Work Text:
It's always you
You're my favorite place to run
And I always knew
My heart was yours to take
And never mine to give away
Kris Allen, It's Always You
He missed him even when he was just right next to him.
When he was sound asleep, burried in the sheets. When his pale green eyes were long gone behind the closed eyelids, and dark lashes were like feathers against the cheeks. His skin was wonderfully warm and soft, pink and dangerously alluring. It took all of his strong will for him not to touch it, but he still knew he would give in.
He always did.
His touch was always feather-like and almost-there, an almost-touch; he was always scared that he would accidentally wake him up. His fingers wandered around, starting at the temple and moving down along the cheek; it was so smooth and soft that it felt almost indecent. Then he placed his hand on the naked chest, feeling the calm and steady heartbeat.
He loved this stromg and pure heart more than his own life.
Then he could finally breathe a little bit slower and lie down in a bit more comfortable position, trying to fall asleep. This was his main issue these days, for the very first time in his life. He tossed and turned, couldn't find the perfect place or position, getting more and more irritated with himself. Of course he finally would fall asleep, even though it would be thanks to the calming weight of the arm over his hip, than the actual exhaustion.
They couldn't get enough of each other, even when they were fast asleep.
He slept a little bit better when he was with him, nestled in his arms, holding tight and not willing to let go. Even when he would turned to the other side of bed, Derek would automatically move closer to him, without even waking up. And when Derek would turn away to lay on his back, Stiles -- instinctively, semi-consciously -- would follow him around the bed, always finding his way back to him. They were drawn to each other, just like two magnets, just like they were gravitating towards each other simply because of the force of nature, like it was the gravity that pulled them together.
As if one couldn't live if the other somehow ceased to exist.
Even when hot and steamy California summer was at its hottest and steamiest, they needed to be close. Even when the air conditioning refused to work, even when the fan was losing its evergoing battle with heavy and humid air, even when they were so desperate for fresh air they would sleep outside on the porch. They had to be close, even if it was just their fingers that were intertwined, or their foreheads touching. Even if it were just the tips of their noses.
He didn't know what would happen if they wouldn't touch, or if he somehow couldn't feel his presence. He had no idea and he had no wish to know.
He would usually be extremely irritated when he would wake up in the middle of the night pretty much without any particular reason. But then again, Derek would most likely be awake too, subconsciously knowing that Stiles was suffering from insomnia. Every time it happened they would talk about everything and nothing at all, about life and complete nonsense, until they both would go back to sleep or the sun would rise above the horizon.
He loved love. He loved being in love. Even though he hadn't tasted love before. Never before had he been with someone long and close enough to move past the infatuation phase. He wouldn't knew he needed that in his life, not until now -- now he was absolutely certain he couldn't live without Derek.
He wouldn't be able to breathe.
He knew it was an absolute bullshit, a mere gibberish of a love-blinded man. Before all that he would be mocking such confessions; they sounded as empty as they were cliche to him. But now he would just move a bit closer to Derek just so he could touch him again, to feel his warm skin against his.
As close as he could get.