Derek is, well. He isn’t the most effusive at the best of times, but in this moment, he might swear he has no words at all.
Oh, they’re there, in the front of his brain, and over to the side a bit in the Broca’s area and possibly stuck down in Wernicke’s bit too—helping Lydia study for her introductory neuroanatomy all those years ago stuck harder than he’d realized, obviously—but Derek is fairly sure that his left anterior cingulate cortex is stealing all the energy it can get, although there is probably a fair bit being routed to his right insula, too.
That would be why his dick is harder than it has managed to get in less than a minute, in well, a very long time.
Stiles was a bizarre and wonderful marvel as a teenager, a wild and quirky journey in his twenties, and now that he has officially joined Derek in what is apparently old age, well. Stiles has moved beyond bizarre and quirky to the far more distinguished eccentric and outré.
Derek is so in love with the extraordinary man in front of him, and he is so amazed that even now the love of his life can knock him off kilter.
Case in point: Stiles is wearing a long, shimmery gown that winks between gold and silver as he moves in the light of the make-up mirror he’s standing next to. The gown, and Derek is going to keep calling it a gown as whatever it’s made out of seems too over-the-top to have been used to make just a dress.The gown is what Derek is fairly sure is known as figure hugging. At the angle Stiles is standing—one leg bent back slightly to look at the side of his absurdly high-heeled shoe, head and upper body twisted for the same reason—Derek could swear that Stiles has developed an hourglass figure.
Derek’s fairly sure that Stiles should still be rocking the whole, “Look babe, I can finally claim I’m an upside down Dorito!”, body that he’s had going for over a decade and definitely had this morning when they woke up. Women’s clothing is apparently mystical.
The shoes, and the nylons with the line running up the back of them that Derek has no idea what to call, are magical. The gown, high to the neck, and the straight all the way to the floor at the back, is spellbinding.
When Stiles turns around and shows Derek what he looks like at the front, well. Entrancing, bewitching, charming? Stiles is supernaturally beautiful, and yes Derek is perfectly aware of the absurdity of him using that word.
The gown is slit up higher than the center of Stiles left thigh. The top of the garment is similarly split, carving a vee down close to where Derek knows his husband’s navel is and creating an illusion of cleavage where there is not much more than some handsome pecs. Stiles is devoid of hair on his chest, his legs, on and under his arms, and Derek is struck by the desire to know just what else has been waxed or shaved smooth.
Derek’s dick is beyond hard now, twitching in the absurdly tight dress pants that he was instructed to wear for the evening. He’s glad no one else in the room is a wolf; the scent of his need would likely knock them over.
Stiles smiles at him, and Derek finally, and oh-so-stereotypically, lifts his eyes to look at his other half’s face. Stiles bats his lashes and Derek isn’t sure if he wants to just stare some more so the vision in front of him is preserved, or push Stiles to his knees, fuck Stiles’ face for the two minutes at most that it will take for him to come, and then smear his seed over the dark pink lipstick that frames Stiles normally luscious and now wicked looking mouth.
He definitely wants Stiles to fuck him while he’s wearing that gown. It might mean ripping the slit in it higher, but Derek will buy him another. And another.
Stiles reaches out and adjusts Derek’s tie, running his painted, but thankfully still short, fingernail down Derek’s shirt. “Ready for my special big-three-oh birthday party, baby?”
Derek opens his mouth, but, he isn’t the most effusive at the best of times and right now, well.
♠
Loss: [n] the state of being deprived of or of being without something that one has had; the accidental or inadvertent losing of something dropped, misplaced, stolen, etc. [idiom] at a loss - in an uncertain or perplexed state
July CampNaNoWrimo - my prompt table and ‘rules’ are here.
I barely remember Intro to Neuroanatomy, so please don’t hate me.
In between working, writing and dealing with things for that holiday that is in 11 days time I’ve been reading and recently started the delightful The Chemistry Between Us by Flurblewig.
It is a Breaking Bad inspired AU. Now I’ve not seen Breaking Bad and to some one who lives in the UK with the NHS the premise is a bit mindboggling but there you go.
In any event as the author puts it this story is more at the Brooklyn Nine end of the spectrum of shows if Breaking Bad is sitting up with the Wire So not grimdark.
Ben Solo is the Chemistry teacher whose mother gets a cancer diagnosis and Rey is the former student who he teams up with in an effort to raise funds for treatment.
I have enjoyed it so much I had to make some silly fan art for it - inspired by chemistry text books I have known.
I’m not sure that Rey/Ben are in a 1:26 ratio - I mean I know he’s big/tall but... damn!
