triskehale | closed; thomas

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closed,
thomas

closed; thomas

Truthfully, Derek doesn't how good of an idea it is to spend so much time with Thomas. It seems like sort of a dangerous, painful road to go down, but then again, Derek isn't known for his fantastic decision making skills.

Thomas is so different that Stiles in so many ways, and Derek likes him for the person that he is dependent of what he looks like, but sometimes Derek looks at him and forgets that he can't reach out and touch him, pull him in. It's confusing, and painful, but Derek pushes past it. Thomas deserves better than to be brushed aside because he looks like the person that Derek was in love with, and he can handle it.

Derek gets up early on Friday morning and puts on running pants and a white tank, and then feeds his cat before pulling on his sneakers. He grabs two protein bars and two bottles of water, throwing them in a plastic bag before heading out the door. He makes it to the Bramford building in no time flat, not even working up a sweat. Once inside, he takes the stairs and then lets out a breath before stepping up to Thomas' door and knocking on it.

This will be fine. Totally, completely fine.

Probably.

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More and more, Thomas was beginning to notice how Derek looked at him, how he reacted and Thomas couldn't help but notice if he was seeing someone else's face when he looked. Someone since departed, leaving behind only memories and emotional scars.

"What's a real breakfast anyway?" Thomas asked, shoving those thoughts aside for the moment. The water was already cooling on his skin, sand sticking to his wet ankles as they walked out of the water and back onto the shore. "Did Frypan screw us all out of a real breakfast back in the Glade?"

It's hard to look at Thomas and not see Stiles, at least a little. Derek knows that it isn't fair to Thomas and he does feel guilty about it, but deep down he knows that it isn't the only reason he looks.

"Probably," Derek says with a laugh, pulling himself to his feet and going back over to the big, flat rock where he left his clothes. It's big enough for them both to lay on it, and nice and warm from the sun beating down onto it. Derek gracefully hops the few feet up onto it and turns to hold out his hand to help Thomas up. "I'm talking the full breakfast works, here. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon. Coffee and orange juice. Hashbrowns. All of it."

"That's a lot of food," Thomas remarked as he took Derek's hand and pulled himself up onto the rock. He settled himself on the rock next to Derek, stretching his legs out and shaking some water off his arms.

The chill that had clung to him as they'd walked up the beach was gone, driven away by the sun above. Thomas watched the small droplets of water dry quickly on his arm as the heat warmed him up.

"I can help you with all that, if you want," Thomas offered, glancing over. He pushed his hair off his forehead, letting the damp strands slide through his fingers. "Not that I know how to cook, though. That was Frypan's thing, and he hated other people mucking up in his kitchen."

Even those Gladers that worked underneath him were often regulated to grunt work like dishes, serving, and other menial tasks while Frypan played gourmet chef.

"I was thinking about going to the diner," Derek says, looking over to give Thomas a sly grin before bumping their their shoulders together. "Or are you just trying to get me to cook for you again?"

Derek is comfortable like this with few people, and somehow Thomas has already found himself one of them, It's strange. Well, the entire situation is strange, but Derek doesn't want Thomas to think that he's only growing fond of him because of who he looks like. He just can't think of any way to say that.

Thomas schooled his expression into one of pure and utter innocence. He widened his eyes, tilted his head and leaned a little more against Derek's shoulder. Some of it was an act but most of it wasn't. The leaning wasn't. The leaning definitely wasn't.

"Do you think I'd do that?" Thomas asked him, barely suppressing a snicker. This whole day had been good for him. The weight that constantly lay across his shoulders had lifted, leaving him feeling light and relaxed. It was a rare feeling but one he'd embrace on the rare occasion it happened. "I wouldn't do that to you. Not today, at least."

The innocent expression dissolved and Thomas laughed, shaking his head and turning his face up to the warm sun again. "Nah, we can go to the diner. Save the cooking for another time when I'm not as dumb and can help you."

Derek watches Thomas' expression change and finds himself unable to look away. His skin feels molten hot where they're pressed together, and Derek resolutely does not look any lower than Thomas' chin, acutely aware of how little they're actually wearing.

"I think you might," Derek replies, voice pitched low as he smiles. But then his expression changes, turning into a confused frown, and he shakes his head. "You're not dumb, Thomas. Far from it."

He watches as Thomas looks up, skin glowing radiantly under the sun. He tears his gaze away and looks out at the waves gently lapping at the shore. "Besides, if I teach you to cook, what will you need me for?"

Thomas wondered how his brief time on the island might have been different it not for Derek. He could see himself still wearing the clothes he'd shown up, holed up in his dark apartment, only remembering to eat when he started to feel the physical and mental pain only associated with hunger. While he still didn't trust this place and continued to think he'd find a way back eventually, Derek had made this place comfortable. He'd done more for him than anyone else in Thomas's life and Thomas had no way to repay that debt.

Thomas kept his face turned up to the sun, bright orange lighting up the world behind his closed eyes. This world wasn't burning. This world was alive.

"Because who else is gonna remind me to eat?" Thomas joked before opening his eyes and turning back towards Derek. "I'd need you because I would. Because I like being around you. Because I'm comfortable."

His comfort wasn't always visible, he knew. There was tension and strain in his shoulders and back, curling up to choke him and suffocate and drag him under. But, there were times that eased and this was one of those times. It had been like that during the movie too. "Better question is why would you need me?"

Derek is expecting the joke, but he definitely wasn't prepared for what comes after. He knows that he isn't the warmest of people, and not the easiest to get along with. But Thomas means it when he says that he would need Derek, and that he's comfortable around him. This knowledge brings with it a whole surge of emotion that Derek has no idea what to do with, not at first.

All he wants is to be needed, to find safety and companionship. He has friends here, more friends than he ever thought he could have. He knows they like him, and maybe they even need him, but to hear it said is something else entirely. He stares at Thomas, a little stunned, but he can't help the way that the corners of his mouth quirk up into a smile.

"For all the same reasons," Derek assures him, because the words don't flow so freely with him. It comes from years of emotional constipation, and trying his best to numb himself to the world. Talking about what he's feeling is a herculean effort that he hasn't quite grown accustomed to yet, if he ever will.

After the words had left his mouth, Thomas wondered if he'd said too much. He didn't want to make Derek uncomfortable, not when he was probably still healing from a departure that cut him deep. The words were sincere and they'd been tucked away in a corner of Thomas's heart for a little while now. Just like the Maze, just like the Scorch, he knew he couldn't make it in this city alone. He didn't even want to be alone though he would always think people here were much better off without him.

"See, no harm in teaching me to cook," Thomas said lightly. The smile answered Thomas's question about whether he'd made Derek uncomfortable. It wasn't forced or faked and Thomas liked the way it looked on Derek's face. "Well, not unless you mind me starting small fires because I bet that happens. Frypan probably got off easy when I didn't get a go in the kitchen."

"We'll start off with something small," Derek says with a quiet laugh, feeling lighter now that Thomas had eased a worry that he wasn't even consciously aware of. He's still so used to how it was in Beacon Hills, and him being important only because of what he could provide, rather than who he was.

Sometimes it's hard to remember that he's been in Darrow a long longer than he was in Beacon Hills, after Laura died. Those few months seemed to last a lifetime. And then sometimes he feels guilty for settling into Darrow so much better than he did back home. There are people here that are trapped and desperate to get out and go home, and it's not that Derek likes being stuck here against his will, but he knows that it's better here. For him, at least.

"But I am determined to be a better cook than someone named Frypan," Derek says with a roll of his eyes, gracefully rolling backwards to lay on the rock. It's flat and smooth, warm against his back in a pleasant way, and he lets out a content sigh.

"I don't know, that's a lot to live up to," Thomas remarked, mimicking Derek's movement by laying back and stretching out carefully. He wiggled his toes, feeling sand caught up between them that he'd probably find in his socks later. It probably wouldn't be the last time.

"I mean, how can you expect to beat a guy who smelled like grease and probably slept with the Glade's animals," Thomas said, closing his eyes and letting that bright orange color fill up his mind again. The last time he'd laid out in the sun, he'd woken up with patches of red crisscrossing his face and a mouth so dry, he'd barely been able to talk. "He had lots of hair too. Lots."

"Well." Derek laughs at that, feeling relaxed, and looks pointedly down at his hairy chest and arms. "I'm not exactly hairless, but I'll do my best not to get any hair in your food. Or fur."

They lay there in comfortable silence for awhile, drying off until the salt feels tacky on his skin. Really, they should have gone to the watering hole. Next time, he thinks pleasantly. Because he's pretty sure there will be a next time. Thomas seems outdoorsy in a way that most of his friends aren't, aside from Luke. As comfortable as it is to spend time with another wolf, there's something great about showing his world to a human who is willing to try and see it through a wolf's eyes. Thomas seems understanding, and unafraid, and part of Derek settles at that. He can be completely himself around Thomas, if he chose.

Derek stretches out a little and feels his fingers brush along Thomas' wrist. Without thinking, he curls his fingers around Thomas' for a moment, pressing the pads of his fingers to Thomas' pulse just to feel it, and then he lets go and lets out a pleased sigh. He isn't eager to leave, so he just stays stretched out on the rock, soaking in the sunshine with a small smile on his face.

Derek's hair just seemed to be different than Frypan's. Frypan was the King of Unruly Hair with follicles sticking out from places Thomas didn't even think hair could grow. Thomas much preferred how Derek looked, smelled, and well, Derek was just all around better. He missed Frypan, sure, but they'd never really been that close.

The longer they lay there, the drowsier Thomas felt. The sun had always seemed to have that effect on him, pushing him down and tucking a blanket around him like a cocoon. Eyes closed, he felt like maybe he was floating up towards the sky. His body felt light, free of the scars both visible and not.

The touch on his wrist didn't startle him. The fingers were warm and searching and Thomas wondered if he could just take Derek with him when he floated away. When the touch disappeared, Thomas allowed a sleepily smile to cross his features.

His wrist still felt warm. He still felt warm.

Derek sort of loses track of time as they lay there dozing in the sun, arms occasionally brushing. After awhile he remembers that while his healing abilities will never allow his skin to do more than turn a golden brown, the same can't be said for Thomas. Derek drags himself into a sitting position and looks over, expecting to see lots of pink skin, but he's pleasantly surprised.

Thomas' skin is tan and warm looking, obviously less vulnerable to the sun's rays than Derek expected. He finds himself letting his gaze sweep over Thomas' body, lingering at the cut of his hips, and then he realizes what he's doing and swallows hard, jerking his head forward. If his cheeks and ears are pink, he'll blame it on sunburn that hasn't quite had a chance to heal.

"Come on, lazy ass," Derek teases, patting Thomas' thigh with the back of his hand. "If we stay out here much longer, we're going to bake. Or starve to death."

Thomas felt like he was covered in molasses. Everything seemed slow. The movement of his limbs, the clouds passing overhead, Derek's words. He blinked and time seemed to speed up again. The molasses was gone replaced by a warm fuzziness that fogged up his head.

"Wouldn't want that," Thomas said, pushing himself up and swiping his forearm across his face. He kept expecting his arm to come away covered in dirt or blood but it didn't. It hadn't for several weeks now. "Been way too close to doing both already. Wouldn't recommend it."

He'd probably take the burning over the starving, if he had to choose. Starving to death was like a creeping thing, something that wrapped its bony death claws around you one day and squeezed a week later. It took time. It hurt.

Stretching, Thomas looked over at Derek, taking in the pink on his ears and cheeks. His answer to that was a smile, small and brief, but genuine. Pleased. "Lead the way."

Derek notices Thomas watching him, smiling in this private way that Derek can't help but to return. He stretches and gathers his clothes, putting on his pants and then wiping the sand off of his feet before putting on his socks and shoes. His shirt gets tucked into the waistband of his pants, because he likes the feeling of the sun on his skin too much.

Thomas' back is to him and Derek studies the pattern of moles there before taking a step forward and sliding his hand across it, brushing the sand away. He swallows hard, letting his hand glide down the length of Thomas' spine before it falls away.

Thomas shivered.

Quicksilver pleasure spread out, sensation arcing down his back and across his hips until Thomas wondered if the entirety of torso was covered in goosebumps. It was just because of the sand. It was the sand and Derek was just being nice.

But, maybe he wondered if Derek's hand had lingered too long for that too be true. Maybe he wanted to ask that but didn't. It seemed like a boundary right now, being too blunt about things like that so Thomas kept on his side of the line. Stayed there where he could enjoy the touch while overthinking them.

He snuck a quick glance back at Derek, expression open and earnest, before wiggling into his clothes. Pants, shirt, socks, shoes and then a hand carded through his sandy hair.

"Think I'm ready," he said after clearing his throat and turning around.

Derek would have been able to tell that Thomas enjoyed the touch even without his heightened senses, but the quick uptick of his heart really cemented it. Thomas was pleased by Derek's hand on his skin, in some way or another, and that was hard to ignore. It made him want to press in closer, to do it again, just to keep that look on his face. To keep that shiver running through him.

But instead he just stands there, feeling a little at war with himself as Thomas dresses. It's an entirely confusing situation, and Derek is having trouble untangling all that he's feeling.

He's staring down at the sand until Thomas clears his throat, and then he looks up with a nod. His cheeks are no longer pink, and he knocks a few grains of sand away from his beard before they head back towards the trail. Derek feels all lazy and warm still, not quite up to running, so he just walks along at a leisurely pace and looks over at Thomas with a small smile. "Did you have fun?"

Thomas didn't think he could run anymore even if he'd tried. The swimming, the time in the sun, had left him feeling boneless, like his legs were jelly holding up a body made of air.

He stared down at his feet, watching the new sneakers get scuffed up with dirt and bits of plant that had fallen into the trail. They weren't boots but they'd done pretty well today. He didn't know if they'd survive the Scorch but he wanted to take them back anyway. He could give them to someone else, a Flare infected refugee, in exchange for information or something.

"Yeah," Thomas answered, tearing his attention away from his shoes and focusing it back on Derek. "Yeah, I did. Even though you had to cheat to win."

That was a joke. Thomas had known before Derek had shown up at his door that he'd be on the losing end of a race. Before Thomas knew about Derek's abilities, he'd known that beating Derek in a race was an extreme long shot. "I'll forgive you for that. I'll win next time."

Maybe if Derek let him. Next time.

"It's not cheating if I use my natural talents," Derek says airily, but he gives Thomas a sharp grin. "But I appreciate your forgiveness."

And then Thomas mentions a next time, and Derek feels pleased at that. This is something that he can see them doing, running around the woods together. Exploring. He's suddenly excited for Thomas to see snow, even though that's months away.

His mood diminishes just a little when he remembers just how much that Thomas doesn't want to be here, and that Derek is at best the balm on an open wound, but that's okay. Most of the people in this city don't want to be here. He was in a relationship with someone who never stopped looking for a way out, even when Derek was sitting right next to him. It's just the way that things are.

They walk quietly along the path that Derek has created in his two years here, just from all the running around that he does. The morning dew along with the coolness it brought has all burned away, and Derek is grateful for the shade of the trees. It's a warm day, and the air feels syrupy and thick, but not oppressively so.

Thomas did want to leave, he couldn't deny that. The reasons had so little to do with Darrow itself and so much to do with what he'd left behind, with the guilt that he couldn't seem to forget no matter how hard he tried. It was the Flare, running loose in his head, while the cure sat somewhere beyond the Scorch, waiting for him. For them.

Darrow was infinitely better than the barren world he'd left. He wanted to want to stay. He wanted to take a deep breath in the morning and know that it wouldn't be the last thing he ever did. He wanted so much.

"Next time, I'll tell you a secret," Thomas promised, making that choice right now. Someone needed to know and there wasn't anyone that came close to Derek in Thomas's mind. He'd tell him. He'd tell Derek and he'd prepare himself for any reaction that might happen. "Win or lose. I promise."

"Okay," Derek tells him, and he doesn't ask if he's sure. It's something that Thomas obviously wants to get off of his chest, even if he's nervous about it, so Derek will be there when he's ready to tell. Thomas accepted him being a werewolf so readily, and touched him without fear or disgust, so Derek can't imagine that there is anything he'd react too badly to. "Whenever you want to race again, let me know. If I'm in a good mood, I might even let you win."

He bumps their shoulders together with a small smile as they walk, and Derek can't help but to remember what it was like to feel Thomas' fingers working through his fur. His wolf so rarely gets affection, no matter how desperately they both crave it, so it's hard not to want it again. "Maybe you'll run a little faster if there's an actual wolf nipping at your heels."

"Hey, I might," Thomas said, laughing quietly. "I ran pretty damn fast when we were being chased by Grievers and trust me, you've got nothing on them."

Derek was his own kind of predator. He was quick where Grievers were slow, controlled where Grievers would run over anything in their path. Grievers were nightmare material. Derek was not.

"And if you catch me, you're not gonna roll over me and pretty much swallow me up," Thomas said, shivering at the thought. He'd let a Griever stab him intentionally and that had been enough. Too much. He couldn't even imagine what it was like to see lightness change to dark as you were sucked into the blubbery flesh of a Griever. Thomas could imagine a lot of terrible deaths and that topped the list.

Thomas' words, as innocently as he no doubt meant them, make Derek's mind go to an entirely different place. Rapid fire quick, he imagines doing just that-- chasing Thomas down and rolling him over, swallowing him whole. The wolf in him shivers pleasantly at the image and Derek's breath catches in his throat, making him cough a little as his cheeks go pink.

He's embarrassed by the thought, and a little ashamed, but he can't exactly help where his mind goes. Derek's libido has been recently re-awoken as of late, and his thoughts are definitely going dirtier a lot quicker.

Derek clears his throat and shakes it away, smiling as he reaches out to grip the back of Thomas' neck. "I'll do my best not to eat you up."

The cough caught his attention and that, combined with the sudden flush on Derek's face, made Thomas wonder what had caused it. Derek's opened up to him about a lot in a short amount of time but Thomas knew there was still a lot to him, undiscovered and kept behind a locked door. So, maybe the reaction had been something that Derek had been thinking about or maybe it was something Thomas had said.

He wanted to ask but then Derek's hand was on the back of his neck and asking turned into snickering and shaking his head at Derek's comment. "That'd be appreciated."

He started to say something about how he tasted and thought better of it. Even someone as dense as Thomas when it came to innuendo knew that would evoke some interesting images. Instead, he said, "I think I'd be more fun and a little more interesting if I wasn't kicking around in someone's stomach. I'd rather not be dinner. Or breakfast. Or lunch. Or a snack. Maybe next week I'll change my mind."

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