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UGH I BET DEREK WOULD JUST LIKE TO STARE AT HIM SOMETIMES. Like… it FREAKS STILES OUT and inexplicably makes him hard, the way Derek will just pin him down and *look* at him. Spends twenty minutes staring at his mouth, and another 15 tracing the pixie slope of Stiles’ nose with his finger, and then he takes god knows how long *staring* into Stiles’ eyes while he fingers him open and then fucks him slowwwwwww.

The worst part is that they learned early on in their relationship that Stiles doesn’t really need a lot of prep, just a finger, maybe two; but Derek doesn’t care, because it’s all about watching Stiles fall apart, watching the way Stiles’ mouth goes from tight to slack as he shifts against Derek’s hand, pressing down and just fucking begging for it.

Yeah, it’s not even about the prep. It’s about taking Stiles apart. It’s about watching him get more and more desperate. It’s about seeing how much he can take, how much he’s willing to take. It’s about how much Stiles wants to take.

Because it’s Derek, because Stiles wants everything from Derek, every fucked up part of him. And that’s like air to Derek, like a brisk breeze finally clearing away some of the smoke that still tries to cling to him. 

It’s about watching that blush sweep across his cheeks, his lips gone red and chapped from where he’s biting them before his mouth goes entirely slack, lips still shiny from running his tongue across them. And Derek just can’t look away even when Stiles starts begging, because he’s just so fucking gorgeous like that, splayed out across Derek’s sheets, all loose limbs and pale skin flushed pink down across his chest, following the dusting of his freckles and those tiny little moles across his cheeks and his shoulders and down his back. Derek wants to trace them with his tongue while he works Stiles open on his fingers, just teasing him over and over just to see Stiles fall apart so slowly, so sweetly, all panting gasps and breathy moans and Derek’s name over and over again.

And when he finally does pull his fingers out, when he finally fucks him, it’s only after he’s made Stiles come at least twice. He loves pushing inside when Stiles is sloppy slick from being fingered, when he’s only half hard because even Stiles is having trouble getting it up again after so much. 

Derek likes the dazed, blown out look in Stiles’ eyes, the sweaty, splotchy skin begging to be marked up. He likes when Stiles is loose and accepting and too tired to move, to speak, to do anything but *breathe* and let Derek have this. 

And when he moves inside of Stiles, he curls over him, around him. He holds Stiles close and lets it all pour out of him, all the words he can never say outside of these moments. Derek whispers them into Stiles’ ear, tells him how beautiful he is like this, how he’s everything Derek ever needed, that he loves him. 

And when Stiles is finally hard again, after god knows how long of Derek doing this, of Derek fucking him and touching him and loving him, Stiles is a mess. He’s panting and squirming and rocking up into Derek’s thrusts, he’s trying to hold on, to cling. His cock is trapped between them and Derek can tell he’s getting so, so desperate. 

That’s when his lips brush Stiles’ ear, that’s when he says, “One more, Stiles. You can give me one more.” 

And Stiles does. He whines sharply, spine bowing up as he comes.

this is the post that started my take-Stiles-apart kink

(Source: beaconchills)

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