Deception || s. stilinski [2]

deprivation

A groan is the first sound he hears leave her lips.

Stiles sits at her desk chair, twisting from side to side as he waits for her to wake. The morning sunlight streams in through her slightly open curtains, shining off her red hair. He picks at the cracked skin of his lips, observing her pale, sleeping face.

The boy was scared to death when he got the call from Danny a few hours earlier, informing him of what had happened at the party. Even though he was in the middle of finding out if his fears are more than just in his head, he rushed back to the house to relieve Danny of his duty of watching over Bea.

The small girl starts moving in her sleep, her face contorting from its peaceful state and scrunching up. A small smile stretches his lips when he sees her nose scrunch in the little way it does when she's annoyed or disgusted; mostly with him. He sees her eyelashes start to flutter, and then her eyes fully open, squinting in the morning light.

"Hey, there, sleepy head," Stiles greets softly, causing Bea to sit up on her forearms, looking at him with wide sapphire eyes as her heart pounds loudly in her chest.

"You scared the hell out of me," Bea states, putting her hand over her racing heart before reaching over to grab her glasses from her nightstand.

He looks over her morning figure. Messy, red hair all over the place, her–his–large tee shirt hanging off her shoulder, her unmade-up face. Stiles has never seen her look so beautiful.

"What are you looking at?" she asks in a raspy morning voice, her eyes staring at him clearly through the lenses of her glasses. A blush overtakes her fair cheeks as she watches his wandering irises.

Stiles sighs, standing from her desk chair before walking over to the bed, sitting down next to her so he's facing her. He reaches out, tucking some of her wild hair behind her ear before resting his hand on her cheek. "I'm looking at you."

She wraps her hand around his wrist, rubbing the inside of it with her thumb gently as she gazes back at him, a smile on her lips. "Why? I look disgusting, I feel like death, and I don't even remember changing into these clothes," she rambles, pulling at his blue stud muffin shirt with her free hand.

He leans his forehead against hers, the smile never leaving his lips as he forgets about what he had been spending his night doing. "I think you look beautiful," he whispers, relishing in the way the blush on her cheeks only deepens.

"Now I know you're lying," she responds, putting her hand on his face and pushing him away. "Don't get too close. My morning breath is like tear gas."

Stiles rolls his eyes with a smirk, turning back to her and getting even closer, if that was possible. "I've smelt a dead body or two. I think I can handle it." Bea chuckles before Stiles leans in, pressing his lips against hers for a while. They don't move their lips, simply keeping them pressed together as they soak in the feeling of being near the other.