actually i talked with amanda about an au where stiles is an addict and derek was his dealer and how their life just spirals down into a drain and ending up destroying each other anD NOW IWANT IT AGAIN
Y E S this is where I live. Derek as the creepy skeevy older guy that life spit out and spit on, good for nothing but shit like this, isn’t he, if all he’s going to cause pain he might as well make money off it; and Stiles wants to make everything stop, the hurt and the pain and the loneliness, you can’t have a panic attack if you can’t feel panic, can you?
you are perfect
did i tell you
Derek doesn’t take much trade. Doesn’t ever take trade, really, because junkies can’t keep their mouths shut about anything, and Derek doesn’t need it getting around that he’ll take anything but cold hard cash, or other drugs. But Stiles is — Stiles is a weird one, for a lot of reasons, and Stiles has a mouth made for sucking cock. When Stiles shows up, agonies making him shudder, paler than usual, shadows under his eyes so deep they look like bruises, Derek decides to take pity. He even gives Stiles the drugs first. He’s not a monster, and he doesn’t need Stiles accidentally biting his dick with how hard he’s shaking either.
Maybe he does it because he can’t stand the strung-out look; it’s never pretty, but it’s worse when Stiles is whimpering between his chattering teeth, turns something spiky and sour in Derek’s guts, again for reasons he isn’t looking at head-on.
But Stiles after a hit is a totally different animal. He goes loose and pliant across the shoulders, collar bones and pale skin with all those moles showing. He’s always smiling when he’s high, those fucking doe eyes creasing a little at the corners and totally failing to make him look any older, bright pink mouth bruising under his own teeth.
Derek’s got no clue what he does with himself the rest of the time; he never shows up in ruined clothes, never complains that he’s hungry even if he is whipcord thin, teeth more or less white and unbroken, unlike almost all of Derek’s other customers. So he’s not sleeping rough no matter how little he actually seems to sleep, and there’s no reason for Derek to let him stick around. He’s not—he’s not like Derek, is the point, track marks and greasy hair and the thick, two-days-since-a-shower smell of him notwithstanding.
Still he doesn’t kick the kid out, lets him sprawl all over Derek’s lopsided, holey couch, aim his slackened face at the stained ceiling, sneakers shuffling restless on his carpet. He doesn’t say anything when Stiles reaches for him, puts his hands – too big for his body, solid knuckles with a couple of scrapes and long fingers with bitten-down nails, puppyish almost – on Derek’s thighs and pull him close, draw him down with a sigh and a lot of fake hesitation. He doesn’t help, doesn’t hinder, lets Stiles nudge his thighs apart and crouch between them, drag his zipper open and get his cock out, acting for all he’s worth like he hasn’t been hard since Stiles looked at him with that hungry, junkie stare, since his mouth opened on a moan around the stuff coursing into his body.
He’s never asked if Stiles thinks he has to do this, just like he’s never asked him to do it in the first place. Derek’s sold worse than his dick to the kid by now anyway, put more in his clumsy fingers than skin. Why should it matter. It’s not like this all that high on his list of sins.
Stiles sucks him like he needs it, craves it as much as the drugs, the relief for whatever he’s running from. Derek’s not asking about that either. His blurry eyes watch Derek’s face as his lips spread obscene and slick around his cock, tongue rolling around the head until Derek makes a noise, breathy and punched-out. It’s messy as hell, spit and precome getting everywhere, Stiles pushing Derek’s shirt up his chest and tugging at his balls in one palm. He’s all uncoordinated suction, hard and fast as he bobs, opens his throat for Derek to screw into, gets his hips pushing up to fuck his breath out of him.
Leave me alone, he thinks, Stiles swallowing around him. Just don’t leave me here.
When Stiles has come gathered shiny-white on the edge of his mouth, more of a blush on his face than even the high gives him, Derek gives him a couple fingers to suck while he jerks himself off, his own dick soft on his thigh and Stiles’ eyes still watching him, like there’s anything he couldn’t find in a mirror, down an alley. Like there’s more to Derek than the patched-together mess he’s made of himself.
He watches Stiles leave, leans in his doorway and doesn’t count the bills folded in the bottom of his pocket. He’s never sure how long it’ll be before he comes back, but it’s a guarantee just the same.
As occupational hazards go, Stiles is a fucking complicated one.
Derek shuts the door and doesn’t think about it.
Jongin&Kyungsoo in kazan
Seungho getting into the wrong car (SHINee’s car).
You cute embarrassed bby.
rich and kind