ficlet: let me help
Author: froggydarren
Title: let me help
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Stiles, Derek
Summary: Yet another fight that Derek came out of with cuts everywhere that Stiles can see. It's a good thing that he's used to it by now, and that he's ready to help.
Warnings: blood, injuries
Content Notes: getting together, hurt Derek
Submission Type: ficlet
Word Count: 827
Prompt: #253 - wet
Author's Notes: Me: I wanna write fluff. Also me: starts fic with mentions of Derek hurt and bleeding. *headdesks* (but it is fluff, overall)
There’s blood. Too much blood.
Okay so maybe it’s not too much, considering werewolves, but it’s still more than Stiles is entirely comfortable with. There are cuts that he can see, and the scent of copper is obvious even to him.
It’s slowly drying, but there are still drips that get out with every breath that Derek takes, with every minuscule shift of his muscles.
“Don’t move,” Stiles hisses when Derek tries to turn around. “Just, sit still, okay? For a while?”
“’S usually a problem for you,” Derek mumbles, clearly lacking energy.
“Yes, yes. That makes this current situation even more weird, and all kinds of creepy,” Stiles rants, but doesn’t stop running the damp cloth in his hand over Derek’s skin.
There are drops of blood all over the floor, but he’ll deal with them later. Priorities.
Like the fact that it’s more important to clean the cuts - yes, he knows they’ll heal just fine - than it is to worry about the fact that the bandages he’s carefully wrapping around the worst of them are smudged with the blood that’s on his hands. Or that it’s more important to make Derek sit still than to try and figure out why he doesn’t seem to be able to.
Eventually, he manages to get the worst of the injuries covered, and deems it safe for Derek to move - glacially slow though, to avoid reopening the wounds. Stiles leads him into the bathroom, and turns on the shower, then pointedly looks at the wall while he waits for Derek to take off the remnants of his clothes and shuffles inside.
“You can turn around,” Derek says after a while.
“Do you need help?” Stiles asks, not turning.
“No. But it’s okay.”
Stiles gives in and turns slowly until he’s facing the shower. The glass around it does nothing to obscure Derek’s body, and Stiles can’t help the heat rising in his cheeks.
“Maybe I do need help,” Derek says quietly when Stiles doesn’t speak. “My back? If you don’t mind getting wet.”
Stiles is still lost for words.
“You should wash off the blood too,” Derek adds, glancing at Stiles. “Before it dries.”
“I was going to go after,” Stiles finally manages to say. “But yeah, I can help.”
He walks the few steps to the shower, and takes the sponge that Derek’s holding out to him. He doesn’t look down when Derek’s facing him, nor when he turns around so Stiles can get at his back. It’s less damaged, surprisingly, and Stiles can see the cuts on Derek’s arms already healing, albeit slowly.
He washes Derek skin off slowly, with gentle strokes, afraid to make the few wounds worse with the sponge. When it’s done, he moves to Derek’s shoulders and arms, pointedly staying above the waist as he works. After a while, Derek turns around again, and Stiles sees that the cuts on his chest are closed, and there’s no more new blood coming out of the ones that he bandaged earlier - the bandages themselves are off, presumably on the floor of the shower, where Stiles is refusing to look.
“Come on, I’ll help you wash off,” Derek says, and Stiles’s cheeks heat more.
“I…” he starts.
This is not who they are, and while he’s been thinking about the possibility of them for a while, he didn’t say anything. Neither did Derek, which is why the offer is a surprise.
“Please,” Derek says, and Stiles feels a brush of fingers against the back of his own hand.
“Okay,” he says, and drops the sponge before he reaches for the edges of his hoodie and shrugs it off.
He refuses to focus on the fact that he’s almost naked when his clothes are on the bathroom floor, all but his briefs which happen to be white. After a hesitant pause, he shrugs those off too, since they’d be pointless once soaked in water anyway. When he steps into the shower, there’s a moment when his balance feels off, and then there’s Derek’s hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
“Okay?” Derek asks, his fingers trailing down Stiles’s arm, the touch featherlight.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, goosebumps on his skin where Derek’s hand has been.
Then Derek moves his other hand, rests it gently on the bottom of Stiles’s chin, and nudges it up. Stiles blinks, then closes his eyes when he meets Derek’s gaze, too intense for him to handle.
“Hey,” Derek whispers, then waits until Stiles looks at him again. “Is this okay?”
He runs his thumb over Stiles’s lips, and Stiles nods just enough that he knows Derek can feel it. The next touch on his lips is that of Derek’s mouth.
“You’re hurt,” Stiles says when Derek pulls away from the kiss.
“Give me an hour,” Derek says, a soft smile on his lips, eyes crinkled at the corners. “We’ll continue this. If you want to.”
“Yes. Yes,” Stiles says, smiling.
Title: let me help
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Stiles, Derek
Summary: Yet another fight that Derek came out of with cuts everywhere that Stiles can see. It's a good thing that he's used to it by now, and that he's ready to help.
Warnings: blood, injuries
Content Notes: getting together, hurt Derek
Submission Type: ficlet
Word Count: 827
Prompt: #253 - wet
Author's Notes: Me: I wanna write fluff. Also me: starts fic with mentions of Derek hurt and bleeding. *headdesks* (but it is fluff, overall)
There’s blood. Too much blood.
Okay so maybe it’s not too much, considering werewolves, but it’s still more than Stiles is entirely comfortable with. There are cuts that he can see, and the scent of copper is obvious even to him.
It’s slowly drying, but there are still drips that get out with every breath that Derek takes, with every minuscule shift of his muscles.
“Don’t move,” Stiles hisses when Derek tries to turn around. “Just, sit still, okay? For a while?”
“’S usually a problem for you,” Derek mumbles, clearly lacking energy.
“Yes, yes. That makes this current situation even more weird, and all kinds of creepy,” Stiles rants, but doesn’t stop running the damp cloth in his hand over Derek’s skin.
There are drops of blood all over the floor, but he’ll deal with them later. Priorities.
Like the fact that it’s more important to clean the cuts - yes, he knows they’ll heal just fine - than it is to worry about the fact that the bandages he’s carefully wrapping around the worst of them are smudged with the blood that’s on his hands. Or that it’s more important to make Derek sit still than to try and figure out why he doesn’t seem to be able to.
Eventually, he manages to get the worst of the injuries covered, and deems it safe for Derek to move - glacially slow though, to avoid reopening the wounds. Stiles leads him into the bathroom, and turns on the shower, then pointedly looks at the wall while he waits for Derek to take off the remnants of his clothes and shuffles inside.
“You can turn around,” Derek says after a while.
“Do you need help?” Stiles asks, not turning.
“No. But it’s okay.”
Stiles gives in and turns slowly until he’s facing the shower. The glass around it does nothing to obscure Derek’s body, and Stiles can’t help the heat rising in his cheeks.
“Maybe I do need help,” Derek says quietly when Stiles doesn’t speak. “My back? If you don’t mind getting wet.”
Stiles is still lost for words.
“You should wash off the blood too,” Derek adds, glancing at Stiles. “Before it dries.”
“I was going to go after,” Stiles finally manages to say. “But yeah, I can help.”
He walks the few steps to the shower, and takes the sponge that Derek’s holding out to him. He doesn’t look down when Derek’s facing him, nor when he turns around so Stiles can get at his back. It’s less damaged, surprisingly, and Stiles can see the cuts on Derek’s arms already healing, albeit slowly.
He washes Derek skin off slowly, with gentle strokes, afraid to make the few wounds worse with the sponge. When it’s done, he moves to Derek’s shoulders and arms, pointedly staying above the waist as he works. After a while, Derek turns around again, and Stiles sees that the cuts on his chest are closed, and there’s no more new blood coming out of the ones that he bandaged earlier - the bandages themselves are off, presumably on the floor of the shower, where Stiles is refusing to look.
“Come on, I’ll help you wash off,” Derek says, and Stiles’s cheeks heat more.
“I…” he starts.
This is not who they are, and while he’s been thinking about the possibility of them for a while, he didn’t say anything. Neither did Derek, which is why the offer is a surprise.
“Please,” Derek says, and Stiles feels a brush of fingers against the back of his own hand.
“Okay,” he says, and drops the sponge before he reaches for the edges of his hoodie and shrugs it off.
He refuses to focus on the fact that he’s almost naked when his clothes are on the bathroom floor, all but his briefs which happen to be white. After a hesitant pause, he shrugs those off too, since they’d be pointless once soaked in water anyway. When he steps into the shower, there’s a moment when his balance feels off, and then there’s Derek’s hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
“Okay?” Derek asks, his fingers trailing down Stiles’s arm, the touch featherlight.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, goosebumps on his skin where Derek’s hand has been.
Then Derek moves his other hand, rests it gently on the bottom of Stiles’s chin, and nudges it up. Stiles blinks, then closes his eyes when he meets Derek’s gaze, too intense for him to handle.
“Hey,” Derek whispers, then waits until Stiles looks at him again. “Is this okay?”
He runs his thumb over Stiles’s lips, and Stiles nods just enough that he knows Derek can feel it. The next touch on his lips is that of Derek’s mouth.
“You’re hurt,” Stiles says when Derek pulls away from the kiss.
“Give me an hour,” Derek says, a soft smile on his lips, eyes crinkled at the corners. “We’ll continue this. If you want to.”
“Yes. Yes,” Stiles says, smiling.