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

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. ]

[ Stiles just about rolls his eyes at him at the remark, because he's not even a little surprised that Derek's totally smug about this, but when he opens his mouth, the very snappy insult that he had in mind comes out in a garbled jumble of a moan, because Derek's hand brushes across ridiculously sensitive skin and his brains just melt completely out of his ears as his circuits pretty much short out.

Gods above.

Hips rocking backwards and forwards in time with his fingers, Stiles reacts to the teeth in his shoulder with another keening noise, pushing back into the heat furnace that's Derek behind him and shifting his hands into his hair, squeezing tight when he hits a particular angle he likes. ]

[ Not feeling an ounce of guilt for the sensory overload he's putting Stiles through, without even dipping his roaming hand down below his chest, Derek continues to practically search out every single sensitive spot that he can find. He's maybe torturing him a little in the process, but it's not as if Stiles isn't enjoying it-- every single reaction tells him otherwise, especially as he rocks back on his fingers and keens. Gods above is about the same thought process that he's running on, if it can be called that.

Kissing the mark he leaves behind, Derek reacts to the fingers fisted in his hair, keeping the angle that gets that reaction. But he's painfully hard again, nose buried against salty skin as he breathes in the heady scents that've filled up their tent. Much as he'd enjoy doing this for the entire night, they've got an entire week of exploration ahead of them. This is something else entirely, something a lot more special. ]

Are you ready?

[ He should probably be nervous, or apprehensive, or something--there's that whole virginal thing that should probably be addressed--but the thing is, he isn't. Derek's safe. Derek has been safe for a long time now. Turning his head a little into his neck again, mouth pressed just under his ear, he pants and murmurs-- ] 've only been waiting for like a whole moon cycle.

[ There's just a familiar, teasing lilt to his voice, low in his chest as it is, and Stiles presses a few kisses to the stubbled skin he can reach, loosening his grip on his hair like he's ready to brace himself. ]

[ Unable to keep in a short, breathless laugh, Derek just tilts his head to let Stiles press kisses against his skin and slowly eases his fingers away. He has to shift away from him, and that's the worst part of it, but it means getting hold of the container again for a moment as he lets Stiles brace. ] Well if that's the case.

[ Tone as dry as he can make it right now, which isn't much considering his voice rumbles in the very pit of his chest, he leans back from him. It's a good view, and he can't help but admire it, because Stiles is the most fantastic thing that's ever happened to him, and he's also incredibly gorgeous right now, this entire night. And he gets to have this, have Stiles, in his life. For once, wanting something didn't go awry, and he hadn't even wanted it in the first place. They've really changed, since they first met.

A small, strained groan leaves him as he slicks himself up, before he's curling back over Stiles again, forehead pressed just below the triskele that whorls between his shoulders. One hand braces at his hip, and he breathes out quietly. ]

[ Okay, now he's a little nervous. Mostly, it's anticipation, built up in his nerves like the tension on a bowstring, and he can't help but look backwards and watch Derek over his shoulder the best he can, curious and learning gaze all at once. He's rewarded (maybe) with Derek's admiring look, and it makes his whole face go red--he drops his head back down and leans a little forward on his elbows, exhaling and lacing his fingers together. Chances are he'll find his hair again before long, but for now, he shuts his eyes and bows his head forward so his forehead's resting on his fists.

Derek coming back over him is hot and familiar, refilling a space Stiles didn't realize he was missing, and it feels like every point of connection has sparks, from Derek's forehead to the hand on his hip. He takes in a breath and nods his head once, silly, sassy bravado stripped down and still revealing the same earnest answer. ]

[ Feeling the nod more than he actually sees it, every shift of Stiles' body loud, even at the most minute twitch, Derek holds himself steady in his free hand as he shifts his hips forward. The other stays curled securely at Stiles' hip, keeping firm hold to make sure he doesn't push back or pull away too fast. It's a slow press at first, waiting for a second with held breath, before he starts to ease in. Even with a lot of drawn out preparation, Stiles is all tight heat, and honestly he can barely take it. Biting his lip hard, his fingers grip bruisingly tight to try and anchor himself.

But he goes until he's buried to the hilt, and it's only after a moment of adjustment that he actually breathes again, the air thick and heavy around them. It comes out shaky, a little strained, and he sounds more than a little wrecked himself when he finally speaks again. ]

Seven hells.

Hhhholy--gods above, jesus. [ He chokes out a noise at the first brush and tries to brace himself a little better, but honestly, no amount of preparation could have totally had him ready for that. Stiles' fingers curl and his first noise is a low hiss of pain as there's a stretch, but all he does is drop his head down further and inhale shakily, barely feeling what must be the marks of his fingers on his hips by now.

When they get settled, he blinks his eyes back open and exhales, toes curling a little behind him. Whatever burn there is eased when they settle, and it's just--holy gods above, this is happening right now, Derek's hips are pressed to his and it's hot and heavy and Stiles is ninety percent sure this is going to last all of six seconds by the time they get going.

Which--by the time he gets comfortable, his inner control freak decides to rear his ugly head, and he rocks backwards, a moan shocked right out of his throat. ] Ohhhh gods.

[ Loosening his grip on Stiles' hip, if only slowly, Derek brings his other hand up to mirror it and tries to soothe the markings almost absently as he tries to just adjust. Because this is a lot to try and handle at once, and every point of contact is practically burning. But he breathes in, tips his head up, and presses his lips to the shape of his lupa's spine in a small kiss to pale skin. There's an entire map of stars here that he wants to chart, but his mind is somewhere else entirely.

Especially when Stiles rocks back. He tenses, a throaty moan startled out of him almost in time with Stiles' before he's cursing a little under his breath. ] Shit, Stiles--

[ Of course impatience and his micromanaging would show up in the midst of this, but he doesn't feel even the smallest desire to argue with it. Instead, he straightens a little so that he's more or less bent over Stiles' back instead of pressing his forehead against him. This isn't going to last very long, but he's sure as hell going to make it worth however long it does.

Easing out partially, he doesn't wait before he rocks forward again so that their hips are pressed flush together in a slow, miraculously steady, movement that has him breathing out a groan. ]

[ Slow or not, it pretty much makes him see stars the minute Derek pushes forward, and instinctively he drops down a little more, bunching up the furs in the crook of his arms so he has something to hold onto and pushing his hips up so that--whatever angle he hits makes Stiles gasp and he moans into the crook of his arm, moving with him and finding whatever rhythm he's setting pretty damn quickly.

One arm snakes free of the furs where he's holding onto them and he reaches backwards, for anything of Derek's, aiming to use him as an anchor as he shifts back against him again, mumbling -- ] Come on, 's--jesus, 's okay, I'm fine--

[ And still kind of impatient. This is going to get addicting. ]

[ The way that Stiles drops down, pushes back into him, with him, is pushing on overwhelming. But he keeps moving, draws back a little more as they get a rhythm going. Shaky as it is, it's something, and he starts to even it out more as he rocks his hips to meet Stiles'.

But, almost as if drawn to Stiles' outstretched hand, Derek bows over his back again, driving himself deeper as he snaps his hips forward with a little more force. If Stiles is going to urge him on, then he's going to give him what he wants. At the same time, he almost butts his head into his fingers, mouth brushing across the wing of his shoulder.

This is definitely going to get addicting, and he can't even bring himself to care. ]

[ The deeper push pretty much garbles any words coming out of his mouth, and the fingers that had been searching for something reach back into Derek's hair again, finding a grip and basically holding on for dear life--the noises he's making are bordering on obscene and loud, and it's almost like an out of body thing, like he hasn't even really noticed he's doing it yet.

Everything is focused on the friction between them, the driving pressure, hot and full and heavy, and he urges him on with another noise, a choked off groan of his name as he clutches at the furs and pushes back, until he's practically breathless and writhing with it. ]

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posts from beyond the grave

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

facehands why must things end this way

Because smut.

at least it's safe in a musebox

For now.

i'm not ready to go public ;///;

Someday.

THIS TAG IS GOING TO KILL ME GOODBYE

OR WILL IT BE THIS ONE.

goodbye rip me

This is still fun.

;/////////////////////;