They're both dripping wet from the rain as she pulls him up the stairs. He leans heavily against her, his motions clumsy. Malia ushers him down the hallway until she suddenly hesitates, her feet faltering. She had fled the house in such a rush to find him that she'd left her bedroom door wide open. She stiffens, she doesn't want him to discover what she's been up to. Stiles sways slightly on his feet and Malia readjusts her grip on him.
Gritting her teeth, she drags him quickly past her door hoping that he's too disoriented to notice the investigation web on her wall. At the end of the hall, she flicks on a light and pulls him into the farmhouse's pallid green bathroom. She leaves Stiles leaning against the sink and strides over to bathtub. Shoving aside a garishly coloured shower curtain, she reaches inside, cranking hard on the taps, until with a squeal water spurts from the shower-head. The quiet bathroom is suddenly filled with the steady drum of the shower rushing against the floor of the tub.
Malia turns back to Stiles. He's still shivering but he's managed to straighten up against the sink. He spares a glance across the small distance between them, looking quite uncertain, before dropping his eyes. Malia's throat goes dry, as it occurs to her that the last time they were alone together in this bathroom…it was under markedly different circumstances. Heat flushes across her damp chilled skin, at the memory from earlier this summer. And she's suddenly made painfully aware of how cramped this bathroom actually is.
He's shuddering. His shirt is soaked through, and it clinging to his torso. His messy hair is plastered to his forehead, falling just above his deep brown eyes. He's obviously cold, but for a moment there's a flicker of heat in his eyes as if he's thinking about the same thing she is.
It startles her enough to look away. She forces down the feelings being here with him dredges up, and folds her arms across her chest.
"You're gonna need to lose the clothes, Stilinski," she says, as evenly as possible. Stiles swallows visibly and nods. Bracing his hand on the sink, he toes off his sodden shoes. Before leaning away from the sink and reaching for the top button of his shirt. But his fingers must still be numb because they fumble uselessly on his shirt. She watches him struggle fruitlessly for a moment or two before she moves impatiently into his space.
"Here," she brushes his hands aside, and takes hold of his shirt. She unceremoniously begins unbuttoning it, keeping her hands clinical and efficient. She's helped him take off his shirt hundreds of times before. So, this shouldn't be any different…expect of course all the other times she'd done this she'd been able to look him in the eye.
As the shower runs, steam starts to build up and it slowly fills the bathroom, engulfing them in warmth. Malia can't suppress a shiver as it laps at her skin chasing away the numbness. His eyes dart to her, as a soft sigh falls from her lips. Embarrassed, she bites her lip and squints overly focused on the buttons of his shirt. They're so close that all she can hear is the rush of the shower and his warm ragged breathing. She shifts on her bare feet and avoids the way he's looking at her. When the last button pulls free she steps back in relief, and brushes a hand through her tangled, wet hair.
His shirt dangles open flashing a glimpse of his lean muscles and pale skin. Malia's eyes quickly shift away.
"Th-thanks," he mutters quietly, as he moves stiffly working his shirt the rest of the way off. It slaps down wetly on the green ceramic floor.
He isn't shivering as hard anymore and his breathing has started to even out. But his movements are still a bit disjoined. He shifts away from the sink a little too quickly and ends up staggering forward. Malia's hands shoot out, grasping his shoulders to steady him.
"You alright?" she asks, a little breathless at his sudden proximity. Her thumb unconsciously strokes over the spate of moles that run down his shoulder, realizing her mistake she jerks her hand away and hopes that he's still to numb to have noticed. "You should, uh, hop in the shower and warm up. I'll go find you some dry clothes," she blurts out, drawing back from him.
Stiles blinks, the hazy look in his eyes disappearing, as they sober with concern. "Q-quit worrying 'bout me. Y-you sh-should go d-dry off," he manages to force out.
She waves him off. "I'm fine."
His eyes narrow. "Y-you're sh-shivering."
Malia rolls her eyes at him. "You're one to talk…" she grumbles, stopping short when he tugs a towel down off the towel rack and sloppily draws it around her. The warmth of the towel settles snugly around her shoulders. The sweetness of the gesture and the way he's looking at her only makes her heart ache. So she's quick to put distance back between them. "I'll go get you those clothes now," she rattles off quickly, before fleeing the bathroom.
Sorry for the lag in updates. It's been a busy month and I've had to replace my computer. This is for all you Stalia lovers!