Good. [ The fact it's so easy to curl in together like this-- to curl together at all, whether it's on the couch for movies or in bed when exhaustion finally hits two people prone to bouts of insomnia-- is such a testament to how far they've come. When everything was fake, it was one thing that he didn't have any interest in at all, though he managed to fake their closeness at the start. It was just another job, another mission, and they would get through it and move on.
But it was a self-fulfilling prophecy of its own. They pretended to feel, and it had only become a reality.
To think, he could've lost all of this because of a slipup that had snowballed on a mission. Stiles' voice had been the last thing that he'd heard before the radio had finally shorted out. If it had to end there, then he would've maybe been all right with it if it weren't for the fact Stiles had been yelling for him to get up again, and he'd had the weight of a velvet box in his pocket.
Tipping them the rest of the way, he presses Stiles into the bed, rolling his hips forward into his and using the position against the sheets to his advantage as he kisses him deeply, almost needily. Like a drowning man needs air. ]
[ Making a soft noise into the kiss, Stiles follows after him easily, returning it with every bit of fervor that he can manage. He can practically feel the weight behind this, the tangibility of loss and worry and necessity coming together all at once, and it makes his arms tighten around Derek, finding purchase against him and letting Derek roll them together. He was going to say something, but instead he sighs out Derek's name against his mouth, small and pleased as something in him just settles.
All the anxiety and stress from the last month was just pouring away, with the searing heat of Derek's fingers against him, the line of their bodies pressed close together, something that had been a natural fit for ages now. It's home, him and his not really a spouse but still kind of close to being a spouse, spending time together for the first time after what practically amounted to reincarnation.
It doesn't make him stop being cheeky though, and when his hands slide down Derek's back as they rock into the particularly right angle, he gets a handful of his butt, squeezing. ]
[ Stiles breathing out his name causes something to unclench in his chest, worry and longing fading away as he curls into him. Derek thought he knew what loving somebody would mean, back when he was young and stupid. But now, he has this, has Stiles, and he's fairly certain that he's finally gotten it figured out. This something between them is more than he ever bargained for, coming into this mission. But he left with it, and it's something he could've lost.
Murmuring Stiles' name out in response, pressed between their mouths, he tries not to linger too heavily on everything that they could've lost if that mission had failed. If he hadn't been able to save Stiles from Kate's clutches. For the longest time, he hadn't had a home. Hadn't had a place to belong.
Stiles had changed that.
Rather than seeming bothered by Stiles being a cheeky little shit, he flexes all the way from his shoulders down to his butt beneath his touch, back rolling into an arch that brings his hips them into Stiles' again smoothly. ]
[ Stiles' mouth breaks into a crescent of a grin against Derek's mouth and gives a squeeze, and-- ] Fonda got a motor in the back of her Honda.
[ But just to be sure that he's not going to get up, Stiles gives another squeeze and rolls his hips up in time with Derek's, almost immediately latching onto him to keep him from running off, because Derek tends to do that when he's done with Stiles' general state of being.
Which is like ninety percent of the time, so he has to be prepared.
It makes him laugh anyway, and Stiles at least uses his leverage on his butt to tug his hips down again, turning his wide grin to the side of Derek's face, teeth finding his earlobe and giving a tug. ]
[ The grin means nothing good, and Derek groans for two completely different reasons as he grinds his hips down against Stiles', even as a smaller grin-- all affection-- breaks across his face. ] That's it, I want a divorce.
[ Still, he runs his hands down his quartermaster's sides, calloused touch pressing just shy of leaving marks behind. But when they reach his hips, he starts applying a little more pressure, until he can hike Stiles up a little more instead of trying to escape.
Yeah, he tends to try and get up so he can leave Stiles (who often cackles like a hyena) whenever he gets tired of his general state of being, but...
Well. He missed this. Every aspect of it, including stupid jokes along with that brush of teeth. ]
Can't divorce me if you didn't put a rin--[ He abruptly gets cut off when Derek hikes his hips up, and his legs fold around Derek's waste, and suddenly that brush of skin on skin is so intense it makes him see stars. Stiles chokes out a "jesus christ" and slides his hands up into his hair, pulling him back in for a hungry, languid kiss, trying to take the sounds he could get Derek to make and swallow them down. His hips shift a little against him again, catching the friction again, and a stuttered out moan falls out of his mouth.
Yeah okay. Coherency. How do you do that again. ] Put a ring on it. G-God.
[ Stiles' reactions have always been among some of Derek's favorite things, but it's in moments like these that he strives to get each and every single one he possibly can. They're like encouragement, rushing chills down his spine and heat pooling in his gut each time. It's so easy to return that kiss, even as a low moan presses into it, bringing a hand around from where he's holding his hips to curl against his jaw, hunger and aching conveyed in a single piece of contact between them.
But then he pulls back a little, reaching and taking his left hand, fingers folding over his so he can bring it up to his mouth. Eyes dark, in the moment and from the room, he looks at Stiles as he presses his lips quite intentionally over where a ring would sit, in the same moment he shifts his hips forward again. ]
[ It is pretty much guaranteed to send Stiles in a tizzy every single time that Derek makes noises like that into his mouth. It's the kind of thing he just can't really get enough of, when he can roll his hips up just right or get his hands on him the way he likes, because Stiles has fought his way through the puzzle that is Derek Hale, and he's discovering new stuff about him every day.
When he takes his hand, though, it makes something else explode in his chest, butterflies in his throat, and his mouth slides into a stupid grin for a minute, as he uses his other hand to pull him close, wrapping it around the back of his neck and pulling him in so their foreheads touch, just for a second, then pulls him in for another kiss, and if you catch him murmuring something that sounds like I love you, well, he's not planning on sharing it with anyone else.
So Stiles squeezes his thighs where they're still around his waist, going along with the roll of his hips, easy as anything, and drops his head back as he has to break away from the kiss, back arching. ]
[ Like it's any secret what Derek does to Stiles, any time he touches him or makes those deep noises against his skin. He can't help it, either, and doesn't even try to. He loves the response he gets out of it, just the same as he loves when Stiles does the same to him. If he could capture every single noise that comes out of him, every arch of his spine, he'd keep it all close to his chest every single time. Because it could be years from now and he'd still never get tired of it, never get tired of learning what gets the responses out of him.
He goes where he's pulled, pressing close and bumping their noses before he's kissing him back. Because there's a sort of intent behind that touch, that gesture, and he's going to make sure that he follows up on it after all of this. After the returned murmur of I love you pressed to his lips, gentle and relieved and almost adoring as he goes down, presses it to his chin, says it again along his jaw. Every word is meant for Stiles only, and he plans on sealing it across every inch of his skin.
A hand slips under his spine as he arches, fingers digging into soft skin at the small of his back as he moves down to his throat. He doesn't stop the quiet confession, making up for the entire month that he was gone. He goes so far as to tuck it into the line of his pulse, a soft hum of words as he slots his hips more firmly with Stiles'. ]
You're ridiculous. [ That mostly only comes out as a wall to hide his embarrassment, the fact that the flush is starting to spread down from his cheeks to his neck and shoulders. Stiles isn't really an overly affectionate person--he's not Scott, he can't imagine making out with someone passionately surrounded by people, or cuddling up to someone that he's not familiar with. He still gets startled when he's kissed, years and years after his first one, still gets awkward when he tries to make moves. It's not that he doesn't believe Derek--because oh lord, does he--but he's flustered, and mostly just refuses to admit to it.
Still, there's a little smile on his face and a chuff that escapes him beforehand, and Stiles reacts to the hand at his back easily, squirming along with him and uses his hand that's still just connected to Derek's to lace their fingers together and bring it down near his head, tilting just enough to press a soft, returning kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger, too.
It's smooth and slow, the kind of rhythm they'd perfected once they stopped faking it and just started being Derek and Stiles, and the quartermaster's not a big fan of cliches, but he'd fill this room with candles and rose petals if it kept things like this, if he could keep Derek close and mumble in his ear, where it's safe and no one can hear but him, I love you, I missed you, I'm so glad you didn't die. ]
Maybe. [ But you missed it goes unsaid, and Derek tilts his head the slightest bit where he's curled over him, looking up from under his brow without an ounce of shame. Rather like Stiles, he's not a huge fan of public displays of affection, more subtle even when it's a select group of people, muted but honest. He's a private person, has been since tragedy first struck him when he was younger. Before the fire really took everything from him. But here, with Stiles, he lets go a little. Especially when he hasn't had this in so long, has been missing it in the month of his recovery.
With the returned kiss, his expression softens, and he shifts higher again, kisses his jaw before working around to the corner of his mouth, to his mouth proper. He doesn't say anything this time, just kisses him easily, conveying everything he has to say through it.
He keeps Stiles caged beneath him, squeezing his fingers in his as he rolls with him, slow and easy friction that's more than just thank god we survived sex. It's a month of longing, of mourning, of nearly losing something they'd both anchored themselves to. And he never wants to think of losing this, of losing Stiles. Not after all the loss he's already experienced in his life. ]
[ There's something warm and safe about being right here--don't get Stiles wrong, he is down with sex with Derek in multiple positions and multiple ways, and even if this isn't his favorite (it's a control freak thing), it's pretty damn close. It's intimate, romantic, where he can lace an arm around his shoulders, hold him closer, kiss him how he wants. The whole world can just narrow down to the two of them, where Derek's over him and he's holding on just as tightly, and he uses that hold on his hand as an anchor, squeezing tight as the angle hits just right, and his back arches off the bed underneath them, pressing them chest to chest.
The kiss he reaches for is sloppy, but it's starting to get to the point where it's hard to think about anything else but the friction between them, turning white hot by the second, and his eyes flutter shut as his free hand curls across his back, chewed down nails sliding slowly across the triskele that stretches between his shoulder blades. ]
[ Maybe in the beginning things hadn't meant to be this way-- they were supposed to fake intimacy, watch each others' backs to keep each other safe but never have that true sense of home-- but now it's there. Most people wouldn't think an agent of his caliber would need that sensation of warmth and home, of safety and security, but with Stiles? He had it by leaps and bounds, even outside of sex. But here, where he can curl over Stiles, offer him the same feeling that the Q gives him, pressing down over him and rocking forward, fingers curled tight together.
Arching up at the slow drag between his shoulders, almost as if encouraging it, Derek lets out a low, contented sound. As far as he's concerned, the world has narrowed down to them alone. After so long without Stiles in his life, it's more accurate than it ever was before, when they were easing out of the fake relationship and almost crashing into the real one. All there is, after everything that'd happened to him, is the taste and feel of Stiles, his heartbeat, and the friction growing between them. ]
[There were things about this he was looking forward to, a kind of permanence Stiles couldn't really describe in words. He'd gotten so used to Derek being such an intrinsic part of his life that imagining him without it was weird and jarring, and experiencing it was even worse. When he'd gotten him back now, after nearly losing him, Stiles wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. And whether it happens now or in the next six months--because Stiles would propose to him if he never made the move--it didn't matter. Just that it happened, that he never had to let go of Derek again, never had to see his casket again, unless he was dying two days later of a broken heart.
He can barely kiss him anymore, can barely feel anything but Derek caging him in overhead, the heat between them, the mattress rocking under his hips (and he'd make a joke about it if he wasn't currently occupied), and Stiles drops his head back and away and draws his nails back up, his back arching off of the bed as a groan comes out of his mouth, long and slow and a name, Derek. He's not going to last much longer at this rate, and if the edges of dawn happen to be peeking through the curtains, then it was a night (and a reunion) well spent. ]
[ Bowing forward as Stiles drops his head back, Derek tucks his nose under his jaw, plants errant kisses along the line of his throat as he arches up underneath his touch. But all the while, he keeps moving, a slow roll of his hips, friction on friction as he takes in the moment. Stiles is here, Stiles found him like he thought he would-- hoped he would-- and there's a box tucked away in the nightstand that he's turned over in his hands on more than one occasion in the past month. With the dawn slowly reaching out, dim light through dark curtains, he figures he has the perfect moment coming up. He waited this long to bring it up, to propose something actually permanent between them. He's not going to wait any longer.
He draws his hand away from the bed where it's been mostly supporting his weight, fisted in the sheets, so that he can drag his fingers down Stiles' side. For as much as he'd want to stay like this for longer than a night, there's something about Stiles unraveling that makes him want to push more, leave them both raw and open. So he moves, curls long fingers and broad hand around them both as best he can, adding to the friction and breathing out Stiles' name as he does. ]
[ His hands drop off of his back and hit the bed instead, long fingers curling into the rucked up bedsheets, and Stiles can practically feel it boiling over in his gut--the noises that come out of his mouth are shorter, interspersed by gasps, "oh my god"'s, until he groans his name to the ceiling, body rolling with his shoulders-chest-stomach-hips all the way down until his toes curl from where they're tucked against Derek's back and he shudders, something full body and shaky, twitching and shooting a hand down in between them to wrap around Derek's and match, and the pressure is enough. He gasps, and practically goes off like a shot, arching his back up and grinding his hips into the tight grip as he jerks a couple of times, writhing underneath him and trying to refocus and get the stars behind his eyes to clear.
It's a little light outside, when the two seconds of white pass, and pale swathes of blue cutting across the room as the sun's starting to come up. Stiles flutters his eyes open and looks at Derek, stares at the way the morning sun falls into his eyes, and his mind is just blown. There are a thousand words in the English language he could come up to describe the sight, and he brings his other hand up to curl in his sweat soaked hair, pushing himself upwards until he can curl a little near him, wind his long fingers around the back of his neck and keep his other hand moving with Derek's, twisting his wrist as he leans in and mutters-- ] C'mon, Der.
[ There's really something about watching Stiles come undone like this, and Derek watches as he does, even as he feels the pressure building up in him. He tries to hold off, even as his entire body mirrors Stiles', a slow roll to match his and there's the feel of those long fingers overlapping his, the heat of his hand just adding to the friction. For as much as he'd like to swallow down the noises he makes, the thoughtless words that come out, he just soaks them in instead, listening as he watches. It sends a rush straight down his spine to the pit of heat that's built up in him, and he breathes out shakily as he tries to hold on for just that moment longer.
But as always, for as much as he can take Stiles apart, he does the same to him. Watching him let go, seeing that look in his eye as he comes back into dim focus and looks at him, the touch of his hands-- and he bows forward again, presses their foreheads together as he rocks up and into that twist of his wrist. At the end, though, what pulls him apart, has him letting go, is his voice. A soft, guttural groan leaves him, just as shaky as he is with the tremor that rolls through him. ]
[ He pretty much feels boneless--that spent him physically and emotionally. They'd had nights like that occasionally before, after dangerous missions, but nothing to this level. Whatever tension in him had just melted out, but he doesn't lay downwards until he can pull his hand away and wrap both of his arms around his shoulders instead, keeping their foreheads together but not getting any further away. He's panting shallowly, more or less exhausted as he leans forward a little, craving the contact even as another shudder goes down his spine.
Stiles smiles at him when he catches his eye again, a tiny sliver of a thing that warms up his eyes and makes him drop his gaze in a little bit of embarrassment, because he's--Derek's alive. He's still fucking ecstatic. He's going to be for forever. ] Jesus--Christ, I'm out of practice.
[ It's a joke, at least, and he bumps their noses together, just for a second, and drops his hand to wipe it on the sheets. ]
[ It's a wonder that he can keep himself upright and not just drop his weight into Stiles. He keeps himself supported above him on his elbow, breathing heavily with him as he tries to get his wits about him again. His hand slowly eases away, wiping off on the sheets-- and for a moment he's thankful that he tends to pile on the sheets, for when Stiles rolls in them and becomes a blanket hog-- as he refuses to break contact with him otherwise. For as exhausting as that was, he's more than happy to stay right there as he catches his breath, comes down from the high.
He's, admittedly, a little dazed when he meets Stiles' gaze, but Derek still returns the smile as well as the bump of their noses. And after, with Stiles' eyes lowered, he tips up, presses a kiss against his brow. ] At least we didn't pop any stitches.
[ A joke for a joke. The injuries needing stitches have healed enough that he thinks he'll be all right. ]
This time. [ He snickers a little and a hand comes downward to find one of the scars, angry and pink and white, and Stiles runs his hand over it, covering him with his hand. Derek's always been made of titanium, and it's weird to see him hurting, bleeding, the supposedly unkillable one.
In the end, he really had been, and Stiles couldn't be gladder for it.
Brown eyes search his face for a moment, the flush from exertion high on his cheeks, covered by what's become more of a beard than a spreading of stubble, the dazed look in his eyes, and he's hit with so much affection that it practically makes him dizzy. So he leans forward and wraps his arms around both of his shoulders, tucking his face in his neck and holding on tightly. They're both sweaty and disgusting and a total mess, but for a couple of seconds, he doesn't really care. ]
Maybe later. [ Skin twitches a little at his touch, though it's simply sensitivity responding to the softness of his fingers more than anything relating to pain. It'll fade before too long, but he doesn't mind it-- relishes it, almost, because it means he's alive. Means he can feel him again, feel his pulse and the flush of skin.
Shifting to tuck an arm around his waist, practically pinning it between Stiles and the bed, Derek leans into the embrace and tucks his nose against his shoulder. It lets him leave a faint scrape of his beard, a light kiss on speckled skin as he just soaks up the moment. They might be gross and tired and needing a shower, but right now?
He doesn't want to be anywhere else. And he murmurs it again, presses it to pale skin. ] Love you.
Love you too, big guy. [ It comes out muffled, and he gives his shoulders a squeeze from where he's still holding on tight, like Derek is his anchor and his lifeline, because he is. He has been for a long, long time now.
Stiles turns his cheek and presses a kiss to his neck, where a little mark is still there, admiring his handiwork. For all the bruises and pain Derek's been through lately, he likes this one the best--it's his, a mark caused by something good instead of pain and agony. His smile goes a little lazy, even as he makes a face and shoves at his face a little lightly when his beard scrapes against overheated, sensitive skin. ] Jesus, you got hairier, dude. Like, this mountain man life is really suiting you.
[ Mouth curling in a smile, he keeps his arms secure around Stiles as they lay there in their tangle of limbs and bodies. They really ought to clean up, at least a little, but right now he's not in any real hurry to move. Not when he has this, not when he has his anchor back. Some agents slip away from their humanity, turn to machines. He was on that path for some time, but then Stiles came along.
Gave him something again.
A small, content noise leaves him at the kiss to his neck, instead of tension filling him again. But it turns into a laugh as he pushes at his face, head lolling a little so that his cheek rests against his shoulder briefly. Deciding to shift, he squeezes his arms a little more securely and tips his weight lazily, rolling them over so that Stiles is on top of him. It's friction that sensitive skin doesn't need right now, and gets a small hiss out of him, but then he just settles back and looks up at Stiles. ]
Shaving took too much energy to keep on top of it every day.
Aaaahh--jesus. We'll work on that. [ Talk about sensitive. Stiles goes when rolled and only makes a noise that's slightly whiny when he brushes up in all the right-slash-wrong places, but immediately gets resettled, resting his palms on his chest and putting his chin on top of his hands so he can peer down at him from him like a comfortable cat, obviously pleased with his useful position.
This is kind of perfect. A squint to the clock reveals the time around four in the morning, and it makes a long, lazy smile curl across his face as he tilts his head into his hand a little, watching him with bright eyes, and singing quietly. ] Alllll night loong--all night.
[ A sound of agreement leaves him, but he gets comfortable once everything has stopped setting sparks to his skin. The familiar weight of Stiles against his chest causes him to relax further, and he laces his fingers together at the small of his back as he looks up at him without much concern, and so much affection that it aches in his chest. ] Will we?
[ Derek doesn't bother looking at the clock, clear green eyes trailing across Stiles' face in the faint light of pre-dawn, taking in the lazy smile and the brightness to amber eyes. Everything he's seen before, but adores more and more every time he sees it. Laughing softly at his sing-song, he slides his hand up the line of his spine. ] No, Stiles.
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But it was a self-fulfilling prophecy of its own. They pretended to feel, and it had only become a reality.
To think, he could've lost all of this because of a slipup that had snowballed on a mission. Stiles' voice had been the last thing that he'd heard before the radio had finally shorted out. If it had to end there, then he would've maybe been all right with it if it weren't for the fact Stiles had been yelling for him to get up again, and he'd had the weight of a velvet box in his pocket.
Tipping them the rest of the way, he presses Stiles into the bed, rolling his hips forward into his and using the position against the sheets to his advantage as he kisses him deeply, almost needily. Like a drowning man needs air. ]
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All the anxiety and stress from the last month was just pouring away, with the searing heat of Derek's fingers against him, the line of their bodies pressed close together, something that had been a natural fit for ages now. It's home, him and his not really a spouse but still kind of close to being a spouse, spending time together for the first time after what practically amounted to reincarnation.
It doesn't make him stop being cheeky though, and when his hands slide down Derek's back as they rock into the particularly right angle, he gets a handful of his butt, squeezing. ]
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Murmuring Stiles' name out in response, pressed between their mouths, he tries not to linger too heavily on everything that they could've lost if that mission had failed. If he hadn't been able to save Stiles from Kate's clutches. For the longest time, he hadn't had a home. Hadn't had a place to belong.
Stiles had changed that.
Rather than seeming bothered by Stiles being a cheeky little shit, he flexes all the way from his shoulders down to his butt beneath his touch, back rolling into an arch that brings his hips them into Stiles' again smoothly. ]
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[ But just to be sure that he's not going to get up, Stiles gives another squeeze and rolls his hips up in time with Derek's, almost immediately latching onto him to keep him from running off, because Derek tends to do that when he's done with Stiles' general state of being.
Which is like ninety percent of the time, so he has to be prepared.
It makes him laugh anyway, and Stiles at least uses his leverage on his butt to tug his hips down again, turning his wide grin to the side of Derek's face, teeth finding his earlobe and giving a tug. ]
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[ Still, he runs his hands down his quartermaster's sides, calloused touch pressing just shy of leaving marks behind. But when they reach his hips, he starts applying a little more pressure, until he can hike Stiles up a little more instead of trying to escape.
Yeah, he tends to try and get up so he can leave Stiles (who often cackles like a hyena) whenever he gets tired of his general state of being, but...
Well. He missed this. Every aspect of it, including stupid jokes along with that brush of teeth. ]
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Yeah okay. Coherency. How do you do that again. ] Put a ring on it. G-God.
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But then he pulls back a little, reaching and taking his left hand, fingers folding over his so he can bring it up to his mouth. Eyes dark, in the moment and from the room, he looks at Stiles as he presses his lips quite intentionally over where a ring would sit, in the same moment he shifts his hips forward again. ]
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When he takes his hand, though, it makes something else explode in his chest, butterflies in his throat, and his mouth slides into a stupid grin for a minute, as he uses his other hand to pull him close, wrapping it around the back of his neck and pulling him in so their foreheads touch, just for a second, then pulls him in for another kiss, and if you catch him murmuring something that sounds like I love you, well, he's not planning on sharing it with anyone else.
So Stiles squeezes his thighs where they're still around his waist, going along with the roll of his hips, easy as anything, and drops his head back as he has to break away from the kiss, back arching. ]
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He goes where he's pulled, pressing close and bumping their noses before he's kissing him back. Because there's a sort of intent behind that touch, that gesture, and he's going to make sure that he follows up on it after all of this. After the returned murmur of I love you pressed to his lips, gentle and relieved and almost adoring as he goes down, presses it to his chin, says it again along his jaw. Every word is meant for Stiles only, and he plans on sealing it across every inch of his skin.
A hand slips under his spine as he arches, fingers digging into soft skin at the small of his back as he moves down to his throat. He doesn't stop the quiet confession, making up for the entire month that he was gone. He goes so far as to tuck it into the line of his pulse, a soft hum of words as he slots his hips more firmly with Stiles'. ]
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Still, there's a little smile on his face and a chuff that escapes him beforehand, and Stiles reacts to the hand at his back easily, squirming along with him and uses his hand that's still just connected to Derek's to lace their fingers together and bring it down near his head, tilting just enough to press a soft, returning kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger, too.
It's smooth and slow, the kind of rhythm they'd perfected once they stopped faking it and just started being Derek and Stiles, and the quartermaster's not a big fan of cliches, but he'd fill this room with candles and rose petals if it kept things like this, if he could keep Derek close and mumble in his ear, where it's safe and no one can hear but him, I love you, I missed you, I'm so glad you didn't die. ]
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With the returned kiss, his expression softens, and he shifts higher again, kisses his jaw before working around to the corner of his mouth, to his mouth proper. He doesn't say anything this time, just kisses him easily, conveying everything he has to say through it.
He keeps Stiles caged beneath him, squeezing his fingers in his as he rolls with him, slow and easy friction that's more than just thank god we survived sex. It's a month of longing, of mourning, of nearly losing something they'd both anchored themselves to. And he never wants to think of losing this, of losing Stiles. Not after all the loss he's already experienced in his life. ]
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The kiss he reaches for is sloppy, but it's starting to get to the point where it's hard to think about anything else but the friction between them, turning white hot by the second, and his eyes flutter shut as his free hand curls across his back, chewed down nails sliding slowly across the triskele that stretches between his shoulder blades. ]
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Arching up at the slow drag between his shoulders, almost as if encouraging it, Derek lets out a low, contented sound. As far as he's concerned, the world has narrowed down to them alone. After so long without Stiles in his life, it's more accurate than it ever was before, when they were easing out of the fake relationship and almost crashing into the real one. All there is, after everything that'd happened to him, is the taste and feel of Stiles, his heartbeat, and the friction growing between them. ]
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He can barely kiss him anymore, can barely feel anything but Derek caging him in overhead, the heat between them, the mattress rocking under his hips (and he'd make a joke about it if he wasn't currently occupied), and Stiles drops his head back and away and draws his nails back up, his back arching off of the bed as a groan comes out of his mouth, long and slow and a name, Derek. He's not going to last much longer at this rate, and if the edges of dawn happen to be peeking through the curtains, then it was a night (and a reunion) well spent. ]
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He draws his hand away from the bed where it's been mostly supporting his weight, fisted in the sheets, so that he can drag his fingers down Stiles' side. For as much as he'd want to stay like this for longer than a night, there's something about Stiles unraveling that makes him want to push more, leave them both raw and open. So he moves, curls long fingers and broad hand around them both as best he can, adding to the friction and breathing out Stiles' name as he does. ]
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It's a little light outside, when the two seconds of white pass, and pale swathes of blue cutting across the room as the sun's starting to come up. Stiles flutters his eyes open and looks at Derek, stares at the way the morning sun falls into his eyes, and his mind is just blown. There are a thousand words in the English language he could come up to describe the sight, and he brings his other hand up to curl in his sweat soaked hair, pushing himself upwards until he can curl a little near him, wind his long fingers around the back of his neck and keep his other hand moving with Derek's, twisting his wrist as he leans in and mutters-- ] C'mon, Der.
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But as always, for as much as he can take Stiles apart, he does the same to him. Watching him let go, seeing that look in his eye as he comes back into dim focus and looks at him, the touch of his hands-- and he bows forward again, presses their foreheads together as he rocks up and into that twist of his wrist. At the end, though, what pulls him apart, has him letting go, is his voice. A soft, guttural groan leaves him, just as shaky as he is with the tremor that rolls through him. ]
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Stiles smiles at him when he catches his eye again, a tiny sliver of a thing that warms up his eyes and makes him drop his gaze in a little bit of embarrassment, because he's--Derek's alive. He's still fucking ecstatic. He's going to be for forever. ] Jesus--Christ, I'm out of practice.
[ It's a joke, at least, and he bumps their noses together, just for a second, and drops his hand to wipe it on the sheets. ]
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He's, admittedly, a little dazed when he meets Stiles' gaze, but Derek still returns the smile as well as the bump of their noses. And after, with Stiles' eyes lowered, he tips up, presses a kiss against his brow. ] At least we didn't pop any stitches.
[ A joke for a joke. The injuries needing stitches have healed enough that he thinks he'll be all right. ]
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In the end, he really had been, and Stiles couldn't be gladder for it.
Brown eyes search his face for a moment, the flush from exertion high on his cheeks, covered by what's become more of a beard than a spreading of stubble, the dazed look in his eyes, and he's hit with so much affection that it practically makes him dizzy. So he leans forward and wraps his arms around both of his shoulders, tucking his face in his neck and holding on tightly. They're both sweaty and disgusting and a total mess, but for a couple of seconds, he doesn't really care. ]
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Shifting to tuck an arm around his waist, practically pinning it between Stiles and the bed, Derek leans into the embrace and tucks his nose against his shoulder. It lets him leave a faint scrape of his beard, a light kiss on speckled skin as he just soaks up the moment. They might be gross and tired and needing a shower, but right now?
He doesn't want to be anywhere else. And he murmurs it again, presses it to pale skin. ] Love you.
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Stiles turns his cheek and presses a kiss to his neck, where a little mark is still there, admiring his handiwork. For all the bruises and pain Derek's been through lately, he likes this one the best--it's his, a mark caused by something good instead of pain and agony. His smile goes a little lazy, even as he makes a face and shoves at his face a little lightly when his beard scrapes against overheated, sensitive skin. ] Jesus, you got hairier, dude. Like, this mountain man life is really suiting you.
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Gave him something again.
A small, content noise leaves him at the kiss to his neck, instead of tension filling him again. But it turns into a laugh as he pushes at his face, head lolling a little so that his cheek rests against his shoulder briefly. Deciding to shift, he squeezes his arms a little more securely and tips his weight lazily, rolling them over so that Stiles is on top of him. It's friction that sensitive skin doesn't need right now, and gets a small hiss out of him, but then he just settles back and looks up at Stiles. ]
Shaving took too much energy to keep on top of it every day.
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This is kind of perfect. A squint to the clock reveals the time around four in the morning, and it makes a long, lazy smile curl across his face as he tilts his head into his hand a little, watching him with bright eyes, and singing quietly. ] Alllll night loong--all night.
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[ Derek doesn't bother looking at the clock, clear green eyes trailing across Stiles' face in the faint light of pre-dawn, taking in the lazy smile and the brightness to amber eyes. Everything he's seen before, but adores more and more every time he sees it. Laughing softly at his sing-song, he slides his hand up the line of his spine. ] No, Stiles.
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