MAGIC IS MAGIC IS MAGIC
Sterek Poetry, Spark!Stiles, Werewolf!Derek, Derek POV.
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Earth's energies searing from long, lithe fingers, wiping out all in its all-consuming path with that wild, wild will. His will, Mother Nature's son. With blind faith or kindness or with his worthy wrath, it flies—warrior monkeys released from their cage—carried off on a soaring hotbed of electrical rampage, following war's path: all roads will lead to Rome, eventually, as long as Rome is made safe once more…
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And then there's the sour part: how the boy will always make so sure that everybody else is safe and accounted for, that all of them make it home that day (he takes it all and so much more) but won't take into account his own kind's mortal laws: his thinning humanity, those things he needs yet lacks: his own crucial, fragile life he's letting slip between the cracks…
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He too should have protection, one that will not yield, one that is red hot to the touch. Someone dedicated to fight for him like the sword and shield he is for us. Someone who sees he is enough, to show him how he's so much more than just a necessary weapon in our arsenal; so much more than just raw flame and sparks of light and fierce caring, so much more than the sharpest sharp mind's strategy: He, The Boy Who Runs With Wolves, needs to know he's more to them than he thinks he is—but I also want the boy to know he is even more than that to me…
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So, terrified, I do the thing I'd promised the dead that I would not: bring down the walls of blood-spilt stone I'd kept up to hide myself—that mountain sized mountain of deadwood and ash (that might as well be mountain ash) which kept me safe but rendered me so forcibly alone, living in a house that could no longer be my home—and I step out from behind its shadow, prickly and brash, yet trying, trying, trying my pathetically weak but downright best to push past my own fear of being known and to reach out to him, reach further into me, into something new, stepping into light: into Me and Him. I want to hold his hand, to touch his flame and let him know he cannot burn me as I am already burnt. To let him know that he won't hurt me with his solid mound of hurt. I'm craving telling him how he now has another who can shoulder blame and guilt, another to give him shelter from this bone-hard life, from his life, from himself, and from all of his shame. I want to tell him I can be there to take hold of and to hold back the blackened void, the nothingness, all old and blossoming pain.
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Magic is magic is magic, I look at him and say.
I touch those long, lithe fingers… and they don't shy away.
I tell him, we're both from magic… and he doesn't leave, he stays.
I tell him, I'm here for both of us because, boy, we are the same.
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His fingers lace with mine
I'm crying without crying
His arms 'round mine, like twine
He knows I want him to be mine
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He smiles—a small but soft thing, for once—and I'm so far gone.
He swallows, deeply, licks those lips with that clever, silver tongue.
He leans in close, breathes my breath, says, I knew I wasn't wrong.
Confirms, You and I, together, Wolfman? Pure magic; have been all along.
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for @siriusstufff :)
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