There's a communication here without words. It's an undercurrent of emotion, of movement, of sound and scent. The way that Peter moves, the sounds and little gasping breaths tell him what he wants, what he needs.

He moves into every touch, presses back as Derek presses in, and it's bliss that he can feel, can hear on him. Every shaky move says this is exactly what he wants, this closeness, this connection. Peter belongs to him. It's more than any one thing, more than how he's wet for him, how he curls his fingers tight against his hand, how it's always Derek that he comes to in moments like this. It's everything together, the endless accumulation of it all.

He nuzzles against Peter's neck, nose pressed to his warm skin and breathes him in as he turns his hand to grasp Peter's, tight, reassuring, and he moves. Hips roll at first, slowly rocking, pressing deeper, and then he changes his stance just slightly and he's starting to withdraw and then sink back into him, and it's easy because he's so fucking wet, and a shiver of energy, of desire, of sensation pools inside him and he groans softly against Peter's ear.

"Mine…" he breathes into the delicate shell of his ear. He wants to tell him how good he feels, not just the wet heat wrapped around him, but his firm, lean body beneath his, the way he presses back against him, eager for more. He wants to tell him that he's dreamed of fitting together with someone the way they do, now, that he's been lonely and wanting for all these years, wanting this.

He wants to tell him that he smells like home.

But mine is all he can manage, it's as close as he can get.