Derek hesitates and so Stiles drags him in by his shirt, grappling with him as he struggles. Derek takes hold but is gentle, careful not to hurt him, and the level of care that's apparent in that gesture is as obvious as what he says next as Stiles pushes him up against the wall, pinning him there with strength he never had before. The last time he was in anything like this position with Derek, it was Stiles against the door and Derek effortlessly holding him there.
Now, the tables are turned, and Stiles, in spite of his slight frame, has Derek pinned as if he's a weakling and not the lithe, muscled wolf he's always been.
Stiles blinks when Derek says to get out, when he addresses his demon. There's a pause, because he knows that Derek doesn't know, can't know that it's not the demon driving the Stiles here. They've both got one hand on the wheel, and it's just the way Stiles likes it. With the demon, the darkness at his side, enveloping him, he can feel desire. He can feel it on Derek, the desire and how he wants it and probably hates himself for how he still feels it, even now that Stiles is slightly out of order.
What he can't tell is how much more there is than desire. Maybe this, the bargaining, is just some dutiful sense of loyalty, but maybe it's more than that. Maybe it's a bond, the kind that Stiles had wanted, the kind he'd thought he'd felt before everything had started falling apart, before he'd felt so powerless and alone.
He gives him a look, knowing and almost flirtatious through his lashes before there's a flash of black that takes over the soft, earthy brown and the whites and shows Derek that he's right, at least on some level. He's not alone in here, but he's not a prisoner in his own mind, either.
He glances down at the fleeting bruises on Derek's arms and back up, murmuring, "What's it worth to you?"
He's not bartering for his own release because he's not a prisoner if he holds the keys, if he's holding onto the demon just as much as he's being held. He just wants to know what Derek feels beyond the desire, how deep it goes.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-09-24 05:59 am (UTC)Now, the tables are turned, and Stiles, in spite of his slight frame, has Derek pinned as if he's a weakling and not the lithe, muscled wolf he's always been.
Stiles blinks when Derek says to get out, when he addresses his demon. There's a pause, because he knows that Derek doesn't know, can't know that it's not the demon driving the Stiles here. They've both got one hand on the wheel, and it's just the way Stiles likes it. With the demon, the darkness at his side, enveloping him, he can feel desire. He can feel it on Derek, the desire and how he wants it and probably hates himself for how he still feels it, even now that Stiles is slightly out of order.
What he can't tell is how much more there is than desire. Maybe this, the bargaining, is just some dutiful sense of loyalty, but maybe it's more than that. Maybe it's a bond, the kind that Stiles had wanted, the kind he'd thought he'd felt before everything had started falling apart, before he'd felt so powerless and alone.
He gives him a look, knowing and almost flirtatious through his lashes before there's a flash of black that takes over the soft, earthy brown and the whites and shows Derek that he's right, at least on some level. He's not alone in here, but he's not a prisoner in his own mind, either.
He glances down at the fleeting bruises on Derek's arms and back up, murmuring, "What's it worth to you?"
He's not bartering for his own release because he's not a prisoner if he holds the keys, if he's holding onto the demon just as much as he's being held. He just wants to know what Derek feels beyond the desire, how deep it goes.
"What is he worth to you?"