he's not in the mood for music. stiles rubs his hand against the back of his head and starts to play back all of the things derek snapped at him for earlier, wandering away from the living room and back toward the bathroom.
he splashes some water on his face, rattles his pill bottle impulsively to check how much he has left as if he didn't do the same thing this morning, and then - he starts to clean up around the house. he picks up a pair of basketball shorts he left on the bathroom floor from his shower earlier this morning, and puts them in the basket with the rest of the dirty laundry in their bedroom. he takes his laptop and his journal out of the living room and puts them away in the bedroom too, wipes down the kitchen counters even though they're clean, contemplates just starting a load of laundry, decides to circle back to that. he fluffs the pillows on the couch with a little more force than he needs to, still feeling a little bit of the sting from derek's earlier comment about having to pick up after him.
he decides not to start laundry just yet, and opts for a shower instead, but all he really does in the shower is stand there with his eyes closed and his face tilted up toward the spray of water, because it helps lower his anxiety. he gets out before the water runs cold, dries himself off and towels his hair, styles it with his fingers, and he makes sure to take all of his clothes with him when he leaves for the bedroom.
stiles - doesn't often sleep early, but for a minute he contemplates trying to go to bed. he knows he won't sleep though, but he does pull on comfortable clothes; a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, plain and navy, and another one of derek's t-shirts only because it's the top one in the drawer and stiles just - doesn't care.
and then he doesn't really know what to do with himself. he still feels kind of bad for kicking derek out, and he feels bad about derek yanking his hand out of his, and he feels bad about - being a bad anchor. or maybe derek just got it wrong, and it's not stiles that keeps him grounded and - now they know. stiles tugs at the bottom of his shirt, and then wanders out of the bedroom, turning the light off behind him. he cuts through the den to the kitchen, opens the fridge, feels kinda mad about the milk again but pushes past it. he could make himself some dinner but he - doesn't really have an appetite, so he settles for water (can't get mad about that, water doesn't curdle!) and a peach he finds at the bottom of a drawer in the fridge. he rips a paper towel from the roll—
and he just sits at the counter and waits and eats in silence. ]
Edited (i literally proofread this and caught a typo after the fact this is a curse) 2019-04-22 00:53 (UTC)
[ derek spends the rest of the day trying to exhaust himself. he runs, mostly - a non-stop marathon of feet hitting the ground, faster and faster, as deep into the woods as he can go before getting lost. his arms burn from lifting weights all afternoon and his knees are getting sore, there's a tightness in his hamstrings that gets worse the longer he ignores it. and his throat is still dry - he never did get that drink. his clothes feel stuffy and uncomfortable, it feels like there's a vice around his skull. he runs, and he runs, and he runs.
the woods don't make him feel safe. they're not what he needs. by the time the sun is setting and the moon is breaking through the higher branches, silver light filtering down through the canopy above him, derek feels like he's in freefall. his skin is prickling like it's covered in sweat or bugs or something, and he peeled off his shirt at some point to try and get some more air, leaving it in the dirt to collect later. his heart is hammering hard inside of his chest, his lungs feel like they're being torn into strips. his vision keeps blurring and going red, and he can hear things clearer and further away than he should be able to. he's losing his grip on his humanity, bit by bit.
it's scary.
derek feels similar to how he did after paige's death, when mantras and anger were all he had to ease every full moon. he has stiles now, and stiles is supposed to make him better - stiles does make him better - but derek ruined that, by yelling at him and being stupid, cutting off ties with the one person he can turn to when he needs help. the moonlight feels like needles on his back and he can't stay out here in the dark anymore, but he's terrified of going home and fighting with stiles again. he's terrified of losing him just because of some-- dumb fucking mood he's in.
but he needs to. being out in the moonlight is more than irresponsible, it's dangerous, and he can't do that to himself. to anyone. derek gets home, eventually, dragging his feet up the steps. the moon makes him feel like he's staring into floodlights, too bright and searing. when derek drags himself into the den, closing the door slowly behind him, it's obvious that he's not doing well; his shoes are covered in dirt and dust, and so are his pants from where he skidded and fell at one point. his bare torso is covered in nicks and scratches from low-hanging branches he ran through without caring if it hurt, his skin is clammy and pale. he's breathing hard, like he's close to having a panic attack.
derek's still angry. he's worse, actually; he's not just dealing with this creeping feeling of mild annoyance anymore, he's not just insecure and full of self-doubt. there's this high-burning rage in him that doesn't have anywhere to go, and it makes him want to rip and tear and hunt. derek doesn't want to do that, he just-- he just wants to watch a movie with his boyfriend, he just wants to apologize for yelling, he just-- he just wants stiles.
derek lumbers through the den until he finds stiles, sitting at the counter and eating, and he feels this horrible wave of guilt and relief wash through him. derek's a little helpless when he wanders up to the counter, and he knows he's asking for too much, he knows that stiles has to hate him for how he's been treating him, but that's-- not something derek can think about, not right now. he just. ]
Stiles.
[ he just needs him. derek paws at stiles' waist clumsily, just trying to get his hands on him. he smells clean and safe and warm, he feels safe and warm, and derek missed him. derek missed him, and derek's sorry, and he doesn't know how to say that right now, he doesn't know how to string two words together. he's panicking about the moon, scared of how badly it's affecting him.
this is needy, but derek pulls on stiles' waist, dragging him to the edge of the counter. he slides his hands up his shirt, curling his fingers over his lower back, and he presses his nose into stiles' chest, taking a deep breath. he's shaking, a little, with the effort of staying human. his teeth itch and want to grow. ]
I need - help.
[ he doesn't know how, he doesn't-- know anything. it's instinct that has him wrapping his hands tighter around stiles' waist, around the back of his chest, just touching beneath his shirt wherever he can. he repeats himself. he's frustrated, he can't think. he just knows what he needs. ]
[ being alone in the den typically doesn't bother stiles all that much, even if it doesn't happen all that often, but right now it's just making him feel kind of lonely. which isn't all that fair, considering he sent derek away to burn off some of his pent up energy and frustration. part of him wishes he hadn't. part of him wishes he'd stopped and compartmentalized and thought things through before kicking derek out in the late afternoon, so close to sunset. he wants to call him back in, figure out some other way to get him to settle down, but he knows derek didn't take his phone with him, and - yelling from the balcony is probably stupid.
all he can do is wait, so that's what he does. he sips from his water and he eats his peach really slowly, mostly because as soon as he starts to eat it, he doesn't want it anymore, but he also doesn't want to be wasteful. they're not struggling for money, but stiles comes from a household that's had only one functional, healthy parent in it for longer than it's had two, and wasting money - whether by way of throwing away good food, or leaving the lights on, or letting the sink run the entire time he brushed his teeth - just wasn't an option.
it drips a lot, which is annoying. he has to keep wiping up the counter with his paper towel, somewhat paranoid that derek's going to come home and rip him a new one for - what? eating? he's being stupid. stiles isn't afraid of derek, and he doesn't want to ruminate on things that are somewhat out of derek's control.
he hears derek coming up the stairs, his footsteps slower, and not necessarily lighter than they were when he left, but it sounds less like angry stomping and more like exhaustion. stiles doesn't move, doesn't get up from the counter. he's not sure what he's supposed to do, if anything, so he just keeps picking at his peach, nipping at the flesh around the pit as he listens to the door slide open and then closed again. derek's... breathing hard, but it's not the kind of breathing that comes from running around or exercising. it's familiar to stiles in a way that makes him feel a little ill, and for a moment, stiles holds his breath and turns his head, unbothered for now by the droplet of juice streaking down the inside of his wrist.
stiles can't see the front door from the kitchen, but he can hear derek moving through the den, his footsteps growing louder as he draws closer. stiles stays where he is, unsure of the state derek's in - if he's still mad, if he's better, if he's worse, though the latter seems most likely, all things considered. derek rounds the corner and he looks - pretty awful. filthy and pale and a little bit roughed up by nature. there are scratches and small abrasions scattered across his torso, some dotted with tiny specks of clotted blood.
he sets his peach down slowly when derek wanders closer, blindly wiping his fingers on his crumpled paper towel. derek says his name, and stiles turns slightly to face him, gearing up to ask him if he's okay, even if he's fairly sure he isn't. and then derek puts his hands on him, grabs at his waist at first before dragging him closer and sliding his hands up under his shirt, splaying them wide and holding him tight. stiles holds his breath for half a second, and then breathes out a sigh of quiet relief, putting his hand on the back of derek's head when he pushes his face against stiles' chest.
derek's shaking. it worries stiles that he's handling the full moon this poorly, because derek's always had full control of himself for as long as stiles has known him. stiles is - trying very hard not to panic, not to let anxiety creep up on him so he can be here for derek and help him figure out how to cope with this. ]
Shh, okay. Okay. I'm—
[ he squeezes at the back of derek's neck, feeling somewhat lost for a moment. he's - supposed to be derek's anchor. derek told him he's his anchor, and even though he feels a little doubtful after derek couldn't go more than five seconds just holding his hand in the living room earlier, obviously that - didn't mean anything. derek's got his hands on him now, pushed up under his shirt and holding him tight and - stiles trusts derek. he trusts derek more than anyone he knows, save for his father. if stiles is derek's anchor, then - this is his problem to solve.
stiles slides his hand from the back of his neck down derek's spine as far as he can reach before dragging it back up to his neck. he squeezes again, and then takes his other hand and does his best to cup it under derek's chin so he can lift his head and ease him back so he can look at him. he looks - wrecked, but still unbelievably beautiful, and stiles heart aches for him. stiles dips his head down, hand still under his chin, and kisses him gently at first, feeling a little unsure of what he's doing, if this is - going to work, or if he's about to make things worse, but he doesn't know what else to do, what else to offer. he kisses derek a second time, less chaste this time, gently sucking on derek's lower lip for a moment before he tilts himself back. ]
I've got you, okay? I have you... and you have me. Come on.
[ stiles lets his hand drift from derek's chin, down his throat, down to to the center of his chest, gently easing him back so stiles can get up. he lets his hand fall away, but immediately finds derek's, pushing his fingers into the spaces between and squeezing tight. with his other hand, he folds his mostly-eaten peach up in the napkin and decides one wasteful moment is acceptable, guiding derek away from the kitchen and tossing out the peach on the way.
he takes derek to the bathroom, flipping on the light and pulling him in. he leaves the door open, still holding onto derek's hand as he tugs open the shower door and leans in to turn the faucet on, twisting the dial for warmer water.
and then he turns, letting go of derek's hands so he can put both of his in the spaces where derek's neck swoops down to bridge with his shoulders. he steps close, careful not to lean too much into derek, and then tilts his head up slightly so he can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. his cheek, his eyebrow, his nose. his mouth, slow and gentle at first, his tongue dipping past his lips.
he breaks off gently, taking a half step back so he can drop into a crouch in front of derek. he pauses, then leans in to press a feather-light kiss to one of his hips, then curls his fingers in the waistband of his pants, stopping for a moment to look up just to make sure derek's as - okay as he can be right now. stiles eases his pants down his legs, gently touching both of his ankles to get him to step out of them, well aware that he's pretty much at eye-level with derek's dick. he swallows, leaves another kiss against his thigh, and then stands back up, setting one of his hands against derek's waist. ]
Get in the shower, okay? I'll - be there in just a second. I've got you.
[ the second stiles starts trying to calm him down, the second, derek feels himself balance out. his heartbeat slows to a steadier pace, and he finds it easier to stand taller, more sturdy. stiles squeezes his neck, gently shushes into his ear, and derek's breathing slows into longer, more stable drags. he's obviously not doing well - but he's doing better.
stiles promises he has him, and derek submits. he surrenders himself to stiles, having complete and total faith in him. if anyone can make this better, if anyone can make him stop-- wanting to hurt, then it's stiles. it's always been stiles. his anchor. his hero. his family, his mate. his everything.
the kiss, though. that's when things change.
derek's heartbeat picks up again, and his breathing gets faster, but it's far less irregular than it was before. that first chaste kiss pulls a quiet, needy, mewling noise from his throat, pathetic and small and pointedly god damn erotic. it's like just touching stiles is enough to fill his body with pulse after pulse of hope and need and want and need and need, and when stiles starts sucking on his bottom lip, making it deeper, derek actually starts to shiver, his cock instantly harder than it's ever been.
he doesn't want to move. stiles tries to ease him away, but derek resists, wrapping his arms tighter around him. he's hard against stiles' inner thigh, hips rolling forward in a blind, desperate search for contact, just hopelessly craving more of stiles, only stiles, always stiles. it's when stiles finds his hand again and squeezes tight enough to drag him away that he swallows air and lets it happen, shuffling back on his heels and staring at his anchor with hopeful, helpless eyes.
bathroom. bathroom. okay.
the kiss in the bathroom doesn't earn as strong as a reaction from him, but if anything, that's just because the walk is calming him down again. he's being soothed, even more than before, and as stiles kisses his jaw, gets the shower ready - dotes on him so fucking lovingly, so much more lovingly than derek deserves, especially after today, especially after what a shithead he's been - derek just stands there, jaw slightly unhinged, head tilted back and eyes softly shut.
he just - stays still, for a while. lets the sound of water hitting the walls and circling down the drain remind him of rain, lets the cooling touch of the tiles beneath him soothe the aches he earned from running so much. when stiles lowers down, kissing the curve of his hip and slowly peeling his clothes away, undressing him like-- like he loves him, like he loves helping him, like he loves doing this, it--
derek's so, so fucking hard, when stiles pulls the waistband of his pants down around his hips. he looks-- bigger, maybe, than usual, the head of his cock red and drooling a long, heavy string of precum that drops and breaks halfway to the floor. he flexes like he's already close to the edge, and his breath hitches with every soft kiss to his hip, every reassuring, intimate touch, and when he steps out of the rest of his clothes, barenaked and shivering, he looks like he's gonna come.
stiles tells him to get in the shower, that he'll be there in a second, and derek looks at him like he's being told the worst fucking news in the world. pitifully, he nods, but - ]
Don't... take too long.
[ - still makes his demands. he doesn't want to be away from stiles. not for longer than he has to be.
derek steps into the shower, leaving the door open behind him, slumping back against the far wall and closing his eyes again. he feels like he's detoxing, in a way. like he's washing the moon out of him. cleansing his system, despite the rush of arousal that's burning through him like a fucking wildfire any time stiles so much as looks at him. derek stays where he is for a good twenty, maybe thirty seconds, but not having stiles around is making him feel worse and worse, and he - can't. do this. he doesn't have the willpower to wait, and he opens his eyes, already calling out for him to come back. ]
[ stiles waits until derek's in the shower before he does anything. that comment from earlier about derek having to pick up after him is still kind of burned under his skin, even if he understands now that it might not have actually been a genuine complaint, but he just - doesn't want to give derek anything else to worry about or get frustrated over.
as soon as derek steps into the shower, stiles moves. he grabs derek's dirty clothes from the floor and he slips out of the bathroom to take them to their bedroom so he can dump them in the basket with the rest of their dirty clothes from the week. he - doesn't feel great about leaving derek alone in the bathroom even for less than a minute, keeping an ear out for him, but all he can hear is the consistent, static-y sound of the shower running.
stiles lifts one foot, peeling his sock off, then does the same with the other, dropping them in the laundry basket. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants next, pushing them down along with his boxers and stepping out of them, dropping them in with his socks. stiles' hands find the bottom of his shirt, but that's where he hesitates, tugging lightly and nervously at the hem. stalling.
he's not - insecure. not really - except, maybe he is. objectively, he's fine with his body, thin and pale and average as it is, but for most of high school, he's been surrounded by jocks and werewolves and jocks who are werewolves and stiles has never been particularly impressive, so it's been easy to kind of let his self-esteem fall by the wayside.
derek - has never seen him without a shirt on as far as stiles knows, and it shouldn't make him nervous because he loves derek and derek loves him - but it does. it makes his stomach feel a little tight and it makes his mouth feel dry and his throat feel thick. stiles swallows—
—and derek calls his name, slightly needy. stiles makes a snap decision. he breathes out in a rush, curls his fingers around the bottom of his shirt, and drags it up and off, dropping it with the rest of their clothes. he feels - slightly awkward being fully naked, the anticipation making his skin feel a little hot, but he pushes through it, calling back. ]
I'm - I'm here, I'm coming. It's okay.
[ stiles hesitates for half of second outside of the bathroom door, takes in another breath, and then rounds the corner and steps inside. this time, he closes the door behind him, though he leaves it unlatched. when he turns back, he can see derek in the shower, leaned up against the far wall, outside of the spray of water. some of the shower glass has fogged up already with steam, blurring some of the lines of derek's body. stiles' cock stirs a little, already half hard.
impulsively, he shakes one of his hands out by his side as he steps forward, crossing the short length of the bathroom. he steps into the shower, trying his best to ignore the itch of rising anxiety under his skin, and he steps up to derek, carefully, almost hesitantly putting his hands on him, one against the side of his neck and the other over the side of his rib cage. ]
Hey...
[ he swallows, then offers a faint, fleeting smile, taking a step back and gently tugging at derek's waist to get him to come with him. stiles moves backwards into the spray of water, tilting his head away slightly and squinting an eye shut when it sprays directly into his ear. he takes his hand off of derek's side and blindly reaches for the soap, then turns so his back is to the water and derek is in front of him, mostly shielded from the spray.
leaning in, stiles lets his other hand fall from the side of derek's neck and dips his head slightly to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, quickly lathering both of his hands up with soap in the little space between them. he puts the bar down, nearly missing the little ledge for it, and then carefully puts his hands back on derek, both of them at his shoulders.
slowly, stiles slides his palms down over derek's biceps, down to his elbows, back up to his shoulders where he squeezes gently. from there, he guides his hands down the front of his chest, rubbing in gentle, lazy circles, washing away the dirt and dust from derek's run. he leaves another kiss on his chin this time, letting his hands drift lower to his ribs, his abs, circling over the curve of his hips.
he's ignored derek's cock up until now which - was honestly kind of difficult when he'd undressed him, tempted to kiss the weeping tip while he was still practically on his knees. now, though, stiles doesn't try to resist, slowly pulling his hands in from derek's hips and sliding them down his lower belly, following the thick line of dark hair down to his cock. he curls one hand around the base, loose and slick with soap, and wonders briefly if he's just - imagining that derek feels thicker and heaver in his hand, but he doesn't dwell, dropping his other hand to gently cup derek's balls and pulling his fist up in a lazy stroke from root to tip. he tilts forward, leaning his forehead against derek's, gaze cast downward to watch his own hands. ]
I'm... sorry I kicked you out. I didn't mean it like that. I love you.
[ he murmurs quietly, lifting his chin a little to bump his nose into derek's. he curls his fingers a little tighter around derek's cock, dropping his fist and dragging it back up, pushing his thumb over the crown. he sighs, feeling his nervous energy start to melt away, and inches himself in a little closer, rolling derek's balls over his fingers before he tilts back and lifts his hand to push his wet hair back from his own forehead.
despite the - pretty terrible day up until this point, stiles still feels this immense swell of burning love when he looks at derek. he feels it deep in his chest, in his veins, in his bones, and it's - overwhelming. it makes him feeling like he's drowning, but he's not scared, he just - he just wants to give this feeling to derek, show him how much he actually loves him. he wants to fill him with the love he feels for him.
stiles - crowds derek. he kisses him hard, taking his hands and pressing them flat against his abs so he can guide him backwards, pushing him gently but with intent toward the opposite wall. when derek can go no further, stiles presses himself in close, his cock hard against derek's hip and his tongue begging at the seam of derek's lips. ]
[ stiles takes too long. he promises he's coming, he's promising it's okay, but he's gone, and derek's not in a place where he can deal with that. he feels like there's this fire right behind his forehead, burning the inside layer of his skin and his skull, just hurting and hurting and hurting. his eyes prickle with frustrated, pointless tears, so he shuts them to try and block out the sting of salt, and he runs his palms hard over his eyelids.
fuck, he hasn't been this out of control under the full moon since he was a kid. it makes sense, to an extent - he has a new anchor now, and they haven't had the chance to really explore how best stiles can be here for him when he's like this. that's his own fault. they should have... talked, they should have planned for this. derek should have done more than just yell at stiles today and build a setback that didn't need to be built.
the pain. the impatience, the hard, heavy arousal that beats in his chest. he needs to come, or-- fight, or move, or something, something to get out of this, and the longer stiles is gone, the worse he feels. his legs shake as water rains over him, and he paces the dimensions of the shower, slipping a little here and there. he has to breathe through his mouth in long, wet pulls, rasping and animalistic, intermittent with choked sobs and frustrated sounds that don't go anywhere. he drops back against the wall again, same place as before, arching his neck back and trying to swallow down some of his feelings, adam's apple bobbing beneath the tapering ends of his stubble.
and then - finally - finally, stiles is back. derek doesn't notice that he's shirtless, at first. he just sees stiles standing there, feels the soothing, loving touch of his hands against his body, and he makes this wavering, helpless sound in response. he rocks forward on the balls of his feet when stiles guides him closer, tilting into stiles, reaching his hands out to just - touch him, wherever he can. his sides, his lower back, his arms. ]
Where'd you go?
[ he still sounds whiny, which - could either be cute, for him, or just kind of sad. derek's hands wander a little higher up, and he realizes with a start that his fingers aren't catching on any fabric, which - is also kind of obvious, the more he stops to think about it, given that stiles might be self-conscious about his looks, but he probably showers as naked as anyone else.
derek swallows, dropping his eyes, taking him in. The curves of his collarbone, the freckles he's never seen. The start of muscles earned through lacrosse, through growing into the gangliness he had at sixteen, and through running with wolves for years, almost cancelled out by a predominantly shitty diet that probably only got worse the less time he spent worrying about The Sheriff.
stiles is - beautiful. the most beautiful person he's ever seen. derek doesn't say it, but maybe he doesn't need to. he smiles, soft and so, so fucking affectionate, hands set lightly against stiles' hips, and-- and it doesn't last, it can't last, the moon is still taking over his head, making everything feel like it's burning too bright and too hot, but just for a second, just for a few slow, happy heartbeats, derek looks more in love than he ever has.
and then stiles dotes on him, gets him clean. he shuts his eyes again and wills himself to be soothed by every touch, every light kiss, surrendering himself entirely to what he's feeling. his moods come and go in rapid, stuttering waves - sometimes his heartbeat stays steady and even, like he's swallowing down his anger below the surface enough to be almost okay, and sometimes he starts to get heated again, breathing hard and ragged and cringing like he's in pain.
his fingers roam lower and derek's breath gets caught, like he knows what's coming. he's still hard, of course he's still hard - thick and throbbing and kind of violent, with hard, reactive flexes that come every time stiles touches somewhere new. stiles grabs the base of derek's cock and he shudders, full-bodied, hard enough that it's like he's been caught in a blizzard. he steadies himself by trying to breathe through it, but it's coming faster now, more shallow. derek sets his hands on either side of stiles, stretching out to the wall behind him, shuddering a second time.
fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
stiles apologizes. stiles apologizes, and it's ludicrous, making derek shake his head as fast as he can. his eyes are still closed, scrunched up tight, and he keeps shaking his head like he's trying to block out what stiles is saying, because it's just-- wrong. stiles tells him he loves him and derek doesn't realize his claws are out until he's digging his nails into the tile next to the faucet, making it chip and splinter, little pieces of porcelain hitting the floor and rolling down the drain. ]
Don't-- don't. Don't. Shouldn't have yelled. Didn't mean any of it. Just got angry. You're not messy. You-- you know how to put the milk away, too. Better than anyone.
[ there's... well, it's kind of silly, but there's genuine, scrambling authenticity here. he seems to genuinely believe that stiles is... is better at putting the milk away than anyone else, but - honestly, it just speaks to how he's feeling. the moon's making everything muddled and difficult to deal with, he can't think straight - he just knows that he loves stiles more than anything, and he knows that he doesn't want that fight to be representative of how he feels, and he knows that right now, hearing stiles tell him he loves him is exactly what he needs.
stiles bumps their noses together, starts to jerk him off a little faster, and derek can't hold back at all. he pushes forward and takes stiles in a kiss the second that stiles does the same, searching out his tongue with his own. it's a little too wet, like he's barely in control of himself, dragging his tongue against stiles' and keening his hips forward the second he can really taste him, and he makes a strangled sound into the kiss, this desperate, relieved, horny cry.
stiles pushes him back against the wall and derek willingly follows, stumbling back and feeling stiles rut lightly against his hip, and derek's breathing faster and faster and faster, close to hyperventilating. he keeps making all these fucking noises, free and completely lacking in the kind of dignified quiet he tries to go for when they fuck. he's moaning and fucking up into stiles' fist like he's been kept at the edge for days, he's growling and scrambling his hands all over stiles' back, hands shaking with the barely contained effort to not claw or scratch. he doesn't-- want to do that, to stiles, if stiles doesn't want it. doesn't want to hurt him.
derek comes. it happens fast, without warning. he feels stiles' cock grinding against his thigh, feels the way his hand squeezes him, works him, and that's all it takes. he slams his back against the shower and he just-- shoots, shot after shot of cum erupting from the tip of his cock, messing up stiles' fist, almost even htiting the far wall they just walked away from. he comes and he comes, and it might be the hardest orgasm he's had in his life; his vision goes white and he thinks he's yelling, he can't tell, the world feels distant and faded and gone, and when he passes, when his load is draining down the shower like, he's--
still hard. harder, maybe. there's no refractory period, no-- no anything, he just-- he needs more. he needs more, he needs more, he needs-- more. he's breathing's a mess, his teeth are too long, and he thinks he opened his eyes when he came, because the world is red. everything is red. ]
Turn-- turn.
[ he doesn't need to be taken care of. he just needs to take. ]
[ he doesn't want to linger. stiles doesn't want to dwell on the things that have made today - complicated, different than he expected. difficult, a little hurtful, if he's honest, even if derek didn't mean any of it. he doesn't want to explain that he left so he could clean up after himself, so derek wouldn't have to do it later, so he wouldn't get distracted and forget about it - so he just says nowhere and leaves it at that. he's here now, and helping derek find his center is more important than any of his insecurities.
stiles is too distracted, too focused on derek's breathing, on the flex of his cock in his hand to notice that derek's claws have come out. he barely registers the faint sound of porcelain cracking behind him over the sound of derek's breathing, hard and shallow and loud as stiles continues to stroke him. derek apologizes, admits he may have crossed a line, admits that he didn't mean the things he said and it's - it almost makes stiles laugh, how genuinely he praises him for being able to put fucking milk away.
stiles kisses him. derek meets him with this overwhelming intensity, pressing forward and licking into his mouth and pressing his hips up into stiles' hand. he pushes this desperate, almost erotic cry into stiles' mouth, and stiles can't swallow back the tiny whimper that spills from the back of his throat in response, feeling his knees give a little. he wants derek so badly, wants to make him come, wants to make him feel good, wants to give him everything. wants to be a good anchor.
he starts to pump his fist faster, tightening the circle of his fingers as he breaks away from derek to breath, he drops his forehead against his shoulder, eyes pointed downward in the space between them as he grinds his cock against derek's hip. derek is - god damn gorgeous, he's something else, and stiles is almost awed as he watches him thrust up into his hand, the head of his cock thick and flushed as it pushes through his fist over and over.
stiles can feel derek's hands all over his back and it's - different. derek's put his hands up stiles' shirt before, he's touched stiles almost everywhere, but this is different. he's never been fully naked in front of derek before, and for a minute or two it completely escaped him that he doesn't have the comfort blanket of his shirt this time. derek's hands scramble over his bare back, heavy and unhindered, and stiles' entire body shudders with a sharp and sudden shiver. he drops his other hand, closes it around the base of derek's cock so he's stroking him with both, fists stacked one on top of the other. he turns his face in toward derek's throat, breathes out a shuddered breath—
and derek comes, unexpected and out of nowhere. stiles feels him pulse hard in his hands, feel the hot heat of cum spill over his knuckles, over his wrist, up his forearm, and he can't help the hard, slow grind of his cock against derek's thigh, his heart beat spiking with arousal and excitement and a little bit of pride for getting derek off. he pushes a clumsy kiss against his throat, body a shaking a little as he continues to stroke him off. ]
That's it, there you go...
[ he murmurs next to derek's ear, but derek is - loud. he's very loud and it's possible that it gets drowned out but stiles keeps stripping his cock and derek - just. keeps. coming. he comes more than anyone stiles has ever seen - granted, he hasn't been witness to very many spectacular orgasms that weren't his own, so maybe that's a little unfair to say - but it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, and it's almost, almost enough to make him blow his load, too.
stiles slows his hand gradually, wanting to keep touching derek, but not really wanting to overwhelm him, but even as derek comes down from the high of orgasm he - he doesn't soften at all. stiles swallows a little, still pushing his cock against derek's thigh with these tiny, almost thoughtless little thrusts, and he looks up.
derek's eyes are red. his eyes are red and stiles can see the sharper ends of his teeth, long and wolf-like. he holds derek's gaze, panting a little, and wonders if - if this isn't enough. if this isn't going to work the way he thought it would. stiles gently lets go of derek, easing his hands off of his cock, and touches his hip with one hand instead, opening his mouth to say something, but derek cuts him off with a command.
stiles - doesn't hesitate. it doesn't take a genius to figure out what derek is telling him, what he wants from stiles, but stiles is a genius, so it clicks the instant derek tells him to turn around. stiles' hand shakes a little when he reaches up, dragging his palm down over his mouth and chin, wiping some water away even though it's useless. there's still cum on the back of his wrist, but it drips when he raises his arm, swirling down into the drain.
he turns without saying a word, but he does it slowly, almost like he's hesitant even though he isn't. he's just - too enthralled by derek, too enamored to take his eyes off of him so easily, but he does what he's told. he obeys. stiles turns his body first, then his head, and gives derek his back, reaching forward to lean his forearms against the warm tiles. he drops his head forward between his shoulders, but he misses being able to grind his cock against derek's hip, so he drops his hand down and gives his dick a couple lazy pulls, toes curling against the floor tiles, skin buzzing with arousal and anticipation. ]
[ everything is just - stars, and heat, and derek's dizzy from the force of it. every kiss stiles gives him makes him feel fucking alive, like all his senses heightened by the moon are spiking to full capacity, every touch runs up every nerve, overwhelming in his oversensitivity. through the guttural noises, the hard, physical reactions to everything that's ruining him, stiles' voice cuts past it and manages to keep him steady. he's encouraging and loving and it's exactly what he needs. it's exactly why he's derek's anchor.
stiles turns away, like the genius he is, and there's a part of derek that sees his submission, an easy offering of prey to a predator, and wants to rip and tear and maul and take, to hurt and kill and have. the rest of him - the parts that matter, the parts that carry weight beyond instinct - is just fucking awed by how beautiful he is. how fucking perfect.
for the first time, derek sees the scar on stiles' back. a burst of sunlight, left behind by hard, shredding teeth, made with the intent of taking his life. derek's too out of it to really understand what it is, how it got there, but he knows that it looks painful, and he knows that this has to have come from a chapter of stiles' life he hasn't yet told derek about, and simultaneously, he feels two things. a strong, swooping sadness in his stomach, laced with the overprotective need to hurt whoever hurt stiles - his stiles, his stiles, his mate, the man he loves, the man he'll always love, the love of his life, the one he wants to die with, the one he wants to die for -
and an unbelievable, cascading wave of pride and affection. stiles is still beautiful, even with his scars. stiles trusted him enough to show him this, when he was red-eyed and full of teeth, when he was as dangerous as he'll ever be. stiles loves him, and derek's heart honestly hurts from how big that feels. he touches his hand to his chest, feels how hard his heart is beating, and he genuinely feels afraid for a second that he's going to throw up, or pass out, or-- or something, too overworked and too full of adrenaline and chemicals and the fucking moon to stay stable.
he doesn't throw up. doesn't pass out. he bends forward, resting his forehead on the gap between stiles' shoulderblades, nose against his skin. he breathes in and out, drowns in him, in his scent, in his presence, in everything that he is. his teeth itch and get bigger, his claws feel sharper, more serrated. his eyes hurt from how brightly they're burning.
he kisses the mole on stiles' opposite shoulder, beautiful and characteristic and so intrinsically stiles. he kisses along stiles' shoulderblades, up to a square of skin just besides his scar, clean and untainted and undamaged. he kisses more, kisses further, kisses the painful, ragged edges of what donovan did to him, because no matter how this happened, no matter who did this, it's still stiles, and it's still beautiful, and derek doesn't love him any less for it.
and then - derek drops to his knees.
his claws are out. he needs to be careful, when he squeezes his palms tight against stiles' ass. he doesn't waste any more time - doesn't have it in him to wait. he sets the flat, pads of his thumbs besides stiles' hole and stretches him open, just enough, and he darts forward, lapping a long, long line with his tongue from the base of stiles' balls, all the way up. he gets stiles completely, completely wet, breathing out against the soft, pink hole he so, so desperately wants to fuck.
he fucks stiles with his tongue in long, slow thrusts, as deep as he can get it. there's drool running down stiles' taint, dripping to the floor and down his thighs, and the water from the showerhead is spraying too far behind them to get him clean. while he eats him out, derek slides one of his hands around to stiles' cock, slowly circling his fist around the head and keeping his claws way the fuck away. when he jerks him off, it's - a little too rough, a little too hard, his grip too strong and his strokes too irregular, but all his neediness, all his want, all his desperation to just touch stiles and make him feel good - it's all so obviously there.
derek only stands up when his knees start to hurt. he moves closer, slaps his bare cock against stiles' ass, still hard. he leans forward to kiss his neck, an imitation of the way stiles was kissing him when he came. each kiss comes harder than the last, more frantic, and every so often, the razor-sharp edge of his teeth will brush against stiles too closely for derek to feel comfortable, and he'll freeze, set his lips back over his fangs, and he's kiss slower, steadily building back up in intensity until he forces himself to stop again. ]
Stiles.
[ it's all he's got in him to say. he drags stiles' name out like just saying it is the most sexually intense experience he can have, like-- like he's so unbelievably, critically turned on by who stiles is. his voice is deep and quivering and desperate, and derek moves his hands to rest on stiles' hips. he's less careful this time, the lightest, papercut of a scratch drawing a line across pale, perfect skin. not deep enough to draw blood, but maybe deep enough to smart.
he says his name again, helplessly grinding his cock forward, like he's waiting for permission. like he's begging for it. again, he says his name, almost like he's close to tears. ]
[ stiles stares down at his feet with half-lidded eyes, his vision slightly blurred by the water collecting on his eyelashes. he strokes his cock with slowly, lazy pulls, wanting to get himself off but also wanting to wait in anticipation of - being fucked. he assumes that's why derek commanded him to turn around and face the wall, but for a little while - it feels like it anyway - the only hands that touch him are his own, edging himself toward a desperate neediness to feel derek touching him, close to him, anything.
he's soothed when derek leans his forehead between his shoulderblades, only slightly, but it's enough to keep the quiet, frustrated whine that was building up, safe in his throat. he breathes out a sigh and lifts his head up, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes. he doesn't know why, but he imagines the broad expanse of derek's back, strong and solid and very lightly tanned, triskele spiraling out in three directions from the space between his shoulders. he imagines, for a moment, his own shoulders, marked with the same three swirls of dark ink in the same place derek's pressed his forehead, but stiles doesn't have anything like that, he just has—
he remembers his scar. it's not as if he's ever forgotten about the permanent mark donovan left behind after ripping the flesh from his shoulder with razor-sharp, needle-like teeth as if the psychological and mental trauma of having to kill him later wouldn't be enough of a lasting punishment - but he's been able to think about it gradually less and less with each passing day, even if it's now a very small part of the many reasons stiles doesn't lounge around on lazy days without a shirt on, or take it off during sex.
stiles remembers it now though, and his eyes fly open, stinging a little as the shower mists into them gently. derek is right there, and there's no way he hasn't seen it, there's no way he's going to be able to look at that and - not want to recoil. stiles can't even look at it without feeling some mild form of disgust, though a lot of that could probably be attributed to the memories and the emotional damage attached to it. his anxiety starts to climb. he tilts his head forward and he stares at the slick tiles in front of him with slightly-widened, unblinking eyes, his fingers curling against the wall in a loose fist.
he wants his shirt. stiles wants that security blanket back so badly that the thought of pushing derek back and getting out of the shower just to go and get dressed and maybe make up an excuse to be somewhere else briefly crosses his mind. he takes his hand off of his cock, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed and off balance, because derek thinks he's beautiful and he's caring and he's perfect— derek thinks he's all these wonderful things, but he doesn't know—
stiles shivers over the first kiss derek presses to his shoulder, and it's only then that he realizes he's been holding his breath. he breathes out in one big rush, head dropping forward again, his fingers uncurling to lay flat against the wall. his stomach still feels uncomfortably tight with uncertainty, but tension feels less and less the more and more derek keeps peppering his skin with kisses, following the edges of his shoulderblades, covering his skin. derek kisses the skin around stiles' scar and - stiles thinks that's going to be it, that he's going to drift back, but derek kisses that damaged, textured skin too with the same kind of gentleness, like it isn't any different, like he doesn't like it any less and - stiles isn't going to cry, but the immense relief he feels makes his eyes water slightly, makes his nose burn. he breathes out again, bringing his free hand up to brace his forearm back against the wall so he can lean a little more of his weight into it.
it's a good move. stiles doesn't expect what follows, doesn't even notice that derek's lowered himself to his knees. his thighs tighten up reflexively when he feels derek's hands on his ass, spreading him apart, and there's a part of him that starts to panic a little because - because he hasn't been prepped at all and sure, they're in the shower, there's water, it's not like derek would be pushing in completely dry, but stiles isn't naive enough to think it's not going to hurt like a bitch. ]
Derek—
[ he starts, but he doesn't finish, because the rest of whatever he was intending to say twists itself in a sharp but soft, surprised little cry when derek drags the flat of his tongue over him. he arches away at first, startled by the unexpected, foreign feeling, pushing up onto his toes and arching his back, but— fuck that felt good. stiles' legs shake a little as he sinks back down onto his heels, sinks back down toward derek's mouth, and the next sound out of him is a drawn out, throaty moan, muffled against his bicep when he turns his head.
derek eats stiles out like he's never been eaten out before — and he hasn't. it's a first for him, like many things with derek have been so far, and like many of those firsts, it's not unpleasant in the slightest. stiles - kind of loves it, if he's honest. his cock aches and throbs between his legs, begging to be touched, but derek beats him to it. stiles chokes out a small, whiny sob of a sound, squeezing his eyes shut as derek thrusts his tongue into him over and over, slow and deep and white-hot. he wants to come so badly, and the hand on his dick feels really, really good, but it's just the wrong side of too rough to get stiles off, keeping him right at edge, keeping him desperate for more, for something else, his cock red and positively weeping precome.
stiles sucks in a unsteady breath when derek finally relents and lets up, his thighs shaking and his knees a little weak. he hums a low note of approval without really meaning to when derek slaps his cock against his ass, hard and thick and hot, and stiles impulsively pushes his hips back an inch, leaning his head to the side and baring his neck to derek, silently pleading for more kisses. the more aggressive derek gets, the harder stiles breathes, quick and breathy and horny as fuck, but the first scrape of fangs makes him nervous, makes his skin flash hot, not necessarily in a good way, makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle with the forewarning of danger.
stiles knows derek wouldn't bite him. stiles knows he wouldn't use his vulnerability and his desperation to be close to derek, and take advantage of him by biting him. he desperately hopes that derek wouldn't do that to him - but derek backs off and slows down as soon as he seems to realize how thin the line is that he's walking and that's — that's good, that makes stiles feel better, makes him - harder and hornier, actually, even though he couldn't even begin to explain why if anyone asked.
the way derek says his name is - almost too much. it sounds like - liquefied sex and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. his entire body blooms with this hot, desperate need to have derek - everywhere, to feel him everywhere, on him around him, inside of him. derek puts his hands on his hips. stiles can feel the prick of his claws and he immediately drops one of his hands down to put it over derek's but it's not to stop him. he slides his hand back, rests it over derek's wrist, lets his head fall forward between his shoulders as he grinds his ass back against derek's cock incredibly, incredibly slowly.
he feels like he could almost come right here, right this moment when derek says his name again, he pushes up onto his toes a little, pushes back, braces the rest of his weight against the wall. he just - he needs derek to fuck him. there's a fleeting moment where he thinks about - protection, and how they've never really talked about the possibility of - not using it, but. to stiles' knowledge, as a werewolf, derek can't carry infection or disease, and stiles hasn't ever slept with anyone unprotected, and they're - exclusive, derek said there exclusive and stiles just wants this so badly, he trusts and he loves derek so much. ]
Please.
[ stiles sort of gasps the word. he takes his hand off of derek's wrist and he reaches back blindly, finding derek's elbow at first, which he pulls at kind of uselessly, but then his fingers slap against his flank and he digs his fingertips in, fingernails a little too short to bite into derek's skin. he grips and he pulls and he lifts his head and turns it a little. it's not enough that he can see derek, but it's enough so his plea isn't lost or muffled, even if it's rushed and breathy and unquestionably begging. ]
[ scars don't scare derek. lord only knows how riddled with them his own body would be if he were human; how cut up his hands would be from digging a grave for laura without a shovel, how burnt he'd be from electricity burned through his veins by kate. running through the woods from hunters never came easy - there were always nights when he'd catch himself on a branch and have to split up from the rest of his pack, in case the argents found his blood and tracked him to his death.
as it is, all his scars are internal. if stiles can love him despite being hardened and calloused and burnt, then derek can love him despite the burst of sunlight faded on his skin.
that being said - there's no word to describe the way it hurts, when stiles reacts like he's afraid of him. derek's teeth scrape a little too close to stiles' veins, hovering so intimately over them like one wrong move could break whatever willpower derek has, and he can taste the fear on stiles' skin, the heat prickling at the top of his spine. stiles rejects him, and it's this hard-hitting, core-rocking pain that...
that honestly doesn't hurt that much at all. it's funny - derek feels a lump of sad, shallow rejection in his chest, and he knows that it should hurt, but it just... doesn't. instead, there's just - a confident, loving security that wraps around his ribs and helps him see things through. helps him realize stiles isn't scared of him, isn't rejecting him. never in derek's life has he been more confident that stiles loves him, werewolf or not, and that his attachment to his humanity detracts absolutely nothing from that.
there's millions of years of instinct at play here. there's an evolutionary fear of predators hardwired into stiles, and that's the only reason he's afraid of him. they're - connected, in spite of that. in love. mates. stiles trusts him. stiles is the only human who would ever, ever trust him like this. deep in derek's core, he knows that. stiles is his last one.
derek cautiously sets his teeth back against stiles' neck, sharp pin-pricks that don't breach skin but easily, easily could. he needs to prep him more - to stretch him open on his fingers, to make sure this won't hurt. he can't, though, and stiles doesn't want him to, either; they're both shattered and desperate and they need to connect, they need to have this. stiles' fingertips indent his side, he looks at him from over his shoulder as best as he can, and derek bites a little harder. just a little.
he untightens his jaw, laps soft, soothing kisses against the marks he's left on stiles, then - presses forward. derek leans his weight against stiles and pushes his torso up against the cold tiles of the shower, his chest flush to his shoulderblades, and he reaches down to angle the base of his cock down. he drags his head over stiles' ass until it's pressing tight against his hole, and he's desperate to make him take him, desperate to feel him yield and welcome him in. by merit of how they're standing, with derek's entire weight weighing down on stiles' back, his breath is ghosting over the shell of stiles' ear, hot and staggered. he kisses him there, behind his ear, back down his neck. he can't wait any longer. ]
Love you. Love you so fucking much.
[ he rocks his hips back, tilts his waist so that he can make this work, then slowly, slowly, slowly fucks into stiles. he very, very shallowly breaches him and has to stop, just half of his crown prying stiles apart. it's-- harder, tighter than it's ever been, a mix of the lack of lube and what the full moon's doing to him, but it feels so much fucking closer, doing this without protection. the heat around him, the tight, pulling grip of stiles' body, it's just so intrinsically stiles, raw and together. derek's seeing stars, and he needs to shut his eyes, drag his nose against stiles' shoulder, breathe him in, relax.
derek curls one arm beneath stiles' stomach, squeezing him tight and holding him in place. his other hand grips stiles' ass, his claws lightly pressing in against him while he pulls him apart, trying to make him more-- more open, more accessible, more easy. derek opens his eyes and rests his mouth against stiles' shoulder, looking at him from over the curve of it, lips apart and breath still coming hot and sharp against him. he pushes in further, fucks stiles more, and it's-- it's a struggle, barely made easier by the long, heavy flow of precum running from his cock, but he sinks in, up to an inch.
he tries to say it again. stiles. he tries to find the word, but his voice just cracks, everything feels-- too much. he stares at stiles from over his shoulder, eyes red and unfocused and uncannily wolfish, more than they've ever been. ]
[ that initial flash of uncertainty isn't there anymore when derek sets his teeth back against stiles' neck again, the trust and the love and the desire stiles feels for him overpowering any hardwired instinct. he can feel the pressure resting behind derek's jaw, in the sharp points of his teeth, testing the give of his flesh but careful not to break it. stiles swallows hard, gripping a little more at derek's side, fingertips slipping through a little bit of soap that the spray from the showerhead hasn't quite manages to wash away.
derek bites harder. stiles hisses quietly - it doesn't hurt, but he takes one of his hands off the wall and reaches back quickly, clumsily pushing his fingers into derek's wet hair and gripping gently, not to stop him - but to just hold him there for a second. he doesn't want derek to bite him. he just wants him to stay. he wants every point of connection he can get from him, and he's taking too fucking long to just fuck him already. stiles breathes out, shaky and shuddered, and pushes his hips back a little more, grinding his ass against the thick line of derek's cock.
he goes easily when derek pushes up against him, pressing him into the wall. stiles lets go of derek's hair, slides the hand that's already braced against the wall out a little so his arm isn't crushed between his chest and the tile, moving both of his arms so they rest slightly above his head, wrists overlapping. the tile is cold in comparison to the encompassing heat spread out across his back, and the start contrast is enough to send a hard shiver rattling down stiles' spine just in time for derek to slide the head of his cock down the cleft of his ass until it catches. stiles tenses, but it's not even close to being negative reaction, just - anticipatory.
there hasn't been that much prep. stiles was absolutely, definitely into derek's mouth on him just a minute or so ago, but he's pretty sure that's nowhere near enough preparation - and yet most of him doesn't care in the slightest. there's a tiny corner of his brain left yet that hasn't been overridden by love and lust and the desperate need to fuck, but stiles, for once, doesn't listen to the rational part of himself.
he whines. derek adds a little pressure behind the press of his cock and the sound that comes out of stiles is thin and a little tense, and it surprises him because it's not a sound he intended to make, but it's out and it's there and stiles swallows around the rest of it. he feels - pinned, with derek's weight pressing into his back, holding him flush to the shower wall, his breath hot against his ear, lips trailing down his neck. it feels like the first time, back in his old apartment, when derek had held him down with a fist to his chest. stiles hadn't felt scared then, and he doesn't feel scared now, either. he feels safe and protected and wanted, and it makes his knees weak.
derek tells him that he loves him. stiles fingers curl into loose fists above his head. his heart hurts, but it's the good kind of hurt, the kind where he's just filled with so much love that there just simply isn't enough room for it inside of him. stiles' eyes close and he leans his forehead against the wall, taking one of his arms down with the intention of reaching back to pull derek closer at the same time that he tilts himself way to make room.
stiles' fingers don't make contact with any part of derek, stilled by rock of his hips, the slow push of just the very tip of his cock against his hole, spreading him open with a thickness stiles - honestly isn't ready for. it... hurts. not a lot, not by any amount stiles can't handle right now, but it's more than the mild discomfort he's grown used to by now, eased by the push and the spread of derek's fingers. stiles tenses up, clenches his teeth a little, arches his back just slightly like he means to get away, but it's just instinct, and he fights it. he holds himself still, blowing out a thin breath against the tiles, thighs tense.
already, it feels - different. it's a different kind of heat without the thin layer of latex, a different kind of closeness, and derek's barely even inside of him yet. stiles decides immediately that they're done with protection from this point forward - as long as derek's okay with it, then they're done with it, because he doesn't want to give up this kind of connection now that he has it, now that he knows what it feels like, and he barely knows.
stiles makes a soft, strangled sound in the back of his throat, like he wants to say something, tell derek everything he's thinking, everything he's feeling, but it just comes out as this quiet, desperate note, his hovering hand moving to slide over the back of derek's wrist as he loops his arm over his stomach, fingers spreading out over his knuckles. he can feel derek spreading him apart, hand on his ass, claws resting against his flesh - and all he wants to do is push back. derek pushes forward, rocks his hips a little more - and it hurts. the stretch is - a lot, more than stiles is used to without being worked up to it. his grips tightly at the back of derek's wrist, unable to hold back the thin, strained whine that slips through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. ]
Ah— don't— [ he sounds a little rushed, slightly out of breath even though he hasn't really done anything, but he doesn't want derek to stop. he doesn't want him to pull out. ] Don't take it, please don't take it.
[ the pain, he means. he's not even sure if it would cross derek's mind to take it away from him, but he desperately, desperately doesn't want him to, and it comes through in his voice. stiles opens his eyes, and he breathes, in and out and in and out, his grip on derek's wrist easing gradually, every muscle in his body easing gradually. he just needs a minute, just needs a second.
stiles tilts his head slightly, forehead still resting against the wall, but he can see derek at his shoulder out of the corner of his eye. he can see the glow of his eyes, feels drawn to it enough that he turns his head properly to look at him, which puts him close enough to kiss him, even if it's just the corner of his mouth. ]
I love you. [ he kisses the edge of his mouth again, presses another one to his chin, and very, very carefully, he starts to ease his hips back in tiny, tiny pulses, fucking himself on derek's cock millimeter by millimeter. his voice sounds a little thin, words murmured and slightly too close together, but he doesn't care. he knows derek will hear him, he knows derek will understand. ] C'mon, it's okay. M'fine, it's okay, just - slowly. I love you.
[ stiles wants him to stay. derek's teeth, razor-sharp and serrated, scratch subtle, white lines down the thin, easily tearable skin of his neck, and stiles still just wants him to stay. derek breathes out in heavy, hard pants, crooning little moans and grunts against him as stiles' fingers tangle in his hair, and his whole body feels like an exposed nerve ending. he's heightened and sensitive and alive. the full moon itches at his skin, even from here, hidden inside and out of its reach. he's not coherent enough to wonder how much worse this could be if they were under the full burst of its light.
the noise stiles makes when he's forced up against the wall is almost enough to make derek come. that little noise, tense and thin, like he's fucking submissive, like strong-willed, independent stiles is helpless and horny, all for him - it's almost too much for derek to bear. it's breathtaking. derek wants more. he pins him to the wall even tighter.
stiles makes another noise as derek enters more of him, and then another, and another, and the tiles shudder beneath derek's feet as his leg trembles, bouncing his heel against them, thudding a repetitive echo through the shower. he curls his toes and his fingertips and makes himself calm down, pressing his cheek against stiles shoulder for support and scratching him with sharp, wet stubble. stiles' hand pressed over his makes derek feel like he's melting.
derek pushes in more, and more, and more, one millimetre, then another, and stiles suddenly whines out in pain, making derek go completely stock still with an alarmed start. his mind is telling him, distantly, with whatever capability it has for coherent thought left, that he needs to pull out before stiles hurts - but stiles says don't take it, stiles tells him to stay, stiles tells him he wants to feel the pain, and derek almost loses his fucking mind.
he nods. he nods, even though stiles can't really see him, and he kisses up his back again, over his scar, up to his shoulder. stiles reaches back and gives him a lopsided, incomplete kiss, and when he tells him he loves him, derek just - whines.
stiles fucks himself on derek.
it's a lot. it's too much, when derek's so hypersensitive already, so desperate for touch. derek's heaving breaths against stiles' ear, and it's hard to say if he sounds like he's drowning, desperately trying to stay above the water, or if he's been hunting like an animal, running on all fours through the woods until his body gave out from exertion. he rests against stiles' shoulder and looks like he's the one getting fucked, with half-lidded eyes glossed over with lust. stiles eases back on derek's cock and derek looks like he's having a fucking religious experience. ]
More. Stiles.
[ he's done his best to make this easy for stiles, but - he - can't, not anymore. he needs to fuck stiles, needs him now. derek stands up, stretching out his spine. derek takes the arm he has wrapped around stiles' stomach and splays it out on his lower back, instead, pushing him down and silently urging him to arch his back. his other hand reaches up to stiles' hair, grabbing a fistful of it, and lightly, very lightly, he pulls, arching stiles' neck back. he pushes forward with his hips, fucking stiles into the wall with one hard, brutal jolt, and as he fucks a full inch and a half of his cock past the rim of his entrance, Derek's eyes roll into the back of his head.
he's swearing. maybe. he can't tell, he might have blacked out for a second. derek's chest hurts. roughly, derek starts to find a rhythm, dragging the head of his cock back through the tight passage of stiles' hole, pulling out to the ring. he grunts, pushes his hand forward, pressing stiles' face against the wall. ]
Stiles--
[ he's starting to swell. he can feel it - not just at the base of his cock, but all of him. he's getting bigger, thicker, inside stiles. derek's hips are moving on their own accord, getting faster, pressing deeper, stretching out stiles well past his body's limit, and the more he does, the more of him that fills stiles up, the bigger, more difficult it gets. derek hunches forward again, heaving those same heavy, almost violent breaths, and he tugs stiles' hair again to have better access to his throat from the side. he kisses him, just once, violent but tender. he's barely half inside of stiles, and he feels like he's too much for him.
but - ]
Stiles, there's-- more of me.
[ and - and he doesn't know if stiles is going to be able to handle it, he doesn't know if it's going to hurt too much. being knotted. derek keeps fucking him, because he can't fucking help it, he doesn't think he can stop, not now, but maybe-- maybe it's already too much. ]
[ derek asks him for more. derek tells him he wants more and all stiles can do is tell him he knows - because he does. because he wants more too. the words spill out of him on the end of a shuddery sigh, breathy and a little desperate as stiles continues to roll his hips back in tiny thrusts, driving himself just a little further back onto derek's cock each time, centimeter by deliciously agonizing centimeter. all he wants to do is sink all the way down, take as much of derek's cock as his body will physically allow, but the stretch is already tight, painful but - tolerable.
derek straightens up, and though he's no even half inside yet, it changes the angle of his cock just enough that stile' breath catches for a moment, muscles tensing not with pain, but with pleasure. he makes a soft sound, tilting his head forward against to lean it against the tiles and curling his toes. derek takes his arm away, slides it out from between his stomach and the wall, sets it against his lower back instead, keeping him pinned. stiles - kind of hates it, only because it means he can't keep fucking himself on derek's cock, not while he's being held in place. he whines quietly, though it's a frustrated sound more than anything else, but it melts into a soft moan as derek's fingers sink into his hair.
he's not expecting him to pull - but there's no resistance. stiles arches his neck, shoulder blades inching together, his lower spine bending subtly over the solid line of derek's forearm holding him down. and derek fucks him. he pushes into stiles, hips snapping forward hard and sudden and unforgiving, and it's only and inch, maybe two, but it's more than stiles expects all at once, and it hurts. he bites his teeth together hard, biting back and tense groan, the tendons in his neck flexing with the tension that snaps through his shoulders. and then the pain starts to ease. derek keeps fucking into him, sliding just those few inches in and out, forward and back, and stiles' jaw relaxes just as derek guides his head forward and pushes his cheek into the wall.
stiles opens his mouth, but all that comes out of him is a soft, sighed oh, one of his hands dropping to down to circle around his own cock, fingers closed tight over the tip. derek says his name, and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. he can feel himself getting tighter around derek he more derek fucks into him - but that's not it. he's not getting tighter, derek's just getting bigger, thicker and harder and the stretch as derek sinks deeper—
for a moment, stiles feels like he can't breathe. he feels overwhelmed, but it's not the kind of overwhelmed that makes him feel panicky or scared or out of control. it's just - a lot, but stiles has never wanted anything or anyone so fucking badly in his entire life. stiles draws in a quiet gasp of a breath, and even though the slide of derek's cock is starting to hurt again, stiles just keeps meeting his hips with small, measured backwards pushes of his own.
stiles pumps his cock with long, solid strokes, nodding his head as best as he can with derek still holding his cheek to the wall. there's water in his eyes, dropping down from his hair, collecting in his eyelashes, running down the side of his nose to the corner of his mouth, down his chin, his throat.
he's done his research. after scott was bitten in the woods and started exhibiting strange behavior, stiles dedicated his time to figuring out what it was that was affecting his friend, and once he'd figured it out, he'd only researched further. myths and legends and lore - anything he could get his hands on, regardless of credibility. he researched wolves, too, their behavior, habits, their biology, all of it just in case. all of it, just because he knew if he didn't, nobody else would.
stiles has - some idea of what might be happening now, what is about to happen if he doesn't stop derek now — but he doesn't want to stop. the very last thing stiles wants to do right now is end this before it's even really started. this - is part of derek, part of who he is, influenced by the full moon or now - and stiles loves him. stiles loves every part of him, wants every part of him, ever side, man and wolf and everything in between.
stiles squeezes his fist around the base of his cock, pushes his hips back with a brief clench of his teeth. he reaches back, pawing at derek's flank again as he fucks into him, hand shaking, words a little slurred. ]
It's okay. It's okay, I want it, I want this. I want you. Derek—
[ he wants everything derek is, everything derek wants to give him, he'll withstand and work through whatever pain to get to that sweet, warm, bone-melting pleasure derek has never failed to deliver. ]
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stiles drags him along and it would be easy enough for derek to just dig his heels in and weaponize his weight against him, anchoring them both in place, but he doesn't, because the prickle of shame down his neck and the lack of an easy target to yell at makes him feel too sick to really do anything but walk. he's led to stiles' laptop and told to sit, and that, at least, he takes issue with. ]
You can't just tell me what to do. Don't bark orders at me.
[ ... he says, before obediently sitting down. he drops into the couch hard and spreads his legs, putting his elbow on the armrest and massaging his temple. stiles is sitting on the edge, but derek's taking up enough space to really force him into the corner, and he doesn't seem to feel all that bad about it. he does feel all that bad about it, but he's not going to stop.
he doesn't say anything, while stiles scrolls through his movie list, opening up the first mkv he stumbles over. derek looks sullen and annoyed, but he's keeping all his negativity to himself, and that's - maybe not an improvement on his mood, and maybe not doing anything to make the atmosphere less thick and oppressive between them, but it's at the very least a change from all the yelling. for the most part.
the movie starts up, and derek's leg starts bouncing. he drops his hand from his temple to his mouth, rubbing at his lip, then scratching at his jaw. he balls his hand back into a fist and doesn't know what to do with it, so he uncurls it again, shaking it out. his knee bounces a little faster once the movie gets past the logos and into the opening act, and derek's staring at the laptop, but he's seeing through it, rather than paying attention to what's on screen.
he needs to keep moving, he needs to burn out. staying still makes him feel like a rubber band being pulled taut, ready to snap. he scratches at his wrist, making it red, then scratches at his neck, like he's covered in fleas. his leg bounces more. and more.
a minute passes, then two, and derek's still restless. the sun is blearing on the screen and hitting his eyes in such a way that gives him a bit of a headache, and he's not going to complain, but it's just another fucking thing rubbing him the wrong way. derek makes a few noises, irritated and fidgety, but again - he doesn't say a word.
he finds stiles' hand. he does it without thinking, at first - it's this reflexive, needy move, where he drags his fingers up stiles' wrist and takes his palm in his own, squeezing tight. his tantrum's still there, under the surface, and this is more of a half-time than an ending, but he's sane enough right now to feel fucking horrible, and he needs the reassurance that they're okay. he holds stiles' hand for a good two, maybe three seconds, and then he seems to realize what he's doing, because he pulls it back like he's been burned.
he's just been yelling at this poor guy for... literally no reason. he can't just grab his hand, act like they're okay. that's not allowed.
derek's knee bounces more and more, and he stretches it out straight, dropping his back onto the couch with a hard thud to try and just. stop. he's still scratching, still trying to do things with his hands to keep them busy, and he's-- a timebomb. he's ticking down, waiting to start another scene, and when babe starts talking, that's the breaking point, apparently. ]
This movie's just going to make me feel bad for eating meat.
[ it's got a pretty strong message about how eating animals is kind of fucked up, right? there are some feral dogs in this, too. he hasn't seen babe for years, but that's what he remembers, and the last thing derek wants after jumping down stiles' throat for making werewolf jokes is a movie where the lesson is humans like to kill animals sometimes, and also, dogs are bad, and also, eating meat is super wrong. like. ]
Which - you know - werewolf. In case you forgot. Slightly carnivorous.
no subject
he just wants him to relax. honestly, that's what stiles is trying to go for here without saying as much. telling derek to relax earlier did absolutely nothing - though stiles isn't surprised, because telling someone to relax when they're angry has worked zero times in the history of ever, but in stiles' defense, he hadn't realized yet just how angry derek actually was.
stiles is half tempted to shove derek over, though. by the time he gets the movie going and derek's seated, he's spread himself out enough that stiles only really has the corner of the couch to himself, and even then, it's like - half of the corner. stiles pulls one of his legs up and - hugs his knee. makes himself a little smaller just so it feels like he has more room, and watches the opening credits start to roll.
his plan of getting derek to relax and focus on something else backfires almost immediately. derek starts to bounce his leg, he rubs at his face - he's just this massive ball of tense energy and stiles picks up on it fast. it's making him anxious, the more derek shifts and fidgets, but - he's gotta give it time. derek will settle eventually. he hopes. stiles presses his teeth together, not entirely on purpose, his building anxiety needing somewhere to go, and he tries to focus on this movie he hasn't seen in years.
he picks at the hem of his pants to try and expel of the nervous energy filling him up, twisting his fingers at the bottom of his chinos and squeezing the shin of his bent leg. derek makes a quiet sound beside him, and stiles doesn't ignore him, but he doesn't acknowledge him either, hoping that if he doesn't do or say anything that derek could twist into something negative, then he'll eventually settle down.
derek takes his hand instead, and for a moment, stiles feels - relief. he feels derek's fingers on his wrist and he lets derek push his fingers into his palm and spread them out, curl them around his hand and squeeze. foolishly, stiles thinks derek's doing it for two reasons: to help soothe himself, but also to try and ease stiles' own anxiety. but then derek yanks his hand out of stiles' after only a few seconds, like touching stiles is the last thing he wants to do.
stiles' anxiety spikes sharply and quickly enough that for a second he kind of feels like he could vomit. he curls his hand into a fist and quietly pulls it back into his own little corner of space and he closes his eyes and takes a breath to try and pull himself together.
his patience lasts about two more minutes, and then derek speaks up. stiles is biting at his thumb nail by then, and he pauses with his thumb on his lower lip, just staring at his computer screen as babe babbles away. he sighs, but then derek pulls the werewolf card again, as if stiles could ever or would ever want to forget what he is.
stiles darts his hand out, slapping his fingers against the space bar a little too hard to pause the movie, sliding his leg down off the couch. he flexes his fingers slowly, and then decides to - get up. the little corner of the couch feels slightly claustrophobic the more he continues to sit there anyway. ]
Okay, look. [ he puts some distance between himself and derek by pacing away, shaking one of his hands out by his side to get rid of some anxiety build-up, but he circles back pretty quickly. ] Get out of the house. You're - squirming around like this place is too small for you, and you're—
[ acting like an asshole, which is true, but also sort of unfair to throw at derek when stiles is pretty sure he knows why all of this is happening. he loafs his hands, his shoulders tense, and then he throws one of his hands toward the balcony door, indicating - outside. ]
Just - go outside and run your little werewolf ass around in the woods until you burn this out of you.
no subject
and out of nowhere, stiles is shutting off the movie and pointing at the balcony, catching derek off guard. for a second, it's enough to make derek stop bouncing in his seat, and the list of complaints about how bad 90s CGI was dies in his throat. he follows stiles' hand with his eyes, looking from stiles' aggressively pointing finger, then to the balcony, then back again.
oh.
it's selfish, and again, it's childish, but derek feels honestly very hurt, now that he's being kicked out. his eyebrows pinch and he does one of those frustrated, sad breaths, where he breathes in hard through his nose and slumps his shoulders when he exhales. he feels like he's being put in timeout, or something. he wants to stomp his feet and yell about how this is just so unfair, and he wants to miserably curl in on himself and apologize for being such a prick.
ultimately, neither option feels particularly. sustainable. he's done enough damage for one day, and he's not going to apologize when he knows he's just going to start yelling in another few minutes. getting out of the house is the best idea, so.
fine. ]
Fine.
[ fine.
derek gets to his feet, and he just - turns. there's no goodbye, no half-hearted attempt to convince stiles to let him stay. it'd be easy to jump on that little werewolf ass comment and make another scene, but he doesn't have it in him. he'll actually appreciate the direction to get out once he's had some time to wear off what he's dealing with, because staying really would only make things worse, and he wouldn't have thought to leave without being told to; but right now, he's just.
very miserable.
it turns out that it's hard to slam a sliding door shut. derek tries, after storming out through the front entrance, but the safety mechanism kicks in, letting the door glide to a gentle and anti-climactic stop. still, derek's footsteps are pretty loud as he jumps down the steps leading up to the den, and stiles can probably hear him kicking up dirt and rocks all the way to the woods.
this is not a good day. ]
no subject
he stands there with his hand out, waiting for derek to say something, anything, practically daring him to snap at him again over something either unimportant, or out of his control. but derek just - deflates a little, and stiles starts to feel kind of bad for basically kicking him out of their own home, which is not what he intended this to feel like, but he holds his ground. derek needs to do something and burn off this excess energy and stiles has absorbed too much of derek's anxious energy to realize that sending derek outside might not be the best solution here.
derek - obeys, and that brings a modicum of relief. stiles drops his arm and sighs quietly, and he's not sure what else he expected from derek other than obedience (which he didn't actually expect, at least not so easily), but it kind of makes him feel a little hollow that derek doesn't even say goodbye. no 'i'll be back later', or anything like that.
and then he tries to slam the door. stiles can tell just by the sound of it, loud and reverberating before the safety catches and eases the door shut the rest of the way. it pisses stiles off all over again, but the most he does is curl his fingers into tight fists at his sides and make a quick, frustrated sound in the back of his throat before he forces himself to relax.
for about a minute, stiles just stands there in the middle of the den. it's... uncomfortably quiet. he hates it already, but there's nothing to be done about it. he's not in the mood to put a movie back on just for background noise, he's not in the mood for music. stiles rubs his hand against the back of his head and starts to play back all of the things derek snapped at him for earlier, wandering away from the living room and back toward the bathroom.
he splashes some water on his face, rattles his pill bottle impulsively to check how much he has left as if he didn't do the same thing this morning, and then - he starts to clean up around the house. he picks up a pair of basketball shorts he left on the bathroom floor from his shower earlier this morning, and puts them in the basket with the rest of the dirty laundry in their bedroom. he takes his laptop and his journal out of the living room and puts them away in the bedroom too, wipes down the kitchen counters even though they're clean, contemplates just starting a load of laundry, decides to circle back to that. he fluffs the pillows on the couch with a little more force than he needs to, still feeling a little bit of the sting from derek's earlier comment about having to pick up after him.
he decides not to start laundry just yet, and opts for a shower instead, but all he really does in the shower is stand there with his eyes closed and his face tilted up toward the spray of water, because it helps lower his anxiety. he gets out before the water runs cold, dries himself off and towels his hair, styles it with his fingers, and he makes sure to take all of his clothes with him when he leaves for the bedroom.
stiles - doesn't often sleep early, but for a minute he contemplates trying to go to bed. he knows he won't sleep though, but he does pull on comfortable clothes; a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, plain and navy, and another one of derek's t-shirts only because it's the top one in the drawer and stiles just - doesn't care.
and then he doesn't really know what to do with himself. he still feels kind of bad for kicking derek out, and he feels bad about derek yanking his hand out of his, and he feels bad about - being a bad anchor. or maybe derek just got it wrong, and it's not stiles that keeps him grounded and - now they know. stiles tugs at the bottom of his shirt, and then wanders out of the bedroom, turning the light off behind him. he cuts through the den to the kitchen, opens the fridge, feels kinda mad about the milk again but pushes past it. he could make himself some dinner but he - doesn't really have an appetite, so he settles for water (can't get mad about that, water doesn't curdle!) and a peach he finds at the bottom of a drawer in the fridge. he rips a paper towel from the roll—
and he just sits at the counter and waits and eats in silence. ]
no subject
the woods don't make him feel safe. they're not what he needs. by the time the sun is setting and the moon is breaking through the higher branches, silver light filtering down through the canopy above him, derek feels like he's in freefall. his skin is prickling like it's covered in sweat or bugs or something, and he peeled off his shirt at some point to try and get some more air, leaving it in the dirt to collect later. his heart is hammering hard inside of his chest, his lungs feel like they're being torn into strips. his vision keeps blurring and going red, and he can hear things clearer and further away than he should be able to. he's losing his grip on his humanity, bit by bit.
it's scary.
derek feels similar to how he did after paige's death, when mantras and anger were all he had to ease every full moon. he has stiles now, and stiles is supposed to make him better - stiles does make him better - but derek ruined that, by yelling at him and being stupid, cutting off ties with the one person he can turn to when he needs help. the moonlight feels like needles on his back and he can't stay out here in the dark anymore, but he's terrified of going home and fighting with stiles again. he's terrified of losing him just because of some-- dumb fucking mood he's in.
but he needs to. being out in the moonlight is more than irresponsible, it's dangerous, and he can't do that to himself. to anyone. derek gets home, eventually, dragging his feet up the steps. the moon makes him feel like he's staring into floodlights, too bright and searing. when derek drags himself into the den, closing the door slowly behind him, it's obvious that he's not doing well; his shoes are covered in dirt and dust, and so are his pants from where he skidded and fell at one point. his bare torso is covered in nicks and scratches from low-hanging branches he ran through without caring if it hurt, his skin is clammy and pale. he's breathing hard, like he's close to having a panic attack.
derek's still angry. he's worse, actually; he's not just dealing with this creeping feeling of mild annoyance anymore, he's not just insecure and full of self-doubt. there's this high-burning rage in him that doesn't have anywhere to go, and it makes him want to rip and tear and hunt. derek doesn't want to do that, he just-- he just wants to watch a movie with his boyfriend, he just wants to apologize for yelling, he just-- he just wants stiles.
derek lumbers through the den until he finds stiles, sitting at the counter and eating, and he feels this horrible wave of guilt and relief wash through him. derek's a little helpless when he wanders up to the counter, and he knows he's asking for too much, he knows that stiles has to hate him for how he's been treating him, but that's-- not something derek can think about, not right now. he just. ]
Stiles.
[ he just needs him. derek paws at stiles' waist clumsily, just trying to get his hands on him. he smells clean and safe and warm, he feels safe and warm, and derek missed him. derek missed him, and derek's sorry, and he doesn't know how to say that right now, he doesn't know how to string two words together. he's panicking about the moon, scared of how badly it's affecting him.
this is needy, but derek pulls on stiles' waist, dragging him to the edge of the counter. he slides his hands up his shirt, curling his fingers over his lower back, and he presses his nose into stiles' chest, taking a deep breath. he's shaking, a little, with the effort of staying human. his teeth itch and want to grow. ]
I need - help.
[ he doesn't know how, he doesn't-- know anything. it's instinct that has him wrapping his hands tighter around stiles' waist, around the back of his chest, just touching beneath his shirt wherever he can. he repeats himself. he's frustrated, he can't think. he just knows what he needs. ]
I need-- I don't-- Stiles.
no subject
all he can do is wait, so that's what he does. he sips from his water and he eats his peach really slowly, mostly because as soon as he starts to eat it, he doesn't want it anymore, but he also doesn't want to be wasteful. they're not struggling for money, but stiles comes from a household that's had only one functional, healthy parent in it for longer than it's had two, and wasting money - whether by way of throwing away good food, or leaving the lights on, or letting the sink run the entire time he brushed his teeth - just wasn't an option.
it drips a lot, which is annoying. he has to keep wiping up the counter with his paper towel, somewhat paranoid that derek's going to come home and rip him a new one for - what? eating? he's being stupid. stiles isn't afraid of derek, and he doesn't want to ruminate on things that are somewhat out of derek's control.
he hears derek coming up the stairs, his footsteps slower, and not necessarily lighter than they were when he left, but it sounds less like angry stomping and more like exhaustion. stiles doesn't move, doesn't get up from the counter. he's not sure what he's supposed to do, if anything, so he just keeps picking at his peach, nipping at the flesh around the pit as he listens to the door slide open and then closed again. derek's... breathing hard, but it's not the kind of breathing that comes from running around or exercising. it's familiar to stiles in a way that makes him feel a little ill, and for a moment, stiles holds his breath and turns his head, unbothered for now by the droplet of juice streaking down the inside of his wrist.
stiles can't see the front door from the kitchen, but he can hear derek moving through the den, his footsteps growing louder as he draws closer. stiles stays where he is, unsure of the state derek's in - if he's still mad, if he's better, if he's worse, though the latter seems most likely, all things considered. derek rounds the corner and he looks - pretty awful. filthy and pale and a little bit roughed up by nature. there are scratches and small abrasions scattered across his torso, some dotted with tiny specks of clotted blood.
he sets his peach down slowly when derek wanders closer, blindly wiping his fingers on his crumpled paper towel. derek says his name, and stiles turns slightly to face him, gearing up to ask him if he's okay, even if he's fairly sure he isn't. and then derek puts his hands on him, grabs at his waist at first before dragging him closer and sliding his hands up under his shirt, splaying them wide and holding him tight. stiles holds his breath for half a second, and then breathes out a sigh of quiet relief, putting his hand on the back of derek's head when he pushes his face against stiles' chest.
derek's shaking. it worries stiles that he's handling the full moon this poorly, because derek's always had full control of himself for as long as stiles has known him. stiles is - trying very hard not to panic, not to let anxiety creep up on him so he can be here for derek and help him figure out how to cope with this. ]
Shh, okay. Okay. I'm—
[ he squeezes at the back of derek's neck, feeling somewhat lost for a moment. he's - supposed to be derek's anchor. derek told him he's his anchor, and even though he feels a little doubtful after derek couldn't go more than five seconds just holding his hand in the living room earlier, obviously that - didn't mean anything. derek's got his hands on him now, pushed up under his shirt and holding him tight and - stiles trusts derek. he trusts derek more than anyone he knows, save for his father. if stiles is derek's anchor, then - this is his problem to solve.
stiles slides his hand from the back of his neck down derek's spine as far as he can reach before dragging it back up to his neck. he squeezes again, and then takes his other hand and does his best to cup it under derek's chin so he can lift his head and ease him back so he can look at him. he looks - wrecked, but still unbelievably beautiful, and stiles heart aches for him. stiles dips his head down, hand still under his chin, and kisses him gently at first, feeling a little unsure of what he's doing, if this is - going to work, or if he's about to make things worse, but he doesn't know what else to do, what else to offer. he kisses derek a second time, less chaste this time, gently sucking on derek's lower lip for a moment before he tilts himself back. ]
I've got you, okay? I have you... and you have me. Come on.
[ stiles lets his hand drift from derek's chin, down his throat, down to to the center of his chest, gently easing him back so stiles can get up. he lets his hand fall away, but immediately finds derek's, pushing his fingers into the spaces between and squeezing tight. with his other hand, he folds his mostly-eaten peach up in the napkin and decides one wasteful moment is acceptable, guiding derek away from the kitchen and tossing out the peach on the way.
he takes derek to the bathroom, flipping on the light and pulling him in. he leaves the door open, still holding onto derek's hand as he tugs open the shower door and leans in to turn the faucet on, twisting the dial for warmer water.
and then he turns, letting go of derek's hands so he can put both of his in the spaces where derek's neck swoops down to bridge with his shoulders. he steps close, careful not to lean too much into derek, and then tilts his head up slightly so he can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. his cheek, his eyebrow, his nose. his mouth, slow and gentle at first, his tongue dipping past his lips.
he breaks off gently, taking a half step back so he can drop into a crouch in front of derek. he pauses, then leans in to press a feather-light kiss to one of his hips, then curls his fingers in the waistband of his pants, stopping for a moment to look up just to make sure derek's as - okay as he can be right now. stiles eases his pants down his legs, gently touching both of his ankles to get him to step out of them, well aware that he's pretty much at eye-level with derek's dick. he swallows, leaves another kiss against his thigh, and then stands back up, setting one of his hands against derek's waist. ]
Get in the shower, okay? I'll - be there in just a second. I've got you.
no subject
stiles promises he has him, and derek submits. he surrenders himself to stiles, having complete and total faith in him. if anyone can make this better, if anyone can make him stop-- wanting to hurt, then it's stiles. it's always been stiles. his anchor. his hero. his family, his mate. his everything.
the kiss, though. that's when things change.
derek's heartbeat picks up again, and his breathing gets faster, but it's far less irregular than it was before. that first chaste kiss pulls a quiet, needy, mewling noise from his throat, pathetic and small and pointedly god damn erotic. it's like just touching stiles is enough to fill his body with pulse after pulse of hope and need and want and need and need, and when stiles starts sucking on his bottom lip, making it deeper, derek actually starts to shiver, his cock instantly harder than it's ever been.
he doesn't want to move. stiles tries to ease him away, but derek resists, wrapping his arms tighter around him. he's hard against stiles' inner thigh, hips rolling forward in a blind, desperate search for contact, just hopelessly craving more of stiles, only stiles, always stiles. it's when stiles finds his hand again and squeezes tight enough to drag him away that he swallows air and lets it happen, shuffling back on his heels and staring at his anchor with hopeful, helpless eyes.
bathroom. bathroom. okay.
the kiss in the bathroom doesn't earn as strong as a reaction from him, but if anything, that's just because the walk is calming him down again. he's being soothed, even more than before, and as stiles kisses his jaw, gets the shower ready - dotes on him so fucking lovingly, so much more lovingly than derek deserves, especially after today, especially after what a shithead he's been - derek just stands there, jaw slightly unhinged, head tilted back and eyes softly shut.
he just - stays still, for a while. lets the sound of water hitting the walls and circling down the drain remind him of rain, lets the cooling touch of the tiles beneath him soothe the aches he earned from running so much. when stiles lowers down, kissing the curve of his hip and slowly peeling his clothes away, undressing him like-- like he loves him, like he loves helping him, like he loves doing this, it--
derek's so, so fucking hard, when stiles pulls the waistband of his pants down around his hips. he looks-- bigger, maybe, than usual, the head of his cock red and drooling a long, heavy string of precum that drops and breaks halfway to the floor. he flexes like he's already close to the edge, and his breath hitches with every soft kiss to his hip, every reassuring, intimate touch, and when he steps out of the rest of his clothes, barenaked and shivering, he looks like he's gonna come.
stiles tells him to get in the shower, that he'll be there in a second, and derek looks at him like he's being told the worst fucking news in the world. pitifully, he nods, but - ]
Don't... take too long.
[ - still makes his demands. he doesn't want to be away from stiles. not for longer than he has to be.
derek steps into the shower, leaving the door open behind him, slumping back against the far wall and closing his eyes again. he feels like he's detoxing, in a way. like he's washing the moon out of him. cleansing his system, despite the rush of arousal that's burning through him like a fucking wildfire any time stiles so much as looks at him. derek stays where he is for a good twenty, maybe thirty seconds, but not having stiles around is making him feel worse and worse, and he - can't. do this. he doesn't have the willpower to wait, and he opens his eyes, already calling out for him to come back. ]
Stiles?
no subject
[ stiles waits until derek's in the shower before he does anything. that comment from earlier about derek having to pick up after him is still kind of burned under his skin, even if he understands now that it might not have actually been a genuine complaint, but he just - doesn't want to give derek anything else to worry about or get frustrated over.
as soon as derek steps into the shower, stiles moves. he grabs derek's dirty clothes from the floor and he slips out of the bathroom to take them to their bedroom so he can dump them in the basket with the rest of their dirty clothes from the week. he - doesn't feel great about leaving derek alone in the bathroom even for less than a minute, keeping an ear out for him, but all he can hear is the consistent, static-y sound of the shower running.
stiles lifts one foot, peeling his sock off, then does the same with the other, dropping them in the laundry basket. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants next, pushing them down along with his boxers and stepping out of them, dropping them in with his socks. stiles' hands find the bottom of his shirt, but that's where he hesitates, tugging lightly and nervously at the hem. stalling.
he's not - insecure. not really - except, maybe he is. objectively, he's fine with his body, thin and pale and average as it is, but for most of high school, he's been surrounded by jocks and werewolves and jocks who are werewolves and stiles has never been particularly impressive, so it's been easy to kind of let his self-esteem fall by the wayside.
derek - has never seen him without a shirt on as far as stiles knows, and it shouldn't make him nervous because he loves derek and derek loves him - but it does. it makes his stomach feel a little tight and it makes his mouth feel dry and his throat feel thick. stiles swallows—
—and derek calls his name, slightly needy. stiles makes a snap decision. he breathes out in a rush, curls his fingers around the bottom of his shirt, and drags it up and off, dropping it with the rest of their clothes. he feels - slightly awkward being fully naked, the anticipation making his skin feel a little hot, but he pushes through it, calling back. ]
I'm - I'm here, I'm coming. It's okay.
[ stiles hesitates for half of second outside of the bathroom door, takes in another breath, and then rounds the corner and steps inside. this time, he closes the door behind him, though he leaves it unlatched. when he turns back, he can see derek in the shower, leaned up against the far wall, outside of the spray of water. some of the shower glass has fogged up already with steam, blurring some of the lines of derek's body. stiles' cock stirs a little, already half hard.
impulsively, he shakes one of his hands out by his side as he steps forward, crossing the short length of the bathroom. he steps into the shower, trying his best to ignore the itch of rising anxiety under his skin, and he steps up to derek, carefully, almost hesitantly putting his hands on him, one against the side of his neck and the other over the side of his rib cage. ]
Hey...
[ he swallows, then offers a faint, fleeting smile, taking a step back and gently tugging at derek's waist to get him to come with him. stiles moves backwards into the spray of water, tilting his head away slightly and squinting an eye shut when it sprays directly into his ear. he takes his hand off of derek's side and blindly reaches for the soap, then turns so his back is to the water and derek is in front of him, mostly shielded from the spray.
leaning in, stiles lets his other hand fall from the side of derek's neck and dips his head slightly to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, quickly lathering both of his hands up with soap in the little space between them. he puts the bar down, nearly missing the little ledge for it, and then carefully puts his hands back on derek, both of them at his shoulders.
slowly, stiles slides his palms down over derek's biceps, down to his elbows, back up to his shoulders where he squeezes gently. from there, he guides his hands down the front of his chest, rubbing in gentle, lazy circles, washing away the dirt and dust from derek's run. he leaves another kiss on his chin this time, letting his hands drift lower to his ribs, his abs, circling over the curve of his hips.
he's ignored derek's cock up until now which - was honestly kind of difficult when he'd undressed him, tempted to kiss the weeping tip while he was still practically on his knees. now, though, stiles doesn't try to resist, slowly pulling his hands in from derek's hips and sliding them down his lower belly, following the thick line of dark hair down to his cock. he curls one hand around the base, loose and slick with soap, and wonders briefly if he's just - imagining that derek feels thicker and heaver in his hand, but he doesn't dwell, dropping his other hand to gently cup derek's balls and pulling his fist up in a lazy stroke from root to tip. he tilts forward, leaning his forehead against derek's, gaze cast downward to watch his own hands. ]
I'm... sorry I kicked you out. I didn't mean it like that. I love you.
[ he murmurs quietly, lifting his chin a little to bump his nose into derek's. he curls his fingers a little tighter around derek's cock, dropping his fist and dragging it back up, pushing his thumb over the crown. he sighs, feeling his nervous energy start to melt away, and inches himself in a little closer, rolling derek's balls over his fingers before he tilts back and lifts his hand to push his wet hair back from his own forehead.
despite the - pretty terrible day up until this point, stiles still feels this immense swell of burning love when he looks at derek. he feels it deep in his chest, in his veins, in his bones, and it's - overwhelming. it makes him feeling like he's drowning, but he's not scared, he just - he just wants to give this feeling to derek, show him how much he actually loves him. he wants to fill him with the love he feels for him.
stiles - crowds derek. he kisses him hard, taking his hands and pressing them flat against his abs so he can guide him backwards, pushing him gently but with intent toward the opposite wall. when derek can go no further, stiles presses himself in close, his cock hard against derek's hip and his tongue begging at the seam of derek's lips. ]
no subject
fuck, he hasn't been this out of control under the full moon since he was a kid. it makes sense, to an extent - he has a new anchor now, and they haven't had the chance to really explore how best stiles can be here for him when he's like this. that's his own fault. they should have... talked, they should have planned for this. derek should have done more than just yell at stiles today and build a setback that didn't need to be built.
the pain. the impatience, the hard, heavy arousal that beats in his chest. he needs to come, or-- fight, or move, or something, something to get out of this, and the longer stiles is gone, the worse he feels. his legs shake as water rains over him, and he paces the dimensions of the shower, slipping a little here and there. he has to breathe through his mouth in long, wet pulls, rasping and animalistic, intermittent with choked sobs and frustrated sounds that don't go anywhere. he drops back against the wall again, same place as before, arching his neck back and trying to swallow down some of his feelings, adam's apple bobbing beneath the tapering ends of his stubble.
and then - finally - finally, stiles is back. derek doesn't notice that he's shirtless, at first. he just sees stiles standing there, feels the soothing, loving touch of his hands against his body, and he makes this wavering, helpless sound in response. he rocks forward on the balls of his feet when stiles guides him closer, tilting into stiles, reaching his hands out to just - touch him, wherever he can. his sides, his lower back, his arms. ]
Where'd you go?
[ he still sounds whiny, which - could either be cute, for him, or just kind of sad. derek's hands wander a little higher up, and he realizes with a start that his fingers aren't catching on any fabric, which - is also kind of obvious, the more he stops to think about it, given that stiles might be self-conscious about his looks, but he probably showers as naked as anyone else.
derek swallows, dropping his eyes, taking him in. The curves of his collarbone, the freckles he's never seen. The start of muscles earned through lacrosse, through growing into the gangliness he had at sixteen, and through running with wolves for years, almost cancelled out by a predominantly shitty diet that probably only got worse the less time he spent worrying about The Sheriff.
stiles is - beautiful. the most beautiful person he's ever seen. derek doesn't say it, but maybe he doesn't need to. he smiles, soft and so, so fucking affectionate, hands set lightly against stiles' hips, and-- and it doesn't last, it can't last, the moon is still taking over his head, making everything feel like it's burning too bright and too hot, but just for a second, just for a few slow, happy heartbeats, derek looks more in love than he ever has.
and then stiles dotes on him, gets him clean. he shuts his eyes again and wills himself to be soothed by every touch, every light kiss, surrendering himself entirely to what he's feeling. his moods come and go in rapid, stuttering waves - sometimes his heartbeat stays steady and even, like he's swallowing down his anger below the surface enough to be almost okay, and sometimes he starts to get heated again, breathing hard and ragged and cringing like he's in pain.
his fingers roam lower and derek's breath gets caught, like he knows what's coming. he's still hard, of course he's still hard - thick and throbbing and kind of violent, with hard, reactive flexes that come every time stiles touches somewhere new. stiles grabs the base of derek's cock and he shudders, full-bodied, hard enough that it's like he's been caught in a blizzard. he steadies himself by trying to breathe through it, but it's coming faster now, more shallow. derek sets his hands on either side of stiles, stretching out to the wall behind him, shuddering a second time.
fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
stiles apologizes. stiles apologizes, and it's ludicrous, making derek shake his head as fast as he can. his eyes are still closed, scrunched up tight, and he keeps shaking his head like he's trying to block out what stiles is saying, because it's just-- wrong. stiles tells him he loves him and derek doesn't realize his claws are out until he's digging his nails into the tile next to the faucet, making it chip and splinter, little pieces of porcelain hitting the floor and rolling down the drain. ]
Don't-- don't. Don't. Shouldn't have yelled. Didn't mean any of it. Just got angry. You're not messy. You-- you know how to put the milk away, too. Better than anyone.
[ there's... well, it's kind of silly, but there's genuine, scrambling authenticity here. he seems to genuinely believe that stiles is... is better at putting the milk away than anyone else, but - honestly, it just speaks to how he's feeling. the moon's making everything muddled and difficult to deal with, he can't think straight - he just knows that he loves stiles more than anything, and he knows that he doesn't want that fight to be representative of how he feels, and he knows that right now, hearing stiles tell him he loves him is exactly what he needs.
stiles bumps their noses together, starts to jerk him off a little faster, and derek can't hold back at all. he pushes forward and takes stiles in a kiss the second that stiles does the same, searching out his tongue with his own. it's a little too wet, like he's barely in control of himself, dragging his tongue against stiles' and keening his hips forward the second he can really taste him, and he makes a strangled sound into the kiss, this desperate, relieved, horny cry.
stiles pushes him back against the wall and derek willingly follows, stumbling back and feeling stiles rut lightly against his hip, and derek's breathing faster and faster and faster, close to hyperventilating. he keeps making all these fucking noises, free and completely lacking in the kind of dignified quiet he tries to go for when they fuck. he's moaning and fucking up into stiles' fist like he's been kept at the edge for days, he's growling and scrambling his hands all over stiles' back, hands shaking with the barely contained effort to not claw or scratch. he doesn't-- want to do that, to stiles, if stiles doesn't want it. doesn't want to hurt him.
derek comes. it happens fast, without warning. he feels stiles' cock grinding against his thigh, feels the way his hand squeezes him, works him, and that's all it takes. he slams his back against the shower and he just-- shoots, shot after shot of cum erupting from the tip of his cock, messing up stiles' fist, almost even htiting the far wall they just walked away from. he comes and he comes, and it might be the hardest orgasm he's had in his life; his vision goes white and he thinks he's yelling, he can't tell, the world feels distant and faded and gone, and when he passes, when his load is draining down the shower like, he's--
still hard. harder, maybe. there's no refractory period, no-- no anything, he just-- he needs more. he needs more, he needs more, he needs-- more. he's breathing's a mess, his teeth are too long, and he thinks he opened his eyes when he came, because the world is red. everything is red. ]
Turn-- turn.
[ he doesn't need to be taken care of. he just needs to take. ]
Wall. Face-- face the wall.
no subject
stiles is too distracted, too focused on derek's breathing, on the flex of his cock in his hand to notice that derek's claws have come out. he barely registers the faint sound of porcelain cracking behind him over the sound of derek's breathing, hard and shallow and loud as stiles continues to stroke him. derek apologizes, admits he may have crossed a line, admits that he didn't mean the things he said and it's - it almost makes stiles laugh, how genuinely he praises him for being able to put fucking milk away.
stiles kisses him. derek meets him with this overwhelming intensity, pressing forward and licking into his mouth and pressing his hips up into stiles' hand. he pushes this desperate, almost erotic cry into stiles' mouth, and stiles can't swallow back the tiny whimper that spills from the back of his throat in response, feeling his knees give a little. he wants derek so badly, wants to make him come, wants to make him feel good, wants to give him everything. wants to be a good anchor.
he starts to pump his fist faster, tightening the circle of his fingers as he breaks away from derek to breath, he drops his forehead against his shoulder, eyes pointed downward in the space between them as he grinds his cock against derek's hip. derek is - god damn gorgeous, he's something else, and stiles is almost awed as he watches him thrust up into his hand, the head of his cock thick and flushed as it pushes through his fist over and over.
stiles can feel derek's hands all over his back and it's - different. derek's put his hands up stiles' shirt before, he's touched stiles almost everywhere, but this is different. he's never been fully naked in front of derek before, and for a minute or two it completely escaped him that he doesn't have the comfort blanket of his shirt this time. derek's hands scramble over his bare back, heavy and unhindered, and stiles' entire body shudders with a sharp and sudden shiver. he drops his other hand, closes it around the base of derek's cock so he's stroking him with both, fists stacked one on top of the other. he turns his face in toward derek's throat, breathes out a shuddered breath—
and derek comes, unexpected and out of nowhere. stiles feels him pulse hard in his hands, feel the hot heat of cum spill over his knuckles, over his wrist, up his forearm, and he can't help the hard, slow grind of his cock against derek's thigh, his heart beat spiking with arousal and excitement and a little bit of pride for getting derek off. he pushes a clumsy kiss against his throat, body a shaking a little as he continues to stroke him off. ]
That's it, there you go...
[ he murmurs next to derek's ear, but derek is - loud. he's very loud and it's possible that it gets drowned out but stiles keeps stripping his cock and derek - just. keeps. coming. he comes more than anyone stiles has ever seen - granted, he hasn't been witness to very many spectacular orgasms that weren't his own, so maybe that's a little unfair to say - but it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, and it's almost, almost enough to make him blow his load, too.
stiles slows his hand gradually, wanting to keep touching derek, but not really wanting to overwhelm him, but even as derek comes down from the high of orgasm he - he doesn't soften at all. stiles swallows a little, still pushing his cock against derek's thigh with these tiny, almost thoughtless little thrusts, and he looks up.
derek's eyes are red. his eyes are red and stiles can see the sharper ends of his teeth, long and wolf-like. he holds derek's gaze, panting a little, and wonders if - if this isn't enough. if this isn't going to work the way he thought it would. stiles gently lets go of derek, easing his hands off of his cock, and touches his hip with one hand instead, opening his mouth to say something, but derek cuts him off with a command.
stiles - doesn't hesitate. it doesn't take a genius to figure out what derek is telling him, what he wants from stiles, but stiles is a genius, so it clicks the instant derek tells him to turn around. stiles' hand shakes a little when he reaches up, dragging his palm down over his mouth and chin, wiping some water away even though it's useless. there's still cum on the back of his wrist, but it drips when he raises his arm, swirling down into the drain.
he turns without saying a word, but he does it slowly, almost like he's hesitant even though he isn't. he's just - too enthralled by derek, too enamored to take his eyes off of him so easily, but he does what he's told. he obeys. stiles turns his body first, then his head, and gives derek his back, reaching forward to lean his forearms against the warm tiles. he drops his head forward between his shoulders, but he misses being able to grind his cock against derek's hip, so he drops his hand down and gives his dick a couple lazy pulls, toes curling against the floor tiles, skin buzzing with arousal and anticipation. ]
no subject
stiles turns away, like the genius he is, and there's a part of derek that sees his submission, an easy offering of prey to a predator, and wants to rip and tear and maul and take, to hurt and kill and have. the rest of him - the parts that matter, the parts that carry weight beyond instinct - is just fucking awed by how beautiful he is. how fucking perfect.
for the first time, derek sees the scar on stiles' back. a burst of sunlight, left behind by hard, shredding teeth, made with the intent of taking his life. derek's too out of it to really understand what it is, how it got there, but he knows that it looks painful, and he knows that this has to have come from a chapter of stiles' life he hasn't yet told derek about, and simultaneously, he feels two things. a strong, swooping sadness in his stomach, laced with the overprotective need to hurt whoever hurt stiles - his stiles, his stiles, his mate, the man he loves, the man he'll always love, the love of his life, the one he wants to die with, the one he wants to die for -
and an unbelievable, cascading wave of pride and affection. stiles is still beautiful, even with his scars. stiles trusted him enough to show him this, when he was red-eyed and full of teeth, when he was as dangerous as he'll ever be. stiles loves him, and derek's heart honestly hurts from how big that feels. he touches his hand to his chest, feels how hard his heart is beating, and he genuinely feels afraid for a second that he's going to throw up, or pass out, or-- or something, too overworked and too full of adrenaline and chemicals and the fucking moon to stay stable.
he doesn't throw up. doesn't pass out. he bends forward, resting his forehead on the gap between stiles' shoulderblades, nose against his skin. he breathes in and out, drowns in him, in his scent, in his presence, in everything that he is. his teeth itch and get bigger, his claws feel sharper, more serrated. his eyes hurt from how brightly they're burning.
he kisses the mole on stiles' opposite shoulder, beautiful and characteristic and so intrinsically stiles. he kisses along stiles' shoulderblades, up to a square of skin just besides his scar, clean and untainted and undamaged. he kisses more, kisses further, kisses the painful, ragged edges of what donovan did to him, because no matter how this happened, no matter who did this, it's still stiles, and it's still beautiful, and derek doesn't love him any less for it.
and then - derek drops to his knees.
his claws are out. he needs to be careful, when he squeezes his palms tight against stiles' ass. he doesn't waste any more time - doesn't have it in him to wait. he sets the flat, pads of his thumbs besides stiles' hole and stretches him open, just enough, and he darts forward, lapping a long, long line with his tongue from the base of stiles' balls, all the way up. he gets stiles completely, completely wet, breathing out against the soft, pink hole he so, so desperately wants to fuck.
he fucks stiles with his tongue in long, slow thrusts, as deep as he can get it. there's drool running down stiles' taint, dripping to the floor and down his thighs, and the water from the showerhead is spraying too far behind them to get him clean. while he eats him out, derek slides one of his hands around to stiles' cock, slowly circling his fist around the head and keeping his claws way the fuck away. when he jerks him off, it's - a little too rough, a little too hard, his grip too strong and his strokes too irregular, but all his neediness, all his want, all his desperation to just touch stiles and make him feel good - it's all so obviously there.
derek only stands up when his knees start to hurt. he moves closer, slaps his bare cock against stiles' ass, still hard. he leans forward to kiss his neck, an imitation of the way stiles was kissing him when he came. each kiss comes harder than the last, more frantic, and every so often, the razor-sharp edge of his teeth will brush against stiles too closely for derek to feel comfortable, and he'll freeze, set his lips back over his fangs, and he's kiss slower, steadily building back up in intensity until he forces himself to stop again. ]
Stiles.
[ it's all he's got in him to say. he drags stiles' name out like just saying it is the most sexually intense experience he can have, like-- like he's so unbelievably, critically turned on by who stiles is. his voice is deep and quivering and desperate, and derek moves his hands to rest on stiles' hips. he's less careful this time, the lightest, papercut of a scratch drawing a line across pale, perfect skin. not deep enough to draw blood, but maybe deep enough to smart.
he says his name again, helplessly grinding his cock forward, like he's waiting for permission. like he's begging for it. again, he says his name, almost like he's close to tears. ]
Stiles.
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he's soothed when derek leans his forehead between his shoulderblades, only slightly, but it's enough to keep the quiet, frustrated whine that was building up, safe in his throat. he breathes out a sigh and lifts his head up, tilting his head back slightly and closing his eyes. he doesn't know why, but he imagines the broad expanse of derek's back, strong and solid and very lightly tanned, triskele spiraling out in three directions from the space between his shoulders. he imagines, for a moment, his own shoulders, marked with the same three swirls of dark ink in the same place derek's pressed his forehead, but stiles doesn't have anything like that, he just has—
he remembers his scar. it's not as if he's ever forgotten about the permanent mark donovan left behind after ripping the flesh from his shoulder with razor-sharp, needle-like teeth as if the psychological and mental trauma of having to kill him later wouldn't be enough of a lasting punishment - but he's been able to think about it gradually less and less with each passing day, even if it's now a very small part of the many reasons stiles doesn't lounge around on lazy days without a shirt on, or take it off during sex.
stiles remembers it now though, and his eyes fly open, stinging a little as the shower mists into them gently. derek is right there, and there's no way he hasn't seen it, there's no way he's going to be able to look at that and - not want to recoil. stiles can't even look at it without feeling some mild form of disgust, though a lot of that could probably be attributed to the memories and the emotional damage attached to it. his anxiety starts to climb. he tilts his head forward and he stares at the slick tiles in front of him with slightly-widened, unblinking eyes, his fingers curling against the wall in a loose fist.
he wants his shirt. stiles wants that security blanket back so badly that the thought of pushing derek back and getting out of the shower just to go and get dressed and maybe make up an excuse to be somewhere else briefly crosses his mind. he takes his hand off of his cock, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed and off balance, because derek thinks he's beautiful and he's caring and he's perfect— derek thinks he's all these wonderful things, but he doesn't know—
stiles shivers over the first kiss derek presses to his shoulder, and it's only then that he realizes he's been holding his breath. he breathes out in one big rush, head dropping forward again, his fingers uncurling to lay flat against the wall. his stomach still feels uncomfortably tight with uncertainty, but tension feels less and less the more and more derek keeps peppering his skin with kisses, following the edges of his shoulderblades, covering his skin. derek kisses the skin around stiles' scar and - stiles thinks that's going to be it, that he's going to drift back, but derek kisses that damaged, textured skin too with the same kind of gentleness, like it isn't any different, like he doesn't like it any less and - stiles isn't going to cry, but the immense relief he feels makes his eyes water slightly, makes his nose burn. he breathes out again, bringing his free hand up to brace his forearm back against the wall so he can lean a little more of his weight into it.
it's a good move. stiles doesn't expect what follows, doesn't even notice that derek's lowered himself to his knees. his thighs tighten up reflexively when he feels derek's hands on his ass, spreading him apart, and there's a part of him that starts to panic a little because - because he hasn't been prepped at all and sure, they're in the shower, there's water, it's not like derek would be pushing in completely dry, but stiles isn't naive enough to think it's not going to hurt like a bitch. ]
Derek—
[ he starts, but he doesn't finish, because the rest of whatever he was intending to say twists itself in a sharp but soft, surprised little cry when derek drags the flat of his tongue over him. he arches away at first, startled by the unexpected, foreign feeling, pushing up onto his toes and arching his back, but— fuck that felt good. stiles' legs shake a little as he sinks back down onto his heels, sinks back down toward derek's mouth, and the next sound out of him is a drawn out, throaty moan, muffled against his bicep when he turns his head.
derek eats stiles out like he's never been eaten out before — and he hasn't. it's a first for him, like many things with derek have been so far, and like many of those firsts, it's not unpleasant in the slightest. stiles - kind of loves it, if he's honest. his cock aches and throbs between his legs, begging to be touched, but derek beats him to it. stiles chokes out a small, whiny sob of a sound, squeezing his eyes shut as derek thrusts his tongue into him over and over, slow and deep and white-hot. he wants to come so badly, and the hand on his dick feels really, really good, but it's just the wrong side of too rough to get stiles off, keeping him right at edge, keeping him desperate for more, for something else, his cock red and positively weeping precome.
stiles sucks in a unsteady breath when derek finally relents and lets up, his thighs shaking and his knees a little weak. he hums a low note of approval without really meaning to when derek slaps his cock against his ass, hard and thick and hot, and stiles impulsively pushes his hips back an inch, leaning his head to the side and baring his neck to derek, silently pleading for more kisses. the more aggressive derek gets, the harder stiles breathes, quick and breathy and horny as fuck, but the first scrape of fangs makes him nervous, makes his skin flash hot, not necessarily in a good way, makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle with the forewarning of danger.
stiles knows derek wouldn't bite him. stiles knows he wouldn't use his vulnerability and his desperation to be close to derek, and take advantage of him by biting him. he desperately hopes that derek wouldn't do that to him - but derek backs off and slows down as soon as he seems to realize how thin the line is that he's walking and that's — that's good, that makes stiles feel better, makes him - harder and hornier, actually, even though he couldn't even begin to explain why if anyone asked.
the way derek says his name is - almost too much. it sounds like - liquefied sex and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. his entire body blooms with this hot, desperate need to have derek - everywhere, to feel him everywhere, on him around him, inside of him. derek puts his hands on his hips. stiles can feel the prick of his claws and he immediately drops one of his hands down to put it over derek's but it's not to stop him. he slides his hand back, rests it over derek's wrist, lets his head fall forward between his shoulders as he grinds his ass back against derek's cock incredibly, incredibly slowly.
he feels like he could almost come right here, right this moment when derek says his name again, he pushes up onto his toes a little, pushes back, braces the rest of his weight against the wall. he just - he needs derek to fuck him. there's a fleeting moment where he thinks about - protection, and how they've never really talked about the possibility of - not using it, but. to stiles' knowledge, as a werewolf, derek can't carry infection or disease, and stiles hasn't ever slept with anyone unprotected, and they're - exclusive, derek said there exclusive and stiles just wants this so badly, he trusts and he loves derek so much. ]
Please.
[ stiles sort of gasps the word. he takes his hand off of derek's wrist and he reaches back blindly, finding derek's elbow at first, which he pulls at kind of uselessly, but then his fingers slap against his flank and he digs his fingertips in, fingernails a little too short to bite into derek's skin. he grips and he pulls and he lifts his head and turns it a little. it's not enough that he can see derek, but it's enough so his plea isn't lost or muffled, even if it's rushed and breathy and unquestionably begging. ]
Please, can you just - I need you to just -
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as it is, all his scars are internal. if stiles can love him despite being hardened and calloused and burnt, then derek can love him despite the burst of sunlight faded on his skin.
that being said - there's no word to describe the way it hurts, when stiles reacts like he's afraid of him. derek's teeth scrape a little too close to stiles' veins, hovering so intimately over them like one wrong move could break whatever willpower derek has, and he can taste the fear on stiles' skin, the heat prickling at the top of his spine. stiles rejects him, and it's this hard-hitting, core-rocking pain that...
that honestly doesn't hurt that much at all. it's funny - derek feels a lump of sad, shallow rejection in his chest, and he knows that it should hurt, but it just... doesn't. instead, there's just - a confident, loving security that wraps around his ribs and helps him see things through. helps him realize stiles isn't scared of him, isn't rejecting him. never in derek's life has he been more confident that stiles loves him, werewolf or not, and that his attachment to his humanity detracts absolutely nothing from that.
there's millions of years of instinct at play here. there's an evolutionary fear of predators hardwired into stiles, and that's the only reason he's afraid of him. they're - connected, in spite of that. in love. mates. stiles trusts him. stiles is the only human who would ever, ever trust him like this. deep in derek's core, he knows that. stiles is his last one.
derek cautiously sets his teeth back against stiles' neck, sharp pin-pricks that don't breach skin but easily, easily could. he needs to prep him more - to stretch him open on his fingers, to make sure this won't hurt. he can't, though, and stiles doesn't want him to, either; they're both shattered and desperate and they need to connect, they need to have this. stiles' fingertips indent his side, he looks at him from over his shoulder as best as he can, and derek bites a little harder. just a little.
he untightens his jaw, laps soft, soothing kisses against the marks he's left on stiles, then - presses forward. derek leans his weight against stiles and pushes his torso up against the cold tiles of the shower, his chest flush to his shoulderblades, and he reaches down to angle the base of his cock down. he drags his head over stiles' ass until it's pressing tight against his hole, and he's desperate to make him take him, desperate to feel him yield and welcome him in. by merit of how they're standing, with derek's entire weight weighing down on stiles' back, his breath is ghosting over the shell of stiles' ear, hot and staggered. he kisses him there, behind his ear, back down his neck. he can't wait any longer. ]
Love you. Love you so fucking much.
[ he rocks his hips back, tilts his waist so that he can make this work, then slowly, slowly, slowly fucks into stiles. he very, very shallowly breaches him and has to stop, just half of his crown prying stiles apart. it's-- harder, tighter than it's ever been, a mix of the lack of lube and what the full moon's doing to him, but it feels so much fucking closer, doing this without protection. the heat around him, the tight, pulling grip of stiles' body, it's just so intrinsically stiles, raw and together. derek's seeing stars, and he needs to shut his eyes, drag his nose against stiles' shoulder, breathe him in, relax.
derek curls one arm beneath stiles' stomach, squeezing him tight and holding him in place. his other hand grips stiles' ass, his claws lightly pressing in against him while he pulls him apart, trying to make him more-- more open, more accessible, more easy. derek opens his eyes and rests his mouth against stiles' shoulder, looking at him from over the curve of it, lips apart and breath still coming hot and sharp against him. he pushes in further, fucks stiles more, and it's-- it's a struggle, barely made easier by the long, heavy flow of precum running from his cock, but he sinks in, up to an inch.
he tries to say it again. stiles. he tries to find the word, but his voice just cracks, everything feels-- too much. he stares at stiles from over his shoulder, eyes red and unfocused and uncannily wolfish, more than they've ever been. ]
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derek bites harder. stiles hisses quietly - it doesn't hurt, but he takes one of his hands off the wall and reaches back quickly, clumsily pushing his fingers into derek's wet hair and gripping gently, not to stop him - but to just hold him there for a second. he doesn't want derek to bite him. he just wants him to stay. he wants every point of connection he can get from him, and he's taking too fucking long to just fuck him already. stiles breathes out, shaky and shuddered, and pushes his hips back a little more, grinding his ass against the thick line of derek's cock.
he goes easily when derek pushes up against him, pressing him into the wall. stiles lets go of derek's hair, slides the hand that's already braced against the wall out a little so his arm isn't crushed between his chest and the tile, moving both of his arms so they rest slightly above his head, wrists overlapping. the tile is cold in comparison to the encompassing heat spread out across his back, and the start contrast is enough to send a hard shiver rattling down stiles' spine just in time for derek to slide the head of his cock down the cleft of his ass until it catches. stiles tenses, but it's not even close to being negative reaction, just - anticipatory.
there hasn't been that much prep. stiles was absolutely, definitely into derek's mouth on him just a minute or so ago, but he's pretty sure that's nowhere near enough preparation - and yet most of him doesn't care in the slightest. there's a tiny corner of his brain left yet that hasn't been overridden by love and lust and the desperate need to fuck, but stiles, for once, doesn't listen to the rational part of himself.
he whines. derek adds a little pressure behind the press of his cock and the sound that comes out of stiles is thin and a little tense, and it surprises him because it's not a sound he intended to make, but it's out and it's there and stiles swallows around the rest of it. he feels - pinned, with derek's weight pressing into his back, holding him flush to the shower wall, his breath hot against his ear, lips trailing down his neck. it feels like the first time, back in his old apartment, when derek had held him down with a fist to his chest. stiles hadn't felt scared then, and he doesn't feel scared now, either. he feels safe and protected and wanted, and it makes his knees weak.
derek tells him that he loves him. stiles fingers curl into loose fists above his head. his heart hurts, but it's the good kind of hurt, the kind where he's just filled with so much love that there just simply isn't enough room for it inside of him. stiles' eyes close and he leans his forehead against the wall, taking one of his arms down with the intention of reaching back to pull derek closer at the same time that he tilts himself way to make room.
stiles' fingers don't make contact with any part of derek, stilled by rock of his hips, the slow push of just the very tip of his cock against his hole, spreading him open with a thickness stiles - honestly isn't ready for. it... hurts. not a lot, not by any amount stiles can't handle right now, but it's more than the mild discomfort he's grown used to by now, eased by the push and the spread of derek's fingers. stiles tenses up, clenches his teeth a little, arches his back just slightly like he means to get away, but it's just instinct, and he fights it. he holds himself still, blowing out a thin breath against the tiles, thighs tense.
already, it feels - different. it's a different kind of heat without the thin layer of latex, a different kind of closeness, and derek's barely even inside of him yet. stiles decides immediately that they're done with protection from this point forward - as long as derek's okay with it, then they're done with it, because he doesn't want to give up this kind of connection now that he has it, now that he knows what it feels like, and he barely knows.
stiles makes a soft, strangled sound in the back of his throat, like he wants to say something, tell derek everything he's thinking, everything he's feeling, but it just comes out as this quiet, desperate note, his hovering hand moving to slide over the back of derek's wrist as he loops his arm over his stomach, fingers spreading out over his knuckles. he can feel derek spreading him apart, hand on his ass, claws resting against his flesh - and all he wants to do is push back. derek pushes forward, rocks his hips a little more - and it hurts. the stretch is - a lot, more than stiles is used to without being worked up to it. his grips tightly at the back of derek's wrist, unable to hold back the thin, strained whine that slips through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. ]
Ah— don't— [ he sounds a little rushed, slightly out of breath even though he hasn't really done anything, but he doesn't want derek to stop. he doesn't want him to pull out. ] Don't take it, please don't take it.
[ the pain, he means. he's not even sure if it would cross derek's mind to take it away from him, but he desperately, desperately doesn't want him to, and it comes through in his voice. stiles opens his eyes, and he breathes, in and out and in and out, his grip on derek's wrist easing gradually, every muscle in his body easing gradually. he just needs a minute, just needs a second.
stiles tilts his head slightly, forehead still resting against the wall, but he can see derek at his shoulder out of the corner of his eye. he can see the glow of his eyes, feels drawn to it enough that he turns his head properly to look at him, which puts him close enough to kiss him, even if it's just the corner of his mouth. ]
I love you. [ he kisses the edge of his mouth again, presses another one to his chin, and very, very carefully, he starts to ease his hips back in tiny, tiny pulses, fucking himself on derek's cock millimeter by millimeter. his voice sounds a little thin, words murmured and slightly too close together, but he doesn't care. he knows derek will hear him, he knows derek will understand. ] C'mon, it's okay. M'fine, it's okay, just - slowly. I love you.
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the noise stiles makes when he's forced up against the wall is almost enough to make derek come. that little noise, tense and thin, like he's fucking submissive, like strong-willed, independent stiles is helpless and horny, all for him - it's almost too much for derek to bear. it's breathtaking. derek wants more. he pins him to the wall even tighter.
stiles makes another noise as derek enters more of him, and then another, and another, and the tiles shudder beneath derek's feet as his leg trembles, bouncing his heel against them, thudding a repetitive echo through the shower. he curls his toes and his fingertips and makes himself calm down, pressing his cheek against stiles shoulder for support and scratching him with sharp, wet stubble. stiles' hand pressed over his makes derek feel like he's melting.
derek pushes in more, and more, and more, one millimetre, then another, and stiles suddenly whines out in pain, making derek go completely stock still with an alarmed start. his mind is telling him, distantly, with whatever capability it has for coherent thought left, that he needs to pull out before stiles hurts - but stiles says don't take it, stiles tells him to stay, stiles tells him he wants to feel the pain, and derek almost loses his fucking mind.
he nods. he nods, even though stiles can't really see him, and he kisses up his back again, over his scar, up to his shoulder. stiles reaches back and gives him a lopsided, incomplete kiss, and when he tells him he loves him, derek just - whines.
stiles fucks himself on derek.
it's a lot. it's too much, when derek's so hypersensitive already, so desperate for touch. derek's heaving breaths against stiles' ear, and it's hard to say if he sounds like he's drowning, desperately trying to stay above the water, or if he's been hunting like an animal, running on all fours through the woods until his body gave out from exertion. he rests against stiles' shoulder and looks like he's the one getting fucked, with half-lidded eyes glossed over with lust. stiles eases back on derek's cock and derek looks like he's having a fucking religious experience. ]
More. Stiles.
[ he's done his best to make this easy for stiles, but - he - can't, not anymore. he needs to fuck stiles, needs him now. derek stands up, stretching out his spine. derek takes the arm he has wrapped around stiles' stomach and splays it out on his lower back, instead, pushing him down and silently urging him to arch his back. his other hand reaches up to stiles' hair, grabbing a fistful of it, and lightly, very lightly, he pulls, arching stiles' neck back. he pushes forward with his hips, fucking stiles into the wall with one hard, brutal jolt, and as he fucks a full inch and a half of his cock past the rim of his entrance, Derek's eyes roll into the back of his head.
he's swearing. maybe. he can't tell, he might have blacked out for a second. derek's chest hurts. roughly, derek starts to find a rhythm, dragging the head of his cock back through the tight passage of stiles' hole, pulling out to the ring. he grunts, pushes his hand forward, pressing stiles' face against the wall. ]
Stiles--
[ he's starting to swell. he can feel it - not just at the base of his cock, but all of him. he's getting bigger, thicker, inside stiles. derek's hips are moving on their own accord, getting faster, pressing deeper, stretching out stiles well past his body's limit, and the more he does, the more of him that fills stiles up, the bigger, more difficult it gets. derek hunches forward again, heaving those same heavy, almost violent breaths, and he tugs stiles' hair again to have better access to his throat from the side. he kisses him, just once, violent but tender. he's barely half inside of stiles, and he feels like he's too much for him.
but - ]
Stiles, there's-- more of me.
[ and - and he doesn't know if stiles is going to be able to handle it, he doesn't know if it's going to hurt too much. being knotted. derek keeps fucking him, because he can't fucking help it, he doesn't think he can stop, not now, but maybe-- maybe it's already too much. ]
no subject
[ derek asks him for more. derek tells him he wants more and all stiles can do is tell him he knows - because he does. because he wants more too. the words spill out of him on the end of a shuddery sigh, breathy and a little desperate as stiles continues to roll his hips back in tiny thrusts, driving himself just a little further back onto derek's cock each time, centimeter by deliciously agonizing centimeter. all he wants to do is sink all the way down, take as much of derek's cock as his body will physically allow, but the stretch is already tight, painful but - tolerable.
derek straightens up, and though he's no even half inside yet, it changes the angle of his cock just enough that stile' breath catches for a moment, muscles tensing not with pain, but with pleasure. he makes a soft sound, tilting his head forward against to lean it against the tiles and curling his toes. derek takes his arm away, slides it out from between his stomach and the wall, sets it against his lower back instead, keeping him pinned. stiles - kind of hates it, only because it means he can't keep fucking himself on derek's cock, not while he's being held in place. he whines quietly, though it's a frustrated sound more than anything else, but it melts into a soft moan as derek's fingers sink into his hair.
he's not expecting him to pull - but there's no resistance. stiles arches his neck, shoulder blades inching together, his lower spine bending subtly over the solid line of derek's forearm holding him down. and derek fucks him. he pushes into stiles, hips snapping forward hard and sudden and unforgiving, and it's only and inch, maybe two, but it's more than stiles expects all at once, and it hurts. he bites his teeth together hard, biting back and tense groan, the tendons in his neck flexing with the tension that snaps through his shoulders. and then the pain starts to ease. derek keeps fucking into him, sliding just those few inches in and out, forward and back, and stiles' jaw relaxes just as derek guides his head forward and pushes his cheek into the wall.
stiles opens his mouth, but all that comes out of him is a soft, sighed oh, one of his hands dropping to down to circle around his own cock, fingers closed tight over the tip. derek says his name, and stiles' entire body shudders with the sound of it. he can feel himself getting tighter around derek he more derek fucks into him - but that's not it. he's not getting tighter, derek's just getting bigger, thicker and harder and the stretch as derek sinks deeper—
for a moment, stiles feels like he can't breathe. he feels overwhelmed, but it's not the kind of overwhelmed that makes him feel panicky or scared or out of control. it's just - a lot, but stiles has never wanted anything or anyone so fucking badly in his entire life. stiles draws in a quiet gasp of a breath, and even though the slide of derek's cock is starting to hurt again, stiles just keeps meeting his hips with small, measured backwards pushes of his own.
stiles pumps his cock with long, solid strokes, nodding his head as best as he can with derek still holding his cheek to the wall. there's water in his eyes, dropping down from his hair, collecting in his eyelashes, running down the side of his nose to the corner of his mouth, down his chin, his throat.
he's done his research. after scott was bitten in the woods and started exhibiting strange behavior, stiles dedicated his time to figuring out what it was that was affecting his friend, and once he'd figured it out, he'd only researched further. myths and legends and lore - anything he could get his hands on, regardless of credibility. he researched wolves, too, their behavior, habits, their biology, all of it just in case. all of it, just because he knew if he didn't, nobody else would.
stiles has - some idea of what might be happening now, what is about to happen if he doesn't stop derek now — but he doesn't want to stop. the very last thing stiles wants to do right now is end this before it's even really started. this - is part of derek, part of who he is, influenced by the full moon or now - and stiles loves him. stiles loves every part of him, wants every part of him, ever side, man and wolf and everything in between.
stiles squeezes his fist around the base of his cock, pushes his hips back with a brief clench of his teeth. he reaches back, pawing at derek's flank again as he fucks into him, hand shaking, words a little slurred. ]
It's okay. It's okay, I want it, I want this. I want you. Derek—
[ he wants everything derek is, everything derek wants to give him, he'll withstand and work through whatever pain to get to that sweet, warm, bone-melting pleasure derek has never failed to deliver. ]
Derek, please.