WIP Wednesday
Tagged by the dreams that are @hedwig221b & @dear-massacre 🥰
Another week, another li'l excerpt from my current Sterek FWB AU WIP: you don't see me. Derek and Stiles are besties since college and roommates, and Derek is 'straight'.
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"Don't try to swallow," Stiles says. "It can be... a lot, your first time. Especially for a straight guy."
Derek frowns. “I told you, I don't mind –“
A quick, high laugh from Stiles' smiling, pink mouth effectively cuts Derek off, and he abruptly yanks the supporting hand out from under his head to clamp firm fingers around Derek's bicep.
“Dude,” he monotones, "just trust me on this.”
Derek allows himself a beat to click his tongue irritably, but concession comes soon enough, in the form of a long, heaving sigh.
“Fine,” he grouses. “Just let me know when you’re close, then.”
"Sure, yeah, fine." Stiles' agreement comes out just a little bit breathless, and he squirms against the sheets as Derek knees his way in between his easily parting legs. "Shit. Okay. This... this is actually happening. Just – take it slow, all right? And be careful with your teeth, for the love of god."
The hot skin of the outside of Derek's thigh brushes, presses up against the soft skin on the inside of Stiles', and Stiles responds with an instant intake of breath, the grip he has on his own dick through his underwear tightening for a moment.
Derek feels like he's blinking through thick, sickly sweet syrup as he tears his gaze away and up to Stiles' face.
"Feel free to smack me around the head if I'm too terrible," he jokes.
Stiles rolls his eyes. The intensity of the gesture is undermined, slightly, by the bright flush that covers the entire expanse of his high cheekbones.
"Obviously I'm not going to smack you, Derek," he says.
Derek huffs. "I just mean, don't suffer on account of my ego, is all."
“I really don’t think I see any suffering on the cards here." Stiles pauses, head tilting to the side as he tucks one finger beneath the waistband of his boxers. "At least, not on my side, anyway."
"We should stop stalling," Derek rationalises. "This is already far too much talking for a decent blowjob."
Stiles scoffs, another finger slipping in to join the first. But still, they simply linger in that one place, making no move to push the item down, tug it away. Still, he just lies there, with the hard line of his dick obscenely visible through the indecently thin layer of fabric.
“Maybe I’m nervous,” he says.
Derek lifts an eyebrow. “You’re nervous?”
“Shut up,” Stiles says, a shaky laugh, a deep breath, and then his boxers are hurriedly pulled down to meet the bunched-up fabric of his sweatpants, his dick springing out to bounce against his taut stomach. “Okay. Fuck. Let’s do this.”
A snort escapes Derek at the severity in Stiles’ voice, the pinch of a frown creasing between his eyebrows. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep another burst of laughter from pushing its way out of him when Stiles’ mouth tugs even further down, almost comically downturned, at this barest hint of amusement.
Silently, Derek lowers himself, dropping his shoulders and his gaze until he can settle properly in between Stiles’ inched apart thighs. He takes in the length of Stiles’ erection, stiff and leaking a little at the tip, and he feels a hot simmer churn in his stomach, a vibrant current running underneath his skin.
Nerves, obviously. Simple, inevitable – nerves.
Enough words have passed between them now; too many words, just like he said before. And it’s without another syllable passing through his lips that he gets himself comfortable, reaches out to curl fingers at the base of Stiles’ dick to hold it firm and ready, and leans forward until he can wrap his mouth around the tip.
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No pressure tags! @aurevell @crownofstardustandbone @lucky-bishop @renmackree @thotpuppy
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Birthday Weekend Bullets
I’m now 45, but don’t say it too loudly. I don’t want my joints to hear.
I’ve officially introduced Adelaide to NFA, which was somehow both a very big deal and totally not a big deal at the same time. She’s only ever met one other of my boyfriends, back when she was two, and yet I didn’t feel anxious about it — and didn’t need to. Adelaide liked him, of course. In fact, she told me the next day she thought I had good taste in men. High praise from a teenage girl.
Is there anything better than a gorgeous pastry/coffee combo on a weekend morning?
These chairs reminded me so much of my great-grandmother’s dining room chairs. Same general concept and color, but hers had red leather instead of fabric. They also had claw feet, and the heads at the ends of the arms were lions with their teeth bared. I used to slide my finger inside the mouths behind the bared canines. I think all the great-grandchildren did. Her father was a doctor, and the dining room set was made for him during the Depression as payment for treatment. One of my mother’s cousins has it now, I think. I’m glad I was born when I was — the rave/club culture of the 90s was 100% where I needed to be — but I also would’ve fit right in during the Gilded Age. No doubt.
Diana’s view
Is there anything more jolly than a goat?
Excellent food/wine, a trip into the mountains, a day of vegging, and zero work for all three (and a half) days.
I’m loving my lineup of most popular posts right now.
Bonus: No less than a dozen people (literally!) stopped me to compliment me on the dress I wore Saturday. That was a delightful little birthday weekend treat unto itself.
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