fic: eat the banana is not a euphemism stiles [teen wolf, nc-17, D/s]
IGNORE THIS POST
An updated and edited version is farther up on the page.
*
This is just a sub!Stiles ficlet from tumblr. THIS MAY NOT BE THE SUB!STILES THAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR. As it involves a lot of schmoop. And Steinbeck. Should that be a warning?
This is in response to a post of erinpond's on tumblr, but when I tried to post this as a reply/reblog to that post, it did not work. I'm new to tumblr.
Aaaaaand I couldn't get the html cut to work on tumblr, and I didn't want to post something this long and potentially triggery without a cut, so here it is on LJ!
Content Advisory: There's some D/s-y sexytimes. All consensual, although one participant is 17. PM me if you need more info!
*
Stiles has been looking pale lately. And Derek may not be the alpha anymore (thank god), but he's pretty sure that he's in Scott's pack (and Stiles definitely is; he made himself a 'Vice President' badge), so probably it's okay if Derek starts to treat the rest of them like--not family, maybe, but like people he's allowed to take care of. He waits until most of the team's on their way from the Stilinski's kitchen to the living room before grabbing something from the fruit bowl and throwing it at Stiles.
"Eat a damn banana."
Stiles manages to accidentally juggle it about four times before dropping it on the counter. He picks it up and eats it though, peeling it from the bottom and using the stem as a handle while giving Derek a lecture on lifehacks and monkey intelligence.
Stiles starts to use Derek's house as Research Central (which is capitalized, which Derek knows, because he's included in all-pack text message threads that are so long he's switched to an unlimited texting plan).
"Why are you here?" Derek finally asks him, the third time he picks up a Red Bull can from the trash and moves it to the recycling. "Don't you have a home? And aren't there libraries? And cafes?"
"All of those places tend to frown on me mumbling out loud while I read up on things like mermen and demonic trees and succibi. Plus, it's quiet here. It's nice."
"We haven't encountered any succubi. Why are you reading about them?"
Stiles freezes for a moment. "For...research purposes. For. Researchy...reasons."
"I'm sure you're just reading the engravings for the articles."
Stiles glares before heaving a sigh and closing up his book. "It's fine, Cool Beans has half-off mochas after seven, so I can head down that way."
"No, you don't have to leave, I was just..."
"Oh. Marking your metaphorical territory? Allowing me to trespass, but making sure I know there are No Trespassing signs?"
Derek had just honestly been wondering why Stiles hung out at his place when Stiles didn't like him very much. "Stay."
Stiles sits back down and opens his book back up. "Fine, bossypants."
*
Derek feeds Stiles as much as he can.
Stiles doesn't seem to notice.
He eats what Derek puts in front of him, or next to him, or throws at his face. He leaves the apartment--leaving the books behind--when he starts to smell tired and Derek tells him to leave.
Derek wonders for a while if Stiles is just worried that Derek's going to start slamming him into walls again, or if it's some weird leftover response-to-an-alpha thing, but Stiles obeys Scott, and his dad, and Melissa, just as easily. (He complains and questions and whines, but he never actually disagrees.)
Derek takes advantage of it, because Stiles needs to be taken care of.
*
The first time he kisses Stiles, he has no excuse. He's not trying to be helpful. Stiles's research is not going to be furthered by the addition of Derek's tongue. It's not because Stiles looks tired or worried or thin and Derek thinks that kissing him will help. He just looks...like Stiles.
They're both sitting on Derek's bed, which they do a lot, because it's basically the only comfortable piece of furniture in the loft, and when they both start reading they can go for hours. Stiles dog-ears his pages whenever he feels the need to stop and rant at Derek, because his lectures about his English classes or the Bestiary can go on forever. Derek's always been taught to value books, so the little folds at the corners of the pages have always irritated him more than the interruptions.
Derek puts his hand over Stiles's when he's about to dog-ear the copy of Grapes of Wrath that had belonged to Cora. Stiles's fingers are long, and graceful, and go still immediately under Derek's touch. Stiles doesn't move. He just stares at Derek. At Derek's mouth, actually, so--so--
God, he has no excuse, and he should know better, he does know better, but he takes the book from Stiles's hands, leans over, and presses their mouths together, because he wants to.
Stiles doesn't move for long enough that Derek starts to worry that he's really fucked things up, but then Stiles shifts his head a little, leaning to the left, and Derek rewards him by bringing a hand up to the side of Stiles's face. Stiles's cheek is soft under his palm, and his lips open hesitantly when Derek traces the edge of his jaw.
When Derek pulls back, Stiles is breathless. "This is--this is--" Derek moves his hand to the side of Stiles's head. His hair is soft. "I've fallen asleep and you're a Steinbeckian-inspired daydream. Wet dream."
"A wet dream inspired by the dust bowl?"
"You've actually read Grapes of Wrath? I thought this was Cora's copy. Yup. I'm dreaming."
Derek pinches the skin on Stiles's neck, right below his ear, and Stiles's pupils expand right along with his sharp inhale. "There. Now you know you're not dreaming."
Stiles's mouth works for a while, half-formed words and questions and sometimes just silence coming out, and Derek watches him until it stops being funny, and then he kisses Stiles again. He nips at Stiles's lower lip this time, and Stiles full-on moans, which gets Derek harder faster than anything ever has before.
"I want to make out with you," he says, aware that he sounds like he's growling. "Just for a few minutes. Keeping all clothes on." Stiles is a teenager, and a virgin, (and hadn't that been a fun, death-related conversation when the evil druid rituals had come around?), and Derek doesn't want to hurt him. "No repercussions, no strings attached, you can stop anytime you want to. How does that sound?"
Cora's copy of Steinbeck, which Derek had been so worried about, goes flying over the edge of the bed. In exchange, Derek gets a lapful of Stiles. "Shit, fuck, yes," Stiles says, his hands grabbing at Derek's henley. "Dude, yes, consent given, make out with me please."
Stiles is inexperienced and over-eager, pressing their mouths together like he's trying to crash cymbals together. Derek puts up with it for a bit, because it's still nice, before he lays a hand on Stiles's lower back and one between his shoulders and rolls them over.
Stiles spreads his legs to make room for Derek like it's instinct, and when Derek growls, Stiles just...relaxes. Says, "Do whatever you want," and looks up at Derek.
"Don't make promises you're not ready to keep," Derek says, looking at the stretch of skin on Stiles's neck that he'd pinched, pink and tender.
"I'm--I'm pretty sure--"
Stiles has no idea what he's talking about (seventeen, seventeen and virgin hungry) so Derek kisses him again to stop him from talking.
Stiles's hair has grown long enough that Derek can fist a hand in it and pull Stiles's head back. Stiles gasps, grinding his hips up against Derek's, and arches his neck even further than Derek had angled it, which, god, yes. Derek bites Stiles's lips, licks at his teeth, laughs when Stiles squirms against his grip (and then groans when he smells the spike in arousal, because apparently Stiles likes it when Derek pulls his hair and laughs).
He kisses and licks a line down Stiles's neck, careful not to leave marks, because he doesn't want this to follow Stiles back home, or into his school, or out of Derek's bed, if Stiles doesn't want it to. It's hard to stop himself when he gets to the neck of Stiles's t-shirt, which had been pulled down when Derek manhandled him, and is stretched open over a swath of pale skin that begs with every shaky breath that Stiles takes for Derek to mark it.
"Can I," Stiles says, gulping, "can I--" He rocks his hips up hesitantly, the line of his cock hard through his jeans, and Derek says, "Move all you want," before he can think it through.
Stiles makes a strangled sound and his hands dig into Derek's shoulder blades. His fingers are tense and it hurts a little, hurts good, and he holds on tighter when Derek makes his way back up to Stiles's mouth, pulls his hair again, and fucks Stiles's mouth with his tongue.
Stiles is making sharp, hurt noises, with every trembling thrust of his hips, and Derek's eyes flash bright when he moves the hand not tangled in Stiles's hair down Stiles's side, over his ribs, his hipbone, until he has his hand wrapped tight around the firm cheek of Stiles's ass.
He sets the pace after that, and Stiles's eye glaze over. He doesn't fight, doesn't even help--he just mewls when Derek pushes his own hips down, pulls Stiles's body up, grinding them together like he wants to make it hurt.
"Are you going to come for me?" Derek asks, when Stiles's lips are bitten red and swollen and there's sweat making the hair at his temples dark.
Stiles looks up at him, his eyes focusing again, and asks, "Can I?" He sounds surprised; like he wasn't sure that it was okay.
"I want you to make a mess of yourself," Derek says, pulling Stiles's head to the right and growling into his ear. "I want you to come in your pants for me. I want you to say my name when you come, and I want you to do it right now." He bites Stiles's ear, because a mark there probably won't be noticed, and he wants his breath, his voice, to be the only thing filling Stiles's mind when he comes.
Stiles writhes under him, making Derek fight to hold onto him for the first time, his legs digging into the mattress before wrapping around Derek's hips so that Stiles can come, just like that, a strangled cry coming out of his mouth as his hips work in little circles, pressing so hard it has to hurt.
"Derek," Stiles says, the syllables so long Derek barely recognizes his own name.
He can smell Stiles's come. He jerks his own hips down hard (he's not close to coming, but he wants to know what it would feel like to get himself off against Stiles's body, he wants to know what Stiles would do) and Stiles's fingers stop digging into his back and instead move to pull Derek's mouth back to his.
"Derek," Stiles sobs, kissing him again, "please, please please please--"
He squeezes Stiles's ass so tightly that he knows it will leave a bruise, he bites Stiles's lip with teeth that are threatening to become fangs, and he doesn't say Mine even when Stiles's whole body tightens in one long, curved arch, trapped under the weight of Derek's torso.
When Stiles starts to come down, Derek strokes his hair and kisses his neck. Stiles's body goes boneless under his, and Derek hums with contentment. He's still hard, but he feels satisfied. Victorious, maybe; proud. Happy, he realizes eventually, when Stiles brushes a kiss against Derek's forehead.
He holds himself up with his other arm (it's hard to let go of Stiles, but he has to; he tells the wolf inside of him that Stiles is not Derek's, and will want to leave) and shifts his body so that he won't crush Stiles.
"I--that was--" Stiles laughs a little, but he's starting to tense up again. "Um."
"Good," Derek finishes for him.
"Yeah, I mean, duh, yes, obviously, good. Unexpected, and, wow, my essay on Steinbeck is going to be maybe a little more incoherent than originally intended--"
"You have homework," Derek says, dropping his head to rest on Stiles's shoulder. It's nice to feel Stiles's skin, to feel a body pressed against his, even through their clothes.
"Yeah," Stiles says eventually. "Uh--can my walk of shame include a stop in your bathroom? Because things are getting a little..."
"You're allowed to use the bathroom," Derek says, not moving his head, because he doesn't want to look at Stiles's face when Stiles gets ready to leave him. "But I'm hoping there's not a lot of shame in your walk. You were..."
Stiles laughs again. "Virgins are allowed to be awkward though, right? I mean, no pun intended, but it comes with the territory, so you can't hold my performance against me." He gasps and turns into Derek; pressing their bodies tight again. "Oh shit, dude, you didn't even come, did you? I am such an asshole, fuck--"
"Don't want to."
"You don't--" He can hear Stiles's nervous swallow. "Was I...that bad? Because you can talk me through, like, a blowjob or something. You don't, uh--you're probably past the 'coming in your pants' phase of your life."
"You were amazing," Derek says, pushing them apart. "And I plan on masturbating later to the memory of you coming in your pants, saying my name."
"Oh," Stiles says. "I...can I watch? Or should I go? I really don't know the etiquette here, dude. Help me out."
Derek looks him over. His shirt collar's still pulled low, and the skin there is going to be too much for Derek to resist much longer. He reaches out and tugs it back into place.
"You go to the bathroom and clean up. Grab a pair of my sweats if you want to change completely. Then come back out. If you want to finish reading your book here, I'd like that. Otherwise, you can go home. If you want to do this again, on a different day--after you've had time to think about it--I would enjoy that." Stiles is staring at him like he's a stranger, and it's making Derek's skin prickle uncomfortably. "What?"
"You're really nice," Stiles says, in the tone of voice most people would use to say, "You've got spinach stuck in your teeth."
"You tell anyone, and I'll tear your leg off and kick you in the head with it."
A smile tugs Stiles's mouth back into its familiar curve. "Cool."
*
It's possible that they cuddle while Stiles finishes his book. Derek only really needs the one hand to hold his own book up, and Stiles fits pretty comfortably under his arm when he's slouching against Derek's pillows, and that way Stiles's hand is in easy smacking distance if he tries to mark-up the book again.
It's also possible that Derek brings Stiles a glass of water and a banana and kisses the side of Stiles's neck at the end of every chapter.
*
Stiles asks for permission before he kisses Derek goodbye. Says, "Can I...?" with his eyes flicking between Derek's mouth and his lips. Derek presses him against the door, kisses him, and only lets Stiles go when he's half-hard again.
"Anytime," Derek says. He holds Stiles against the wall for a moment longer, since it's been a while since he's smiled, and it sort of takes him a few seconds to work up to it. The effort's worth it though, because when he smiles at Stiles, he gets a smile back that's bigger than any that he's seen before.
Mine.
You can find my tumblr here, and erinpond's post here!
An updated and edited version is farther up on the page.
*
This is just a sub!Stiles ficlet from tumblr. THIS MAY NOT BE THE SUB!STILES THAT YOU ARE LOOKING FOR. As it involves a lot of schmoop. And Steinbeck. Should that be a warning?
This is in response to a post of erinpond's on tumblr, but when I tried to post this as a reply/reblog to that post, it did not work. I'm new to tumblr.
Aaaaaand I couldn't get the html cut to work on tumblr, and I didn't want to post something this long and potentially triggery without a cut, so here it is on LJ!
Content Advisory: There's some D/s-y sexytimes. All consensual, although one participant is 17. PM me if you need more info!
*
Stiles has been looking pale lately. And Derek may not be the alpha anymore (thank god), but he's pretty sure that he's in Scott's pack (and Stiles definitely is; he made himself a 'Vice President' badge), so probably it's okay if Derek starts to treat the rest of them like--not family, maybe, but like people he's allowed to take care of. He waits until most of the team's on their way from the Stilinski's kitchen to the living room before grabbing something from the fruit bowl and throwing it at Stiles.
"Eat a damn banana."
Stiles manages to accidentally juggle it about four times before dropping it on the counter. He picks it up and eats it though, peeling it from the bottom and using the stem as a handle while giving Derek a lecture on lifehacks and monkey intelligence.
Stiles starts to use Derek's house as Research Central (which is capitalized, which Derek knows, because he's included in all-pack text message threads that are so long he's switched to an unlimited texting plan).
"Why are you here?" Derek finally asks him, the third time he picks up a Red Bull can from the trash and moves it to the recycling. "Don't you have a home? And aren't there libraries? And cafes?"
"All of those places tend to frown on me mumbling out loud while I read up on things like mermen and demonic trees and succibi. Plus, it's quiet here. It's nice."
"We haven't encountered any succubi. Why are you reading about them?"
Stiles freezes for a moment. "For...research purposes. For. Researchy...reasons."
"I'm sure you're just reading the engravings for the articles."
Stiles glares before heaving a sigh and closing up his book. "It's fine, Cool Beans has half-off mochas after seven, so I can head down that way."
"No, you don't have to leave, I was just..."
"Oh. Marking your metaphorical territory? Allowing me to trespass, but making sure I know there are No Trespassing signs?"
Derek had just honestly been wondering why Stiles hung out at his place when Stiles didn't like him very much. "Stay."
Stiles sits back down and opens his book back up. "Fine, bossypants."
*
Derek feeds Stiles as much as he can.
Stiles doesn't seem to notice.
He eats what Derek puts in front of him, or next to him, or throws at his face. He leaves the apartment--leaving the books behind--when he starts to smell tired and Derek tells him to leave.
Derek wonders for a while if Stiles is just worried that Derek's going to start slamming him into walls again, or if it's some weird leftover response-to-an-alpha thing, but Stiles obeys Scott, and his dad, and Melissa, just as easily. (He complains and questions and whines, but he never actually disagrees.)
Derek takes advantage of it, because Stiles needs to be taken care of.
*
The first time he kisses Stiles, he has no excuse. He's not trying to be helpful. Stiles's research is not going to be furthered by the addition of Derek's tongue. It's not because Stiles looks tired or worried or thin and Derek thinks that kissing him will help. He just looks...like Stiles.
They're both sitting on Derek's bed, which they do a lot, because it's basically the only comfortable piece of furniture in the loft, and when they both start reading they can go for hours. Stiles dog-ears his pages whenever he feels the need to stop and rant at Derek, because his lectures about his English classes or the Bestiary can go on forever. Derek's always been taught to value books, so the little folds at the corners of the pages have always irritated him more than the interruptions.
Derek puts his hand over Stiles's when he's about to dog-ear the copy of Grapes of Wrath that had belonged to Cora. Stiles's fingers are long, and graceful, and go still immediately under Derek's touch. Stiles doesn't move. He just stares at Derek. At Derek's mouth, actually, so--so--
God, he has no excuse, and he should know better, he does know better, but he takes the book from Stiles's hands, leans over, and presses their mouths together, because he wants to.
Stiles doesn't move for long enough that Derek starts to worry that he's really fucked things up, but then Stiles shifts his head a little, leaning to the left, and Derek rewards him by bringing a hand up to the side of Stiles's face. Stiles's cheek is soft under his palm, and his lips open hesitantly when Derek traces the edge of his jaw.
When Derek pulls back, Stiles is breathless. "This is--this is--" Derek moves his hand to the side of Stiles's head. His hair is soft. "I've fallen asleep and you're a Steinbeckian-inspired daydream. Wet dream."
"A wet dream inspired by the dust bowl?"
"You've actually read Grapes of Wrath? I thought this was Cora's copy. Yup. I'm dreaming."
Derek pinches the skin on Stiles's neck, right below his ear, and Stiles's pupils expand right along with his sharp inhale. "There. Now you know you're not dreaming."
Stiles's mouth works for a while, half-formed words and questions and sometimes just silence coming out, and Derek watches him until it stops being funny, and then he kisses Stiles again. He nips at Stiles's lower lip this time, and Stiles full-on moans, which gets Derek harder faster than anything ever has before.
"I want to make out with you," he says, aware that he sounds like he's growling. "Just for a few minutes. Keeping all clothes on." Stiles is a teenager, and a virgin, (and hadn't that been a fun, death-related conversation when the evil druid rituals had come around?), and Derek doesn't want to hurt him. "No repercussions, no strings attached, you can stop anytime you want to. How does that sound?"
Cora's copy of Steinbeck, which Derek had been so worried about, goes flying over the edge of the bed. In exchange, Derek gets a lapful of Stiles. "Shit, fuck, yes," Stiles says, his hands grabbing at Derek's henley. "Dude, yes, consent given, make out with me please."
Stiles is inexperienced and over-eager, pressing their mouths together like he's trying to crash cymbals together. Derek puts up with it for a bit, because it's still nice, before he lays a hand on Stiles's lower back and one between his shoulders and rolls them over.
Stiles spreads his legs to make room for Derek like it's instinct, and when Derek growls, Stiles just...relaxes. Says, "Do whatever you want," and looks up at Derek.
"Don't make promises you're not ready to keep," Derek says, looking at the stretch of skin on Stiles's neck that he'd pinched, pink and tender.
"I'm--I'm pretty sure--"
Stiles has no idea what he's talking about (seventeen, seventeen and virgin hungry) so Derek kisses him again to stop him from talking.
Stiles's hair has grown long enough that Derek can fist a hand in it and pull Stiles's head back. Stiles gasps, grinding his hips up against Derek's, and arches his neck even further than Derek had angled it, which, god, yes. Derek bites Stiles's lips, licks at his teeth, laughs when Stiles squirms against his grip (and then groans when he smells the spike in arousal, because apparently Stiles likes it when Derek pulls his hair and laughs).
He kisses and licks a line down Stiles's neck, careful not to leave marks, because he doesn't want this to follow Stiles back home, or into his school, or out of Derek's bed, if Stiles doesn't want it to. It's hard to stop himself when he gets to the neck of Stiles's t-shirt, which had been pulled down when Derek manhandled him, and is stretched open over a swath of pale skin that begs with every shaky breath that Stiles takes for Derek to mark it.
"Can I," Stiles says, gulping, "can I--" He rocks his hips up hesitantly, the line of his cock hard through his jeans, and Derek says, "Move all you want," before he can think it through.
Stiles makes a strangled sound and his hands dig into Derek's shoulder blades. His fingers are tense and it hurts a little, hurts good, and he holds on tighter when Derek makes his way back up to Stiles's mouth, pulls his hair again, and fucks Stiles's mouth with his tongue.
Stiles is making sharp, hurt noises, with every trembling thrust of his hips, and Derek's eyes flash bright when he moves the hand not tangled in Stiles's hair down Stiles's side, over his ribs, his hipbone, until he has his hand wrapped tight around the firm cheek of Stiles's ass.
He sets the pace after that, and Stiles's eye glaze over. He doesn't fight, doesn't even help--he just mewls when Derek pushes his own hips down, pulls Stiles's body up, grinding them together like he wants to make it hurt.
"Are you going to come for me?" Derek asks, when Stiles's lips are bitten red and swollen and there's sweat making the hair at his temples dark.
Stiles looks up at him, his eyes focusing again, and asks, "Can I?" He sounds surprised; like he wasn't sure that it was okay.
"I want you to make a mess of yourself," Derek says, pulling Stiles's head to the right and growling into his ear. "I want you to come in your pants for me. I want you to say my name when you come, and I want you to do it right now." He bites Stiles's ear, because a mark there probably won't be noticed, and he wants his breath, his voice, to be the only thing filling Stiles's mind when he comes.
Stiles writhes under him, making Derek fight to hold onto him for the first time, his legs digging into the mattress before wrapping around Derek's hips so that Stiles can come, just like that, a strangled cry coming out of his mouth as his hips work in little circles, pressing so hard it has to hurt.
"Derek," Stiles says, the syllables so long Derek barely recognizes his own name.
He can smell Stiles's come. He jerks his own hips down hard (he's not close to coming, but he wants to know what it would feel like to get himself off against Stiles's body, he wants to know what Stiles would do) and Stiles's fingers stop digging into his back and instead move to pull Derek's mouth back to his.
"Derek," Stiles sobs, kissing him again, "please, please please please--"
He squeezes Stiles's ass so tightly that he knows it will leave a bruise, he bites Stiles's lip with teeth that are threatening to become fangs, and he doesn't say Mine even when Stiles's whole body tightens in one long, curved arch, trapped under the weight of Derek's torso.
When Stiles starts to come down, Derek strokes his hair and kisses his neck. Stiles's body goes boneless under his, and Derek hums with contentment. He's still hard, but he feels satisfied. Victorious, maybe; proud. Happy, he realizes eventually, when Stiles brushes a kiss against Derek's forehead.
He holds himself up with his other arm (it's hard to let go of Stiles, but he has to; he tells the wolf inside of him that Stiles is not Derek's, and will want to leave) and shifts his body so that he won't crush Stiles.
"I--that was--" Stiles laughs a little, but he's starting to tense up again. "Um."
"Good," Derek finishes for him.
"Yeah, I mean, duh, yes, obviously, good. Unexpected, and, wow, my essay on Steinbeck is going to be maybe a little more incoherent than originally intended--"
"You have homework," Derek says, dropping his head to rest on Stiles's shoulder. It's nice to feel Stiles's skin, to feel a body pressed against his, even through their clothes.
"Yeah," Stiles says eventually. "Uh--can my walk of shame include a stop in your bathroom? Because things are getting a little..."
"You're allowed to use the bathroom," Derek says, not moving his head, because he doesn't want to look at Stiles's face when Stiles gets ready to leave him. "But I'm hoping there's not a lot of shame in your walk. You were..."
Stiles laughs again. "Virgins are allowed to be awkward though, right? I mean, no pun intended, but it comes with the territory, so you can't hold my performance against me." He gasps and turns into Derek; pressing their bodies tight again. "Oh shit, dude, you didn't even come, did you? I am such an asshole, fuck--"
"Don't want to."
"You don't--" He can hear Stiles's nervous swallow. "Was I...that bad? Because you can talk me through, like, a blowjob or something. You don't, uh--you're probably past the 'coming in your pants' phase of your life."
"You were amazing," Derek says, pushing them apart. "And I plan on masturbating later to the memory of you coming in your pants, saying my name."
"Oh," Stiles says. "I...can I watch? Or should I go? I really don't know the etiquette here, dude. Help me out."
Derek looks him over. His shirt collar's still pulled low, and the skin there is going to be too much for Derek to resist much longer. He reaches out and tugs it back into place.
"You go to the bathroom and clean up. Grab a pair of my sweats if you want to change completely. Then come back out. If you want to finish reading your book here, I'd like that. Otherwise, you can go home. If you want to do this again, on a different day--after you've had time to think about it--I would enjoy that." Stiles is staring at him like he's a stranger, and it's making Derek's skin prickle uncomfortably. "What?"
"You're really nice," Stiles says, in the tone of voice most people would use to say, "You've got spinach stuck in your teeth."
"You tell anyone, and I'll tear your leg off and kick you in the head with it."
A smile tugs Stiles's mouth back into its familiar curve. "Cool."
*
It's possible that they cuddle while Stiles finishes his book. Derek only really needs the one hand to hold his own book up, and Stiles fits pretty comfortably under his arm when he's slouching against Derek's pillows, and that way Stiles's hand is in easy smacking distance if he tries to mark-up the book again.
It's also possible that Derek brings Stiles a glass of water and a banana and kisses the side of Stiles's neck at the end of every chapter.
*
Stiles asks for permission before he kisses Derek goodbye. Says, "Can I...?" with his eyes flicking between Derek's mouth and his lips. Derek presses him against the door, kisses him, and only lets Stiles go when he's half-hard again.
"Anytime," Derek says. He holds Stiles against the wall for a moment longer, since it's been a while since he's smiled, and it sort of takes him a few seconds to work up to it. The effort's worth it though, because when he smiles at Stiles, he gets a smile back that's bigger than any that he's seen before.
Mine.
You can find my tumblr here, and erinpond's post here!