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

[ 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. ]

[ It's not like Derek doesn't know his buttons, either. He loves to research and work, and his attempt at codifying the symbols of the wildling packs has taken him ages of hard work. And when he gets started, he works for hours and hours on end--Derek is the only one who can snap him out of it. Ever.

Stretching out like a cat across the furs, it takes him a minute to get properly settled, until he gets settled on his elbows, still looking back over his shoulder and trying to watch the entire thing go down out of curiosity. (Or possible replication later, the other way around? He could so be down with that.)

He undeniably shivers in anticipation as Derek's lips press to his spine, feeling the chill go all the way down his back , and he curls his hands in the furs so he's steadily anchored down, throwing him a little grin. ] You looked the part, dude.

[ And he wiggles backwards a little, definitely purposefully. ]

[ Granted, Stiles has an innumerable amount of buttons for Derek to press and he's still learning more. The ones that he's counted so far outnumber his fingers, honestly, so he just resorts to remembering them for later and utilizing them when he needs to. Even if Stiles' work is paying off, slowly but surely, it's not something he should keep bent over for hours on end, day in and day out.

Admiring the view as he stretches out, he keeps his slicked up fingers away from him for now, running his dry and calloused hand up his side. This is a great sight, but he has many more in mind, even if his instincts thrum with everything in his senses right now. ]

I think we're the real definition of appearances can be deceiving. [ Still, he can't resist teasing him, and he brings his hand up. Skirting across the back of his neck with his fingertips, he slides them into his hair and curls them securely. ] Most, anyways.

[ And he pulls, just the slightest bit, in response to the wiggling. ]

What is that supposed to mea-nnh. [ He obviously responds well to having his hair pulled, considering--the lupa tilts backwards in what his probably his first real obedient move of the evening, and because he is the little shit that he is, Stiles repeats the wiggle again.

The soothe of his hand is nice--his callouses create a friction up and down his back, nothing but shiver worthy. It's hard for him to be patient in these situations--in most situations, really--and Derek is really, really not helping that. At all.

Right, so that would be the part he was expecting when he got here. He's still not stopping talking, though. ] Yeah, because you're a total marshmallow?

And you're just sweet as chocolate, aren't you. [ Part of him wants to wrap his fingers around the front of his exposed throat, but he doesn't. Not yet, anyways. Instead, Derek pulls a little more firmly to get him looking up at the ceiling, mostly just to see his reaction. But it's all contained movement, nothing to actually hurt him so much as give him that friction he's been pushing for. ] We're a pair.

[ His fingers slowly ease from his hair, dragging down the back of his neck and following the curve of his spine-- carefully skipping over the still raw skin of his tattoo-- until he can dip down, touch the back of his thigh. ]

Brace. [ Head bowing, he kisses the wing of his shoulder, thumb spreading him a little. ]

[ The noise that comes out of his mouth is nothing short of a gasp, and his eyes flutter--the sting of it isn't bad at all, especially mixed with the way it shoots heat straight down to his groin. He can't resist the smart remark, either, because smart remarks are Stiles' currency, and Derek is practically his bank. ] I'm--adorable.

[ He flashes him a smile though, raising his eyebrows, and arches and rolls with the hand that goes down his skin, following the path to a tee and leaning forward a little more, pushing his weight forward to his elbows and his knees. And then when things get a little more serious, he nods, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he leans down to brace himself better. No turning back now! ]

You're something. [ It's his go-to, really, but it's no less true every time he says it. Stiles is certainly something, everything, and most of all nothing he ever expected. So Derek will take every ounce of that currency, and trade for his own when the banter rises. Especially if there's going to be a lifetime of this tradeoff.

Pressing a smile against his skin in response to the one he's given, he steadies his hand at the back of his thigh, holding him still once he leans further. There's a moment's pause, letting him settle, before he brings his other hand up and brushes his fingers, first. Leaving a warm and wet streak before he presses in, one finger first. ]

Shucks, you know, I'm never gonna get tired of your comebaaacks! Oh gods.

[ You would think, after warning upon warning, he'd actually be ready for that? But he wasn't. The streak made his toes curl, and Derek's hand on his thigh is hot and warm and familiar but any fidgeting abruptly stops, because then there's a decidedly unfamiliar pressure and he sucks in a breath to keep from pushing back against him. It's not unpleasant, really, but it's not exactly mind blowing, either, and Stiles resists the urge to squirm around and drops his head down, exhaling loudly. ] Hoo--okay. That's weird.

[ A very loud snort leaves him in exchange for his sudden outburst, and Derek stays completely still as Stiles gets onto a completely different rambling tangent. It's as entertaining as it usually is, so he simply waits him out until he feels that tell-tale twitch that tends to signal squirming on the horizon start to fade into tension. ]

I warned you. [ Not so much of an I told you so, but close enough. He waits for Stiles' retort to start to come out of his mouth, before crooking his finger midway into the smartass remark, because he's sort of enjoying the way he's been able to cut his stream of thought like a knife. ]

Yeah, by living up to your freakin' cavema--ohhmygods.

[ When he crooks his finger, it shoots a jolt of heat down his spine and he has to shudder, his voice squawking up half an octave as Derek hits that sweet spot he wasn't aware he had. He totally, absolutely did that on purpose, and Stiles turns his head over his shoulder to shoot him a look. ]

Seriously? [ Rude, Derek. So rude. It'd be more rude if it wasn't making heat pool all the way down to his toes, but it's still rude. ]

[ Simply looking back at him benignly, where he's bowed over his back rather comfortably despite the angle, he raises his eyebrows again in askance. Maybe it's rude, but they're not exactly the sweetest pair, not in the north, not in the south, not anywhere. There are softer moments-- ones like before, where sun and moon intertwine, the chase over before it has to begin again-- but this is just as much them as anything else. ]

If I remember correctly, you were actually sounding pretty keen to the idea of the caveman lifestyle earlier. Manhandling included. [ Hardly bothered, Derek just slips down the length of Stiles' spine, mouth and teeth and tongue, precisely pressed for just the right reactions as he slowly eases the offending digit out again. ]

[ Stiles returns the benign look with an impressive eyeroll of his own, but drops his head again, squirming a little again, like he's trying to get him to move a little faster. The kisses are indulgent and wet and warm and he's probably going to have an entire line of hickies down his back, but Stiles literally cannot bring himself to care about it. ]

I have no idea what you're talking about. [ When his hand moves again, it's an even weirder feeling, and he drops his head down and makes a frustrated noise. Derek you're so rude.]

Of course you don't.

[ With the squirming, and the noise that comes out of Stiles, Derek adjusts his wrist so that he can pull out almost all the way before pressing in again, moving, making something of a rhythm to see if it sates Stiles for the time being. Because knowing his lupa, it's not going to be long before he starts complaining, starts pushing, and he'll be more than happy to give him what he wants.

Even if he's incredibly rude about it, drawing it out and teasing him. But he'll thank him later for it, even if it's not in so many words. ]

You have yet to prove to me that you can be a caveman besides the word--usssage. Usage.

[ Starting a rhythm gives him something to focus on, taking away the burn of the pressure and tilting the scales much more in the favor of "oh yes, please", which is what comes out of his mouth. He starts to rock backwards and forwards with Derek's hand, finding the rhythm he's making and latching onto it.

That eventually gets followed with a hand gesture, a flop of his wrist that basically means okay I'm good don't stop. He is kind of still being a bossy little shit, even from a position like this. ]

And do you actually want me to?

[ There's an actual curiosity to the question, as he mouths at the dip of Stiles' spine, teeth pressing briefly. Keeping an amused sound to himself to his words, he keeps moving his hand, crooking his finger again to see if he can get that reaction again. See if he can get something bigger, louder.

Brows raising as he catches the flop of his wrist, Derek rolls his eyes a little and brushes his nose against the soft skin of his back, where he is most definitely leaving a scattered trail of marks everywhere. He keeps going, more than happy to. ]

I'unno, it could be a compliment--fuck! [ That comes out in what's basically a yell as his finger crooks again and Stiles' hands tighten in the furs underneath him, his head dropping down as he sucks in a deep, noisy breath, and chokes out his answer, completely distracted by the fact that his brains are dribbling out of his ears.] Yes, okay, yes, that'd be awesome, mother above--

[ His hips shift backwards and forwards as he really gets into working the whole rhythm, and that whole "not gonna make it to sex" thing is just an echo in the back of his head. ]

[ Derek's smug as all hell to get Stiles to falter, because it's one thing to startle him but this. This is an entirely different thing. He takes in the noises that he makes, and matches the rhythm of his hips shifting, slowly moving his free hand around to curl around the front of his thigh. But he doesn't reach any further, because they're trying to get to a certain point and that would just wind up being incredibly counterproductive.

He waits a little, keeps following the motions, pressing every now and then to get that reaction out of him. After all this time, he knows better than to think that Stiles isn't going to push for more, once the words come to him properly.

Leaning forward over the spread of his back, he tucks his nose behind his ear and rumbles. ] I can do that, then.

[ Screwing his eyes shut, Stiles shudders again at the heat on his back, the sudden presence of Derek right there on his ear; his back arches up underneath him and he curls his fingers tighter, letting go of the covers for a second and finding Derek's neck with his hand, wrapping his fingers around the back of it and giving a squeeze. ]

C'mon, c'mon-- [ The words do come back to him as he gets settled again, between a crook of his finger, and tightens his grip, nodding his head back into him, knocking into his shoulder. That is bossy Stiles at his best, trying to get him to move a little more, because come on, man. His voice comes out cracked though, sounding wrecked. ] I'm going to frickin die before we get to the--ghn--good part!

[ As Stiles' head knocks into his shoulder, Derek finally brings his hand up from his thigh to curl his fingers around the front of his throat. His touch is just this side of bruising, claiming but careful not to choke. It mirrors Stiles' touch to the back of his own neck, one that he arches up into as he presses his chest down against him. There's still the care that he doesn't leave pressure on the tattoo, but he curls as close to him as he can.

Practically purring, the rumble in his throat and the pit of his chest rolls so much, at the way Stiles' voice comes out, he kisses a vibrant mark he's left behind around the meat of his shoulder before he starts to ease the second finger in. ] You're too stubborn for that.

[ The pressure of fingers on his throat are a welcome distraction to the burn and stretch of his fingers, and a shudder rolls down his back, makes his shoulders and hips shift and jerk as he pushes himself back onto his fingers, hand wrapped around the back of Derek's neck gripping just as hard as he drops his head back a little more, pants to the ceiling.

It's easier to focus on the banter, too, and as he starts to get used to that, he continues to rock back and forth, tilting his head so his harsh, panting breaths are right up against Derek's ear, and he gives his neck a little more of a squeeze. ] The entire--moon cycle could pass by before you--ngh--before you finished the foreplay. [ It ends on a higher octave, and he lolls his head over, dropping sloppy kisses against his skin, getting an earlobe between his teeth. ]

[ Derek arches over Stiles a little more as his teeth catch skin, and a low growl rolls through him and presses into the hot expanse of Stiles' back, his fingers curling against his throat just a breath tighter. It's short of bruising again, but he eases up so he can slide down, hook his arm around him, drag his touch down to his chest.

Remembering from earlier, he shifts, thumbing at his nipple as he lets out a rumbling hum. ] I could drag it out for that long.

[ No he actually couldn't, but it'd be tempting to try if he could keep getting Stiles this wrecked. But instead of drawing it out, teasing even more, he works him open with a little more purpose, bowing his head forward to drag his teeth against the curve of his shoulder. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

posts from beyond the grave

HA I GOT IT TO LOAD clearly I must wreck you more in celebration.