A/N: Prepare yourselves for the oneshots(one of them might actually -probably- become a verse'). For those following my other stories I'm sorry about the lack of updates and I'm trying to get right on that. I won't get into my major angst, hows about a peace offering though? Eh, eh?
Comment, maybe?
(See end for more notes)
He imagines that his penchant for broken things is the same is his penchant for saving things. And nothing in relation to the broken thing he has become accustomed to being.
This thing he's doing though, trying to fix him. He's not sure it's working out the way he hoped, because the closer he gets to this jaded man the more he feels his edges fray and his tightly knitted conscience fall apart. Fall apart at the hands of this man who seems to know him better than he knows himself, and is always picking, picking, picking at his lies. Always picking them apart and leaving him exposed.
It makes him shake and shudder, makes him silence and makes him scared. He has never felt a fear like this in his life, and he will never feel the bliss of ignorance again. There's a saying for this, something simple and smooth on the tongue. Something he brushed off to many times to take seriously. Curiosity killed the cat.
He's never felt this alive.
He's sure if his heart beats any faster it will fall out of his chest.
Stiles isn't a fool, he knows how he got to this place, in the position. Knows physical steps and the not so thought out mistakes he made that ended him up in bed with this beast, bathed in moonlight and nude as the day he was born. He can feel the chapped lips against his skin, feel him pressing into Stiles so tightly, chest to chest, that it's hard to separate their heart beats.
Loud staccato's chasing each other like feet against hard packed forest floors. He imagines them chasing each other between the tree's. Running between tall pines in shaded sunlight, barefooted and breathless with light chest and unburdened shoulders. The vision is so far out though, it's so impossible Stiles won't even chase it. Knows that even without tragedy they would need the freedom of being simply not being human to accomplish that sort of thing.
His chest feels heavy again. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, he was supposed to pull Derek out of the black hole he was being sucked into. Not fall into his own.
His breathing pattern consist of short stutters and gasp, his fingers are twined in Derek's thick mane. These touches, meant to distract, only pull him further in. Stiles has reached the point where these touches only make him worry more, make him more afraid.
He didn't know, how could he know?
How could he know that this mans love, this mans heart, pressed into his chest and beating against his own, would be so heavy. How could he know that this man's adoration and devotion would be the thing to make him finally collapse. How could Stiles possibly know that Derek would see right through him, would see right through this mesh armor he'd pull over himself, and would not only find a chink but a loose end.
That he would tug and that Stiles would fall apart.
Where would would he even find the courage and the heart between then and now to admit to himself that rather than shield himself with industrialist metal he'd covered himself with a threaded brown sack in it's stead. Course and tightly woven, but a thread none the less, and useless when not sewn correctly.
Or when shredded open.
Stiles isn't sure which is the cause of his ultimate demise.
All he knows is right now his heart is not on his sleeve but cradled in this mans calloused palm, and that he has never felt a fear like this in his life.
He's so attached, to this emotion, so intense, so pure, that he's not sure what he would do with himself it he had to let it go. He has not felt so honest in such a long time, since he started lying to his father and his counselor, then Scott, and Mrs. McCall. Hasn't felt so exposed since his mother died and took his courage with her.
Derek takes that option from him though, takes away the chance to panic. He strips Stiles bare and doesn't even ask permission, he demands it. He demands his honesty and only his truest self, then and only then will he give himself to Stiles.
And Stiles takes Derek with fumbling hands and cradles him close, presses him into his chest to staunch the bleeding from his his open wounds.
With Derek all his wounds are open.
And he refuses to cover them, refuses to stop them up minutely, insist on sitting back and watching them bleed. Tells Stiles that they will scab over, takes the leap away from Stiles. He will never need courage when there's Derek there to throw him in and demand that he either sink or swim, insist that hugging the shore is no longer acceptable.
Once upon a time that wasn't even an option though, years ago when he was younger, when everyone was alive and nothing hurt. He would have dug up his mothers corpse before he let his courage decompose and fade away with her remains.
He had dreams about it to, convinced himself they were nightmares and not some sort of subconscious message. God forbid he actually move on from this woman's death, it was a reality check, something he cannot allow to heal lest he forget.
Being with this man in a way is worse than the teasing dreams of freedom and innocence. Because with every moment he breaths with him, every word that is spoken between the two, every touch and every truth, he is brought closer to someone, closer to a person than he has been in such a long time. And leaving him to return to the world he has built around himself is always makes him sad.
Makes him sort of desperate with the need to drag this thing with him, their thing, their honesty and openness, he wants to bring into the world with him. Leaving it with Derek (even if to return at a later time) is like waking from a dream, like seeing angels and leaving without them. He wants to drag them into the world with him. But has to catch the dream to do so first though.
Derek guiding him into the bed, laying him down and spreading him open. Stealing his breaths and pushing his mouth onto him, reading things against his lips Stiles wouldn't dare to say out loud. Stiles doesn't think Derek is trying to fix him by breaking his streak of dishonesty, just that he refuses to accept any lies in a relationship any longer. Stiles knows that some woman's lies fucked Derek years ago, knows that sort of thing will put a man off.
He settles with the idea that his truths settle Derek, where his anger cannot. That they soothe his angry wounds, he can accept that these actions are simply Derek being broken.
He can breath easy.
Until Derek pulls another honesty from his mouth, than he's in another fit of panic.
A/N: So I went back later and noticed some epic grammar/writing fails and decided rather than sleep and wallow in my pit of shame to edit this and start another one shot I got an idea for( hint: there will be angst, all the upcoming one shots will have angst xD). Seriously though this is why you don't write at four in the morning and then just post without looking it over.
On other subjects the title for this fic and some references in the story come from a song(which I highly recommend) called Angels by the xx. It served as a large inspiration for this fic. Thanks for reading and drop me a line if your an epic fangirl(or boy) flailing over TW is 10x more fun with others
- Cher
