[ there's too much emotion between them, heightened and hard for derek to read. the semi-soft thrums of deadening arousal, the panic that could belong to stiles just as easily as it could to him, the anguish, the fear, the love, the grief that comes from a love going unreturned. derek's head is spinning and it's not easing his heartbeat enough, not making the spark in his eyes die out, not making the brownish-black tips of his claws retreat back into his body. he never gets like this. he shouldn't get like this. he's an alpha, he's a born wolf, he's never so vulnerable and so quick to lose control. he's supposed to be more human. he has to be more human.
stiles tells him to look at him. derek resists, at first, a jarring yank of his neck that pulls his head away from the feather-light kiss of stiles' lips against his eyelid. he keeps his eyes scrunched tight, a dog that's been hit too many times to let humans hand-feed them. he keeps his eyes shut tight, but he doesn't let go of stiles, either, tightening his arm around his waist again, reflexively refusing to lose him, and stiles just... waits. he waits, and when he opens his eyes, stiles is just smiling, soft and faint and calm. derek's eyelids flutter, wanting to close. they don't.
he's teary. the red makes the gloss on his eyes more obvious, the sheen on his waterline lit up with the glow of them. he blinks a few times, tries to feel better, but it doesn't go away, and he takes a few breaths to stay steady. derek focuses on stiles, keeping his eyes open, and he listens. he listens to stiles lie. he listens to stiles pretend that he's a good person, he listens to him fake an apology, he listens to him bring up the things that other people have done as if everything that happened wasn't his fault. he could have saved laura. he could have saved peter. he could have saved so many people who he just let die, instead. ]
I...
[ he trusts stiles. he trusts the beat of stiles' heart, the steady rhythm and the way it jumps and spikes like he's in love and he's emotional and he cares, rather than jumps and spikes because he's a liar. he lays everything on the line, tells derek how he feels, both about him and about them, and derek's not as teary, not so much, not by the end. he's just... he's focused, and he's struggling. "i don't need you to say it back". derek's going to say it back. derek has to say it back.
after all, he loves stiles. of course he is. of course he's in love with stiles. his heart wouldn't break so cleanly in half every time stiles smiled at him if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have kissed him in the barracks, sweaty and scared and safe, if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have knocked over chess tables and gotten angry at elevators and found a reason to live and fight after being stripped of his pack if he wasn't in love with stiles. derek hale is in love with stiles stilinski.
he can pad it out all he like. justify it, explain away his feelings, try to make them smaller. he can say that he's only falling in love with him, as if pretending he's ever been slow to fall in love with someone will be enough to make this feel less heavy. he can say that he's just confused, under the weight of duplicity and the terror of fort harmony, and he can say that after six years of death and grief and loss, he's desperate for affection from whoever's brave enough to share it with him. he can say a lot of things.
but he's in love with stiles. he knows he's in love with stiles.
but.
but he told paige that he loved her, and then she died, skin ripped like paper and covered in foul, diseased blood. she was beautiful and she was kind and she had brown hair and moles, she was sarcastic and funny and intelligent and overlooked. she was warm and nobody knew it, she was attentive and paid attention and nobody knew it, and she was a single human life that was reduced to a carcass of gored meat and emptied flesh. she was brought to a halt by a sickening crunch that derek can still feel in his stomach whenever he hears a sound like breaking bone. she was ruined because of him.
he told kate that he loved her, smoothed back her hair behind her ear, smiled up at her from beneath the pinning weight of her body as she did things to him that were supposed to feel better than they did. she called him handsome, kissed his nose, and she thanked him after they fucked, once, and derek thought she was trying to make his heart skip a beat, trying to tell him she was grateful for their time together, but then he was covered in ash and the cloying, saccharine smell of whatever chemical was used to melt his family was stinging the back of his throat no matter how many times he made himself throw up in the sheriff's bathroom after meeting that sad little kid who lost his mom, and he realized she was thanking him for telling her where he lived. thanking him, so he would always remember he gave her what she needed to kill.
if he tells stiles that he loves him - ]
I don't want you to take it back. I don't want to pretend like you didn't say it.
[ he can't ruin this, too. he can't taste any more bad tastes, hear any more bad sounds. derek's a fucking curse, and he's risking hurting stiles just by being here, just by promising to change. refusing to let stiles go could be what triggers another sour flood of black fluid, or the searing sting of burning skin. telling stiles he loves him is out of the question.
but he can't... lose him. he won't survive another loss. is he selfish enough to let stiles burn, all for the chance of maybe not being alone anymore? how cruel, stiles is, to pin derek between telling him he loves him and letting him die, or telling him he doesn't and ruining what they've started to have. derek looks at stiles, panic a lump in his throat, and all he wants to do is fucking kiss him. ]
And I don't want... to be "friends". I don't want to just be "friends".
[ derek pitches forward, holding stiles close to his lap, and he lowers him back against the bed, pinning him down. he's firm, this time, because he knows that stiles doesn't want to leave, and he knows that he doesn't want to leave, and he just-- they both want to move forward. they both want to be something other than "friends". derek just has to figure out how to make it happen. ]
I...
[ derek sets his hand against stiles' shirt, balling the fabric of it in his fist and holding on tight, grabbing it the way he'd grab someone's shirt when he wants to punch them in the face and knock out their teeth. his hand shakes, but he keeps stiles pinned down, and he drops his other hand down to stiles' cock, slipping past it.
his fingers are still slick with his spit, and derek pushes stiles into the bed as he searchingly touches his middle finger to stiles' hole. he looks at stiles, waiting to be told this is too much, waiting to be told this isn't what stiles wants, waiting to be told that he's ruined this. carefully, he inches his finger forward, stretching the ring of muscle around the very tip of it and slipping inside to the first knuckle. ]
I want there to be an us. Not... "friends".
[ he holds his hand steady, and he leans down, hovering his lips half an inch from stiles'. he wants to be kissed like that again. the teeth on his lips, the love, the emotion. how can he ask stiles to kiss him when he doesn't even have the guts to take the lead and tell him how he feels? this is just like the barracks again - hands roaming over stiles' body, taking what they want to, while his head feels too fucked up by webbed cotton and stale panic and fresh anxiety to say what he needs to say. ]
no subject
stiles tells him to look at him. derek resists, at first, a jarring yank of his neck that pulls his head away from the feather-light kiss of stiles' lips against his eyelid. he keeps his eyes scrunched tight, a dog that's been hit too many times to let humans hand-feed them. he keeps his eyes shut tight, but he doesn't let go of stiles, either, tightening his arm around his waist again, reflexively refusing to lose him, and stiles just... waits. he waits, and when he opens his eyes, stiles is just smiling, soft and faint and calm. derek's eyelids flutter, wanting to close. they don't.
he's teary. the red makes the gloss on his eyes more obvious, the sheen on his waterline lit up with the glow of them. he blinks a few times, tries to feel better, but it doesn't go away, and he takes a few breaths to stay steady. derek focuses on stiles, keeping his eyes open, and he listens. he listens to stiles lie. he listens to stiles pretend that he's a good person, he listens to him fake an apology, he listens to him bring up the things that other people have done as if everything that happened wasn't his fault. he could have saved laura. he could have saved peter. he could have saved so many people who he just let die, instead. ]
I...
[ he trusts stiles. he trusts the beat of stiles' heart, the steady rhythm and the way it jumps and spikes like he's in love and he's emotional and he cares, rather than jumps and spikes because he's a liar. he lays everything on the line, tells derek how he feels, both about him and about them, and derek's not as teary, not so much, not by the end. he's just... he's focused, and he's struggling. "i don't need you to say it back". derek's going to say it back. derek has to say it back.
after all, he loves stiles. of course he is. of course he's in love with stiles. his heart wouldn't break so cleanly in half every time stiles smiled at him if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have kissed him in the barracks, sweaty and scared and safe, if he wasn't in love with him. he wouldn't have knocked over chess tables and gotten angry at elevators and found a reason to live and fight after being stripped of his pack if he wasn't in love with stiles. derek hale is in love with stiles stilinski.
he can pad it out all he like. justify it, explain away his feelings, try to make them smaller. he can say that he's only falling in love with him, as if pretending he's ever been slow to fall in love with someone will be enough to make this feel less heavy. he can say that he's just confused, under the weight of duplicity and the terror of fort harmony, and he can say that after six years of death and grief and loss, he's desperate for affection from whoever's brave enough to share it with him. he can say a lot of things.
but he's in love with stiles. he knows he's in love with stiles.
but.
but he told paige that he loved her, and then she died, skin ripped like paper and covered in foul, diseased blood. she was beautiful and she was kind and she had brown hair and moles, she was sarcastic and funny and intelligent and overlooked. she was warm and nobody knew it, she was attentive and paid attention and nobody knew it, and she was a single human life that was reduced to a carcass of gored meat and emptied flesh. she was brought to a halt by a sickening crunch that derek can still feel in his stomach whenever he hears a sound like breaking bone. she was ruined because of him.
he told kate that he loved her, smoothed back her hair behind her ear, smiled up at her from beneath the pinning weight of her body as she did things to him that were supposed to feel better than they did. she called him handsome, kissed his nose, and she thanked him after they fucked, once, and derek thought she was trying to make his heart skip a beat, trying to tell him she was grateful for their time together, but then he was covered in ash and the cloying, saccharine smell of whatever chemical was used to melt his family was stinging the back of his throat no matter how many times he made himself throw up in the sheriff's bathroom after meeting that sad little kid who lost his mom, and he realized she was thanking him for telling her where he lived. thanking him, so he would always remember he gave her what she needed to kill.
if he tells stiles that he loves him - ]
I don't want you to take it back. I don't want to pretend like you didn't say it.
[ he can't ruin this, too. he can't taste any more bad tastes, hear any more bad sounds. derek's a fucking curse, and he's risking hurting stiles just by being here, just by promising to change. refusing to let stiles go could be what triggers another sour flood of black fluid, or the searing sting of burning skin. telling stiles he loves him is out of the question.
but he can't... lose him. he won't survive another loss. is he selfish enough to let stiles burn, all for the chance of maybe not being alone anymore? how cruel, stiles is, to pin derek between telling him he loves him and letting him die, or telling him he doesn't and ruining what they've started to have. derek looks at stiles, panic a lump in his throat, and all he wants to do is fucking kiss him. ]
And I don't want... to be "friends". I don't want to just be "friends".
[ derek pitches forward, holding stiles close to his lap, and he lowers him back against the bed, pinning him down. he's firm, this time, because he knows that stiles doesn't want to leave, and he knows that he doesn't want to leave, and he just-- they both want to move forward. they both want to be something other than "friends". derek just has to figure out how to make it happen. ]
I...
[ derek sets his hand against stiles' shirt, balling the fabric of it in his fist and holding on tight, grabbing it the way he'd grab someone's shirt when he wants to punch them in the face and knock out their teeth. his hand shakes, but he keeps stiles pinned down, and he drops his other hand down to stiles' cock, slipping past it.
his fingers are still slick with his spit, and derek pushes stiles into the bed as he searchingly touches his middle finger to stiles' hole. he looks at stiles, waiting to be told this is too much, waiting to be told this isn't what stiles wants, waiting to be told that he's ruined this. carefully, he inches his finger forward, stretching the ring of muscle around the very tip of it and slipping inside to the first knuckle. ]
I want there to be an us. Not... "friends".
[ he holds his hand steady, and he leans down, hovering his lips half an inch from stiles'. he wants to be kissed like that again. the teeth on his lips, the love, the emotion. how can he ask stiles to kiss him when he doesn't even have the guts to take the lead and tell him how he feels? this is just like the barracks again - hands roaming over stiles' body, taking what they want to, while his head feels too fucked up by webbed cotton and stale panic and fresh anxiety to say what he needs to say. ]
Please.