laography | when the moon found the sun / when the sun found the moon

[ Rolling his eyes-- fondly, at least-- he bows his head forward to place a nip against the meat of his shoulder in retribution for his sass. Which is something he's going to employ more often, now that he absolutely can. But otherwise Derek remains still, letting Stiles' mouth wander, his pulse steady beneath his mouth. He really is happy, settled in the heat of the tent with Stiles, the taste of him still on his tongue and his skin flushed and warm. He brings his hand up from where it sits just over the triskele between his shoulders, sliding his fingers through his disheveled hair from the back.

It stays there, as Stiles moves to kiss him, curling gently in it as he tips in to return the kiss without hesitation. It's easy to just fall into this, like a steady dialogue between them. ]

[ Reacting just a little to the hand in his hair, Stiles rolls up into the kiss, more or less. It's lazy and languid and the kind of thing usually reserved for the very rare Sunday morning when Stiles happened to wake up when Derek did, and he brings his hands up to fan over his stubbled cheeks, holding him in place and kissing him long and slow, still not quite over the weird tingles in his mouth from earlier. And not even the fact that Derek tastes like--yeah. Jesus.

It's a lot to take in at once, especially considering his lower half is just now starting to show interest again. ]

[ Leaning into Stiles' touch against his cheeks, and opening more into the kiss, Derek can't help the pleased noise at the back of his throat again. If he can wake up to this every day and go to bed with it every night for the rest of his life, he's pretty sure that he'll make it through whatever hells the gods both new and old will throw at him. Stiles makes everything worth it.

And is maybe more than a little intoxicating at this point. He slides his free hand up, following the path of marks he's left behind-- brushing over the pulse of his throat-- until it can join the first, curling in his hair. ]

[ Stiles is discovering that he likes a lot of things lately. Hands in his hair is definitely one of them. He echoes Derek's soft, pleased noise with one of his own and and curls his fingers against his jaw. Stiles could probably literally sit here and kiss him forever, to be honest--fuck responsibilities, fuck being the lupa. (Not really, but it's a nice thought.)

However, he is still Stiles, and he fidgets a little, not sure exactly where to be going from here. He learned a lot about the mechanics about this, but that doesn't mean he learned a lot about Derek with it. ]

[ Corners of his mouth twitching a little in response, Derek squeezes his fingers just a touch in his brown hair, testing his reaction rather shamelessly. This is essentially a continuous learning experience for both of them, and he is going to soak up every single thing that makes Stiles sigh and moan, remember it and use it. If they really can spend a week as just Derek and Stiles, not faoladh and lupa, then he is going to use it damn well. (He knows better than to think that they'll get a full week, too, but it's nice to want things again.)

So in tune with Stiles as he is, it's not as if he could miss the way he fidgets, no matter how minute it is. Right, this is a process that they both need to figure out. ]

[ He's totally got this, right. Totally. Another pleased sigh comes out of him at the tug, and he shifts forward just a little, scooting up on his knees until he can plant himself in Derek's lap. That's the confirmation he apparently needed, because all of a sudden his secondary brain is very much on top of this (pun so intended), and he shifts to sit up a little so he can lean over Derek a little while he's kissing him, shoulders coming up a little as he starts to get a little more into it, kisses a little less chaste, a little less lazy.

Is he nervous? Undoubtedly. But it's the excited kind that twists up in his stomach, and Stiles is just busting down all kinds of walls today. It's kind of perfect. ]

[ Suddenly finding himself with a lapful of Stiles is the furthest thing from surprising, and not even in the same universe as unwanted. His fingers gentle in his hair, loosening slowly, before Derek starts to slide them down the back of his neck. He presses his fingertips along the skin there, overlapping with the marks he's left behind from holding tight to him, then drags them down to follow the path of his spine where he's leaned over him. With the renewed vigor of the kisses, it's pretty damn easy to just get lost in Stiles even more.

But he doesn't stop moving his hands, short nails drawing down under his shoulder blades before he flattens warm palms down, fingers fanned wide as he makes his way to his hips. Part of his intent is reassurance, but all of it is just needing to touch him before they really get moving again. ]

[ Touching is awesome. Touching is fanfreakintastic. Stiles sighs into his mouth and wraps his arms tight around Derek's shoulders, the skin on skin contact sending a shiver down his spine. His hips shift a little out of instinct, and there's something that doing this without clothes on that anything they've ever done beforehand can't quite compare to; he mumbles something that sounds like "awesome" and rolls his hips into Derek's touch.

When he breaks the kiss, it's with a grin, mouths still touching just a little, as he mumbles, ] Are we really gonna get a whole week of this? I am so down.

[ Even though he already knows the answer. ]

[ Echoing the sigh, Derek brings his hands around to the front of his hips, drifting towards his thighs. He's basically going to spend most of the first night, nevermind the rest of the week, just letting his touch wander everywhere. Because he reaches out for and touches Stiles frequently, but this is a whole different thing. Even if he winds up mumbling into the kiss the way he does, though it gets him to chuckle a little.

Considering his question as he asks it, he tips his chin up to catch Stiles' bottom lip between both of his, sucking lightly before he draws back with a drag of teeth. ] Anything you want.

That's a dangerous answer, Hale. [ His face lights up immediately as Derek chases him through the kiss, and Stiles feels the heat tighten up in his stomach again--he's always been down for the arguing, the competition, the bickering that they'd pretty much become famous for around the encampment. Stiles' favorite hobby was riling Derek up and had been since day one, only know it comes with additional, sexy, sexy consequences.

So he grins, a sickle of a thing, and raises an eyebrow at him, then leans in and steals another kiss. ]

Marrying you already sealed my fate. [ Tone dry but expression both amused and affectionate, Derek squeezes his hands firmly around his hips and shifts his own upwards against him. There's no denying that he really thrives on the push and pull between them, but there is something definitely different about it here. Stiles can rile him up all he wants, but there are definitely (sexy) consequences attached to it. ]

I think it's worth the risk. [ With that answer, he smirks into the kiss as he meets it, thumbs pressing a bruising mark on each hip. ]

[ Oh, that's nice. The pressure is familiar and warm and it makes that syrupy heat return to his gut just a little--Stiles drops his arms over his shoulders and shivers a little as his thumbs sink in, visibly letting the chill go up his spine. He reaches out and bites his lower lip, licking into that smirk and cupping his cheeks in his hands instead, fidgety as always. ]

What is, giving me everything I want? [ He presses a softer kiss to his mouth, puts on a fake, questioning expression. ] What if I asked for...like, a castle.

[ Rubbing against his hips after he leaves behind the soft bruises, Derek hardly seems bothered by the fidgeting that goes across his shoulders, brushes across his cheeks. He meets him in the kiss, following after him, tongue tracing the shape of his mouth. His hands want to wander everywhere again, but he keeps them steady where they're settled as his hips shift up again. ]

How big would you want it to be? [ He returns the softer kiss, following it to the corner of his mouth, down across soft skin, until he can press one against his chin. ] Closer to the Wall, or in the middle of the wilds?

[ He can't help the grin curling across his face--there's a momentary wide eyed stare and a-- ] Whoa, really? [ Before he realizes he's probably just screwing with him.

Still, he returns the favor, rolling his hips down sinously slow and letting Derek nip at his chin by tilting his head up, threading the fingers that were on his cheeks through the dark threads of his hair and holding him there, instead. ] In the middle of the wilds. With an ice moat.

Don't test me. [ His voice rumbles even more again, pressed against the curve of Stiles' chin as he kisses it, leaves a soft drag of teeth in a wolfish nip. It doesn't even register to him that he's been doing it for ages now, affection and equality rolled all into one. The faoladh and the lupa are two sides of the same coin, after all. ] I will actually build you a castle.

[ And chase down the moon-- the true one, not the one that sits before him that he's already caught, though it shines brighter in his mind-- to give to him, and find spring in the middle of winter just so he won't be cold anymore.

The slow pressure rebuilding between them continues, entire body seeming to roll with the motions, even as that warmth in his chest brightens even more in an overwhelming affection for his southerner. ]

Challenge accepted. [ He grins a little and sways comfortably from his position on Derek's lap, eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling as Derek nips at his chin. He's not sure how he got so lucky--some days, he looks back on where he came from and almost laughs about it. It could have ended in disaster, but here he was.

Honestly, Stiles would return the favor. If he could do anything for Derek, you bet your ass he'd bend over backwards to do it. ] What about you, could I build you a castle?

[ Whatever else smart he was going to say dies as Derek rolls his hips against his, and he stutters a sigh out of his mouth again and squeezes the hand in his hair, like it's a command or a reward or a bit of both. ]

The biggest castle you can get. [ Smiling against his chin, he moves down a little more as he looks up at the ceiling, leaving an open mouthed kiss over the shape of his adam's apple. There's an absolute lack of sarcasm in his voice, because at this point he'd give Stiles everything he asked for and more.

When Stiles asks him, though, Derek just draws back a little from where he's mapping out his skin with his mouth to look at him. It's then that he finally brings up his hands, cupping his face and pressing a soft kiss to the bow of his swolen lips. ]

I don't need a castle. [ He talks right against his mouth, hardly wanting to pull away. At the same time, he rocks his hips up again, for the sigh and the grip in his hair and the sensation of hot friction between them. ] I have you.

[ His smile grows a little, ears pinkening at the tips at the thought, and he bobs his head like he's excited about it, but that's silenced pretty quickly as his big hands come up to his jaw, and Derek kisses him like he's something precious or necessary or both. It's something he might never get used to, despite coming up on a year of his being here and months and months of courtship on top of that.

It was something he never saw coming--Derek hit into him like a freight train, an unstoppable force crashing into an immovable object, and it was something he wouldn't trade for the world.

Heartbeat ratcheting up stupidly, he threads his other hand into his hair as well, until he's cradling his head, and kisses him back like a drowning man needed air, until the flush has spread over his cheekbones, and he rocks down again, shivering and managing to get out-- ] I'm not--much of a castle.

[ That's starting to get really, really good, and he gasps out-- ] Derek, fuck.

[ Though they have an expansive territory, could rule over it much like the people beyond the wall do instead of traversing it and setting up camps, Derek has never thought about it. Not with Paige, not when he thought that Kate was real, never. But Stiles has had a way about him, something that's changed the faoladh, and if Stiles really wanted a castle? He would build the greatest one that he could, for him to live in. But him, he doesn't need a castle. He doesn't need riches, he doesn't want more power like what would come with the iron throne. ]

No, but the moon is greater than any castle. [ If it were any other moment, if it wasn't Stiles, then the words wouldn't be coming out of his mouth. But as the story goes, the sun chases the moon so that they can be together again. And it feels like he's the sun, finally caught up to the moon, every time he kisses Stiles.

He breathes out shakily, eyes closing for a moment as he curls his fingers around the base of his skull, slipping into his hair. ] Stiles.

[ He wants to say something sarcastic-- "If the moon was right here, you'd have bigger problems", maybe, or a remark about wolves and howling that would have been dirty, but the weight and the gravity keep his mouth shut, because he thinks he might agree. The story'd been told to him enough times now, overheard by Peter as he talked to the faolan or by Derek, running a cold cloth over his head while he was feverish and muttering the story to him to keep him in his fitful sleep. The sun and the moon, chasing each other for all of time, maybe finally caught up.

He muffles it when he buries his face in his neck, groaning out his noises against the thin skin of his throat and keeping his hips moving, back and forth, until his toes are curling behind Derek's back and he has to bite down, sinking his teeth into the spot to keep from being obnoxiously loud. Considering how the last time he lost it went, Stiles has the distinct feeling that he will not be up for the entire consummating thing when this one hits him, and it's only with that that he manages to shudder to a stop, peppering frantic, messy kisses to the side of the neck, teeth and lips and tongue until there's a little line of marks down the side of his neck. ] 's go, I'm ready.

[ Bossy does not really even begin to cover Stiles. ]

[ If he could just stay here like this, Derek probably would. For as much as he loves their sarcasm, their more biting exchanges, there's a beast in him that is sated in this moment. It's perfect, and makes him feel like they really might have found the end to the story. Still, there's another one in the works, one that's personally theirs and not their past. Something more for him to tell the faolan.

His entire body goes tense when Stiles bites down, and there's an outright moan muffled in the curve of his pale shoulder in response to it. The mark stays behind, though it takes some subconscious reminder for his body to keep from healing any of the marks that Stiles leaves before the morning comes around. Humming low in the back of his throat, a pleased little thing, as the tension works out of him while he tilts his head aside for him to work his way along the side of his neck. ]

All right. [ Instead of asking if he's sure, because he knows better, he takes advantage of the fact Stiles has stopped moving, forcing his willpower to hold so that he doesn't rock up just to get Stiles to react. He leans back and balances with his lapful of lupa, muscles of his stomach keeping him upright as he does. It takes a little reaching, but he brings over a container that's been kept warm by the small fire of the tent. ]

[ Stiles gets tilted forwards when Derek moves, but he doesn't fight it at all--just makes a low whistling noise, teasingly, because Derek's strength is kind of ridiculous in even the most mundane situations, and wraps both of his arms around Derek's shoulders, tucking his cheek against the curve of his shoulder and watching him grab--whatever he's grabbing at. It's not that he can't guess, and his heartbeat jumps a little, overactive imagination pretty much immediately following that entire train of thought down to the caboose.

(Literally.)

One hand runs down his back, until he finds the triskele's spirals, and Stiles traces them while Derek gets settled again, running his nail down and around each spiral. It's a little point of contact, something to keep him distracted from whatever questions are on his tongue, and Stiles absently smooches one of the marks he's made. It'll disappear eventually--the fact that it's still here is still kind of impressive--but Stiles can't help but be proud anyway, tracing them gently and muttering against his skin when he talks. ]

Is this part gonna take forever? [ After a beat. ] Not that I don't love the bonding time.

[ Derek rolls his eyes a little as he whistles, but otherwise seems amused he resettles and wraps his arms loosely around Stiles' waist to fiddle around with the container. They're both in the dark on this particular area, but at least he's got a better idea of what he's doing, can squash down nerves with the idle touches that Stiles curls against tanned skin. With the way that he traces across the whorls of the triskele, it's almost like he melts, brushing his mouth against the soft meat of his shoulder as he tests the temperature of the viscous contents with his fingertips. ]

Knowing you, you won't let it. [ Well, everyone knows how bossy Stiles is.

Dipping into the salve calmly with two fingers, he nudges at Stiles' hip with his other hand, kissing the shape of his shoulder. He's prepared to tip back a little again to accommodate for this, though he needs to get Stiles into the position first. And, given the fact he doesn't want to let go of Stiles, this is the best one they can take. ] Kneel.

[ It's nice to feel Derek melt against him, a sensation usually attached to Derek flopping down beside him and tucking his face into his hip--Stiles has figured out a lot of his "buttons", things that make the alpha loosen up, to the point of where he's practically got this down to a science. This is an old one, usually used before bed, when he's wrapped around Derek's back like a spider monkey, but it has the same effect in a far different context, and the thought of it makes his smile soften, until he's looking down into his shoulder with a face that's nothing but affectionate.

And then Derek tells him to move, and his eyebrows raise--opening his mouth and closing it, he nods and squirms backwards off of his lap. And that's the end of him being silent, apparently, because when he pushes backwards and gets onto his knees, he snarks, turning over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow at him. ] Y'know, this is a lot more what I imagined when they said the phrase, "marrying a wildling."

[ The fact that Stiles has him so figured out, where only maybe two surviving people still have that knowledge, Derek is both vaguely amused and maybe a lot exploitative of it. Sure, his mate can use it against him whenever he wants, but the comfort that comes with it and the knowledge that Stiles actually cared to figure those buttons out is more than worth whenever he decides to reach out and press them. It means he can let go, for once. Can relax into a quiet moment.

Now, though, he can't help but snort loudly, a short and dry laugh leaving him as he tips his weight forward after him. ] No, I know exactly what you imagined. [ It's not as if he hasn't heard what those on the other side of the wall say about the wildlings, and maybe for some of them it's true. But not here, and he knows that Stiles has learned otherwise, has seen for himself. Leaning forward, he brushes his nose into the top of his spine, before leaving a kiss just above the bright red triskele between his shoulders. ]

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