The thing that Derek had needed to know was that, right there. That Stiles was still Stiles, that he was going to stay Stiles. He didn't really understand demons, not the metaphysics of it, but he knew there was something about demons and souls and that somehow, he would lose Stiles. But that wasn't the case. Or, at least, it didn't sound like the case. Maybe his heartbeat didn't matter with a demon inside him, but it was the only meter Derek had aside from his eyes, from the feel of him, and it felt like the truth.
But, he'd be a liar if he said part of it wasn't how Stiles rolls his hips, presses against that erection, and it makes Derek keen. The way the motion, the friction melts with the look on his face, the wicked grin that curls the corners of his mouth, and there's a terrible moment where he thinks that like Derek was born to be a wolf, Stiles was born to be a demon. He wants him like this. Black eyes and leering into his heart, he wants him. Because he can see glimpses of his flush-faced crush, and they don't seem tortured.
Stiles lets go of his hands, keeps him pinned with his hips and strength that overwhelms him. But, Derek can't keep his hands still. He's reaching out, reaching up, he's pushing up Stiles' teeshirt, helping him drag it off over his head, and then he's dropping it to the floor. Don't, Stiles. He just can't. No teasing, because it's just been too long, it's been something he never thought that he would deserve. But now they're all monsters in this glass house.
"Yeah. I want you to fuck me, I want it rough, hard, I want you to make me shake with it, Stiles."
His voice is soft and breathy, his lips trembling as he looks up at him. "I always wanted you to fuck me." He whispers that like a secret, but something he wants him to know. It's not just because he's a demon now. He's always ached for him, wanted hands on him and Stiles' cock shoving into him or down his throat. This didn't change things. Maybe it should.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-09-26 03:44 am (UTC)But, he'd be a liar if he said part of it wasn't how Stiles rolls his hips, presses against that erection, and it makes Derek keen. The way the motion, the friction melts with the look on his face, the wicked grin that curls the corners of his mouth, and there's a terrible moment where he thinks that like Derek was born to be a wolf, Stiles was born to be a demon. He wants him like this. Black eyes and leering into his heart, he wants him. Because he can see glimpses of his flush-faced crush, and they don't seem tortured.
Stiles lets go of his hands, keeps him pinned with his hips and strength that overwhelms him. But, Derek can't keep his hands still. He's reaching out, reaching up, he's pushing up Stiles' teeshirt, helping him drag it off over his head, and then he's dropping it to the floor. Don't, Stiles. He just can't. No teasing, because it's just been too long, it's been something he never thought that he would deserve. But now they're all monsters in this glass house.
"Yeah. I want you to fuck me, I want it rough, hard, I want you to make me shake with it, Stiles."
His voice is soft and breathy, his lips trembling as he looks up at him. "I always wanted you to fuck me." He whispers that like a secret, but something he wants him to know. It's not just because he's a demon now. He's always ached for him, wanted hands on him and Stiles' cock shoving into him or down his throat. This didn't change things. Maybe it should.