Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, PG-13
Title: Choices
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Summary: Stiles receives a box of chocolates for Valentine's Day. Unfortunately, the chocolates end up containing trace amounts of love potion.
Warnings: Love potions (lack of control)
Author: blacktofade
Words: 4,849
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Written for the chocolate square of THIS kink bingo card. Also posted at AO3. Please feel free to point out any mistakes/offer concrit.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with the Teen Wolf or any of their affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
Stiles would like to point out that he definitely thought the chocolates were a joke from Scott. The box even had the same barely-legible scrawl across the label, wishing Stiles a plentiful Valentine’s Day from his best bud. But, Stiles is willing to admit that he probably should have learned by now that living in Beacon Hills meant daily doses of the supernatural and that he should have sent Scott a text before tearing into the candy and eating four in a row.
Hindsight is one hell of a bitch.
*
“He’s just so handsome, y’know?” Stiles finds himself saying, unable to stop. “With his muscle-y muscles and his eyes. I think they’re my favourite.”
“Do you happen to have a ball-gag somewhere?” Scott asks, pulling a face that says he doesn’t want to hear what is coming out of Stiles’ mouth. Not even Stiles wants to hears what’s coming out of his mouth.
Stiles smacks his palm over his lips, hoping it’ll stop it, but all it does is muffle the absolute drivel that he’s spouting. He looks towards Scott for help, but Scott just waves his hands around as though he has no idea what he should do.
“Should I call Derek?” It’s the worst plan Stiles has ever heard and he smacks Scott across the side of his head with his free hand. “Ow. Right, okay. Do we have any idea who left the chocolates for you?”
Stiles tries to say that he found them in his mailbox when he went to collect the bills, but it instead comes out as,
“I know he’s a silent, brooding type, but I think there’s more to him. He’s like an ogre and has layers.”
He covers his mouth back up and slumps sideways on his bed. He wants to say how much everything sucks, but he definitely doesn’t trust his mouth to pass the right message on. It’s like playing telephone with himself.
“It has to be someone who knows where you live then,” Scott declares like he’s made a breakthrough, but Stiles just shoots him a look because everyone knows Stiles is the sheriff’s son and everyone knows where the sheriff lives.
Stiles sits back up, his arm aching from the awkward position, but he doesn’t move it away. Stiles waxing poetic is not a pretty sight. He scratches the back of his head and starts to wonder if there’s a loophole to the curse when he spots his notebook on the desk. He’s up and across the room before Scott can even think to ask what he’s doing. He rips a sheet of paper out of it and grabs a pen, hoping his plan will actually work.
I hate my life, he scrawls and holds it up for Scott to read. Scott nods emphatically.
“I am not envious of it at all.”
The only problem with writing is that it’s difficult with only one hand. He can’t seem to get the paper to stay still without pinning it down and when he tries to move around the room, it only makes it worse. In the end, he bounces onto his mattress and reaches back though one of the shelves of his headboard, where he knows there’s a roll of duct tape hidden behind his box of tissues. It’s easy to rip a length off and slap it over his mouth, and although it pinches and tugs at his skin, it does the job.
Scott seems barely able to stop himself from laughing and Stiles points an accusatory finger at him.
Remember that time in 7th grade?
Scott reads the message before his face turns pale and he steals the paper and pen, crossing the line out repeatedly as though it would actually make sense to anyone other than them. When he hands the sheet back to Stiles, there’s a hole where the words used to be and Stiles knows he has his attention.
It must be some sort of chemical in the chocolate, Stiles writes, letting Scott peer over his shoulder. That means it has to be temporary, right?
Scott shrugs.
“Let’s hope so. Why did they target you, though?”
Obvious. I’m human. This stuff probably won’t affect you.
“What about Allison or Lydia? They’re human.”
Stiles stares at him incredulously.
Do you really think someone would try to break into the Argent house? They’d have to be stupid. Lydia is immune.
“Okay, so you’re an easy target? Why even bother at all?”
To annoy everyone?
“Everyone?”
Fine. Derek.
“He’s not even here.”
No, but they probably thought we’d call him. Joke’s on them!
Stile has barely finished dotting the exclamation mark when someone pushes his window open from the outside and crawls through.
“Derek?” Scott asks, stealing the word right out of Stiles’ taped up mouth.
Derek takes one look at Stiles and says,
“I don’t want to know.”
BINGO, Stiles writes, underlining it a few dozen times for emphasis.
Derek opens his mouth as if to say something, but stops and sniffs instead. An intense frown works its way over his face and he moves towards Stiles’ desk, grabbing the box of chocolates and inhaling loudly again. Stiles makes a noise behind the tape and holds his hands up to warn him away from them, but Derek just glances at him over the cardboard and raises an eyebrow.
“You ate one?” he asks.
“Or four,” Scott unhelpfully supplies and Stiles takes a moment to glare at him because he doesn’t appreciate being thrown to the dogs. He wishes he could speak if only to say that out loud to annoy them both.
It’s Valentine’s Day, Stiles scribbles, waving it in the air before adding, you probably don’t believe me, but sometimes I do get gifts.
“That card from Mrs Beecher, our fourth grade teacher, totally doesn’t count. She sent one to everyone in the class.”
Stiles throws his pen at him, but Scott just catches it with a laugh and tosses it back. It bounces off Stiles’ fingers and Derek ends up grabbing it out of midair and handing it to him. Stiles isn’t expecting the spark of static when their hands brush and he definitely isn’t expecting the way his body starts doing stuff without his approval.
The box of chocolates clatters to the floor as Stiles finds himself launching towards Derek, arms tangling around his neck as he pushes his nose against Derek’s throat. Derek freezes against him, hands pushing at his hips to keep him away, but Stiles knows Derek could throw him across the other side of the room without breaking a sweat, so when he barely keeps Stiles at bay, he knows he’s not really trying. He’s pretty sure that if the duct tape hadn’t been covering his mouth he’d be biting at Derek’s skin and trying to leave bruises.
There’s a niggling at the back of his mind that this isn’t the way he expected Derek to find out about his innermost thoughts and feelings, but his body refuses to cooperate and let him pull away. It’s Scott that eventually pulls them apart, winding an arm around Stiles’ stomach and pulling until Stiles’ grip falters and he slides backwards, away from Derek, who takes two large steps away and continues frowning.
“Why are you even here, Derek?” Scott asks, making it sound like an accusation.
Derek raises an eyebrow and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and showing the screen which has a text from Stiles on it.
need ur help. meet @ my house in 5
Stiles shakes his head because he would definitely remember sending that and he doesn’t. Scott loosens his hold, but doesn’t let him go entirely.
“Did you send that?” he asks and Stiles just keeps on shaking his head. “That’s definitely your number?”
This time Stiles nods.
“Where’s your phone?”
Stiles points at his bedside where his phone sits and Derek keeps an arm’s length away at all times as he moves around the bed to grab it. He tosses it to Stiles who actually manages to catch it with a triumphant grin. He types in his security code and goes straight to his SENT folder. There’s no text to Derek in there.
Stiles tries to say so it’s an outside source? except nothing gets past the tape.
“It’s an outside source,” Derek mumbles, taking Stiles by surprise. Stiles nods again and throws his phone onto his bed. They’re no closer to an answer.
Scott moves around behind Stiles as though he’s up to something, but Stiles doesn’t realise what it is until he hears the jingle of Scott’s belt and suddenly finds his wrists bound firmly behind his back. In the past, whenever Stiles had thought about being bound and gagged, he’d never pictured it this way. For one, Scott is still in the room. He tests the leather, just to see how strong it is, but he knows there’s no escaping. When Scott lets him go, he moves back to his desk chair and sits down heavily, wincing slightly when it jars his shoulders.
He can’t even write now, which means they’re most likely going to have to wait out the effects of the chocolates and find answers later. Stiles just hopes it doesn’t get any worse, because he’ll never live down trying to jump Derek for a second time. There’s a strange itching sensation beginning to spread under his skin, but every time he glances in Derek’s direction, it soothes it momentarily.
Stiles almost jumps at the sound that comes out of his laptop, which is sitting open and unused, which alerts him of an incoming Skype call. He gestures at it with his head and Scott steps closer to nudge the mouse and flick the screen back to life. The request to video chat is coming from an LMartin and Stiles was definitely not expecting that. Scott apparently notices because he accepts the invite before Stiles can even throw himself to the floor and he finds himself staring at a pixelated version of Lydia’s face.
For a long moment she’s quiet and then she blinks and smirks.
“That’s your solution?” she asks, which makes it sound remarkably likes she knows everything already and Stiles narrows his eyes. “Did Derek get the text? Did he do that to you?”
Stiles wriggles because he can’t curse at her, can only glare and pray that the internet cuts out because his cheeks are on fire. He’s been set up; he should have known.
“What did you do to him?” Derek asks, stepping into view of the camera, anger clear in his voice. As soon as he’s closer, Stiles turns his head and presses his face against Derek’s side. He’s can’t do much damage and apparently Derek realises too because he doesn’t try to push him away, just lets him nuzzle into his shirt to soothe the itch.
“It’s not permanent, just a little love potion. He only wants to be close to you, Derek.”
Stiles noses further down Derek’s body, only stopping at the waistband of Derek’s jeans when Derek grabs him by the jaw and pulls him back up.
“It doesn’t seem that innocent,” he points out and if Stiles could talk, he’d back him up because he is having some seriously filthy thoughts about what he’d like to do with Derek right now.
“I hardly put any in. It was just meant to finally get you two to stop beating around the bush and driving us all insane with your pussyfooting.”
He hears Scott snort and make a vague noise of agreement, but he can’t bring himself to pull away from Derek, even though Scott is a dirty traitor that doesn’t deserve a friend like Stiles.
“He ate half the box,” Derek says as though Lydia should know Stiles would do something like that.
“Hence why I kept the dosage so small,” she replies sharply, because Stiles understands that she wouldn’t do anything to him without double and triple checking everything. Whatever has gone wrong has been an honest mistake.
That’s when there’s a faint rattle behind Stiles’ head that’s either Tic Tacs or pills. Seeing as how Stiles can’t stand the former, it has to be the latter.
“What would Adderall do to it?” Scott asks and Lydia makes a faint noise as though it never even crossed her mind. Stiles wants to document the moment, just so he can use it as blackmail material later, once he can look back and find everything about the situation funny. It might take a few years, but it’ll be worth it.
“I thought he was cutting down on it.”
“Since when?”
“That’s what he told me,” Lydia says with disdain in her voice and, okay, she’s right about that one because Stiles may or may not have wanted her to think that he was maturing with age. Like a fine wine, or weird French cheese. He regrets it now.
“So I guess it amplifies the effects?” Scott asks and Lydia makes noise that means she doesn’t know, but won’t admit it.
Stiles rubs his cheek over the amazing hardness of Derek’s abs and breathes in the scent of laundry detergent and burnt wood.
“How long will this last?” Derek asks and Stiles feels the way his voice rumbles the entire way through his chest. He could get used to it. He wants to grab Derek’s sides and hold him close although part of his brain reasons that that’s not what he really wants to do, but the drugged section shushes it and tells it to go sit in the corner.
“The original mix was only meant to last for a few hours. This might take a little longer. Maybe until the Adderall wears off? If you’re lucky, he took it this morning and you won’t have to wait much longer. You can always just leave him with Scott.”
Stiles panics at that and pushes harder against Derek, until Derek has to steady him with a hand on his shoulder to stop him from sliding off his chair. He shakes his head and pleads behind the duct tape because the itching under his skin threatens to grow worse and he’s sure that as long as Derek stays beside him, it’ll remain at bay. Derek tightens his hold and says,
“I’m not going anywhere.”
It calms Stiles slightly, even though Scott makes a sound as though he doesn’t agree.
“Aren’t you just making it worse?” he asks and Stiles doesn’t know what kind of glare Derek throws at him, but it’s good enough to shut him up.
“We can just wait it out. It’s the least we can do.”
Stiles thinks that might have been punctuated by a frown at Lydia because there’s a bloop that signals the video chat has been ended and Scott makes a frustrated noise.
“What if we need her?” Scott asks in the way he has of making it sound like they’re going to cause the end of the world and even Stiles manages to roll his eyes.
“She’s helped out so much already.”
Stiles is a little proud of the amount of sarcasm Derek manages to crowbar into one sentence. It’s like watching his child head off to college. His happiest is jolted, however, when the chair spins uneasily and the lovely scent of Derek’s body disappears and he’s met with Scott’s annoyed face.
“Stiles, maybe you should stay at my place tonight.”
Stiles stands, mostly because he’s upset about losing Derek’s chest as his face rest, but it’s not as though he can speak with tape over his mouth and he can’t gesture to point out the fact because his hands are tied. Literally. There’s a reason he has eyebrows, though, and he’s pretty sure Scott understands him. He doesn’t get time to respond, however, as Derek wraps warm fingers around his bicep and tugs him back a step.
“Stiles. Your hands.”
Stiles attempts to twist around to look, gets a glimpse of dark purpled fingers, and panics. He tries to say Oh my god, my hands! What did you do, Scott? Except it comes out as nothing but muffled, unintelligible noises. Luckily, Derek seems to understand because he unfastens the belt from around Stiles’ wrists and lets the blood flow back into his fingers. There’s a light tingling, but it’s mostly overpowered by the itching that returns. Derek seems to expect that too because he keeps a hold of Stiles’ arms behind his back, but grips them loosely enough that it doesn’t cut his circulation again.
Derek’s touch drives him partially insane, which isn’t fair at all. There are a million things that he wants to tell Derek, but none of them make it past the tape, thankfully.
“Will you do what I want, Stiles?” Derek asks and Stiles is pretty sure he’s heard that before in one of his wet dreams. His brain fizzles for a little while as his body tries to decide if it wants to give up immediately or just collapse later. In the end, he just nods emphatically because obeying Derek’s orders sounds like something he wants to do. “Will you keep your hands to yourself?”
Stiles deflates and feels a little wounded. Of all the possibilities, Derek chooses to make him stay out of his personal space. It’s unfair. It also makes his body itch and his fingers twitch, arms aching to wrap around Derek. As much as he loves Lydia, this will definitely affect his opinion of her in the future. She’s ruined all the street cred he’s ever had; he’ll never live it down.
Scott laughs as though he doesn’t expect Stiles to actually listen and although it takes all of Stiles’ concentration, he fights against the urges and when Derek lets go of his arms, he keeps them at his side. When the itching hits him full force, it makes it hard to breathe and there is a definite sweat breaking out on his forehead. He clenches his teeth until his jaw throbs from the pressure and every second it gets harder to keep his hands to himself.
It eases when Derek touches his shoulders and steers him backwards so that he can sit on his bed, which is a step in the right direction. However, instead of throwing him down onto the mattress and ravishing him, Derek seats himself beside him and slips a hand under the hem of his shirt to rest his palm against the small of Stiles’ back. Stiles melts under the contact, his chin dropping to his chest as he hums in happiness, just to let Derek know that he’s the best.
A thumb lightly rubs circles over the ridges of his spine and it distracts Stiles from wanting to hump Derek’s leg and allows him to just enjoy the sensation. If he were a cat, he’d be purring up a storm, no doubt about it. Scott lets out a soft oh as though he never expected Derek’s idea to work and Stiles hears the creak of his chair as Scott drops into it.
“Go home, Scott,” Derek orders and Scott makes a noise of protest.
“I’m his best friend. I should be here to make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Derek points out and Stiles would argue that he’s still right there and it would be nice if they’d stop talking like he isn’t, but he doesn’t have the energy.
“What if it gets worse again.”
Derek’s hand pauses and Stiles is two seconds away from complaining when it starts up once more.
“I’m the alpha, Scott. I can deal with one hormonal teenager.”
Either they have the rest of their conversation silently using only their eyebrows or Scott gives in easier than expected because Scott scoops his backpack off the floor where he’d dropped it when he first showed up and then moves towards the door.
“Call me when you’re feeling better,” Scott tells him and Stiles tries to wave his hand in answer, but he’s not sure if he actually moves or not. Either way, Scott slips out of the room and leaves him alone with Derek.
Part of his brain is chanting jump him jump him jump him but the rest isn’t paying attention, too busy thumping its foot on the ground like a dog that’s getting a fantastic scratch behind the ear. He can’t help it when he slumps sideways into Derek’s lap and Derek tenses below him, probably expecting Stiles to try to rip open his jeans with his teeth, which is an interesting prospect - one that’s ruined by duct tape - but if he’s honest, Stiles mostly just wants to nap. His medication must definitely be wearing off.
“Would you like me to remove the tape?” Derek asks quietly and Stiles doesn’t know if he can control his mouth yet, but he supposes he could muffle it with a pillow instead now that he has no need to talk. Stiles ends up nodding and shifting onto his back so that he’s looking up at Derek from his lap. “Do you have baby oil?”
Stiles wonders how many times Derek had to take band-aids off the younger children in his family, but pushes it from his mind because it’s not a good road to go down. He just gestures at his face and raises an eyebrow, which he hopes gets the point across.
It does, because Derek says,
“Okay, no oil. On three?”
Stiles grabs his wrist because he’s sure that method will end up taking half of his face with the tape and Derek smirks down at him. When he realises Derek had been joking, he pinches his side in revenge and Derek’s lips thin as though he’s trying not to laugh.
That’s not funny, Stiles tries to communicate with his eyebrows, but Derek just begins picking at one corner, slowly peeling it from Stiles’ sore skin. It takes a while and as soon as Stile’s mouth is free he curses just because he can and it actually comes out the way he wants it to.
“I can talk!” he says and Derek balls the strip of tape up and tosses it in the direction of the trashcan. It misses by a foot, but neither of them moves to pick it off the floor.
“Just when life was peaceful.”
Stiles pinches him again, but doesn’t move, content to stay exactly where he is.
“Lydia is no longer my favourite,” he tries to say, except it comes out as, “You should stay,” and, okay, maybe the toxin hasn’t worn off yet. He pinches his lips together with his teeth and tries to ignore the flush on his cheeks. Derek seems to notice because he continues touching what he can reach of Stiles’ back and trails his eyes down Stiles’ face.
“Was that the chocolate talking?”
Stiles shrugs because it was, but it’s still something he wants. He ends up hiding his face against Derek’s stomach and trying to pretend that the whole situation never happened. As much as he’s wanted to pluck up the courage and tell Derek exactly how he feels, he rather thought it would be a lot more consensual when he finally did. He feels a little betrayed by his own body, which definitely isn’t his fault, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty about putting Derek through everything.
Derek apparently picks up on his anxiety because he smoothes his other hand over Stiles’ shoulder and frowns.
“You can sleep off the rest of the effects. I won’t go anywhere.”
It’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to him, but Derek always seems to be full of surprises like that. He’s hard on the outside, but soft in the middle, a bit like a Tootsie Pop - a thought which distracts Stiles briefly when his mind jumps to wondering how many licks it would take to get to the centre of him. Definitely a bad route to go down and napping is probably the best idea after all.
Stiles doesn’t try to thank him in case he ends up declaring passionate love, instead just rolls onto his side and presses his face into the soft, clean fabric over Derek’s hip. He’s positive that Derek isn’t at all comfortable, but Stile definitely is because it doesn’t take long before his eyes droop shut and he drops off into sleep.
*
The room is dark when he awakens and the glowing face of his clock tells him that it’s a quarter past eleven. Derek obviously shifted them at some point because he’s slumped into a collection of pillows that are propped up against the headboard, while Stiles is cradled between his legs. It’s soft and warm and so perfect that Stiles almost wonders if the chocolates are still affecting him.
When he finally sits up, the loss of touch doesn’t cause the itching under his skin, which is a good sign, but it jerks Derek from his own sleep. Derek frowns and it seems to take a moment for him to realise where he is before he draws in a deep breath and relaxes again.
“I think we’re all clear,” Stiles whispers and the words actually come out as he wants them to.
Derek runs his fingers through his own flattened hair and yawns. When he moves as though about to leave the bed, Stiles grabs his arm, but it’s entirely his own doing.
“You don’t have to go,” he says quietly and Derek meets his eyes in the low light.
“Are you sure that’s you?” Derek replies and Stiles doesn’t know if it’s a joke or if Derek just doesn’t believe that someone would want him to stay even when there’s no emergency. He tightens his grip on Derek’s forearm and tugs gently.
“Pretty positive. I don’t know about you, but I am beat. Let’s just go back to sleep.”
He tries it as a distraction method, but it doesn’t seem to work too well as Derek pulls a face as though he’s not quite sure and Stiles switches tactics. It’s far too easy to lean forwards and brush a chaste kiss across Derek’s mouth and he can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not. When he draws back, Derek’s eyes dart over his face, like he’s waiting for Stiles to start laughing or teasing him for falling for a trick and it stings a little, Stiles will admit.
“Okay, so that probably doesn’t help prove my point that I’m drug free, but will it convince you to stay just in case I’m not?”
Derek’s arm flexes beneath his palm, but he doesn’t move away.
“It should have worn off hours ago.”
Stiles nods in agreement.
“I guess that was all me then, huh?” Stiles knows it was, but watching the realisation slowly spread across Derek’s shadowed face is a wonderful thing. “I now consent fully to any making out or groping you might wish to bestow upon me. Let’s just not tell Lydia that her plan might have worked despite the mistakes, because she’ll be unbearable otherwise.”
“Her plan might have worked?”
Stiles raises an eyebrow.
“All my cards are on the table. You either have to call or fold. I’m pretty sure that was what she was hoping for.”
Derek seems to consider the words because he doesn’t move and he doesn’t speak. To be fair, he might have just fallen asleep with his eyes open, but before Stiles can poke him and ask, a hand comes up to the back of his neck and holds firmly. Stiles knows that it’ll either be the greatest moment of his life so far, or Derek will just snap his neck and leave through the window. He’s hoping they’ve gone beyond neck snapping by this point.
Derek moves slowly enough that Stiles could turn his head if he wanted to, but he doesn’t and Derek’s lips are warm against his own when they meet. Derek’s stubble burns his face when he changes the angle, but it doesn’t matter because they’re actually kissing and it’s entirely consensual.
When Derek eventually pulls away, Stiles follows him, his mouth thrumming pleasantly, but he only manages to drop one extra kiss to Derek’s lips before a hand comes between them and holds him at bay.
“I’d rather not be arrested again,” Derek says and Stiles makes a face.
“For making out? Actually, no, you’re right. My dad probably would.”
Derek tenses as though it hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“I was alluding to the fact that you’re still underage,” he says before slumping back into the pillows behind and rubbing a hand over his face. “Your dad isn’t going to like this.”
“I’m pretty sure he won’t shoot you, if that helps. There are regulations about that sort of thing.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, dropping his hand and staring at him as though he should know better. “Shut up.”
Stiles leans forward, pressing his grin against Derek’s mouth and, for once in his life, follows orders just because it’s his choice to make.
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Summary: Stiles receives a box of chocolates for Valentine's Day. Unfortunately, the chocolates end up containing trace amounts of love potion.
Warnings: Love potions (lack of control)
Author: blacktofade
Words: 4,849
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Written for the chocolate square of THIS kink bingo card. Also posted at AO3. Please feel free to point out any mistakes/offer concrit.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with the Teen Wolf or any of their affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
Stiles would like to point out that he definitely thought the chocolates were a joke from Scott. The box even had the same barely-legible scrawl across the label, wishing Stiles a plentiful Valentine’s Day from his best bud. But, Stiles is willing to admit that he probably should have learned by now that living in Beacon Hills meant daily doses of the supernatural and that he should have sent Scott a text before tearing into the candy and eating four in a row.
Hindsight is one hell of a bitch.
*
“He’s just so handsome, y’know?” Stiles finds himself saying, unable to stop. “With his muscle-y muscles and his eyes. I think they’re my favourite.”
“Do you happen to have a ball-gag somewhere?” Scott asks, pulling a face that says he doesn’t want to hear what is coming out of Stiles’ mouth. Not even Stiles wants to hears what’s coming out of his mouth.
Stiles smacks his palm over his lips, hoping it’ll stop it, but all it does is muffle the absolute drivel that he’s spouting. He looks towards Scott for help, but Scott just waves his hands around as though he has no idea what he should do.
“Should I call Derek?” It’s the worst plan Stiles has ever heard and he smacks Scott across the side of his head with his free hand. “Ow. Right, okay. Do we have any idea who left the chocolates for you?”
Stiles tries to say that he found them in his mailbox when he went to collect the bills, but it instead comes out as,
“I know he’s a silent, brooding type, but I think there’s more to him. He’s like an ogre and has layers.”
He covers his mouth back up and slumps sideways on his bed. He wants to say how much everything sucks, but he definitely doesn’t trust his mouth to pass the right message on. It’s like playing telephone with himself.
“It has to be someone who knows where you live then,” Scott declares like he’s made a breakthrough, but Stiles just shoots him a look because everyone knows Stiles is the sheriff’s son and everyone knows where the sheriff lives.
Stiles sits back up, his arm aching from the awkward position, but he doesn’t move it away. Stiles waxing poetic is not a pretty sight. He scratches the back of his head and starts to wonder if there’s a loophole to the curse when he spots his notebook on the desk. He’s up and across the room before Scott can even think to ask what he’s doing. He rips a sheet of paper out of it and grabs a pen, hoping his plan will actually work.
I hate my life, he scrawls and holds it up for Scott to read. Scott nods emphatically.
“I am not envious of it at all.”
The only problem with writing is that it’s difficult with only one hand. He can’t seem to get the paper to stay still without pinning it down and when he tries to move around the room, it only makes it worse. In the end, he bounces onto his mattress and reaches back though one of the shelves of his headboard, where he knows there’s a roll of duct tape hidden behind his box of tissues. It’s easy to rip a length off and slap it over his mouth, and although it pinches and tugs at his skin, it does the job.
Scott seems barely able to stop himself from laughing and Stiles points an accusatory finger at him.
Remember that time in 7th grade?
Scott reads the message before his face turns pale and he steals the paper and pen, crossing the line out repeatedly as though it would actually make sense to anyone other than them. When he hands the sheet back to Stiles, there’s a hole where the words used to be and Stiles knows he has his attention.
It must be some sort of chemical in the chocolate, Stiles writes, letting Scott peer over his shoulder. That means it has to be temporary, right?
Scott shrugs.
“Let’s hope so. Why did they target you, though?”
Obvious. I’m human. This stuff probably won’t affect you.
“What about Allison or Lydia? They’re human.”
Stiles stares at him incredulously.
Do you really think someone would try to break into the Argent house? They’d have to be stupid. Lydia is immune.
“Okay, so you’re an easy target? Why even bother at all?”
To annoy everyone?
“Everyone?”
Fine. Derek.
“He’s not even here.”
No, but they probably thought we’d call him. Joke’s on them!
Stile has barely finished dotting the exclamation mark when someone pushes his window open from the outside and crawls through.
“Derek?” Scott asks, stealing the word right out of Stiles’ taped up mouth.
Derek takes one look at Stiles and says,
“I don’t want to know.”
BINGO, Stiles writes, underlining it a few dozen times for emphasis.
Derek opens his mouth as if to say something, but stops and sniffs instead. An intense frown works its way over his face and he moves towards Stiles’ desk, grabbing the box of chocolates and inhaling loudly again. Stiles makes a noise behind the tape and holds his hands up to warn him away from them, but Derek just glances at him over the cardboard and raises an eyebrow.
“You ate one?” he asks.
“Or four,” Scott unhelpfully supplies and Stiles takes a moment to glare at him because he doesn’t appreciate being thrown to the dogs. He wishes he could speak if only to say that out loud to annoy them both.
It’s Valentine’s Day, Stiles scribbles, waving it in the air before adding, you probably don’t believe me, but sometimes I do get gifts.
“That card from Mrs Beecher, our fourth grade teacher, totally doesn’t count. She sent one to everyone in the class.”
Stiles throws his pen at him, but Scott just catches it with a laugh and tosses it back. It bounces off Stiles’ fingers and Derek ends up grabbing it out of midair and handing it to him. Stiles isn’t expecting the spark of static when their hands brush and he definitely isn’t expecting the way his body starts doing stuff without his approval.
The box of chocolates clatters to the floor as Stiles finds himself launching towards Derek, arms tangling around his neck as he pushes his nose against Derek’s throat. Derek freezes against him, hands pushing at his hips to keep him away, but Stiles knows Derek could throw him across the other side of the room without breaking a sweat, so when he barely keeps Stiles at bay, he knows he’s not really trying. He’s pretty sure that if the duct tape hadn’t been covering his mouth he’d be biting at Derek’s skin and trying to leave bruises.
There’s a niggling at the back of his mind that this isn’t the way he expected Derek to find out about his innermost thoughts and feelings, but his body refuses to cooperate and let him pull away. It’s Scott that eventually pulls them apart, winding an arm around Stiles’ stomach and pulling until Stiles’ grip falters and he slides backwards, away from Derek, who takes two large steps away and continues frowning.
“Why are you even here, Derek?” Scott asks, making it sound like an accusation.
Derek raises an eyebrow and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and showing the screen which has a text from Stiles on it.
need ur help. meet @ my house in 5
Stiles shakes his head because he would definitely remember sending that and he doesn’t. Scott loosens his hold, but doesn’t let him go entirely.
“Did you send that?” he asks and Stiles just keeps on shaking his head. “That’s definitely your number?”
This time Stiles nods.
“Where’s your phone?”
Stiles points at his bedside where his phone sits and Derek keeps an arm’s length away at all times as he moves around the bed to grab it. He tosses it to Stiles who actually manages to catch it with a triumphant grin. He types in his security code and goes straight to his SENT folder. There’s no text to Derek in there.
Stiles tries to say so it’s an outside source? except nothing gets past the tape.
“It’s an outside source,” Derek mumbles, taking Stiles by surprise. Stiles nods again and throws his phone onto his bed. They’re no closer to an answer.
Scott moves around behind Stiles as though he’s up to something, but Stiles doesn’t realise what it is until he hears the jingle of Scott’s belt and suddenly finds his wrists bound firmly behind his back. In the past, whenever Stiles had thought about being bound and gagged, he’d never pictured it this way. For one, Scott is still in the room. He tests the leather, just to see how strong it is, but he knows there’s no escaping. When Scott lets him go, he moves back to his desk chair and sits down heavily, wincing slightly when it jars his shoulders.
He can’t even write now, which means they’re most likely going to have to wait out the effects of the chocolates and find answers later. Stiles just hopes it doesn’t get any worse, because he’ll never live down trying to jump Derek for a second time. There’s a strange itching sensation beginning to spread under his skin, but every time he glances in Derek’s direction, it soothes it momentarily.
Stiles almost jumps at the sound that comes out of his laptop, which is sitting open and unused, which alerts him of an incoming Skype call. He gestures at it with his head and Scott steps closer to nudge the mouse and flick the screen back to life. The request to video chat is coming from an LMartin and Stiles was definitely not expecting that. Scott apparently notices because he accepts the invite before Stiles can even throw himself to the floor and he finds himself staring at a pixelated version of Lydia’s face.
For a long moment she’s quiet and then she blinks and smirks.
“That’s your solution?” she asks, which makes it sound remarkably likes she knows everything already and Stiles narrows his eyes. “Did Derek get the text? Did he do that to you?”
Stiles wriggles because he can’t curse at her, can only glare and pray that the internet cuts out because his cheeks are on fire. He’s been set up; he should have known.
“What did you do to him?” Derek asks, stepping into view of the camera, anger clear in his voice. As soon as he’s closer, Stiles turns his head and presses his face against Derek’s side. He’s can’t do much damage and apparently Derek realises too because he doesn’t try to push him away, just lets him nuzzle into his shirt to soothe the itch.
“It’s not permanent, just a little love potion. He only wants to be close to you, Derek.”
Stiles noses further down Derek’s body, only stopping at the waistband of Derek’s jeans when Derek grabs him by the jaw and pulls him back up.
“It doesn’t seem that innocent,” he points out and if Stiles could talk, he’d back him up because he is having some seriously filthy thoughts about what he’d like to do with Derek right now.
“I hardly put any in. It was just meant to finally get you two to stop beating around the bush and driving us all insane with your pussyfooting.”
He hears Scott snort and make a vague noise of agreement, but he can’t bring himself to pull away from Derek, even though Scott is a dirty traitor that doesn’t deserve a friend like Stiles.
“He ate half the box,” Derek says as though Lydia should know Stiles would do something like that.
“Hence why I kept the dosage so small,” she replies sharply, because Stiles understands that she wouldn’t do anything to him without double and triple checking everything. Whatever has gone wrong has been an honest mistake.
That’s when there’s a faint rattle behind Stiles’ head that’s either Tic Tacs or pills. Seeing as how Stiles can’t stand the former, it has to be the latter.
“What would Adderall do to it?” Scott asks and Lydia makes a faint noise as though it never even crossed her mind. Stiles wants to document the moment, just so he can use it as blackmail material later, once he can look back and find everything about the situation funny. It might take a few years, but it’ll be worth it.
“I thought he was cutting down on it.”
“Since when?”
“That’s what he told me,” Lydia says with disdain in her voice and, okay, she’s right about that one because Stiles may or may not have wanted her to think that he was maturing with age. Like a fine wine, or weird French cheese. He regrets it now.
“So I guess it amplifies the effects?” Scott asks and Lydia makes noise that means she doesn’t know, but won’t admit it.
Stiles rubs his cheek over the amazing hardness of Derek’s abs and breathes in the scent of laundry detergent and burnt wood.
“How long will this last?” Derek asks and Stiles feels the way his voice rumbles the entire way through his chest. He could get used to it. He wants to grab Derek’s sides and hold him close although part of his brain reasons that that’s not what he really wants to do, but the drugged section shushes it and tells it to go sit in the corner.
“The original mix was only meant to last for a few hours. This might take a little longer. Maybe until the Adderall wears off? If you’re lucky, he took it this morning and you won’t have to wait much longer. You can always just leave him with Scott.”
Stiles panics at that and pushes harder against Derek, until Derek has to steady him with a hand on his shoulder to stop him from sliding off his chair. He shakes his head and pleads behind the duct tape because the itching under his skin threatens to grow worse and he’s sure that as long as Derek stays beside him, it’ll remain at bay. Derek tightens his hold and says,
“I’m not going anywhere.”
It calms Stiles slightly, even though Scott makes a sound as though he doesn’t agree.
“Aren’t you just making it worse?” he asks and Stiles doesn’t know what kind of glare Derek throws at him, but it’s good enough to shut him up.
“We can just wait it out. It’s the least we can do.”
Stiles thinks that might have been punctuated by a frown at Lydia because there’s a bloop that signals the video chat has been ended and Scott makes a frustrated noise.
“What if we need her?” Scott asks in the way he has of making it sound like they’re going to cause the end of the world and even Stiles manages to roll his eyes.
“She’s helped out so much already.”
Stiles is a little proud of the amount of sarcasm Derek manages to crowbar into one sentence. It’s like watching his child head off to college. His happiest is jolted, however, when the chair spins uneasily and the lovely scent of Derek’s body disappears and he’s met with Scott’s annoyed face.
“Stiles, maybe you should stay at my place tonight.”
Stiles stands, mostly because he’s upset about losing Derek’s chest as his face rest, but it’s not as though he can speak with tape over his mouth and he can’t gesture to point out the fact because his hands are tied. Literally. There’s a reason he has eyebrows, though, and he’s pretty sure Scott understands him. He doesn’t get time to respond, however, as Derek wraps warm fingers around his bicep and tugs him back a step.
“Stiles. Your hands.”
Stiles attempts to twist around to look, gets a glimpse of dark purpled fingers, and panics. He tries to say Oh my god, my hands! What did you do, Scott? Except it comes out as nothing but muffled, unintelligible noises. Luckily, Derek seems to understand because he unfastens the belt from around Stiles’ wrists and lets the blood flow back into his fingers. There’s a light tingling, but it’s mostly overpowered by the itching that returns. Derek seems to expect that too because he keeps a hold of Stiles’ arms behind his back, but grips them loosely enough that it doesn’t cut his circulation again.
Derek’s touch drives him partially insane, which isn’t fair at all. There are a million things that he wants to tell Derek, but none of them make it past the tape, thankfully.
“Will you do what I want, Stiles?” Derek asks and Stiles is pretty sure he’s heard that before in one of his wet dreams. His brain fizzles for a little while as his body tries to decide if it wants to give up immediately or just collapse later. In the end, he just nods emphatically because obeying Derek’s orders sounds like something he wants to do. “Will you keep your hands to yourself?”
Stiles deflates and feels a little wounded. Of all the possibilities, Derek chooses to make him stay out of his personal space. It’s unfair. It also makes his body itch and his fingers twitch, arms aching to wrap around Derek. As much as he loves Lydia, this will definitely affect his opinion of her in the future. She’s ruined all the street cred he’s ever had; he’ll never live it down.
Scott laughs as though he doesn’t expect Stiles to actually listen and although it takes all of Stiles’ concentration, he fights against the urges and when Derek lets go of his arms, he keeps them at his side. When the itching hits him full force, it makes it hard to breathe and there is a definite sweat breaking out on his forehead. He clenches his teeth until his jaw throbs from the pressure and every second it gets harder to keep his hands to himself.
It eases when Derek touches his shoulders and steers him backwards so that he can sit on his bed, which is a step in the right direction. However, instead of throwing him down onto the mattress and ravishing him, Derek seats himself beside him and slips a hand under the hem of his shirt to rest his palm against the small of Stiles’ back. Stiles melts under the contact, his chin dropping to his chest as he hums in happiness, just to let Derek know that he’s the best.
A thumb lightly rubs circles over the ridges of his spine and it distracts Stiles from wanting to hump Derek’s leg and allows him to just enjoy the sensation. If he were a cat, he’d be purring up a storm, no doubt about it. Scott lets out a soft oh as though he never expected Derek’s idea to work and Stiles hears the creak of his chair as Scott drops into it.
“Go home, Scott,” Derek orders and Scott makes a noise of protest.
“I’m his best friend. I should be here to make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Derek points out and Stiles would argue that he’s still right there and it would be nice if they’d stop talking like he isn’t, but he doesn’t have the energy.
“What if it gets worse again.”
Derek’s hand pauses and Stiles is two seconds away from complaining when it starts up once more.
“I’m the alpha, Scott. I can deal with one hormonal teenager.”
Either they have the rest of their conversation silently using only their eyebrows or Scott gives in easier than expected because Scott scoops his backpack off the floor where he’d dropped it when he first showed up and then moves towards the door.
“Call me when you’re feeling better,” Scott tells him and Stiles tries to wave his hand in answer, but he’s not sure if he actually moves or not. Either way, Scott slips out of the room and leaves him alone with Derek.
Part of his brain is chanting jump him jump him jump him but the rest isn’t paying attention, too busy thumping its foot on the ground like a dog that’s getting a fantastic scratch behind the ear. He can’t help it when he slumps sideways into Derek’s lap and Derek tenses below him, probably expecting Stiles to try to rip open his jeans with his teeth, which is an interesting prospect - one that’s ruined by duct tape - but if he’s honest, Stiles mostly just wants to nap. His medication must definitely be wearing off.
“Would you like me to remove the tape?” Derek asks quietly and Stiles doesn’t know if he can control his mouth yet, but he supposes he could muffle it with a pillow instead now that he has no need to talk. Stiles ends up nodding and shifting onto his back so that he’s looking up at Derek from his lap. “Do you have baby oil?”
Stiles wonders how many times Derek had to take band-aids off the younger children in his family, but pushes it from his mind because it’s not a good road to go down. He just gestures at his face and raises an eyebrow, which he hopes gets the point across.
It does, because Derek says,
“Okay, no oil. On three?”
Stiles grabs his wrist because he’s sure that method will end up taking half of his face with the tape and Derek smirks down at him. When he realises Derek had been joking, he pinches his side in revenge and Derek’s lips thin as though he’s trying not to laugh.
That’s not funny, Stiles tries to communicate with his eyebrows, but Derek just begins picking at one corner, slowly peeling it from Stiles’ sore skin. It takes a while and as soon as Stile’s mouth is free he curses just because he can and it actually comes out the way he wants it to.
“I can talk!” he says and Derek balls the strip of tape up and tosses it in the direction of the trashcan. It misses by a foot, but neither of them moves to pick it off the floor.
“Just when life was peaceful.”
Stiles pinches him again, but doesn’t move, content to stay exactly where he is.
“Lydia is no longer my favourite,” he tries to say, except it comes out as, “You should stay,” and, okay, maybe the toxin hasn’t worn off yet. He pinches his lips together with his teeth and tries to ignore the flush on his cheeks. Derek seems to notice because he continues touching what he can reach of Stiles’ back and trails his eyes down Stiles’ face.
“Was that the chocolate talking?”
Stiles shrugs because it was, but it’s still something he wants. He ends up hiding his face against Derek’s stomach and trying to pretend that the whole situation never happened. As much as he’s wanted to pluck up the courage and tell Derek exactly how he feels, he rather thought it would be a lot more consensual when he finally did. He feels a little betrayed by his own body, which definitely isn’t his fault, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty about putting Derek through everything.
Derek apparently picks up on his anxiety because he smoothes his other hand over Stiles’ shoulder and frowns.
“You can sleep off the rest of the effects. I won’t go anywhere.”
It’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to him, but Derek always seems to be full of surprises like that. He’s hard on the outside, but soft in the middle, a bit like a Tootsie Pop - a thought which distracts Stiles briefly when his mind jumps to wondering how many licks it would take to get to the centre of him. Definitely a bad route to go down and napping is probably the best idea after all.
Stiles doesn’t try to thank him in case he ends up declaring passionate love, instead just rolls onto his side and presses his face into the soft, clean fabric over Derek’s hip. He’s positive that Derek isn’t at all comfortable, but Stile definitely is because it doesn’t take long before his eyes droop shut and he drops off into sleep.
*
The room is dark when he awakens and the glowing face of his clock tells him that it’s a quarter past eleven. Derek obviously shifted them at some point because he’s slumped into a collection of pillows that are propped up against the headboard, while Stiles is cradled between his legs. It’s soft and warm and so perfect that Stiles almost wonders if the chocolates are still affecting him.
When he finally sits up, the loss of touch doesn’t cause the itching under his skin, which is a good sign, but it jerks Derek from his own sleep. Derek frowns and it seems to take a moment for him to realise where he is before he draws in a deep breath and relaxes again.
“I think we’re all clear,” Stiles whispers and the words actually come out as he wants them to.
Derek runs his fingers through his own flattened hair and yawns. When he moves as though about to leave the bed, Stiles grabs his arm, but it’s entirely his own doing.
“You don’t have to go,” he says quietly and Derek meets his eyes in the low light.
“Are you sure that’s you?” Derek replies and Stiles doesn’t know if it’s a joke or if Derek just doesn’t believe that someone would want him to stay even when there’s no emergency. He tightens his grip on Derek’s forearm and tugs gently.
“Pretty positive. I don’t know about you, but I am beat. Let’s just go back to sleep.”
He tries it as a distraction method, but it doesn’t seem to work too well as Derek pulls a face as though he’s not quite sure and Stiles switches tactics. It’s far too easy to lean forwards and brush a chaste kiss across Derek’s mouth and he can’t tell if it’s a good thing or not. When he draws back, Derek’s eyes dart over his face, like he’s waiting for Stiles to start laughing or teasing him for falling for a trick and it stings a little, Stiles will admit.
“Okay, so that probably doesn’t help prove my point that I’m drug free, but will it convince you to stay just in case I’m not?”
Derek’s arm flexes beneath his palm, but he doesn’t move away.
“It should have worn off hours ago.”
Stiles nods in agreement.
“I guess that was all me then, huh?” Stiles knows it was, but watching the realisation slowly spread across Derek’s shadowed face is a wonderful thing. “I now consent fully to any making out or groping you might wish to bestow upon me. Let’s just not tell Lydia that her plan might have worked despite the mistakes, because she’ll be unbearable otherwise.”
“Her plan might have worked?”
Stiles raises an eyebrow.
“All my cards are on the table. You either have to call or fold. I’m pretty sure that was what she was hoping for.”
Derek seems to consider the words because he doesn’t move and he doesn’t speak. To be fair, he might have just fallen asleep with his eyes open, but before Stiles can poke him and ask, a hand comes up to the back of his neck and holds firmly. Stiles knows that it’ll either be the greatest moment of his life so far, or Derek will just snap his neck and leave through the window. He’s hoping they’ve gone beyond neck snapping by this point.
Derek moves slowly enough that Stiles could turn his head if he wanted to, but he doesn’t and Derek’s lips are warm against his own when they meet. Derek’s stubble burns his face when he changes the angle, but it doesn’t matter because they’re actually kissing and it’s entirely consensual.
When Derek eventually pulls away, Stiles follows him, his mouth thrumming pleasantly, but he only manages to drop one extra kiss to Derek’s lips before a hand comes between them and holds him at bay.
“I’d rather not be arrested again,” Derek says and Stiles makes a face.
“For making out? Actually, no, you’re right. My dad probably would.”
Derek tenses as though it hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“I was alluding to the fact that you’re still underage,” he says before slumping back into the pillows behind and rubbing a hand over his face. “Your dad isn’t going to like this.”
“I’m pretty sure he won’t shoot you, if that helps. There are regulations about that sort of thing.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, dropping his hand and staring at him as though he should know better. “Shut up.”
Stiles leans forward, pressing his grin against Derek’s mouth and, for once in his life, follows orders just because it’s his choice to make.