MMoM: Day 4
You got a perfect one (2/3)
Derek, R, 2480-ish words
Bodyswap between Stiles & Derek
Day 4 of mmom
Follows Now if we're talking body
Wait for him.
Wait for him.
Fucking wait for him.
Derek tried to growl his frustration but it was harder to do in Stiles' body and his throat hurt from the effort.
He paced back and forth in the loft, tried to take measured steps because his mind remembered how many steps it usually took to get from his bedroom to the couch but Stiles' legs were longer than his and it threw him off.
How in the hell did Stiles wear these stupid pants? They were baggy as hell and he caught his feet on his pant legs a couple times. He shucked the plaid shirt Stiles put on that morning over the t-shirt and balled it up to throw on the couch.
Fucking Stiles and his fucking spell. Never mind that it was Lydia who found it in some book. Or that Deaton was the one who advised and gave them the materials to perform it. Or himself for insisting Stiles do it under his supervision.
Fuck everything.
Derek stewed. He sat on his couch and stared at a spot on the wall. He tried reading but Stiles' body was twitchy in a way he wasn't used to and he couldn't settle down. Tried to work out but what Derek's body was accustomed to Stiles' wasn't and he wasn't sure how far he could push it. He cleaned for a little while, busy work, but he kept getting distracted by Stiles' hands.
His fingers were so long and slender, reminded him of spider legs, in a way. But they were strong; Derek felt how well they gripped his barbells when he lifted for a few minutes before he gave up. Stiles' nails were clean and trim, not bitten to the quick like he always thought in the back of his mind, for some reason. Derek had seen Stiles' hands before, had felt them on his arm or back at times, but had never truly noticed them.
Curious and restless, a terrible combination, Derek headed for the bathroom and stared at Stiles' face in the mirror. His new face for however long this spell lasted.
Derek poked at Stiles' teeth and gums, stuck his tongue out. He ran a hand through his hair, to get a feel for how Stiles always did it. He flexed his neck and face muscles in an odd attempt to wiggle Stiles' ears.
Didn't work.
He turned his head back and forth to catch the profile from either side, noticed the strong slope of Stiles' nose. The movements drew Derek's attention to Stiles' neck. He slid one hand up the long column and felt the motions under his palm while he swivelled his head. Derek enjoyed the strength he felt there.
Let his mind wonder what it would be like if his own hand clasped the back to ...
Nothing.
Derek shook his head and shrugged his shoulders a couple times to shake off whatever he was about to think.
He pulled the t-shirt out and peeked under, cheeks flushing a little, because this felt like an invasion of Stiles' privacy. But then Stiles felt hisabs up the first chance he got so what the hell?
He pulled the t-shirt up and raised an eyebrow. Stiles was... not lacking. He was more defined than Derek would have thought, for sure. Derek let the shirt fall back down and dropped a hand to the button of Stiles' khakis-
"Derek!"
Derek was startled and jumped backwards, crashing into the wall behind him and wincing. Was Stiles always this jumpy?
He ran downstairs to where Stiles was waiting for him. He came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Stiles weird.
"What?" Stiles asked.
"Do I really look like that?" Derek asked, pointing to his face. Stiles snorted.
"Pretty much. I think it must be your default because I didn't realize I was making a face."
Derek rolled his eyes and this time it was Stiles who gave him a look at the expression. He shook his head and continued. "Deaton's got Scott and the others out looking for the witch. It's best we stay behind because neither of us are going to be much good in the search. I don't know how to work your body and I don't want you getting mine mangled or broken."
Derek refrained from rolling his eyes again but generally agreed. He knew he didn't feel confident doing anything remotely dangerous in Stiles' body, and he would never even try it, so it was good to know Stiles was in the same boat.
Both of them were off their game and vulnerable, which made the whole pack at risk if they were worried about protecting them in a fight.
"Best to stay out of it for now," Derek conceded.
"You have to do something for me, though," Stiles said and Derek's eyes narrowed.
"Nothing bad, I swear! You have to go home and be me, just for a few hours. My dad is on night shift, eight to eight, but we're supposed to have dinner. I took chicken breasts out of the oven, there's carrots in the fridge and I have a whole salad already made," Stiles pleaded.
Derek couldn't ever remember cajoling someone in his life, at least not since long before the fire, and it was a look that even he could admit was somewhat better than a frown.
"I'll do it but why don't we just tell him?" Derek asked, out of curiosity.
"My dad has already had to learn a lot of stuff I never wanted him to know. If he found out body swapping was an option thrown around so casually I doubt I'd never be allowed out of the house until I was thirty and that's only if he didn't have a heart attack first," Stiles explained and Derek got it. He wasn't sure if it was because of simple human emotion of wanting to look out for family or because he could feel a weird muscle memory-esque sensation while thinking of Stiles' dad.
"I'll go now. Anything I should avoid talking about or shouldn't bring up?"
Stiles looked back at him, as if stricken by the thought of the possibilities. "Uh, just... go with your gut. If it sounds like something he'd disapprove of, don't bring it up. And considering he knows I'm part of a group of werewolves, hunters, banshees and other assorted supernatural whatnots if the gut screams no, it's not advisable."
Derek nodded. "Gotcha."
"I'll come over later and we'll hang out or something, I don't know. Probably best not to be alone while the witch is on the loose."
Derek nodded. "Sounds good. Can I have my keys?"
Stiles grinned. "You're me, remember? Be good to my baby, she's a little finicky to get into first."
Derek sighed but nodded. "What are you going to do in the meantime?"
Derek was sure that his cheeks got a bit red but without the werewolf senses he couldn't check for a faster heartbeat or scent any reactions so for all he knew it was just a common reaction. But he didn't have time to push it.
"Hang out here, check back through the books Deaton gave me originally for the spell and see if there's something I missed or something that we can use against the witch."
"See you later, I guess."
Stiles gave him a salute in parting, such a weird Stiles-esque gesture in his body, and Derek left. He took the elevator, not trusting himself not to trip over Stiles legs down the stairs.
The drive back to the Stilinski house was fine. The Jeep was manageable, even if it wasn't the smoother ride he was used to. Once at the house he greeted Stiles' dad and kept the conversation light while he did a basic baked chicken and prepared the carrots with a honey garlic glaze he whipped up from memory. He didn't often cook but being around a nice kitchen again, more than the basic stovetop and blender he had at the loft, reminded him how much he used to like helping with family meals.
Over the meal the Sheriff raved about the carrots and Derek made note to tell Stiles how to make them for next time. The conversation stayed thankfully light and easy. The Sheriff did the dishes and Derek made up an excuse of researching something that Stiles' dad didn't even blink at. He escaped up the stairs and closed the door to Stiles' room with a relieved breath.
He sat uneasily at Stiles' desk, unsure of what to do while he waited out the last hour before the Sheriff left for work. He wiggled his leg, got up, sat down. Wiggled some more.
Realized he had to pee.
"You'd think that kind of thing would be universal," Derek mumbled to himself, as he slinked across the hall to the bathroom.
This was something new.
Derek stared straight ahead as he carefully unbuttoned and unzipped Stiles' pants. He wasn't sure... well, how to... Just.
"Oh, fuck," Derek whispered and looked down. He was in Stiles' body with Stiles' hands that touched Stiles' dick every day. He wasn't about to piss himself.
He grabbed his cock and aimed, got through the duty in a perfunctory manner, washed and hurried back to Stiles' room.
Thing is, though.
Apparently Stiles' body reacted to how he held himself or maybe it was just that time of day or goddammit, maybe it was Derek's fucking brain with the image of Stiles' cock in his mind. Any way it was it led to Stiles' cock getting hard between his legs and tenting the boxers and khakis.
Derek sat down and tried staring at a point on the wall to ignore it, tried looking around Stiles' room at totally innocuous things.
Tried waking Stiles' computer but one of the first things he saw was an open tab for a video titled "Muscle Daddy Fucks Twink" and he slammed the cover shut as quickly as he could without breaking it.
"Oh, fuck," Derek swore and stood up quickly. He opened Stiles' pants again and shoved them down his legs with his boxers, stepped out of them and kicked them back as he threw himself on the bed.
He'd been in Stiles' room enough while in his own body to know Stiles kept lube somewhere around his bed and it was used on a fairly regular basis. He palmed his cock while looking around the shelves by Stiles' bed with the other hand, until finding a half-empty bottle of slick behind a stack of books on myths and urban legends.
Derek didn't know if it was the threat of being caught doing this with the Sheriff still in the house or the possibility that Stiles could show up at any moment, attempting to come through his own window like Derek often did or if Stiles trained his body to get off as quickly as possible but he was panting for his hand as soon as he clicked the tube open. Like Pavlov's dogs his cock was drooling pre-come onto his hand, making the head shiny while Derek kept his hand encircling the base and tugging there gently.
He used too much lube, didn't care. Closed his hand tightly, as much as he could stand, and shoved his hips up into the circle. Slow at first until he got his bearings in Stiles' lanky body. He stared down at himself, still covered in a t-shirt but naked from the waist down. Pale, thin thighs dotted here and there with moles like his face and neck and the view of them spreading apart a little every time his hips thrust up made his balls throb.
Derek, if he was in his own body, would take the time to tease out what worked on Stiles. What he liked best and what would make his head tip back in pleasure and his words stop up from ecstasy. What would Derek have to do to Stiles so he'd have to shove a hand in his mouth so his dad wouldn't hear his moans from just down the stairs?
Derek should have been more shocked when he realized he was thinking about fucking Stiles into this very mattress but he didn't care. He could feel the build start in his chest, let the sloppy-slick sounds of his wet hand around his dick push him further, wished Stiles was there with him, wanted to do this to him for real, wouldn't let him come because this was going to be over too-
Derek came hard, curling up into a ball while his stomach clenched and his balls emptied and he made a total mess of the t-shirt he was wearing.
"Stiles, I'm leaving!" The Sheriff called up the stairs. Nothing could break an afterglow quicker than the sound of a parent's voice cutting through the haze.
Derek hopped up quickly, opened the door just enough to stick his head out and yelled, "O-okay dad! See you in the morning!"
"Love you!"
"Love you, too!"
Derek waited for a second, hoped that was the right response. Must've been because the front door closed and Derek was moving around the room quickly. He opened the window and threw the bedroom door wide open, hoping for air circulation. He ran to the bathroom and washed up, wishing he could be gentler with his spent dick but didn't have time. He pulled the soiled t-shirt off and threw it at the bottom of the laundry hamper, hoped it would get thrown in the wash like normal and never found.
He pulled Stiles' boxers and pants back on and was just pulling a new t-shirt on when Derek heard the front door open again. In seconds Stiles was in his room, not even out of breath and grinning and Derek hated him for a split second.
Stiles eyed him as he smoothed out the t-shirt.
"Spilled something," Derek said in answer to Stiles' unasked question. He had experience lying to werewolves, luckily, so Stiles wouldn't pick up on any weirdness with his heartbeat, if he'd managed to figure that much out yet.
Stiles glanced around his room, somewhat warily, but seemed to be okay once his gazed settled on Derek again. "Got any leftovers? I'm starved."
Derek grinned in relief and nodded. "I figured. Come on. Then we can see if muscle memory will kick in and if I can beat your ass at Mario Cart for once."
Stiles led the way down the stairs, laughing. "You wish, man! You wish."
"You don't know how much," Derek muttered and followed behind.
Derek, R, 2480-ish words
Bodyswap between Stiles & Derek
Day 4 of mmom
Follows Now if we're talking body
Wait for him.
Wait for him.
Fucking wait for him.
Derek tried to growl his frustration but it was harder to do in Stiles' body and his throat hurt from the effort.
He paced back and forth in the loft, tried to take measured steps because his mind remembered how many steps it usually took to get from his bedroom to the couch but Stiles' legs were longer than his and it threw him off.
How in the hell did Stiles wear these stupid pants? They were baggy as hell and he caught his feet on his pant legs a couple times. He shucked the plaid shirt Stiles put on that morning over the t-shirt and balled it up to throw on the couch.
Fucking Stiles and his fucking spell. Never mind that it was Lydia who found it in some book. Or that Deaton was the one who advised and gave them the materials to perform it. Or himself for insisting Stiles do it under his supervision.
Fuck everything.
Derek stewed. He sat on his couch and stared at a spot on the wall. He tried reading but Stiles' body was twitchy in a way he wasn't used to and he couldn't settle down. Tried to work out but what Derek's body was accustomed to Stiles' wasn't and he wasn't sure how far he could push it. He cleaned for a little while, busy work, but he kept getting distracted by Stiles' hands.
His fingers were so long and slender, reminded him of spider legs, in a way. But they were strong; Derek felt how well they gripped his barbells when he lifted for a few minutes before he gave up. Stiles' nails were clean and trim, not bitten to the quick like he always thought in the back of his mind, for some reason. Derek had seen Stiles' hands before, had felt them on his arm or back at times, but had never truly noticed them.
Curious and restless, a terrible combination, Derek headed for the bathroom and stared at Stiles' face in the mirror. His new face for however long this spell lasted.
Derek poked at Stiles' teeth and gums, stuck his tongue out. He ran a hand through his hair, to get a feel for how Stiles always did it. He flexed his neck and face muscles in an odd attempt to wiggle Stiles' ears.
Didn't work.
He turned his head back and forth to catch the profile from either side, noticed the strong slope of Stiles' nose. The movements drew Derek's attention to Stiles' neck. He slid one hand up the long column and felt the motions under his palm while he swivelled his head. Derek enjoyed the strength he felt there.
Let his mind wonder what it would be like if his own hand clasped the back to ...
Nothing.
Derek shook his head and shrugged his shoulders a couple times to shake off whatever he was about to think.
He pulled the t-shirt out and peeked under, cheeks flushing a little, because this felt like an invasion of Stiles' privacy. But then Stiles felt hisabs up the first chance he got so what the hell?
He pulled the t-shirt up and raised an eyebrow. Stiles was... not lacking. He was more defined than Derek would have thought, for sure. Derek let the shirt fall back down and dropped a hand to the button of Stiles' khakis-
"Derek!"
Derek was startled and jumped backwards, crashing into the wall behind him and wincing. Was Stiles always this jumpy?
He ran downstairs to where Stiles was waiting for him. He came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Stiles weird.
"What?" Stiles asked.
"Do I really look like that?" Derek asked, pointing to his face. Stiles snorted.
"Pretty much. I think it must be your default because I didn't realize I was making a face."
Derek rolled his eyes and this time it was Stiles who gave him a look at the expression. He shook his head and continued. "Deaton's got Scott and the others out looking for the witch. It's best we stay behind because neither of us are going to be much good in the search. I don't know how to work your body and I don't want you getting mine mangled or broken."
Derek refrained from rolling his eyes again but generally agreed. He knew he didn't feel confident doing anything remotely dangerous in Stiles' body, and he would never even try it, so it was good to know Stiles was in the same boat.
Both of them were off their game and vulnerable, which made the whole pack at risk if they were worried about protecting them in a fight.
"Best to stay out of it for now," Derek conceded.
"You have to do something for me, though," Stiles said and Derek's eyes narrowed.
"Nothing bad, I swear! You have to go home and be me, just for a few hours. My dad is on night shift, eight to eight, but we're supposed to have dinner. I took chicken breasts out of the oven, there's carrots in the fridge and I have a whole salad already made," Stiles pleaded.
Derek couldn't ever remember cajoling someone in his life, at least not since long before the fire, and it was a look that even he could admit was somewhat better than a frown.
"I'll do it but why don't we just tell him?" Derek asked, out of curiosity.
"My dad has already had to learn a lot of stuff I never wanted him to know. If he found out body swapping was an option thrown around so casually I doubt I'd never be allowed out of the house until I was thirty and that's only if he didn't have a heart attack first," Stiles explained and Derek got it. He wasn't sure if it was because of simple human emotion of wanting to look out for family or because he could feel a weird muscle memory-esque sensation while thinking of Stiles' dad.
"I'll go now. Anything I should avoid talking about or shouldn't bring up?"
Stiles looked back at him, as if stricken by the thought of the possibilities. "Uh, just... go with your gut. If it sounds like something he'd disapprove of, don't bring it up. And considering he knows I'm part of a group of werewolves, hunters, banshees and other assorted supernatural whatnots if the gut screams no, it's not advisable."
Derek nodded. "Gotcha."
"I'll come over later and we'll hang out or something, I don't know. Probably best not to be alone while the witch is on the loose."
Derek nodded. "Sounds good. Can I have my keys?"
Stiles grinned. "You're me, remember? Be good to my baby, she's a little finicky to get into first."
Derek sighed but nodded. "What are you going to do in the meantime?"
Derek was sure that his cheeks got a bit red but without the werewolf senses he couldn't check for a faster heartbeat or scent any reactions so for all he knew it was just a common reaction. But he didn't have time to push it.
"Hang out here, check back through the books Deaton gave me originally for the spell and see if there's something I missed or something that we can use against the witch."
"See you later, I guess."
Stiles gave him a salute in parting, such a weird Stiles-esque gesture in his body, and Derek left. He took the elevator, not trusting himself not to trip over Stiles legs down the stairs.
The drive back to the Stilinski house was fine. The Jeep was manageable, even if it wasn't the smoother ride he was used to. Once at the house he greeted Stiles' dad and kept the conversation light while he did a basic baked chicken and prepared the carrots with a honey garlic glaze he whipped up from memory. He didn't often cook but being around a nice kitchen again, more than the basic stovetop and blender he had at the loft, reminded him how much he used to like helping with family meals.
Over the meal the Sheriff raved about the carrots and Derek made note to tell Stiles how to make them for next time. The conversation stayed thankfully light and easy. The Sheriff did the dishes and Derek made up an excuse of researching something that Stiles' dad didn't even blink at. He escaped up the stairs and closed the door to Stiles' room with a relieved breath.
He sat uneasily at Stiles' desk, unsure of what to do while he waited out the last hour before the Sheriff left for work. He wiggled his leg, got up, sat down. Wiggled some more.
Realized he had to pee.
"You'd think that kind of thing would be universal," Derek mumbled to himself, as he slinked across the hall to the bathroom.
This was something new.
Derek stared straight ahead as he carefully unbuttoned and unzipped Stiles' pants. He wasn't sure... well, how to... Just.
"Oh, fuck," Derek whispered and looked down. He was in Stiles' body with Stiles' hands that touched Stiles' dick every day. He wasn't about to piss himself.
He grabbed his cock and aimed, got through the duty in a perfunctory manner, washed and hurried back to Stiles' room.
Thing is, though.
Apparently Stiles' body reacted to how he held himself or maybe it was just that time of day or goddammit, maybe it was Derek's fucking brain with the image of Stiles' cock in his mind. Any way it was it led to Stiles' cock getting hard between his legs and tenting the boxers and khakis.
Derek sat down and tried staring at a point on the wall to ignore it, tried looking around Stiles' room at totally innocuous things.
Tried waking Stiles' computer but one of the first things he saw was an open tab for a video titled "Muscle Daddy Fucks Twink" and he slammed the cover shut as quickly as he could without breaking it.
"Oh, fuck," Derek swore and stood up quickly. He opened Stiles' pants again and shoved them down his legs with his boxers, stepped out of them and kicked them back as he threw himself on the bed.
He'd been in Stiles' room enough while in his own body to know Stiles kept lube somewhere around his bed and it was used on a fairly regular basis. He palmed his cock while looking around the shelves by Stiles' bed with the other hand, until finding a half-empty bottle of slick behind a stack of books on myths and urban legends.
Derek didn't know if it was the threat of being caught doing this with the Sheriff still in the house or the possibility that Stiles could show up at any moment, attempting to come through his own window like Derek often did or if Stiles trained his body to get off as quickly as possible but he was panting for his hand as soon as he clicked the tube open. Like Pavlov's dogs his cock was drooling pre-come onto his hand, making the head shiny while Derek kept his hand encircling the base and tugging there gently.
He used too much lube, didn't care. Closed his hand tightly, as much as he could stand, and shoved his hips up into the circle. Slow at first until he got his bearings in Stiles' lanky body. He stared down at himself, still covered in a t-shirt but naked from the waist down. Pale, thin thighs dotted here and there with moles like his face and neck and the view of them spreading apart a little every time his hips thrust up made his balls throb.
Derek, if he was in his own body, would take the time to tease out what worked on Stiles. What he liked best and what would make his head tip back in pleasure and his words stop up from ecstasy. What would Derek have to do to Stiles so he'd have to shove a hand in his mouth so his dad wouldn't hear his moans from just down the stairs?
Derek should have been more shocked when he realized he was thinking about fucking Stiles into this very mattress but he didn't care. He could feel the build start in his chest, let the sloppy-slick sounds of his wet hand around his dick push him further, wished Stiles was there with him, wanted to do this to him for real, wouldn't let him come because this was going to be over too-
Derek came hard, curling up into a ball while his stomach clenched and his balls emptied and he made a total mess of the t-shirt he was wearing.
"Stiles, I'm leaving!" The Sheriff called up the stairs. Nothing could break an afterglow quicker than the sound of a parent's voice cutting through the haze.
Derek hopped up quickly, opened the door just enough to stick his head out and yelled, "O-okay dad! See you in the morning!"
"Love you!"
"Love you, too!"
Derek waited for a second, hoped that was the right response. Must've been because the front door closed and Derek was moving around the room quickly. He opened the window and threw the bedroom door wide open, hoping for air circulation. He ran to the bathroom and washed up, wishing he could be gentler with his spent dick but didn't have time. He pulled the soiled t-shirt off and threw it at the bottom of the laundry hamper, hoped it would get thrown in the wash like normal and never found.
He pulled Stiles' boxers and pants back on and was just pulling a new t-shirt on when Derek heard the front door open again. In seconds Stiles was in his room, not even out of breath and grinning and Derek hated him for a split second.
Stiles eyed him as he smoothed out the t-shirt.
"Spilled something," Derek said in answer to Stiles' unasked question. He had experience lying to werewolves, luckily, so Stiles wouldn't pick up on any weirdness with his heartbeat, if he'd managed to figure that much out yet.
Stiles glanced around his room, somewhat warily, but seemed to be okay once his gazed settled on Derek again. "Got any leftovers? I'm starved."
Derek grinned in relief and nodded. "I figured. Come on. Then we can see if muscle memory will kick in and if I can beat your ass at Mario Cart for once."
Stiles led the way down the stairs, laughing. "You wish, man! You wish."
"You don't know how much," Derek muttered and followed behind.