Felicity Smoak + her boys





devildoll:

I could put him up against the door and blow him, Derek thought idly, while Stiles sprawled open-legged in his desk chair, gnawing on a marker while the bestiary’s search engine slowly crawled along.
Kiss him a little first, because his mouth was a thing of beauty. Open his pants with one hand while he held the back of Stiles’ neck with the other and fucked his mouth with his tongue. Look him in the eye when he slid to his knees, so he could see the look on Stiles’ face when he figured out what Derek was going to do. Tease him a little first, slowly tasting him before getting serious about it. Just suck on the head for a minute, because it would feel so smooth and hot and right in his mouth, and then start moving up and down, take as much as he can, which is usually a lot. Maybe all of it, depending on how big Stiles is.
Hold him by the base, tease his balls with his fingers, maybe tease him a little further back, see if that’s a possibility later. It’s a safe bet no one’s ever done any of that before; Stiles is pretty vocal in his complaints that he never gets any action. Derek would be the first person to put their mouth on him, to make him come, to make him give up control of his orgasm to another person, helpless to speed it up or slow it down, just stand there on shaky knees and give into it.
Stiles would probably be really responsive, dig his hands into Derek’s hair, tip his head back and moan, just wallow in it. Derek would probably have to hold his hips, maybe even reach up, at the end, and put his hand over Stiles’ mouth to stifle the sounds he made when he came. Derek would be the first person to know what Stiles tastes like when he gives it all up.
The grating screech and clack of Stiles’ printer drags Derek back to reality. He’s hard now, throbbing, hot and damp inside his jeans. Stiles has no idea.
“Here you go,” Stiles says, reaching to hand Derek a thin stack of papers. The movement shows Derek a long, pale stretch of skin from his ear to his collarbones, the bump of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. “Need anything else?”
Derek takes the papers and slowly folds them into thirds and then shoves them in the inside pocket of his jacket. When he stands up, he doesn’t miss the way Stiles’ eyes snag on the crotch of his jeans before darting away, not for the first time.
“Not right now,” Derek says. “Thanks. See you later.”
“Yeah, later,” Stiles says, already turning back to his computer.
Later.

devildoll:

I could put him up against the door and blow him, Derek thought idly, while Stiles sprawled open-legged in his desk chair, gnawing on a marker while the bestiary’s search engine slowly crawled along.

Kiss him a little first, because his mouth was a thing of beauty. Open his pants with one hand while he held the back of Stiles’ neck with the other and fucked his mouth with his tongue. Look him in the eye when he slid to his knees, so he could see the look on Stiles’ face when he figured out what Derek was going to do. Tease him a little first, slowly tasting him before getting serious about it. Just suck on the head for a minute, because it would feel so smooth and hot and right in his mouth, and then start moving up and down, take as much as he can, which is usually a lot. Maybe all of it, depending on how big Stiles is.

Hold him by the base, tease his balls with his fingers, maybe tease him a little further back, see if that’s a possibility later. It’s a safe bet no one’s ever done any of that before; Stiles is pretty vocal in his complaints that he never gets any action. Derek would be the first person to put their mouth on him, to make him come, to make him give up control of his orgasm to another person, helpless to speed it up or slow it down, just stand there on shaky knees and give into it.

Stiles would probably be really responsive, dig his hands into Derek’s hair, tip his head back and moan, just wallow in it. Derek would probably have to hold his hips, maybe even reach up, at the end, and put his hand over Stiles’ mouth to stifle the sounds he made when he came. Derek would be the first person to know what Stiles tastes like when he gives it all up.

The grating screech and clack of Stiles’ printer drags Derek back to reality. He’s hard now, throbbing, hot and damp inside his jeans. Stiles has no idea.

“Here you go,” Stiles says, reaching to hand Derek a thin stack of papers. The movement shows Derek a long, pale stretch of skin from his ear to his collarbones, the bump of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. “Need anything else?”

Derek takes the papers and slowly folds them into thirds and then shoves them in the inside pocket of his jacket. When he stands up, he doesn’t miss the way Stiles’ eyes snag on the crotch of his jeans before darting away, not for the first time.

“Not right now,” Derek says. “Thanks. See you later.”

“Yeah, later,” Stiles says, already turning back to his computer.

Later.



i’m done with teenage boys // i keep an open mind (insp)











andreasanterini:

Matt Bomer / Photographed by Peter Hapak / For Variety Magazine June 2014

andreasanterini:

Matt Bomer / Photographed by Peter Hapak / For Variety Magazine June 2014



The best quality of Hoechlin is the sunshine. 



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