lashings | cora + derek.

cora + derek.

[ it starts in their bathroom. ]

[ derek doesn't jerk off much, and when he does, he doesn't use his hands. it's too — he doesn't like it, doesn't want to be touched, even by himself. he presses his dick between his thighs as he lays on his stomach and squeezes 'til it pops, or mounts the corner of his bed, fucks a pillow with gritted teeth. once he stole cora's vibrator, sniffing it out in her little bedroom, mouth going wet with the scent of it. ]

[ this time it's in the shower, eyes closed as he holds the detachable shower head over his groin, feet shifting apart a little so he can aim the hard spray behind his balls, then back to his dick again. the water is scalding, firm as a physical touch, and derek breathes hard, leans his forehead against the cool tile and closes his eyes, giving into the sensation. ]

[ he doesn't hear the bathroom door. but he hears cora's heartbeat pick up, scents her, and even as he turns with a slack mouth to see her standing there, he comes, streaking his hand and the shower head and the wall with creamy ropes. ]

Shit.

[ he whispers, stares at her, dazed, chest heaving and flushed from neck to navel, not sure what to do or say. he's humiliated, but he associates that with sex. ]

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[ derek's scent is equal parts sex and shame, his heartbeat thunderous. he wants to say that it's not what it looked like, but it's exactly what it looked like. he doesn't really have anything to say. ]

[ at least this time he's dressed, and he can abandon the laundry: and does, making to shoulder past her, go shut himself in his room. ]

I'll finish this later.

What, because you'd rather finish that first?

[ she lets him past her, but since cora can't seem to leave anything well enough alone (she doesn't let go; it's a flaw those who don't have much acquire, they hold on to everything they do have, be remaining family or humiliation experiences or unfortunate conversations) and follows him. ]

[ she stalks after him, right up to his bedroom, and he turns in his doorway to glare at her despite the fact that he'd ignored her sharp comment. ]

Go away.

[ because — yeah, actually, he's like to rub off on something, or else have a cold shower, and it's none of her business which. ]

[ she follows him closely — too closely, perhaps, because he rounds on her and they're nose to chin (which is decidedly too close) and cora has to take a step back. not too far, of course; she gets a hand on the door frame so if he was to slam the door, he'd crack a few of her fingers.

a deep frown graces her features; bitter and angry because he's pushing her away when all she wants — ] I just want to help, Derek!

[ he wants to say that he doesn't need help, but he doesn't like lying to her. and he's — he's in a certain state of mind right now, that means all he can think about is the ways in which she might assist him. ]

You said it yourself, it's normal.

[ probably wanting to fuck your little sister isn't normal, but the pack lines are blurry in derek's head and something about her scent, female and familiar, always screams mate rather than family to him. ]

[ he's right. she'd insisted it was normal, that he should be fine doing it; should feel fine doing it, and not embarrassed or anything if anyone else knew. mortification and shame that she could have sworn was supposed to be indignity and anger make her think he hasn't truly taken her words to heart. so she stays. perhaps under the allusion that she wants to help; that she can help in some way. and not just that she's stubborn and wants to be near him. ]

Yeah, it's normal when you're not humping a dryer. Or when you buy your own sex toys. [ that might be a pointed jab, and the flash of petulant frustration may display that she hasn't had the chance to get off properly since he stole it. but that doesn't matter, right? because she's being selfless, right? and helpful. yeah! ]

What are you not telling me?

[ that little comment just makes derek more embarrassed, and he turns away from her, but doesn't try and stop her from following him into the room, thinks it's pointless to slam the door. if he really wants her out, he'll literally throw her out, but it hasn't quite come to that yet. he's just agitated. maybe he should have gone out the front door instead of into the enclosed space of his bedroom. ]

I don't like touching it.

[ he admits to the wall, shoulders a tense line. ]

I have to find... other things.

[ and he knows that's weird, thanks. repressed, even. at least he's masturbating at all, right? ]

[ that...may have not been exactly what she was expecting. she didn't know what she was expecting, but that was not in. though perhaps in hindsight it could have been deduced. shower head, laundry machine, vibrator... his strange masturbatory habits make more sense now with that little bit of information. she just doesn't know...why.

well, obviously the why has something to do with intense sexual repression. she'd totally called it. but childish i told you so's could wait until later.

cora's brow knits and she purses her lips as silent confusion washes over her features. ]

That's... [ weird. ] Why?

[ derek shrugs, self-conscious. he can hear the bemusement in her tone, reads it as judgement. ]

I just don't.

[ he folds his arms, tries to ignore his dick. ]

Now could you get out?

That's not an answer, [ she pushes cheekily, even as he demands as leave again. they're of the same mind; in agreement that if he really wanted her gone, he'd remove her bodily. and she'd struggle and scratch and her eyes would flash beta yellow, but then she'd leave because that'd be a sure sign he didn't want her there. until then he might still subconsciously want her company — want someone to talk to, someone to yell at him, or comfort him, or whatever he needed. help him. help him.

they're not the palest complexioned family, and any blush she has barely colors her ears. ]

Do you like it better when other people touch it?

[ he can't believe they're talking about this, scrubs a hand over his face while he tries to come to terms with it. ]

Yes.

[ he admits, because the sensation of a hand on his cock is a good one, just not something he likes to replicate himself. ]

[ she's admittedly confused. she does not share his complex and does not know how deep it goes, nor can she hazard guesses as to how it manifested. she could probably ask how he feels about it, but no longer trusts him to be honest with her. she is not impressed with his emotional constipation, either, but has gotten over most of her disappointment with her brother at this point and is looking to accept him on a more personal level. a family one.

though maybe not the conventional family way. not judging by how her mouth goes a little dry and she must put conscious effort into making her tone businesslike. ]

Is that what you need?

[ something small shifts in their conversation here; a weight settles into her words and blankets her chest like heavy anticipation. ]

[ derek turns then, looks at her, startled and vulnerable like he was when she first walked in on him. ]

You're my sister.

[ he points out, which is nowhere near a no. but he can tell what she's offering, can hear it in her tone and the way her heartbeat speeds up. his own is matching it, and he clenches and unclenches his hands. ]

I can take care of it, Cora.

By fucking a pillow? [ it's half taunt, half defensive because that sounds a lot like the beginning of a rejection that he doesn't mean and is just going to end up hurting both of their feelings. he's thrown sister at her, and she throws pillow fucker right back, but it's not hard to determine which one of those is less socially acceptable.

she's too graceful to scramble, even conversationally. but there's something of a backtrack. ] I know you can. I was just asking if you... — wanted to. It's different.

[ of course he does. but what derek wants doesn't really matter much to derek. ]

Do you want to?

[ it's an intense question. he has no idea why she would — can't ascribe the motivations to her that he would someone else, someone not pack. if she was a stranger he'd think she wanted to use him, or was attracted to his looks, both of which are turn-offs. but cora just... wants to be in his space. wants to help. he remembers the way she'd stared at him. ]

I'd rather touch you.

[ he admits. somehow that seems a little less worse to him. the idea of pleasuring her, cora praising him, his dick incidental and neglected. ]

[ she just wants to help; to help and be close and touch (she always wants to touch in one way or another now a days; this is just a different sort of touch). and this was one way to get that. his question is more weighted than hers, and cora stares him in the eye for a good long time before nodding.

belatedly, she realizes she's agreed, and is in this now, and doesn't think him far enough out of denial or whatever river he was swimming in to move it much past talk; to make an actual move. so she does.

the shirt she'd wanted laundered was still wet and dirty, and it's a relief to strip it off over her head with a perfunctional, business air about her movements. they're quick, a little nervous, and in a second her shirt is crumpled on the floor. beneath she's a thin, plain grey bra, and without the hem of the tee-shirt obscuring the view, he can see just how low on her hips her sweatpants ride. it's suddenly cold in the room, and she stands up straighter in response to the chill. ] It can go both ways, [ she announced boldly. the reality if what they're thinking of doing is setting in, and her pupils dilate in arousal, and her nipples threaten to perk through the material of her bra. excitement thrums in her veins, intensified in knowing it's not supposed to be there. ] It's supposed to.

Okay.

[ derek takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring with it. this is cora. he'd do anything for cora, and she him. there's nothing to fear here. ]

[ she might have thought he wasn't capable of action, but derek wants this, a sensation that's so unfamiliar to him that it pushes thoughts aside. he reaches up, almost clinical, and covers her breasts with both hands. there's something dispassionate about it, like a breast exam: he squeezes the nipples with his palms, massages them a little, watching her unblinkingly. ]

[ then his hands slide down to her hips, and he picks her up and half throws her on the bed, chasing immediately after her, quiet and intent on getting the rest of her clothes off. ]

[ it's not exactly sexy, but it's arousing. he's touching her and it's exciting, but not sexy. it's actually a little strange, especially when she keeps firm, steady eye contact with him. she sets her lips in a thin line to keep wheedling second doubts at bay (her conscious was tiny and quiet, but there even if she'd made up her mind), but that also suffocates any encouraging noises or wanton moans. the palpable prickles of anticipation that run across her skin would have to be enough; the way her nipples perk at the slightest contact, and the heavy thrum of her heart beneath his hand would have to be enough.

and he seems to take a cue just fine.

there's a sharp intake of breath and disgruntled grunt when she hits the mattress. cora twists and lands strangely, half on her stomach and half on her side, but bounces and recovers quickly enough. quickly enough to sit up and glare at him.

he's on her just as quickly, looming and curling his fingers in the waist of her sweats and tugging them off her hips. cora has absolutely no qualms with being naked. she took after their mother in that respect; had been incredibly stubborn about it as a younger child, and now doesn't mind that he strips her first. she, in turn, busies herself with kicking her legs out of her pants and siting up; sliding her hand across the very unsubtle bulge in his pants. she doesn't mind being naked, but wants to see and touch (so much touch) him too; likes the idea of pressing her shoulder blades to his chest, of running her hands along his side, too. so she makes a thin threat to his clothing. ]

If you don't take off your shirt, I'm going to shred it.

[ derek reaches behind his neck, grabs his shirt from between his shoulder-blades, and pulls it over his head without a word. he's only compliant because he doesn't have that many shirts — he tosses this one over the side of the bed, out of harm's way, and returns to his objective. ]

[ he's never done this with another werewolf, and it's nice not to have to worry about hurting her as he puts a hand on either thigh and tugs them open. he dips and nuzzles the inside of her thigh, where fine, baby-soft gold hairs brush his lips. he snuffles his way upwards, pretty intent — derek's working on instinct, here, because if he lets himself think he's going to start being disgusted with himself. ]

[ maybe it's too fast, but this is how he'd been taught sex goes: kate had trained him to be good with his mouth and fingers, to drop to his knees the moment they were alone, to eat her out before he was allowed inside her. he had to jerk himself ready while he was down there. it's as normal a start to derek as a kiss would be to others. so he presses his nose into cora's downy pubes, breathes in the mate-pack-woman good smell of her. other lovers had been turned off by how much more important smell and taste were to derek than sight and touch, but cora's a werewolf, she'll understand that he just wants to take a moment to breathe her in. ]

I've thought about this.

[ he admits, voice muffled and guilty, eyes closed. ]

[ she can't get her hand in his pants from up here, and resents him something for that. instead she contents herself with touching herself; running fingertips across her stomach and running circles around her nipples tauntingly. it's like what she would do when she was by herself, but now she's got the lovely opportunity to stare down her body and see his settled between her legs.

it's lovely; it's erotic and (bad which makes it) good, and she's wet by the time he buries his face in her pelvic mound. her hips hitch weakly. she wants to ride his face, but he speaking, and like an immoral priest, she's here to take his confession.

i've thought about this.

and maybe...not absolve him of his sins. maybe just join him in them, because she's had unwanted late night thoughts. she'd considered them along the same vein of intrusive thoughts that had her thinking about dropping babies whenever she held them, or driving along the sidewalk. if i did that i could kill all those people. derek had big arms, he could probably hold me against a wall. and intrusive or not, it'd be a lie to say she hadn't gotten off on them once or twice. not that he needs to know that, exactly. ]

Like in the shower? [ she ventures, and the hand that's not braced on the mattress reaches down to card through his hair. ]

Mm.

[ it's sort of agreement. he hadn't thought of this in the shower specifically, or not until he'd turned and saw her there. it had been when he'd stolen her vibrator, breathed it in before he'd touched it to his dick, imagining what it would be like to get his face in her. the answer is: overwhelming. it's insane how good and safe he feels, especially when she pets his hair. ]

[ he slides his hands up and down her inner thighs, soothing the muscles, relaxing them so he can spread her legs further. and then his hands stop at the top, framing her pussy, before he uses his thumbs to gently ease her folds apart. she's beautiful here, but she's a hale: she's beautiful everywhere. ]

[ he considers asking permission, and then doesn't, just leans in and seals his mouth to her cunt, lapping softly. ]

[ he finally gets his mouth on her, and it's a flood. not a literal one, though she's definitely wet, but one of sensation and general relief. the sexual tension that had been amassing between them in the last few minutes (longer than that, cora realizes. way longer) is manifesting in gentle suction and the rasp of his tongue along her sex, sending shivers every which way through her nervous system every time he comes anywhere near her clit.

she's sensitive. hyperaware. and all that careful work he'd put into spreading her legs was useless because she draws them right back in around his ears. what sounds like it could be a moan is strangled in the back of her mouth as her throat constricts, and that hand in his hair ends up pulling at his hair before she realizes what she's doing.

there's nothing keeping her from grinding against his face now, and cora finds if he lays back on the bed, arches her back just so, and rolls her hips in small undulations, she can rock to his pace without completely setting it, and without completely smothering him. ]

[ for someone supposedly so repressed, derek's good at this. he just about worships her: spends a long time overstimulating her clit and then returns to everywhere else, stubble scraping against her thighs as he puts his whole face to work. ]

[ she starts to grind and derek lets her, though a part of him wants her to pull harder, squeeze tighter, fuck over his face so he can't breathe, leave him claimed by her sticky juices. ]

[ that thought's so appealing that he stops tonguing down towards her asshole and pulls back. he looks wrecked already and his dick's barely been touched. ]

You on top.

[ he rolls onto his back on the bed, reaches down to adjust his dick in his jeans without actually opening them. his eyes are closed again, tongue tracing the smear of her come on his lower lip, chasing her taste. ]

[ she'd been edging toward coming under his ministrations - coming quick and hard and fast and way, way too soon for her liking, so perhaps it's a good thing he stops and urges her to sit on his face instead. there's a brief moment of confusion, her tongue dry from all that heavy mouth breathing that bordered on moaning, and the disoriented what that was half formed by her lips dies in her throat. she counts that as a good thing, though; she knows what she's doing and wouldn't have him think otherwise, wouldn't have a brief moment set the tone for this evening.

he rolls over and after taking a brief moment to get her bearings, cora sits up as well.

though...

derek should have guessed by now that she's not the best at doing what she's told. not even very good at taking suggestions, and while he's eager to get his mouth on her again, she's torturously slow. and equally taste oriented. and while she's not fond of her own taste, she thinks she could like it mingled with his. so she takes her sweet time, and looms over him to place a swift but heavy kiss on his lips.

then she acquiesces; moves up his body to get her knees on either side of his face again. ]

[ she kisses him, and it shocks the breath out of him for a moment. his mouth turns unhappy under hers, even if the knowledge that she's lapping herself from his mouth makes his dick twitch. they shouldn't kiss. she's his sister. they're just helping each other out right now (or that's the excuse he's using as he puts strong hands on her thighs and tugs her exactly where he wants her.) they shouldn't kiss. ]

[ after about five seconds he pushes her up. ]

Turn around.

[ and when she's settled again, the other way around, it's easier for him to nose into her folds, hold his tongue out for her to grind the wet throb of her clit onto. he groans, a deep, growling rumble, and lets go of her ass to unzip his jeans, lift his hips, kick them off. ]

[ she'd got an eyeful before, but here it is again. he's no less ashamed of having a hard-on in front of his sister, heavy flesh smacking back into the curve of his hip as he frees it, but he needed out of the painfully tight constriction of his jeans. he doesn't touch it, though, just lets it dribble clear precome over his skin as he returns his hands, and his focus, to her. ]

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