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Chapter Text

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They're like the ocean and the moon, really.

Derek's the ocean, forever pushing Stiles away. Brute force mixed with soothing gentleness, salt, clear and murky at the same time. Secrets hiding below the surface, dangerous yet secure. 

Stiles' the moon, pulling at Derek. Calm and bright, a satellite reflecting the sun, masking it's own beauty. Controlling the sea in secret ways, forcing to dry land. Gentle yet forceful. 

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Tracklist Summary

Derek: Push 

1. Wolves (Song Of The Shepherd’s Dog) - Iron & Wine

She’ll wave to the butcher’s boy

with the parking lot music everybody believes

And then dive like a dying bird

at any dude with a dollar at the penny arcade

 

2. The Hard Way - Fort Minor

Is it me or maybe, when I look around daily

I don’t even know the people I can put my trust in lately

3. Hit The Heartbrakes - Black Kids

It’s not me, yeah, it’s you.

You’ve been hittin’ the heartbrakes hard.

It ain’t no use, cos we’re still gonna crash,

cos you’re still keeping after me.

It’s flattering, but really!

4. Creep - Radiohead

Whatever makes you happy,

Whatever you want, 

You’re so fucking special, 

I wish I was special; 

But I’m a creep, 

I’m a weirdo, 

What the hell am I doin’ here? 

I don’t belong here, 

 

5. Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

Tremble, little lion man,

You’ll never settle any of your scores

Your grace is wasted in your face,

Your boldness stands alone among the wreck

 

6. Talking Bird - Death Cab For Cutie

It’s all here for you as long as your choose to stay.

It’s all here for you as long as you don’t fly away.

Stiles: Pull

1.  Unrequited Love - Lykke Li

Oh, the shame this crying game

Oh, my love I’ve been denied it

Oh, my love is unrequited

 

2. I Will Possess Your Heart - Death Cab For Cutie

How I wish you could see the potential,

the potential of you and me.

It’s like a book elegantly bound but,

in a language that you can’t read.

Just yet.

 

3. Black Sheep - The Black Lips

I’ll send you my love on a wire

Light you up every time

Everyone, ooh

Pulls away, ooh

From you

 

4. Undisclosed Desires - Muse

I want to reconcile the violence in your heart

I want to recognise your beauty’s not just a mask

I want to exorcise the demons from your past

I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart

 

5. On Your Porch (Acoustic) - The Format

‘Cause whats left to lose?

I’ve done enough.

And if I fail well then I fail but i gave it a shot.

 

6. I’m Making Eyes at You - Black Kids

You are missing to me and I am missing much

Your sleepy panda eyes, those dangerous thighs, your dirty touch

You are the wildest one but you’re the one that I want

I’m making eyes at you, that’s all I ever do

 

Chapter Text

He dresses quickly. That way he doesn’t have to talk to her. The stench of her sweat slicked skin is everywhere, permeating the sting of cheap perfume and sour beer from every pore as she stretches over the bed, looking for her discarded panties. He can feel it crawling up the back of his throat, he feels like gagging.

He’s gone before she can call out to him, money left on the side table under the flickering table lamp, one of the perks of being able to move so fast.

This is the last time, he tells himself.

But the wolf inside him snarls. No, it’s not the last time; it will never be the last time. The wolf is always hungry, all it consumes is never enough. Girl after girl, boy after boy. Empty meaningless sex; fodder meant for cows, dull and mundane, not bloodthirsty wolves with canines that glimmer dully and muzzles matted with blood.

He craves warm red meat, glistening with fat; muscles and sinew; bone and blood. He wants to eat, to satisfy the wolf, satisfy himself. Gorge himself on what he craves the most.

But how can one satisfy their hunger if the only food that doesn’t make them want to vomit is sixteen years old and calls them childish names like “sourwolf”?

You see-

He acts like the shepherd’s dog, guarding his pack, watching carefully like a father does his sons, but in reality he’s the big bad lone wolf. Prowling on the border, sniffing out the weakest, fattest lamb.

Watching, waiting, taking his time.

The lamb smells of mushrooms, and salty smoke. He can smell it from all the way here on the porch where he stands watching his pack play, for they carry the lambs scent. The smell makes the monster in his chest rear its head and sniff the air. The lamb must taste amazing. He must taste like the good stuff- top dollar wine, black truffles, caviar, aged beef, fine chocolates.  

Food meant for royalty, not orphaned twenty-something year olds with no place to go.

The lamb plays with the pups, not knowing what danger it’s in, never knowing how good he smells. He runs on the field with his lacrosse stick, trying to keep the pace with the pack that play rough, tumbling and nipping and fooling around.

He almost can’t control the wolf, sometimes. It makes him want to howl and push the pups away, snarl and tell him to keep their paws off the lamb. 

His. Lamb.

His precious lamb, meant only for him to eat, to taste, to devour.

To feed on, to tear to shreds and swallow whole.

Like the monster he is. 

Chapter Text

This isn’t the first time, oh no definitely not.

There was The Girl, the one with strawberry blonde hair, whose hair smelled like Jasmines and fresh rain. Oh, how he pined.  For years and years his mouth sang Her praises, for how utterly perfect the Girl was. Years and years of bemoaning Her oblivion; every kiss that wasn’t his, every look that passed him by.

So yes, The Boy knows what this is.

He knows it, oh-

Over and over again the words he read; every sappy love novel his eyes came across, hidden in a box with his Mother’s name.

Over and over the images on the Magic Box, colourful pictures set to sad music; pining heart throbs and weepy prom queens.

He’s memorised the ache he gets when he thinks about it. He knows its every motion, every tug at his lungs, and it’s-

It’s so familiar, this feeling-

This dull marching drum, this moaning weeping string quartet; this slow, addictive burn as he watches the man who calls Himself the Monster, and lets Him tear at his heart, pick apart his heartstrings.

He’s so well versed in the pattern, it’s like breathing.

He thinks, before he falls again: Maybe this will be the last time.

Because there He is, Monster; glistening sweat on His tattooed back, His teeth like a lion, His howl like a wolf. His red eyes burning holes and His hands rip skin; His claws like daggers, watching The Boy, His lips a scowl.

The Boy can feel it deep in his spleen, down in his dick, toothpicks in his trachea-

Unrequited Love.