WIP? More like ‘Work In Procrastination,’ because apparently my brain is on a strict oneshot-only diet:
It started as most things in Derek Hale’s life had lately, with a simple, irritated thought.
He should really shut the hell up.
Stiles had been talking for nine minutes straight. Derek knew, because he’d been counting. Not consciously at first, but somewhere around minute three, something inside him began to twist.
He braced himself against the kitchen counter, fingers gripping the edge, his lips pressing into a hard line as he stared at the way Stiles’ mouth moved like it didn’t know how to stop.
Stiles wasn’t making sense anymore; his words tumbled faster and louder, piling into a frantic rush.
Half of it was sarcasm, the rest wild theories thrown out just to fill the air. It was like he was building something out of noise alone—layer after layer of nonsense—as if talking enough would keep everything else from caving in.
Derek could have made him stop.
He imagined pushing Stiles back, his hand locking at the nape of his neck, feeling the skin warm and tense under his palm. He could almost feel the slight hitch in Stiles’ breath as he stumbled, just enough to throw him off balance. Derek would growl, the sound thick in the air, sinking straight into his spine.
The thought kept repeating, over and over, threading deeper into him every time Stiles threw out another word. Another smartass jab. Another deflection disguised as brilliance.
That mouth. That fucking mouth.
Derek’s wolf stirred, restless under his skin. Not out of anger—not really. This was something darker. He wanted to command him. Pin him. He wanted to see that mouth go slack with submission. Wanted the silence that came not from fear, but from surrender.
Something thick coiled in Derek’s chest, tension winding tighter with every second. He drew a shallow breath through his nose, though it barely felt like air.
Stiles’ scent hit him hard, sharp with adrenaline and tinged with nervous energy, always carrying that constant, subtle edge of arousal that never faded.
The human spun around, hands gesturing wildly, frustration rising in his voice as his eyes darted around the room. “I mean, it’s not like anyone ever listens to me anyway,” he said, unaware of the weight behind Derek’s silence.
“But this time, I have actual logic on my side. Not that logic matters when you have werewolf instincts and, like, alpha growly brain or whatever. Which, by the way, is so not helpful when I’m trying to have a conversation like a normal person. But no, it’s always—‘Stiles, shut up,’ or ‘Stiles, stay in the car,’ or—”
Derek cut him off, snapping, “Do you ever shut up?” His eyes flared bright red, fierce and blazing in the dim light.
Stiles flinched, surprise flickering in his amber eyes. His scent grew stronger, carrying a heat that filled the space between them, impossible to ignore. Derek could hear his heartbeat spike, a frantic rhythm that hammered against his ribs.
“Um, rude. You were clearly one of the people I was talking about.”
Stiles crossed his arms, not backing down in the slightest. His mouth pressed into a stubborn line, but his eyes were bright with challenge, daring Derek to say something else. He tipped his chin up, jaw set at that smug angle he wore like armor—as if he knew exactly how unbearable he could be and leaned into it anyway.
It made Derek want to bite him. Or kiss him breathless. Maybe tear him apart completely.
“But hey,” Stiles continued, mock innocence curling his words, “if you wanted me quiet, you could’ve just kissed me. Worked for some people in high school.”
Silence fell instantly. He didn’t move or blink—just stared, unreadable and intense, like he was seeing through the joke, through the bravado, straight into the pulse flickering beneath Stiles’ skin.
Stiles shifted, his smirk faltering. He licked his lips, suddenly unsure, and the tilt of his head softened—no longer defiant, just vulnerable.
“I—I was joking,” he stammered, his confidence slipping away. “Obviously.”
Derek didn’t want to joke. He didn’t want to trade snark or keep pretending this was anything less than what it was.
He wanted Stiles to shut up.
Not to be fully silent. No, he still wanted to hear him. He wanted the catch of breath that came when words ran dry. The desperate, shaky moans that tore from deep inside Stiles’ chest when Derek’s hands clenched onto hips and pulled him close, teeth grazing the curve of his jaw.
But the talking? The endless stream of sarcasm and deflection, the way Stiles built walls out of noise just to keep people from getting too close?
Derek wanted that to stop.
He wanted to take him apart until there was nothing left to say.
Stiles’ tongue darted out, wetting his lips in a quick, anxious gesture. “Say something, dude. You’re making me nervous.”
Derek’s claws itched beneath his skin, a low burn crawling up his arms as the wolf surged just under the surface—wild, hungry, and done waiting.
His pulse drummed heavy in his ears, and when he stepped forward, it was with the slow precision of a predator that already knew it had won, every movement deliberate, meant to press the weight of each inch closed between them.
He knew Stiles felt it too—saw it in the hitch of his breath, the quick rise of his chest, the way his pupils went wide with anticipation.
Derek’s hand shot out, rough fingers tangling in Stiles’ thick brown hair, gripping firmly at the crown and yanking his head back. The sharp motion pulled a gasp from Stiles’ lips.
The wolf growled its approval.
Derek didn’t pause. He crowded in close, pushing Stiles’ body until the cold edge of the kitchen counter dug into his back. His hips pressed forward with a force that left no room for doubt, no space to breathe. Nothing but pressure, heat, and the fact he wasn’t letting go now.
Stiles shuddered against him, full-body and uncontrollable. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling, and his mouth parted on a soft, broken moan, pulled straight from his throat like he didn’t know how to hold it in.
Derek’s hand tightened in Stiles’ hair, fingers threading through the strands like a claim. His hot breath brushed against Stiles’ skin as he whispered, “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”
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