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Featherlight, please

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Stiles is banged up and bruised. It's not an unusual thing these days but this was just supposed to have been a routine check of some weird little thing in the woods and Derek had let him get fucking kidnapped from under his nose. Evil sons of witches apparently, warlocks they had called them self and when Stiles had laughed heavily at that, they’d hit him repeatedly in the face.

Now he was standing in the middle of the floor of Derek’s loft, feeling sorry for himself and wishing he was home already. Derek had insisted on driving him, after Scott had saved Stiles from being turned into a frog or evaporated to a dessert island or whatever the hell his captors was planning to do. He had almost sounded desperate when he’d snatched Stiles from Scott’s grip and told the others that he could get Stiles home safely and hadn't even arched one of his extreme eyebrows at Stiles when he'd mutter “yeah, it's not like it's your fault I have to be driven home in the first place”. And then he didn't even drive Stiles home but to his own home, saying incoherent things that Stiles highly suspects was actually made up words and then running around the loft like crazy person.

“Could I have some water? Stiles asks tiredly and it only takes a few seconds for Derek to show up with a glass and places it in his hand. He's also gives him a pill, for the ache Derek says with a gesture towards Stiles’s whole body. Stiles has to wonder when the hell Derek started to have pain medications at home since none of the wolves could use it.
“You should just kiss the pain away,” Stiles murmurs, somehow forgetting about Derek’s super perfect werewolf hearing. Stiles thinks that is what moms do when their children are hurting and right now, Derek is acting like a mother hen when one of her chicks have gotten lost.
“Would that help?” Derek stands closely in front of him suddenly. Every thought Stiles ever had of Derek bring his substitute mother was gone in an instant. He tries to ask “what?”, say “no” or shake his head but none of the actions seem to actually want to happen. So he doesn't. He looks at the hand that is now holding his upper arm, the one that doesn't hurt too bad, he looks at Derek’s pain ridden face and he wonders if there is a heaven, he actually died and had been sent there.

He understands that he is stuck in reality when Derek really do kiss him. And it just hurts everywhere. Because Derek kisses like there is no tomorrow, like the city is burning, like he will never be able to kiss anyone again and he has to savour it all. He isn’t really pressed against Stiles, but their bodies are touching in a not so gentle manner. Stiles didn't know he would ever wish Derek wasn't so ripped but now he does because he feels like he’s leaning into a human shaped rock. Only bone and muscle. Nowhere near comfortable for his aching body. He wishes that Derek was squishy and soft. Not even Derek’s lips feels all that nice against his own lips that are puffy and split at the moment, so he just says “ouch” everytime Derek is leaning away slightly in between kisses. Which means about four times before Derek stops kissing and steps away.
“Stiles?” He says but it comes out as a question and he sounds lost. Stiles makes a sound of a puppy you just crushed the tail of.
“Still hurts a little here!” Stiles says whining, purses his lips and his lower one starts bleeding again. He sucks the lip into his mouth. The whole snogging thing might not have been the most pleasant thing physically but mentally Stiles is flying on clouds. Fluffy, pink clouds. Derek’s voice is wrecked when he asks:
“What do you want Stiles, what do you need?” And in that moment Stiles believes Derek would give him anything for the aching to stop.
“Just take it easy with me, you know, sorta… soft.” Derek looks like he's never thought you could kiss someone in another way than forceful.

“Just, tell me what to do.” They're in Derek’s bed. Laying on their sides, facing each other with about half a meter in between them. Stiles is not freaking the fuck out. He tries to calm himself down, he tries to fake being calmed down, he tries to calm his faked calmed down self to calm down. When he opens his mouth, the words sounds pretty steady at least.
“I dunno man, I've never done this before.” The glare that Derek responds with indicates that he, in fact, hasn't either. So he tries to think about what he might be able to endure, things that aren't hard or pressing.
“To be clear, a blow job is out of the question, right?” He says laughing and only half joking.
“Stiles,” Derek warns but his tone stumbles way closer to “not now” rather than “not ever”.
“Oh. OH.” He starts panting involuntarily. “Okay, okay.” He tries to slow his raging heartbeat. They lay staring at each other, well, gazes flickering more than being steady but always in the general direction of the other person's body and face.

It takes some time for him to be able to grasp what he wants. Some more to be able to put it in the right words and even longer to finally get them out.
“Touch my face. You can touch my face, lightly. Like, everywhere that it isn't purple or cut. If there are any remaining spots... “ Derek does. Caresses with feathery fingertips foremost on his right cheek and it almost makes Stiles want to moan. Not in a very sexual way, it feels good in other ways, like he's been having a lack of this kind of touch his whole life. Maybe he has. He closes his eyes when Derek reaches a point bellow his eyelashes and Derek then proceeds over Stiles’s eyelid. If feels a bit strange but Stiles likes that too. When the fingers reach down by his chin a couple of seconds later, he says that neck is fine too, neck is definitely fine and the fingers just keep stroking downwards. Stiles wonders when his dick is going to realize what the hell is happening, but it doesn't seem to mind or want make itself known. The whole thing could be sexual but he figures that since Derek is really only expressing concern and carefulness, there is actually nothing to get aroused by. Not today.

“You could, uhm, kiss me again. If you want to, I mean, this is fine too, if you don't. Want to.” It took him a ridiculous amount of effort to say it. Courage. Balls. Braveness. But Derek is nodding and already scooting forward.
“Maybe not on the lips though,” Derek whispers.
“And featherlight, please,” Stiles says rather shivery. Derek leans forward and then he's mouthing over the skin on Stiles’s shoulder. Gives small pecks and Stiles thinks he might actually lick him a little. It feels great so he does not destroy the moment with a dog pun.

Hours stretch out. It might be days or weeks, Stiles doesn't know and doesn't really care. Derek’s lips are still brushing over him and he could get lost in it for all eternity.

Stiles lay practically on top of the wolf when Derek falls asleep. It's beautiful, he's beautiful and finally there are some softness to him. Derek’s muscles eases with every intake of breath and his strong features is suddenly very child like. Except for the scruff and all. Stiles lays perfectly still, but it's comfortable and he hears Derek’s heart thump so he doesn't feel the need to move. Derek stirs some time later, his inhales becomes sharper and Stiles thinks he's awake again. Stiles whispers that next time, Derek can tell Stiles what he want Stiles to do to him and Stiles will give him whatever he wants. Derek doesn't answer but it takes Stiles quite a while before he can hear and feel Derek draw a ragged breath. Stiles’s body feels like he has fell down a three story building but he still grins and thinks that it has been a pretty good day anyway.