potosi | we're bigger than we've ever dreamed

[ At least the guy seems to be right on his brainwave, because having to explain this would have been awkward. I need a bathroom buddy or something. He can't really focus on the excuses he'd use, because he butts open the door with his hip and pretty much attacks him the minute they get through, hands on his face and pulling him straight into his mouth. The kiss returns at ten times the intensity there was when they were in public--okay, in a more public place, anyway--and it's hot and wet and kind of perfect, so that every press of lips cuts off in a little noise, a grunt, something, because this is like ridiculously good.

And totally worth the potential embarrassment that he went off into a bathroom with another dude to mack on him pretty intensely. Oops. He keeps walking backwards, taking full control of the movement that's happening here and shouldering his way into one of the stalls, not even bothering to pull away enough to lock it. ]

[ Thankfully there's no need for awkward and embarrassing explanations, because they both move in the same direction with the same goal in mind. They're actually pretty well in sync, which is a godsend because bumbling over each other would kind of make relocating a little harder.

His hands come up shortly after Stiles', framing his neck as Derek practically rumbles into the kiss, so far gone into it that he doesn't even think to check if there are any other occupants in the restroom. Honestly? He can't even be bothered to care, not with the noises that ate swallowed in the kiss, the fingers curled around his face.

The only reason he realizes that they're in the handicap stall is because he hipchecks the low sink as he moves with Stiles, and before he really thinks on it he's moving, hands dragging down his shoulders, sides, to his waist--

And without breaking the kiss, he hefts him up without a bit of trouble, perches him on the sink. ]

[ At least Derek noticed that much. Stiles wasn't even aware there was a sink until suddenly he was tugged away from the kiss and lifted up to sit on it. He leans backwards just a little, the cold of the mirror a stark contrast to the heat that already feels like it's going to overtake him, but when that's through he moves pretty much seamlessly, opening his legs enough to let Derek get in between them and then wraps them around his hips, kissing him hard and fast and sloppy and dragging his hands down his back.

In fact, he leans over a little and rucks his shirt up near his stomach, long hands sling around and-- ] Ohhhh my god. [ Is the first real phrase that rolls out of his mouth, because his calloused palms slide straight up abs that feel like they should be on a Calvin Klein model, and holy jesus. It just makes him hit the kiss harder, squeeze with his thighs and explore the heated skin he can get his hands on with his bare hands. Grabby much? Yes. ]

[ Taking advantage of him adjusting to his new position, Derek breathes and then lets himself be drawn in, settling between his thighs like the spot was made for him. And then suddenly there are long legs around his waist, and holy hell, that is a little too perfect. A soft groan may or may not disappear into the kiss as Stiles draws him in again. There is absolutely no resistance.

The hands that slide into his shirt are stupidly distracting and this side of perfect, even when he suddenly lets out a throaty laugh at the first actual words since this started. But he presses into them, arching forward and inadvertantly shifting his hips at the same time. That's about when he decides to roll his shoulders, shrugging out of his jacket to let it drop to the floor as he leans into the kiss, heated and deep, pushing a little on hungry.

(It does not occur to him that he could be missing texts or calls. Oops.) ]

[ He brings his hands up under his shirt a little more, practically unsure what to do with them--there's so much to touch he's not even sure where to start. Eventually, they settle under his shirt, one curled into a fist, the other spread wide across ridiculously perfect pecs, jesus, and turns his energy back into the kiss. His mouth is starting to ache in the best way possible, and he gasps when there is suddenly friction and pressure and oh jesus. This is a lot.

And it's freakin awesome. There's not too much he can do from where he is on the counter of the sink, but his hips twitch forward when he groans at him. This is a problem, but when he uses his calves to push on the guy's ass it rocks them both and--the friction is so good he has to drop his head back against the mirror and shoot a hand out of his shirt to cover his mouth at the noise that borders a little on obscene when he does it again. ]

[ The hands in his shirt are surprisingly welcome, and Derek doesn't stop him from wandering everywhere, leaving trails of heat everywhere they go. His own hands drop so that he can weasel fingers beneath a surprising number of layers, seeking out hot skin and spreading wide, broad palms working up from his hips.

Something more like a growl leaves him, startled right out, when he,s rocked forward by the guy's legs pressing against him. Holy hell, he's swimming in this, and he looks a at him again from under his brow, eyes dark.

And that's when they trail up the stretch of his neck, Jesus. It would actually be wrong of him to ignore that, so he rocks into him again, leaning forward to get his mouth on pale skin as he does. ]

[ When the dude looks at him, Stiles returns the favor, fluttering open half lidded brown eyes, dark as anything, and stares at him--and then he dips in and. Ayep. Stiles is okay with that. His head thunks back against the glass again and the hand that jerked out to cover his mouth slides right back down and finds his hair, sliding through black locks and holding on tight as he presses his mouth to already sensitive skin. The hand on his chest, meanwhile, drags down with nails included when there's teeth involved, leaving four red scratches down his chest as he yanks his hand out to brace against the mirror behind him instead, just over his head so he can push off of it and focus on the movement of his hips.

From there, it's easy to rub up against him, rolling his hips back and forth and letting his mouth drop open, a couple of noises rolling out unchecked. He's acting like a teenager again (or maybe for the first time, because he never got to do this when he was sixteen) and his back arches a little because he just. Cannot bring himself to care. ]

[ There is definitely teeth involved, considering both how reactive Stiles is to everything he does and just how much he wants to leave a mark. The guy's covered in them, he sees them everywhere up close, but he wants to leave his own, open mouthed kisses and scrape of teeth. When he gets up higher, over a cluster of spots, is when he feels the drag of nails. The bite's a little harder than he meant it to be in response, but he soothes over it with his lips.

One hand slides around, finds the dip of his lower back while the other drags higher, towards his ribs. This is stupid and reckless and yet ridiculously perfect, for as much like it's as if he's revisiting his college years. But he can't even care, not when he's too occupied trying to see if he can drag those noises out with every roll of friction between their hips. ]

Edited (fucking tablet) 2013-12-18 19:21 (UTC)

[ He's even apparently totally fine with the bite being kind of hard--Stiles is learning new things about himself today--and he leans over a little, grabs his cheeks again and lifts his head, and you know what, he's just going to return the favor, because the little dots of stubble around his neck have been calling his name for the past five minutes, particularly around his adam's apple. Dead center and everything, he gets a hand in his hair and tugs his head up, diving into the space he's created and biting down, until he's sucking and kissing and leaving a fairly decent sized mark against the tanned skin. If nothing else, at least this dude's...everyone will know that at he was in bed with someone. Stiles is completely down with leaving marks in that context.

He's down with them in other contexts too, but this one's pretty damn good.

His hips roll forward and he muffles a noise against the thin skin of his neck, pausing in his ambition to leave him a hickey or six and leaning his forehead against his shoulder, mouth dropping open as he writhes a little on the sink. The last thing he wants is to fall off, because that would be a mood killer.

(The next thing he wants is to unzip his pants, because holy jesus, he's going to explode.) ]

[ There are a few spaces that he's not particularly fond of people inserting themselves into. His neck is one of them, and yet at the same time he doesn't even resist when there's a pull on his hair and suddenly he's got a mouth pressed right against the vulnerable expanse of his throat. Instead, his fingers dig into the soft skin of his ribs, and Derek hisses out softly, but it's not strained and the sudden tension in him isn't from a lack of want. Instead, it's because the bite, the mouth that works against his skin, is apparently a direct line down.

Stiles is not the only one that wants to get his pants undone, and that didn't help in the least bit.

Breath coming out a little heavily as he drops his head against his shoulder, he turns his own as he draws his hand out from underneath the t-shirt and plaid combo, bringing it up to drag through brown hair and pull a little, tilting his head so he can get his mouth against the pulse point of his neck. There's definitely going to be a faint line of marks all leading up to the big one at the hinge of his jaw, and he doesn't feel in the least bit guilty.

His other hand slips out so that he can steady it at his thigh, to try and make sure he doesn't fall off the sink. Legs wrapped around him or not. ]

[ Whoa, he got him to make a noise. Stiles grins like a lunatic because this is the hottest thing that has happened to him in recent memory; he's still grinning when he gets his hair tugged, even if he gasps out a little noise and tilts his head backwards with it, letting him get right back to that. This dude is helping him find a whole lot of "wow I didn't know I was into that until you did it"--the hair pulling, the hard biting (wow, he might have a problem here), the feeling of the glass of the mirror at his back, fogged up from his breath when he turns his head.

Stiles' whole body rolls, shoulders chest stomach hips and he breathes out a swear when the slow burn sizzles through his veins, making his toes curl behind his back, and when he lets go of the guy's hair, it's only to shove his hands down and undo the button of his pants, then arch up to pull down his zipper, breathing out an "oh thank god" and hurriedly shoving his hand down to do the same for the dude, because he feels you. Big time.

(Also, he gets a glance down, and, um. Did he just meet a porn star at this bar or what.) ]

[ They're comical contrasts in the way that he's quiet, whereas his current company is noisy, but he's positively thrilled with it. And if he winds up getting a few sounds out of him in turn, well. Derek doesn't exactly mind, because they're both finding all the right buttons to press-- have been finding them, ever since Stiles first spoke up at the counter-- and it's already driving him a little over the edge. That gasp is incredibly attractive, and he flexes his fingers in his hair experimentally as he works his way down to the base of his neck, nosing into the collar of his shirt so he can nip there.

His hand eases free though as he rolls again, and he plants his palm flat against the cool glass behind him, bracing as he rocks into it with him. He bites his lip as he steadies himself, watches with keen interest as long fingers reach to open up his pants, and then move for his own, and he lets out something like a breathy groan of relief. Because the buildup of pressure and heat was starting to get ridiculous.

(He does stifle a bit of a laugh at the look on his face, though.) ]

[ It's been so long since he's gotten to do anything remotely sex related, let alone with someone ridiculously hot or something this ridiculously dirty, that Stiles is pretty much using every tool in his arsenal to not lose it the minute he unzips Derek's pants and pretty much just shoves his hand down his fly, rubbing at him through his boxers, because he wants to get more noises like that out of his mouth, even if he has to pull them out himself.

Stiles' other hand splays out behind him against the glass, too, using it as a brace so he can keep rocking his hips forward at the same time, crossing his ankles over his back and biting his lower lip. His hand ends up near Derek's, and--maybe he's not thinking or maybe he is, or maybe it's just natural, but whatever it is, he grabs his hand, fingers threading and lets it fall back against the mirror again with a light thump as he squeezes, tight, keeping his head up and out of the way of the path of destruction he's surely leading. ]

[ And Stiles gets exactly what he wants.

Derek swears, low and dirty, under his breath as long, warm fingers rub at him through the thin material of his underarmour. There's no denying the way his hips twitch forward with a more unrestrained intent, pressing into that touch as his head thunks forward against the mirror. They're both in the same boat, sex having been off the table for him for quite some time. (By his own choice, in contrast, but it's been a long time for him, too, regardless.)

He's not sure if that's what's making this burn in his veins even more or if it's all the hipster college kid he's doing it with. It's dirty and raw and he's maybe a little addicted to it right now. His fingers flex but don't pull away as he laces his into them, just curl tight and anchor against the mirror as he drags his hand up his thigh, presses against the front of his open jeans with the heel of his palm as calloused fingers dip into the waistband of his boxers, about to bypass soft cotton completely. ]

[ Holy god yes, and that shoots straight down to Stiles' groin, the sound of the swear that rips out of the guy's mouth. This is absolutely addicting; he can't get enough of the feeling of his hands, his hips, the skin underneath his calloused fingers, and he tilts his hips up and gives the hand that's in his a tight squeeze, his mouth dropping open as he shudders into the way the dude rolls his hips forward, dropping his head back into the mirror again and biting his lower lip.

This is too good--it's so much, Stiles feels like his head is spinning. He wants to pull him up again to kiss him, and his free hand grabs at his collar, tugging him up but scrabbling at his back instead when he feels his fingertips dip into his waistband--

And that would be when a head of blonde hair, very female, even, appears in his line of vision. Stiles yelps out a loud-- ] Oh my god! [ And jerks backwards, promptly slamming his head into the back of the mirror behind them. ]

[ The girl stares for all of ten seconds, but she clears her throat, raises her mouth in a grin, and drawls out from behind them. Derek, as like seriously thrilled I am that you're finally getting laid, step away from the twink, you're on in five.]

[ Arching up against the fingers that look for purchase against his back, Derek squeezes the ones around his in response as his focus zeroes in on the way his hips tilt up, and he just wants to get his hands on him everywhere. The soft skin under his shirts, the warm stretch that makes up his throat, callouses on callouses. But he moves like he's just going to slip his touch down past the waistband.

Except then there's the interruption.

With his head bowed forward despite being lifted when he was tugged at, he doesn't catch a familiar shock of blonde before Stiles yelps. It's that that startles him, has him knocking the top of his head into the mirror so that they both produce very loud thuds against the glass-- but his is coupled with a loud swear in a completely different tone when he hears the familiar voice, and he drops his face to hide it against the shoulder in front of him.

It muffles a vaguely mortified noise and another string of profanity, and he stays right there because he doesn't want to see the look on Erica's face. ]

Get out of the men's restroom, Erica. [ Why is this his life. ] Five minutes.

[ Stiles manages to squawk out--"most people knock first!"--and the girl shoots him a look that's amused as hell, then turns around and calls out again, five minutes doesn't mean screw him and be over with it!, then sashays her way right out of the men's bathroom. Not that the boys can see it, but when a guy gives her a look, she pretty much winks at him and struts back out.

Stiles can't even be worried about his head, which is throbbing from where he smacked into the mirror; his entire face is scarlet red and he can feel it starting to go down his neck as he realizes he. He definitely did that. He definitely was making out with this dude (Derek, he has a name now) in the bathroom. Like big time.

A hand comes up to cover his face. ] Ohhhh my god.

Out. [ Derek hisses at her, ears and neck red. He can feel some heat in his face, but he's trying to push it down and regain some form of composure. Because they've been booked, everything has already been processed, and he really does need to get out there at some point. Because his manager-surrogate sister just waltzed into the men's restroom to find him, succeeded in finding him with his hand about two seconds away from being in someone else's underwear, and will never let him forget about this.

Ever.

A heavy sigh leaves him, and he finally lifts his head up, bringing his hands away from the college hipster-- did Erica seriously just call him a twink, oh Jesus Christ why is this his life-- to rub at his face. The bristle of his beard is a grounding sensation, because it's completely counter to soft skin and fine hair that he'd been exploring for the past fifteen, twenty minutes. How long as it been? He doesn't even know, he was too caught up in their extremely intense making out. ]

Yeah. [ He's in complete agreement, even if he's in the middle of trying to think cold shower thoughts. ]

[ Stiles is just. Going to sit here. With his hand on his face.

He does at least drop his legs and let them fall down to the sink, holding his head in both of his hands as he mentally catches up with everything that just happened in the past...god only knows how long. His mouth is tingling a little, and he can feel the slight sting from a mark on his jaw. It may or may not be the first time in ages that someone has actually managed to kiss him speechless.

Stiles rubs across his mouth with his wrist and his eyes flicker downwards for a second, to where Derek's fly is still undone, and he-well, this is it for now, yeah but it doesn't. Have to be.

So he pushes himself a little off the sink and reaches down between them to zip up his pants, nimble (if practically shaking) fingers pull them up completely, and he stands there for a second with his hands still just curled against his waist band and--yeah, he doesn't have anything to say. Absolutely nothing.

Nailed it. ]

[ As his legs unwind from around his hips, Derek takes one step back-- not so much to distance himself, but mostly to give him space to come off the sink. He really, honestly, barely remembers putting him up there they were so absorbed in one another. God that was bad. His hands drop, and he looks past him to the mirror, and can't help the wry snort that escapes him.

He tilts his chin up, and rubs his hand a little against the glaringly obvious mark that's been pressed into the skin of his throat. Well, that's going to be fun to perform with on a stage in front of people that recognize his face. He's sure that there will be plenty of talk about that from the fanbase that mostly lies in wait for him to come out every now and then. If this doesn't wake them up, he's not sure what will.

God he wishes it wouldn't.

Attention returning to-- god he is really going to want his name after all this, he refuses to let Erica's voice helpfully provide alternatives to names in his head-- his eyebrows twitch up a little as he's in his space again. Eyes scanning his face briefly as he considers him, he ducks his head in the scant distance between them and kisses him again, setting one hand at his waist.

Maybe he has to get out there and go perform, but there is no way in hell that he'd turn down picking up where they left off once he's free of his musical responsibilities. ]

[ Oh--he was about to skitter off, because the tension in the room was already starting to ratchet up again, and Stiles was pretty sure he was literally not going to make it out of this room if he made another move.

But the kiss is kind of soft. Warm, almost. It has him leaning forward into it pretty much immediately, his hand coming up to find his neck, thumb stroking against the mark he made when--there's another loud knock at the door. "This time I'm coming in with pepper spray!" says the same girl voice, sweetly, and Stiles can't help but smile a little as he breaks away.

Right. Okay. He taps his chest with his palm, and manages a lopsided smile, sass seemingly back for now. ] Break a leg.

[ It's kind of reluctant, but he pulls away from Derek and heads towards the door--promptly runs into the doorframe--and then makes his way back out. Jesus. ]

[ The thought of just canceling the performance and not actually leaving does occur to him, midway through the kiss. It's about when he thumbs at the mark, and it's basically like pushing a button. His shoulders wilt, and he almost leans into the kiss a little more, fingers curling against his waist securely--

An exasperated noise manages to leave him even as his expression curls a little in amusement. The problem here is that he knows she'd do it. He doesn't doubt it in the least. But he focuses on Stiles again as he pulls back, eyes dropping down to where he taps at his chest before looking back up at his face. ]

Might break hers. [ Voice dry, he watches him head for the door, and-- is strangely charmed, what the hell. Trying to smooth his hair and straighten his clothes out, he heads for the door himself. ]

So help me god, Erica. [ Grousing as he steps out of the restroom with far less incident than Stiles, he shoots her a look and quickly makes his way towards the stage, knowing he'll find Isaac somewhere nearby. Maybe he can steal one of his scarves. ]

[ Standing just outside of the bathroom is Derek's manager, the same girl from before, with blonde hair and bright red lips. She cocks an eyebrow at him when he walks out, but the look on her face pretty much instantly turns into a devious grin and she grabs Derek's arm, tugging him over by the crook of his arm and marching him to the backstage. ]

Do you know how much I totally want to make out with a stranger in the bathroom right now? You've earned the judging. [ Color her so amused. Maybe Derek getting laid'll lighten him up a little bit. Erica drags him back to the stage and looks him over, snickering at the huge mark on his throat and grabbing Isaac by the scarf when he walks by, taking it and looping it over his neck. ] You gonna bring him home later?

I do not want to talk about this. [ Letting Erica drag him along by the arm, Derek tries to dodge away from the judgment for maybe the next twenty minutes before he probably has to suffer it for the next month or so. He knows it's not likely, considering the look on her face, but he can sure as hell hope.

He ignores Isaac's indignant noise at being snagged by the scarf, which turns into a bitchy look when it's taken from him-- and then confusion when he sees Erica winding it around Derek's neck instead. At least it works well enough with his general appearance, and the crisp weather outside, even if he doesn't want to wear it. It's either that or have a giant hickey on display.

Pausing as he goes for his guitar, he regards her a moment before picking it up, resolutely not looking at her. ] Maybe.

He was cute. I'd totally do it. [ Erica, as usual, continues to exacerbate things, and she knots the scarf for him in typical Isaac Hipster fashion. It just barely covers the mark, which is really not small, and she grins at him like a shark as she gives it a tug, then taps his cheek twice with her hand. ]

I won't tell anyone. [ Except everyone. ] Just try not to think about anything sexy before makeup's done with you.

[ Fussing a little over his shirt before running a hand through his hair to make it look more "I'm a singer" ruffled than "I was just having sex in the bathroom" ruffled, Erica holds her hands up to let him go on stage.

And waits approximately three seconds before she ducks over to Isaac before he can join Derek and hisses I have something so sweet to tell you later in his ear before giving him a shove, too. ]

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triskeles - 2013-12-20 23:38 (UTC) - Expand

we're bigger than we've ever dreamed

What a cute.

so sleepy but dis thread.

Dis thread indeed.

geddit stiles.

ôuô

LAUGHS

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omg thank god for the erica interruption i am ready for this wheeze

you're so funny.

So's your face.

Yes it is. BC

I hope you're making the grumpy cat face.

Just for you.

kisses it off your face ♥

scrunches face ♥

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