One-Shots

A Bite of My Heart

A Bite of My Heart

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, the characters Derek Hale or 'Stiles' Stilinksi, nor any such things affiliated with the television series. All such things belong to Jeff Davis and MTV.

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                                                             I.

      The first week of the summer of his junior year Stiles learns the quiver of Derek’s fingers, the names of the ghosts that live across his knuckles, and the shades of the bruises that thrive in his soul instead of on his skin. Stiles trails fingertips across Derek’s spine, over the hard crescent moon of his backbone and lingers over the swirls of the tattoo that’s etched into his skin. And when he holds Derek’s face near his own, his hands are desperate and strong because he still remembers the strength of the broken man held together by the desire not to fail again.

      Derek inhales – closes his eyes when he whispers into Stiles’ skin I didn’t think anyone could make me forget and Stiles understands he means the ghosts that make his mind their home, ghosts born from lust and ignorance, understands that forgetting starts with learning how to stop living in misery. Stiles knows because Stiles has been there, and while the death of one person can’t begin to cover the death of so many, he still gets it. 

       Stiles kisses his rough hands then, Derek, Derek, I can help you forget again, open mouthed and hard enough to make them flush, Derek, please let me make you forget again.

                                                            II.

      Stiles decides three weeks into summer, with Derek slowly pressing inside of him for the first time, their bodies touching, igniting with the unbearable heat bursting from Derek’s skin, that the sizzling season is for loving. The same way he decided, in between fighting off the monster of the week and envisioning his hands around Derek, and literally having his hands around Derek, and in between I thought we were, and fuck, maybe we’re fooling ourselves, that spring is for growing flowers and for finally throwing yourself at someone that can actually catch you.

      After they both come and Stiles returns from the bathroom fresh (careful to make sure his dad’s still out on a call), he catches Derek holding himself too tight, digging his fingers into his hips, pushing blood into bruises again just to watch them fade moments later. When Stiles covers Derek’s wrists with both hands, Derek turns his head in silent shame, and Stiles leans in to learn the map of his wrists and hips all over again, kisses each bruise with accepting and persistent lips, sucking hard enough to give each one a new shade and new meaning, before they disappear minutes later.

                                                            III.

      It takes four weeks for Derek to look to Stiles, lips unsteady, and murmur I should have known, I shouldn’t have been stupid, I should have known everything between us was cold, measured, and calculated and Stiles doesn’t know if he can breathe easier because he expected to one day actually hear this from Derek, not because it’s true but because he’s Derek, or if his breathing is heavier because Derek of all people, Derek with his loss and a fucked up first love, doesn’t deserve to shoulder all this guilt alone.

      He may have handed Kate the matches (his words, not Stiles’), but he didn’t set the fire himself. Stiles is Stiles, which means he isn’t going to forget that it’s bound to be hard to be intimate with someone when your first experience ended up in your whole family going up in flames as your lover watched them burn with pride on her face.

                                                             IV.

      The fifth week of summer Stiles holds Derek’s hand at the weekly pack meeting and watches as Derek doesn’t find disgust and hate blooming from the dimples of his pack’s faces, but admiration and love. Stiles knows that when Derek’s spine curves, a new moon to a swift shining crescent, it is not out of shame or fatigue, but contentment. 

                                                             V.

      That week, that same day, Derek holds Stiles’ jaw and against the heavy silence of Stiles’ empty house he murmurs I need you, Stiles and before Stiles can tell him he’s got him, can’t Derek see he’s always had him, Derek says I need you inside of me, Stiles, make me forget, please, and Stiles knows how hard it must be for Derek to get the nerve to ask, for him to get the courage to surrender. He sees it in the way he holds Stiles’ hands, Stiles’ hands that are just as large and masculine as his, and the way Derek doesn’t want to always be the brave one and Stiles doesn’t always want to be Robin.

      At their very end, just before they both come, Derek’s eyes catch Stiles’ golden brown ones, and Stiles notices the way Derek twists his head in a gentle, soft nod before closing his eyes. Stiles hears the catch of his breath before one of Derek’s hands finds its way to Stiles’ eyelids, keeping them closed, and the other makes its way to Stiles’ chest, pushing down like maybe if he does it hard enough their skins will grow together and they’ll finally be one.

      Stiles presses his own hand to Derek’s chest and feels his orbit shift around the sound of Derek’s dancing heart, presses harder and faster into Derek until he feels his own heart catch up. They are bodies of white fiery light, destroyed suns, both human and so much more, fresh and bleeding in each other’s hands.