Stiles is loud; he talks and rambles and irks Derek to no end. Even when he’s got Derek’s fingers on his cock and teeth on his throat, he writhes and gasps and moans and his voice echoes in the ramshackle remains of Derek’s home.
Derek’s fingers in his hair, still sticky with Stiles’ come, push him to his knees before Stiles even has a chance to catch his breath. He starts to object, needy little noises, and he’s moaning even as he tears at Derek’s jeans to get his mouth on Derek’s cock.
There’s no room for Stiles to talk when he sucks the head of Derek’s cock into his mouth, barely room to breathe, but for the first time since Derek’s met him, while he eagerly sucks he’s blissfully quiet.