Spoilers, ahoy. Yeah, I don't own any characters.
After Stiles and Malia finish making love (he hesitates to call it what it truly was—an impulsive attempt, fueled by a mutual attraction and teenage hormones, to distract themselves from the fact that they are stuck in a nut-house for problems that are completely out of their control), a heavy weight of guilt settles on his stomach. He suddenly finds it harder to breath as he looks down at the girl—vulnerable, he realizes now, and still hurting. And he's just taken advantage of her.
Malia sees his face, and asks, "What's wrong?"
"I just…"
She starts to push him away and sit up, but he stops her with a gentle hand.
"You have places you'd rather be, right? We don't have to do this awkward morning-after bullshit, you clearly aren't feeling it." She says bitingly.
Stiles realizes that she sounds so defensive because she thinks that he's disappointed. "No, no, it was wonderful! More than wonderful, better than I'd ever expected. Not that I expected this to happen or anything, but you were awesome…"
The edge leaves Malia's eyes. "So, what? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I feel bad. We just met yesterday—officially, that is, when you're not covered in fur—and I just took your virginity. This isn't how your first time is supposed to go. You're supposed have a crush and then go on a date and kiss and date for a few months and fall in love, and then do the deed. You just missed out on all the stuff in between."
"I could say the same about you—that was your first time, wasn't it? I doubt this is how you imagined your first time going, either."
Stiles was embarrassed that all of his fantasies involved strawberry blonde curls.
"I'm not your responsibility, Stiles. I wanted this. I asked you for this. You were doing me a favor, and I don't regret a second of last night. I lost so many years, so many firsts, as a coyote, so I'm just playing catch up. Besides, it was a mutually beneficial situation, I think."
"Definitely," he chokes out.
"But this doesn't mean it's ever going to happen again, got it? We're both way to messed up for this to ever work. And I may like you, but I still kind of hate you." And myself. She adds silently. Stiles seems to get the idea, because though he looks weary, he didn't argue.
"Now shut up and put your arm around me." Malia says, adjusting herself so that her back is against Stiles' front (he tries really hard to keep his body under control at this point), and she curls into him.
Cuddling, comfort, whatever they were doing, it didn't really matter. Stiles knew that it was better this way, because deep down, he'd resigned himself to the idea that he might not make it out of this battle with himself alive.
Oh, how he hated the word "self".
