A/N: I got into watching Teen Wolf while studying for my finals, go figure. I know not a lot of people are fans of Stalia, but I think they'd make an adorable couple. So enjoy and leave me a review if you liked it!
The summer breeze, caressing Stiles' face, cannot ease his nervousness. Sitting on an old outdoor wooden chair, his hands rub up and down his face, heels digging into his eyes as though trying to wake up. But he is awake, and the overwhelming anxiety is a sign of it. Stiles has never been one to dwell on the past and beat himself up over it, but it's not so easy anymore. People have died; multiple people have been hurt, because of him. So can anyone really blame him for losing his touch?
Can anyone say - and mean it - that it wasn't his fault? Not even a little bit?
The sun is setting now, but Stiles is still morose. Summer vacations are meant to be fun, have always been fun, but not this year. Scott comes by often, always playing it up as though he's okay, but as soon as Stiles brings it up, he shuts down and has to go out for a breather.
But he's getting better. Some days it's hard to tell whether Scott is really doing any convincing, or if he's really okay. And Stiles is glad for it, but he knows he's losing his complete support. Scott doesn't have to feel guilty for anyone's death.
But there's someone who does.
"Nice place you got there," Malia says, walking into the yard through the back door. "But sitting on that chair as an old cripple is really not your style."
Stiles whips his head towards her voice, gulps. "How'd you get in?"
"I know a thing or two about locks," she sighs, walking towards him with casual indifference.
Stiles rolls his eyes, groans. "Ware-coyote things, huh."
She chuckles, leaning on the garden table in front of Stiles, obstructing his view of the sunset. Her face is almost in complete darkness, but her chocolate brown eyes reflect the porch light and shine brightly as they stray on Stile's face. Her fingers tap on the wood absentmindedly.
"You should kiss me," she says, the light reflecting off her white teeth. "I didn't come all the way here to see you sulk."
Stiles gulps, eyes unblinking. Licks his lips and moves forward in his chair to get up, but he's too slow. Malia's hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back down. She throws one leg over his, pulls herself into his lap. Stiles' mouth is wide-open, breath warm and inviting, and his hands come around her waist, pulling her closer until their faces are a mere inch away from one another.
"God," she whispers, clutching his face in her hands, running a finger along his jawline. She smells like sweet musk, alluring but also dominating and Stiles crashes his lips into hers with newly surfaced hunger. Her lips are so soft against his rough and dry ones. He hasn't cared much for proper hygiene recently. Malia doesn't complain though, her hands travelling down his chest, pressing against it as she deepens the kiss, bites on his lower lip seductively.
Stiles pulls away from her swollen lips, kisses down her neck as she throws her head back in satisfaction. His hands caress her silky smooth shoulders, toying with the straps of her tanktop until finally deciding to pull them down. He sucks in air, not expecting to see her breasts, well rounded, covered in gooseflesh, her nipples soft pink and inviting.
"Ummm," he panics, but Malia isn't objecting, her hands preoccupied with unbuttoning his shirt.
"I don't like bras," she whispers sweetly and Stiles takes it as a go ahead to bury his face in her breasts, sucking on one taut nipple while massaging the other with his hand. She stops unbuttoning his shirt; her hands run through his hair, pulling on the ends as she lets out small, breathy moans.
In that moment, Stiles can barely think, can barely form coherent thoughts about anything other than Malia's strong but sensual body, her lips, wet from their kisses hovering above his ear, her hand pulling his shirt off of his shoulders as she scoots closer in his lap and grinds her hips against his throbbing erection. His hands travel up and down her body, her back, his fingertips brushing lightly at her sides where she tapers in and fills out so beautifully. Her breathing is rugged as she places kisses behind his ear, down his strong neck and his shoulder, where the shirt had been yanked off.
Then, when Malia's hands come around to unbutton his jeans, he stops her, pulls her up higher and attempts to get up from the chair. He wants to carry her inside the house, lay her down on his bed, devour every inch of her body by the faint light of his lamp.
"Shit!" Stiles exclaims as his arms give in and Malia slides down a little, laughing at his pitiful attempt to be romantic. "Are you okay?"
She pulls him up by the arm and Stiles wonders whether all ware-coyotes are this strong. Or if it's just Malia, pulling him along to the house through the darkness.
"The room's down that way," he says, pointing down the hallway as she takes a moment to look around. But she doesn't listen, pulls Stiles towards her by wrapping her arms around his neck, and they're at it again, kissing feverishly, hands roaming across naked skin.
She leads him towards the couch, pushes him to lay down on it.
"Dude, not the couch." Stiles says, propping himself up with his elbows. "I watch TV with my dad here, it's just weird."
Malia pouts, running her hands down her breasts, cupping them seductively. His mouth hangs open. "Okay, okay, fine I don't care," he says, "just get back here!"
She straddles him, placing wet kisses down his chest until she reaches the faint trail of coarse hair. Stiles buckles under her as she unbuttons and pulls the pants down to his knees, toying with the band of his boxers until his breathing is uneven and his hands are grasping for anything to hold on to.
Malia grins from behind the veil of light brown hair, tickling his skin as she slides the boxers down, so slowly and so carefully that Stiles hisses with anticipation.
"Oh God," he stammers as she flips her hair back and licks her lips, "oh God!"
Positioning herself in between his legs, she kisses the insides of his thighs, watching his cock jerk the closer she moves towards it. When she envelops him, hard and throbbing, with her mouth, Stiles has to suppress the urge to thrust into her soft lips.
She wraps her hand around the base of his cock, moving it in synch with her mouth, pressing her tongue against the hot flesh, rubbing against it, sucking on the head until Stiles is writhing and babbling incoherently.
"I'm gonna," he attempts, "I'm gonna cum if you don't stop!"
Malia grins, thrusting faster until she can taste the salty sweet of Stiles cum in her mouth, his movements erratic as he rides out the wave of release.
She slides herself back up on top of him, her fingertips trailing on his hairline where beads of sweat have gathered. He leans in to kiss her, tasting himself in her mouth, the kiss slow and lazy, missing that primal hunger from before.
"Was that okay?" Malia asks between kisses, looking at him through her long eyelashes.
"You're kidding right," he says incredulously.
"I've always wanted to try it," she murmurs against his ear and he feels the arousal for her building up again. Who knew he had such a short refractory period?
"There's actually something I've wanted to try as well," Stiles whispers back, sliding from underneath her until she's lying on her back, eyes wide with surprise but the corners of her mouth upturned with delight.