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Fireflies floated around Stiles. Pale skin that never felt the sun looked blue in the unnatural lighting. He smiled happily, spreading his hands and leant his head back, exposing his neck, seemingly unaware what this gesture meant for a werewolf.
Atlantis was the lost civilization, the piece of history and culture that disappeared in water’s depth. When Peter was hired to translate some ancient texts and then taken with the expedition led by Deucalion, he didn’t even consider that there could be humans still alive. Their race went extinct almost a few thousand years ago.
Every living person in this small tribe remembered the day they left the surface clearly. The thing that saved them, the Nemeton, stopped them from aging and dying, kept them safe from disease. To be honest, Peter didn’t believe that someone could’ve stayed that long under the ground and still stay human.
As for now, he was looking at the most perfect creature he has ever met in his life. Stiles was handsome, Peter could admit to that. Even though he was skinny, pale, had dark circles and somehow ill-looking redness near his eyes, his features were attractive.
Stiles looked at Peter with his almost black eyes and crooked half-smile. Peter reflected his smile, understanding that he spent way too much time admiring pale and plump lips. Stiles stepped to him, looking right into his eyes, almost hypnotizing. Something within him howled danger, but he hushed his instincts. Stiles was human, breakable and weak, just like any other of Atlantians.
And yet, fairytales always painted humans as the dangerous ones. Peter didn’t have a chance to actually grab this idea, because Stiles was already kissing him, hand around his neck, slim fingers touching lightly at the base of his hairline. That sent a shiver down Peter’s spine.
Stiles wasn’t a very skilled kisser, but the passionate one indeed. His skin was cold, but Peter had quickly noticed that humans ran cooler than werewolves. The chill didn’t last long though and pleasure filled Peter, boiling low in his gut. it was unnatural too hard to resist. It was impossible to think straight. Not when all his senses were overloaded.
Stils smelled good, even better when they were so close. The light musk of arousal was clear and alluring. Peter moved his hands, placing one on Stiles’ back. Stiles turned them and pushed him. Peter found himself being pinned to this big and somehow still blooming tree.
It was the first time Peter touched the Nemeton and he would like it to be the last. He opened his eyes wide, as soon as he felt the pain. The pain from Stiles filled him, his veins blackened against his will like Stiles was the one who pushed the pain inside.
Clothes rustled, Peter was only able to see the short curved dagger before his own pain made itself tangible. The dagger stabbed Peter in the ribs.
Stiles was looking at him with his black and impossibly big eyes. They stopped kissing only as Peter vomited with blood. Stiles smiled. He held Peter like he didn’t have any strength. Like he wouldn’t able to hurt him. He moved way too fast to be human.
Stiles slit Peter’s throat with too much ease. Blood got on the tree and splattered over Stiles’ face. He tried to keep the edges of the wound together. It was too deep and too board. Healing was just not kicking in. Stiles was still. It was almost the first time Peter saw him that still. Eyes were distant and calculating.
The last thing Peter saw before everything disappeared was the crooked smile on lips that became pale way too quickly.