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“I used to imagine it every time you threw me against a wall or something,” Stiles told him. “Not so much fucking as kissing when you were there. Your face is beautiful.”
Derek chewed without relish. He was not looking at Stiles, with extreme commitment.
“But when I was alone, I had these fantasies. They were totally adolescent. I’m not even sure they were physically possible.”
“Stop,” Derek grumbled.
“I used to imagine you holding me against a wall, my feet wouldn’t even touch the ground.”
“Stiles,” Derek was growling now. Danger signs. They sent a tiny thrill through Stiles. A little sign that maybe he wasn’t dead.
“You’d have me wrap my legs around your waste, and then you’d start on my neck.”
Derek threw his plate to the floor.
“Stop talking,” he growled, furiously, “Stop talking!”
A second day with the Hales.
Still one of my most messed up works.
- Part 3 of Void