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Jul. 15th, 2014 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katikat"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, looking down at their clasped hands resting gently on his stomach and at the ugly black veins bulging on her tan skin.
Malia frowned. "What does it look like? I'm taking away your pain because you refused to go to the hospital!"
Stiles sighed and looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom. "Well, the Stilinski finances would never recover from that, they're already on life support. And Deaton did a good job wrapping my ribs, there's nothing more you can do about broken bones anyway." He paused, then added more softly, "Besides, this way, my dad does never have to know about it."
Malia just hmmed and snuggled closer to him, mindful of his injuries. It was night and Stiles' father was at work, fortunately. Stiles would prefer not to have to explain to him that a berserker had thrown him out of a second floor window. If the tree hadn't been there... He could've broken his neck or his back. What were a few broken ribs compared to that?
Stiles relaxed, the relief from pain almost overwhelming as Malia continued siphoning it away. Then he sighed and tugged at her hand. "You can stop now."
"No. I can still feel you hurting," she refused, gripping him more firmly.
"Yeah, well, I'll be hurting for a long time yet. Us normal humans take much longer to heal," Stiles reminded her gently.
Malia nodded, her hair rasping over the pillow. "Yes, and that's why Scott taught me this, so that I can help you heal."
He turned his head and looked at her. In the soft light of his bedside lamp, her eyes glittered magically. "I don't like to see you hurting," he whispered, "especially because of me."
She narrowed her eyes. "And I don't like to see you hurt, period. I guess none of us will get what we want tonight."
Stiles huffed out a laugh. "You're really stubborn, aren't you?"
Malia smiled. "No less than you."
"Yeah," he breathed out, still smiling softly. Then he lifted their clasped hands to his lips and kissed hers. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Malia frowned. "What does it look like? I'm taking away your pain because you refused to go to the hospital!"
Stiles sighed and looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom. "Well, the Stilinski finances would never recover from that, they're already on life support. And Deaton did a good job wrapping my ribs, there's nothing more you can do about broken bones anyway." He paused, then added more softly, "Besides, this way, my dad does never have to know about it."
Malia just hmmed and snuggled closer to him, mindful of his injuries. It was night and Stiles' father was at work, fortunately. Stiles would prefer not to have to explain to him that a berserker had thrown him out of a second floor window. If the tree hadn't been there... He could've broken his neck or his back. What were a few broken ribs compared to that?
Stiles relaxed, the relief from pain almost overwhelming as Malia continued siphoning it away. Then he sighed and tugged at her hand. "You can stop now."
"No. I can still feel you hurting," she refused, gripping him more firmly.
"Yeah, well, I'll be hurting for a long time yet. Us normal humans take much longer to heal," Stiles reminded her gently.
Malia nodded, her hair rasping over the pillow. "Yes, and that's why Scott taught me this, so that I can help you heal."
He turned his head and looked at her. In the soft light of his bedside lamp, her eyes glittered magically. "I don't like to see you hurting," he whispered, "especially because of me."
She narrowed her eyes. "And I don't like to see you hurt, period. I guess none of us will get what we want tonight."
Stiles huffed out a laugh. "You're really stubborn, aren't you?"
Malia smiled. "No less than you."
"Yeah," he breathed out, still smiling softly. Then he lifted their clasped hands to his lips and kissed hers. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
