seriously though, i’d give parts of my soul for Stiles and Derek to accidentally kiss and then be like ho shit, i don’t know where that came from I mean— we’re not—
AND THEN THEY SAY SCREW IT AND MAKE OUT FOR TEN HOURS OK YES.
“What…” In a stupor, Stiles reaches up and drags the back of his hand over his lips. They’re still wet.
“I don’t.” Derek takes a step back, and slowly disengages his fingers from Stiles’ hair. “I honestly. Um.”
“What,” Stiles says again, because it bears repeating.
“Well, I don’t—you jumped at me!”
“You looked at my mouth, though!”
“So what!” Derek clenches his fists. “I look at your mouth all the time!”
“Not that—I don’t mean—” Derek takes a long, heavy breath. “We’re both very tired right now.”
“Yes, completely fried.” Stiles’ eyes slip down to Derek’s chest, because it’s heaving shallowly. Stiles has never seen it do that before. He can’t look away from the rapid rise-and-fall of Derek’s collarbones.
“Everyone has strange impulses when they’re…”
“Exactly!” Stiles says, pointing at him. “Exactly. Like being drunk!”
“Or drugged,” Derek agrees, nodding. He looks wild-eyed and cornered, and is he sweating a bit at his temples?
“Like having a head injury?” Stiles suggests, reaching out to cup Derek’s jaw and brush his thumb against his sideburns, just to check.
“Or like being really fucking attracted to you,” Derek sighs, frustrated.
“Yeah, or like that,” Stiles agrees with an angry eye-roll, and Derek groans and pulls him back in by his hoodie strings.
ok…here is the first thing that popped into my head and warning, its odd haha. So There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you. sorry thats weird. oops.
I love this idea!!
The feeling slips over him three, sometimes four times a day now. Lying in bed, usually well after he’s gone to sleep, he’ll find himself being dragged back toward consciousness by slow, sliding touches across his skin. It’s not that bad at night. It’s… fuck, it’s a wet dream. Of course it’s not bad. The pressure of another body pressing against him, warm lips dancing across his neck and chest.
This isn’t a new thing, for him. Fantasies have been doted on Derek since he was old enough to understand what they were - stray sparks of them shooting through him in grocery stores, on the street, even in classes back in high school. He’d only known that Paige was interested him in the first place because the Fantasy he’d started experiencing after meeting her had carried the distinctive rosin-and-brass scent of the practice room.
Derek knows perfectly what he looks like, and he’s gotten used to being an Object. At this point it’s more of a hassle, honestly, than anything. But in the past few years they had always been quick, passing things, fleeting flashes of heat, here and gone just as quickly in the bustling, distracted way of big city life. Since moving back to Beacon Hills, though, things have intensified. Derek has no idea whose interest he’s caught, but clearly small towns make for big imaginations.
The midnight Fantasies are almost always slow, deliberate things, hot and heavy kissing that goes on for minutes at a time, hands that trace teasingly over the lines and angles of his body, leaving him writhing for friction he won’t find.