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Don't Give Me Up

Summary:

Stiles is drifting, unmoored and sinking all at the same time. His emotions are haywire and his life feels like it's falling apart ever since the sacrifice to save his father. Plagued by nightmares and feeling more alone than ever, Stiles drowns his sorrows by partying and drinking. A road which leads him straight into Nicholas's arms. Will Stiles survive Nicholas?

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Stiles POV

Every single fucked up thing that’s happened in Stiles life during the past two years could all be traced back to one single moment.

The night before sophomore year with Scott McCall. The night in the woods.

That one stupid! fucking moment. That just… spiraled, like a trail of dominoes tipping over, each one setting the other one off. A chain reaction of epic proportions. Except, with dominos at the end all you’re left with is a bit of a mess, with Beacon Hills you’re left with a pile of dead bodies and guilt so heavy it steals the breath from your lungs.

Tipping back his bottle of beer Stiles writhed to the heavy rhythm of the music, lips wrapped around the rim of the bottle he swallowed large gulps of the cheap alcohol before throwing both his arms in the air. The bass thumped steadily through the floor as the song switched to another, its mindless repetitive beat drawing Stiles deeper into the fold of enthusiastic sweat-slicked bodies on the dance floor.

Using the hand not clutching his beer Stiles dragged his fingers through his hair, dark brown strands sticking up in every direction. The back pocket of his jeans vibrated for the third time that night, rolling his eyes Stiles reached down and pulled out his phone squinting at the flashing screen. The name SCOTTIE clear in large letters along with a photo of his friend grinning dopely at the camera, dimples showing and eyes bright. Guilt curdled at the bottom of his stomach like rotten milk, mixing with the alcohol to create an acidic taste in his mouth as he made his decision. Swiping decline, Stiles shoved the phone back into his jeans.

Swallowing down the last of his beer Stiles wiped his arm across his mouth before heading back towards the packed bar. Squeezing his way past other dancers Stiles placed his empty bottle on the sleek white surface and gave a confident grin to the bartender “same again dude”.

Waiting patiently for his drink Stiles tapped the bar with his fingers absently to the beat of the music, the alcohol in his veins making him relaxed in a way his Ritalin never could.

Suddenly a figure appeared beside him, expensive jacket clad arms leaning against the bar as the man in question nodded his head to the bartender with a blinding grin, a smooth British accent flowing from his lips “another whiskey please Jasper”.

The bartender who Stiles now knew to be called Jasper nodded and slid Stiles his beer before pouring the man a fresh glass of whiskey in a crystal glass. Grabbing the bottle Stiles took a long swig eyes fluttering closed as the ice cold liquid trickled down his throat.

“Drinking to forget?”

Choking in surprise Stiles gave the stranger beside him a startled look, eyes watering heavily as he coughed repeatedly like an idiot.

Holy fuck the guy was talking to him. The really attractive older guy with an amazing accent was talking to him. Holy shit. Striking blue eyes twinkling underneath thick dark brows stared into Stiles own, pulling him in with a tantalizing smirk tugging at the corners of soft looking pink lips. Long slightly wavy blond hair fell messily against smooth looking pale skin, loose strands framing a strong angular jawline and cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass. Did he already say holy fuck? Because hoooly fuuck!

Clearing his throat and blinking rapidly Stiles fought to regain his composure under the amused gaze of the impossibly handsome stranger. “I-wh-what?” he finally choked out, his voice tumbling embarrassingly over the simple words. Wincing at how bad he sounded Stiles silently berated himself with sarcastic mental cheer ‘nice one Stilinski’.

To his surprise, instead of walking away from his embarrassing demonstration of the world’s first ever verbal faceplant, the mystery man simply laughed. And dear God above the sound that came out of the mysterious man could only be best described as pure sin, somehow the deep tone matched the absurd beauty of his face perfectly, oozing warmth and charm like a lit fireplace crackling in the winter time.

Tilting his glass of whiskey in Stiles direction the man spoke again “your drink, beautiful. Cheap beer, always a good choice when you want to drink to forget something”. Stiles smiled slightly bitterly and lifted a shoulder in a shrug “Nah, more like drinking to sleep”.

Letting out a small noise of understanding the man took a sip of his whiskey before addressing Stiles again in a mock whisper “you know most people listen to whale noises or some other bullshit right?”. Stiles snorted with a smile “Yeah, somehow I don’t think whale noises are going to help me sleep”

The stranger tilted his head, long dark eyelashes lowered seductively as he regarded Stiles with interest. Placing his glass down the man stuck out his hand in Stiles direction with a flash of teeth “Nicholas Campbell, charmed to make your acquaintance”. Biting his lip Stiles regarded the hand being offered to him for a few milliseconds before throwing caution into the wind and reaching out, grasping Nick’s hand and introducing himself without any further hesitation “Stiles Stilinski”.

Expecting a simple handshake Stiles was surprised when Nick raised his hand to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. Fighting back the urge to blush, his heart beating loudly in his chest, Stiles raised his brow “wow. Are all Englishmen incessant flirts then?” he remarked trying to appear unaffected.

Nicholas gave another blinding smile “I hope not. I pride myself on being a totally unique individual after all”. Snorting Stiles shook his head with a smirk, his hand dropping from the older man's grip “nope, you are definitely embodying the English gentleman stereotype right now. Nothing original about it. Sorry, bro. I’d blame Tom Hiddleston”.

Quirking a brow Nick finished the last of his drink and leaned towards Stiles, iridescent blue gaze twinkling with a hunger that made Stiles' palms sweat and mouth turn dry. “Well, how about you and I go to the dance floor and I’ll show you how little of a gentleman I actually am?”.

Running his tongue across his bottom lip Stiles squinted his eyes in consideration, something deep and primal tugging at him from inside, like a fish hook around his naval, compelling him to say yes. Placing his beer down Stiles gave a cheeky smile “alright then, show me what you’ve got”.