[saw this gif on twitter a few days ago, took me way too long to find out the name of the show just for me to forget it anyways..]
Either way, this is very much has bratty Stiles written all over it. Making out with anyone to get the attention of Derek. Maybe in the hopes of making him jealous? Making Derek want him more than whoever has him? Knowing Derek wants him with every fiber of his being.Â
Stiles knowing full well, no matter what stranger he goes home with, they’ll never measure up to Derek. They don’t know his body the way Derek knows it; they don’t know Stiles’ favorite spots to be kissed, where he likes to be grabbed, how a specific angle of thick fingers has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, how rough or gentle he likes it depending on his own mood.
But Stiles and Derek have this.. thing. This little dance they’ve been doing for years now. Pretending that what they have is purely physical, that they don’t mean anything more to each other than just close friends, pack.
 Doesn’t matter that they’re the first person either one of them goes to for just about anything. Doesn’t matter that they stay up all night talking about god knows what until they have nothing else to say and their eyes drift to each other’s lips. Doesn’t matter that they’ve held each other more than a few times, soft glances exchanged as they whisper secrets they probably wouldn’t tell even their bestest of friends.Â
Yet, they’d insist that they’re not dating; they don’t like each other — “like that”.
Regardless, nights like these, nights where Stiles purposely seeks out some hapless himbo to shove his tongue down, always ends the same way. There’s smirks and winks from Stiles as he makes direct eye contact with Derek across the club, preening over the fact that Derek indeed looks pissed; the wolf glowering in some corner, trying not to break his beer over someones head.Â
Nights like these, where less than a few hours later, Stiles expects Derek to come knocking at his door. And of course, Stiles will answer half dressed with his shorts barely hanging onto his hips. Always with a shit-eating grin on his own face as he leans against the doorframe, staring up at Derek with doe eyes. Those same eyes staying on Derek as he tells whatever guy waiting in his bed to, “get the fuck out”.
Stiles loves to circle around Derek as he walks into the space, watching the older man’s nose flare and his upper lip curl up in a (not so) subtle display of disgust as he probably senses the strangers that have rolled about in Stiles’ bed. Stiles gets giddy over the fact that in any second, Derek will have him pinned to the mattress, reclaiming his place in Stiles’ sheets… reclaiming Stiles.Â
It’s impossible to ignore how Derek digs his nose against Stiles’ neck, breathing him in like he’s the sweetest nectar. Impossible to ignore how Derek leaves marks against his skin; bruises against his hips, hickeies across his chest, bites in the inner parts of his thighs. Impossible to ignore how Derek growls in his ear how much he wants Stiles for himself, that he hates how the smell of other men lingers. Its all so impossible to ignore, incredibly hard for Stiles to not get even more turned on by it, always letting out moans and whimpers but biting at his own lip to keep from telling Derek that he can be all his. Wants to be all his.
They won’t talk about it in the morning. Or the next day, or the following week, as usual. Stiles will just rub at the marks, wondering when’s the next time he’ll get fresh new ones. And Derek will just keep showing up to the shitty dive bar, pretending that he doesn’t care about Stiles getting handsy with some guy across the room, swallowing that lump in his throat that so desperately wants to scream out, “mine!” — an never-ending cycle, it would seem.
But one of these days, they’ll break that cycle.
Where Stiles will no longer need to use some poor schmuck to gain the attention from Derek that he already had. Where Derek will finally lay it all out; damn near begging to call Stiles “Mine”, to just be for him. Sure, maybe it all comes rushing out when Derek’s deep inside him and drunk off the sounds Stiles is making, but he still means every word.Â
Their bodies trembling with pleasure; broken, shuddered moans filling the room as they orgasm, hands gripping onto each other as if they need to be any more further into each other's skin. On shaky breath, Stiles nods and says, “yeah.” And when Derek looks up at him like he forgot what he just asked for in the first place, Stiles says it louder, clearer.Â
“I’m yours.. and you are mine. All mine.”
