Dear Fellow Traveler
Title Dear Fellow Traveler
Length ~730 words
Rating PG-13
Warnings Stiles is the fae equivalent of an incubus,,,, so sexin' stuffs :P
Summary "Dear fellow traveler/ Under the moon/ I saw you standing in the shadows and your eyes won't move/ You put your hand out/ Opened the door/ You said come with me boy, I want to show you something more"
After a great war the world has become a much larger place with much fewer people in it. Stiles and Derek are drawn to each other.
A/N Soooo.... this is just a tiny piece of a very big 'verse that I have in my head. I've been debating writing and posting it for quite some time and am still rather on the fence about it. Decided to get down this little tidbit and see if anyone's interested in me going any further with it. So lemme know! If you like it, I'd love to share it with you. ^
Anyways, the whole thing is inspired and fueled by Sea Wolf's new album Old World Romance, but more specifically the song Dear Fellow Traveler. Check them out, you'll be so glad that you did. :
It’s been a long while since you saw another.
These days you find, more often than not, that you are not so far from believing you’re all alone. But then- then he showed up and you fell to your knees, chest clenching so tightly you felt as though you’d been dealt a fatal blow. He wasn’t nearly so excited as you- simply staring as you continued to flounder, trying to tear your way back up into proper consciousness. Perhaps, for him, this didn’t mean the same thing. Perhaps for him, you were nothing special, nothing worth consideration.
His kind never did have much time for yours, never did think highly of them, if at all. You’d thought all those boundaries would have been swept away with the Wave, that any of you would be happy just to see a familiar creature. You were. You might very well die from the shock of it, from the shattering of the reality you had created these past months. There were others, even if it was just the one.
A small tear escapes the corner of your eye- out of pain, desperation, relief- you don’t know, but it’s what catches his attention, what makes you tangible to him. In a few long strides he is beside you, crouching, a careful hand reaching over to brush at the track left on your cheek. The rough callouses on the pads of his fingers catch on your skin and at the sensation, you suck in a gasp. “Fae.” The word is more growled than spoken, rumbling up from his chest and grinding past gritted teeth.
You nod, whimpering, not bothering to hide the way you lean into his palm, starved for touch. You hadn’t noticed how much you’d needed it until now and you’re pushing into him like a kitten, making small noises of fulfillment. The connection was like air to withered lungs, dusty, quaking, anxious. It’s making him uncomfortable, you can tell. The Were are not so sincere as humans, cannot let themselves feel and desire and abandon without thought. So opposite your people, thousands of reasons to constantly clash, and you’re pushing this one. His brows furrow and his shoulders tense, but he hasn’t pulled away just yet, eyes flashing red in warning. “Stop.”
It’s said with all the intent of a command- the belief that it will be upheld, but you can’t, not yet. A shaking sigh trembles out your lips and you continue to nuzzle, to draw into him. “Please!” You’re not sure he understands, not sure he’s of the Knowledge. The color of his eyes denotes him as a leader, a holder of such things, but now there are so many who were thrust into these roles alone and unaware. You long to say more, to explain your nature, to have him take you and therein give so much more. “Kiss me.” It’s breathy, quiet, only just gotten out, but he’s heard it and reacting just as you thought.
He shakes his head, minutely at first, and then with a violence that is so telling of his species. “No.” You lick your lips, try to catch his ever shifting gaze, and fall forward to touch foreheads, to force his attention. You don’t have to say anything more, probably couldn’t if you wanted to, and you can see the terror and impulses fighting his own motives, the want to help. His whole torso shakes as he takes in a ragged breath, but he pushes forward, makes the Touch, and exhales life.
You slowly retreat beneath his advance, drinking the passion that ignites low in his belly, stoking those flames all the while stealing their oxygen. One hand falls back to catch your weight, striking hard against the pavement and holding, while the other grips at his jaw and soothes away any mounting fear. You’re careful not to lose yourself, to take only what is given, and not get lost in the high- the pure, unadulterated lust that begins to spike the experience. It is dark and rich and heady, filling you up and making you whole again. Rolling your hips, moving your hand down to brush his flank, licking the heated velvet of his lips, you withdraw. Pigment returns to your skin, your eyes flare amber, and the grass peeking through the cobblestone beneath you begins to thrive.
He’s just saved your life, and you don’t even know his name