|Dira Sudis (dira) wrote,|
@ 2012-11-05 06:00 am UTC
|Entry tags:||fic post, teen wolf|
Many thanks to iulia for cheering this one, and to giddygeek for beta!
Stiles/Derek. Explicit. 6,500 words.
"Hey," Stiles said, eyes lighting up as a grin spread across his face. "There is a mostly naked werewolf in my bed."
Derek stopped in the shadow of the tree in the Stilinskis' backyard and listened. Stiles was alone in the house, fidgety but keeping himself still. Derek thought he was doing homework, something that didn't lend itself too readily to wandering off on tangents: probably math or chemistry. His heart rate would be more elevated for research, and anyway there was, for once, nothing life-or-death going on to require him to be doing research tonight. He hadn't even mentioned any new wild curiosities in the last few days. This was something steady, persistent but not motivated by anything other than a good student's work ethic.
Derek leaned into the tree, feeling his own momentum ebb. He'd checked on the rest of the pack, and they were all safely settled for the night. The next crisis, wherever it came from, would find him when it found him and not before. For right now, he was free. He could go inside just as soon as he commanded his body to move.
There was a key hanging from a nail driven into the tree about ten feet off the ground--an easy leap and grab for him or any other werewolf who had been told where to find it. He could take the key and let himself quietly inside, walk up the stairs to Stiles's room like a civilized person. It just seemed simpler, right then, to jump and catch the edge of the roof and swing himself up to perch outside Stiles's window.
The window was open slightly, making it easy for him. Derek smiled a little as he pushed it up, and by the time he slipped in under the blinds Stiles had looked up from his homework with that same startled-bright smile he always had when Derek appeared. Derek couldn't help grinning back. It was still a surprise to him, too, the way Stiles kept on being glad to see him.
"Hey," Stiles said. "I, um, I should really finish this problem set, if--"
Derek waved off the explanation. "It's fine. No rush."
Stiles nodded and turned back to his work smelling happy and jittery in a different way, his heart beating faster than it had before. Derek walked over to Stiles's bed and sat down quietly, then took off his jacket and his shoes and socks, setting them neatly aside before he stretched out on Stiles's unmade bed. The sheets hadn't been changed since the last time Derek was there, so the bed smelled like the two of them. It was a pleasant continuity.
Derek rubbed his cheek against the pillow, warming and renewing the scent, and his eyes fell half-shut as he settled into this place. The Stilinskis' house was a weird oasis from the rest of his life, warm and warmly lit, smelling ordinary and comfortable. Even in his absence the human-alpha scent of the sheriff wound through the place, marking this as a stable territory, held and defended for long safe years. Derek could relax here, letting his guard down further than he could anywhere else.
He tucked his arms under the pillow and watched Stiles through half-open eyes. He was bent over the desk, constantly curling himself into improbable shapes--he'd said once that his legs got bored just staying side-by-side and folded normally over a chair and down to the floor. His attention was mostly on his work, but Derek could smell the background thrum of arousal-excitement, his knowledge of the reward--Derek--waiting for him when he finished his work. It seemed to help him focus, taking up just enough of his attention that he could keep what was left on the page in front of him. He muttered softly to himself, and Derek let his eyes close, not needing to watch to be entirely, overwhelmingly aware of Stiles.
Stiles's heartbeat thumped along in his ears, familiar and constant, but Derek tuned it out like music to focus on the other details of Stiles's presence. The scent of him was mixed up with the hot-plastic smell of his computer, lingering fumes from his highlighter, and the old layered scents that filled up the room. Derek was half-hypnotized by the familiar mess of smells.
This close he could also feel Stiles: the still air of the closed room was stirred by Stiles's movements, sending air currents as well as wafts of scent across Derek's skin. Stiles's fidgeting vibrated through his desk and chair into the floor and across the room to where Derek lay. As he acclimated to the indoor warmth, Derek could even sense the heat of Stiles’s body coming to him on the air, and he could almost feel the changes in Stiles's temperature, the heat of his groin when he twisted this way in his chair, the comparative coolness of his hands slicing through the air as he gestured his way through a train of thought.
He'd be able to feel it better with more skin exposed. Derek debated with himself for a few seconds, but he wanted to. He wanted to be able to feel Stiles from right here. He knew he could feel all he wanted if he just stood up, went over there, told Stiles to give up his homework for the night or at least for the next hour; he'd done it often enough and Stiles never had any complaints. But the bed was soft and warm and comfortable and Derek was so goddamn tired. He didn't want to talk, or push, or take anything from anyone. All he wanted to do was lie here, basking in Stiles's presence like he was a sunbeam, a comparison he would never ever make out loud to anyone.
He cracked one eye open and confirmed that Stiles was absorbed in his work, scowling from the book to his notes and tapping a pencil against the page. Stiles lit up in sudden triumph--literally lit up, his whole body flushing hotter--and bent down for a flurry of writing. Derek took advantage of his momentary absorption, tugging his shirt up and off. He pushed it--and the pillow, which was delivering too much old scent, competing with the new--away across the bed.
Stiles was still scribbling, and Derek wanted to feel more. He reached under his belly to open the buckle of his belt. His body would muffle the sound, but he knew perfectly well how to get it undone without a single betraying clink of metal on metal. He opened his belt just enough, leaving it threaded through the loops of his jeans. He unbuttoned and unzipped all while watching Stiles's back, the quick cramped motions of his hand as he tried to cram his entire thought into the space of the page. Derek shifted his hips, peeling his jeans down until he could drag them the rest of the way with his feet. He didn't kick them all the way off, because the belt buckle would make a noise when it fell and Stiles would hear and turn. If he saw Derek taking his clothes off he would expect something to come next, and Derek wouldn't be able to find the words to explain that he just wanted his clothes off.
He lay still instead, stretched out nearly naked with his jeans puddled over his feet, his head pillowed on his folded arms. His eyes drifted closed again while he let Stiles wash over him. It felt like lying on a beach, like Stiles was the sun and the ocean all at once, his warmth and rhythm sinking into Derek's bones. He was vaguely turned on--he couldn't not be, with his nose full of the smell of himself and Stiles in bed together and furthermore the scent of Stiles here and now, warm and wanting him--but it was nothing urgent.
He was nearly asleep when the feel of Stiles changed, and Derek opened his eyes in time to watch Stiles spin sideways in his chair, catch sight of Derek in his bed, and freeze.
"Hey," Stiles said, drawing out the word nearly as long as he had breath to carry it, cheeks flushing, heartbeat speeding, eyes lighting up as a grin spread across his face. "There is a mostly naked werewolf in my bed."
Derek nodded slightly without raising his head from his arms, knowing his face was half-hidden by his biceps. He should speak, he knew, but he wanted to go on lying here, being lazy and still. Usually he made it clear to Stiles what he wanted--with his hands and his body if not with words--and Stiles definitely had never shown any hesitation in doing the same. But Derek just wanted this, and his throat closed up at the thought of trying to say so, to ask for whatever this was that he'd silently taken advantage of.
"And he's being very, very quiet," Stiles added, barely a breath behind the words, but Derek could hear him just fine.
Derek nodded again, and closed his eyes, leaving the next move to Stiles. Derek didn't really care what Stiles did next, unless he pounced or yelled or demanded--show me you want me, show me how much you love me--
But that wasn't Stiles. That voice wasn't Stiles's. Derek didn't open his eyes, but he focused his attention on the boy in the room with him and not on the ghost that never quite left him. Stiles was still sitting in his desk chair, heartbeat quick and temperature running hot. He was interested, focused. When he moved, his motions were slow--not stalking-slow and menacing, but cautious, feeling his way.
There was a soft thump and a change of scent and temperature, both intensifying: Stiles had tossed his shirt to the ground. A second later Derek had to open his eyes again at the sudden closeness of Stiles, only to find him dropping to his knees beside the bed. He was looking Derek in the eye, serious and intent, and Derek looked away again, knowing he was doing this wrong. He was acting like a headcase when he was just tired and wanted to be still, but he turned his face down into his arms.
Stiles's hand settled warmly over the top of his shoulder, rubbing a circle there before sliding down over his tattoo. Derek couldn’t help a whole-body twitch at that, but he pushed up into Stiles's hand before he went still, trying to show that he didn't mind. Stiles swept his thumb back and forth and leaned in closer, letting Derek feel breath on his skin before Stiles pressed a kiss to his shoulder. He trailed soft, dry kisses down Derek's arm, and then put his chin in the crook of Derek's elbow.
"Hey," Stiles said softly, pressing his nose into Derek's hair, his breath a warm, humid puff against Derek's temple, carrying the taste and scent of his mouth nearly as vividly as a kiss. "Let me see your fingers."
Derek huffed a silent breath of laughter into the mattress under his face, but he knew it made sense for Stiles to check; he knew how weird he was acting, and that Stiles would think it was something worth puzzling out. It was more than Derek deserved, but he couldn't make himself tell Stiles he was just being stupid, that he didn't have any good reason for Stiles to figure out, nothing to justify this silent demand on Stiles's attention. He wanted it too much.
Still, he wouldn't lie, even if he couldn't confess in words. He tugged his left hand out from under his right arm and tucked his thumb to his palm, sticking four fingers out straight, splaying them up toward his shoulder to keep from jabbing Stiles in the face. Stiles had insisted on police codes the first time they did anything that called for this kind of precaution: ten-four meant all clear.
This particular signal made it obvious, too, that his claws weren't out.
"Okay," Stiles said, and ducked his head to kiss Derek's knuckles before Derek could push his hand back under his arm. "You're good. So you keep doing what you're doing, and I'll keep doing what I'm doing, and if I'm bugging you, you just say the word or give me the finger or whatever."
Derek nodded, keeping his face down. He couldn't smell clearly like this, any more than he could see, but hearing and touch were plenty to go on with Stiles this close. It was as easy to read enthusiastic attention from the rapid thud of Stiles's heart and the heat pouring off his skin as from his scent. The pulses beating in Stiles's hand, still resting over his tattoo, communicated a steady cadence of desire and excitement straight into Derek's skin, thumping down his spine and enticing his own heart to fall into the same rhythm.
Stiles licked the point of Derek's elbow, which made Derek smile and tuck his head down tighter. Stiles worked his way back toward Derek's shoulder, more nuzzling than kissing along Derek's arm. The actual skin-touch was light enough to tickle, but Stiles's presence blanketed his senses, removing any chance of being startled by the contact. Stiles pressed his cheek to the ball of Derek's shoulder, sliding his hand across to the opposite one, so that his arm rested across Derek's back. He stayed that way for several seconds, and even as Derek enjoyed the warmth and weight of the touch he was tracking how long Stiles managed to hold still.
He lasted almost eight seconds, this time, though the faint warning tremor of impending fidgeting started at five, and then it was a matter of Stiles deliberately holding himself in place. When he did move he shifted his weight up onto the mattress, tilting it toward him but not moving definitively up onto the bed. His shoulder pressed into Derek's side as he pressed his face into Derek's back, sliding his hand down Derek's other arm, keeping his arm wrapped around him.
Derek realized that all his muscles were tensed, bracing against something that he was pretty sure wasn't going to happen here. He made himself ease up, his shoulders sagging under Stiles, and Stiles exhaled a soft, triumphant sound against Derek's back and squeezed.
"Progress," Stiles murmured, his lips tantalizingly just out of contact with Derek's skin. "Definite progress. Because what I'm thinking is, you kind of look like a guy who wants to go to sleep, you know, with the getting in bed and undressing and putting your head down, and if you want to sleep you have to relax."
Derek nodded a little, though he didn't know whether he was supposed to answer, or whether Stiles was even looking the right way to see. Stiles turned his head to rub his cheek against Derek's back, which might or might not have been an answer. Derek caught himself tensing up again and again made himself relax.
"I mean, you don't actually have to do anything, you know that, right," Stiles added, not particularly seriously. He said it like it was just an obligatory disclaimer, like there was no chance that either of them would ever genuinely try to force the other to do anything against his will. That was a virginity Derek was determined never to take from him.
"But if you want to go to sleep," Stiles went on, "which is a thing the cool kids are mostly doing around this time every night--I mean, for values of cool that include Scott and your pack--you know, for sleeping you need to relax. Which I could maybe help you with, or I guess I could just keep talking until you fall asleep in self-defense?"
Stiles had one hand on each of Derek's upper arms now, and was rubbing them gently up and down as he talked into Derek's shoulder blade, his weight still pressing only slightly against Derek's side, resting mostly on the mattress.
"Of course, maybe you're already asleep. That would be kind of awesome, actually, if you fell asleep with me talking at you, because that would probably mean that you trusted me enough to, like, totally let go and trust me to have your back. Plus it would mean you weren't listening to me talk to myself while I just, like, rub my face all over you."
Derek squirmed a little at that and shoved his face into the mattress. He didn't bother trying to think of a way to tell Stiles that he wanted to be listening to this, wanted Stiles to touch him everywhere, to press his confidence and easy acceptance into every inch of Derek's skin.
Stiles definitely paused to wait out Derek's movement, but it wasn't like either of them had thought Derek was fooling him into believing he was asleep. There was no good reason for Derek's face to heat up now, unless it was that his dick had gotten entirely with the program sometime in the last few minutes and now he was hard. Squirming against the mattress felt a little bit better than it should.
Stiles took his right hand off of Derek, and Derek's skin felt cold and lonely, a sensation Derek fiercely forced himself to ignore even as he realized that Stiles was undoing his own belt, shoving his way out of his pants. He moved his left hand to the back of Derek's knee, sliding it down his calf to Derek's jeans and shoving them off in a clatter of belt buckle.
"No pants in bed," Stiles declared, and the mattress tilted and Derek's whole body was warmed by more than proximity as Stiles moved properly onto the mattress beside him, planting a knee beside his hip and swinging across to straddle him.
"You can keep these, though, you seem comfy like this." Stiles ran his thumb along the waistband of Derek's jockeys in illustration, and then pressed his palm flat over Derek's spine. Derek couldn't help arching a little into the touch, and not only because it meant grinding down against the mattress with his hips.
Stiles set his other hand down, spreading them to span the small of Derek's back with his thumbs in the groove of Derek's spine. Derek could feel Stiles's pulse racing in all ten fingertips, but Stiles's voice kept the familiar quick rhythm. Stiles didn't push the touch one way or the other, just held steady there. He was humming something under his breath that Derek didn't recognize until Stiles sang softly, half-laughing, "We have to take our clothes off."
Derek didn't fight his own silent answering laugh, letting it shake his shoulders so Stiles could see. He twitched his hips under Stiles's hands at the same time.
Stiles pushed back and then slid his hands slowly up Derek's back, stopping with his index fingers splayed along the lowest curves of Derek's tattoo. Derek remembered to breathe, in and out against the gentle pressure of Stiles's hands on his back. Stiles shifted his fingers back and forth over the edges of Derek's tattoo; Derek thought he was probably feeling out the slight difference in texture, and wondered if he could actually feel it, or if he had to look at it to know the difference. The marked skin was less sensitive, so Stiles's touch seemed to go in and out of focus across that borderline, but he'd been told that humans usually couldn't feel where their own tattoos ended.
Derek lay still, reminding himself not to tense, to keep breathing, while Stiles ran his fingers along the spirals of Derek's tattoo. The constant flickering contrast between bare skin and inked was driving Derek's sense of touch out of control; he could feel the exact heat-contours of Stiles's body poised above his, knew to the millimeter how far Stiles's knees where from his hips (slightly off-center, the left knee closer in than the right, and Derek resisted the temptation to twitch sideways and balance it out). He could feel the slight differences in texture of each of Stiles's fingers and thumbs as they touched him, sensed the flex of Stiles's thighs as he shifted above Derek.
"This is kind of nice," Stiles said, out loud, "you'll let me do anything right now, won't you? Not, like, freaky stuff--" Derek flashed on having her name carved into his chest with a razor-sharp hunting knife, her avid gaze watching his blood well and his skin close. He wondered how he had ever thought that expression meant love, but the memory was very far away now, and nothing to do with Stiles, whose ideas of freaky mostly involved restraints Derek could break without trying hard.
"But just, you know, dumb stuff. I don't even have to be embarrassed that I fucking licked your elbow, because I'm not sure you even, like, were awake for that part. Or we can pretend you weren't, anyway, that's close enough. Because if you were actually asleep this might get kind of weird in a not-fun way? Except you seemed okay with it so I guess it's not actually, technically--right, back to the point, I can just do this and you won't look at me funny because you're not looking at me at all."
It wasn't a surprise--Derek was too hyper-conscious of Stiles's body to be surprised by any movement he made--but Derek still twitched when Stiles's tongue pressed, warm and wet, to the center of the triskele. Stiles's hands had shifted out to Derek's shoulders, taking some of Stiles's weight as he held himself up. He licked across the tattoo, but it was just the same as the touch of his fingers, testing and tracing for his own curiosity; after a while he stopped licking and nuzzled, rubbing his nose and lips over the whole space between Derek's shoulder blades.
Derek squirmed a little under him, not bothering to control the impulse, and Stiles laughed a little against his skin and then moved, shifting forward to press his face to the nape of Derek's neck.
That was too basic a signal, even without the touch of Stiles's teeth, and Derek twitched again. His alpha instincts, still strange enough to escape his control sometimes, objected to being subjugated even so playfully and gently. The instincts of his entire life, on the other hand, had been longing desperately for this for months, for years, wanting to give in and let someone else take control, someone he could trust not to use that power against him. He'd been fighting to be an alpha, to rise to his new obligations, but tonight he was tired, and his resistance was down to that single, sharp twitch at the brush of Stiles's lips against the back of his neck, with Stiles poised over him on all fours.
"Shh, it's just me, I've got you," Stiles murmured without lifting his head, rubbing his nose along the line of Derek's vertebrae.
It was exactly right--that simultaneous declaration of harmlessness and protection that was so exactly Stiles, so exactly what Derek needed in a way no wolf, nor any hunter, could ever have been. All of Derek's instincts surrendered at once, and he didn't have to tell himself to relax. He felt himself melt, sighing softly, and let his head sag to the left, baring the side of his throat to Stiles.
Stiles didn't take the opening Derek offered him, because Stiles never did what he was supposed to. He scrubbed his nose up along Derek's hairline, around the base of his skull and behind his ear, pressing a kiss there. Derek made a little noise--probably not audible to Stiles even if it hadn't been muffled by the mattress--but Stiles seemed to hear it anyway.
He went still for a few seconds, breathing softly against the back of Derek's ear, and then he lifted his head and shifted his weight back onto his knees, freeing his hands to slide down off of Derek's shoulders. Derek knew what was coming next, felt the heat Stiles was throwing off as a projection of his body, but it was still as much relief as pleasure when Stiles settled down over him, laying down on his back, his cheek against the back of Derek's neck, his arms curled around Derek's arms. He curled his hands over Derek's wrists, draped his feet over Derek's calves, rubbed his cheek idly against Derek's neck as he shifted his hips, settling his hard dick against Derek's ass.
And then, apart from the small ways his careful, deep breaths shifted his entire body, Stiles didn't move. Derek stopped counting at fifteen seconds and let himself just pay attention to how it felt, because it felt so good, the weight and warmth of Stiles over him, the slight slide of skin on skin as each of them made the little unavoidable motions of breathing. The hair on Stiles's legs pressed into the hair on his, and Stiles's toes flexed involuntarily, like his feet were starting to get cold, and even through a couple of layers of underwear, Derek could feel the hard, fast pulse beating in Stiles's dick, pressed up tight against his ass, could feel the weight of Stiles's balls resting against him, too heavy and still for Stiles to be anywhere near coming. He felt every one of Stiles's fingers, curling around his wrists, and the spaces between them where Stiles wasn't touching him. He felt the rush of Stiles's breath against the side of his neck, and he couldn't smell or taste or hear anything that wasn't Stiles, as if he'd been drawn right inside Stiles's body for safekeeping.
He could almost succumb to the illusion, now, almost just go right to sleep like Stiles had pretended to believe he wanted, but he was hard, and Stiles was hard. He could smell sex, could feel it humming between their skin, couldn't figure out if they were having sex right now at some kind of glacial pace or if it was just something they might be working up to, if either of them ever moved again. He wondered how Stiles was holding so still, with his dick hard and his pulse thumping along so fast, his breaths careful and even. Stiles wasn't in any real danger of falling asleep, and that made Derek realize, way too late, that Stiles was waiting for something. Stiles wasn't going to move until he got something from Derek, and Derek had just been lying here for God knew how long, like there wasn't supposed to be anything else....
He wasn't aware that he'd tensed up again until Stiles moved in answer, rubbing his cheek against the base of Derek's skull and murmuring, "No, no, shh, it's okay."
The sound of Stiles's voice was strange and loud after... however long it had been, listening to nothing but Stiles's heartbeat and the familiar background noise of Stiles's room. But Stiles's heartbeat kept its same steady rhythm when he spoke, and Stiles's whole body conveyed honesty. It really was okay. Stiles really didn't mind holding still--holding him--like this.
Derek waited another minute, breathing, reminding himself that this was Stiles, that Stiles was cheerfully indulgent and endlessly protective and would not, either literally or metaphorically, sink teeth into his vulnerable throat. Derek tried to recapture the perfect motionless contentment of a moment ago, but he was too conscious of everything now. He tried something else instead, rocking his hips to grind his dick against Stiles's bed, giving a little friction to Stiles at the same time.
"Oh, hey," Stiles murmured against the nape of Derek's neck, thrusting his dick in counterpoint against Derek's ass. "What a good idea."
Derek grinned into the mattress and kept up the slow, sinuous motion. Stiles's movements were more jerky, less controlled, but neither of them was moving more than an inch, so it hardly mattered. They were almost having sex for sure now--kid stuff, dry humping, but with a slow-motion certainty that Derek had definitely never had when he was a kid. Stiles had kind of leaped over all the intervening steps when they'd first gotten together, zero to fucking in about a day, so this was a strange, backward kind of first for both of them, innocent as it was.
Derek could have gone on like that forever, but after a while he felt a fizzy, electric tension enter Stiles's body, felt his motions get jerkier as he restrained himself from moving faster, pressing harder. Derek could have pushed back harder--could turn them over now, take charge--but this was so achingly good, and he had given himself up to Stiles, whether Stiles understood it or not. He didn't want to have to take it back already.
Stiles's fingers tightened and released on Derek's wrists again and again until Stiles finally shifted his weight decisively, taking his left hand away only to tuck it into the top of Derek's jockeys, sliding down and squirming his fingers under Derek's body. Stiles tilted to the right, tugging with his fingers hooked under Derek, and murmured, "Hey, c'mere," a little breathlessly.
Derek obeyed readily, pushing up onto his side, fitting his back against Stiles's front. He refolded his arms so that he could tuck his face into them, and Stiles kissed the back of his neck and slid his hand around and down, curling it around Derek's cock as he pressed himself against Derek's ass. It was harder to move like this, and he missed Stiles's weight and the smell of the sheets pressed against his face; the smell of his own sweat was far less reassuring, infinitely less arousing. On the other hand he had Stiles's hand on him, Stiles's leg thrown over his as Stiles ground awkwardly against him.
Stiles stuttered to a stop with a breathless laugh in mid-stroke, and he squeezed Derek's cock and said, "Oh, fuck, right. I was totally going somewhere with this. Naked time, okay?"
Derek smiled, pulling one arm more firmly over his face even as he nodded, not reaching down to undress himself. Stiles managed just fine, though, taking his hand off of Derek to drag his shorts down to his knees and then wriggling out of his own, kicking both off in a flail of limbs and a flurry of awkward not-quite-friction, his dick brushing randomly against Derek's ass until he went still again and shifted back into place.
Derek repositioned his arm, taking a deep breath to appreciate the unobstructed smell of the two of them, mutual arousal thick enough to choke on with no fake plastic smell of lube or condoms. Just the two of them and Stiles's bed. Stiles's hand closed around him again, moving more easily this time without the constriction of clothes, and Stiles's dick was hotter and wetter against his ass this way, jerking and slipping against his skin in unsteady little hitches.
Derek was just settling into the rhythm, starting to push minutely into Stiles's grip, when Stiles sighed, "Close."
Derek had exactly enough time to think that, no, neither of them were, when Stiles added, "But no cigar."
He squeezed Derek's dick and stopped stroking, leaning into him, rubbing his face against the back of Derek's neck.
"I'll be right back," Stiles muttered, and then squirmed half over Derek and grabbed the rumpled blanket. He yanked it over them both and then rolled out of bed almost in the same motion, leaving Derek covered up but alone. He kept still under the blanket, feeling weirdly dislocated and adrift even though he was tucked in to Stiles's bed and Stiles hadn't even left the room.
Then the lights shut off and Derek opened his eyes, realizing all at once what Stiles was doing. Stiles bounded across the room and Derek heard him running a hand down the blinds on the window, clicking a couple of twisted slats into space, darkening the room further.
"There," Stiles said, over by the window. "Now I can't see a thing. Um, crap, now I have to just not trip on my clothes, that would be embarrassing and really not sexy."
Derek shifted silently to lie on his back, keeping both arms folded over his head but opening his eyes to peek past that shield at Stiles. He was never sure how blind humans actually were in darkness, but Stiles had his hands splayed out and was feeling his way forward more or less like he did in the woods on a moonless night, and given the number of roots Stiles had managed to trip over and hurt himself, Derek was pretty sure he couldn't see then. When Stiles lurched toward the bed it was automatic for Derek to put a hand out and catch his arm, and Stiles grinned but didn't look toward him.
Derek swallowed against the temptation to push him away. Stiles was still humoring him, still leaving him whatever privacy Stiles thought he needed the shelter of the dark and the cover of a blanket to protect. After a frozen second he reeled Stiles in, only letting go when Stiles knelt on the edge of the bed, and then he closed his eyes and tucked his arm back over his face.
Stiles lifted the blanket and crawled under, settling himself over Derek without comment, without the least stutter of surprise in his quick heartbeat. They lined up neatly like this, Stiles's dick pressed beside his, trapped between the heat of their bodies, Stiles's legs over his legs and Stiles's feet curled over his ankles, just his toes braced against the mattress. Stiles's heart beat above his heart, and Stiles tucked his face down against Derek's throat and wrapped his arms around Derek's arms. The blanket, draped over them both, only amplified the heat, and it already smelled like both of them.
Derek pressed up against Stiles and Stiles pushed back, a slow rocking rhythm that was better than anything yet. Stiles sucked softly at Derek's pulse, and Derek just tilted his chin back and silently begged for more, his dick jerking and his heart racing faster. Stiles exhaled a pleased breath that might have been a laugh. He dragged his mouth up, kissing along Derek's jaw, scraping teeth across Derek's skin and squirming his hips awkwardly against Derek's, his dick dragging sweetly against Derek's belly, giving a countering friction to Derek's as he moved.
They were both slick with sweat and pre-come, and it was easy for Derek to make them both move the way he wanted, to tilt Stiles just so without exerting obvious force. Stiles put a little more work into it--Derek could feel the tense and release of all of his muscles as clearly as he could the throbbing of his dick, the flex of his balls--and every time Stiles rocked forward the smell of their bodies rushed out from under the blanket, a hot exhalation from the animal they made up together.
Stiles rocked forward with a little extra force, and his forehead butted against Derek's arm, his head tilting so that his mouth pressed to the corner of Derek's. Stiles made a little questioning noise and Derek exhaled, letting his arms sag back further to give Stiles better access. Stiles nudged his way in, moving a fraction of an inch at the time, hitches of hips and the unfamiliar friction of Stiles's upper arms against his as Stiles dragged himself closer. He didn't quite close the kiss until Derek tilted into it, but once their lips met Stiles pressed his position, sinking his tongue into Derek's mouth.
Derek couldn't help responding any more than he could help grinding up against Stiles, sucking at his tongue, drinking in the taste of him. Every inch of him needed the slow, heavy grind of Stiles's body as much as his dick. He was so absorbed in Stiles that his own orgasm took him by surprise; he arched up under Stiles and then froze at the explosion of sensation, his cock jerking against Stiles's skin, warm wetness spreading between them. He might have made a sound. He didn't realize until after that he had looped both arms around Stiles's neck.
He was panting against Stiles's mouth when he noticed, and there was no point in taking it back. Stiles ground down into the mess between them, still hard, heartbeat still quick with need. He was laughing a little as he kissed Derek's cheeks and his closed eyes, huffing out a half-vocalized, "I win, I win."
Derek grunted, already starting to sink toward sleep, and slid one arm lower, getting his hand on Stiles's ass and squeezing as he pulled him in, flexing up into Stiles's dick to give him just the friction he needed. Stiles whined softly into Derek's mouth, moving faster now, thrusting harder. This was the first moment all night when he hadn't been holding himself back for Derek's sake, hadn't been careful.
Derek tilted his head away, breaking the clumsy half-kiss, and whispered, "Stiles."
Stiles's breath stopped sharply and he came just like that, smacking his nose into Derek's before he found the angle to kiss him through it, sucking frantically at his lower lip as his come mixed with Derek's, slicking his last few thrusts.
He broke away to settle down against Derek, groping with one hand until he found Derek's and gripped it sideways, squeezing. Derek twisted his hand around and folded four fingers around Stiles's, squeezing back.
"Good," Stiles mumbled, face tucked into Derek's shoulder. "M'not even going to get up and wash, that's how nice I am to you. I know you like it when I smell like you."
I like it when I smell like you, Derek didn't say, but he kept one arm around Stiles's waist and the other around his neck. He listened to Stiles's heartbeat slowing into sleep, the heat of sex fading into sated, sleepy warmth, the smell of them filling the whole room.
He waited until Stiles was nearly asleep to say softly, "Thank you."
Stiles's heartbeat jumped just a little, so Derek knew he'd heard, even though he only made a soft noise against Derek's skin. He moved his mouth in something that might have been a kiss, and Derek didn't know why he felt like he was floating when he was so thoroughly weighted down, Stiles a dead weight pinning him to the mattress.
He struggled to stay awake, to keep this moment and remember it: Stiles surrendering himself back to Derek as he surrendered to sleep, filling up all of Derek's sight and smell and hearing, blanketing him with touch. It was the best kind of overwhelming, leaving him no space to think or worry about anything else, and Derek didn't want to let it go even far enough to sleep.