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A Trail Along My Favorite Place

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Grey light filters in through the curtains, the rain paints streaked lines on the pale walls, and the werewolf wrapped around his waist keeps Stiles comfortably warm and drowsy. He cards his fingers lazily through Derek’s hair, enjoying the silky strands slipping through his fingers and the pleased hum that vibrates along his hip bones.


Stiles wishes, not for the first time, that he could see how they look together in this moment’ he wishes he could see them spread out in their bed, Derek’s dark hair and golden skin against the light blue sheets, his strong, hair dusted arms wrapped around Stiles’ and contrasting his own milky skin. He imagines they make a nice picture.


Derek snuggles closer, nuzzling Stiles’ belly with his nose. He makes a contented, sleepy noise before yawning around a “G’ morning, babe,” and shifting to rest his chin on Stiles’ hip, fingers petting his side absently.


“Morning, Sunshine,” Stiles smiles at him, propping his pillow up with his free arm so he can better see Derek. “How’d you sleep?”


Derek hums a happy sound and starts to trace the shelf of Stiles’ hipbones with one thick finger, sending a tingling heat sparking along Stiles’ nerves. Derek follows the trail of his finger with small, slow kisses, his lips dragging slightly over the curve of Stiles’ hip, catching on the smooth skin. He bites gently at the jut of bone, the sharp inhale and the arch of Stiles’ back pulling a pleased moan from Derek’s throat.


Derek shifts again, lying more fully on his front, bracketing Stiles’ thighs with his arms, anchoring one hip with a widespread hand, fingertips kneading teasingly as he followed the enticing line of Stiles’ ilium with gentle nips and open mouthed kisses, sucking little bruises up to mark the pale skin. The steady stream of whimpers and gasps falling from Stiles’ lips and the clench of his long, dexterous fingers in Derek’s hair spurring him to continue; not that he had planned to stop.


It had taken them a long time to get to this point, to get Stiles comfortable enough with his body to let Derek lie naked with him, curled together, touching from shoulder to toe. Derek had started with soft slow kisses and softer praise, until Stiles was alright with how Derek took him apart, until he was secure enough in them to believe every word, until he believed that Derek wanted him just as much as he wanted Derek, until he could let Derek just look at him.


And oh, how Derek loved to look at him. To look at him and let his eyes caress every pale inch of skin. To trace his freckles with the tip of his tongue and decorate his flesh with purple-red bruises. To make Stiles tremble and beg, but never for long, because he can’t really deny the man anything.


He is particularly fond of Stiles’ hips, because the way he moves them is practically pornographic and they fit so well in his hands. And between his teeth.


He continues mapping Stiles hip with his lips, purposely ignoring the tented sheet that barely clings to the very alluring erection he’s coaxed from his partner.


A whimper breezes past Stiles’ lips, and his hands scrabble against the sheets, “ Derek, ” he whines, pleads, “Kiss me, please?”


Derek smiles against the arch of Stiles’ hip, traces his nose along the bone to kiss the soft skin near his belly button, “I am,” he says cheekily.

After a frustrated, and very human growl, he repeats “Please,” and Derek relents. He really can’t deny Stiles anything. Though, as he slides up Stiles’ body, feels his strong arms wind around his neck, and fits their mouths together, licks into Stiles’ mouth, one hand pressing into the newly bruised skin on Stiles’ hip, he can’t really complain.