Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/854898.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Prompt_Fic, PWP, Hand_&_Finger_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-23 Words: 5109
****** delicate touch, head rush ******
by aboyandhiswolves_(rocketmeaway)
Summary
     Derek has a thing. A thing for Stiles' hands.
Notes
     I got this prompt from a user on my Tumblr (come visit!), and it kind
     of got a bit longer than I expected it to. This has not been beta'd,
     so if there are any mistakes, please forgive me!
Stiles’ hands should be outlawed.
Derek has only started paying attention in the past few months of summer. He’s
never really been around Stiles enough to notice before, but Stiles has made it
a habit to periodically drop by Derek’s new loft with more research and more
information. The prolonged visits just give Derek more time to watch him and
learn all of his little quirks, and it’s driving him nuts how much Stiles is
digging his way under his skin.
Stiles has a lot of quirks that Derek has grudgingly come to enjoy, like his
oral fixation. Whether it’s a straw, a pen, a thumbnail, or just his lip,
Stiles is always chewing or sucking on something, and he’s unaware of just how
obscene it is. But his hands, it’s his perfect fucking hands, that really get
to Derek. He started growing his hair out over the summer, which he finds he
likes better than the buzzcut - it makes Stiles look older, somehow, more
chiseled, and it’s a sad excuse, Derek knows, for finding a minor so
sickeningly attractive. Because he isn’t used to the length, Stiles has taken
to constantly running his fingers through it when he’s talking, thinking, or
just plain distracted. It just makes Derek imagine them running through his own
dark hair; how it would send shivers down his spine and how his hair would
stick up in unruly tufts after that he’d never want to tame.
It makes Derek so fucking frustrated that he doesn’t know how to handle it - he
wants to grab Stiles’ hands, pin them behind his back and make them stop - but
he also wants them on his skin, to tangle his own fingers up in them, kiss
them, feel them hot and a little sweaty on his - he just needs to do something.
And that’s how he ends up punching Stiles in the hand. The opportunity just
presents itself and Derek can’t resist. Because beforehand, while Stiles
prattled on about the bank’s floorplan, his hands kept sliding over the
blueprint, slender fingers extending to point out specific areas before
retracting so he could circle them with the marker. And then they just
stretched out lazily, index finger curled around the marker, bone and tendon
and vein prominent as Stiles leaned his weight on them.
Then he started in with the fisting jokes and one of those hands wrapped long
fingers around Derek’s wrist, and he seriously prided himself for keeping his
expression simple and irritated as usual while in all reality, he was a damn
wreck. By god, it felt good to retaliate by punching Stiles’ hand. Maybe not as
hard as he could have because he didn’t want to permanently damage him, or
anything, but it still sent relief flooding through his veins as Stiles buckled
and yelped, stumbling away and clutching said hand to his chest.
The relief drains away into a touch of guilt when Derek rounds the corner into
his barren kitchen a little later only to find Stiles icing his hand. Brown
eyes look up and flash a honey color in the light as he glares at Derek and
removes the ice, extending his hand to reveal a pale palm, marred by a splotchy
and steadily darkening bruise. “Look what you did to me, you asshole,” he
snaps, covering it back up with the ice. “I have a fucking test on Friday
already, and I’ll barely be able to write, thanks to you. Wait, what are you -”
Stiles is cut off and stares as Derek, Derek, gently takes his injured hand in
his to examine it further. It’s more an excuse to touch, and he lightly traces
the outline of the bruise with his middle finger, swiping the moisture from the
ice up off of Stiles’ impossibly soft skin. He can see Stiles’ pulse jump in
the pale skin of his wrist, and his fingers pause in the center of the bruise.
Isaac and Scott can do it, and so can he. He leeches some of the ache away, and
it briefly stains his own veins a dark purple like the bruise before
diminishing. The relief won’t last more than a couple of hours, but it’s part
of his apology.
“Sorry,” he says gruffly. “I got a little carried away.” Stiles is still
staring at him, not bothering to mask his genuine shock.
“Dude, I didn’t even know ‘sorry’ was in your vocabulary. Holy shit!” he
finally manages, and Derek’s eyes darken back to their normal, irritated state.
As they do, he can feel Stiles relax.
“Shut up, Stiles,” is all he says, and then he decides to take a bold step -
throw a major curveball because he wants to see what happens - and lifts
Stiles’ hand to press a very fleeting kiss to the bruise. Stiles’ mouth falls
open, jaw slack. Derek finally lets him go, and his hand stays outstretched,
fingers splayed and frozen in incredulity. “I’ve got to get to the bank now.
See you around.”
Once he’s out the door, that’s when he hears Stiles’ faint and very weak
‘...bye’.
After that, the both of them are a little bit more unsure around each other.
They’re both like a couple of jumpy kids, getting caught out staring at each
other and getting embarrassed by it. The first time Derek catches Stiles
looking, the tips of his ears go pink as he leans back in his chair stammering
out a ‘what, no, I was just looking past you’ as he shoves his pen back in his
mouth and gnaws at it aggressively. It just makes Derek snort. But he gets
caught more than once, himself, and Stiles just looks really freaked out. Derek
pretty much regrets what he did with every fiber of his being.
 
***
 
They slowly adjust to the turn of events and gradually get more comfortable
around each other again, but there’s still that underlying confusion and
tension that just refuses to go away. The problem is, neither of them will
address it. Derek simply goes back to lusting after Stiles, but this time
around Stiles is more attuned to it. He knows it. And the fact that he does
nothing to bring it up is just as frustrating as it is relieving. He isn’t sure
what’s going through Stiles’ mind about the whole thing, just that his
heartbeat quickens around Derek a lot more often. That could mean several
different things. Instead of pushing it, Derek logically decides that if and
when Stiles has something to say, he will definitely say it.
When Derek doesn’t comply with Deucalion’s wishes, things start to get ugly.
One night in particular, Ennis attacks him while he’s leaving the fucking
grocery store. The parking lot is pretty much empty and not well lit and Derek
is cursing at himself for being such an idiot when Ennis appears out of the
shadows, eyes red and angry as he attacks. His groceries go flying and they
fight hard and messy, and Derek gets thrown against his brand new Toyota,
shattering the windshield. Ennis brought some form of wolfsbane powder, too,
intent on drugging the shit out of Derek and taking him away. Derek just barely
manages to dodge as it’s thrown at his face, and unfortunately, still breathes
some in. His cough is strangled and he wobbles, but it’s not enough to knock
him out.
Somehow, he manages to nearly gut Ennis and struggles into his Toyota, speeding
off. He fades in and out and this is stupidly dangerous, but the cool wind
blowing in through where the windshield used to be keeps him alert enough.
Finally, he has to pull off, and manages to get his phone out. He just presses
dial, to call someone, anyone, and a groggy Stiles answers. He mumbles
something, and closes his eyes. When he opens them, Stiles is in his face. He
jumps in shock, before realizing one of Stiles’ hands is cupping his face,
thumb pressing into his cheek.
“Hey,” Stiles is saying. “Wake up. I can’t move you by myself. Why you didn’t
call, I don’t know, Scott or Isaac is beyond me. What the hell happened,
anyway?”
When Derek struggles his way out of the car and to his feet, Stiles can see the
glass and blood all over his back and pulls a horrified look, face going pale
at the blood. “Ennis threw me. This is a brand new car...” he groans, looking
at the damage.
“It’s a stupid car,” Stiles says bluntly, swallowing the nausea down. “You’ve
become like, pack dad. You switched your cool car for the car you get when
you’ve just had a baby.”
“Less conspicuous,” Derek snaps, and Stiles helps him into the passenger seat
of the Jeep.
“You are totally out of it. Did Ennis throw you that hard?”
“Wolfsbane powder. Tried to knock me out but didn’t get the full dose,” Derek
mumbles.
“Dick,” Stiles mutters, and Derek nods. Stiles navigates the Jeep back through
town to Derek’s loft, and by then the powder is wearing off more, and he
manages to make it up the stairs without tripping.
“I need you to get the pieces of glass out of my back,” Derek says.
“Oh, dude, no, come on -” Stiles groans, and Derek glares at him, pulling his
shirt over his head.
“I won’t heal properly with it embedded. There’s tweezers in the bathroom.”
“I hate you,” Stiles says decisively, heading to the bathroom and continuing to
mutter something about ‘unfair’ and ‘muscles’ under his breath.
He gets a bowl and a wet rag while he’s at it, and then sits down behind Derek
on the couch, groaning under his breath and pulling faces as he pulls shards
out and discards them in the bowl. Derek’s skin sews itself up almost as
quickly as Stiles pulls the glass out, and when he’s finally done, he smooths
the rag down Derek’s back, wiping the blood away. Admittedly, his hands linger,
and then - Derek shivers.
His hands pull back, and the disappointment is palpable. He can practically
taste it in the air. Derek turns, leaning back against the couch. And then
Stiles addresses it. Finally.
“What’s - going on, here,” he gets out, awkwardly gesturing between them.
Derek can feel the shift in Stiles’ demeanor; he’s still freaked out, but not
nearly as much. He’s curious, and his heartbeat his picking up again as Derek
glances at him, thinking about how to respond. Apparently, he takes too long.
Stiles’ fingers are drumming nervously on his knee, and Derek watches them as
Stiles speaks. “Admittedly, that whole actual apology thing was weird enough on
its own coming from you, but then you had to pair it up by being all lovey
dovey with my hand and fucking - kissing it. Which was weird as fuck, dude. And
now you’re staring at my hands again.” He lifts his hips and shoves his hands
under his thighs, sitting on them. “Do you have some sort of uncontrollable
hand fetish?!”
Derek’s face looks strained and embarrassed. “I regret doing that. Seriously. I
shouldn’t have.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Stiles agrees, staring at Derek. “I know you’re not a
people person but you don’t just go kissing people’s hands. You aren’t that
socially stunted. I mean, I didn’t think you were, anyway.”
Derek shrugs, stifled by his embarrassment. Stiles is just making it worse.
They were doing so well not mentioning it.
“Use your words, wolfman,” he snaps. “Are you - oh my god. You’re into me.
You’re actually, totally into me. And my hands.”
Derek’s eyes flash, and he turns to glare at Stiles, still not saying anything.
“Oh my god,” Stiles repeats, pulling his hands out from under his legs. They’re
slightly red from being sat on, and one of them points at Derek. That’s another
thing about Stiles’ hands - he needs them to speak. If he isn’t gesticulating
while he’s talking, it’s like he thinks no one will understand him or his point
won’t get across, somehow. And that’s exactly what they do - start spastically
flailing everywhere.
“How the hell does someone like you become interested in someone like me,”
Stiles demands, hands all over as he stands and starts to pace. “I’m in some
kind of alternate universe! This is not real.”
“Someone like me?” Derek lifts a brow, pressing Stiles to elaborate.
“Someone hot,” he blurts, and then pauses, like he’s amazed he actually said
that. A small smile spreads across Derek’s face. “I mean - you know, you’re a
good looking guy. You’re like a twelve and I’m what, like a five?!”
“I’d say you’re a solid nine,” Derek deadpans, and Stiles stares at him.
“Oh my god,” he moans. “You’re teasing me. You’re into me.”
“Okay. A ten,” Derek sighs.
“Oh my god.” Derek is clearly enjoying this immensely and Stiles is looking
very harried. Derek reaches out to take his hand, and it’s very different this
time. Something sparks and Stiles’ pulse jumps, and then there’s the distinct,
pungent smell of arousal. Stiles is staring at his chest, and Derek is suddenly
aware again that he isn’t wearing a shirt.
Derek pulls him to sit back down on the couch, and Stiles finally looks down,
examining the way their fingers are tangled. Derek’s fingers tighten a little,
and Stiles’ flex in shock. “Would it be socially stunted to kiss your hand
again?” he asks, voice low, eyes dark and serious.
“It would probably be pretty socially stunted, yes, but -” Stiles manages to
croak, still looking like he’s convinced he’s trapped in a dream. Derek takes
the ‘but’ as his go ahead, and lifts their still tangled hands, and brushes his
lips over Stiles’ knuckles before Stiles can even finish, and he jerks.
“Dude, I -” Derek nips at Stiles’ index finger, making Stiles jump, and then
sucks it into his mouth without warning.
“Holy god,” Stiles gasps out, the scent of arousal spiking higher. “Jesus
fucking -”
Derek’s expression has gotten serious, and his eyes have gone a darker grey as
he slides up and closer. “ - Christ, you’re gonna kiss me, aren’t you?”
Derek raises a brow. “Problem?”
“This...is a lot, really fast,” Stiles responds, voice strained.
Derek sighs and pulls back. “Problem.”
“No! I mean, yes. I mean - fuck,” Stiles hisses, reaching up to run a hand down
his face.
“You still don’t know what you want,” Derek stands, moving to find a shirt and
pull it on quickly. He can almost smell the confused disappointment rolling off
of Stiles in waves.
“Give me a little time to process, for the love of god,” Stiles retorts. “With
all of the shit that’s going on right now, you expect me to just - wrap my head
around this right away? Run with you through a field of flowers hand in hand?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Derek snaps in exasperation, turning around. “Are you serious,
Stiles? A field of flowers?”
“You fuck off!” Stiles snaps. “You’re the one springing this on me - I didn’t
even know this was a remote possibility until a couple of weeks ago. Hell, I’m
still not even sure if I like you.”
“Nice,” Derek responds. “That’s great.”
“Well, you’ve never given me much reason to like you, have you,” Stiles answers
flatly. “You’re an asshole, okay? You push and snap and bark, you try to kill
my friends, and you don’t trust me, and then suddenly, you’re propositioning
me?!”
Derek’s nostrils flare. “If that’s how you feel, then why did you help me all
summer?”
“For Erica and Boyd.” His voice is cool. “They didn’t deserve any of what
happened to them. And I’m not the type of person to just sit back when I know I
can help.”
Derek’s face falls, and he lets out a breath. “Look,” he says, unsure of how to
voice himself. “For what it’s worth, I trust you a little more than I did
before.”
Stiles looks incredulous. “A little more. That’s...awesome. Yeah, thanks,
Derek. I’m going back home. To sleep.”
He slams the door on the way out, and Derek sinks back onto his couch with a
groan.
 
***
 
Things are stilted between them, after that. The small level of comfort they
had reached around each other has been blown to hell, and as much as it upsets
Derek, he doesn’t focus on it. Stiles had been right - it really wasn’t good
timing, not with everything that’s been happening. It takes the majority of the
year to chase the Alpha pack out of town and get things a little more balanced.
The whole experience changes everyone, but the changes are the most stark and
meaningful when it comes to Derek. The struggles he has suffered through are
huge, and he was more selfless through it all, not losing focus once. He did
everything he could to protect them all. Not just his pack - everyone. Even
people he didn’t know. Stiles takes great notice.
One night, a couple of months before they get rid of the Alpha pack, Derek is
the driving force in saving a young girl whose life is threatened as leverage
against him. She’s brutally hurt, but not killed, and Stiles is in his dad’s
office when Derek writes his completely false statement. He slips into the room
and blocks the door before Derek can leave.
“You’ve changed,” he states quietly, and Derek looks up at him tiredly. He’s
still covered in the girl’s blood.
“People change every day,” he returns lamely, standing up and closing the
folder containing his statement. He leaves it on the Sheriff’s desk. “What do
you want?”
Stiles takes a step forward. “Look. I know the last time we really talked was
bad. We both said some shitty things. Neither of us had our heads in the right
place. I still don’t think they’re in the right place, not yet. But you’re
changing for the better. I think I am, too, but you even more. And I like it.”
He steps even closer and before Derek can compute what is even happening,
Stiles kisses him. It isn’t a heated kiss. It isn’t rough, wanting, or
passionate. It’s just meaningful and brief. It gets the point across. When
Stiles pulls away, Derek is standing stock still, unable to form words, hands
limp at his sides, and Stiles just barely smiles.
“Decided I kind of like you, sourwolf. Just a little.”
With that, he turns and leaves the office, leaving Derek to process what just
happened.
 
***
 
After the Alpha pack is gone, Stiles and Derek don’t see each other for a few
weeks, simply because Stiles is busy. He and the others have midterm exams at
school, and then there is Christmas and New Years. Stiles’ aunt and uncle come
for the holidays, and don’t leave to go back to LA until January 5th. The
sheriff gets back to the daily grind at work, and Stiles still has a few more
days before school begins again. He can’t stop thinking about Derek.
Derek still hasn’t done anything, not after he kissed him, and Stiles isn’t
sure if he should keep waiting. But he has a feeling if he does that, he’ll be
waiting forever. Despite getting better, Derek is still ridiculously
emotionally constipated in many ways. He hasn’t taken the reigns back after he
got shut down, and Stiles is positive the idiot thinks he’s being mercurial, or
something. But he’s made up his mind.
He takes the familiar route to Derek’s loft, and his stomach starts to turn a
little with nerves. He’s not sure if he should be happy or feel more sick when
he sees Derek’s stupid Toyota there. He sucks it up and walks out, shivering
slightly in the cold air; his jacket is too light.
When he walks in without knocking, Derek looks up, eyes defensively flashing
red before he realizes it’s Stiles, and yeah, he feels kind of bad. That was a
shitty move to do after Derek constantly had alphas breaking into his loft most
of last year. God, off to a great start. “Sorry,” he winces, shrugging his
jacket off and looking around. Derek’s home alone. Good.
“What are you doing here?” Derek frowns. It’s not hostile, just genuinely
curious. He even looks a little concerned, like maybe Stiles is here because
something has gone wrong, yet again.
Stiles takes a deep breath. “I have this New Years resolution,” he says,
stepping farther into the loft and closer to Derek. “I know, lame. Especially
since people make them and never really keep them, including me, but this year
I’m going to keep it. Starting right now.”
Derek lifts a brow and leans back against the kitchen counter, interest piqued.
“What is this resolution and why has it brought you here?”
“It’s a pretty standard one, you know,” Stiles shrugs, still taking slow steps
closer. His heart is pounding steadily, and Derek can hear it. He’s even
sweating a little with nerves. Derek can smell the sharpness of it beneath the
soap and light, earthy cologne he wears. “Unpack the massive amounts of baggage
I’ve been carrying around. Some of the baggage I have concerns you. I thought
maybe we could, like, swap baggage.”
Derek snorts a little at that, but he smiles, so Stiles gets closer and stands
toe to toe with him. “My baggage is that a couple of months ago I kissed you
and admitted I liked you, and your dumb ass still hasn’t done anything about
it.”
“Maybe I needed time to process,” Derek smirks slightly, and Stiles scowls, but
he missed that sass.
“Okay, look, smartass - my time to process was legitim -”
Stiles’ little rant is cut short, because Derek straightens and pushes himself
off the counter towards Stiles, catching his lips. Stiles makes a pitiful
little noise in the back of his throat, because this kiss, this kiss is so much
different. Derek’s hands are huge and warm as they grip either side of his
face, and his breath tastes like faint traces of coffee when Stiles inhales.
His own hands fumble their way to find purchase on Derek’s waist, gripping
tight as he opens his mouth. Derek laps his way in with a low rumble, like
Stiles is the best fucking thing he’s ever tasted, and yeah, it makes Stiles a
little weak in the knees.
Derek drags his lips away from Stiles’ and down his jaw, and Stiles bites his
lip at the burn of his stubble. “Holy god,” he babbles, arching forward with a
gasp when Derek bites and begins sucking a mark into his neck, right above his
jugular. His hands slide down to grip at Derek’s ass and pull him closer, and
Derek lets out a grunt at that.
“Oh,” Stiles whispers, a grin playing across his lips. “Oh, yeah. You have a
thing for hands.” He squeezes harder and ruts forward, which actually elicits a
moan from Derek. It’s deep and raspy and hungry, and Stiles doesn’t think he’s
ever heard anything so good.
Derek pulls back to press his lips back to Stiles’, their teeth clicking
against each other with desperation, but not enough to make them stop. “I have
a thing for your hands,” Derek growls out around the kiss. Stiles shudders and
bites at Derek’s lower lip before pulling his hands back and using them to
shove Derek hard so that he’s back against the counter. He reaches down and
tugs at the hem of Derek’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head, and Stiles
lets out a small, annoyed groan at seeing him shirtless again.
“This is so fucking unfair,” he says, reaching out to run fingers up Derek’s
stomach and to his chest. Well defined muscles tense up under his touch, and
Stiles meets Derek’s eyes. “This should be illegal. Your face is already
ungodly attractive, and to have all this, too - not fair.”
Derek manages a slight smile, still a bit lost in the way Stiles’ fingers feel
as they explore his skin. “Shut up, Stiles.”
“What,” Stiles murmurs, lifting a brow as he slides his hands back down Derek’s
stomach, reaching the fastening on his jeans. “You don’t want me to tell you
how fucking hot you are?” He pulls the button loose and lowers the zip, and
Derek growls with want. Stiles is already ridiculously hard, and his dick
twitches in response. “That’s what I thought.”
Derek moves then, shoving Stiles’ hands out of the way as he rips his shirt up
and over his head, as well, and to be honest, Stiles definitely feels like he
pales in comparison - until he notices the way Derek is looking at him. He
looks like he wants to eat him alive, and Stiles is ready and willing to let
him - but not yet. He likes this control thing. Derek is always so pushy and
acts so dominant, but Stiles knows it’s all a front. He likes how he has the
potential to mold Derek into a shivering, moaning mess beneath his hands.
Stiles isn’t experienced, but he does have instincts, and he knows how to act
upon them. He refuses to psyche himself out with nerves, not with this
opportunity in front of him.
He leans in and starts pressing hot, open mouthed kisses to Derek’s chest, and
Derek’s head falls back with a gasp when he sucks at a nipple. He moves back up
to Derek’s exposed neck and bites and sucks with the intent to mark, but when
he pulls back to inspect his work, the stupid bruise is already paling and
healing. “Fucking werewolves,” he mutters, and Derek lets out a low, amused
chuckle that gets choked off as Stiles keeps at it, anyway.
There are still way, way too many clothes on, and while he sucks at Derek’s
neck, Stiles reaches down to shove Derek’s jeans down. They pool around his
ankles and then Stiles undoes his own, impatiently grabs Derek’s ass again, and
yanks him forward. He lets out a stuttered moan, mouth going slack against the
skin of Derek’s neck when he feels Derek’s cock against his own through their
underwear, and begins a steady rocking motion with his hips, world going a bit
hazy as Derek matches it.
Derek continues to tense and shudder at small intervals, and he reaches down,
fingers fumbling to find one of Stiles’ hands. When he does, he pulls it up,
and Stiles watches with half lidded eyes as Derek starts sucking his fingers
into his mouth. He groans and nearly comes right then and there at the wet heat
of Derek’s mouth, but somehow, he manages to hold himself together, and he’s
really not sure how. Sure, he’s messed around with himself before. Kept himself
from coming and all that jazz. But this, this is so entirely different from
that. He could make himself last a long time by himself, but he’s not going to
be capable of doing that in this situation. No way in hell. It’s torture,
absolute torture, and he wants to come so bad it’s painful. The cloth of their
boxers still separating them really isn’t helping the situation, either.
It’s like Derek reads his mind, because he releases Stiles hand, and makes
Stiles take a step back so that they can get their boxers off. Jeans are kicked
away completely, too, and Stiles then finds himself staring, because who the
fuck wouldn’t stare when they had Derek Hale naked in front of them? His dick
is nice. Really nice. He isn’t huge, but he’s thick, and pretty much perfect.
Stiles’ mouth actually waters with want, noting the thick vein pulsing on the
underside. “Holy god, I really want to blow you,” he manages hoarsely. He’s
never done it before, but he’s never wanted to try it more than he does right
now.
Derek looks like he’s really, really close to saying yes and shoving Stiles to
his knees, but he shakes his hand and grabs Stiles by the hips, pulling him
close so that they slide against each other again without boxers impeding them.
It makes Stiles shudder and leak even more precome. “Later,” Derek says
roughly, voice strained. “I want your hands on me.”
“I can do that,” Stiles nods. “Oh, fuck yeah, I can do that.” He reaches down
and wraps fingers around them both, and bites down on his lip as Derek gasps,
forehead pressing against Stiles’. Stiles’ fingers are long and slender, but he
still can’t quite manage to get them wrapped around the entirety both of them
very well. Derek is too thick and if Stiles cares to admit, he’s not lacking in
size, himself. But the touch and pressure and just the entire situation is
enough.
He tightens his grip a bit on the downward strokes, wrist flicking expertly,
and he is almost already done for. He can feel the warmth pooling in his lower
abdomen and his other hand reaches up, fingers fisting tightly in Derek’s hair
as he pulls him back in for a rough and rather sloppy kiss. After a few more
quick strokes, Stiles jerks forward and lets out a choked noise as his breath
catches, and comes so hard that he briefly forgets who he is and where he is.
When he comes back down to earth, Derek is still moving forward, fucking into
his hand, and it makes Stiles wince a little because he’s so oversensitive. But
he holds out, because he can see Derek is just there, teetering on the edge,
and no sooner does he think it does Derek stiffen. He feels warmth splash and
splash and splash across his stomach, and Stiles slowly loosens his hand and
finally lets go, panting and smiling a little as Derek tries to regain his
bearings.
He finally looks more alert, and Stiles leans forward into a kiss, which Derek
returns languidly, a smile playing across his lips. “Wanna make this an
everyday sort of thing?” Stiles eventually murmurs, pulling back. “Because I
think this is something we should definitely make a point to do every day.”
Derek grins and nods, meeting his eyes. “I think I could handle that. Now, go
get cleaned up,” he instructs, straightening up. “And take twenty. I’m not done
with you, not yet.”
Stiles wobbles a little on his feet, dick already twitching again feebly at
that, and smirks. “Think we can make it to your bed, this time?” he asks,
bending down to pick up his clothes.
Derek’s eyes glint. “That’s where I’ll be waiting.”
“Good,” Stiles says, moving toward the bathroom, throwing a smile over his
shoulder. “I’ll be there in ten.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!