Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1978866.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Isaac_Lahey
  Character:
      Isaac_Lahey, Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Frottage, non_penatrative_sex, massive_feel
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-18 Words: 732
****** you make things less bad ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Written for the prompt of Non-penetration! http://mating-
     games.livejournal.com/17112.html: sorry I'm not sorry
The first weeks are rough.
And it’s not because Derek doesn’t like having Isaac around - it’s just that
he’d forgotten how lust, dark and tangy, lingered beneath everything at that
age.
Isaac leaves for school smelling like toothpaste, honey and wanting to fuck.
When he sprawls on his bed, reading Derek’s old copy of The Picture of Dorian
Grey, his cheeks are ruddy, mixing the scent of ripeness and musk (Isaac’s
natural scent is cloves, and dirt. Spicy, packed earth.) with that of Derek’s
favorite novel.
He can distinguish that book by scent because it belonged to an elderly woman
in his apartment building in Queens - she’d always ask Derek to read to her
while she pruned the potted herbs in her windowsill. It still smelt of basil,
of rosemary - of the late Beta, Mrs. Marjorie Vanderkampf.
As they get more comfortable around each other - Isaac picking up the
occasional plum for Derek at the store, Derek’s hastily scrawled reading
suggestions stacked neatly on a corner of Isaac’s dresser - things get worse.
His nightly reading of The Iliad interrupted, Derek knows that if he were
human, he’d never be able to hear Isaac’s stifled breaths, or the exhalation as
spit-slick fingers press into puckered heat , but he isn’t. He lies in his own
bed, atop a few shirts, including the stained henley Isaac has taken to wearing
in the house.
Wouldn’t Isaac be embarrassed, knowing that in the morning Derek had heard him
shudder to completion? Honestly, Derek is impressed it took this long - despite
the purpledark of want that thrums around the boy, Isaac hasn’t touched himself
since living with Derek.
Not wanting to scent shame on the person whose quiet laugh - hand over mouth,
deeply dimpled - makes his palms itch, Derek touches himself.
He knows he’ll sound different to Isaac - no foreskin gliding over the head,
choked groans deep in the back of his throat, rasp of coarse hair as he tweaks
his nipples, fingers a tad too sharp on the sensitive peaks. And as he twists
his wrist, he realizes he’d forgotten to listen for Isaac.
Derek stills, taking in Isaac’s broad shoulders, stretching the tee that
definitely belongs to him. The gleaming pink of his cockhead peeks from his
boxer-slit, one hand’s long fingers plucking at his bottom lip, the other
pressed against the hot skin beneath his bellybutton.
All it takes is an extension of his arm, an unfurled palm.
Isaac is pliant in his arms - straddling Derek’s waist, he presses kisses to
Derek’s temple, chin, neck. His hips rock back and down, breathy gasps hot
against Derek’s chest. His curls are matted behind his ears, and at the nape of
his neck.
Blueblackpurple spice hanging over both of them like a cloud, Derek presses his
hands against the curve of the boy’s ribs, biting at the jut of his jaw, the
tense cords between neck and shoulder. It isn’t difficult to push on Isaac’s
chest until his back is flat against the comforter, and even less difficult to
pull off both of their clothes until slender, pale thighs shake, limber hands
scrabbling at the long lines of Derek’s back.
He surges forward into the soft, hot skin of Isaac’s hip, gentling as Isaac
whimpers, drinks in the small sounds that change color when tongue touches
clavicle, when callused fingers dig into the meat of Isaac’s thigh and the boy
moans. As narrow hips become erratic in their movement, teeth scraping the
underside of a jaw stronger than a boy his age should possess, Isaac bares his
neck and sighs his name, thighs clenching as he spills between their bellies.
Isaac presses a long finger to his swollen mouth, eyes hazy as Derek takes in
his sated form.
If Isaac were still human, he’d have bruises blooming on all his tenderest
places.
And that sends Derek over the edge, thumbs digging into the softness below
Isaac’s hipbones.
He wishes he could come again, as Isaac laps the mess from his gleaming
fingers, all shy, big eyes while his tongue darts between his fingers. Instead,
he draws the boy into his lap, licks the taste of them from Isaac’s hot mouth,
lets their kisses turn lazy until their mouths are sore.
“Can I sleep here?”
Derek nods, doesn’t say forever, or let me learn with you. Just pulls those
skinny hips into his, and tangles their legs together.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!