ellemarchpane respondeu a sua postagem “That moment”
I think there might be a little more bottom Derek than that. At least if you're counting by fics tagged for it. A lot of authors don't tag it so I've found it in a lot of fics I wasn't expecting to find it in.
Yeah sure, there's that but still, there's an overwhelming majority of bottom Stiles in this fandom, and part of that is because people see the stereotype of the little one[ what's stupid because even if Hoechs is more bulky Dylan is already taller] being plowed by the big one, that make the "little one" automatically bottom.
I honest to god hate that. I understand that isn't everybody cup of tea, and you have the right to like the things you like, but stereotyping is all kinds of wrong to me.
Summary: “We can do this later,” Derek says as gently as he can. Stiles glares at him.
“Don’t baby me, asshole,” he says. “I just—I need a minute. This is a lot. I want it, but it’s a lot. Also, you really did reboot my brain. Like an automatic update that I would have liked to postpone, but I got up to make a Hot Pocket before the notice ever popped up, got distracted in the kitchen, and then came back to find everything already shutting down.”
(Thank you! WOw um of course you can suggest! I tried my hand at it, hope it's what you had in mind!)
-
It took them a while to get here.
To get Stiles out of high school, and Derek out of his shell. It took them until Stiles' second year of college before a move was made, which--well, it was a long time coming.
But it was good, because they knew each other. Stiles knew what made Derek tick, what made his jaw clench and eyes bleed red. Derek knew when Stiles was upset, when his shoulders hunched up or his head dip, almost giving up. He never let Stiles give up.
It was good, what they had.
Derek makes a quiet sort of sound, and, whoops. Stiles hadn't meant to wake him up, not yet.
"Good morning." Because it is, it's always a good morning when he can wake up with Derek.
There's a bit of shuffling, and Stiles can feel muscles moving beneath his lips as Derek's head turns, nose nudging against Stiles' forehead to try and move him up.
"But I have morning breath."
"Doesn't matter."
And that? That's fucking love right there.
Stiles kisses him awake, kisses Derek like he's fragile and beautiful and treasured, because he is. Derek might be a child of the moon, but he's Stiles' sun, always something warm and bright and light when he needs it. Something to keep him grounded when he's panicking, something to keep him okay.
It's a low sound that brings Stiles out of his thoughts, and he hadn't realized he'd been rolling against Derek's ass until Derek was pushing back, the friction sending pleasure throughout his body, and, yep. He was definitely awake now.
Their kisses turn a little dirtier, turn into something with intent behind them. Stiles snakes his palms down Derek's stomach, slowly, until Derek doesn't know if he wants to arch forward into the touch or arch backwards against Stiles' dick. Stiles snorts into the kiss when Derek huffs, and it's sort of cheesy and gross and sickeningly cute, because the only other people Stiles knew who laughed while they kissed was Allison and Scott. In high school.
Stiles palms the front of Derek's briefs until he's panting, and Stiles can tell he's achingly hard. It's always sort of an ego boost, knowing he can do this. Knowing he can have something so beautiful and good. Knowing he can unravel Derek just like Derek unravels Stiles.
"Want to fuck you." He murmurs, breath hitching against Derek's ear as Derek rolls back against him painfully slow, achingly good, and Stiles is swearing, taking his arms away from Derek to roll and grab the lube in the bedside table, fingers fumbling.
When he turns back around, Derek's sliding off his briefs, and Stiles takes a moment to admire his quite perfect butt, because it's sort of a gift to humans, particularly Stiles, because he gets to see it naked.
And then he's tugging his own briefs off, dick way harder than it should be for a lazy Sunday in bed.
"You don't even know what you do to me." Stiles grumbles, sticking out his tongue as Derek throws him a look over his shoulder, eyebrows speaking in volumes.
"Well, right now, you're not doing much of anything."
"Fuck you."
"Sort of the plan, ye--fuck."
Stiles grins and tosses the lube to the side of the bed, one finger crooked in Derek's hole.
"I don't know, I seem to be doing something." Stiles quips easily, and Derek doesn't answer in favor of mumbling out another swear until he's rocking back easily, dick rubbing against the side of the bed.
Stiles finger fucks Derek until he's panting for it, and it's always one of Stiles' favorite things to see--Derek coming undone. There's no scowl on his face, eyes closed but mouth open on silent pleas.
Derek's not the nosiest, but when he does make sounds, Stiles makes sure to catalog what caused it. And then if he sort of combines everything that makes Derek moan, until he is a noisy mess? Well. That's his secret.
"Come on, Stiles. Fuck, could you just--"
It isn't that Derek's inarticulate during sex, or even in day-to-day life, now. He can say what he wants. Sometimes he just gets a little embarrassed. It's something that Stiles really, really loves.
He doesn't make Derek wait any longer, because Stiles is about half a second from rubbing himself off on the sheets just to relieve the pressure, he's so hard.
"Yeah, s'okay, relax." He drops a kiss to Derek's shoulder and they're still on their sides, Derek moving occasionally to kiss him or bury his face against the softness of their pillows.
Fucking Derek is always good, because it's Derek, it's Derek moaning and writhing and bucking back against him. It's tight and hot and needy, the way he clings to Derek until they're rolled over, Stiles holding himself up by his hands and pushing into Derek until the bed almost shakes with it.
Derek doesn't need to beg, or make any sounds at all, because Stiles knows what Derek likes. But Derek knows Stiles likes to hear breathless gasps--and, well, sometimes he can't help himself either. Stiles is dragged down for a sloppy kiss, that's more moaning and tongue than it is anything else, but it's good. It's perfect.
"I love you." Stiles's hips stutter at the words, and it's really lame how that is what sends him over the edge. It's almost embarrassing, really, but Derek's wrapping a hand around his dick and tugging, and it's distracting.
"I love you too, Derek, I love you so fucking much, I don't think you get it, okay, I just--I want this, I want this every single morning, and--"
"Not sure if," Derek loses his breath as Stiles puts his weight to one side, curling his own hand around Derek's, stroking with him, "If this is an every morning thing."
"We don't have to have sex every single morning forever. My dick might fall off." Derek snorts at that, but it's more of a sharp exhale than anything. Their hands have lost rhythm, and Stiles can feel Derek's thighs trembling between them. He drops a kiss to Derek's chest. "But I want you here. I want to be here with you."
And Derek's coming, back arching off the bed and it's the most beautiful fucking thing Stiles has ever seen. He licks at Derek's chest, just to hear him groan, before cleaning them off with the sheets.
It's Derek's turn to change them, after all.
-
Stiles makes french toast when they're done with lazy kisses on their gross sheets, and Derek sets the coffee pot up, pulling the syrup and milk out of the fridge.
He moves over to Stiles, wraps arms around his waist and hooks his chin over Stiles' shoulder.
It's better than good. Better than great, even. Stiles presses back against Derek's chest because he can, lets Derek drop kisses along the column of Stiles' neck.
"You want this every morning?" Derek murmurs, sort of low and fast, as if he'd been thinking about it for a while, and didn't know how to say it.
Stiles just beams. "As long as you'll have me."
Derek doesn't answer, just nuzzles his face against the back of Stiles' jaw, and whoever said Derek Hale couldn't be affectionate was wrong.
Derek doesn't have to answer. Stiles already knows.
