Derek loves the way Stiles rides him, shameless and eager, how his narrow hips fit perfectly in Derek’s palms when he presses the boy against him, pushes him on his cock, keeping him still and just making him take it deeper.
It’s such a perfect sight, Stiles’ body opening around Derek’s thick cock, his wet hole stretching and turning blood-red, enclosing every inch of Derek that pushes into it. “So fucking hot,” Derek sometimes grits between clenched teeth, swallows back the urge to come inside Stiles, the desire to watch as his come drips out Stiles’ body, dribbling down his thighs in white, copious rivulets.
There is something special in the way Stiles tilts his head back, baring his neck and opening his lips in a soundless scream, the way he enjoys this, them, moving together as if the world outside doesn’t matter, as if is their bed is the only reality that Stiles wants to live.
“Love you,” Derek sometimes hears Stiles chant between broken moans. “Love you, love you, love you.” A burning chain that coils around Derek’s heart, squishes it in the best of the holds as Stiles spits over the palm of his hand, closes it around his dick, moving frantically, moaning and breaking in front of Derek’s eyes.