bakerstreet | (no subject)

One | Two | Three

[Would it be alright if I set it up for Derek walking in on Stiles as in the first gif? I'd like to incorporate all of them eventually, but that looked like a good place to start.]

{Of course. I figured you'd only want to use one, so I tried to give a variety to pick from. Whatever works for you with them works for me =)}

[ooc: gotta at least use three too because dayuuuum.]

'Walking in' might have been a bit of a stretch. Normally walking in on someone would involve being in the house...using a door...something to that extent. Derek's preferred mode of transportation involved jumping up to Stiles' window and getting in that way, and this time he probably should've used the doorbell.

The scent of arousal hit him before he even saw Stiles, and honestly, it was so dark outside he wasn't sure if the otherwise-occupied teen had even seen him come in. He was so caught off guard by his own trespassing that he didn't make a sound, didn't know what to say or do to make this any less a total invasion of privacy.

Maybe he could sneak back out? Not probable, but worth a try. Now if only he could get his body to cooperate with his brain, he would be in business.

Stiles liked his time alone. He liked being able to do research and not worry about having his head cracked open or something with teeth coming at him. Nope, in his room he was king.

Of course, one could only study for so long before one had to relieve a little tension and the best way for him to do that was a little self love. Okay, a lot of self love, but who was counting?

He'd set up the laptop so he could watch the videos he'd downloaded and hidden in secret files, playing them and getting undressed -- mostly. He liked the feel of the open shirt against his sides as he stroked himself and it made him feel a little less... naked. Less vulnerable.

His door was locked on the off chance he didn't hear his dad come home, but he really, really should have checked his window. He just hadn't thought about it. It wasn't like Derek stopped by all the time. Why the hell should he expect him when he was in the middle of one of the best jerk-offs in his life?

It wasn't even a noise that alerted him to someone else being there. It was that prickling at the back of his neck, that one where you know someone's watching and you have to turn to see if you're just imagining things. Only it seemed he wasn't. Nope. That sure as hell was Derek Hale standing there staring at him, his hand slowing until it stopped. He had a light sheen of sweat over him and was panting, bordering on coming when he'd realized he had company.

Shit. "Uh..."

Yes, Stiles. That was the best response to come up with. Uh. Idiot.

Okay, so yeah. He'd watched.

Even with all the sirens and alarm bells screaming 'underage' 'you're trespassing' 'he's going to call the cops AND tell Scott', Derek Hale had been watching Stiles intently, been breathing in the scent of sweat and precome, felt the blood rush from his brain to his balls and that was the only way he could possibly rationalize the terrible decision he was about to make.

"For once in your life, just shut up." He sounded almost breathless, and he took a step closer to Stiles' bed.

"Don't stop. You look so..." He couldn't express the word he was looking for, so he settled for a low growl under his breath. Somehow the glow of the laptop against his skin made him look almost ethereal, and the look on his face when he'd thought he was alone...god, he wished he could frame that moment and keep it on his fucking wall above his bed.

The most frustrating thing about all of this? He was still hard and aching in his hand, his cock clearly not getting the memo that it should be retracting into his body in terror. Nope. If anything, there was a sort of clenching sensation in the pit of his stomach, his hand squeezing himself for a second before Derek started talking, before he took that step closer to the bed.

Why was his heart still pounding in his chest? Fear, right? He was scared, right? Then why wasn't he cringing away from the figure moving closer? Maybe his brain was still stuck in that place he went just before he came, that empty plateau of perfection and quietness.

Nope, his brain was fully aware of the fact that Derek Hale was beside his bed and looking at him like... like what? Like a guy who'd been told he was lactose intolerant his entire life finding out that he wasn't after he'd been shoved into an ice cream parlor. Right. Wait, did that make Stiles the ice cream? "What...?"

Still with the eloquence. God, what the hell was wrong with him? And why wasn't he moving to hide his dick?

What, indeed.

Derek didn't even know what the hell he was doing. His brain was screaming something about the window but it was lost in the overarcing mantra of moreStilesmoreStilesmoreStilesSTILES.

He took the teen's inaction as a sign he could move closer, putting one knee up onto the bed as he leaned down to place his hand over the top of Stiles', just millimeters away from actually touching his cock. It was risky and stupid and everything that he really should not be doing right now, but instead of an apology and an escape, he repeated himself.

"Don't stop. I want to watch you and..." His free hand went to his belt, undoing it with a tug before unzipping his jeans. "You watch me."

It was entirely possible that he'd passed out at some point and this was all a really fucked up post-orgasm dream, because in no universe would Derek Hale ever touch his hand that was so close to his cock, nor would he look like he was going to whip out his own and join him in some kind of mutual circle jerk.

And in no universe would that actually be appealing to Stiles.

Yet here he was, licking his lips before biting his lower one as his eyes dropped from Derek's down to where he was working his pants open. Well, Stiles had never been one to be timid... "You going to take it all off?"

Why? Why had those words just come out of his mouth? And why did he actually want to see the rest of it?

Ballsy fucker.

Derek had to grin a little at the question, his hand moving away from Stiles to assist his other in undressing himself, pulling his shirt up and off before freeing himself from his jeans. Black boxer-briefs came off after his shoes and socks, leaving the moonlight and Stiles with an all-inclusive view of his naked body, and cock that was getting harder by the second.

Stiles biting his lip like that had Derek fighting himself not to capture that mouth for his own, but he'd already reconciled the fact that as long as he wasn't touching Stiles, this wasn't nearly as illegal or wrong. Just looking. That wasn't so bad.

Right?

Sorry, Derek. You'd crossed 'illegal and wrong' as soon as you'd crept in the window. And at that moment, Stiles didn't really care. There was a naked guy in his room, naked and built and full of hard planes and lines that he was being given free rein to ogle, so he was going to take advantage of that and look, breath coming just a little faster when he saw Derek's cock bobbing to life.

He hadn't gotten his fill, but he did drag his eyes back up to meet Derek's, his hand deciding that it had been still long enough and stroking upward, fingers closing over the glans of his cock. "Now what...? Do I get a show since you've... gotten one?" Sort of...

He didn't need to be asked twice, especially once Stiles' hand started moving once more. He stood alongside the bed where there was enough light for him to be seen, one hand moving to caress and tug gently at his balls as he began stroking his cock with the other. The movements of his wrist were long and languid, taking his sweet time as he jerked himself to a full erection.

Truthfully, Derek liked playing exhibitionist. He worked hard to keep himself in shape, and it gave him a special sort of pleasure to have his work admired. He'd drop everything to curate a fucking museum of the work of art that was Stiles Stilinski's body, dedicate workshops to every birthmark and mole, teach classes on the way his hipbones pressed against his skin in the most tantalizing way, write theses on how it was physically possible to have lips that looked so soft, so plush.

He'd potentially kill a man for the opportunity to follow that trail of fine hair down from his bellybutton with his tongue, but he was trying to steer himself away from jail time for this.

He was subconsciously mimicking Derek's pace, eyes moving from the hand that was tugging on the sac and feeling a faint tingling in his own to the cock that was clearly hard and ready for whatever Derek felt like using it for. He'd seen those abs and that chest naked a thousand times before, but they seemed more naked this time since there was no line of Derek's jeans to stop any roaming eyes.

Derek was proportionate; hard and muscled all over, thighs as firm as his biceps and okay, maybe Stiles was trying to remember what he looked like when he was doing those pullups on the door frame, picturing him doing that naked and how that would put certain things at eye level.

Or, you know, mouth level. If someone was so inclined to think in that direction. His lip slid free from where he'd been biting it, mouth open as he kept stroking, toes flexing with each sweep of his hand along his shaft, cheeks flushed as he paid particular attention to Derek's hand doing the same. But of course, he couldn't leave well enough alone...

"You should come sit. Down. Here. On the bed. It'd be more comfortable." And it would be closer. And Stiles wasn't exactly moving to make room, so Derek would have to make him.

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Three's kind of a favorite if mine now. >>

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