#lmds

Your toes caught on the slightly uneven paving stone on the front garden of the Stilinski household, noting the absence of the cruiser on the driveway, the space beside it clear of the usual powder blue jeep that was never clean, but a black jeep that was clean sat in its place, a precocious vehicle that and you roll your eyes in a heatless judgement.

In some ways, Mitch Stilinski was the opposite of his younger brother.

He excelled at lacrosse, earning himself a scholarship to a college on the other side of the country, and handing down his famous ‘24’ number to his brother, who had finally tried out for the team at the beginning of junior year after his brother left. He was clean, and he worked out and ate healthy foods, and he had a car from this century that he actually respected. There was something under one of the seats of Stiles’ jeep that was unrecognisable at this point, and you didn’t particularly want to question it.

Despite this, there was a lot they both had in common. Their sarcasm, and loyalty, and passion for the things they loved. Not to mention, the spooky similarity between them both.

Though, Mitch possessed the ability for growing facial hair, which had started coming in his sophomore year, and now in his senior year, Stiles still had a baby face that was smooth and soft, and entirely hairless. It was adorable, really.

So, no, the absence of the blue jeep didn’t immediately clue you in to something being off, because you assumed he may have pulled into the driveway to make space for his brother’s car. Instead, you remained positive and sunny, a collection of DVD’s clutched in your arms and a change of clothes in your bag for the sleepover you were intending to have with your best friend, pizza money tucked into your bra for the food you would undoubtedly order and your heart skipping a couple of beats as you waited patiently for your spastic best friend to swing the door open following your series of knocks.

A few beats passed, before the lock was clicking and the door was shifting, and you dragged your eyes up along his chest. It was not the skinny and plaid covered frame you’d anticipated, but that of the messily cut tank top of a broader and more muscled older brother, a piece of candy hanging from his lips as he chewed it slowly, staring at you expectantly with a blank look.

“Mitch. I see you’re home, then.”

“Well, well, well. Aren’t you the observant one?” His words were sneering, and you scowled at him, used to his moody attitudes from over a decade of knowing the Stilinski boys, but not missing the colder than usual undertone to his words. The banter between the three of you had always been playful, somewhat teasing but his lips would always flicker up at the sides and you’d always been able to see the amusement sparkling in his eyes - much like his brother’s - but this version of Mitch just seemed empty and angry. “What do you want?”

“You’re being awfully rude to someone who knows your real name. I’ll post it under your next status update on Facebook. I wonder if the lacrosse team at Syracuse knows how to properly pronounce Polish names.”

Your threats about revealing his name always got a laugh out of him, or at least a fond roll of the eyes, but this time he just grunted at you and pulled a sour face, sighing like he had somewhere else to be, despite the fact that he was standing with bare feet and a pair of sweatpants on, and clearly had no other plans.

“Fine, be moody. Is Stiles here?”

“Do you see his jeep on the driveway?” Your jaw dropped at the tone of his voice, your shoulders slumping as you glanced back for a second, and when you turned back to him, you didn’t let your eyes meet his. Heat was crawling at your cheeks, and you took a few steps back from the doorway, swallowing down the beginnings of the lump forming in embarrassment from your faith and optimism, and Mitch let out a groan, lifting a hand to run through his hair as he swallowed the last of the candy stick he’d been nibbling on. “Wait, wait. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have been so rude to you.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen you in a bad mood, Mitch, it’s alright.”

“I’m still sorry, kiddo.” Once again, you were scowling, the nickname he knew annoyed you so much peeking through, and at your distaste for it, he was grinning at you cheekily, and just like that the tension between you both had been brushed away, no matter how many months passed between seeing on another. “Stiles isn’t in, though. He went out, like, a couple of minutes before you got here, I’m surprised you didn’t catch him before he went.”

“Well, did he say how long he’d be?”

The elder actually cringed, leaning on the doorpost and looking out at the surrounding of the street for a second, before fixing his attention back on you. “He told me not to wait up, so I'm assuming he’s going to be a while.” His eyes then dropped down to the bundle in your arms, and a pitiful look took over his features. “You had plans, didn’t you?”

You simply hummed, feeling your body deflating sadly as your plans fell through, and while you were disappointed, you couldn't exactly say you were surprised. Lately, your plans had been coming second in his eyes a lot, and he let out a sad sound himself. Something between attempting to comfort you, and annoyance at his younger sibling, and your cheeks twitched to show a barely present smile, one shoulder rising and falling as you tried to brush it off. “I bet he said something about Lydia needing him, huh?”

“He did, actually..”

You nodded, more to yourself than to him, before doing your best to perk back up, adjusting the belongings in your arms and trying to mask your disappointment. “Right, well, that’s all good. I can just catch up on some reading, anyway, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, it’s a shitty thing for him to do.” His voice was a little sharper than usual, and you let out a laugh, nodding at his words as he stood up a little further and opened the door for you. “Why don’t you come in, anyway? You can hang out with me?” You paused, eyes narrowing at him for a second as you studied him, and he raised his brows at you in his own silent analysis of your reaction. “You’re in love with Stiles, it’s been written all over your cute little face since you were freshman, and my girlfriend broke up with me, and you’re not the worst of his friends. So, why don’t you bring your broken heart inside, and we’ll order some takeout, and wallow in self-pity and misery together?”

Once again, a blush was covering your face, splotchy patches of warmth that made you uncomfortable. You wanted to get in your sweats, and order food and laugh with your best friend, but now Mitch was holding open the door for you and looking at you with a little grin, and you accepted, taking a few steps forwards and over the threshold and into the house as your emotions bubbled up and over.

Dropping your bag beside the front door and kicking off your shoes, the man plucked the armful of belongings from you and moved away for only a second, placing them down on the table and coming back to stand before you. It was an uncomfortable tension, but it was unusual. You had hung out with Mitch on multiple occasions, but never just the two of you. You sniffed lightly, and he let a rumbling sound out from deep within his chest, before placing an arm around your shoulders stiffly and pulling you into a loose hug. “I’m sorry about my brother, he’s an ass.”

You nodded into his shoulder, before bringing your arms up around him and squeezing him tightly, your hands bunching up in the back of the thin cotton shirt he was wearing. Only a second later, he was wrapping his other arm around your waist, and pressing his nose into your hair, letting out a shaky breath over your skin, and suddenly you were clinging to one another, your sniffling breaths muffled against his body.

You were trembling, you could feel it within yourself, the rush of emotions all making you feel weak, and yet no tears came out, because you weren’t entirely sad. You felt comfort in the arms of your friend, you felt safe, and you felt understood. His own pain made you feel less pathetic, and the way he was holding onto you just as tightly gave you the understanding that you weren’t suffering alone, and so when you were finally ready to pull back, his cheeks were a little damp and you gave him your best smile, bumping your forehead against his chin before stepping back.

“You promised me food, then?”

“That I did. What do you feel like?” He beamed, dragging a hand down his face and walking towards the kitchen letting you follow of your own accord and hop up onto one of the stools at the counter to watch him as he sorted through takeout menus. Passing them over to you, you glanced down at the pile of laminated and colourful leaflets, and you looked back up at him, shrugging.

“Stiles normally just orders us pizza, I brought a twenty because he likes the stuffed crust ones and to put his own toppings on and it adds one hell of a cost.”

He chuckled, rubbing his hands together and leaning his hands on the counter. “Yeah, that does sound like him, but what do you have?” He fixed you with a look when you gaped a little bit, before sighing and spreading out the collection before you. “Next time Stiles goes to just order a pizza, tell him what you want. These places are good if you want Chinese, but the Blue Dragon is my favourite because they do some pretty awesome spring rolls and dumplings. There’s also a Korean place, or an Indian place if you want something spicy but I don’t know if they deliver, we may have to go get it. If you really want pizza, there’s a place in there that’s better than Dominos, they just aren’t as popular so Stiles doesn’t bother with them.”

Upon finishing his spiel, your eyes were wide, and you thumbed through the other booklets, noting the way some of them had meals and dishes circled or highlighted, and the shiny blue of a fold-out menu for the Blue Dragon caught your attention, and you shifted it to the top.

“Do you really want Chinese food, or are you picking this because I said it was my favourite?”

His voice was stern but playful, and you opened it up, waving him off idly as he laughed at you and he circled around to stand beside you, the warmth of his body flushing over your side as he waited patiently. “I do actually want Chinese food, by the way. But since this is your preference, I figured we could order from here. You can tell me what’s good, and you get the stuff you like. Win-win.”

“Alright, I’ll take that deal.”

The two of you debated for a couple of minutes over the choices, before he was pulling out his phone and sitting up on the counter beside you, legs swinging as he orders all the food you both wanted, indulging you each time you poked at his leg and added onto the order when you came across something you liked, and you were sure you’d spent considerably more than you had on an unnecessary amount of food, but if you didn’t have the funds, you could always pay Mitch back.

He was holding up a bottle of whisky, offering you a glass with a few chunks of ice in the bottom, and you accepted it happily, following him through to the living room and collapsing on the couch. It was a little awkward, to begin with, the two of you chatting between yourselves and sipping on the drinks you had, before eventually settling on a movie. When it began, however, you were a few drinks in and suddenly the conversation was flowing smoothly, the dialogue and plot of the film falling away as the two of you inched closer to one another from opposite ends of the couch, more and more enthusiastic about the topics you ricocheted between.

Food had arrived, and you’d eaten, between laughs and jokes and his eyes lingering on you each time you tried new portions of the meal so that he could watch for your reactions. You loved them all, his recommendations panning out, and soon, half of the bottle was gone, and you were laying out across the couch with your legs across his lap and you head in the cloud, warmth filling you from head to toe.

He had a hand on your knee, full-bellied laughs coming from his mouth as he stroked up and down your leg gently, the movie had faded away into the background. He had listened as you poured out your heart to him over his younger brother in your tipsy stupor, and he in return had shared with you the truths of his break up.

You told him about the way you hated that Stiles seemed to never have time for you anymore, and that he continued to chase Lydia years later than his original crush, hopelessly falling at her feet when she’d only just become aware of him and was using him for her own gains. He told you about Katrina, the blonde bombshell whom you remembered. She was a cheerleader at Beacon Hills high and Mitch’s high school sweetheart, and she went to a college in New York like him, but after the first year the spark began to fade, and the distance may as well have been ocean’s wide, because they had drifted. What hurt him the most was change, the nagging feeling that he could have done something different, that she could have been the one if he’d made more visits to her on the weekends and more trips to see her on the holidays.

The confessions had only ever been shared with one another, and suddenly the two of you had a bond that nobody else could touch, because your deepest fears and secrets had been exposed to one another in a night of greasy takeout and almost a full bottle of whiskey, but the absence you’d felt when your best friend wasn’t by your side was filled in an entirely new way by Mitch.

It was playful and refreshing and relaxing, it was everything you didn’t know you were missing. Until it wasn’t.

Somewhere between the end of the movie and the end of the bottle, the atmosphere between you both had changed. Somewhere between the time his thumb has stopped rubbing at the skin below your knee to move up to his fingers digging into your lower thigh, and when you sat up to talk to him and found yourself almost seated in his lap. After you told him to stop calling you kiddo, and he called you kitten instead, the energy between you both was different.

His eyes were darker and he was licking at his lips and then his mouth was slotted against yours, tongues tangling and hands roaming and the temperature in the room shot up to boiling. You were in his lap, grinding and letting his hands wander, and then he was thumbing at your tits and mouthing at your neck. Somewhere between him moaning kitten into your mouth and sucking on your lower lip to the way he was bucking his hips up into you and suddenly, it was more.

He was dragging your panties to the side and you were tugging down his seats just far enough, and then you were riding him on the couch. Sloppy and messy and a combination of the need for connection and the wish for affection, you were all but sobbing into his mouth as your eyes rolled back and his fingers dug into your bare flesh, and then it was over.

You were sweaty and hot, and you felt boneless as you let him lift you off of his body, pressing one more long kiss to your lips before he was tucking himself into his sweats and laying back on the couch and chuckling at you with a dark smirk when you wobbled on weak legs as you went to clean yourself up. It wasn’t awkward when you returned, it was calming and relaxed and you grabbed yourself a second plate of takeaway food and settled back down onto the couch with your feet in his lap once again, and a new movie on the screen.

The night passed with the rest of your movie collection, and eating a surprising amount of candy, and you inevitably changed into your comfy clothes when the hour passed midnight. You had teased him about his long hair while running your fingers through it, and he had made you flustered in return by speaking through his food and telling you how you weren’t complaining while tugging at it and bouncing on his cock.

It wasn’t until you heard the rumbling of the jeep that you felt that same dread and loneliness slip back into your body, the squeaking of tires on the stones and the slamming of the door one side, and you rolled yourself off of the couch with a groan, a scowl taking over in place of your smile as you scooped up everything you had and tried to shove it haphazardly into your bag, booking a cab in the process and leaving you phone on the side.

He began to grab at the rubbish littering the surfaces with you, the two of you stumbling and scooping up empty food boxes as you crammed them all into the kitchen bin, and did your best to clean up after yourselves, when the door finally opened, the sound of Stiles kicking off his shoes and hanging up his cute, humming happily to himself as he walked through the house.

“Oh my God, it smells like food in here. Did you get takeout? Did you save me any an-” He paused as he saw you, your eyes avoiding his as you grabbed your phone, smiling at the boy you had spent your evening with as he slid it towards you. The easy and lightweight vibe you’d found so easily with Mitch was now thick and tense, and you wanted to leave as soon as possible. “Hey! What are you doing here so late?”

You purse your lips, a tight smile on your face as you pushed past him without a word, and Mitch simply fixed him with a disbelieving look, the hyperactive of the pair of brothers was watching you go curiously, and both followed you to the front door as you pulled on your shoes.

“Are you mad at me, or something?”

“Yes, Stiles, I’m mad at you.” You bit your tongue from saying any more, wanting to let him wallow in it a little longer, and his jaw dropped and brows furrowed as he watched you go. Leaning up to press a kiss to one stubbled cheek, you patted his shoulder as you opened the door and stepped out, pulling out your phone to check on the taxi, only to see it pulling up to the curb, and you flashed him a toothy grin. “Thanks for being such great company while your brother was a jerk.”

He leaned against the door, muffling the sound of protest from Stiles behind, his body filling the doorway as he winked at you cheekily. “No problem, kitten.”

L to R, T to B:

Cranberry Punch [Founder], Maraschino Cherry [Spouse]

Bitter Raspberry [Heir/Spare], Candy Apple Pie [Heir/Spare]