sometimes i don't get it either
title: Full Tilt
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em
fandom: teen wolf
rating: pg
warnings: vague SPOILERS via specuation for anything past 3x10
character(s): Derek, Stiles
pairing: ambiguous Derek/Stiles
word count: 862
notes: set some nebulous, hand-wavey time post 3x11 with [SPOILER] the assumption post 3x12 the Alpha pack & Jennifer/Darach are no longer a problem. also, I kinda have a thing for Derek going all-wolf. ahem. so, you know, that happens.
The first time is painful. He retches at the feeling of his bones cracking, his insides realigning. He’s used to the ebb and flow of injuries. Pain always passes; this doesn’t. Derek curls into himself. His ribs creak.
He’s glad Peter and Cora are gone. Cora doesn’t need to see him like this; he doesn’t trust Peter not to take advantage. He rips one of his pillows apart with his teeth trying to muffle the sound that crawls out of his throat. But he holds the scream - the howl - holds it all in until he thinks he’ll choke on it.
The first time he passes out on two feet and wakes up on four.
Derek spends days in the woods. As a wolf, everything takes on a new skin. Smells are the same, but stronger. The sun feels better on fur than it ever did on his face. He slips through the trees with the barest whisper of sound; his days have never been so quiet.
Beacon Hills looks strange from his new perspective. He makes lazy loops around town, slinks through at night when people are less likely to notice a dog-like shape in the dark.
Maybe he’s missed, but no one mentions says a word when he comes back to the apartment smelling like dry leaves and wind, concrete and car exhaust. Derek doesn’t volunteer anything; he doesn’t hide either. They’ll figure it out soon enough.
“So I hear you can go furry now.”
As far as Stiles goes, that’s a pretty tame opener. Derek ignores him. Knows eventually Stiles will get bored and leave. Probably. Stiles leans against the door.
“You gonna show me your new party trick?”
Derek rolls his eyes.
Going from human to wolf becomes the dull sort of ache he’s used to from shifting between human and beta, human and alpha. Soon, he doesn’t notice the slide of his body from one to the other. He only strips off his clothes and shakes his fur out. Pulls clothes on and pretends he can’t see the way Peter watches him, how still Cora goes until he leaves the room.
Scott and Isaac either don’t know - or more likely, don’t care. Derek’s not going out of his way to prove either scenario. If they see him, they see him; if they don’t, well, Derek doesn’t actually give a damn. He won’t apologise for not telling them, and he has zero interest in dealing with questions he doubts he has the answers to. Not now. Not for this.
On a Wednesday he finds a beat up copy of White Fang shoved under the wipers of his car. He knows exactly who put it there. Doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He sticks the book in his back pocket, reads it cover to cover that night after his sister’s gone upstairs.
A few days later, Ladyhawke appears in his mailbox. He actually laughs when Cora asks why there’s Balto dvd taped to the door.
He stays hungry.
Some days he remembers to eat. Some days, he actually wants to. But Derek hasn’t thought about food as anything but a bare necessity in years. It’s easy now to ignore his body when blood and death aren’t hanging over him like a cloud.
Stiles notices of course, because that’s what Stiles does. He drops a huge brown bag in Derek’s lap that smells like the cheeseburgers Charlie’s sells by the hundreds on a good day.
“Dude, don’t tell me you aren’t starving. Pretty sure I could hear your stomach growling across town.”
Derek doesn’t say thank you. He doesn’t ask how Stiles knew where to find him either, but slides over enough so there’s room on the top step for one more. Stiles rattle his own, smaller bag, punches him in the arm.
“Eat up, big guy. There’s enough food in there to fill you up for a couple hours at least - as long as you don‘t decide to go all Call of the Wild on me anytime soon.”
Derek smirks, “Not on the first date.”
Stiles nearly chokes on a fry.
The next time he slips from skin to fur, he makes a circuit of town, catches a scent and follows it back out to the Preserve. The Jeep’s parked in the same place as before; Stiles is leaning against the hood, phone in his hand.
Derek stops a few feet in front of him, barks short and low to get his attention. Stiles jumps.
“Derek?”
Derek chuffs softly, pads closer. He settles just shy of the toes of Stiles’ shoes. Flicks an ear and waits. This was never something he intended, and he hasn’t got a clue how it’ll play out. But lately he’s realized he wants something. Somebody who. He just wants. Derek watches Stiles’ hand come closer; sees the way it trembles. Ignores the nearly breathless ‘oh god, please don’t bite me.’ Stiles has always been braver than he seems.
The sensation of fingers in his fur is strange, but not bad. He could get used to it. Derek leans forward just a little. Enough to press his head more firmly against Stiles’ hand.
Stiles’ smile is blinding.
- end
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em
fandom: teen wolf
rating: pg
warnings: vague SPOILERS via specuation for anything past 3x10
character(s): Derek, Stiles
pairing: ambiguous Derek/Stiles
word count: 862
notes: set some nebulous, hand-wavey time post 3x11 with [SPOILER] the assumption post 3x12 the Alpha pack & Jennifer/Darach are no longer a problem. also, I kinda have a thing for Derek going all-wolf. ahem. so, you know, that happens.
The first time is painful. He retches at the feeling of his bones cracking, his insides realigning. He’s used to the ebb and flow of injuries. Pain always passes; this doesn’t. Derek curls into himself. His ribs creak.
He’s glad Peter and Cora are gone. Cora doesn’t need to see him like this; he doesn’t trust Peter not to take advantage. He rips one of his pillows apart with his teeth trying to muffle the sound that crawls out of his throat. But he holds the scream - the howl - holds it all in until he thinks he’ll choke on it.
The first time he passes out on two feet and wakes up on four.
Derek spends days in the woods. As a wolf, everything takes on a new skin. Smells are the same, but stronger. The sun feels better on fur than it ever did on his face. He slips through the trees with the barest whisper of sound; his days have never been so quiet.
Beacon Hills looks strange from his new perspective. He makes lazy loops around town, slinks through at night when people are less likely to notice a dog-like shape in the dark.
Maybe he’s missed, but no one mentions says a word when he comes back to the apartment smelling like dry leaves and wind, concrete and car exhaust. Derek doesn’t volunteer anything; he doesn’t hide either. They’ll figure it out soon enough.
“So I hear you can go furry now.”
As far as Stiles goes, that’s a pretty tame opener. Derek ignores him. Knows eventually Stiles will get bored and leave. Probably. Stiles leans against the door.
“You gonna show me your new party trick?”
Derek rolls his eyes.
Going from human to wolf becomes the dull sort of ache he’s used to from shifting between human and beta, human and alpha. Soon, he doesn’t notice the slide of his body from one to the other. He only strips off his clothes and shakes his fur out. Pulls clothes on and pretends he can’t see the way Peter watches him, how still Cora goes until he leaves the room.
Scott and Isaac either don’t know - or more likely, don’t care. Derek’s not going out of his way to prove either scenario. If they see him, they see him; if they don’t, well, Derek doesn’t actually give a damn. He won’t apologise for not telling them, and he has zero interest in dealing with questions he doubts he has the answers to. Not now. Not for this.
On a Wednesday he finds a beat up copy of White Fang shoved under the wipers of his car. He knows exactly who put it there. Doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He sticks the book in his back pocket, reads it cover to cover that night after his sister’s gone upstairs.
A few days later, Ladyhawke appears in his mailbox. He actually laughs when Cora asks why there’s Balto dvd taped to the door.
He stays hungry.
Some days he remembers to eat. Some days, he actually wants to. But Derek hasn’t thought about food as anything but a bare necessity in years. It’s easy now to ignore his body when blood and death aren’t hanging over him like a cloud.
Stiles notices of course, because that’s what Stiles does. He drops a huge brown bag in Derek’s lap that smells like the cheeseburgers Charlie’s sells by the hundreds on a good day.
“Dude, don’t tell me you aren’t starving. Pretty sure I could hear your stomach growling across town.”
Derek doesn’t say thank you. He doesn’t ask how Stiles knew where to find him either, but slides over enough so there’s room on the top step for one more. Stiles rattle his own, smaller bag, punches him in the arm.
“Eat up, big guy. There’s enough food in there to fill you up for a couple hours at least - as long as you don‘t decide to go all Call of the Wild on me anytime soon.”
Derek smirks, “Not on the first date.”
Stiles nearly chokes on a fry.
The next time he slips from skin to fur, he makes a circuit of town, catches a scent and follows it back out to the Preserve. The Jeep’s parked in the same place as before; Stiles is leaning against the hood, phone in his hand.
Derek stops a few feet in front of him, barks short and low to get his attention. Stiles jumps.
“Derek?”
Derek chuffs softly, pads closer. He settles just shy of the toes of Stiles’ shoes. Flicks an ear and waits. This was never something he intended, and he hasn’t got a clue how it’ll play out. But lately he’s realized he wants something. Somebody who. He just wants. Derek watches Stiles’ hand come closer; sees the way it trembles. Ignores the nearly breathless ‘oh god, please don’t bite me.’ Stiles has always been braver than he seems.
The sensation of fingers in his fur is strange, but not bad. He could get used to it. Derek leans forward just a little. Enough to press his head more firmly against Stiles’ hand.
Stiles’ smile is blinding.
- end