We got in touch with your wild side. [ Stiles wiggles his eyebrows at him, shooting him a lopsided grin, and drags his hands backwards, down his chest, his stomach, once a sensitive area that Stiles has done nothing but help him walk away from. The trauma and the hurt that came from--Kate, he can only assume--it's the kind of thing he's worked to heal, something he can't just fix. But it never stopped him from trying, and his touch is warm and affectionate as he leans backwards into his knees, rolling from chest to hips and already enjoying the friction coming from the familiar heat and pressure.
It's nice. Familiar. Kind of romantic, actually. Out here under the stars, it's just them--no horrors beyond. ] I say ruined like it was a bad thing. It was an awesome thing, in case you weren't aware. Continues to be an awesome thing.
[ His eyes flutter as he repeats the motion again, curls his fingers in his shirt to use him as an anchor. ]
And yours. You have a very interesting wild side. [ Derek just smiles benignly at him, because he's over the moon-- all jokes aside-- for this stupidly clever human that runs with them, has taken care of him and opened up to him at the same time. His touch across his stomach doesn't bother him in the slightest bit anymore, and instead of flinching away and shutting down, the muscles in his abdomen shift, the slightest roll up into his fingers. Maybe he's not wholly fixed, but he's better, healed over with warm touches and quiet words, deep scars set into the fissures that were left behind.
His hands dip up higher, into his shirts, and he chuffs at him softly as calloused fingers spread wide over his hips, to his sides. The movements are slow, easy. There's nothing outside of them in their little hideaway, and he rocks up into him, all steady friction and growing heat, something affectionate and adoring in his eyes. ]
Something you're also happy to remind me of. [ As Stiles' eyes shut, he watches the way dark lashes fall across his cheeks, heart clenching in his chest. ]
[ That makes an undeniable flush spread out over Stiles' cheeks, out to his ears; the teenager flusters and shifts forward a little more to push Derek's henley up so he can get his hands on his abs instead, muttering-- ] I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.
[ Wild side. Yeah. Totally doesn't have one of those.
Ahem. Anyway. The rocking of his hips sends a heat pooling into his stomach as he brushes back against him, and he takes one particularly long, slow roll to enjoy it, a pleased sigh escaping his mouth. It's distracting enough that he pauses in his mission of getting his shirt off. ]
[ His benign smile turns into a wolfish grin as Stiles flusters-- something he will never get tired of causing-- and Derek lets his back arch upwards a little, making it easier for him to slide his shirt up but also letting him meet Stiles in the long, slow roll. Head tipping back, he lets out a pleased noise at the back of his throat, just shy of a rumble. ]
Sure you don't. [ He has a lot of evidence pointing to the contrary, but for now he just focuses on the movement between them, his hands hiking up Stiles' worn tee, fingers tracing along his ribs as he goes. ]
[ He rolls his eyes at the grin on Derek's face, because seriously, dude, it's been five years. But it's kind of touching at the same time--maybe Stiles can find lots of little things to love about Derek, too. Things like how he bristles when Stiles bites down somewhere particularly good, which is exactly what he does, hiking his shirt up to his armpits and then leaning in to press a bite to his neck, teeth and tongue. ]
I'll show you wild side. [ Is what comes out muttered against his skin, and he grins, kissing the already fading mark before actually going to divest him of his henley please and thank you. ]
[ Doesn't matter if it's been five years or if it's been twenty. Derek won't stop grinning at Stiles when he flusters, won't stop reaching out for him across the bed when he's somehow gotten up before him, won't stop crowding him up against the shelves in the library to kiss him when he's said something clever, eyes bright with a spark. Won't stop cataloging every mole and freckle with his fingers, his mouth, the spots that make his toes curl and makes him fall apart in his hands.
His hands slide around to his back, dragging fingers down from his shoulder blades as he bristles under his mouth, trusting him at the vulnerable stretch of his neck, wanting him there. ]
Will you now? [ He raises his arms to let him take the shirt off, despite the fact he has to pull his hands free of his shirts. ]
Anytime you want, babycakes. [ There's obvious sarcasm to his tone, but it's playful, and he grins down at him as he starts to sit back up to get his shirt off all the way. The pet names are a joke, but they're one of his favorites, and he kind of enjoys the banter that usually comes with them.
Giving him a "really" look with his eyebrows, Stiles smacks gently at his wrists with his free hand as he gets the shirt at least over his head. ] Put that down, grabby. [ So he can at least get the shirt off, god. This is between him and Derek half naked. ]
I don't think you should tell me that, Stiles. [ While he could reply with something from their bank of pet names, he's a little more interested in exploiting the obvious window that Stiles has left open for him. Derek likes going after those more, even with a twist of sarcasm to his words, because it's fun to see Stiles' reactions. ] That's basically every hour we're awake and then some.
[ Hardly bothered by the smack to his wrists, he sighs as if put upon and finally fully slides his fingers free, arms shifting up so that Stiles can shirk his henley. ]
it will only be completely gone when i can type big girl words and not look away
[ His eyes widen and he gives him a slackjawed stare for a second, because Derek losing his shirt and basically saying "Oh yeah, Stiles, I totally wanna sex you 24/7" (except in Derek speak and not Stiles speak) is a lot to handle all at once.
It does make him grin though, eyes darkening just a little, and the flush at his ear sreturns. ] Challenge accepted.
[ But then he adds: ] And then some. Can't even resist my drool.
[ It's teasing, light, poking at what he says like he always does. Derek's put upon sigh makes a twinge of affection come into his gaze and he tugs the whole thing off and sets it aside somewhere in hopes that it doesn't fall off completely. He's never going to get over his affection, five years later even, how handsy he is when it's just the two of them; it's something Stiles loves about Derek, loves the way he smiles when he thinks Stiles doesn't see him, the way he chases him down and kisses the breath from his lips when they've been wrestling. The way Derek curls around whatever he's sleeping with, the cat included, that he grumbles and rumbles instead of speaking. If Derek'll never stop, then neither will Stiles, never stop cracking dirty jokes about him walking around shirtless, never stop kissing him when he's not expecting it, never ever stop telling him something affectionate to watch a flush dust his high cheekbones.
He does at least expedite the process by starting to strip out of his t-shirt, slipping backwards a little and arching to get it off. ]
[ There's absolutely no shame or guilt in Derek's expression, just sly amusement and something darker, predatory underneath it all. But never a threat to Stiles, not once-- even when he'd lost his mind, fully shifted and pushing on feral-- because this is his anchor. And yeah, maybe Stiles has been permanently stuck as a teenager, but he's not the only one with hormones and a deep attraction to a significant other.
Derek is just better at being subtle about it. ]
Ah, yes. How could I forget the allure of your drool all over my arm.
[ Shifting to sit up as Stiles reaches to take his shirt off, motion all abdominal, he reaches his hands up before he can completely tug it off. His fingers curl in it, wrapping it around his wrists for a moment as he leans in, kisses the dip of his collarbone. But it's only a kiss for a moment, before he swipes a warm strip into it with his tongue, followed shortly by his teeth. Always blunt, always human, because the idea of Stiles as anything else makes him sick-- as he's made known, through every interaction that's been forced out of him with his mirror-- but he's more than happy to leave marks amongst his constellations.
They're on a roof in Wonderland, stripping down to warm skin under the pre-dawn sky, and he couldn't be happier with it. Wonderland has given and put them through hell, but not always. If he can just sit and watch Stiles write in his notebooks, left in a stack on his desk and slowly growing over weeks and months. If he can just wake up to a bundle of limbs tangled with his, face tucked into his chest. If he has one more day of Stiles smiling bright at him, eyes alight and cheeks flushed, it's all worth it. ]
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cries ;___;
It's nice. Familiar. Kind of romantic, actually. Out here under the stars, it's just them--no horrors beyond. ] I say ruined like it was a bad thing. It was an awesome thing, in case you weren't aware. Continues to be an awesome thing.
[ His eyes flutter as he repeats the motion again, curls his fingers in his shirt to use him as an anchor. ]
smooches top of head
His hands dip up higher, into his shirts, and he chuffs at him softly as calloused fingers spread wide over his hips, to his sides. The movements are slow, easy. There's nothing outside of them in their little hideaway, and he rocks up into him, all steady friction and growing heat, something affectionate and adoring in his eyes. ]
Something you're also happy to remind me of. [ As Stiles' eyes shut, he watches the way dark lashes fall across his cheeks, heart clenching in his chest. ]
buries face in
[ Wild side. Yeah. Totally doesn't have one of those.
Ahem. Anyway. The rocking of his hips sends a heat pooling into his stomach as he brushes back against him, and he takes one particularly long, slow roll to enjoy it, a pleased sigh escaping his mouth. It's distracting enough that he pauses in his mission of getting his shirt off. ]
There there precious unicorn.
Sure you don't. [ He has a lot of evidence pointing to the contrary, but for now he just focuses on the movement between them, his hands hiking up Stiles' worn tee, fingers tracing along his ribs as he goes. ]
cradles remains of unicorn horn
I'll show you wild side. [ Is what comes out muttered against his skin, and he grins, kissing the already fading mark before actually going to divest him of his henley please and thank you. ]
lets you hold onto them for now
His hands slide around to his back, dragging fingers down from his shoulder blades as he bristles under his mouth, trusting him at the vulnerable stretch of his neck, wanting him there. ]
Will you now? [ He raises his arms to let him take the shirt off, despite the fact he has to pull his hands free of his shirts. ]
the vestiges of my innocence ;__;
Giving him a "really" look with his eyebrows, Stiles smacks gently at his wrists with his free hand as he gets the shirt at least over his head. ] Put that down, grabby. [ So he can at least get the shirt off, god. This is between him and Derek half naked. ]
Barely anything left at this point tbh.
[ Hardly bothered by the smack to his wrists, he sighs as if put upon and finally fully slides his fingers free, arms shifting up so that Stiles can shirk his henley. ]
it will only be completely gone when i can type big girl words and not look away
It does make him grin though, eyes darkening just a little, and the flush at his ear sreturns. ] Challenge accepted.
[ But then he adds: ] And then some. Can't even resist my drool.
[ It's teasing, light, poking at what he says like he always does. Derek's put upon sigh makes a twinge of affection come into his gaze and he tugs the whole thing off and sets it aside somewhere in hopes that it doesn't fall off completely. He's never going to get over his affection, five years later even, how handsy he is when it's just the two of them; it's something Stiles loves about Derek, loves the way he smiles when he thinks Stiles doesn't see him, the way he chases him down and kisses the breath from his lips when they've been wrestling. The way Derek curls around whatever he's sleeping with, the cat included, that he grumbles and rumbles instead of speaking. If Derek'll never stop, then neither will Stiles, never stop cracking dirty jokes about him walking around shirtless, never stop kissing him when he's not expecting it, never ever stop telling him something affectionate to watch a flush dust his high cheekbones.
He does at least expedite the process by starting to strip out of his t-shirt, slipping backwards a little and arching to get it off. ]
Someday.
Derek is just better at being subtle about it. ]
Ah, yes. How could I forget the allure of your drool all over my arm.
[ Shifting to sit up as Stiles reaches to take his shirt off, motion all abdominal, he reaches his hands up before he can completely tug it off. His fingers curl in it, wrapping it around his wrists for a moment as he leans in, kisses the dip of his collarbone. But it's only a kiss for a moment, before he swipes a warm strip into it with his tongue, followed shortly by his teeth. Always blunt, always human, because the idea of Stiles as anything else makes him sick-- as he's made known, through every interaction that's been forced out of him with his mirror-- but he's more than happy to leave marks amongst his constellations.
They're on a roof in Wonderland, stripping down to warm skin under the pre-dawn sky, and he couldn't be happier with it. Wonderland has given and put them through hell, but not always. If he can just sit and watch Stiles write in his notebooks, left in a stack on his desk and slowly growing over weeks and months. If he can just wake up to a bundle of limbs tangled with his, face tucked into his chest. If he has one more day of Stiles smiling bright at him, eyes alight and cheeks flushed, it's all worth it. ]