Sticky Fingers, a Teen Wolf (tv) fic
Aug. 12th, 2012 05:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
midorisakuraDisclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction and no profit, financial or otherwise, was made through the writing or posting of this.
Author: Midorisakura (kittycrackers)
A/N: Written for the prompt, earache, for cottoncandy bingo.
He was just four years old the first time it happened. A kindergartener, all knobby knees and elbows, fingers sticky with grape jelly because that’s what his mom had packed for lunch.
He was sitting by himself on the playground during lunch recess, watching the other kids play hopscotch and tag. He watched the kids on the swings with particular envy, scowling as their laughter was carried to him on the wind.
Meanies, he thought uncharitably.
Wrapping his arms around himself, he sat and pouted, glaring daggers into his so called friends who were running around, having fun without him. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his left ear. It was red and hot and made him feel achy, and not at all like his normal self.
He was tired and hurt and wanted to play, but didn’t at the same time. It wasn’t fair.
He sighed, and then tears filled his eyes because his ear ached worse than it had before. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of everyone, especially not the older kids because he was the youngest and smallest one there and he didn’t want to be made fun of.
And then it happened, a dark shadow fell over him and he gulped, looking up and up and up - the boy standing in front of him was very tall. One of the big kids had seen him sitting all by himself in the grass and had come over to investigate, except he didn’t think this was the kind of good investigation like his father did and he was afraid. He flinched away, not sure what to expect when the boy knelt before him.
He had dark hair, like his best friend Scott’s, except his was more in control.
“Hey kid,” the boy said, and he smiled, causing some of Stilinski’s initial fear to ease. “What’s wrong? How come you aren’t playing with the other kids?”
Stilinski looked into the older boy’s eyes, searching them for some sort of ‘hidden agenda’ - he’d heard the term from his father one night when his parents had been talking about a case his dad was working on and thought he was asleep. The boy’s eyes were a clear, gray-blue and Stilinski could see kindness in them.
He rubbed at his ear and blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. Unsure if he should trust the older boy or not, he carefully watched him, clutching his lunch sack by his side, because one of the older kids had stolen his cool Batman lunch sack the other day and he didn’t want to lose this one too. When the older boy didn’t move, just hunched there before him, watching him just as carefully, Stilinski decided to take a risk in trusting him.
“My ear hurts,” he said in a whisper. His throat was starting to hurt too, now that he thought about it. Maybe he was getting sick.
“So, that’s why you’re not playing with the other kids?” the big boy asked, and Stilinski decided that he liked his voice.
It was calm and not condescending, like some of the older kids were whenever they talked to him and the other ‘little’ kids. He hated the word little with a passion.
Stilinski nodded, and, in spite of his best efforts a lone tear slipped down his cheek. He looked away, embarrassed to be seen crying in front of one of the big kids.
“Hey, it’ll be okay,” the big boy said, and he wiped his thumb across Stilinski’s cheek, rubbing away the tear.
Stilinski took in a shuddering breath of air, and bit his bottom lip. He met the big boy’s eyes and couldn’t help but trust him.
“What’s your name?” Stilinski asked when the big boy placed his hand on top of Stilinski’s hand, removing it from his ear.
Though the other boy smiled, he didn’t answer his question. Instead, he put his hand on Stilinski’s aching ear, and then, it just stopped hurting. It was almost exactly like the magic that Mrs. Phillips had read about during circle time yesterday, except this was real.
Stilinski smiled. He felt like his normal self again - all bouncy and filled with energy fit to bursting, and ready to play. Though he eyed the swings with desire - one was empty and swaying in the wind - he stopped short of running over and hopping on the swing to turn and embrace his hero.
Sticky fingers gripped each other around the big boy’s middle. And though Stilinski felt the boy stiffen, he hugged him anyway, thanking him with a big sloppy kiss on the cheek before bounding off at an awkward run and flinging himself onto the empty swing.
So, now, when Derek leans over him, his gray-blue eyes filled with a pained sorrow and something like compassion, Stiles knows that he can trust the man to take away some of the pain that he’s feeling. Derek places the palm of his hand against his injured side, and uses the pad of his thumb to brush at a wayward tear that Stiles hadn’t even realized had fallen. And then it’s exactly like the magic in Mrs. Philips’ book, the pain goes away.
He doesn’t protest when Derek picks him up and carries him from the room and to safety, even though he can walk now that the pain’s been banished. But, when everyone’s safe and sound, and Derek’s dropping him off at home, he reaches for the older boy, now a man, and pulls him into a hug, much as he did when he was four. Except his fingers aren’t sticky with grape jelly, and his kiss is far less sloppy than it was back then. And Derek turns his cheek at the last second so that their lips meet.
“Oh,” he says when he has the grace to pull back. He can’t meet Derek’s eyes, and he’s blushing, tugging absentmindedly at his left ear.
“Hey, none of that,” Derek says, his voice a scratchy whisper against Stiles’ ear, making him shiver. “Thought I took care of that earache a long time ago.”
Author: Midorisakura (kittycrackers)
A/N: Written for the prompt, earache, for cottoncandy bingo.
He was just four years old the first time it happened. A kindergartener, all knobby knees and elbows, fingers sticky with grape jelly because that’s what his mom had packed for lunch.
He was sitting by himself on the playground during lunch recess, watching the other kids play hopscotch and tag. He watched the kids on the swings with particular envy, scowling as their laughter was carried to him on the wind.
Meanies, he thought uncharitably.
Wrapping his arms around himself, he sat and pouted, glaring daggers into his so called friends who were running around, having fun without him. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his left ear. It was red and hot and made him feel achy, and not at all like his normal self.
He was tired and hurt and wanted to play, but didn’t at the same time. It wasn’t fair.
He sighed, and then tears filled his eyes because his ear ached worse than it had before. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of everyone, especially not the older kids because he was the youngest and smallest one there and he didn’t want to be made fun of.
And then it happened, a dark shadow fell over him and he gulped, looking up and up and up - the boy standing in front of him was very tall. One of the big kids had seen him sitting all by himself in the grass and had come over to investigate, except he didn’t think this was the kind of good investigation like his father did and he was afraid. He flinched away, not sure what to expect when the boy knelt before him.
He had dark hair, like his best friend Scott’s, except his was more in control.
“Hey kid,” the boy said, and he smiled, causing some of Stilinski’s initial fear to ease. “What’s wrong? How come you aren’t playing with the other kids?”
Stilinski looked into the older boy’s eyes, searching them for some sort of ‘hidden agenda’ - he’d heard the term from his father one night when his parents had been talking about a case his dad was working on and thought he was asleep. The boy’s eyes were a clear, gray-blue and Stilinski could see kindness in them.
He rubbed at his ear and blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. Unsure if he should trust the older boy or not, he carefully watched him, clutching his lunch sack by his side, because one of the older kids had stolen his cool Batman lunch sack the other day and he didn’t want to lose this one too. When the older boy didn’t move, just hunched there before him, watching him just as carefully, Stilinski decided to take a risk in trusting him.
“My ear hurts,” he said in a whisper. His throat was starting to hurt too, now that he thought about it. Maybe he was getting sick.
“So, that’s why you’re not playing with the other kids?” the big boy asked, and Stilinski decided that he liked his voice.
It was calm and not condescending, like some of the older kids were whenever they talked to him and the other ‘little’ kids. He hated the word little with a passion.
Stilinski nodded, and, in spite of his best efforts a lone tear slipped down his cheek. He looked away, embarrassed to be seen crying in front of one of the big kids.
“Hey, it’ll be okay,” the big boy said, and he wiped his thumb across Stilinski’s cheek, rubbing away the tear.
Stilinski took in a shuddering breath of air, and bit his bottom lip. He met the big boy’s eyes and couldn’t help but trust him.
“What’s your name?” Stilinski asked when the big boy placed his hand on top of Stilinski’s hand, removing it from his ear.
Though the other boy smiled, he didn’t answer his question. Instead, he put his hand on Stilinski’s aching ear, and then, it just stopped hurting. It was almost exactly like the magic that Mrs. Phillips had read about during circle time yesterday, except this was real.
Stilinski smiled. He felt like his normal self again - all bouncy and filled with energy fit to bursting, and ready to play. Though he eyed the swings with desire - one was empty and swaying in the wind - he stopped short of running over and hopping on the swing to turn and embrace his hero.
Sticky fingers gripped each other around the big boy’s middle. And though Stilinski felt the boy stiffen, he hugged him anyway, thanking him with a big sloppy kiss on the cheek before bounding off at an awkward run and flinging himself onto the empty swing.
So, now, when Derek leans over him, his gray-blue eyes filled with a pained sorrow and something like compassion, Stiles knows that he can trust the man to take away some of the pain that he’s feeling. Derek places the palm of his hand against his injured side, and uses the pad of his thumb to brush at a wayward tear that Stiles hadn’t even realized had fallen. And then it’s exactly like the magic in Mrs. Philips’ book, the pain goes away.
He doesn’t protest when Derek picks him up and carries him from the room and to safety, even though he can walk now that the pain’s been banished. But, when everyone’s safe and sound, and Derek’s dropping him off at home, he reaches for the older boy, now a man, and pulls him into a hug, much as he did when he was four. Except his fingers aren’t sticky with grape jelly, and his kiss is far less sloppy than it was back then. And Derek turns his cheek at the last second so that their lips meet.
“Oh,” he says when he has the grace to pull back. He can’t meet Derek’s eyes, and he’s blushing, tugging absentmindedly at his left ear.
“Hey, none of that,” Derek says, his voice a scratchy whisper against Stiles’ ear, making him shiver. “Thought I took care of that earache a long time ago.”
