FIC: Blurt
Title: Blurt
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1514
Summary: blurt (blûrt)
tr.v. blurt·ed, blurt·ing, blurts
To utter suddenly and impulsively: blurt a confession.
Stiles loves Derek. Only he kinda didn't mean to say it just like that.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just use them to play with your emotions.
“I love you!”
If ever there was a definition of the word blurt, that’s it. Right there. Tumbling from Stiles’ mouth, like the words are gold medal Olympic gymnasts and his lips are little balance beams. He can almost see them hanging in the space between himself and Derek; he wants to pluck them from the air, put them back inside his mouth, bury them back inside himself for safe keeping. It’s not the sort of thing Stiles says everyday, or, y’know, ever, and he hadn’t expected it to sound so funny coming out.
He had locked it up tight, left it there to present to someone someday. It’s a different ‘I love you’ from the ones he once gave to his mom, the ones he drops to his dad. This is the one he had wanted to save, wanted to guard carefully so as not to throw it around so carelessly like others do. He had wanted to preserve it until he meant it. After all, there can only be one first time to say it.
He stares at Derek’s shirt, so hard that the blackness of it turns to dizzying waves, and finds that he does mean it. It had been said in the heat of an argument, a “no, you can’t do that because I care too much for you and don’t want to see you hurt” argument, though certainly not in words so many or so eloquent. But he means it. He really does. In fact, he thinks it’s probably all the more powerful for never having been uttered in such a context. It had had time to build upon itself, and it was no longer just ‘love’ like puppy love or kisses-on-the-forehead love, but ‘love’ one hundred fold, the kind of love that people write songs and novels about, the kind of love that people die for.
Stiles forces himself to glance up at Derek’s face, and he’s surprised to see that it isn’t angry, but he’s blinking sort of absently, as if confused, as if the words haven’t quite worked their way into his brain yet. He can see the moment when they do, because Derek’s face changes, his nostrils flare in that way that they always do, and he huffs a little. And then he meets Stiles’ eyes and says, “Do you?”
Stiles wants to break into laughter, but he forces it down. Do you? What does he say to that? Yes? Of course? Why wouldn’t I? He blinks a few times too, and settles for a sharp “Yup.”
Derek lets out a bark of a laugh, then scrubs the back of his hand across his face as if he hadn’t meant to do that. And then Stiles is laughing too, letting it out, turning away from Derek, trying to get those stupidly loud giggles under control. He manages it after a moment and then he turns back to find Derek with a look on his face, half amusement, half something Stiles can’t really place.
“Okay,” Derek says, and he reaches out to put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, seems to think better of it and pulls it away. Stiles doesn’t know what to say or do next, wants to go back to the argument, because that was easier than this. It came easier. It was a common argument - Derek wanting to do something dangerous, Stiles not wanting him to because Stiles only ever wants him to be okay, Derek getting annoyed in a video game boss “Who dares question the Alpha?!” kind of way and then… blurt.
“Um,” Stiles begins. And ends. Because that’s all he can think of right now. And then he regrets saying that, because it sounds like he’s prompting Derek to say it back. And he isn’t, he really isn’t, he doesn’t need Derek to say it back; clearly something in him needed to say it but he doesn’t require it in return, he doesn’t -
“Me too?” Derek says, interrupting Stiles' thoughts. It’s not the words but it’s the best that Derek can do, and it sounds like a question, but to Stiles it feels like a statement.
Stiles nods, pushes out a heavy sigh, and settles into a chair. It’s out there now, and Jesus, it’s not like it’s out of bounds of their relationship, whatever it is that they have, whatever heading their sloppy kisses and Hands-Across-America touches fall under. But Stiles isn’t sure if this is the kind of thing you discuss ahead of time, if you have a long talk about feelings or if there’s supposed to be spontaneity. Well, whatever, he’s got the spontaneity covered, down to a science, and if they’re giving awards for spontaneous and awkward-as-hell admissions of love, then surely there’ll be a first place trophy or a big blue ribbon showing up any time now.
Derek leans against the kitchen counter, and there’s a long moment of silence before he says, “Are we okay, then?”
“Okay? We’re okay, why would you ask that? I mean. Love, right? Love means okay. Love means good. Great, even!” Another word comes to mind - ramble - and Stiles stops before more words come that he hasn’t had a chance to analyse beforehand, which is something he’s definitely going to do now that all of this has happened.
“Good. Do you want to eat something then?”
“Eat something?! Derek, I’m going to vomit, I can’t eat anything.”
Derek raises his eyebrows. “I thought we were okay.”
“WE are okay. I, however, am not. I am mortified. Love is something that people talk about like, ahead of time, right? I mean, you don’t just spring it on someone!”
Derek makes a noise, and then a face, and before Stiles has a real chance to admire the way his nose crinkles up all cute like that, he goes all smooth and impassive again. “I think you’re confusing love with marriage. Sometimes people discuss marriage ahead of time. Love… people just kind of say it. I think you’re fine.”
“We’re discussing marriage right now,” Stiles points out in what he realises is a completely unhelpful way.
“No, we’re not,” Derek says firmly.
“Okay, fine. I’m not wearing a veil though.” And he grins at Derek, all stupid and toothy, and just like that, the tension ebbs away and Derek relaxes some, his shoulders sagging and he rolls his eyes, which is a totally normal reaction to just about everything Stiles says, so he knows they really are Okay with a capital O.
“I love you,” Stiles says again. “I love you. Looooove you. Love you. Luh-uhv you.” He’s trying it out now that he knows it’s a thing he can say, a thing he can direct at Derek, a thing that will be accepted.
“Don’t. You might run out of them.”
“Not for you,” Stiles says, and then he says it again, because he wants it to stop sounding weird on his tongue. It sounds the way a marshmallow tastes, all fluffy and sweet and sticky, and it’s kind of teenage girl-y, but he thinks maybe if Derek likes the way it sounds then it could be good.
“You don’t know that,” Derek says, and then it’s Stiles’ turn to huff, so he makes it a loud one, makes sure Derek can hear it. The awkwardness has gone, so now he’s just annoyed.
“You need to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” Derek asks.
“Doubting that you are what I want, and okay, y’know, I don’t know the future, but I don’t foresee me not wanting you in the future. You’re all dark and broody and it’s a little overdone but mostly hot and I like the way you touch me and kiss me and I even like the way you snore and believe me, if I didn’t, I would be so gone because loud, ugly snoring would definitely be a deal breaker. So y’know, all of this…” He gestures to Derek. “I like it. Love it. Whatever it. It’s good and it’s mine so I’m not going to run out of I love yous or ways to show it. Well, I might run out of ways to show it, but I’m gonna try so maybe if you could give me a break on that one, I’d - ”
Derek cuts him off. “D’you ever shut up?” He tugs Stiles up out of his chair, drags him close, kisses him and Stiles doesn’t make a move to hold him in return, not at first, wants to make him work for it, except he always melts too quickly, like butter in a hot frying pan, and then he’s got his arms around Derek too. Resisting… not really in his vocabulary. But other words are.
“Stupid,” Stiles mutters into Derek’s chest when Derek pulls away from his mouth. “Hate you.”
And Derek will accept that too, Stiles knows he will; he already has with that stupid smirk on his face, his hand playing with the hair at the back of Stiles’ neck. Because it’s just another way that Stiles is trying out “I love you.”
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1514
Summary: blurt (blûrt)
tr.v. blurt·ed, blurt·ing, blurts
To utter suddenly and impulsively: blurt a confession.
Stiles loves Derek. Only he kinda didn't mean to say it just like that.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just use them to play with your emotions.
“I love you!”
If ever there was a definition of the word blurt, that’s it. Right there. Tumbling from Stiles’ mouth, like the words are gold medal Olympic gymnasts and his lips are little balance beams. He can almost see them hanging in the space between himself and Derek; he wants to pluck them from the air, put them back inside his mouth, bury them back inside himself for safe keeping. It’s not the sort of thing Stiles says everyday, or, y’know, ever, and he hadn’t expected it to sound so funny coming out.
He had locked it up tight, left it there to present to someone someday. It’s a different ‘I love you’ from the ones he once gave to his mom, the ones he drops to his dad. This is the one he had wanted to save, wanted to guard carefully so as not to throw it around so carelessly like others do. He had wanted to preserve it until he meant it. After all, there can only be one first time to say it.
He stares at Derek’s shirt, so hard that the blackness of it turns to dizzying waves, and finds that he does mean it. It had been said in the heat of an argument, a “no, you can’t do that because I care too much for you and don’t want to see you hurt” argument, though certainly not in words so many or so eloquent. But he means it. He really does. In fact, he thinks it’s probably all the more powerful for never having been uttered in such a context. It had had time to build upon itself, and it was no longer just ‘love’ like puppy love or kisses-on-the-forehead love, but ‘love’ one hundred fold, the kind of love that people write songs and novels about, the kind of love that people die for.
Stiles forces himself to glance up at Derek’s face, and he’s surprised to see that it isn’t angry, but he’s blinking sort of absently, as if confused, as if the words haven’t quite worked their way into his brain yet. He can see the moment when they do, because Derek’s face changes, his nostrils flare in that way that they always do, and he huffs a little. And then he meets Stiles’ eyes and says, “Do you?”
Stiles wants to break into laughter, but he forces it down. Do you? What does he say to that? Yes? Of course? Why wouldn’t I? He blinks a few times too, and settles for a sharp “Yup.”
Derek lets out a bark of a laugh, then scrubs the back of his hand across his face as if he hadn’t meant to do that. And then Stiles is laughing too, letting it out, turning away from Derek, trying to get those stupidly loud giggles under control. He manages it after a moment and then he turns back to find Derek with a look on his face, half amusement, half something Stiles can’t really place.
“Okay,” Derek says, and he reaches out to put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, seems to think better of it and pulls it away. Stiles doesn’t know what to say or do next, wants to go back to the argument, because that was easier than this. It came easier. It was a common argument - Derek wanting to do something dangerous, Stiles not wanting him to because Stiles only ever wants him to be okay, Derek getting annoyed in a video game boss “Who dares question the Alpha?!” kind of way and then… blurt.
“Um,” Stiles begins. And ends. Because that’s all he can think of right now. And then he regrets saying that, because it sounds like he’s prompting Derek to say it back. And he isn’t, he really isn’t, he doesn’t need Derek to say it back; clearly something in him needed to say it but he doesn’t require it in return, he doesn’t -
“Me too?” Derek says, interrupting Stiles' thoughts. It’s not the words but it’s the best that Derek can do, and it sounds like a question, but to Stiles it feels like a statement.
Stiles nods, pushes out a heavy sigh, and settles into a chair. It’s out there now, and Jesus, it’s not like it’s out of bounds of their relationship, whatever it is that they have, whatever heading their sloppy kisses and Hands-Across-America touches fall under. But Stiles isn’t sure if this is the kind of thing you discuss ahead of time, if you have a long talk about feelings or if there’s supposed to be spontaneity. Well, whatever, he’s got the spontaneity covered, down to a science, and if they’re giving awards for spontaneous and awkward-as-hell admissions of love, then surely there’ll be a first place trophy or a big blue ribbon showing up any time now.
Derek leans against the kitchen counter, and there’s a long moment of silence before he says, “Are we okay, then?”
“Okay? We’re okay, why would you ask that? I mean. Love, right? Love means okay. Love means good. Great, even!” Another word comes to mind - ramble - and Stiles stops before more words come that he hasn’t had a chance to analyse beforehand, which is something he’s definitely going to do now that all of this has happened.
“Good. Do you want to eat something then?”
“Eat something?! Derek, I’m going to vomit, I can’t eat anything.”
Derek raises his eyebrows. “I thought we were okay.”
“WE are okay. I, however, am not. I am mortified. Love is something that people talk about like, ahead of time, right? I mean, you don’t just spring it on someone!”
Derek makes a noise, and then a face, and before Stiles has a real chance to admire the way his nose crinkles up all cute like that, he goes all smooth and impassive again. “I think you’re confusing love with marriage. Sometimes people discuss marriage ahead of time. Love… people just kind of say it. I think you’re fine.”
“We’re discussing marriage right now,” Stiles points out in what he realises is a completely unhelpful way.
“No, we’re not,” Derek says firmly.
“Okay, fine. I’m not wearing a veil though.” And he grins at Derek, all stupid and toothy, and just like that, the tension ebbs away and Derek relaxes some, his shoulders sagging and he rolls his eyes, which is a totally normal reaction to just about everything Stiles says, so he knows they really are Okay with a capital O.
“I love you,” Stiles says again. “I love you. Looooove you. Love you. Luh-uhv you.” He’s trying it out now that he knows it’s a thing he can say, a thing he can direct at Derek, a thing that will be accepted.
“Don’t. You might run out of them.”
“Not for you,” Stiles says, and then he says it again, because he wants it to stop sounding weird on his tongue. It sounds the way a marshmallow tastes, all fluffy and sweet and sticky, and it’s kind of teenage girl-y, but he thinks maybe if Derek likes the way it sounds then it could be good.
“You don’t know that,” Derek says, and then it’s Stiles’ turn to huff, so he makes it a loud one, makes sure Derek can hear it. The awkwardness has gone, so now he’s just annoyed.
“You need to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” Derek asks.
“Doubting that you are what I want, and okay, y’know, I don’t know the future, but I don’t foresee me not wanting you in the future. You’re all dark and broody and it’s a little overdone but mostly hot and I like the way you touch me and kiss me and I even like the way you snore and believe me, if I didn’t, I would be so gone because loud, ugly snoring would definitely be a deal breaker. So y’know, all of this…” He gestures to Derek. “I like it. Love it. Whatever it. It’s good and it’s mine so I’m not going to run out of I love yous or ways to show it. Well, I might run out of ways to show it, but I’m gonna try so maybe if you could give me a break on that one, I’d - ”
Derek cuts him off. “D’you ever shut up?” He tugs Stiles up out of his chair, drags him close, kisses him and Stiles doesn’t make a move to hold him in return, not at first, wants to make him work for it, except he always melts too quickly, like butter in a hot frying pan, and then he’s got his arms around Derek too. Resisting… not really in his vocabulary. But other words are.
“Stupid,” Stiles mutters into Derek’s chest when Derek pulls away from his mouth. “Hate you.”
And Derek will accept that too, Stiles knows he will; he already has with that stupid smirk on his face, his hand playing with the hair at the back of Stiles’ neck. Because it’s just another way that Stiles is trying out “I love you.”