The tension melts from his shoulders bit by bit, under her touch, until finally her hand slips down off his neck. She sucks in a shaky breath as his pain sinks into her skin, she feels a little lightheaded, but does her best not to show it. She steps away, busying her hands with finding medical tape and a fresh pad of gauze. She doesn't allow herself to turn back toward him until her hands are steady. When her eyes land on him she notices that he hasn't moved a muscle, he's still hunched over the sink. His jaw is tense, eyes pointing down, avoiding meeting his own eyes in the mirror.
Malia blows out a breath, frustrated with herself. She should know better than to think she could take away all his pain for a moment. Her power can only relieve physical pain, and this was so much more than that. She can practically feel the anguish when she looks at him. She hates it, she wants to snap at him. To yell at him and shake him, until he talks to her.
He's just too still, too quiet and its unnerving. She wishes he would just snark out something sarcastic. Or that he'd go back to talking a mile a minute, with his hands flailing in every direction. Actually at this point she'd even settle for him just tapping his foot, or fidgeting a little. Because she knows that Stiles, she knows what to do with that Stiles, but she's at a loss for how to deal with the boy standing before her now.
She goes back to the wound on his shoulder. She tries not to breathe through her nose, because though he definitely smells better than when she found him on the bridge, he still reeks of hopelessness and despair. She gently pats the skin around the edges of the wound dry, and feels marginally better now that the wound looks cleaner. She doesn't want to aggravate the wound, so instead of drying it directly she leans in and blows a warm breath over it. Stiles lets out a little gasp and shivers. Malia's eyes dart up and she finds Stiles staring at her in the mirror. He's blushing, and he gives her a little flicker of a smile, as he lifts an eyebrow at her. Triumph, leaps in her chest.
"Sorry," she mutters, not at all feeling remorseful. "I can't put the gauze on till it's dry."
"S'ok," he says, his voice coming out probably a little rougher than he intended, "You just, uh, surprised me."
Malia's ducks her head so he won't see her grin. "It's almost done. Just try and keep still."
Stiles licks his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing before he gives her a nod of consent.
This time when her breath ghosts over his skin, he shifts forward on his feet, and can't suppress a chuckle, "Tickles." He snorts, his tone bouncing with laughter. Her eyes catch his again in the mirror again, and this time there is a faint spark in those big brown eyes. Malia swallows down the lump in her throat. There he is.
His warm brown eyes watching her in the mirror tug her headlong into a memory.
Breathless laughter echoes down the hallway, Malia throws open the bathroom door, sending it thudding against the wall. She rushes for the sink and turns the faucet, and water splashes down into the sink. She's got green paint all down the front of her shirt, and a handprint that stretches down one side of her face. Leaning over the sink, she cups water in her hands and splashes it over her face. Stiles catches up to her, stumbling blindly into the bathroom, paint slathered all over his face. Malia spits out a mouthful of water and snickers at the sight of him.
Blinded by paint, he feels his way along the wall toward her.
"You're so gonna pay for this, Tate!" He mock growls.
Malia playfully nudges him with her shoulder, when he reaches her, "You started it."
"Hey, share." He whines, as he gently elbows his way in front of the sink. Cupping water in his hands he splashes his face repeatedly, and spits the paint from his mouth. When he straightens up, his face is still faintly stained, and watery green droplets drip down off his chin. "Did I get it?"
Malia snorts at him, "Nope, not even a little bit."
"Thanks, Mal, you're so helpful." He quips, playfully flicking water in the direction of her voice. Malia lets out a little yip of surprise as the cool water sprays on her. Stiles smirks, before ducking back over the sink and flushing his face again.
Malia chews on her lip, trying not to laugh at him but he was really making it hard. Shaking her head she decides to take pity on him and snags a facecloth from the towel rack. She gently elbows him out of her way and rinses it with warm water.
"Here, just c'mere." she says, steering him toward her, and cupping the back of his neck. She ruffles the cloth over his forehead, where the paint has started to dry, and carefully works the paint free from where its caked into his eyebrows. Stiles wrinkles his nose, twisting his head away from her, squirming like a child. "You're gonna have to keep still for a minute," she says, her voice still breathless with laughter.
"It's kinda hard to keep still when you're, like, shamWowing my face." He complains, with his eyes still clenched shut.
Malia snickers, "Don't be such a baby, Stiles." Before letting go of him and rinsing out the cloth in the sink.
She rolls her eyes as Stiles grumbles, under his breath. "Not a baby…Pfft—werecoyotes."
Ringing out the cloth, she turns back to him. Reaching up she gently cups the nape of his neck again, gently angling his head toward her.
"You gonna keep still this time?" She teases.
"I dunno, you gonna be gentle?" He fires back, arching an eyebrow at her suspiciously.
Even though his eyes are closed, Malia can't resist flashing him a wicked grin. "Probably not," she admits.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, despite himself. Then with a long-suffering sigh he rolls his shoulders. "O.K. Then, do you worst." His fingers start drumming on his thigh in his effort to keep still.
Malia bites her bottom lip, shaking her head at him. Despite all her teasing, she's gentler, this time. She softly dabs the washcloth around his eyes, delicately sweeping over the skin beneath his eyelids, and wetting his eyelashes. Before tenderly running it over his eyelids. She grins as his pale skin and dark moles start to emerge beneath the earthy green paint.
She rinses her cloth again, ringing it out slowly. When she turns back to him and lifts the cloth to his face she realizes that his eyes are still closed. And at some point, she's not sure when, he'd stopped drumming his fingers. She tilts her head, listening. His breathing is slow and deep, relaxed. Something peaceful and incredibly satisfying settles around her shoulders.
She slowly trails the cloth down one side of his jaw, then the other. She can't help letting her fingers lightly trace over the newly revealed skin, her thumb following the spate of moles that run along the side of his face. Then as if remembering herself, she pulls her hand away, and quickly ruffles the cloth down his face, tickling his nose. Stiles guffaws and swats the cloth away from his face.
His eyes flutter open, his eyelashes dark and shiny, his big brown eyes warm with laughter.
Malia teases, "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
Stiles narrows his eyes at her, playfully before hooking an arm around her waist, and tugging the washcloth from her grasp.
"Stiles! Don't you even think about—" Her last words were muffled by the washcloth as Stiles ran it none too gently down her face. He grinned, dropping the washcloth and backing up, holding up his hands in a surrendering fashion.
Stiles smirked down at her, "Now we're even."
Malia shoved him good-naturedly.
"What?" He chuckled, catching her hands, "You had something on your face?" Malia tugs her hands free and jabs her fingers into his sides, her fingers dancing along his ribs. Stiles throws his head back, laughing, as he tries to twist away from her hands. But Malia backs him into the wall tickling him mercilessly, until he's a mess of strangled laughter.
"Truce!" he gasps out, Malia shakes her head, "O.K., alright you win!" He concedes and Malia relents, stepping back to appreciate her work. He sags against the wall, still snickering, his hair disheveled, his heart pounding, his eyes bright as they watch her. Malia steps into him sliding her hands up his sides, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. Stiles tenses for all of two seconds when she does it, probably afraid she was gonna tickle him again. But when she doesn't, he relaxes against the wall, his arms curling around her back, pulling her closer. Malia turns her head and brushes a soft kiss against his cheek, before slowly trailing her lips along his jaw.
She stops at his ear. "I win." She purrs, sweetly. His hands flex on the small of her back, as her lips brush over his ear.
One of her hands slides into his hair, her nails scraping lightly along his scalp, and he leans into her touch.
His arms tighten around her, "I don't think this qualifies as losing," he admits, his voice coming out in that low, rough pitch that she likes so much. She grins and hides her face in his neck, just enjoying the moment. She listens to his excited heart-rate and breathes in his scent. He smells really, really good, even the harsh scent of paint that clings to his clothes can't taint it. He's happy, she realizes. Pulling back she looks at him and gives him a shy smile.
"Thank you for my birthday present."
"Oh, so you liked it, that's why you threw it in my face," he snarks. Malia shakes her head at him.
"You get paint on my face, I get paint on your face, rules of the wild kingdom."
"It dripped! You shouldn't have been under my ladder." He dismisses, then he ducks his head a little sheepishly. "So, you really like it?" He asks a little nervously.
"Stiles, it's so pretty, it's like the perfect green."
He smiles, his cheeks flushing. "Good." She catches a scent off of him, it's a rush of relief. Malia bites her lip. He'd taken her to the hardware store last night and told her to pick out whatever colour of paint that she wanted. But since he hated manual labour, she didn't think he was serious when he said he was going to help her paint her room. So when he'd shown up at her door bight and early this morning with paintbrushes and a ladder she'd been surprised.
"Why is it so important to you that I paint my room?" She blurts out, suddenly curious.
Stiles shrugs his shoulders, "It's not its just, uh, it's like a rite of passage." Malia tilts her head, not quite believe him.
Stiles sighs, looking down for a moment and rubs at the back of his neck.
"And y'know maybe because I thought that if it felt like home here…then maybe you'd stay," he admits, finally meeting her eyes.
At first it feels like she can't breathe and the way he's looking at her is overwhelming. She turns toward the door and forces herself to drag in a breath of air. Then as his words sink in, she feels a surge of something in her chest, it's pure and warm and absolutely uncontainable. She reaches out and closes the bathroom door, clicking the lock into place. She turns back toward Stiles and he's still against the wall. He's standing stock still staring at her, his heartbeat nervous, she doesn't even think he's breathing.
She slowly steps up to him, and slides her hands up to cradle his face. His lips part at the contact. Her thumbs slowly stroke back and forth along his jaw, as she tilts his down to look at her. "I'm not going anywhere, Stiles." she tells him earnestly.
"Yeah?" He breathes out, "You're staying?"
Malia rises up on her toes and presses her forehead to his."I'm staying."
Stiles laughs, his arms tightening around her. She lets out a little yip of surprise when he lifts her off her feet and spins them in a circle. Then as he sets her back down he leans in and kisses sweetly, and sloppily while he grins. Malia laughs into his mouth. And Stiles pulls back and just smiles at her. She bites her lip and starts inching his t-shirt up, little by little.
"You're covered in paint. We should do something about that." She says, steering him toward the shower. His eyes darken, and he goes along with her for a moment before catching her hands.
"What, uh, what about you're dad isn't he supposed to be back any minute?" He asks, trying to be the voice of reason. Malia leans in and plants a kiss on his cheek.
"I'll hear his truck long before he hits the gravel road. But if you don't want to risk it…" she says, tauntingly. With a slow coyote grin she toes off her shoes, and pulls her elastic free from her hair, and he swallows thickly as her hair tumbles down around her shoulders. Malia arches an eyebrow at him.
It takes him exactly three seconds to cave. "Ah, screw it!" He growls as he strides up to her and kisses her senseless.
She might have underestimated how distracting he could actually be, because she got herself grounded and him banned from the house that afternoon. But even as she shakes herself out of the memory now, she couldn't actually bring herself to regret it.