It was probably stupid, and dangerous, and she hoped like hell none of her friends ever caught on.
But, well, Stiles liked to be loud when she was enjoying herself. And either her dad was home, or her neighbors were home, or Scott might let himself in. It made getting off stressful and unsatisfactory at best.
The Jeep had a nice, wide dashboard that she could prop her feet up on, plus she could drive it to any number of uninhabited areas and just let herself go to town, without worrying about being caught by her childhood best friend or her dad.
There was also a certain thrill to the idea that she could get caught, even if she had never been caught. She knew the sight she'd end up making: the sheriff's daughter, legs spread wide, the long skirt she wore just for these occasions hiked up to her waist, and her wetter than a spring rain.
Definite public indecency charge.
Either way, Stiles had driven out to one of the abandoned hiking roads and found a spot where the sun was actually shining through. She pushed her shoes off and leaned back with a sigh.
She liked to start slow, too - running her hands over her legs, slowly pulling the skirt up and pressing her thighs together. She could slip a hand up to cup one of her breasts at her own leisure, letting out a soft moan as she did.
He runs. It's not out of necessity, but out of want. He wants to run and clear his head, to push the things he can't focus on out of his thoughts and away from him.
Today he chose a path that he assumed was deserted. It felt empty and it felt as though he hadn't been this way in a while. Which is why when he heard the flutter of sound he was almost concerned that there's a wounded animal somewhere. His gate slowed, turning around as he tried to pinpoint the location of the sound. He wasn't a vet tech, but as he listened for the sound he realized the tone pitched up.
It was not an animal.
That level of awareness came to him and he suddenly wondered if he should keep walking... and if he should keep walking toward the sound.
It's too late, though as the sound pitches up again into a soft whine and he spots the source. Stiles' Jeep. Two pale legs splayed against the dash and his stomach flipped. It was not something he intended to encounter and he felt as if he had invaded her private space.
I will have her notice him when it's appropriate (creeperface)
Without the advantage of heightened senses, she can't hear the noise that Derek makes when he moves through the forest. But she's not listening - yes, she's on the alert for the trudge of feet or the noise of a car, but she parked the so only the rear is visible from the path, so she expects to be reasonably unseen, if anyone even drove by.
She gives a small whine when she slides her other hand down between her closed thighs to rub at her cunt through her underwear, then bites her lip to stop the sound. She has the freedom to be loud but it's fun when she tries to be quiet, too. It's just not as important as it would be at home.
Stiles pulls her hands away to quickly undo the buttons on her shirt, her hands shaking a little. She already feels warm all over, and the cooler air of the jeep is nice when it hits the center of her chest.
She pushes her hand back down to grind the heel of her palm against her pubic mound, rolling her hips forward a little. Her other hand traces idle patterns on her stomach, making her twitch a little and tighten.
Stiles ups the ante a little, spreading her legs a little and then moving her hand so it's inside her underwear, cupping herself like that and just rocking against the width of her palm with a louder whimper, turning her head, eyes closed.
Each breath he draws inward is heavy with the air around him. He tries to focus on the earthy scents. The wet leaves, the raw bark, dirt and moss... instead he just smells sex. It's not as though the scent is unfamiliar to him. Not even the fact that it's the heavy scent of Stiles and her body. No... he's smelled that more than a few times when he's come by her house unannounced to ask her a question. It's the kind of scent that clings to the air and everything around it.
Now, as he swallows thickly, he's trying not to smell it because it's more than just the cling of sex -- it's arousal and it's happening right now. He can hear the whine of sound, the rustling of fabric and he can't help that involuntary tug to the thigh of his jeans, trying to ease the tension of denim that feels almost too tight.
Derek knows that he should turn around and leave. It's rude. It's an invasion of privacy. It's Stiles and he should have the decency to give her the space she clearly wanted by... coming out here to the woods.
In public.
Where anyone can just come up and see.
God dammit, Stiles. Anyone can come up and see.
Which is why Derek opts for plan B which does not involve him ducking his head and turning around to go back the way he came. No, this is Derek trying to make sure he's positioned to keep an eye on the path that leads toward the Jeep, because he doesn't want someone happening on her.
He brushes it off as protective, but his line of sight is taking his attention away from the path as he sees her ankle rock slightly, shifting her weight.
His mouth feels dry. His hands heavy.
Every breath just surrounds him with the heat of her and he shouldn't be watching her, but when her body shifts and her shoulders press to the back of the seat, he can see the path behind the Jeep and the pale of her skin between her breasts.
Stiles might be affronted if she knew he was there, and trying to watch out for her. She drove her Jeep out to the middle of the forest, she was aware of the risks when she did so.
The risks are even part of the reward, after all.
Regardless, she hasn't opened her eyes yet, so she doesn't know. So she continues on as if she has no audience, tossing her head back against the headrest and giving a small groan. She finally lets the hand on her stomach slide up, cupping one breast, thumb tracing over the nipple.
When she does this she sometimes imagines it's someone else doing it, though they're usually faceless. It means she tries to do it a little bit off, a little bit different than how she usually touches herself.
Normally she might keep grinding down against her palm, wait until she's good and slick before she touches herself further. This time, she presses her index and middle fingers together and slides her hand up. She rubs them over her cunt, sliding them up until the tips brush her clit and then pushing down, so that they're teasing her folds, repeating the movement.
Her cheeks flush a little, and she shifts her hips, giving a breathy noise of pleasure.
The one reprieve he has is that he can't actually see what her hand is doing. She's seated low and while he can see her shoulder moving and her body ...
Drawing in a sharp breath he realizes he needs to stop paying so much attention to her and more attention to the road. Except, the scent of her is surrounding him and it only gets heavier the longer he stands there. Swallowing, his weight shifts on his feet. He wants to focus on the sound of the ground beneath his shoes, the way the leaves break and crumble.
Instead, he only hears the soft whines and pants of Stiles. He hears the movement of the driver's seat. He hears the slick sound of saturated skin being rubbed over and pressed upon. His breathing slows as he tries to take in less of the air around him.
It turns out breathing slower, just means the scent of her arousal just lingers around him collecting before he inhales. It's a horrible plan.
His gaze fixates on her features, the parting of her lips as she huffs out those sounds of pleasure, the way her feet wriggle freely against the dash. He watches her being drawn to her own pleasure and can't help but feel aroused himself.
Not that he's going to do anything about that. Instead his fist clenches at his side, jaw tensing in strict defiance of his body and its natural reactions to sex and intimate pleasure.
This is a reaction that has not been approved by Derek Hale.
Her feet shift to lay flatter on the dash and she uses it to raise her hips a little, rolling them against the touch of her fingers. It's a good feeling, rubbing her fingers up and down like this and letting the pleasure build and ebb in little waves. It makes her back warm, the hair at her brow slowly getting damp, and she shifts her hand to pinch one nipple gently.
The Jeep feels warm and a little humid now, and after a moment she makes the executive decision that the shirt can get lost. She pulls her hands away to start pulling it off, keeping her eyes closed at first, but she gets tangled in it a little so she has to open them to work her way out of it.
She's setting it down when she glances up out of habit and Derek fucking Hale is standing there. She gives a small noise of surprise, freezing like a deer caught in the headlights (which is such a stupid metaphor at the moment.)
She stares at him for a long moment, her gaze flickering down - because that's a stiffy if she's ever seen one, and she has, thanks to unfortunate association with Scott McCall in Allison's presence.
It makes her exhale sharply. What she should do is put her shirt back on and yell at him, ask him what he's doing here and if he was planning on watching the whole time.
What she does instead is relax back against the driver's seat, watching him almost defiantly, her feet still braced. After a moment one hand comes up to cup her breast again, and the other goes back down, rubbing against herself through the fabric of her underwear.
It makes her shiver, a little. If Derek stays... then she's really doing this, in front of someone.
When she looks at him, he freezes. Not that... he was moving before, but he stills his breath, quiets his thoughts and tries to not make this any more uncomfortable than it already is. He expects her to start caterwauling at him, to shriek, and maybe he's preparing himself for that. The internal wincing that comes with that thought of being a disappointment, being a letdown and a failure.
Instead, Stiles continues onward and her gaze is definitely something marked with a challenge directed at him. His mouth drops a bit. Not enough that he looks like he's standing there with a gaping wide open mouth, but his lips definitely part as he exhales slowly. The tension that had been pooling low in his body takes a hard turn to the left and his upper thigh tenses, knowing that he's just going to get even more uncomfortable in his jeans if he stays there.
He can't leave now, though, can he? He can't just walk away now that she's nearly daring him to keep watching.
Derek's palm presses to his hard length, trying to adjust himself, trying to make things not quite so uncomfortable. The motion goes from an adjustment, though, to a bit more of a downward press. He exhales through nostrils, trying to rid himself of her scent, but it's heavy in the air and it overwhelms him as his hand continues to press against his jeans.
She's not exactly sure what she expects Derek to do. Her heart beats a little wildly as she watches him, waiting for him to leave or not leave, to make a decision.
He doesn't leave. She's not sure he means to really touch himself but he does, his hand pressing close to his groin, and then the moment continues. It makes her feel a little warmer watching it.
She's not sure if he can see or not, but maybe that doesn't matter - he was watching before, and this is still her pleasure, not something she's doing for him explicitly. So she keeps rubbing her fingers over herself, and then slips them into her underwear again.
She feels wetter; she wonders if that's because of the knowledge that someone is watching her. Regardless, she presses the heel of her palm against her clit, curling her fingers over her entrance and spreading herself open a bit, the way she likes sometimes. Her hand on her breast isn't still either, rubbing and pinching a little, making her back arch.
She doesn't close her eyes, or take them away from watching him, though. Her lips part to let out a small moan again, in contrast to the silence around her.
The moan she makes rushes through him like electricity. It's clear in her actions, in the way that she stares him down that she doesn't mind him watching, that she wants him to watch. He's not exactly sure why, but he knows that her intent is clear. He also isn't quite aware that his hand is still rubbing against his cock, but when he refocuses and actually notices that his hand apparently has its own agenda, he lets out a huff of air. The brush of his hand over denim is just making things worse for him.
Swallowing hard, he groans with an edge of hostility to his tone. He's not entirely comfortable with this situation, but he realizes that he's done it to himself. He chose to stand here, he chose to watch over her, to protect her as she pleasured herself.
He allowed himself to focus on the heavy scent of her, to hear the song of her as if she was a siryn and her moans were her call. Clenching his jaw, his fingers moved up to unbutton his jeans. Frustration allowed him to unzip his zipper, pressing long fingers into his jeans and pressing his touch against himself in his boxers.
It felt good and he couldn't deny that his state of arousal is in part to the fact that Stiles is making the entire wooded area thick with the scent of her sex. His free hand tugged at the side of denim, trying to give his hand more room without exactly exposing himself yet. He can see what Stiles is doing to herself, but he isn't watching her intimately, her hand and those touches she gives to her body are masked by the Jeep itself.
Stiles' heartbeat gets a little faster when she realizes what Derek is doing as he unzips his jeans. Sure, she can't see anything, but he's touching himself while watching her.
Because of her, directly or indirectly.
It makes warmth rush through her body again, and she squeezes her breast a little harder, a choked noise escaping her mouth. She squirms a little, her hips pressing down against her hand, feeling her body clench with the idea that someone's watching her.
She slides her fingers through the wetness gathering at her folds and rubs her clit with them, making her body writhe a little, her own touches making her jerk slightly. It's not quite normal, that, she thinks it's because she knows someone's watching, that Derek's watching, but it's exciting because of that.
It's easy enough to slip the tips of those two fingers inside herself, just shallowly, enough that she can rub the knuckle of her thumb against her clit and keep dragging her fingers across her nipple. She gives another soft moan, eyes still locked on Derek, flickering between looking at the hand that he's slipped into his jeans and his face.
It almost makes it easier to know that she's watching, that she's okay with this level of intimate behavior. Almost. Still, as Derek watches her, he can't help the heaviness of his breath and the way each intake of air, just continues to circulate her scent around him. Swallowing hard, his hand moves over himself, fingers curling around his length over the thin layer of cotton that he feels is still protecting his decency in the moment. As his hand strokes against his cock, he keeps noticing the way her eyes move from his to his jeans. TO what he's doing.
It's been a while since he's even considered this sort of contact with someone present and maybe it's that she seems to want to see, but he's nearly curious to know what might happen if he did expose himself to her. Clearly, thinking that it's exposing himself is not the best train of thought to have. That is the train of thought that edges toward a criminal offense.
His hand moves from within his jeans and tugs at the sides of his zipper a bit more before shoving at the waist of his boxers. He doesn't want to end up with his pants around his knees, but he can definitely press his boxers so that they bunch up into his jeans and allow the elastic to press beneath his erection and settle against his sac. It takes a bit of effort and he's sure it looks awkward from this distance.
Either way, he's doing it and this time when his hand reaches into his jeans it's the warm press of his palm against skin and he shuts his eyes. Not to say that Derek doesn't do this when he's alone, but there is a time and a place for this and he hasn't had much of either these days. A free hand moves the side of his jeans a bit more as he withdraws his cock from within his jeans and allows a long stroke to pull away from his body. Opening his eyes, he looks across the way at her, to see if there's a reaction, to see if he can see her shoulder shift downward, to signal that her fingers are slipping into her pussy a bit more.
Stiles isn't sure what he's doing when he slips his whole hand into his boxers. At that point she watches the flex of his shoulder as he moves, the bulge of skin and muscle, because it's not just Derek's dick that's interesting to look at.
So much of him goes into motion, while Scott swears he's unnaturally still, when they've talked about it. She wonders what it would be like to watch him run. Preferably naked.
Her fingers pinch her nipple gently as she pictures it, and then when her gaze refocuses he's got his eyes closed as he moves his dick out of his boxers. It makes her breath hitch a little, something like a moan pulled out of her.
It's not like she's had sex before, not for lack of trying, but the stroke he gives himself shows off that he's not exactly small. He's bigger than the toys she's contemplated buying. It makes her bite her lip, wondering what it would be like to push him down, to slide him inside her.
It's that thought that makes her press her fingers inside herself further, giving a little gasp as she does. She presses hard, sliding in to the knuckle, not a move she'd normally do. His eyes are open again, and she meets his gaze head on as she imagines riding him. Stiles rocks her hips a little after she does it, hand sliding across her chest to her other breast, giving it a tight squeeze. Like it might be his hand on her.
He hears that gasp, that soft sound and it runs through him like electricity. His hand pulls along his length, thumb brushing over his head as he glances down to his cock in his own hand. His hand runs over the full length, from the base of his shaft until his hand swallows the tip. Though his chin is still dropped, his eyes flick up once more, watching her with a moment of intensity, letting each move that he can imagine her making push him onward.
His grip shifts slightly, tightening around himself as he feels that warmth run through his core. The slickness that forms at his tip gets drawn down with a sweeping of his thumb, his head lifting fully, tipping back as he swallows a moan. He doesn't want to hear himself, even if he's sure that Stiles won't mind the sounds. It's difficult for him to allow his mind to press toward that pleasure, to break beyond that wall of self-hate.
Allowing his wrist to loosen, the stroke picks up a more fluid movement. The small amount of slick gives him less friction as it presses to his palm and along his length. Once more, his gaze leveling out to watch her.
Her gaze is drawn to the bit of self love (though she's positive he wouldn't call it that) that he's indulging in. The way his hand wraps around his length, the way he's drawing his hand up and down, thumbing at the head.
It's not the same as the videos she's watched, that's for sure.
Then again, neither is she, though imagining Derek watching one and comparing the two is silly. The thought vanishes as soon as it forms, because this is still about her pleasure, inside the car.
She pushes her fingers in to the knuckle, giving a muffled moan against her shoulder, her mouth falling open after a second. It's easy to grind forward, to rub her clit against the fleshy joint of her thumb, and to roll a nipple between her fingers. She does it again, draws her fingers out to pinch her clit and lets herself give a jerky groan when she does it, then pushes them back in, alternating.
She doesn't tell him to get louder. She doesn't tell him to give her a better view, or offer him one. It's as much like he's not there as she can make it, except that he totally is and she's totally getting off on watching him, and on him watching her. It makes her flush darker, color spreading to her chest.
Even if the sounds she makes are pressed to her skin, he hears them. He hears everything from the hiccup of air she pulls into her lungs to the shift in the seat as she rocks against her hand. He takes in those details trying to let them form not an image of her, but a setting for her body to be moving against. He hasn't seen her, doesn't know how far the gap between her thighs sets her apart, doesn't know how she shaves -- if she shaves. He doesn't even know what sort of panties she wears, but he has the sounds of her moving around to give him enough.
He can watch her shoulder, the way it drops. He can see her hand the way is brushes over her breast, the parting of her lips and each moan that slips free.
He uses it. He builds that scenario and lets it slide over him. His hand moves rougher now, harsher pulls against himself as he feels that slick start to dry over his length. His feet shift their stance, letting a crinkle of leaves at his shoes flood his sense of hearing for a moment before he's back to focusing on Stiles.
Derek lets his hand slow over his cock, trying to see if he can move his hand along with the pace of her shoulder. He wants to see if he can match to her, to let his stroke against himself time to her plunging her fingers into herself. It's a gamble, since he can't see her, but maybe she'll see the motion and try to match to him. It's slightly... pornographic, but he assumes they both know they're sharing this now. He assumes it'll be easier for both of them if they simply accept that and share it all.
Stiles is caught up enough for the first few moments that she doesn't catch what Derek's doing. It's only when she realizes that he's slowed, and slows herself, that he's trying to match her pace.
To imitate the thrust of her fingers, or rather matching them to the pull of his hand around his cock. It makes her flush a little, a soft groan in the back of her throat. He might not be able to see her, but he can probably hear, smell her.
It makes her drag her gaze back to his face, to his eyes, and she shifts a little against her hand, seeing if she can give him a better pace to match. She digs her nails into her breast a little, her breath coming higher now.
She's not - close, exactly, but her pleasure is cresting higher, the longer she watches Derek. The longer she's able to grind her hips forward, rubbing her clit against her wrist as she thrusts her fingers in and out of herself.
There's that moment of recognition and his stance shifts slightly. He wants to lean back against a tree, but the tree is too far behind him for that to even be feasible. Instead, he realizes he just needs to steady himself and be as sturdy as he can be.
His strokes move in time to the shift of her shoulder and he can smell her. It circles around him and maybe it's not truly around him, but his mind is letting that scent build and nearly mark him as territory that she's taking some intimate claim on.
He'll never agree to that. Never admit that his thoughts went there.
If he even mentions this. Ever.
He probably won't.
He won't look at the Jeep the same way, that's one certain thing.
His movement goes erratic for a second, his knee trying to buckle because his body wants to be supported. It wants to have some sort of relief for the repeated motion to continue.
Derek pushes onward, letting his wrist flex and his grip shift just enough to allow his arm to move outward more. It frees up his stance and as his gaze flickers between his cock and her eyes, he tries to keep his focus to her. Murmurings of moans start to slip into formed words. A wetting of his lips now draws a single phrase, nearly formed on his lips.
'Come on.'
It's for him.
It's for her.
It's just a phrase, but he almost wants her to hear it. Whispered to her. Hot on her ear.
She's pleasuring herself but watching him. Watching the flex of his body, his hand, the way his face finally goes a little red as he keeps touching himself. The way he keeps looking at her and then down to where he's working.
Heh. Working.
She presses her shoulders back harder against the passenger seat and gives a soft whine, her lips dry as she pushes her hips up a little. It's not giving him a view, it's giving her better access. Lets her go a little harder, rolling one nipple between her fingers, and still lets her watch him.
Her hair is wet with sweat now, clinging to the very back of her neck where it's longest.
She watches his mouth move, like he's saying something. She can't hear it, can't see what it means, but it's hot - hot enough. Derek doesn't strike her as a talker, which only leads to her thinking of him over her, murmuring into her ear.
That finally makes her close her eyes, breath hitching almost like a sob, and grinds down against her hand. Her fingers slip from her breast down to her clit, rubbing against it. It's that push of pleasure that has her finally coming. Waves of pleasure, not big but a little ebbing feeling that builds and batters gently at her, makes her tremble and pant softly before her limbs feel too heavy and she falls back down against the seat.
He watches her, feeling the tension in her frame as his own grows taut. His grip shifts and the pace quickens. His words keep pressing him onward as he feels the air change, the scent grow heavier then suddenly there is a sharp quality to it. The sounds she makes are different, higher in pitch and it's in the moment that he realizes the change and that pushes his own drive forward.
It's only a few more moments and his own climax is coming quick and hard. Making his shoulder stutter as his hand nearly stills over himself. It's a tightness in his groin for a moment before he feels the heat of his release. The rush of brightness that pulls at his vision before he forces himself to look at her. His stature shifts slightly, once more wishing he had something to lean on, but it's not too difficult to stay standing.
She almost misses him coming, lost in her own little haze - but she catches it, mostly because he shifts again. He pulses against his hand, and it's nothing like she's seen in porn (and she's watched a lot of it). But it's real, so it's better.
She leans back against the seat, eyes lidded, skin sticky with sweat that's cooling on her. She watches him, doesn't break away from the sight of him until she shivers, and then she reaches for her shirt.
She doesn't know what just happened. Well, she knows, but not what to call it. What it means.
This is the part he hadn't realized he'd have to deal with. Standing there with his jeans around his, well at this point, ankles and his briefs shifted low onto his thighs. Exposed in the woods, having just satisfied one of the more base urges in his life and with the witness and slight, though it's possible to just consider it more, active participant.
This is the part where he has to actually deal with what to do now. This isn't sex where he has to make sure she's okay and offer to hold her. She had her own goals and maybe he helped, maybe he gave her something. Either way, he's not sure how rude it's going to be when he just starts to redress.
Not that it matters, because that's exactly what he does.
Stiles isn't sure she wants to talk about it. Mostly because she doesn't want to hear how this might have been a mistake. It definitely was, she knows, but she doesn't want to hear it and so -
She pulls her skirt down, tucks her feet into her well-work sneakers, and makes sure her shirt is buttoned up. Then, she watches Derek, waits until he's got his pants hiked back up and he's mostly tucked in.
By the time he looks up, she swallows a moment and then moves to turn the engine over. Doesn't want to give him time to talk to her, and maybe they can pretend it didn't happen.
That... definitely solves the problem. Not that it is a problem, but it has edged into the odd territory of what to do next and he has to admit that standing there with his dick hanging out of his jockeys isn't the best way to just stand in the woods.
He isn't planning on talking about this. In fact, he's hoping both of them just file this away and never return to think about it again. It's natural and something both of them needed and it doesn't matter why it happened or if it'll happen again.
No. Wait. He doesn't want to - oh good, she's pulling away.
He zips up and turns around, hoping to leave but he pauses, moving to kick dirt and leaves over the wet spot he made in the dirt. He knows he doesn't have to, but he doesn't want some animal trying to roll in it. With that handled, he turns and moves back through the woods the way he came.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
IDEFK WHAT I 'M DOING anyone can reply
But, well, Stiles liked to be loud when she was enjoying herself. And either her dad was home, or her neighbors were home, or Scott might let himself in. It made getting off stressful and unsatisfactory at best.
The Jeep had a nice, wide dashboard that she could prop her feet up on, plus she could drive it to any number of uninhabited areas and just let herself go to town, without worrying about being caught by her childhood best friend or her dad.
There was also a certain thrill to the idea that she could get caught, even if she had never been caught. She knew the sight she'd end up making: the sheriff's daughter, legs spread wide, the long skirt she wore just for these occasions hiked up to her waist, and her wetter than a spring rain.
Definite public indecency charge.
Either way, Stiles had driven out to one of the abandoned hiking roads and found a spot where the sun was actually shining through. She pushed her shoes off and leaned back with a sigh.
She liked to start slow, too - running her hands over her legs, slowly pulling the skirt up and pressing her thighs together. She could slip a hand up to cup one of her breasts at her own leisure, letting out a soft moan as she did.
no subject
Today he chose a path that he assumed was deserted. It felt empty and it felt as though he hadn't been this way in a while. Which is why when he heard the flutter of sound he was almost concerned that there's a wounded animal somewhere. His gate slowed, turning around as he tried to pinpoint the location of the sound. He wasn't a vet tech, but as he listened for the sound he realized the tone pitched up.
It was not an animal.
That level of awareness came to him and he suddenly wondered if he should keep walking... and if he should keep walking toward the sound.
It's too late, though as the sound pitches up again into a soft whine and he spots the source. Stiles' Jeep. Two pale legs splayed against the dash and his stomach flipped. It was not something he intended to encounter and he felt as if he had invaded her private space.
I will have her notice him when it's appropriate (creeperface)
She gives a small whine when she slides her other hand down between her closed thighs to rub at her cunt through her underwear, then bites her lip to stop the sound. She has the freedom to be loud but it's fun when she tries to be quiet, too. It's just not as important as it would be at home.
Stiles pulls her hands away to quickly undo the buttons on her shirt, her hands shaking a little. She already feels warm all over, and the cooler air of the jeep is nice when it hits the center of her chest.
She pushes her hand back down to grind the heel of her palm against her pubic mound, rolling her hips forward a little. Her other hand traces idle patterns on her stomach, making her twitch a little and tighten.
Stiles ups the ante a little, spreading her legs a little and then moving her hand so it's inside her underwear, cupping herself like that and just rocking against the width of her palm with a louder whimper, turning her head, eyes closed.
no subject
Now, as he swallows thickly, he's trying not to smell it because it's more than just the cling of sex -- it's arousal and it's happening right now. He can hear the whine of sound, the rustling of fabric and he can't help that involuntary tug to the thigh of his jeans, trying to ease the tension of denim that feels almost too tight.
Derek knows that he should turn around and leave. It's rude. It's an invasion of privacy. It's Stiles and he should have the decency to give her the space she clearly wanted by... coming out here to the woods.
In public.
Where anyone can just come up and see.
God dammit, Stiles. Anyone can come up and see.
Which is why Derek opts for plan B which does not involve him ducking his head and turning around to go back the way he came. No, this is Derek trying to make sure he's positioned to keep an eye on the path that leads toward the Jeep, because he doesn't want someone happening on her.
He brushes it off as protective, but his line of sight is taking his attention away from the path as he sees her ankle rock slightly, shifting her weight.
His mouth feels dry. His hands heavy.
Every breath just surrounds him with the heat of her and he shouldn't be watching her, but when her body shifts and her shoulders press to the back of the seat, he can see the path behind the Jeep and the pale of her skin between her breasts.
And yes, it's official. Stiles does have breasts.
no subject
The risks are even part of the reward, after all.
Regardless, she hasn't opened her eyes yet, so she doesn't know. So she continues on as if she has no audience, tossing her head back against the headrest and giving a small groan. She finally lets the hand on her stomach slide up, cupping one breast, thumb tracing over the nipple.
When she does this she sometimes imagines it's someone else doing it, though they're usually faceless. It means she tries to do it a little bit off, a little bit different than how she usually touches herself.
Normally she might keep grinding down against her palm, wait until she's good and slick before she touches herself further. This time, she presses her index and middle fingers together and slides her hand up. She rubs them over her cunt, sliding them up until the tips brush her clit and then pushing down, so that they're teasing her folds, repeating the movement.
Her cheeks flush a little, and she shifts her hips, giving a breathy noise of pleasure.
no subject
Drawing in a sharp breath he realizes he needs to stop paying so much attention to her and more attention to the road. Except, the scent of her is surrounding him and it only gets heavier the longer he stands there. Swallowing, his weight shifts on his feet. He wants to focus on the sound of the ground beneath his shoes, the way the leaves break and crumble.
Instead, he only hears the soft whines and pants of Stiles. He hears the movement of the driver's seat. He hears the slick sound of saturated skin being rubbed over and pressed upon. His breathing slows as he tries to take in less of the air around him.
It turns out breathing slower, just means the scent of her arousal just lingers around him collecting before he inhales. It's a horrible plan.
His gaze fixates on her features, the parting of her lips as she huffs out those sounds of pleasure, the way her feet wriggle freely against the dash. He watches her being drawn to her own pleasure and can't help but feel aroused himself.
Not that he's going to do anything about that. Instead his fist clenches at his side, jaw tensing in strict defiance of his body and its natural reactions to sex and intimate pleasure.
This is a reaction that has not been approved by Derek Hale.
no subject
The Jeep feels warm and a little humid now, and after a moment she makes the executive decision that the shirt can get lost. She pulls her hands away to start pulling it off, keeping her eyes closed at first, but she gets tangled in it a little so she has to open them to work her way out of it.
She's setting it down when she glances up out of habit and Derek fucking Hale is standing there. She gives a small noise of surprise, freezing like a deer caught in the headlights (which is such a stupid metaphor at the moment.)
She stares at him for a long moment, her gaze flickering down - because that's a stiffy if she's ever seen one, and she has, thanks to unfortunate association with Scott McCall in Allison's presence.
It makes her exhale sharply. What she should do is put her shirt back on and yell at him, ask him what he's doing here and if he was planning on watching the whole time.
What she does instead is relax back against the driver's seat, watching him almost defiantly, her feet still braced. After a moment one hand comes up to cup her breast again, and the other goes back down, rubbing against herself through the fabric of her underwear.
It makes her shiver, a little. If Derek stays... then she's really doing this, in front of someone.
no subject
Instead, Stiles continues onward and her gaze is definitely something marked with a challenge directed at him. His mouth drops a bit. Not enough that he looks like he's standing there with a gaping wide open mouth, but his lips definitely part as he exhales slowly. The tension that had been pooling low in his body takes a hard turn to the left and his upper thigh tenses, knowing that he's just going to get even more uncomfortable in his jeans if he stays there.
He can't leave now, though, can he? He can't just walk away now that she's nearly daring him to keep watching.
Derek's palm presses to his hard length, trying to adjust himself, trying to make things not quite so uncomfortable. The motion goes from an adjustment, though, to a bit more of a downward press. He exhales through nostrils, trying to rid himself of her scent, but it's heavy in the air and it overwhelms him as his hand continues to press against his jeans.
no subject
He doesn't leave. She's not sure he means to really touch himself but he does, his hand pressing close to his groin, and then the moment continues. It makes her feel a little warmer watching it.
She's not sure if he can see or not, but maybe that doesn't matter - he was watching before, and this is still her pleasure, not something she's doing for him explicitly. So she keeps rubbing her fingers over herself, and then slips them into her underwear again.
She feels wetter; she wonders if that's because of the knowledge that someone is watching her. Regardless, she presses the heel of her palm against her clit, curling her fingers over her entrance and spreading herself open a bit, the way she likes sometimes. Her hand on her breast isn't still either, rubbing and pinching a little, making her back arch.
She doesn't close her eyes, or take them away from watching him, though. Her lips part to let out a small moan again, in contrast to the silence around her.
no subject
Swallowing hard, he groans with an edge of hostility to his tone. He's not entirely comfortable with this situation, but he realizes that he's done it to himself. He chose to stand here, he chose to watch over her, to protect her as she pleasured herself.
He allowed himself to focus on the heavy scent of her, to hear the song of her as if she was a siryn and her moans were her call. Clenching his jaw, his fingers moved up to unbutton his jeans. Frustration allowed him to unzip his zipper, pressing long fingers into his jeans and pressing his touch against himself in his boxers.
It felt good and he couldn't deny that his state of arousal is in part to the fact that Stiles is making the entire wooded area thick with the scent of her sex. His free hand tugged at the side of denim, trying to give his hand more room without exactly exposing himself yet. He can see what Stiles is doing to herself, but he isn't watching her intimately, her hand and those touches she gives to her body are masked by the Jeep itself.
no subject
Because of her, directly or indirectly.
It makes warmth rush through her body again, and she squeezes her breast a little harder, a choked noise escaping her mouth. She squirms a little, her hips pressing down against her hand, feeling her body clench with the idea that someone's watching her.
She slides her fingers through the wetness gathering at her folds and rubs her clit with them, making her body writhe a little, her own touches making her jerk slightly. It's not quite normal, that, she thinks it's because she knows someone's watching, that Derek's watching, but it's exciting because of that.
It's easy enough to slip the tips of those two fingers inside herself, just shallowly, enough that she can rub the knuckle of her thumb against her clit and keep dragging her fingers across her nipple. She gives another soft moan, eyes still locked on Derek, flickering between looking at the hand that he's slipped into his jeans and his face.
no subject
It's been a while since he's even considered this sort of contact with someone present and maybe it's that she seems to want to see, but he's nearly curious to know what might happen if he did expose himself to her. Clearly, thinking that it's exposing himself is not the best train of thought to have. That is the train of thought that edges toward a criminal offense.
His hand moves from within his jeans and tugs at the sides of his zipper a bit more before shoving at the waist of his boxers. He doesn't want to end up with his pants around his knees, but he can definitely press his boxers so that they bunch up into his jeans and allow the elastic to press beneath his erection and settle against his sac. It takes a bit of effort and he's sure it looks awkward from this distance.
Either way, he's doing it and this time when his hand reaches into his jeans it's the warm press of his palm against skin and he shuts his eyes. Not to say that Derek doesn't do this when he's alone, but there is a time and a place for this and he hasn't had much of either these days. A free hand moves the side of his jeans a bit more as he withdraws his cock from within his jeans and allows a long stroke to pull away from his body. Opening his eyes, he looks across the way at her, to see if there's a reaction, to see if he can see her shoulder shift downward, to signal that her fingers are slipping into her pussy a bit more.
For a split second, he wishes he could see.
no subject
So much of him goes into motion, while Scott swears he's unnaturally still, when they've talked about it. She wonders what it would be like to watch him run. Preferably naked.
Her fingers pinch her nipple gently as she pictures it, and then when her gaze refocuses he's got his eyes closed as he moves his dick out of his boxers. It makes her breath hitch a little, something like a moan pulled out of her.
It's not like she's had sex before, not for lack of trying, but the stroke he gives himself shows off that he's not exactly small. He's bigger than the toys she's contemplated buying. It makes her bite her lip, wondering what it would be like to push him down, to slide him inside her.
It's that thought that makes her press her fingers inside herself further, giving a little gasp as she does. She presses hard, sliding in to the knuckle, not a move she'd normally do. His eyes are open again, and she meets his gaze head on as she imagines riding him. Stiles rocks her hips a little after she does it, hand sliding across her chest to her other breast, giving it a tight squeeze. Like it might be his hand on her.
no subject
His grip shifts slightly, tightening around himself as he feels that warmth run through his core. The slickness that forms at his tip gets drawn down with a sweeping of his thumb, his head lifting fully, tipping back as he swallows a moan. He doesn't want to hear himself, even if he's sure that Stiles won't mind the sounds. It's difficult for him to allow his mind to press toward that pleasure, to break beyond that wall of self-hate.
Allowing his wrist to loosen, the stroke picks up a more fluid movement. The small amount of slick gives him less friction as it presses to his palm and along his length. Once more, his gaze leveling out to watch her.
no subject
It's not the same as the videos she's watched, that's for sure.
Then again, neither is she, though imagining Derek watching one and comparing the two is silly. The thought vanishes as soon as it forms, because this is still about her pleasure, inside the car.
She pushes her fingers in to the knuckle, giving a muffled moan against her shoulder, her mouth falling open after a second. It's easy to grind forward, to rub her clit against the fleshy joint of her thumb, and to roll a nipple between her fingers. She does it again, draws her fingers out to pinch her clit and lets herself give a jerky groan when she does it, then pushes them back in, alternating.
She doesn't tell him to get louder. She doesn't tell him to give her a better view, or offer him one. It's as much like he's not there as she can make it, except that he totally is and she's totally getting off on watching him, and on him watching her. It makes her flush darker, color spreading to her chest.
no subject
He can watch her shoulder, the way it drops. He can see her hand the way is brushes over her breast, the parting of her lips and each moan that slips free.
He uses it. He builds that scenario and lets it slide over him. His hand moves rougher now, harsher pulls against himself as he feels that slick start to dry over his length. His feet shift their stance, letting a crinkle of leaves at his shoes flood his sense of hearing for a moment before he's back to focusing on Stiles.
Derek lets his hand slow over his cock, trying to see if he can move his hand along with the pace of her shoulder. He wants to see if he can match to her, to let his stroke against himself time to her plunging her fingers into herself. It's a gamble, since he can't see her, but maybe she'll see the motion and try to match to him. It's slightly... pornographic, but he assumes they both know they're sharing this now. He assumes it'll be easier for both of them if they simply accept that and share it all.
no subject
To imitate the thrust of her fingers, or rather matching them to the pull of his hand around his cock. It makes her flush a little, a soft groan in the back of her throat. He might not be able to see her, but he can probably hear, smell her.
It makes her drag her gaze back to his face, to his eyes, and she shifts a little against her hand, seeing if she can give him a better pace to match. She digs her nails into her breast a little, her breath coming higher now.
She's not - close, exactly, but her pleasure is cresting higher, the longer she watches Derek. The longer she's able to grind her hips forward, rubbing her clit against her wrist as she thrusts her fingers in and out of herself.
no subject
His strokes move in time to the shift of her shoulder and he can smell her. It circles around him and maybe it's not truly around him, but his mind is letting that scent build and nearly mark him as territory that she's taking some intimate claim on.
He'll never agree to that. Never admit that his thoughts went there.
If he even mentions this. Ever.
He probably won't.
He won't look at the Jeep the same way, that's one certain thing.
His movement goes erratic for a second, his knee trying to buckle because his body wants to be supported. It wants to have some sort of relief for the repeated motion to continue.
Derek pushes onward, letting his wrist flex and his grip shift just enough to allow his arm to move outward more. It frees up his stance and as his gaze flickers between his cock and her eyes, he tries to keep his focus to her. Murmurings of moans start to slip into formed words. A wetting of his lips now draws a single phrase, nearly formed on his lips.
'Come on.'
It's for him.
It's for her.
It's just a phrase, but he almost wants her to hear it. Whispered to her. Hot on her ear.
no subject
Heh. Working.
She presses her shoulders back harder against the passenger seat and gives a soft whine, her lips dry as she pushes her hips up a little. It's not giving him a view, it's giving her better access. Lets her go a little harder, rolling one nipple between her fingers, and still lets her watch him.
Her hair is wet with sweat now, clinging to the very back of her neck where it's longest.
She watches his mouth move, like he's saying something. She can't hear it, can't see what it means, but it's hot - hot enough. Derek doesn't strike her as a talker, which only leads to her thinking of him over her, murmuring into her ear.
That finally makes her close her eyes, breath hitching almost like a sob, and grinds down against her hand. Her fingers slip from her breast down to her clit, rubbing against it. It's that push of pleasure that has her finally coming. Waves of pleasure, not big but a little ebbing feeling that builds and batters gently at her, makes her tremble and pant softly before her limbs feel too heavy and she falls back down against the seat.
no subject
It's only a few more moments and his own climax is coming quick and hard. Making his shoulder stutter as his hand nearly stills over himself. It's a tightness in his groin for a moment before he feels the heat of his release. The rush of brightness that pulls at his vision before he forces himself to look at her. His stature shifts slightly, once more wishing he had something to lean on, but it's not too difficult to stay standing.
no subject
She leans back against the seat, eyes lidded, skin sticky with sweat that's cooling on her. She watches him, doesn't break away from the sight of him until she shivers, and then she reaches for her shirt.
She doesn't know what just happened. Well, she knows, but not what to call it. What it means.
no subject
This is the part where he has to actually deal with what to do now. This isn't sex where he has to make sure she's okay and offer to hold her. She had her own goals and maybe he helped, maybe he gave her something. Either way, he's not sure how rude it's going to be when he just starts to redress.
Not that it matters, because that's exactly what he does.
no subject
She pulls her skirt down, tucks her feet into her well-work sneakers, and makes sure her shirt is buttoned up. Then, she watches Derek, waits until he's got his pants hiked back up and he's mostly tucked in.
By the time he looks up, she swallows a moment and then moves to turn the engine over. Doesn't want to give him time to talk to her, and maybe they can pretend it didn't happen.
no subject
He isn't planning on talking about this. In fact, he's hoping both of them just file this away and never return to think about it again. It's natural and something both of them needed and it doesn't matter why it happened or if it'll happen again.
No. Wait. He doesn't want to - oh good, she's pulling away.
He zips up and turns around, hoping to leave but he pauses, moving to kick dirt and leaves over the wet spot he made in the dirt. He knows he doesn't have to, but he doesn't want some animal trying to roll in it. With that handled, he turns and moves back through the woods the way he came.
Walked. The way he walked there.