[ hal isn't entirely sure how one event led to another led to him tied to a bed. he can track the escalation, maybe; his frank confessions to stiles, the belief that he lacked control, was too far gone to fix. irredeemable.
stiles disagreed. thought he could control it, thought he just needed practice, reminding. that if the life of someone he theoretically cared about was on the line, surely he'd be able to resist temptation. part of him thinks he maybe should've seen this coming from someone reckless enough to willfully surround himself with werewolves, but this— ]
It's suicide.
[ the words come out sounding more like a desperate plea than anything close to damning. if he had time for shame that wasn't soaked in blood, he might find this entire situation slightly embarrassing; outsmarted by a teenager, held hostage to his ruthless optimism. instead he just yanks on the restraints, hard, and gives them a slightly panicked look when they don't give. ]
[ stiles shakes his head, one foot bouncing. he's hyped up — it's hard not to be when he's just gone all fifty shades on his dumb dangerous crush. probably he should be nervous about the fact that hal is gonna bite him, but he means what he's saying: he has total faith that hal can do this. no, stiles' reasons for being nervous are rooted in being seventeen and wanting to prove himself because hal is intelligent and interesting and really attractive. ]
I'm not gonna let you go, dude.
[ he slides onto the bed, gets up in hal's space, heartbeat tripping along. ]
I'm gonna show you that you're ready to go face the outside world without a babysitter.
felt like i was writing hannibal for a second here
I'm not overreacting. [ not the most elaborate argument, but he sounds sure of it. and while that desperation is still there, there's a thin edge of something else — aggression, focus.
he can hear stiles' heartbeat, the rabbit pulse of his blood. that's nothing new. blood is a constant, something hal's always aware of. it's the reason he avoids people, avoids contact, avoids trust. being close to people is usually something of a threat, a terrifying possibility that he'll dodge at any cost; the difference is that here, tied down, it's more like a promise.
hal would be lying if he said there wasn't a spark of excitement in it, and that realization is nothing short of terrifying. it's a promise that stiles makes good on a few moments later as he slides onto to the bed, and abruptly there's nothing but the warmth of stiles' body, the scent of his skin and the blood beneath it. hal goes still, wrists drawn tight against the restraints. ]
I'm not ready. I'll never be ready, not for this— maybe I'll be fine for a week, a month, but the second you think you've fixed me, I'll change. I'll go back to being who I really am.
[ there's no trace of paranoia left. the delivery is plain, simple, weighted by grief; he's speaking from experience, not conjecture. ]
[ stiles rolls his eyes. part of all that asking around he did about vampires included asking about cures, but he's accepted there pretty much isn't one. hal has the advantage that he can exercise the control to go without blood, totally cold turkey, and appointing himself the enforcer of that gives stiles a little power trip, a level of control that the rest of his life on the tranquility lacks. ]
[ so even though he's scared, it's the danger-rush of adrenaline, a calculated risk that he's constructed for himself. he'd take that over hypervigilant anxiety over nothing pretty much any day of the week. ]
I know you want it.
[ the corner of his mouth crooks, and he resists crooning off-key that hal is a good girrrrl. ]
But you can control yourself.
[ he lifts one long-fingered hand, and traces them over the rough stubble of hal's jaw, wrist startlingly near. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
makes new things also if this makes zero sense i can clarify beer sorry
stiles disagreed. thought he could control it, thought he just needed practice, reminding. that if the life of someone he theoretically cared about was on the line, surely he'd be able to resist temptation. part of him thinks he maybe should've seen this coming from someone reckless enough to willfully surround himself with werewolves, but this— ]
It's suicide.
[ the words come out sounding more like a desperate plea than anything close to damning. if he had time for shame that wasn't soaked in blood, he might find this entire situation slightly embarrassing; outsmarted by a teenager, held hostage to his ruthless optimism. instead he just yanks on the restraints, hard, and gives them a slightly panicked look when they don't give. ]
You have to let me go.
no subject
[ stiles shakes his head, one foot bouncing. he's hyped up — it's hard not to be when he's just gone all fifty shades on his dumb dangerous crush. probably he should be nervous about the fact that hal is gonna bite him, but he means what he's saying: he has total faith that hal can do this. no, stiles' reasons for being nervous are rooted in being seventeen and wanting to prove himself because hal is intelligent and interesting and really attractive. ]
I'm not gonna let you go, dude.
[ he slides onto the bed, gets up in hal's space, heartbeat tripping along. ]
I'm gonna show you that you're ready to go face the outside world without a babysitter.
felt like i was writing hannibal for a second here
he can hear stiles' heartbeat, the rabbit pulse of his blood. that's nothing new. blood is a constant, something hal's always aware of. it's the reason he avoids people, avoids contact, avoids trust. being close to people is usually something of a threat, a terrifying possibility that he'll dodge at any cost; the difference is that here, tied down, it's more like a promise.
hal would be lying if he said there wasn't a spark of excitement in it, and that realization is nothing short of terrifying. it's a promise that stiles makes good on a few moments later as he slides onto to the bed, and abruptly there's nothing but the warmth of stiles' body, the scent of his skin and the blood beneath it. hal goes still, wrists drawn tight against the restraints. ]
I'm not ready. I'll never be ready, not for this— maybe I'll be fine for a week, a month, but the second you think you've fixed me, I'll change. I'll go back to being who I really am.
[ there's no trace of paranoia left. the delivery is plain, simple, weighted by grief; he's speaking from experience, not conjecture. ]
hannibal doesn't avoid people
[ stiles rolls his eyes. part of all that asking around he did about vampires included asking about cures, but he's accepted there pretty much isn't one. hal has the advantage that he can exercise the control to go without blood, totally cold turkey, and appointing himself the enforcer of that gives stiles a little power trip, a level of control that the rest of his life on the tranquility lacks. ]
[ so even though he's scared, it's the danger-rush of adrenaline, a calculated risk that he's constructed for himself. he'd take that over hypervigilant anxiety over nothing pretty much any day of the week. ]
I know you want it.
[ the corner of his mouth crooks, and he resists crooning off-key that hal is a good girrrrl. ]
But you can control yourself.
[ he lifts one long-fingered hand, and traces them over the rough stubble of hal's jaw, wrist startlingly near. ]