.fic: you are for me (derek/stiles || steadfast 'verse || nc-17 || 414 words).
for yesterday's prompt: control.
(we're taking today off, btw.)
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It’s funny, how Stiles feels the most in control when he isn’t, when his every action lives or dies by Derek’s approval.
“Just like this,” Stiles pants, squeezing down hard on Derek’s dick and Derek gasps, his mouth wet and open, inviting. Stiles leans in, coaxes Derek into a slow kiss, feels him tremble under his thighs from the effort it takes Derek to hold still. Stiles takes Derek’s wrists into his hands and moves them off his thighs, presses them over Derek’s head and nips his jaw.
“Stiles,” Derek says, his voice raspy and Stiles shivers, winds his fingers through Derek’s and holds him down.
“I’ve got you,” he says, rolling his hips slowly. They’ve got all day just for this, just for them; there’s no rush. “Let go.”
How his greatest pleasure is seeing Derek allowing himself to drown in his own.
“Don’t move,” Stiles chokes out when Derek’s as deep in him as he can be. Derek freezes above him, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth bared, and Stiles runs his hands over Derek’s sweat-slick back down to his ass. “Now, do me as hard as you can.”
Derek whines, the sound breaking at the end, and Stiles digs in with his nails, rakes them up Derek’s back and oh, there are the fangs.
“Colors?” Stiles asks, laying a hand over Derek’s nape, over the collar there.
“Oh, fuck you,” Derek says, dropping his head as he moves his hips back, pulling halfway out. “Green.”
He shoves back in hard, making Stiles slide up the bed a little, pleasure sparking up Stiles’ spine.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Stiles says, clinging to Derek’s shoulders. “Do it.”
How, orgasms aside, the thing he loves most about their sex life is the sleepy tangle of their bodies, long after they’ve both come, when Stiles’ mind is quiet and settled, when Derek’s been boneless for what feels like forever, and they touch just for touching’s sake.
“You were so good for me,” Stiles says, pressing his mouth against Derek’s temple and skimming a hand lightly down his side. Derek murmurs sleepily, throws his thigh over Stiles’, and Stiles pulls him in until he’s laying mostly on Stiles. He cards his fingers through Derek’s hair, runs them along the collar. “You always are.”
“So are you,” Derek says against Stiles’ throat, follows it up with a small kiss, and Stiles fumbles for his hand, winds their fingers together again.
