Work Text:
”I love you.”
The tiniest words in existence, the three most unnecessary confessions one can speak of. Words that are supposed to be heated and rewarding, they are supposed to be a fragment of someone’s soul. But as those words are being spoken in the room that smells stuffy, where two naked bodies shared sweat and saliva, it didn’t feel as magnificent as it was supposed to.
It’s not like his mother always told him when he was younger as she tucked him in for a long night of sleep. She used to tell him stories about princes and princesses but also farmers and their loved ones. She didn’t exclude any detail; her telling was vivid and it left a print in him. It wasn’t like he was ever searching for his princess and to fall in love with her and have babies. That part was insignificant for him. But he had always been curious about the words ‘I love you’.
When his mother said those words to him, he never looked at her in the same way his father did. It was a different kind of love, she explained. ‘He is my soulmate, if he’d die, a part of me would die as well. You are my child and I’d die for you.’ Although, she told him that no matter which relationship they had, if someone loves one another then a bond is shared. Apparently, loving someone is supposed to be gaining a new type of strength. Connecting with your lost piece.
He didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like, he’d never experienced love in a way that others did. He saw people on the street, holding hands and kissing; murmuring ‘I love you’ as if no one around them were listening. It’s desirable for human kind to live through the knowing of being loved and to be in love. He had never understood that wanting. It felt impulsive and wild, he liked being in control but people usually talked about the ride. No control. It scared him, in a way.
Was he supposed to have this knot in his stomach; being tied in his insides and breathe shallowly through his nose? Was it supposed to feel like treading water in an ocean he can’t reach up from? He’s underwater, drowning beneath the surface, kicking and screaming among thousands of unhelping bubbles. Is it supposed to feel like this, while having someone lying on top of him, kissing him sloppily on his skin?
Perhaps it’s what his mother also said one day when he asked what it felt like. She told him it was different from person to person. You never knew until you questioned it. So maybe it’s supposed to be like this; falling into an endless cliff. Before this moment inside a room with posters of Spiderman and Wolverine covering the walls, he’d run away before he was in the cliff for too long. But right now; having the doe-eyed boy worshipping his skin with his soft lips, whimpering his name underneath warm touches, he won’t run.
Perhaps the feeling in his chest of slowly dying underneath feathery touches is what his mother would’ve called love. Then who is he to not accept the parachute the boy is giving him?
He’s sighing into a melting kiss, caressing the younger boy’s body, slowly to drench him in everything he can give. Stiles is watching him with big, fond eyes. For him, it seems like loving someone is easier; like rose petals on the ground. He sighs again and nibbles on the skin right underneath Stiles’ ear, breathing in the shivers from him.
“I love you too,” he then whispers.