Send me a pairing and a number and I'll write you a ficlet
It didn't actually take much to rile up Chris Argent, despite his calm veneer. Anger, lust, sadness, any of those emotions, in the right doses, could force the normally stoic man to break free of his self-imposed restraint and snap at whomever was pushing him. Derek would love to say he's above manipulation to get what he wants.
But he's not. He's really, really not.
All it takes is one little shirt. It's not even Derek's shirt, it belongs to Chris. Which should really say something that Chris is more affected by the idea of Derek in his clothing than Derek is of the reverse. But Peter had always mused that Chris would make an amazing werewolf, if a vicious one.
So, one shirt. It's a black button up, one Chris tends to throw on with jeans when he's attempting to look like he has fashion sense but isn't really in the mood for...effort. It's tailored to fit Chris perfectly which means it stretches on Derek's bulkier frame, tight around his biceps, the material drawn taut against the breadth of his shoulders. Derek used to button it, not all the way, halfway up like Chris does once the company has left and he's having a beer in front of the TV.
After about three times of going to Melissa with a frown and a handful of buttons Chris had popped off while trying to rip it from his body, Derek has given up on that.
So now he just shrugs it on, like he's currently doing, leaving it open over his chest, unbuttoning the top button of his jeans to really sell the look. Chris has been tense lately, a tension wire ready to snap at anything, and tonight is the perfect time to ease him down. The gun deal Chris was worried about went off without a hitch and his house payment is taken care of for a few more years with it under his belt.
Derek gives himself one last glance in the mirror, smirking at the sight he makes, before heading down the stairs to where Chris is in the kitchen, putting away the last of the dishes.
"Hey." Derek murmurs out, propping a hip against the counter and watching closely as Chris moves some things around in the fridge before stuffing the plastic container inside and shutting it with a huff.
He can see the instant Chris registers what he's wearing and it doesn't take long after that before that tension wire snaps in two, Chris stalking across the kitchen towards him. Derek winds up pinned to the far wall, breath almost knocked out of him by Chris' weight, before it catches in his throat when the older man cups him roughly through his jeans.
"Tease." Chris' voice is complete gravel in Derek's ear and he can't help but moan, arching into the touch and grinding slightly.
No, it doesn't take much at all to rile Chris up, Derek thinks distantly later, once Chris has tugged him up to bed after bending him over the kitchen island and fucking him until Derek nearly dug scratches into the marble.
Also known as "If you thought Chris Argent and Derek Hale would have a fairytale romance, we have not been watching the same show."
The first time Derek says ‘I love you’ to Chris, it’s not the time for it at all. Not unless their lives are suddenly a movie cliché. But it slips out as Chris pulls the manacles from his hands and helps him down from the wall the hunters had chained him to. Chris seems thrown from it, or perhaps that’s from the howls and gunshots Derek can hear echoing right outside. He presses a kiss to Derek’s cheek, muttering something about it being the wrong time, and then the words are forgotten as Derek tries to fight his way out, weakened and with Chris a constant presence at his side.
The second time he says it, Chris’ reaction stings. He knows he’s not the best catch out there, especially for a hunter, but he thought….he thought they were something. So when he breathes it out into the hollow of Chris’ throat while the hunter takes him apart on his bed, sheets smelling of lust and passion, the entire room filled with the scent of them, he expects something different. Not for Chris to say it back, but maybe for him to gentle his kisses. Turn the frantic ‘thank-god-you’re-alive’ sex they’re having into something softer. But Chris turns his head and sets his teeth against Derek’s collarbone, thrusts not slowing in the slightest, and Derek swallows back the acidic taste on the back of his tongue without another word.
The third time…it’s not a declaration. It’s a weapon, spat across a crowded room. Tension is boiling over, chaos descending on Beacon Hills, and for some god forsaken reason, Chris is trusting Kate to help them get rid of it. Derek’s not on board with that, thankfully he has Peter and Stiles in his corner, but everyone else seems willing to make a deal with a demon to get rid of the devil. So when Peter—who knows, has known since Derek stumbled back into the loft smelling like sex and come and Chris—snarls in the background, lower than the shouts of Chris and Stiles arguing over trust, that Derek should’ve never fallen for another Argent, Derek feels the rage and hurt boiling up in his veins. It’s cold, cold like ice, and his eyes are much the same as the room goes quiet and Chris looks at him with a heartbroken stare. His “I know” sounds more like a “fuck you” and going by Chris’ expression, that’s exactly how it comes across.
The first time Chris says it to him, Derek nearly bares his teeth in anger. How dare Chris try and pull him aside? How dare he try and tell Derek he thought it was a joke? That Derek was high on endorphins from the rescue, that he didn’t think Derek meant it. They know each other better than that. Derek bites back a snarl and really does tell him to go fuck himself, stomping off and ignoring the calls in the background. He should have known better than to assume an Argent could be trusted. He’d been a fool once, twice now. And never again.
But he can’t…he can’t stay away. His body has become used to Chris’ touch, aching for it. So Derek gives in and maybe it hurts more than it feels good, but it’s something real. And with the very world shifting around their town, a foothold is all someone can ask for, even if that foothold is surrounded by pain and suffering. So he finds himself going back to Chris’ house, slipping in through the windows after de-activating the codes that electrify them. It’s vindictive, in a way. He knows Kate is hanging around, also knows Chris wouldn’t let her inside the house if her life depended on it after what she’s done. So he isn’t quiet and he makes sure Chris isn’t either. And every single time Kate sends him a glare he shoots her back a grin more suited to Peter’s face than his and feels a powerful rush at the look of shame on Chris’ face.
Chris says it more often, after that first time. Says it every single time they fuck, clothes hanging from their bodies. He whispers it into the darkness as Derek gets dressed, breathes it into the dips of his hips while he goes down on him, gasps it into Derek’s shoulders as he shudders and shakes his way through orgasm. And Derek ignores it every single time, anger and hurt coiling in his stomach at the way Chris just. Won’t. Stop. It comes to a head, eventually, Derek reaching up and clapping a rough hand over Chris’ mouth, snarling at him to shut up as Chris slides inside him. But he doesn’t. He bites at Derek’s hand and yanks his head away, the phrase repeating itself over and over until Derek is slamming his hands over his ears, desperate to stop hearing it. To stop the way that another wall around his heart breaks down every time it drips from Chris’ lips.
The first time Derek says it back, Chris is still inside him. Still fucking into him with a desperation normally belonging to dying men. He’s on his hands and knees like he has been since he first snuck into the house, refusing to show his belly to the hunter. He can tell Chris hears it, despite how low he sobs it out, trying to muffle it into the pillows that are drenched in sex and sadness and heartbreak. The hunter stops, body and mouth freezing, a low breath blowing out over Derek’s back. Derek doesn’t know what he expects, maybe for Chris to pull out, to laugh in his face about losing to an Argent yet again.
He doesn’t expect Chris to flip him onto his back, powerful body pinning him down before Derek even knows what’s happening. He doesn’t expect the gentleness in the man’s eyes and hands as he cups Derek’s face, fingertips digging in with desperation, blue eyes searching his own like Derek has the answer to every question he’s ever had. He begs him, pleads with him to say it again, and Derek does. Whispers it into the air between them and then Chris is slumping onto him, frantically mumbling “thank god’s” and “thought I lost you” and “can’t lose you” into Derek’s skin, driving each phrase home with a biting kiss.
The first time they say it in public, it’s not even important. It’s mindless, something that couples say without even thinking. Derek is helping Stiles compile the bestiary when the Sheriff stretches and suggests burgers for dinner. Chris volunteers to run to the store with him and help pick out side dishes. He presses an absent kiss to Derek’s lips, murmuring out a “be back soon, love you”. Derek returns the sentiment without even thinking, reminding Chris to grab low-cal salad dressing because Lydia’s on a diet for prom, and it doesn’t even occur to him what’s happened until after the two men are gone.
The smile on his face lingers until Chris gets back, prompting Chris to kiss it off his face as Stiles loudly complains about the display of affection in the background.
