“This is ridiculous,” Derek groans, slightly shifting his hips as Stiles’ fingers slide down over the flat, tanned line of his abdomen.
“Edible,” Stiles corrects him absentmindedly, eyes focused on the work he is doing, as he presses his fingertips over the juncture of Derek’s hips, tracing the solid curve of his hipbone and leaving behind an intricate game of colored lines.
“Not this,” Derek says, picking up the small tube of body paint that is laying on the sheets and frowning in its general direction. “I meant this,” he specifies, nodding towards the sensitive portion of skin where Stiles’ hand is resting, warm and slick with blue paint.
From where he is lying, sprawled on his belly between Derek’s open legs, Stiles blinks. Sarcastically. How he manages to do such a thing, remains a mystery for Derek. “You know, I probably own a spare dictionary. You should borrow it. Just for, you know, future references and- Things. Like actually explaining yourself with more than three words at time,” he giggles, tongue darting out to lick a long, wet stripe along the upper of Derek’s thigh.
Derek’s eyes go dark, light blue slowly washed away by waves of deep, velvety red. “I’ll think of it,” he says, words curling around Stiles’ chest like poisonous snakes.
One of his hands finds the curve of Stiles’ nape, pushes him down as Derek cants his painted hips in a meaningful motion, pressing the hard curve of his dick against Stiles’ neck, leaving a wet, sticky trail over soft skin. “Now- You said edible, right?”