I wrote this for a prompt over at the Teen Wolf Kink Livejournal.
The prompt was:
Please, I want Artist Stiles, Stiles is still Stiles. But I want him to be a painter, either it's a new thing or an old hobby/love of his that he was just recently gotten back into...up to author.
Painting is the one thing that calms him down, he paints what he loves, what he knows...so this leads to Derek discovering the talent (I want Stiles to be wow awesome at painting, especially faces/scenery).
Cue the discovering of feelings through art, Just really want a fic where through art Derek realizes how deep and caring is Stiles especially with those he (Stiles considers pack)
Bonus! for Derek finding Stiles painting in the woods/outdoors and not letting on to being there so that he can observe this strange Stiles shaped creature.
Super Bonus if theres some form of rolling in the paint/messy sex!
Disclaimers and such: Graphic Male Sex. I don't know how old the characters are supposed to be in the show, so it is possible this includes underage sex depending on Stiles's age, occurs after season one, I own nothing but if I could, it'd be Stiles. I'm not making any money off this, just getting it out of my head and on paper.
Derek noticed an odd smell in the air. He walked down the dilapidated stairs into the foyer. The scent was out of place. Freshly dried paint, the aroma of it seeped through his house. He followed the trail into the living room. There was a painting hanging over the ruined fireplace, something that hadn't been there when he'd gone to sleep.
He walked closer to the image, curious as to what it might be. Under the smell of the paints he detected the familiar scent of Stiles. Derek shifted uneasily at the thought that Stiles had been in his house while he was sleeping. He should have awoken to such an intrusion.
Sunlight streamed in from the unadorned windows. Morning light caught the painting, added something surreal to its quality. Derek blinked at how detailed the image was.
On the canvas there was an idealized replication of his home before the fire. Sunlight glinted off the windows; he thought he could see shapes of all sizes behind the glass panes. There was an impression that the house was bustling with activity. A harvest wreath hung from the front door, rocking chairs rested on the porch along with a hanging swing.
The trees surrounding his home were a riot of oranges, reds, and yellows. The limbs were full of leaves that looked ready to fall to the ground, to cover it in a brilliant autumn carpet. The driveway was filled with cars, trucks, motorcycles, and even his black Camaro. A tiny replica of himself had just gotten out of the car; pies with steam rising off them were balanced on his arm as he closed the door with his foot. On the bottom of the painting there was a silver piece of metal with an engraving that said: 'A Time to Celebrate ~ by S.S.'.
Derek listened but there were no signs that Stiles was still nearby. His lingering scent indicated he'd left via the first floor window that was broken out. Derek grabbed his jacket and headed out the front door to his car.
It didn't take him very long to reach the neighborhood where Stiles lived. It was just after midmorning. Derek believed the sheriff would be at work and his son at school since it was a weekday. He parked a block away from the house. Perhaps he would find a clue about what was going on in Stiles's room.
He walked around to the side of the house and scaled the wall, sometimes he felt like it was becoming a habit. At least no one was trying to kill him or arrest him anymore. He pulled the window open; glad he didn't have to cause any property damage. Stiles hadn't tried to install locks or latches yet. That would make Scott's late night visits inconvenient; technically it would make his visits inconvenient too.
Derek froze in shock as he got his upper body through the window. The room's general clutter had been cleared. Most of the odd posters and decorations had been removed. Three paintings hung on the walls, two more sat on easels in the corner. Paint brushes rested in cans of water, jars and cans of paint were spread along the furniture in the room covering almost every available surface. A long plastic tarp had been spread over the carpet in the corner to keep it safe. Eye wrenching splatters of multicolored paint coated the white surface.
Recovering from the initial shock at the changes in the room, Derek climbed through the window. He walked over to the closest painting; it had a silver plate at the bottom similar to the one on the painting above his mantel. The plate read said, 'Behind the Curtain ~ by S.S.'.
He studied the details of the image. A radiant girl with strawberry blonde hair in an immaculate gown of flowing white was hidden away inside of a dressing room. Men in tuxedos stood waiting outside, all of them bearing gifts. Necklaces with glittering diamonds, boxes of expensive looking chocolates, and adorable stuffed animals filled their arms. The girl didn't see them, didn't seem to be interested in what was going on outside of the small dressing room. Her attention was focused on a chalkboard that hung from the wall opposite the mirror. She had an enigmatic smile on her face, contemplating an incredibly complex mathematical formula. Her pale hand held a piece of chalk a few inches away from the board as though she were about to finish forming the solution at the bottom.
Derek closed his mouth that had fallen in slack from the shock of how easily Stiles had captured Lydia in the painting. He thought the chalkboard thing was weird, but it was Stiles, weird was his medium. He moved to where he could see the next painting, the plate said, 'We See You ~ by S.S.'.
A young man stood on a lacrosse field, helmet clutched in one hand, his netted stick in the other. The face of the player expressed desperate hope slowly being crushed by fear, longing for something eaten away at the edges. The player's eyes were full of unshed tears. He was facing a crowd that had their backs turned to him. The crowd seemed to be talking amongst themselves, oblivious to the naked pain on the player's face. Behind him, outside of the player's vision, a second crowd stood waiting. A man in a black leather jacket, a strawberry blonde girl with her arms outstretched, a young man wearing the same uniform as the player the painting focused on was holding hands with a young girl who waved at the lonely player as if trying to get his attention. Off to the side there was a boy in a flannel shirt, his hands cupped around the sides of his mouth as though yelling.
Derek shook his head, stepped over a can of water with several brushes sticking out of it. He leaned down to pick it up, placed it with the others that were just like it on a nearby shelf. He walked to the next painting, curious as to what it might be about. The plate said, 'Unconditional Love ~ by S.S.'.
A girl knelt under a full moon, her arms wrapped around a dark furred wolf with glowing amber eyes. The wolf's head was stretched back, mouth open as though howling up into the sky. All around the two leaves were falling. The girl's breath was visible in the crisp autumn night. The forest was empty save the girl and the wolf she clung to, her head on its shoulder, her hands twisted in the animal's fur. A small smile graced the girl's features, made the glowing moon seem plain and ordinary by comparison. They looked comfortable sharing their warmth together and drawing strength from each other.
Derek was baffled by the skill needed to create such images. He moved towards the two easels in the corner. He was surprised to see that they too were finished. The first one's plate said, 'Coming Home ~ by S.S.'.
An older man in a uniform leaned against a police car. It was parked in the driveway of a typical American home. Sunlight poured down over him, caused the badge on his chest to shine like a brilliant star. He smiled contently at a woman who seemed to be running up the driveway, dark hair bounced along her shoulders. She wore a smile that looked like it could stop rain from falling, could melt the coldest ice with its warmth. Discarded bags were piled at the beginning of the driveway as though the woman had just returned from a long trip and had dropped them in her haste to reach the police officer. Derek looked closely at the house, on the second floor there was a window with its curtains drawn back. A young man with hair the same color as the woman rested with his forehead against the glass, palm splayed against the window as he looked down on the scene below.
The look of longing on the boy's face tugged at Derek's heart. He didn't really know much about Stiles's family, but clearly he missed his mother. Derek could relate, knew how it felt to miss someone so much it made you feel hollow, like nothing could ever fill you up again. He'd never be able to express it as eloquently or as completely as Stiles had with his paints and brushes. He blinked his eyes rapidly, silently cursed the stinging acrid smell of paint that permeated the room. Derek was unwilling to admit that there was another reason his eyes had begun to water. He turned to face the last painting, the little plate said, 'Across the Ashes'.
A solitary figure stood outside a building engulfed in hellish orange and red flames. Ash rained down from the sky, the heart wrenching downpour stained clothes that had once been white with long streaks of pitch black. The man's face wasn't visible; however the tension and pain he experienced was clearly expressed in the strained muscles of his neck, in the fists clenched at his sides. In the distance, so small that Derek had to get closer to make out the specific details, a youth crouched behind a tree. He had short dark hair, brown eyes filled with longing. A single hand was visible coming out from behind the tree, reached down to touch the man's shadow that flickered from the lights of the inferno of the man's home, from the burning wreckage of all the man's dreams.
Tears fell this time from the werewolf's eyes. It was the most horrible moment of his life, captured with such solemn respect that it caused his heart to ache. He reached out, touched the hand that touched his shadow. He wondered what it meant. He got closer to the painting, noticed he couldn't really identify the emotion that Stiles had painted onto the face of the boy reaching for the shadow. It clawed at his insides, not knowing.
The front door slammed closed, Derek caught the sound of feet running up the stairs. He rushed back to the window; nearly fell off the side of the house as he scrambled outside. He clung to the building, listening.
"Huh… that's funny; Thought I left this on the floor." Stiles's bewildered voice came from inside the room. "Guess not."
Derek sighed. If Stiles found a bloody knife on the carpet he would probably mutter about how it was odd and disregard it. The kid was as ridiculous as any human could possibly be without being a danger to itself. Sometimes, he was a couple of steps beyond that.
He heard the rustling sound of something being moved and leaned against the wall. Wood scraped on wood, mental banged on metal, above the clamor Stiles talked to himself, unable to be quiet even when he was alone. Derek found it slightly frightening.
"Paint check, canvas check, packed up easel check, delicious PB&J check, bottled water check, paints check, brushes check. Did I just say paint twice?" Stiles paused momentarily as though checking a list, "keys check. Ok, here we go."
The door to Stiles room slammed closed, footsteps pattering down the stairs. Derek swung himself back into the boy's room so he was not visible hanging from the outside. He waited until he heard Stile's jeep door close and the vehicle pull out of the driveway. If he was going to follow Stiles, he needed to hurry back to his car.
He had no idea what Stiles was up to but he was going to find out. He glanced back at the picture of his burning house and the hand touching the shadow. He was going to find out about that too. He leapt from the side of Stiles's house and ran to his car.
It took him a few minutes to catch up to the sky blue jeep and follow at a discreet distance. He doubted Stiles would consider that he was being followed; however Stiles had shown himself to be remarkably clever in the past. In order to find out what was going on Stiles had to be unaware of his presence.
They headed out of town; eventually turning onto a side road that led to the Beacon Hills Preserve and the woods that bordered the Hale estate. Derek knew that area like the back of his hand. He decided to ditch his car further up the road and then circle back on foot to track Stiles through the forest.
Derek ignored the scorching heat of the summer day; it was getting close to midday. He found Stiles's scent. He followed it to a ravine that ended at a small wooded glen. The creek terminated at a small pond, he'd spent many afternoons swimming in the pond as a child with his sister. He wondered how Stiles had come across it. He circled around to approach from downwind; instinct guiding him even though he knew there was no way Stiles could catch his scent.
There was a boulder within line of sight to the pond, far enough that he figured Stiles would have trouble seeing him clearly. He settled in and watched.
Stiles had just finished setting up his easel, he'd been wearing a long blue and white flannel over a t-shirt but the heat of the sun had forced him to remove it. He'd tied it around his waist. He had a palette resting on one arm, a paint brush in his mouth. He smeared various pigments together with the fingers of his free hand. From where Derek was he could tell the boy already had multiple spatters of paint on his shirt and face.
Something was different about Stiles though, well more different than him just being alone in the woods preparing to paint some sort of picture. Stiles was a living expression of nervous energy, tightly wound. He normally flittered about; tongue constantly brushing his lips, eyes darting here and there, his voice endlessly babbling about one thing or another, in the glen though he was different,
Stiles finished mixing his paints, pulled the brush from his mouth. He gently dipped it into the color he'd created, glanced at the pond, deep brown eyes scanning briefly. Then he did something Derek had never seen him do before. He was still, like the placid surface of a lake untouched by wind or rain. There was a deep abiding sense of peace about him as he closed his eyes, paused with his brush inches away from the canvas. The person down in the ravine, the Stiles shaped creature that was perfectly content in its stillness standing before an artist's easel was not someone Derek had ever seen before. He wouldn't have believed Stiles could exist like that if he hadn't witnessed it himself.
Movement began. Stiles made slow but sure strokes of the brush across the canvas. Stiles's eyes squinted against the light occasionally to assess his progress. He moved with an effortless grace that looked natural on his normally awkwardly moving body. The brush dropped into a can of water next to him, another was taken from the ground. New colors mixed, joined with others already on the palette and became something else entirely.
Derek was awed by it. His mouth hung open as he watched, tried to make himself believe he was really seeing Stiles painting. A brush of Stiles's arm against his face added a deep blue green smudge on his forehead. The color matched the water in the pond.
Tongue out in concentration the kid moved his brush. More lines appeared on the canvas. A near perfect replica of the scenery he stood before began to appear. The lines and colors didn't seem to make sense to Derek as they were first applied. Stiles clearly saw something that Derek didn't, something that he couldn't. He watched as Stiles drew the lines, shapes, and colors together into something Derek could see, could understand.
Stiles let out a satisfied breath, dropped his current brush into the can that held the other used ones by his feet. He added another smear of paint to his face as he wiped sweat from his brow. The new smear was the same mossy green of the rocks at the water's edge. Derek smiled as Stiles set about eating lunch out of a small cooler on the ground next to him.
Stiles devoured his carefully wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich as if it was the finest cut of steak in the world. Derek could hear him moan with delight as he licked the excess peanut butter from the plastic the sandwich had been in. The sun seemed to be hotter than he thought it would be, it seemed to be later in the day than it should be too. He realized he'd been watching Stiles work for hours.
Stiles body suddenly flailed about. Derek ducked lower to the ground thinking the quirky teenager had seen him. He laughed softly as he realized Stiles had been taken by surprise at the fact that he was covered in various colors of paint. The teen shrugged, took a drink out of a bottle of water.
He collected his can of used brushes, carefully collected water from the pond with an empty can. He set about washing the brushes, setting them carefully on the rocks to dry. Derek turned his attention to the easel. He was once again floored by what Stiles was able to express with his paints and brushes.
Sunlight drifted down lazily through the trees, glittering rays danced upon and were reflected back from the pool of water. Moss covered rocks lined the banks; one housed a brilliant green frog basking in the light of the sun. Birds launched themselves into flight from the trees. He strained harder to see, noticed butterflies alighting on flowers. Glittering orange and indigo wings stretched out to reveal their magnificence to the world around them.
A young man sat on a large rock; he was wearing worn and comfortable khaki shorts. The teenager was shirtless, pale skin gleamed in the sun. Hands rested on the rock he was sitting upon, feet dipped experimentally into the pool of water. The details were incredible, concentric ripples had been painted into the pond's surface, flowing out from the figure's feet.
There was a slight hint of pink in the face of the young man as it looked up at a boulder in the distance. The look that was captured in the stillness of the paint seemed to be desire. Perhaps it was nervous anticipation instead.
Derek blinked at the boulder the figure in the picture was watching. It was the same boulder he was hiding behind. In the painting a black wolf crouched behind the large stone, pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its ears attentive as it panted in the direction of the pond.
He was shocked at the coincidence. He glanced back to where Stiles had been cleaning his brushes. The young man was pulling his paint stained shirt up over his head. He tried to use it to wipe at his face but it added more smudges rather than clearing them away. Derek closed his mouth. The air around him was hot; he realized he was sweating profusely. It was definitely the sun and heat.
Stiles dropped the shirt onto the rocks by the pond. He stretched his arms up above his head, back arching. Derek could easily make out the small pink nipples that tightened in the air. He swallowed as his throat constricted. He'd never really taken the time to look at Stiles before. He wished he'd brought some water too.
Stiles rotated his head, stretched his neck, his pink tongue flicked out across soft lips. Paint covered his cheeks and forehead, greens, blues, a dash of yellow on his nose. His hands were an unidentifiable swirl of primary and secondary colors, paint was smeared everywhere.
Derek leaned forward intently, noticed the colors that had stained Stiles's shirt had created dots and smudges all along the teenager's chest and stomach by soaking through the fabric. Little patches of bright colors in some spots, dark patches smeared across others. He glanced up at Stiles's eyes, eyes that were staring directly at where he was hiding. He swallowed again.
Stiles looked directly at him, leaned down, picked up his bottle of water from the ground. He leaned his head back as if to take a drink, but instead upended the bottle over his head. Water soaked his hair, dripped from his eyelashes. Paint ran in streaks down his neck, probably his back too. Derek was unable to look away.
The teenager shook his head, water sprayed out, some of it disturbing the surface of the pond. Ripples shattered the still surface of the pool. Derek ignored the pond, watched the trail running down Stiles's chest, how it collected along the edge of the teenager's green cotton boxers that peaked above the waistband of his jeans.
Derek swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He didn't allow his eyes to dip lower, to the front of Stiles's jeans. He brought them back up to meet Stiles's eyes, though they lingered for a few seconds on soft pink lips. The teenager's tongue darted over them again.
Stiles waved at him, gestured for him to come forward. Derek climbed out from behind the rock. He brushed leaves from his jeans as he walked down the slope to where Stiles had set up his artisan camp.
"Sup, Mr. Wolf? What brings you out to the woods on this beautiful afternoon?"
"I live here, do I need a reason?"
"Well…" Stiles tilted his head, eyes darting nervously around Derek's face, "I suppose you don't."
There was something off about Stiles's voice. The teenager's heartbeat was racing. Derek was quickly learning that he was not nearly the master of human expression that Stiles seemed to be. He was curious as to what had gotten into Stiles, where this artistic streak had come from.
"What's this one called?" He gestured towards the painting on the easel.
Stiles glanced to the painting and then back to Derek, nervousness wafted from him, his heart picked up like a rabbit being chased. The smell of the paint permeated the area; Derek resisted flaring his nostrils to suck more of the scents in. Stiles reached into his pocket, his jeans dipped a little bit, boxers pulled a fraction lower on his hips. Derek caught the small silver plate Stiles tossed underhanded towards him. He flipped it over to read it. The engraving said, 'Waking Dream ~by S.S.'.
Derek eyed Stiles skeptically. He glanced back towards the boulder he'd been hiding behind. There was no way Stiles would have known he would be there watching.
"I know what you're thinking," Stiles said. "There's a much simpler explanation than you imagine."
"Oh?" Derek arched an eyebrow as Stiles's heartbeat stuttered again. He wasn't lying, he was nervous, very nervous.
"I didn't know for sure what I was going to paint when I got here, only that ever since I found this place I've been…" Stiles trailed off. He looked to the ground and scuffed his shoes on the rocks.
"You've been what?" Derek studied Stiles. There was so much more to him than he'd ever thought. For the longest time he was just Scott's terribly annoying friend.
Pink suffused Stiles's face, Derek could barely see it under the smears of paint. "I've been fantasizing about it. I didn't see you there at first; if you hadn't been here I'd have painted you in somewhere anyway."
"Why?" Derek was genuinely curious. Stiles was terrified of him normally. Derek hadn't seen much of him after becoming the new Alpha. Both of the boys were keeping their distance.
"You'll think I'm stupid…"
"That never stopped you before."
Stiles laughed. He rubbed his hand over his head, licked his lips nervously. "I've been having dreams." The young man turned to face the pond. "In my dreams you're always there, you're always watching me."
Derek wouldn't have needed enhanced hearing to detect a pin dropping in the silence that followed. Stiles twitched nervously in place, nervousness was quickly replaced by the acrid scent of fear. Derek wrinkled his nose against the smell.
Stiles misinterpreted his reaction. In a flurry he turned away to pick up his palette, took a few steps to open up space between them. He didn't look back at where Derek stood.
"I just…" Stiles took a deep breath. "Never mind, I'm stupid."
Derek struggled with Stiles's reaction. He'd learned today something he'd never known. Stiles saw so much in the people around him, cared for those people even when he got hurt by them. Derek had watched Scott accidently walk all over his friend trying to get his new life figured out. He'd watched Jackson sneer at him, watched Lydia dismiss him, through it all Stiles just smiled back, made jokes and acted like nothing was wrong.
He knew things about them, things that they didn't know about themselves. He knew how afraid Jackson seemed to be, how desperately Allison and Scott loved each other. He'd known before anyone else that Allison was Scott's strength, not his weakness. He clearly knew something about Lydia and math. That took talent because the only math Derek assumed she knew was how to find how much money was left on her parents' credit cards. Stiles could see all the things that tied people together.
Stiles knew things about him too, things that Derek had thought he hid from the world. He knew how lonely Derek was. He'd thought he had known the depths of that pain, knew how much he missed his family. He was wrong, Stiles's paintings had captured things so clearly, reminded him of good times and bad. The smile Stiles had painted on Derek's face as he carried pies he'd never had into a party he'd never attended showed him that. Stiles knew those things because parts of them were inside him too. He was able to bring them to life with such vivid detail because he knew what it was like to lose someone you really loved.
The teenager spilled paint onto his jeans and down his stomach in his haste to pack up his supplies. He was practically shaking. The scent of naked pain and disappointment leaked off Stiles's skin. Derek wasn't sure why Stiles was reacting so strongly.
"Hey, calm down." Derek reached out, grabbed Stiles's arm.
The teen twisted around, shocked and afraid. He accidently tipped the palette of mixed paints against the side of Derek's chest, his shirt soaked up the greens and blues, the browns and the yellows too. Derek sighed; it was going to be hell to get the paint off his clothes. At least he wasn't wearing his favorite jacket.
Stiles struggled to pull away from him. "Let go! You can't just manhandle people whenever you want. It doesn't matter if you're a big scary werewolf! It's not okay to just push people around!"
Derek blinked at the anger in Stiles's voice. He let go of the arm he had a grip on, took a step back.
"You think you're the only person who ever lost someone? The only person who's ever been sad? Here's a news flash for you: Everyone's been hurt, it doesn't give them the right to walk all over other people. I've lost someone too, I've been terrified, I've been hurt, but I don't just treat people like they're things."
Derek opened his mouth to protest. He wasn't always the person that Stiles had met in the woods. He used to be happy, before everything he'd ever loved had been taken away from him.
"I used to be afraid of you," Stiles said, "but then I realized that you weren't just some scary ass crazy person who lived in a burned down house. I realized you were a person who'd lost everything and didn't know how to get any of it back, someone who was too afraid to lose it again."
Derek swallowed against the pain that bubbled up his throat. Stiles was right, Derek was afraid. He was afraid to ever lose anything he cared about again. The only way he could make sure that never happened was to never care about anything.
"Why do you care? What does it matter to you?"
Stiles had a can of paint brushes in one hand, the palette he had tipped against Derek in the other. Brown eyes looked up at him, too many emotions for Derek to sort out.
"You're so stupid." Stiles pushed Derek.
"You're the one resorting to pushing people now."
Stiles shifted nervously. "I…"
Derek took a deep breath. He could smell what Stiles was too embarrassed to say. How had he gotten to that point? How had Stiles gone from being terrified of him to caring about why he'd turned into the person he had?
"Why didn't I see this?" Derek asked.
"How much you care about people." Derek's voice was soft, little more than a whisper.
"Sometimes when something is so overwhelmingly large, in this case, my awesomeness, you don't have any perspective. You can't see it if you are too close or too far. You have to be in the right place at the right time."
Stiles grinned, licked his lips. Derek snorted. Stiles made an offended noise. Derek moved forward, leaned down, and closed his mouth over Stiles's.
Clanking and clattering filled the area as Stiles went boneless against Derek. He dropped the palette and the can full of brushes. Derek released Stiles's lips, glanced into his eyes. Shock, desire, and need clouded the chocolate brown irises.
"W-what was that?" Stiles asked.
"I'm not sure." Derek must have lost his mind.
Stiles tried to step forward, to get closer. In any other terrain, at any other time, he would have bounced off Derek like a mouse running headlong into a skyscraper. On slippery rocks, distracted and caught off guard Derek lost his balance.
He grunted as his back hit the rocks, wind rushing out of his lungs. He looked up to make sure that Stiles was alright but all he could make out was a blur of colors as Stiles pressed against him for another kiss. Stiles licked against his lips, awkward and inexperienced. Derek didn't have much experience himself; Kate had been the only person he'd ever been with.
He gently rolled them off the rocks towards the grass. Stiles came up on top of him still, an enthusiastic weight trying to burrow into Derek's skin. Feverish hands pulled at Derek's clothes, unsure of what to do.
Derek rolled again, pinning Stiles under his weight. "You want to do this?"
"Is it possible to be so nervous that you throw up your own heart?" Stiles asked.
Derek sighed. "Shut up Stiles," he muttered. He was going to say more but Stiles thrust his hips up. Derek could feel how excited he was.
"Sorry…" Stiles mumbled, the sound squeezed out in a breathy whine that caused Derek's balls to ache with desire.
"You have the most incredible mouth; use your powers for good." Derek whispered before kissing Stiles again, hoping to illustrate his point. When Derek released him to fumble at the teen's belt, his hands smeared the paint Stiles had spilled on himself earlier. "This… this is going to be messy."
"Oh god…" Stiles gasped out. The fact that Stiles misunderstood what he meant was unimportant. What was important was how needy Stiles sounded when he said it, how he wanted Derek to mean something else, how desperately Derek wanted to find out what other noises that mouth could make.
"What do you want?" Derek asked. He didn't want to overstep.
Stiles raised his head to lick at Derek's lips. "Your hands, your teeth, whatever, just give me something."
Derek buried his face in Stiles's neck as he got the belt undone. He nipped lightly at exposed skin as Stiles rolled his head to the side. Lust flared, Derek could smell it over the paint, over the sweat, over the peanut butter and jelly that lingered in the area. It drowned out everything else, lit Derek's brain on fire. Stiles groaned when Derek's teeth nipped. The sounds he was making driving Derek insane.
He got Stiles free of his jeans, ran a curious hand over the twitching length. "You're so hard," Derek whispered.
"So good…" Stiles gasped, bucked against his hand, thrusting against the tight grip.
Derek thumbed over the head of Stiles's dick; spread the fluid leaking out of the tip. The scent of it crashed across Derek's senses. He wasn't sure if it would be good for Stiles but he wanted to know what it tasted like. Drawn to the scent Derek slid down Stiles's body, brushed his tongue over the head.
"Derek… nngghh..." Stiles didn't seem capable of saying anything but Derek's name. He thrust his hips up mindlessly, lost in a haze of lust and seeking more.
Derek wanted more too, wanted more of Stiles, the wolf in him growled out its hunger. Derek tried to feed it, feed it the sounds Stiles made, the taste of Stiles in his mouth, the heat against his skin. It wasn't enough, primal desire clawed at his insides.
"Please… Derek… oh god… so close… aahhh…" Stiles whimpered, it sounded raw and wet.
Derek pulled off, forced the wolf down into his gut. He pulled at Stiles's dick, stroked with his hand. He needed Stiles to be at the peak of pleasure, needed to be the one to give it to him. Stiles thrust into his grip, bit and licked at his lips as he stared down at Derek between his legs.
"Oh god," Stiles whispered, it sounded like a plea, like Stiles needed something more than the air he sucked raggedly into his lungs.
With the wolf back down, Derek took a deep breath, looked at Stiles spread out on the grass. Paint covered him, there was still the pale skin but the colors, the ones he used to bring life to still frames saturated his skin, made him seem more surreal as he trembled under Derek's touches. Stiles's body seized up, he spilled his pleasure all over Derek's hand and his own stomach. It was exactly what Derek wanted, the scent of it made him light headed.
Derek fumbled at his own belt, got his dick free and began to tug on it. Stiles watched him through half closed eyes. Derek crawled forward, licked at Stiles's spent cock. Trailed bites up his body as Stiles shivered. Derek closed his mouth over one of Stiles's nipples, sucked and bit gently. His grip he used on himself was slick and fast; he used the same hand he'd used on Stiles.
Derek grunted encouragement as Stiles began to stroke gently through his hair and down his neck. He sank his teeth into Stiles's shoulder, his body seized up; he came hard, body wracked with pleasure. He growled against Stiles's neck.
Derek looked down at Stiles, he looked absolutely wrecked. Paint was spattered all over him, skin reddened by bite marks. He looked utterly sated.
"Let's take a nap" Stiles suggested, "then we can clean up in the pond.
Derek looked down at himself and realized he too was covered in paint, unsurprising considering how much of his skin had been all over Stiles. "Better idea" the werewolf said as he got to his feet, pulling a boneless Stiles up into his arms, "I carry you to the shallow end of the pond and wash you."
"Only if I get to wash you too after" Stiles mumbled contently into Derek's neck.
"If you must," Derek said with mock indignation.
Stiles responded by running his paint covered fingers through Derek's hair. "I must," he whispered into Derek's neck.
Derek smiled as he carried Stiles toward the pool, out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Stiles's painting again. "Waking Dream," he whispered into Stiles's hair, brushed a soft kiss against his head.
"S'what I'd told you" Stiles half mumbled half licked against Derek's neck.
To Derek's pleasant surprise Stiles had been right, though he would never admit it in public.