Wanted, Dead or Alive (closed to Derek, NSFW)
[happens after Derek comes back]
It wasn't that he regretted what he'd done with Harry. He didn't; he had no reason to feel guilty. Derek was dead. Dead, dead, dead.... It echoed in his head. But he still felt as if a part of him was missing; a hole. A big gaping wound in the middle of his chest that it seemed that everyone could see.
So, Glock was curled on his chest and John pet her. He could still remember everything both from LA and from here, before. When Derek was young, when they'd played catch, shared who knows how many cinnamon rolls, all of it. He ached with it. He couldn't make himself leave the room and he kept ignoring the knocks to the door. He was safe, his mom was briefed, he was avoiding Cameron (who he'd felt from the inside).
And Derek was still dead. Derek. John closed his eyes.
He felt exhausted. Not so much physically but more his brain was fucking dead tired. Heh. Dead. He's supposed to be dead. Derek knew this. He could still see the barrel of the gun pointed at him by the metal. Saw his life, fucking ALL of it flash before his eyes. Fuck knew why he woke up on here.
He knew where to go and he headed straight for their room.
FUCK!
He wasn't sure if it was their room. All he knew before he left here before was that John was gone.
Derek held the door knob in his hand and for a long ass time he stood there, eyes closed, breathing deep and steeling himself for finding nothing but probably the fur ball on their bed. He had this picture vivid in his mind and he finally slid the key and turned the knob, entering what he expected to be an empty room.
But it wasn't. He stood there mouth agape, feet firmly glued to the floor.
"John..."
"Derek--!" Jerkily, well and truly shocked, John staggered to his feet, the cat yowling as she was pushed away, and for a long second, he stood and he stared. Derek. "Oh my God, Derek."
Saying it again broke his paralysis and he rushed over, hands pressing into Derek's chest, patting at him. He was real. Real. Oh, God, real. His eyes welled up and he couldn't swallow back the sob that wanted to come back. "Oh, God, Derek. Oh, God, Derek!"
Derek's arms wrapped around John and his face he buried in the boy's hair. Fuck, this was familiar. And right. And perfect. And just what he fucking needed. Maybe his hands were shaking some when he pulled back and cupped John's face, touching it, fingertips tracing his cheek, his jaw, his lips. Fuck this better be fucking real.
"Derek," John whispered around and he didn't bother holding back the tears that felt like they were burning his eyes. "I thought -- I -- I didn't know what to think." He cupped Derek's face too, and yes, his hands were trembling. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again." Oh, God, the ache in his chest got stronger before starting to ease. Derek's jaw, the stubble there, all reassuringly solid and tactile.
He swallowed hard trying to talk past the lump in his throat. "John." After staring at his face, unsure what to say and the smile was slow to grow on his face. "You're here." Fuck, he was really here. Derek's finally noticed the tears, unsure what to think of it, wiping it away with the back of a finger. He started to shake his head slowly, brows furrowed. "Why--?"
There's no sense crying about it, is there?. John could still feel the sour smile he'd given Cameron and the tears now dried up. A moment of weakness and he shook his head a little, shoulders coming back. "What do you remember?" He asked. "The last thing you remember?"
Derek did not let go of John. His brows were knitted together and he was staring into his eyes. He shook his head. "I remember too much," he said, everything swirling nonsensically in his mind. He had to take a few breaths before answering, his head still shaking. "Metal at -- Weaver's house. Pointing a gun at me." He really should be dead.
John visibly paled and perhaps that was the most obvious answer he could give. His hands still cradling Derek's face, he furrowed his brow. "You're here now. That's what matters." Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to Derek's, closing his eyes.
What was that? Derek scowled and then pulled away, looking into John's eyes. "What the fuck does that mean?" His eyes narrowed, names and faces flitting in his head and Derek had to close his eyes tight. "Three dots. Kaliba. Jesse. Riley. Charley..." He paled. Fuck. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't." Hand tightening around Derek's chin, John was nearly fierce about this. "Not here. That's not here." If he had his way, they wouldn't talk about any of that. "Did you remember being here, when you were there?"
All of it was in his head, he knew. Derek tried hard to think of what John was asking, trying to arrange his thoughts in some semblance of order. He scowled even more as he shook his head. "Kind of. Like a dream." Was that possible? Derek was feeling as if both worlds collided and he wasn't quite sure which one was real and which one was, well, whatever it was going on.
That got a nod. "That's what it was like for me." "We're always watching." "For me to screw up?" "For you to be human." Taking a step back himself, John could look over Derek's face. So familiar, strong.
"You died," he said, finally, quietly. "In Weaver's house."
His jaw clenched and his eyes looked intense as he stared at John. Derek then nodded his head in understanding. He was a soldier and he fought to the death. He fought protecting John. "Did you get out? Were you safe?" For all he knew, John was back here, too, for the same reason Derek thought he was. Dead.
John's face was tight as he nodded. "The girl was safe. She led us to Cromartie -- John Henry, now. And the Turk. Weaver was a T-1000. But she was on our side. We had to get my mom out of jail and --" He had to look away. She's gone. What happened to her? Cameron, dead. Lifeless. "John Henry had Cameron's chip. We were going to find her and I ended up here, instead," he said. "I don't know where we were going." And why his mom didn't go with him.
That was too much information that it all felt jumbled up in his already chaotic mind. He shook his head again. "I'm glad you're here." It was all Derek thought of to say. They could sort the rest out later. Much later. Right now Derek was relieved that John was fine, in one fucking piece and he released a breath to express it -- right before he dipped his head down and kissed him. Really kissed him -- wanting to feel that John was real and alive.
His arms flung around Derek's neck, John kissed him back, firm, hungry and hard. Arousal was hot under his skin, leaving him breathless, light-headed (different from when he was with Harry, sharper, darker even). Derek was back. He was back. Derek was back. Here. With John. And despite what might have happened elsewhere, they at least knew that Derek wouldn't be leaving here. He'd be staying. Here. With John. Who cupped his skull, deepening the kiss.
Derek groaned and then reached around and hooked his arm to lift his feet off the ground. The boy was still skinny as hell and light and he thought that he might have to do something about that and soon. Just-- not right now. Right now was about feeling him. Feeling each other. It felt as if this empty hole inside him was being filled as their kiss continued and Derek kissed back with equal abandon even as he carried John to the bed.
He'd gotten stronger in year he'd been away, but John wasn't as strong as Derek; might not ever been. And it wasn't like he'd lost weight like Sarah. He fell back onto the bed, looking up at Derek with flushed cheeks and a hardness between his legs that nearly ached. He'd been so lonely, so damned lonely. "Derek," he whispered, reaching up.
Derek didn't answer but captured John's lips in his, kissing deep, intense, while his hands slid down over John's body. God, he'd felt an emptiness inside and couldn't explain it away; even with Jesse. It was this, Derek knew now as he pushed John's shirt over his head, touched his lips at the base of his neck, feeling his pulse, alive, then moving lower. Yes. This. John.
Each kiss made goosebumps pop up on John's skin. After shedding his shirt, he ran his hands up Derek's arms, his shoulders and he thought about Riley, yes, who'd been soft, tentative even, when they'd touched.
There was no place for them here. This was about John and Derek. God, Derek. Derek who John had missed more than he thought possible, gasping with it.
It was when Derek reached John's belly that he stopped long enough to shed his own jacket, his shirt. His flicked his eyes toward John, fingers deft at opening his pants and then pushing them down, tugging them off, boxers, too. It was when John was laid naked for him that Derek smiled, fingers sliding over warm skin. "I missed you," he said, voice a deep rasp, "missed this." Then he dipped his head down and took John's hard length in his mouth.
John couldn't even answer. His head fell back and his eyes closed, mouth opening to gasp. His heels dug into the bed and he could feel the short bristles of Derek's hair under his hands. The pleasure was almost too sharp, making him lightheaded. Yes, he would say, he'd missed Derek. And he'd missed this, even if he'd only dreamt of Derek when he was 'home.' Even, yes, even with Harry, John had missed Derek with a physical pain.
John could complain later about the stubble burn. Derek sucked him hard and when he felt trembling, he stopped to lick lower, pushing John's thighs apart and then moved lower still. He pushed hard enough to lift John's ass up, the scruff he rubbed against his ass and then he licked around his entrance. God, he'd missed John, missed his taste, how he felt, missed doing this to him and feeling him come apart under Derek's attentions. All he could think about right now was what it felt like when John disappeared. That he felt like he was dying.
All he could do was shudder, cry out, feel all that pain he'd experience fall away. John fisted his hands in the covers, felt his knees press to his chest, felt how his whole body felt hot and tingly. His cock ached, he needed. Needed. "Derek," he rasped out. "Derek. Please." He was John Connor. He knew what he needed. He knew what he wanted. "Derek."
It was the most beautiful sound, the way John said his name in that throaty whisper. It made Derek shudder and then even as he rimmed him, he kicked off his shoes, releasing him to turn to his side to unclasp his jeans and slide them off, kicking them until they slid off the side of the bed and to the floor. Free from clothes, he put all his attention to what he was doing, pushing his tongue in slowly, humming as he felt the tight ring of skin give.
"Ah, God." John groaned, head back, heels digging into the bed, hands again kneading Derek's scalp. He forced his head up to look down, to confirm it was real, to confirm that this was just what he was seeing and feeling. Derek, here, with him. His cock jerked and leaked against his body.
Fuck, yeah, he was real and after finding out he was dead, well, that only made him want to feel alive -- here, now -- in this place -- he was god damned fucking ALIVE. And what better way to keep on living than this? With John. Pulling all these sounds from him, knowing Derek was doing that to the younger man. He kept fucking him with his tongue, hand curling around his cock and stroking as he licked and thrust his tongue in his hole. Yeah. Open up for me.
After a few moments, John quivered, shook, the muscles of his legs corded and tight, his cock leaking and leaving a trail of pre-come on his skin. He was practically keening Derek's name, head back, eyes slitted. No one else. No one else could do this. John didn't want anyone else to do this. Just Derek.
Beyond John's trembling Derek could feel him loosening up and it made him even harder than he already was. Yeah. Dying in their world meant he needed to live more -- here. Right now. Oh, he still had his work cut out for him with training John -- getting him ready -- but that could wait. Oh, yes, it could wait. Derek finally released him and crawled over John slowly, still kissing his belly, his chest and then lingering at the side of his neck -- a particularly sensitive spot he remembered. "Open your eyes," he told John who was looking at him with a hooded gaze, he wanted John to look at him--. See? He was alive and Derek had no plans of dying here anytime soon.
Forcing them open, John stared up at Derek, taking him in. He'd thought, he'd been convinced that he'd never see him again and the idea still ripped at his heart, leaving him breathless and clinging. "I see you," he whispered. "Derek..." He needed to feel too. To be alive here, too, after being half-dead.
Derek nodded, smiling slightly, a bit sad because in the back of his mind he kept thinking that in the world they left, he would no longer be there to protect John -- John who was all he had. "I'm here," he said finally, pulling enough away to spit in his hand. He slicked the head of his cock and stroked it a few times before nudging at John's hole, not pushing in just yet. Derek only looked at him, free hand touching his face, taking him in as well. "You're mine, right? Here--? You're mine..." Derek began to push, slowly, groaning softly, eyes never leaving John's face.
"Yessss...." Trailing off at that fullness. How long had it been? Over a year back in LA, less than a week, though, here, John didn't know and he didn't care. They were here now and he was Derek's. And Derek was his. The bed squeaked, just like it had. John held Derek's face in his hands and he didn't look away.
He stared right back, even as his lips parted and he breathed harshly, even as he pushed all the way to the hilt until he could feel the back of John's thighs against his hips. Derek stayed there; he smiled, and then dipped his head to take John's mouth in his, kissing him slowly, taking his time. That was what they had here now -- Time.
Arms around his neck again, John kissed back just as deeply. That smile. He'd dreamt of that smile. Derek's stubble burned his face and he didn't care. The tightness and fullness he was getting used to again and he groaned. All of it. Derek might have died for John, but here, in Hauvratat, he was alive, warm and in John's arms.
They were both alive, both here and both feeling. Derek slid out slowly and the feel of it was too fucking overwhelming that he moaned with it, eyes shutting tight even if he didn't want them to. "Fuck," came out in a whisper, his voice shaky, and then Derek pushed back in, starting a slow pace, wanting it to stay that way, reveling in them feeling each other.
Pulling him down, John kissed him, moaning into the kiss and closing his eyes too, breathing Derek's breath, holding on, hooking his heels behind Derek's hips. How good it felt was almost fierce, almost too much. He had to stifle himself, breathing shallowly, helplessly.
It was like torture, the slow way he pushed in, slid out, sink in, pull out, but each thrust Derek could feel all throughout his body. The heat was amazing, the tightness and he had to blink his eyes open to make sure it was really and truly real. "John--" His voice was gruff, a rasp, "Fuck, baby." Yes, baby. Fuck he missed this. It seemed like such a long time ago since they'd been together this way. Derek moved just enough to put a bit of space between them and then he wrapped a large, calloused hand around John's length, stroking him, wanting his lover to fall apart, to come, to sink into the sensations -- for them both to lose themselves in each other.
Tight and hot, too much. Too much. John was close to coming already and he gritted his teeth to keep it back. His muscles tightened all over and he held on, just focusing on how it felt with Derek sliding in out of him like this. Just like this. It was perfect.
Derek was close, too, and he knew he couldn't last any longer than he wanted to. He upped the pace, fucking John roughly, faster, shoving his cock in deeper. "Come with me," he groused, eyes on John, not leaving that face, those eyes, reading into them, his own communicating wordlessly, telling John how much he wanted this, needed this -- how much he loved him, missed him -- needed him. Harder thrusts, faster still, and Derek's hand moved with more urgency over John's length, twisting his wrist, intent on making the boy fall apart for him again, and later, again, and he had no intention of stopping until they were both exhausted. The talking -- that they could do later. A lot later.
"Ah -- God! -- Derek!" Even if John wanted to hold back now, he couldn't. His orgasm came steam-rolling out of him and he scratched down Derek's arm as his body went stiff and he felt himself turned inside out. Oh, God, it was intense. More intense than anything he'd experienced when he was back. His breath came in heaving gasps and he was rocked with aftershock after aftershock.
John clenching around him pulled Derek's orgasm out, grunting each time his cock pulsed deep inside, spilling warm and wet and it felt like it would never end. Derek kept moving, kept the tugging at John's cock, kept thrusting, narrowed eyes looking down at John -- he was beautiful -- and he was too fucking glad they're both alive. "Fuck." He felt it all. Each movement, each touch and scratch and bite, each kiss, everything -- it was like it was all heightened and it made Derek moan, still deep inside John even as his cock stopped spurting and throbbing already. "I love you. Fuck, I love you..."
Derek had been so reluctant to say that before. You and me; we're all he has John had said to Derek. Now he and Kyle. This was better; it had to be, for Derek. This, being here. "I love you, too," John whispered back, holding him so tightly as if to let go might mean he'd break. "I love you."
His head rested on John's shoulder, then, soon as he stopped pulsing and trembling. Still hard up for breath he stayed there, feeling the slick of sweat between them, the warmth of their breaths, his length softening still inside John.
John. God. Derek had John in his arms, underneath him and remembering when John had disappeared and Derek could still feel the ache that day that they were pulled so viciously apart. Once more, his voice low, quiet, gravelly, "I love you," right by John's ear.
"I know." Arms around Derek's neck, hands cradling his head, protecting him, John smiled, a small smile. All of what had happened, away, still sat between them. Jesse and Riley and Charley and Derek's death, what he did with Harry, all of that, that all still sat between them, made the air heavier around them. But for the moment, he cast that off and held Derek tighter. "I love you, too."
continued here
It wasn't that he regretted what he'd done with Harry. He didn't; he had no reason to feel guilty. Derek was dead. Dead, dead, dead.... It echoed in his head. But he still felt as if a part of him was missing; a hole. A big gaping wound in the middle of his chest that it seemed that everyone could see.
So, Glock was curled on his chest and John pet her. He could still remember everything both from LA and from here, before. When Derek was young, when they'd played catch, shared who knows how many cinnamon rolls, all of it. He ached with it. He couldn't make himself leave the room and he kept ignoring the knocks to the door. He was safe, his mom was briefed, he was avoiding Cameron (who he'd felt from the inside).
And Derek was still dead. Derek. John closed his eyes.
He felt exhausted. Not so much physically but more his brain was fucking dead tired. Heh. Dead. He's supposed to be dead. Derek knew this. He could still see the barrel of the gun pointed at him by the metal. Saw his life, fucking ALL of it flash before his eyes. Fuck knew why he woke up on here.
He knew where to go and he headed straight for their room.
FUCK!
He wasn't sure if it was their room. All he knew before he left here before was that John was gone.
Derek held the door knob in his hand and for a long ass time he stood there, eyes closed, breathing deep and steeling himself for finding nothing but probably the fur ball on their bed. He had this picture vivid in his mind and he finally slid the key and turned the knob, entering what he expected to be an empty room.
But it wasn't. He stood there mouth agape, feet firmly glued to the floor.
"John..."
"Derek--!" Jerkily, well and truly shocked, John staggered to his feet, the cat yowling as she was pushed away, and for a long second, he stood and he stared. Derek. "Oh my God, Derek."
Saying it again broke his paralysis and he rushed over, hands pressing into Derek's chest, patting at him. He was real. Real. Oh, God, real. His eyes welled up and he couldn't swallow back the sob that wanted to come back. "Oh, God, Derek. Oh, God, Derek!"
Derek's arms wrapped around John and his face he buried in the boy's hair. Fuck, this was familiar. And right. And perfect. And just what he fucking needed. Maybe his hands were shaking some when he pulled back and cupped John's face, touching it, fingertips tracing his cheek, his jaw, his lips. Fuck this better be fucking real.
"Derek," John whispered around and he didn't bother holding back the tears that felt like they were burning his eyes. "I thought -- I -- I didn't know what to think." He cupped Derek's face too, and yes, his hands were trembling. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again." Oh, God, the ache in his chest got stronger before starting to ease. Derek's jaw, the stubble there, all reassuringly solid and tactile.
He swallowed hard trying to talk past the lump in his throat. "John." After staring at his face, unsure what to say and the smile was slow to grow on his face. "You're here." Fuck, he was really here. Derek's finally noticed the tears, unsure what to think of it, wiping it away with the back of a finger. He started to shake his head slowly, brows furrowed. "Why--?"
There's no sense crying about it, is there?. John could still feel the sour smile he'd given Cameron and the tears now dried up. A moment of weakness and he shook his head a little, shoulders coming back. "What do you remember?" He asked. "The last thing you remember?"
Derek did not let go of John. His brows were knitted together and he was staring into his eyes. He shook his head. "I remember too much," he said, everything swirling nonsensically in his mind. He had to take a few breaths before answering, his head still shaking. "Metal at -- Weaver's house. Pointing a gun at me." He really should be dead.
John visibly paled and perhaps that was the most obvious answer he could give. His hands still cradling Derek's face, he furrowed his brow. "You're here now. That's what matters." Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to Derek's, closing his eyes.
What was that? Derek scowled and then pulled away, looking into John's eyes. "What the fuck does that mean?" His eyes narrowed, names and faces flitting in his head and Derek had to close his eyes tight. "Three dots. Kaliba. Jesse. Riley. Charley..." He paled. Fuck. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't." Hand tightening around Derek's chin, John was nearly fierce about this. "Not here. That's not here." If he had his way, they wouldn't talk about any of that. "Did you remember being here, when you were there?"
All of it was in his head, he knew. Derek tried hard to think of what John was asking, trying to arrange his thoughts in some semblance of order. He scowled even more as he shook his head. "Kind of. Like a dream." Was that possible? Derek was feeling as if both worlds collided and he wasn't quite sure which one was real and which one was, well, whatever it was going on.
That got a nod. "That's what it was like for me." "We're always watching." "For me to screw up?" "For you to be human." Taking a step back himself, John could look over Derek's face. So familiar, strong.
"You died," he said, finally, quietly. "In Weaver's house."
His jaw clenched and his eyes looked intense as he stared at John. Derek then nodded his head in understanding. He was a soldier and he fought to the death. He fought protecting John. "Did you get out? Were you safe?" For all he knew, John was back here, too, for the same reason Derek thought he was. Dead.
John's face was tight as he nodded. "The girl was safe. She led us to Cromartie -- John Henry, now. And the Turk. Weaver was a T-1000. But she was on our side. We had to get my mom out of jail and --" He had to look away. She's gone. What happened to her? Cameron, dead. Lifeless. "John Henry had Cameron's chip. We were going to find her and I ended up here, instead," he said. "I don't know where we were going." And why his mom didn't go with him.
That was too much information that it all felt jumbled up in his already chaotic mind. He shook his head again. "I'm glad you're here." It was all Derek thought of to say. They could sort the rest out later. Much later. Right now Derek was relieved that John was fine, in one fucking piece and he released a breath to express it -- right before he dipped his head down and kissed him. Really kissed him -- wanting to feel that John was real and alive.
His arms flung around Derek's neck, John kissed him back, firm, hungry and hard. Arousal was hot under his skin, leaving him breathless, light-headed (different from when he was with Harry, sharper, darker even). Derek was back. He was back. Derek was back. Here. With John. And despite what might have happened elsewhere, they at least knew that Derek wouldn't be leaving here. He'd be staying. Here. With John. Who cupped his skull, deepening the kiss.
Derek groaned and then reached around and hooked his arm to lift his feet off the ground. The boy was still skinny as hell and light and he thought that he might have to do something about that and soon. Just-- not right now. Right now was about feeling him. Feeling each other. It felt as if this empty hole inside him was being filled as their kiss continued and Derek kissed back with equal abandon even as he carried John to the bed.
He'd gotten stronger in year he'd been away, but John wasn't as strong as Derek; might not ever been. And it wasn't like he'd lost weight like Sarah. He fell back onto the bed, looking up at Derek with flushed cheeks and a hardness between his legs that nearly ached. He'd been so lonely, so damned lonely. "Derek," he whispered, reaching up.
Derek didn't answer but captured John's lips in his, kissing deep, intense, while his hands slid down over John's body. God, he'd felt an emptiness inside and couldn't explain it away; even with Jesse. It was this, Derek knew now as he pushed John's shirt over his head, touched his lips at the base of his neck, feeling his pulse, alive, then moving lower. Yes. This. John.
Each kiss made goosebumps pop up on John's skin. After shedding his shirt, he ran his hands up Derek's arms, his shoulders and he thought about Riley, yes, who'd been soft, tentative even, when they'd touched.
There was no place for them here. This was about John and Derek. God, Derek. Derek who John had missed more than he thought possible, gasping with it.
It was when Derek reached John's belly that he stopped long enough to shed his own jacket, his shirt. His flicked his eyes toward John, fingers deft at opening his pants and then pushing them down, tugging them off, boxers, too. It was when John was laid naked for him that Derek smiled, fingers sliding over warm skin. "I missed you," he said, voice a deep rasp, "missed this." Then he dipped his head down and took John's hard length in his mouth.
John couldn't even answer. His head fell back and his eyes closed, mouth opening to gasp. His heels dug into the bed and he could feel the short bristles of Derek's hair under his hands. The pleasure was almost too sharp, making him lightheaded. Yes, he would say, he'd missed Derek. And he'd missed this, even if he'd only dreamt of Derek when he was 'home.' Even, yes, even with Harry, John had missed Derek with a physical pain.
John could complain later about the stubble burn. Derek sucked him hard and when he felt trembling, he stopped to lick lower, pushing John's thighs apart and then moved lower still. He pushed hard enough to lift John's ass up, the scruff he rubbed against his ass and then he licked around his entrance. God, he'd missed John, missed his taste, how he felt, missed doing this to him and feeling him come apart under Derek's attentions. All he could think about right now was what it felt like when John disappeared. That he felt like he was dying.
All he could do was shudder, cry out, feel all that pain he'd experience fall away. John fisted his hands in the covers, felt his knees press to his chest, felt how his whole body felt hot and tingly. His cock ached, he needed. Needed. "Derek," he rasped out. "Derek. Please." He was John Connor. He knew what he needed. He knew what he wanted. "Derek."
It was the most beautiful sound, the way John said his name in that throaty whisper. It made Derek shudder and then even as he rimmed him, he kicked off his shoes, releasing him to turn to his side to unclasp his jeans and slide them off, kicking them until they slid off the side of the bed and to the floor. Free from clothes, he put all his attention to what he was doing, pushing his tongue in slowly, humming as he felt the tight ring of skin give.
"Ah, God." John groaned, head back, heels digging into the bed, hands again kneading Derek's scalp. He forced his head up to look down, to confirm it was real, to confirm that this was just what he was seeing and feeling. Derek, here, with him. His cock jerked and leaked against his body.
Fuck, yeah, he was real and after finding out he was dead, well, that only made him want to feel alive -- here, now -- in this place -- he was god damned fucking ALIVE. And what better way to keep on living than this? With John. Pulling all these sounds from him, knowing Derek was doing that to the younger man. He kept fucking him with his tongue, hand curling around his cock and stroking as he licked and thrust his tongue in his hole. Yeah. Open up for me.
After a few moments, John quivered, shook, the muscles of his legs corded and tight, his cock leaking and leaving a trail of pre-come on his skin. He was practically keening Derek's name, head back, eyes slitted. No one else. No one else could do this. John didn't want anyone else to do this. Just Derek.
Beyond John's trembling Derek could feel him loosening up and it made him even harder than he already was. Yeah. Dying in their world meant he needed to live more -- here. Right now. Oh, he still had his work cut out for him with training John -- getting him ready -- but that could wait. Oh, yes, it could wait. Derek finally released him and crawled over John slowly, still kissing his belly, his chest and then lingering at the side of his neck -- a particularly sensitive spot he remembered. "Open your eyes," he told John who was looking at him with a hooded gaze, he wanted John to look at him--. See? He was alive and Derek had no plans of dying here anytime soon.
Forcing them open, John stared up at Derek, taking him in. He'd thought, he'd been convinced that he'd never see him again and the idea still ripped at his heart, leaving him breathless and clinging. "I see you," he whispered. "Derek..." He needed to feel too. To be alive here, too, after being half-dead.
Derek nodded, smiling slightly, a bit sad because in the back of his mind he kept thinking that in the world they left, he would no longer be there to protect John -- John who was all he had. "I'm here," he said finally, pulling enough away to spit in his hand. He slicked the head of his cock and stroked it a few times before nudging at John's hole, not pushing in just yet. Derek only looked at him, free hand touching his face, taking him in as well. "You're mine, right? Here--? You're mine..." Derek began to push, slowly, groaning softly, eyes never leaving John's face.
"Yessss...." Trailing off at that fullness. How long had it been? Over a year back in LA, less than a week, though, here, John didn't know and he didn't care. They were here now and he was Derek's. And Derek was his. The bed squeaked, just like it had. John held Derek's face in his hands and he didn't look away.
He stared right back, even as his lips parted and he breathed harshly, even as he pushed all the way to the hilt until he could feel the back of John's thighs against his hips. Derek stayed there; he smiled, and then dipped his head to take John's mouth in his, kissing him slowly, taking his time. That was what they had here now -- Time.
Arms around his neck again, John kissed back just as deeply. That smile. He'd dreamt of that smile. Derek's stubble burned his face and he didn't care. The tightness and fullness he was getting used to again and he groaned. All of it. Derek might have died for John, but here, in Hauvratat, he was alive, warm and in John's arms.
They were both alive, both here and both feeling. Derek slid out slowly and the feel of it was too fucking overwhelming that he moaned with it, eyes shutting tight even if he didn't want them to. "Fuck," came out in a whisper, his voice shaky, and then Derek pushed back in, starting a slow pace, wanting it to stay that way, reveling in them feeling each other.
Pulling him down, John kissed him, moaning into the kiss and closing his eyes too, breathing Derek's breath, holding on, hooking his heels behind Derek's hips. How good it felt was almost fierce, almost too much. He had to stifle himself, breathing shallowly, helplessly.
It was like torture, the slow way he pushed in, slid out, sink in, pull out, but each thrust Derek could feel all throughout his body. The heat was amazing, the tightness and he had to blink his eyes open to make sure it was really and truly real. "John--" His voice was gruff, a rasp, "Fuck, baby." Yes, baby. Fuck he missed this. It seemed like such a long time ago since they'd been together this way. Derek moved just enough to put a bit of space between them and then he wrapped a large, calloused hand around John's length, stroking him, wanting his lover to fall apart, to come, to sink into the sensations -- for them both to lose themselves in each other.
Tight and hot, too much. Too much. John was close to coming already and he gritted his teeth to keep it back. His muscles tightened all over and he held on, just focusing on how it felt with Derek sliding in out of him like this. Just like this. It was perfect.
Derek was close, too, and he knew he couldn't last any longer than he wanted to. He upped the pace, fucking John roughly, faster, shoving his cock in deeper. "Come with me," he groused, eyes on John, not leaving that face, those eyes, reading into them, his own communicating wordlessly, telling John how much he wanted this, needed this -- how much he loved him, missed him -- needed him. Harder thrusts, faster still, and Derek's hand moved with more urgency over John's length, twisting his wrist, intent on making the boy fall apart for him again, and later, again, and he had no intention of stopping until they were both exhausted. The talking -- that they could do later. A lot later.
"Ah -- God! -- Derek!" Even if John wanted to hold back now, he couldn't. His orgasm came steam-rolling out of him and he scratched down Derek's arm as his body went stiff and he felt himself turned inside out. Oh, God, it was intense. More intense than anything he'd experienced when he was back. His breath came in heaving gasps and he was rocked with aftershock after aftershock.
John clenching around him pulled Derek's orgasm out, grunting each time his cock pulsed deep inside, spilling warm and wet and it felt like it would never end. Derek kept moving, kept the tugging at John's cock, kept thrusting, narrowed eyes looking down at John -- he was beautiful -- and he was too fucking glad they're both alive. "Fuck." He felt it all. Each movement, each touch and scratch and bite, each kiss, everything -- it was like it was all heightened and it made Derek moan, still deep inside John even as his cock stopped spurting and throbbing already. "I love you. Fuck, I love you..."
Derek had been so reluctant to say that before. You and me; we're all he has John had said to Derek. Now he and Kyle. This was better; it had to be, for Derek. This, being here. "I love you, too," John whispered back, holding him so tightly as if to let go might mean he'd break. "I love you."
His head rested on John's shoulder, then, soon as he stopped pulsing and trembling. Still hard up for breath he stayed there, feeling the slick of sweat between them, the warmth of their breaths, his length softening still inside John.
John. God. Derek had John in his arms, underneath him and remembering when John had disappeared and Derek could still feel the ache that day that they were pulled so viciously apart. Once more, his voice low, quiet, gravelly, "I love you," right by John's ear.
"I know." Arms around Derek's neck, hands cradling his head, protecting him, John smiled, a small smile. All of what had happened, away, still sat between them. Jesse and Riley and Charley and Derek's death, what he did with Harry, all of that, that all still sat between them, made the air heavier around them. But for the moment, he cast that off and held Derek tighter. "I love you, too."
continued here