nothing like fire

stufftippywrote:

The kicker is, Derek thinks, Dex is nothing like fire.

He’s capped in red, dotted with red like he’s been singed by a thousand bright sparks, but he’s not fire himself. He’s earth, grounded and serious and not given to flight or flame or fancy. Dex gets mad sometimes, but not everyone who gets mad is fire; in Dex’s case he’s an earthquake. A low shudder, a deep rumble, cracks appearing on the surface. If a building should crash to the ground, if an electrical wire should snap and start spraying sparks, those are all side effects. At the core of him, he’s tectonic plates. Low and slowly shifting, every deliberate movement deeply consequential. He’s the earth.

If anyone is fire, it’s Derek himself. He’s made of heat; his attention is constantly jumping; he’s brightness and carefully controlled excitement. He takes in anything, consumes it utterly, makes it part of himself. Burns his signature into it. But Derek has never been able to limit himself to just one element. He’s air, too, and water. He’s ice and metal. But as much as he loves the earth, loves to bury himself in leaves until he can feel the warmth of the soil beneath, he’s never been part of it. He’s never been an anchor.

Dex is. Dex is solid and sure, and, Derek is certain, he holds a core of warmth deep within. So Derek keeps burrowing down, trying to reach it. He wants to find that part of Dex that’s soft and yielding, that makes things grow. Somewhere beneath the surface, beneath hair and skin like a pile of flaming autumn leaves, is the gentle, giving touch of earth. Derek wants to roll around in it forever.