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.
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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.