Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, NC-17 Part One of Two
Title: Invited Inside
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Summary: Of all the things to finally bite him, a vampire is truly at the bottom of Stiles’ list.
Warnings: Violence, biting, bloodplay, unsafe sex, explicit sexual content.
Author: blacktofade
Words: 7,007 / 14,146
Rating: NC-17
A/N 1: Set during the summer before senior year. I had Mitchell from Being Human in mind for how Stiles' vampire side works, though it's a very loose interpretation. Written for the Vampire square of THIS kink bingo card. Please feel free to point out any mistakes/offer concrit.
A/N 2: This is the last day for my fic giveaway HERE on Tumblr, so feel free to take part if you'd like to try to win a fic and make me write whatever you want! :)
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.
Of all the things to finally bite him, a vampire is truly at the bottom of Stiles’ list. He never even knew they existed until one started prowling around Beacon Hills a few days prior. Now he’s slumped against a tree, one hand pressed to the puncture wounds on his neck, blood running in lazy lines down his forearm. It’s not his ideal Friday night, but it’s the one he’s ended up with.
He can hear rustling in the brush at his back, Scott snarling, and the wet sound of claws sliding through soft flesh. He feels nauseous and can’t tell if it’s because of the noises or blood loss. His body is slowly going numb from shock and the thin sweatshirt he’s wearing isn’t doing anything to help. It’s getting harder to press his palm against his throat and he really hopes there’s someone else around because Scott seems otherwise occupied and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll last.
His dad is definitely going to be upset if he shows up in a body bag.
There’s blood in his mouth, heavy and acrid on his tongue, and each breath feels like it’s burning through his lungs. It’s even worse than the time he tried to skateboard down Sunny View hill and ended up sliding most of the way down it on his knees and elbows. It hadn’t been pretty and he has the scars to prove it.
He can hear something thudding closer ahead of him and in the fading light, he can see tree branches shaking and giving way to something large. He just prays it isn’t something else that wants to rip his throat out. They’re a bit late, anyway. He snorts to himself because he’s too dizzy and disoriented to care, which is when Isaac bursts into the clearing, his eyes going comically wide as he notices Stiles on the floor.
Stiles waves feebly with his free hand, drawing in a shuddering breath that aches all the way down to his toes. Isaac is by his side in an instant, looking panicked and lost, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do. Stiles wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t have the strength to speak. Instead, he grabs Isaac’s wrist, even though the blood that’s everywhere makes his fingers slip. Isaac whines low in his throat before turning his face away and howling loudly. It sounds desperate.
Behind, Scott growls, loud and vicious, before something - that Stiles hopes is the vampire - lets out a deafening scream followed by a watery gurgling noise and then nothing at all, just silence. Stiles is mostly sure Scott just managed to stake Dracula Jr, but everything starts blurring at the edges and he’s too tired to keep his hand pressed against his neck. It drops to his side, letting out another warm trickle of blood from the puncture marks, but Isaac’s hand quickly replaces his own, stealing away some of the pain as he goes.
Stiles tries to grunt his appreciation, but he’s not sure how well it works out. His head drops forward and it feels as though he could sleep for a hundred years. Before his eyes can drift shut, Scott stumbles back into sight, his shirt splattered with gore, but he doesn’t seem to care at all.
“Cover him with your coat,” he orders, looking to Isaac, who moves to obey immediately. “Keep him warm, or the shock will kill him.”
He sounds exactly like Mrs McCall at that moment, and Stiles is so glad she took the time to teach him the basics to first aid. He’s sure she probably whopped his ass until he could recite everything back, word for word. If he makes it out alive, he’ll buy her flowers.
Warmth curls around him as Isaac tucks him into the jacket and Stiles is ready to fall asleep. Scott crouches beside him, tapping his cheek gently, which is super annoying and not at all conducive to naptime. His head tips back, which is worst thing ever because he ends up swallowing a mouthful of blood, which he then throws back up into his lap. Everything hurts so much, even with Isaac taking the edge off and, worryingly, he’s starting to shake.
There’s more crashing through the trees, but he doesn’t even have the strength to tense. Thankfully, neither Isaac nor Scott seems worried, which means it must be pack. Stiles doesn’t really want an audience for when he inevitably dies, but Derek comes into view, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in a severe scowl. If it happens to be the last thing Stiles ever sees, he can at least take comfort in the fact that it’s familiar.
Stiles hiccoughs, more blood leaking from his mouth until he can hardly breathe and he just wants the pain to stop.
“Don’t,” he croaks out to Scott, trying to say don’t let me become one of them, but he can’t get anything else out and he’s overwhelmed by the coppery scent of all the life flooding out of him. He shuts his eyes and sags against Isaac’s hand.
*
There are no words to describe the amount of surprise he feels when he actually blinks awake. He’s sore all over and his head throbs, like a mixture between the flu and the time he temporarily misappropriated his Dad’s whiskey and ended up with the world’s worst hangover the next morning. The first thing he does is touch the side of his neck, feeling for bite marks, but there’s hardly anything there, just two small, slightly raised bumps. The second thing he does is fumble around for his phone to check the date because he has no idea how long he’s been out, but it seems like it might have been a while.
He blinks blearily around, finding himself in his bedroom with a half-empty glass of water and his cell phone sitting on the side table. He takes a drink to wet his parched mouth and then taps the screen of his phone to wake it up. Apparently, it’s Sunday, which means he’s only missed a day and a bit. Nothing seems to add up.
He scrolls through his texts, looking for anything that might fill in the blanks, but there’s nothing apart from the conversation he’d had with Scott before they’d raced off to track the vampire. It’s early afternoon, which means Scott will surely be up, so he shoots him a quick message.
What happened? Pizza tonight?
He tosses it on top of his covers as he slowly swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. It’s not as hard as he thinks it should be, which raises his suspicion levels to maximum. He feels the marks on his neck again, just to be sure, and then heads to the bathroom for a better look.
He pees before anything else, feeling as though he’s stored up most of Beacon Hill’s water supply in his bladder, but as he flushes and turns to the sink to wash his hands, he flails backwards at his reflection. Or the lack thereof. He hits the wall with a dull thud, which knocks a stack of handtowels off the shelf beside him onto the floor.
“No, no, no, no, no,” he repeats, touching his face to make sure he’s real, even though the mirror apparently thinks otherwise. “Jesus Christ.”
He slaps a hand against his chest where his heart should be beating hard and fast from panic, but there’s nothing under his palm. He presses two fingers under his jaw, but there’s no blip or sign of a heartbeat. He feels sick. This was never what he wanted; this was never meant to happen to him.
He hits the wall again when there’s a knock on the door and he only just catches the picture frame that he hits with his elbow.
“You alright in there, Stiles? When did you get back from Scott’s?”
Stiles takes a moment to catch his breath, which he’s sure is just a force of habit and no longer a necessity.
“Hey, Dad, I’m fine; just tripped.”
He doesn’t try to answer the second question because he has no idea how to respond and he’s a little afraid of getting it wrong. His dad apparently doesn’t think anything of it because he carries on regardless.
“I cooked some chicken patties if you want one for lunch.”
Stiles doesn’t even know if he can eat food if he’s dea- lacking a heartbeat.
“Thanks, Dad. I might have one later.”
His dad makes a noise of agreement and Stiles hears him wander along the hallway and down the stairs. With a long exhale, Stiles slumps forward, resting the side of his face against the counter beside the sink. It feels warm against his cold cheek. There’s panic swelling in his chest, threatening to burst free, so he tries his best to distract himself by washing his hands and face, before brushing his teeth.
When he finally creeps back to his bedroom, the first thing he does is grab his phone.
“You’ve got some explaining to do,” he tells Scott when he picks up.
“I’ll be over in a minute,” is all Scott says.
*
“I’ve got no pulse,” Stiles whispers angrily as soon as Scott’s in his room. He eyes the door, making sure his dad isn’t nearby to accidentally overhear. “What the hell happened?”
“Don’t be mad. You passed out and we were worried. We thought we’d have to give you the bite to keep you alive, but you turned.”
“Turned?”
“You started healing and Derek could smell something strange on you.”
“And none of you thought, ‘hey, Stiles is the next Nosferatu, let’s stake him now?’ because you should have.”
Scott looks a little guilty, but there’s defiance in his eyes still.
“I wasn’t going to kill you, Stiles, and I won’t do it now either before you ask.”
“I told you not to let me turn.”
“You were choking on your own blood, Stiles. One, I can’t read minds, and two, you’re my best friend. You stayed when I turned. I could have ripped you to shreds back then, but you helped me.”
“I could have hurt you last night,” Stiles mumbles and Scott grins lopsidedly and pokes the side of Stiles’ mouth, pushing his top lip up a little.
“You’ve got baby teeth.”
“Compared to you! Compared to normal people, I’m vicious and deadly,” he complains, before adding, “You suck.”
“No, apparently you do now.”
Stiles thumps him on the arm because that was a terrible joke, even by Stiles’ standards. The thought, however, sobers him.
“Do I need to, you know?” He makes fangs with his index fingers and hisses. “I don’t want to kill people, Scott.”
Scott takes a seat at his desk, so Stiles sits opposite him on the bed.
“I spoke to Deaton because we didn’t know what would happen to you, but he said he wasn’t an expert on vampires.”
“Helpful.”
Scott frowns at him.
“He tried his best. You should be grateful.”
“You haven’t told me what he said yet. Will sunshine turn me to dust? Do I have to give up garlic bread? Is it necessary to drink blood?”
Scott holds up a hand to silence him, before he starts ticking things off on his fingers.
“You’ll be sensitive to light, but you can go outside in it. You’ll only have to give up garlic bread if you decide to go on a diet. You’ll need blood to begin with until you get your strength up, but you can wean yourself off later.” He pauses as though trying to recall the rest of what he’s been told. “Crosses don’t do much. Water is okay in small doses. You probably won’t be using the local pool anymore. Don’t make a habit of touching silver.”
Scott lets out a long breath, probably relieved that he actually remembered everything, but Stiles just blinks because it’s a lot to take in at once.
“You know when we decided this summer break was going to be the best yet?” Stiles asks, rubbing the side of his face tiredly. “Vampires weren’t included in the plan.”
“I didn’t exactly choose to become a werewolf during sophomore year, Stiles.”
That makes Stiles feel a little guilty, if he’s honest.
“Well, at least you’re still alive. What happens if I go to the doctors?” He cuts himself off because he gets a thought. “Do you think I’ll be classed as DOA?”
“It’s not like much can hurt you now. Deaton can always help out.”
Stiles flops backwards onto his mattress.
“This is ridiculous,” Stiles points out and Scott huffs a laugh quietly.
“It’s a little bit cool, you have to admit.”
Stiles holds a hand up to his face, staring at his pale skin and wondering if it’s as cold as it looks. He’s technically dead, so yeah, that’s a little bit cool.
“Want a game of Mario Kart?” Stiles asks because a distraction sounds like a great idea. He also wants to see if he’s inherited faster reflexes because he will definitely use them to kick Scott’s ass.
“Yeah, okay,” Scott concedes as Stiles sits up and starts searching for the controllers.
*
The throbbing behind his eyes starts just as he’s getting ready for bed. It’s been a dull ache throughout the day, but now it’s harsh and insistent, threatening to keep him awake all night. He pulls a soft, worn t-shirt over his head and ties the drawstring on his pyjama pants. He flips the light off and shimmies under the bedcovers, hoping that it’ll go away by itself.
Ten minutes later, it’s morphed into a strange niggling feeling and ten more minutes after that, it’s a hunger that makes his hands shake. All he can think about is blood. Wet and rich and still warm on his tongue. The kind that’s running through his dad’s veins.
He leans up on one elbow, glancing towards the doorway because he heard his dad head to bed half an hour ago, which means he’s probably sound asleep. He probably wouldn’t even notice if Stiles slipped in there. He could just take a mouthful or two and maybe it would ease the pain and help him sleep.
He’s halfway across the room before he even realises and that’s when his window slides open. Stiles is alert in an instant, his hunger getting the better of him as he crouches into a defensive position, expecting the worst. His teeth ache as they lengthen, nudging over his bottom lip in full view to ward off danger.
It’s Derek that slips into the room, seeming slightly taken aback at Stiles’ stance. He holds his hands up as though approaching a snarling dog, which is a joke Stiles feels he can’t properly appreciate while he’s so hungry. His teeth shrink back to their regular size when he realises Derek isn’t a threat, but he stays poised, just in case.
“That’s a bad idea, Stiles. You don’t want to do it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re hungry.”
Stiles snorts loudly.
“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” Derek looks suspiciously guilty and Stiles narrows his eyes before continuing. “You should have stuck a stake in me before I had time to turn.”
“You can’t take your first drink from your father.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Stiles lies, but Derek sees straight through it.
“You’re more likely to drain an entire body because you lack restraint.”
“Says you,” Stiles retorts.
Derek grows out the nails on one hand before curling his fingers forward and digging them into his palm. The blood bubbles to the surface and Stiles can smell the skin healing, but he’s already moving forward, grabbing Derek’s wrist and trying to pull his hand up to his lips because the scent is mouth-wateringly good. Even though Stiles has newfound supernatural strength, Derek is still stronger and he easily breaks Stiles’ hold and licks the blood away.
“See my point?”
Stiles is panting, his teeth long and bared, ready to sink into soft flesh. He’s just so hungry. He snarls, feeling entirely inhuman, which scares the crap out of him, but Derek looks calm in front of him and Stiles is just glad that one of them knows what they’re doing.
Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to bring himself back under control, but the scent of blood still lingers in the air, briefly getting stronger every time Derek exhales. It’s not as easy as he expects, as though his new form is fighting with the memory of his human side. He rubs a hand over his face and wills his fangs away. It’s a slow process as he argues with his new instincts.
When he finally drops his hand, Derek is staring at him carefully.
“I’m really hungry,” Stiles admits, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. “This headache isn’t helping anything either.”
Derek looks as though he’s internally debating what to do and Stiles can’t help but hope that he’ll come up with a plan that involves a lot of blood.
“Stay here,” he tells Stiles with a firm stare. “Can you do that?”
At any other time, Stiles would roll his eyes and snap back with something sarcastic and biting, but Derek actually seems as though he wants to help and Stiles isn’t about to turn that down, not when he needs it so badly. He nods emphatically, which only seems to make Derek suspicious, but he gives an answering tip of his head and then leaves the room.
Stiles’ hearing seems to be a little better, but he can’t tell what Derek is doing, only that he’s downstairs and opening and closing cupboards in the kitchen. Stiles figures he’s searching for something, though for what he doesn’t know.
When Derek comes back and shuts the door behind him a few minutes later, he’s carrying a pint glass that’s filled almost to the brim with dark blood. The sight should turn Stiles’ stomach, but it smells so good, he can’t help but meet Derek halfway, holding his hands out for it.
“Slowly,” Derek orders, and for a second, Stiles thinks he’s going to hold the glass up to his lips himself so he can control how much Stiles gets. Thankfully, he passes it over, instead, and just keeps a close eye on him.
The first gulp makes his knees buckle in happiness and he stumbles his way onto his desk chair, swallowing more down greedily. Derek’s hand on his shoulder reminds him to slow down, but it’s so hard when it tastes like salvation. It’s still slightly warm and there’s a heavy flavour underneath everything that Stiles is sure is because of Derek’s wolf.
He’s not above trying to lick out the glass for every last drop, but Derek takes it from his hands and sets it down on the desk. When Stiles finally draws in a long breath, he gets a dizzying head rush and he blinks against the black spots that flicker in his sight. It feels as though he’s taken too much Adderall because everything is sharp and he’s slightly overwhelmed by his new senses as they focus on the things around him.
He can hear each gentle, sleep-soft breath his dad takes in the room at the end of the hall and the quiet electric hum of the fridge downstairs. He can smell something small and dead coming from next door, which is clearly something the neighbour’s cat has killed and left on the doorstep, but it’s as though it’s right under his nose. He can even smell something spicy on Derek, like the Thai food from the restaurant in town. Everything makes it seem as though he’s waking up to a new world, which he supposes is partially true.
Stiles leans forward, dropping his head between his knees as the headache slowly fades and he’s left with a hum of energy running through his veins. He wonders if this is how the pack feels all the time and he doesn’t know how they manage. He’s going to be a lot more lenient on them in the future.
“Thank you,” Stiles mumbles softly, needing to quieten the noise around him. When he looks up, Derek’s carefully considering a half-healed mark on his wrist where he clearly let the blood into Stiles’ glass. Stiles doesn’t stare for long because it seems strangely personal.
“That should last you a day or so,” Derek tell him, letting his sleeve fall back into place. “You need to work on your control.”
Stiles nods because cold realisation is slowly washing over him in the embarrassing way that reality trickles in after an orgasm. He was actually going to drink from his dad, the sole remaining person he has left.
“What do I do?” he asks quietly and Derek seems to consider the question.
“Come by the house Tuesday morning. If you need to feed before then, text me.”
Stiles nods again and watches as Derek turns towards the window, already halfway through sliding it open.
“Thank you,” Stiles repeats, but for an entirely different reason. “He’s all I have.”
Derek’s shoulders tense briefly.
“I’ll see you Tuesday.”
He’s gone before the cool night air can even slip inside.
*
His hands start shaking Monday night, which means he ends up forcing himself to sleep early just so Tuesday will come quicker.
He slips out of the house and drives over to Derek’s house just before eight o’clock, right after his dad leaves for work. It’s already a warm July morning, though Stiles can’t tell if it’s just because he’s so cold. There’s no sign of life from the outside when he pulls up to Derek’s newly remodelled home, but he knows he’s awake because he can hear footsteps, soft and muffled by carpet. He throws the jeep into park, sets the brake, and slowly gets out.
The front door opens before Stiles can knock, revealing Derek in sweats and an old shirt. He clearly hasn’t got anything planned for the day. Stiles waves awkwardly because he’s too jittery to talk and Derek steps back to wordlessly let him through.
He doesn’t think anything of it until he hits the invisible barrier that seems to appear out of nowhere.
“I didn’t think that was true,” Derek admits, sounding at least a little bit apologetic.
“What?” Stiles replies, entirely confused, one palm pressed against the wall of nothingness.
“You have to be invited inside.”
“Seriously?”
“Apparently. Come on in.”
Just like that, Stiles trips forward into the foyer, almost knocking into Derek, who takes a quick step back. It’s cooler inside and Stiles can hear the quiet rumbling of an air conditioner unit towards the back of the house.
“I can’t believe that’s a thing,” Stiles mumbles quietly to himself and Derek snorts.
Without another word, Stiles follows him into the kitchen where there’s a small tumbler of blood sitting innocently on the counter, which probably isn’t the weirdest thing Stiles would find in Derek’s house. He eyes it up, knowing it won’t be enough to fill him, but his teeth begin to grow at the smell of it. When Derek looks back, Stiles rubs his own nose, hiding the evidence with his palm, but Derek just nods for him to continue. Stiles puts his speed to good use and is across the room in seconds, glass in his hand, taking the first mouthful to satiate his hunger.
He pauses when it hits his tongue because it’s still slightly warm, but it’s not as good as the blood he had the other night.
“This isn’t yours,” he says, which sounds strangely like an accusation; Derek nods. It doesn’t stop Stiles from drinking the rest of it down though, because it still soothes the ache inside him. “Whose was it?” he asks when he’s finished, already moving to wash the glass out in the sink.
“Isaac donated to the cause.”
Stiles leaves the tumbler in the drainer to dry and turns, leaning back against the counter. With his renewed heightened senses, Stile can smell the warm scent of sleep still clinging to Derek and a mix of toothpaste and ground coffee. It’s intimate and probably what Derek has to deal with on a constant basis. Stiles wonders if he stinks of death now, if Derek can barely stand the stench.
He tries to sniff himself surreptitiously, but gets distracted by the faint scent of more blood. He pauses, staring at Derek warily.
“Is someone hurt?”
Derek shakes his head, but looks vaguely pleased that Stiles has caught on.
“No, that’s your first lesson.”
Stiles is moving before Derek can even explain because he can tell what this is all about. Moving through the livingroom, he knows there’s another cup of blood hidden behind the television, but that’s not what he’s looking for. There are a few drops carelessly sprinkled somewhere in the laundry room, which he passes without stopping because there’s a bigger source elsewhere.
He pushes open the backdoor, ignoring the saucer of blood under the decking and instead heading for the edge of the woods. There’s a smudged red handprint on a nearby tree, but it takes a few more minutes to find Isaac lounging on a log, his whole forearm covered in dark blood. He’s clearly healed now, but Stiles still wants to sink his elongated teeth into the crook of his elbow to taste something fresher.
He moves forward, but jolts to a standstill when a hand grabs his hood and pulls him backwards. Stiles exaggerates the choking noise he lets out, mostly to try and distract himself from attempting to break free and suck all of the blood out of Isaac.
“What was that for? Don’t I get a treat for being such a good hunting dog? I played your game; where’s the positive reinforcement?”
“You need to hone your skills,” Derek explains, gently leading him away from Isaac and back in the direction of the house. “You should learn what your senses are telling you. It’ll make it harder to trick you.”
“Like you just tried to do?”
“I’m not trying to kill you,” Derek points out, which is about the time that Stiles realises that hunters are going to come after him now too. He’s technically a threat to humanity.
“Crap,” he exclaims, stopping suddenly, jarring Derek’s arm, which is still holding him. “Do they know about me already?”
“Probably not, but secrets don’t last long in Beacon Hills.”
Stiles can’t help but grin.
“Maybe you should stop being so obvious.”
Derek frowns at him, but there doesn’t seem to be much force behind it.
As they step from the tree line, Derek finally lets him go, and they head for back door in silence. Stiles’ hands have begun to tremble again because now he can smell the traps around the house and without the promise of fresh-from-the-vein blood, they’re looking pretty damn delicious. He’s jittery and getting grumpier by the minute. Thankfully, Derek already seems to know because he makes his way back towards the kitchen with Stiles trailing behind.
When he reaches up into a cupboard and pulls down a larger glass, Stiles’ curiosity gets the better of him.
“Can’t I just, y’know?” he asks, gesturing towards Derek’s arm and it isn’t until it’s out of his mouth that he realises how inappropriate it is. “No, wait. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
Derek sets the glass down and turns to face him.
“I didn’t think you’d want to be reminded of what you are.”
Stiles knows it’s Derek trying to be nice, but it comes across as more of an insult. It’s lucky he knows what Derek’s like.
“Well, I’m kind of stuck with it now, aren’t I? I thought it might be easier for you. Just forget it. Carry on; I’m starving.”
Derek stares for a while longer before eventually turning to fill the glass with one quick swipe of a claw against his palm. The strong scent hits Stiles with a dizzying force and he finds himself stepping closer in anticipation.
“We should stick with these until you have more control,” Derek tells him, passing over the glass before trying to stem the blood on his hand.
Stiles thinks he makes an affirmative noise, but he’s mostly too busy drinking, finally restoring his strength. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve when he’s done, still craving more, but it’s less insistent now. He understands then what Derek meant. If he latched onto Derek’s wrist, he’s sure he wouldn’t ever let go.
“Could I drain you?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Would your healing stop that from happening? How is it that I haven’t turned into a werewolf or you into a vampire? Is it an ‘unstoppable force meets an immoveable object’ sort of deal?”
“That’s extremely basic, but essentially it. You’re dead, which means you can’t turn and I heal too quick for your bite to have any effect. I suppose you probably could drain me if you could keep me restrained for long enough, though I hope you’re not getting any ideas.”
Stiles holds his palms up to placate him.
“Never bite the hand that feeds.” Stiles laughs when he realises what he’s said and he’s almost sure he sees the corner of Derek’s mouth twitch in amusement. “You know what I mean.”
He’s about to awkwardly thank Derek again for his help when footsteps thunder down the stairs and Isaac skids into the room, smelling of soap, arms completely blood-free.
“Hey, Stiles, do you think you could give me a ride to work?”
“I’ll have to park on 2nd street because apparently I don’t get along with bodies of water anymore.”
Taking the lifeguarding job has improved Isaac’s happiness and Stiles isn’t about to take that away from him by getting him fired for being late. Isaac nods in agreement and darts to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and some leftovers in a styrofoam box.
Stiles shrugs and waves goodbye to Derek, who doesn’t move from beside the sink.
“See how long you can go without feeding,” he says when Stiles is almost out of the room. “Come and find me when it gets bad.”
Stiles doesn’t really like the sound of that, but he agrees to it with a sharp jerk of his head before he follows Isaac out the front door. He doesn’t see it ending any other way but badly.
*
Stiles lasts a grand total of four days. He thinks he deserves some kind of award.
He’s curled onto his side, shaking and trying to even his breathing just for the illusion of control, but his resolve finally crumbles around two AM. He pulls on a pair of jeans and doesn’t even bother with a shirt, just pulls on a hoodie and slips into his sneakers. He can’t take the jeep because the rumbling engine will wake his dad, so he slides open the window and carefully makes his way down to the ground.
With his newfound speed, it only takes a few minutes to reach the edge of Derek’s property and he skids to a stop at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front door. He doesn’t want to knock and wake Isaac up too, so he heads around the other side of the house, where he knows Derek’s room is. Tossing small rocks at the window makes him feel a little bit like he’s in a messed up kind of rom-com, but eventually, Derek appears with a severe case of bed head, yawning as he pulls it open and leans out.
“Can I come in?”
Derek scratches at his stomach and gestures around the side of the house.
“Meet me at the front door.”
Stiles wouldn’t say that sprints, but he does. He’s sure he’d be breaking into a cold sweat if he could because he’s so hungry it’s beginning to hurt. He almost bowls Derek over in his hurry to get inside, but Derek catches his wrist and keeps him at bay. His teeth ache to press into Derek’s skin and he can almost taste the warmth of his blood.
They stumble together across the threshold as Stiles tries to wrestle his arm free, attempting to get to any skin he can reach. Derek growls in warning as Stiles catches him with blunt nails, but Stiles has spent enough time wrestling with Scott over the years to know how to take someone down. He gets a foot behind Derek’s heel and overbalances him, sending them crashing to the floor. If Isaac wasn’t awake before, he surely is now.
From the new position, Stiles has better leverage to lean down closer to Derek’s throat, but Derek gets a hand under his jaw and keeps him back.
“Stiles, get control of yourself,” Derek snaps, which is really unfair because Stiles has gone for four days now. His control is damn good already. Although, the fact that he’s wrestling with Derek on the floor, trying to sink his fangs into Derek’s neck is a giveaway that it’s slipping a little.
“I’m starving,” Stiles complains, finding it hard to talk around his teeth. “Just let me have a mouthful or two.”
“That’s what they all say,” Derek retorts and Stiles actually feels part of his control coming back as he stops to laugh.
“Stop that; I’m trying to suck your blood.”
Derek uses the distraction to get the upper hand as he shifts their weights and rolls, pinning Stiles to the floor instead. Stiles grunts at the heaviness on his chest and stares up at Derek, unable to move. Derek brings his palm up to his own mouth and Stiles smells the exact moment Derek breaks the skin because his whole body aches for the spilt blood. Derek’s lips are red and inviting and Stiles is more than willing to lick them clean, but gets sidetracked when Derek raises his hand, blood already dripping down his wrist.
“Use your teeth and I’ll stop,” Derek warns, but Stiles acquiesces with a nod, already opening his mouth in anticipation.
When Derek clenches his fist, blood drips straight onto Stiles’ tongue and he can’t stop himself from grabbing Derek’s arm, pulling his hand straight to his mouth. Stiles has almost forgotten the richness of Derek’s taste and his fangs threaten to appear and sink either side of the wounds, but Stiles holds true to his word and focuses on keeping them hidden. Every time he hollows his cheeks and sucks, blood rushes into his mouth and he can’t help but worry at the punctured skin with his tongue, trying to irritate it into giving more.
Stiles watches as Derek’s gaze drops to his mouth then back up to his eyes and there’s a faint red tinge to Derek’s cheeks that Stiles likes to think is interest, but is probably just concentration as he tries not to heal. Stiles grazes the ball of Derek’s hand with his front teeth, minus the fangs, just to test and he’s sure it’s the blood spreading imitation life through his veins that gives him the confidence. Derek makes a soft noise and shifts against him, as though surreptitiously trying to rock against Stiles’ hip.
For just a second, Stiles thinks about gently sliding his fangs into Derek’s skin, just to see if he’ll do it again, because if it turns out that he has a thing for biting and Stiles doesn’t get to fully exploit it, he’ll be extremely disappointed. He doesn’t want to lose what trust he’s earned from Derek, however, so instead he licks at the blood around the wound, pulling his mouth away just long enough to lap at the trails heading down Derek’s wrist. He can feel the muscles in Derek’s forearm twitching under his grip and if he happens to catch Derek’s skin with his bottom teeth as he moves back to the cut, it’s only to see if he can get a reaction.
Derek doesn’t let him down because he leans in closer with darkened eyes.
“Don’t test me, Stiles.”
Stiles grins against Derek’s palm and nudges the bite marks open a little further to get more blood. They’ve stumbled upon something new and heady and mutualistic enough that it actually seems like a good idea to push it. Though, again, it might be the blood he keeps swallowing down. He’s about to push his luck and lick his way up between Derek’s fingers when there’s a thud at the top of the stairs behind them and Derek blinks and looks away.
Without letting go of Derek’s hand, Stiles tips his head to the side and sees Isaac looking alert, staring at them with uncertainty.
“Everything okay?” he asks warily, leaning against the banister. “I have work tomorrow.”
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s skin, hoping Isaac’s super-hearing will pick it up.
“It’s fine, Isaac. He’ll calm down in a minute. He gets uptight when he’s hungry.”
Stiles pulls his mouth away and frowns.
“I am here you know.”
“See? Better already.”
Isaac makes a noise of annoyance as though Stiles should have picked a better day to try to drink all of Derek’s blood.
“‘m going back to bed. You should probably shut the front door if you’re going to have sex in the hallway.”
Stiles lets out a nervous laugh, even though Derek’s weight makes it come out like a wheeze instead.
“I’m sucking his blood, not his - ” Derek cuts him off by putting his palm back over Stiles’ mouth and Stiles unthinkingly latches on, aggravating the cuts with his tongue to make them start bleeding again. It isn’t until a few seconds later that he realises he should be annoyed by that, but he really doesn’t care because the blood makes everything worth it.
Isaac sighs, slowly walking away, and a moment later, Stiles hears his door click shut. It’s then that Derek carefully pulls his hand away and moves off of Stiles. Stiles lies there, mourning the loss of warmth and food, watching Derek push the front door closed before offering Stiles his newly healed hand. Stiles takes it and lets Derek pull him up, but doesn’t say anything as Derek heads towards the kitchen, just trails behind, breathing in the strong scent of laundry detergent on Derek’s pyjamas and something that smells a little bit like muted arousal.
Derek pulls open the fridge in search of God knows what, but Stiles sits at the table, one hand over his stomach as though he’s just finished a whole large pizza by himself. It certainly feels like it and it’s making him sleepy. Derek turns around with a carton of milk in his hands, which he opens and drinks from without a glass, before dropping into the seat opposite Stiles.
“We were expecting you two days ago,” Derek admits, just when the silence is getting truly awkward. “How did you stay in control?”
Mentally, Stiles gives himself a high five because he’s obviously better at everything than Derek expects.
“I thought about my dad,” he says, rubbing one hand over his buzzed head. “I just had to remember when I thought about drinking from him and it helped a lot.”
“But you have no issues with drinking from me.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t taste so good,” Stiles retorts, pausing when he realises what he’s said. Derek actually has the nerve to smirk. “Stop it, or next time I’ll actually use my teeth.”
Derek pauses as though he’s imagining it and the scent of arousal is suddenly not so muted. Stiles actually has to turn his face away so it’s not so overpowering. Derek clears his throat quietly, taking another mouthful of milk, but it’s obvious they both know there’s an elephant hanging out in the corner of the room.
“What do I smell like now that I’m, y’know?” Stiles asks suddenly, unable to stop himself. Derek blinks, clearly taken by surprise, but Stiles watches his chest rise as he breathes in deeply.
“Blood,” is the first thing Derek says and Stiles isn’t at all surprised. “You still smell like the old you; it’s on your clothes, but it’s obvious that you’re not human.”
“Do I smell like a corpse?”
Derek doesn’t even hesitate before shaking his head negatively.
“No, you smell like me.”
“Like wet dog?” Stiles jokes because he doesn’t know what to do with an admission that large. Derek shakes his head again and frowns.
“No, it’s like when you go to someone else’s house and you don’t realise that they smell different until you get back home and everything is familiar again.”
It’s a little bit more than what Stiles was expecting.
“Oh,” he says softly. “Would it go away if I stopped drinking your blood?”
“Eventually. Are you planning to?”
Stiles shrugs with one shoulder and drums his fingers against the table.
“Not if you keep letting me feed.”
“We need to make sure you’re fully in control before we stop.”
Stiles nods because that sounds a lot like Derek is asking him to come back and he isn’t going to turn that down.
“Should I see how long I can go without feeding again?”
Derek shakes his head and straightens a coaster in front of him with his thumbs.
“Come back here in two days. I need you alert.”
Stiles fidgets for a moment before finally realising that’s an out for him.
“I should get back before my dad finds out that I’m missing.”
Derek nods and stands to put the milk away, while Stiles starts heading for the front door, his veins thrumming with life that isn’t his own. It’s slightly comforting in a macabre sort of way.
“Thanks for the fix,” Stiles jokes as he steps outside, turning around to find Derek lingering behind.
“Anytime,” Derek replies, somehow making it sound like an invitation and Stiles can’t wait to take him up on it.
*
PART TWO »
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Summary: Of all the things to finally bite him, a vampire is truly at the bottom of Stiles’ list.
Warnings: Violence, biting, bloodplay, unsafe sex, explicit sexual content.
Author: blacktofade
Words: 7,007 / 14,146
Rating: NC-17
A/N 1: Set during the summer before senior year. I had Mitchell from Being Human in mind for how Stiles' vampire side works, though it's a very loose interpretation. Written for the Vampire square of THIS kink bingo card. Please feel free to point out any mistakes/offer concrit.
A/N 2: This is the last day for my fic giveaway HERE on Tumblr, so feel free to take part if you'd like to try to win a fic and make me write whatever you want! :)
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.
Of all the things to finally bite him, a vampire is truly at the bottom of Stiles’ list. He never even knew they existed until one started prowling around Beacon Hills a few days prior. Now he’s slumped against a tree, one hand pressed to the puncture wounds on his neck, blood running in lazy lines down his forearm. It’s not his ideal Friday night, but it’s the one he’s ended up with.
He can hear rustling in the brush at his back, Scott snarling, and the wet sound of claws sliding through soft flesh. He feels nauseous and can’t tell if it’s because of the noises or blood loss. His body is slowly going numb from shock and the thin sweatshirt he’s wearing isn’t doing anything to help. It’s getting harder to press his palm against his throat and he really hopes there’s someone else around because Scott seems otherwise occupied and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll last.
His dad is definitely going to be upset if he shows up in a body bag.
There’s blood in his mouth, heavy and acrid on his tongue, and each breath feels like it’s burning through his lungs. It’s even worse than the time he tried to skateboard down Sunny View hill and ended up sliding most of the way down it on his knees and elbows. It hadn’t been pretty and he has the scars to prove it.
He can hear something thudding closer ahead of him and in the fading light, he can see tree branches shaking and giving way to something large. He just prays it isn’t something else that wants to rip his throat out. They’re a bit late, anyway. He snorts to himself because he’s too dizzy and disoriented to care, which is when Isaac bursts into the clearing, his eyes going comically wide as he notices Stiles on the floor.
Stiles waves feebly with his free hand, drawing in a shuddering breath that aches all the way down to his toes. Isaac is by his side in an instant, looking panicked and lost, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do. Stiles wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t have the strength to speak. Instead, he grabs Isaac’s wrist, even though the blood that’s everywhere makes his fingers slip. Isaac whines low in his throat before turning his face away and howling loudly. It sounds desperate.
Behind, Scott growls, loud and vicious, before something - that Stiles hopes is the vampire - lets out a deafening scream followed by a watery gurgling noise and then nothing at all, just silence. Stiles is mostly sure Scott just managed to stake Dracula Jr, but everything starts blurring at the edges and he’s too tired to keep his hand pressed against his neck. It drops to his side, letting out another warm trickle of blood from the puncture marks, but Isaac’s hand quickly replaces his own, stealing away some of the pain as he goes.
Stiles tries to grunt his appreciation, but he’s not sure how well it works out. His head drops forward and it feels as though he could sleep for a hundred years. Before his eyes can drift shut, Scott stumbles back into sight, his shirt splattered with gore, but he doesn’t seem to care at all.
“Cover him with your coat,” he orders, looking to Isaac, who moves to obey immediately. “Keep him warm, or the shock will kill him.”
He sounds exactly like Mrs McCall at that moment, and Stiles is so glad she took the time to teach him the basics to first aid. He’s sure she probably whopped his ass until he could recite everything back, word for word. If he makes it out alive, he’ll buy her flowers.
Warmth curls around him as Isaac tucks him into the jacket and Stiles is ready to fall asleep. Scott crouches beside him, tapping his cheek gently, which is super annoying and not at all conducive to naptime. His head tips back, which is worst thing ever because he ends up swallowing a mouthful of blood, which he then throws back up into his lap. Everything hurts so much, even with Isaac taking the edge off and, worryingly, he’s starting to shake.
There’s more crashing through the trees, but he doesn’t even have the strength to tense. Thankfully, neither Isaac nor Scott seems worried, which means it must be pack. Stiles doesn’t really want an audience for when he inevitably dies, but Derek comes into view, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in a severe scowl. If it happens to be the last thing Stiles ever sees, he can at least take comfort in the fact that it’s familiar.
Stiles hiccoughs, more blood leaking from his mouth until he can hardly breathe and he just wants the pain to stop.
“Don’t,” he croaks out to Scott, trying to say don’t let me become one of them, but he can’t get anything else out and he’s overwhelmed by the coppery scent of all the life flooding out of him. He shuts his eyes and sags against Isaac’s hand.
*
There are no words to describe the amount of surprise he feels when he actually blinks awake. He’s sore all over and his head throbs, like a mixture between the flu and the time he temporarily misappropriated his Dad’s whiskey and ended up with the world’s worst hangover the next morning. The first thing he does is touch the side of his neck, feeling for bite marks, but there’s hardly anything there, just two small, slightly raised bumps. The second thing he does is fumble around for his phone to check the date because he has no idea how long he’s been out, but it seems like it might have been a while.
He blinks blearily around, finding himself in his bedroom with a half-empty glass of water and his cell phone sitting on the side table. He takes a drink to wet his parched mouth and then taps the screen of his phone to wake it up. Apparently, it’s Sunday, which means he’s only missed a day and a bit. Nothing seems to add up.
He scrolls through his texts, looking for anything that might fill in the blanks, but there’s nothing apart from the conversation he’d had with Scott before they’d raced off to track the vampire. It’s early afternoon, which means Scott will surely be up, so he shoots him a quick message.
What happened? Pizza tonight?
He tosses it on top of his covers as he slowly swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. It’s not as hard as he thinks it should be, which raises his suspicion levels to maximum. He feels the marks on his neck again, just to be sure, and then heads to the bathroom for a better look.
He pees before anything else, feeling as though he’s stored up most of Beacon Hill’s water supply in his bladder, but as he flushes and turns to the sink to wash his hands, he flails backwards at his reflection. Or the lack thereof. He hits the wall with a dull thud, which knocks a stack of handtowels off the shelf beside him onto the floor.
“No, no, no, no, no,” he repeats, touching his face to make sure he’s real, even though the mirror apparently thinks otherwise. “Jesus Christ.”
He slaps a hand against his chest where his heart should be beating hard and fast from panic, but there’s nothing under his palm. He presses two fingers under his jaw, but there’s no blip or sign of a heartbeat. He feels sick. This was never what he wanted; this was never meant to happen to him.
He hits the wall again when there’s a knock on the door and he only just catches the picture frame that he hits with his elbow.
“You alright in there, Stiles? When did you get back from Scott’s?”
Stiles takes a moment to catch his breath, which he’s sure is just a force of habit and no longer a necessity.
“Hey, Dad, I’m fine; just tripped.”
He doesn’t try to answer the second question because he has no idea how to respond and he’s a little afraid of getting it wrong. His dad apparently doesn’t think anything of it because he carries on regardless.
“I cooked some chicken patties if you want one for lunch.”
Stiles doesn’t even know if he can eat food if he’s dea- lacking a heartbeat.
“Thanks, Dad. I might have one later.”
His dad makes a noise of agreement and Stiles hears him wander along the hallway and down the stairs. With a long exhale, Stiles slumps forward, resting the side of his face against the counter beside the sink. It feels warm against his cold cheek. There’s panic swelling in his chest, threatening to burst free, so he tries his best to distract himself by washing his hands and face, before brushing his teeth.
When he finally creeps back to his bedroom, the first thing he does is grab his phone.
“You’ve got some explaining to do,” he tells Scott when he picks up.
“I’ll be over in a minute,” is all Scott says.
*
“I’ve got no pulse,” Stiles whispers angrily as soon as Scott’s in his room. He eyes the door, making sure his dad isn’t nearby to accidentally overhear. “What the hell happened?”
“Don’t be mad. You passed out and we were worried. We thought we’d have to give you the bite to keep you alive, but you turned.”
“Turned?”
“You started healing and Derek could smell something strange on you.”
“And none of you thought, ‘hey, Stiles is the next Nosferatu, let’s stake him now?’ because you should have.”
Scott looks a little guilty, but there’s defiance in his eyes still.
“I wasn’t going to kill you, Stiles, and I won’t do it now either before you ask.”
“I told you not to let me turn.”
“You were choking on your own blood, Stiles. One, I can’t read minds, and two, you’re my best friend. You stayed when I turned. I could have ripped you to shreds back then, but you helped me.”
“I could have hurt you last night,” Stiles mumbles and Scott grins lopsidedly and pokes the side of Stiles’ mouth, pushing his top lip up a little.
“You’ve got baby teeth.”
“Compared to you! Compared to normal people, I’m vicious and deadly,” he complains, before adding, “You suck.”
“No, apparently you do now.”
Stiles thumps him on the arm because that was a terrible joke, even by Stiles’ standards. The thought, however, sobers him.
“Do I need to, you know?” He makes fangs with his index fingers and hisses. “I don’t want to kill people, Scott.”
Scott takes a seat at his desk, so Stiles sits opposite him on the bed.
“I spoke to Deaton because we didn’t know what would happen to you, but he said he wasn’t an expert on vampires.”
“Helpful.”
Scott frowns at him.
“He tried his best. You should be grateful.”
“You haven’t told me what he said yet. Will sunshine turn me to dust? Do I have to give up garlic bread? Is it necessary to drink blood?”
Scott holds up a hand to silence him, before he starts ticking things off on his fingers.
“You’ll be sensitive to light, but you can go outside in it. You’ll only have to give up garlic bread if you decide to go on a diet. You’ll need blood to begin with until you get your strength up, but you can wean yourself off later.” He pauses as though trying to recall the rest of what he’s been told. “Crosses don’t do much. Water is okay in small doses. You probably won’t be using the local pool anymore. Don’t make a habit of touching silver.”
Scott lets out a long breath, probably relieved that he actually remembered everything, but Stiles just blinks because it’s a lot to take in at once.
“You know when we decided this summer break was going to be the best yet?” Stiles asks, rubbing the side of his face tiredly. “Vampires weren’t included in the plan.”
“I didn’t exactly choose to become a werewolf during sophomore year, Stiles.”
That makes Stiles feel a little guilty, if he’s honest.
“Well, at least you’re still alive. What happens if I go to the doctors?” He cuts himself off because he gets a thought. “Do you think I’ll be classed as DOA?”
“It’s not like much can hurt you now. Deaton can always help out.”
Stiles flops backwards onto his mattress.
“This is ridiculous,” Stiles points out and Scott huffs a laugh quietly.
“It’s a little bit cool, you have to admit.”
Stiles holds a hand up to his face, staring at his pale skin and wondering if it’s as cold as it looks. He’s technically dead, so yeah, that’s a little bit cool.
“Want a game of Mario Kart?” Stiles asks because a distraction sounds like a great idea. He also wants to see if he’s inherited faster reflexes because he will definitely use them to kick Scott’s ass.
“Yeah, okay,” Scott concedes as Stiles sits up and starts searching for the controllers.
*
The throbbing behind his eyes starts just as he’s getting ready for bed. It’s been a dull ache throughout the day, but now it’s harsh and insistent, threatening to keep him awake all night. He pulls a soft, worn t-shirt over his head and ties the drawstring on his pyjama pants. He flips the light off and shimmies under the bedcovers, hoping that it’ll go away by itself.
Ten minutes later, it’s morphed into a strange niggling feeling and ten more minutes after that, it’s a hunger that makes his hands shake. All he can think about is blood. Wet and rich and still warm on his tongue. The kind that’s running through his dad’s veins.
He leans up on one elbow, glancing towards the doorway because he heard his dad head to bed half an hour ago, which means he’s probably sound asleep. He probably wouldn’t even notice if Stiles slipped in there. He could just take a mouthful or two and maybe it would ease the pain and help him sleep.
He’s halfway across the room before he even realises and that’s when his window slides open. Stiles is alert in an instant, his hunger getting the better of him as he crouches into a defensive position, expecting the worst. His teeth ache as they lengthen, nudging over his bottom lip in full view to ward off danger.
It’s Derek that slips into the room, seeming slightly taken aback at Stiles’ stance. He holds his hands up as though approaching a snarling dog, which is a joke Stiles feels he can’t properly appreciate while he’s so hungry. His teeth shrink back to their regular size when he realises Derek isn’t a threat, but he stays poised, just in case.
“That’s a bad idea, Stiles. You don’t want to do it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re hungry.”
Stiles snorts loudly.
“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” Derek looks suspiciously guilty and Stiles narrows his eyes before continuing. “You should have stuck a stake in me before I had time to turn.”
“You can’t take your first drink from your father.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Stiles lies, but Derek sees straight through it.
“You’re more likely to drain an entire body because you lack restraint.”
“Says you,” Stiles retorts.
Derek grows out the nails on one hand before curling his fingers forward and digging them into his palm. The blood bubbles to the surface and Stiles can smell the skin healing, but he’s already moving forward, grabbing Derek’s wrist and trying to pull his hand up to his lips because the scent is mouth-wateringly good. Even though Stiles has newfound supernatural strength, Derek is still stronger and he easily breaks Stiles’ hold and licks the blood away.
“See my point?”
Stiles is panting, his teeth long and bared, ready to sink into soft flesh. He’s just so hungry. He snarls, feeling entirely inhuman, which scares the crap out of him, but Derek looks calm in front of him and Stiles is just glad that one of them knows what they’re doing.
Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to bring himself back under control, but the scent of blood still lingers in the air, briefly getting stronger every time Derek exhales. It’s not as easy as he expects, as though his new form is fighting with the memory of his human side. He rubs a hand over his face and wills his fangs away. It’s a slow process as he argues with his new instincts.
When he finally drops his hand, Derek is staring at him carefully.
“I’m really hungry,” Stiles admits, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. “This headache isn’t helping anything either.”
Derek looks as though he’s internally debating what to do and Stiles can’t help but hope that he’ll come up with a plan that involves a lot of blood.
“Stay here,” he tells Stiles with a firm stare. “Can you do that?”
At any other time, Stiles would roll his eyes and snap back with something sarcastic and biting, but Derek actually seems as though he wants to help and Stiles isn’t about to turn that down, not when he needs it so badly. He nods emphatically, which only seems to make Derek suspicious, but he gives an answering tip of his head and then leaves the room.
Stiles’ hearing seems to be a little better, but he can’t tell what Derek is doing, only that he’s downstairs and opening and closing cupboards in the kitchen. Stiles figures he’s searching for something, though for what he doesn’t know.
When Derek comes back and shuts the door behind him a few minutes later, he’s carrying a pint glass that’s filled almost to the brim with dark blood. The sight should turn Stiles’ stomach, but it smells so good, he can’t help but meet Derek halfway, holding his hands out for it.
“Slowly,” Derek orders, and for a second, Stiles thinks he’s going to hold the glass up to his lips himself so he can control how much Stiles gets. Thankfully, he passes it over, instead, and just keeps a close eye on him.
The first gulp makes his knees buckle in happiness and he stumbles his way onto his desk chair, swallowing more down greedily. Derek’s hand on his shoulder reminds him to slow down, but it’s so hard when it tastes like salvation. It’s still slightly warm and there’s a heavy flavour underneath everything that Stiles is sure is because of Derek’s wolf.
He’s not above trying to lick out the glass for every last drop, but Derek takes it from his hands and sets it down on the desk. When Stiles finally draws in a long breath, he gets a dizzying head rush and he blinks against the black spots that flicker in his sight. It feels as though he’s taken too much Adderall because everything is sharp and he’s slightly overwhelmed by his new senses as they focus on the things around him.
He can hear each gentle, sleep-soft breath his dad takes in the room at the end of the hall and the quiet electric hum of the fridge downstairs. He can smell something small and dead coming from next door, which is clearly something the neighbour’s cat has killed and left on the doorstep, but it’s as though it’s right under his nose. He can even smell something spicy on Derek, like the Thai food from the restaurant in town. Everything makes it seem as though he’s waking up to a new world, which he supposes is partially true.
Stiles leans forward, dropping his head between his knees as the headache slowly fades and he’s left with a hum of energy running through his veins. He wonders if this is how the pack feels all the time and he doesn’t know how they manage. He’s going to be a lot more lenient on them in the future.
“Thank you,” Stiles mumbles softly, needing to quieten the noise around him. When he looks up, Derek’s carefully considering a half-healed mark on his wrist where he clearly let the blood into Stiles’ glass. Stiles doesn’t stare for long because it seems strangely personal.
“That should last you a day or so,” Derek tell him, letting his sleeve fall back into place. “You need to work on your control.”
Stiles nods because cold realisation is slowly washing over him in the embarrassing way that reality trickles in after an orgasm. He was actually going to drink from his dad, the sole remaining person he has left.
“What do I do?” he asks quietly and Derek seems to consider the question.
“Come by the house Tuesday morning. If you need to feed before then, text me.”
Stiles nods again and watches as Derek turns towards the window, already halfway through sliding it open.
“Thank you,” Stiles repeats, but for an entirely different reason. “He’s all I have.”
Derek’s shoulders tense briefly.
“I’ll see you Tuesday.”
He’s gone before the cool night air can even slip inside.
*
His hands start shaking Monday night, which means he ends up forcing himself to sleep early just so Tuesday will come quicker.
He slips out of the house and drives over to Derek’s house just before eight o’clock, right after his dad leaves for work. It’s already a warm July morning, though Stiles can’t tell if it’s just because he’s so cold. There’s no sign of life from the outside when he pulls up to Derek’s newly remodelled home, but he knows he’s awake because he can hear footsteps, soft and muffled by carpet. He throws the jeep into park, sets the brake, and slowly gets out.
The front door opens before Stiles can knock, revealing Derek in sweats and an old shirt. He clearly hasn’t got anything planned for the day. Stiles waves awkwardly because he’s too jittery to talk and Derek steps back to wordlessly let him through.
He doesn’t think anything of it until he hits the invisible barrier that seems to appear out of nowhere.
“I didn’t think that was true,” Derek admits, sounding at least a little bit apologetic.
“What?” Stiles replies, entirely confused, one palm pressed against the wall of nothingness.
“You have to be invited inside.”
“Seriously?”
“Apparently. Come on in.”
Just like that, Stiles trips forward into the foyer, almost knocking into Derek, who takes a quick step back. It’s cooler inside and Stiles can hear the quiet rumbling of an air conditioner unit towards the back of the house.
“I can’t believe that’s a thing,” Stiles mumbles quietly to himself and Derek snorts.
Without another word, Stiles follows him into the kitchen where there’s a small tumbler of blood sitting innocently on the counter, which probably isn’t the weirdest thing Stiles would find in Derek’s house. He eyes it up, knowing it won’t be enough to fill him, but his teeth begin to grow at the smell of it. When Derek looks back, Stiles rubs his own nose, hiding the evidence with his palm, but Derek just nods for him to continue. Stiles puts his speed to good use and is across the room in seconds, glass in his hand, taking the first mouthful to satiate his hunger.
He pauses when it hits his tongue because it’s still slightly warm, but it’s not as good as the blood he had the other night.
“This isn’t yours,” he says, which sounds strangely like an accusation; Derek nods. It doesn’t stop Stiles from drinking the rest of it down though, because it still soothes the ache inside him. “Whose was it?” he asks when he’s finished, already moving to wash the glass out in the sink.
“Isaac donated to the cause.”
Stiles leaves the tumbler in the drainer to dry and turns, leaning back against the counter. With his renewed heightened senses, Stile can smell the warm scent of sleep still clinging to Derek and a mix of toothpaste and ground coffee. It’s intimate and probably what Derek has to deal with on a constant basis. Stiles wonders if he stinks of death now, if Derek can barely stand the stench.
He tries to sniff himself surreptitiously, but gets distracted by the faint scent of more blood. He pauses, staring at Derek warily.
“Is someone hurt?”
Derek shakes his head, but looks vaguely pleased that Stiles has caught on.
“No, that’s your first lesson.”
Stiles is moving before Derek can even explain because he can tell what this is all about. Moving through the livingroom, he knows there’s another cup of blood hidden behind the television, but that’s not what he’s looking for. There are a few drops carelessly sprinkled somewhere in the laundry room, which he passes without stopping because there’s a bigger source elsewhere.
He pushes open the backdoor, ignoring the saucer of blood under the decking and instead heading for the edge of the woods. There’s a smudged red handprint on a nearby tree, but it takes a few more minutes to find Isaac lounging on a log, his whole forearm covered in dark blood. He’s clearly healed now, but Stiles still wants to sink his elongated teeth into the crook of his elbow to taste something fresher.
He moves forward, but jolts to a standstill when a hand grabs his hood and pulls him backwards. Stiles exaggerates the choking noise he lets out, mostly to try and distract himself from attempting to break free and suck all of the blood out of Isaac.
“What was that for? Don’t I get a treat for being such a good hunting dog? I played your game; where’s the positive reinforcement?”
“You need to hone your skills,” Derek explains, gently leading him away from Isaac and back in the direction of the house. “You should learn what your senses are telling you. It’ll make it harder to trick you.”
“Like you just tried to do?”
“I’m not trying to kill you,” Derek points out, which is about the time that Stiles realises that hunters are going to come after him now too. He’s technically a threat to humanity.
“Crap,” he exclaims, stopping suddenly, jarring Derek’s arm, which is still holding him. “Do they know about me already?”
“Probably not, but secrets don’t last long in Beacon Hills.”
Stiles can’t help but grin.
“Maybe you should stop being so obvious.”
Derek frowns at him, but there doesn’t seem to be much force behind it.
As they step from the tree line, Derek finally lets him go, and they head for back door in silence. Stiles’ hands have begun to tremble again because now he can smell the traps around the house and without the promise of fresh-from-the-vein blood, they’re looking pretty damn delicious. He’s jittery and getting grumpier by the minute. Thankfully, Derek already seems to know because he makes his way back towards the kitchen with Stiles trailing behind.
When he reaches up into a cupboard and pulls down a larger glass, Stiles’ curiosity gets the better of him.
“Can’t I just, y’know?” he asks, gesturing towards Derek’s arm and it isn’t until it’s out of his mouth that he realises how inappropriate it is. “No, wait. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
Derek sets the glass down and turns to face him.
“I didn’t think you’d want to be reminded of what you are.”
Stiles knows it’s Derek trying to be nice, but it comes across as more of an insult. It’s lucky he knows what Derek’s like.
“Well, I’m kind of stuck with it now, aren’t I? I thought it might be easier for you. Just forget it. Carry on; I’m starving.”
Derek stares for a while longer before eventually turning to fill the glass with one quick swipe of a claw against his palm. The strong scent hits Stiles with a dizzying force and he finds himself stepping closer in anticipation.
“We should stick with these until you have more control,” Derek tells him, passing over the glass before trying to stem the blood on his hand.
Stiles thinks he makes an affirmative noise, but he’s mostly too busy drinking, finally restoring his strength. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve when he’s done, still craving more, but it’s less insistent now. He understands then what Derek meant. If he latched onto Derek’s wrist, he’s sure he wouldn’t ever let go.
“Could I drain you?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Would your healing stop that from happening? How is it that I haven’t turned into a werewolf or you into a vampire? Is it an ‘unstoppable force meets an immoveable object’ sort of deal?”
“That’s extremely basic, but essentially it. You’re dead, which means you can’t turn and I heal too quick for your bite to have any effect. I suppose you probably could drain me if you could keep me restrained for long enough, though I hope you’re not getting any ideas.”
Stiles holds his palms up to placate him.
“Never bite the hand that feeds.” Stiles laughs when he realises what he’s said and he’s almost sure he sees the corner of Derek’s mouth twitch in amusement. “You know what I mean.”
He’s about to awkwardly thank Derek again for his help when footsteps thunder down the stairs and Isaac skids into the room, smelling of soap, arms completely blood-free.
“Hey, Stiles, do you think you could give me a ride to work?”
“I’ll have to park on 2nd street because apparently I don’t get along with bodies of water anymore.”
Taking the lifeguarding job has improved Isaac’s happiness and Stiles isn’t about to take that away from him by getting him fired for being late. Isaac nods in agreement and darts to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and some leftovers in a styrofoam box.
Stiles shrugs and waves goodbye to Derek, who doesn’t move from beside the sink.
“See how long you can go without feeding,” he says when Stiles is almost out of the room. “Come and find me when it gets bad.”
Stiles doesn’t really like the sound of that, but he agrees to it with a sharp jerk of his head before he follows Isaac out the front door. He doesn’t see it ending any other way but badly.
*
Stiles lasts a grand total of four days. He thinks he deserves some kind of award.
He’s curled onto his side, shaking and trying to even his breathing just for the illusion of control, but his resolve finally crumbles around two AM. He pulls on a pair of jeans and doesn’t even bother with a shirt, just pulls on a hoodie and slips into his sneakers. He can’t take the jeep because the rumbling engine will wake his dad, so he slides open the window and carefully makes his way down to the ground.
With his newfound speed, it only takes a few minutes to reach the edge of Derek’s property and he skids to a stop at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front door. He doesn’t want to knock and wake Isaac up too, so he heads around the other side of the house, where he knows Derek’s room is. Tossing small rocks at the window makes him feel a little bit like he’s in a messed up kind of rom-com, but eventually, Derek appears with a severe case of bed head, yawning as he pulls it open and leans out.
“Can I come in?”
Derek scratches at his stomach and gestures around the side of the house.
“Meet me at the front door.”
Stiles wouldn’t say that sprints, but he does. He’s sure he’d be breaking into a cold sweat if he could because he’s so hungry it’s beginning to hurt. He almost bowls Derek over in his hurry to get inside, but Derek catches his wrist and keeps him at bay. His teeth ache to press into Derek’s skin and he can almost taste the warmth of his blood.
They stumble together across the threshold as Stiles tries to wrestle his arm free, attempting to get to any skin he can reach. Derek growls in warning as Stiles catches him with blunt nails, but Stiles has spent enough time wrestling with Scott over the years to know how to take someone down. He gets a foot behind Derek’s heel and overbalances him, sending them crashing to the floor. If Isaac wasn’t awake before, he surely is now.
From the new position, Stiles has better leverage to lean down closer to Derek’s throat, but Derek gets a hand under his jaw and keeps him back.
“Stiles, get control of yourself,” Derek snaps, which is really unfair because Stiles has gone for four days now. His control is damn good already. Although, the fact that he’s wrestling with Derek on the floor, trying to sink his fangs into Derek’s neck is a giveaway that it’s slipping a little.
“I’m starving,” Stiles complains, finding it hard to talk around his teeth. “Just let me have a mouthful or two.”
“That’s what they all say,” Derek retorts and Stiles actually feels part of his control coming back as he stops to laugh.
“Stop that; I’m trying to suck your blood.”
Derek uses the distraction to get the upper hand as he shifts their weights and rolls, pinning Stiles to the floor instead. Stiles grunts at the heaviness on his chest and stares up at Derek, unable to move. Derek brings his palm up to his own mouth and Stiles smells the exact moment Derek breaks the skin because his whole body aches for the spilt blood. Derek’s lips are red and inviting and Stiles is more than willing to lick them clean, but gets sidetracked when Derek raises his hand, blood already dripping down his wrist.
“Use your teeth and I’ll stop,” Derek warns, but Stiles acquiesces with a nod, already opening his mouth in anticipation.
When Derek clenches his fist, blood drips straight onto Stiles’ tongue and he can’t stop himself from grabbing Derek’s arm, pulling his hand straight to his mouth. Stiles has almost forgotten the richness of Derek’s taste and his fangs threaten to appear and sink either side of the wounds, but Stiles holds true to his word and focuses on keeping them hidden. Every time he hollows his cheeks and sucks, blood rushes into his mouth and he can’t help but worry at the punctured skin with his tongue, trying to irritate it into giving more.
Stiles watches as Derek’s gaze drops to his mouth then back up to his eyes and there’s a faint red tinge to Derek’s cheeks that Stiles likes to think is interest, but is probably just concentration as he tries not to heal. Stiles grazes the ball of Derek’s hand with his front teeth, minus the fangs, just to test and he’s sure it’s the blood spreading imitation life through his veins that gives him the confidence. Derek makes a soft noise and shifts against him, as though surreptitiously trying to rock against Stiles’ hip.
For just a second, Stiles thinks about gently sliding his fangs into Derek’s skin, just to see if he’ll do it again, because if it turns out that he has a thing for biting and Stiles doesn’t get to fully exploit it, he’ll be extremely disappointed. He doesn’t want to lose what trust he’s earned from Derek, however, so instead he licks at the blood around the wound, pulling his mouth away just long enough to lap at the trails heading down Derek’s wrist. He can feel the muscles in Derek’s forearm twitching under his grip and if he happens to catch Derek’s skin with his bottom teeth as he moves back to the cut, it’s only to see if he can get a reaction.
Derek doesn’t let him down because he leans in closer with darkened eyes.
“Don’t test me, Stiles.”
Stiles grins against Derek’s palm and nudges the bite marks open a little further to get more blood. They’ve stumbled upon something new and heady and mutualistic enough that it actually seems like a good idea to push it. Though, again, it might be the blood he keeps swallowing down. He’s about to push his luck and lick his way up between Derek’s fingers when there’s a thud at the top of the stairs behind them and Derek blinks and looks away.
Without letting go of Derek’s hand, Stiles tips his head to the side and sees Isaac looking alert, staring at them with uncertainty.
“Everything okay?” he asks warily, leaning against the banister. “I have work tomorrow.”
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s skin, hoping Isaac’s super-hearing will pick it up.
“It’s fine, Isaac. He’ll calm down in a minute. He gets uptight when he’s hungry.”
Stiles pulls his mouth away and frowns.
“I am here you know.”
“See? Better already.”
Isaac makes a noise of annoyance as though Stiles should have picked a better day to try to drink all of Derek’s blood.
“‘m going back to bed. You should probably shut the front door if you’re going to have sex in the hallway.”
Stiles lets out a nervous laugh, even though Derek’s weight makes it come out like a wheeze instead.
“I’m sucking his blood, not his - ” Derek cuts him off by putting his palm back over Stiles’ mouth and Stiles unthinkingly latches on, aggravating the cuts with his tongue to make them start bleeding again. It isn’t until a few seconds later that he realises he should be annoyed by that, but he really doesn’t care because the blood makes everything worth it.
Isaac sighs, slowly walking away, and a moment later, Stiles hears his door click shut. It’s then that Derek carefully pulls his hand away and moves off of Stiles. Stiles lies there, mourning the loss of warmth and food, watching Derek push the front door closed before offering Stiles his newly healed hand. Stiles takes it and lets Derek pull him up, but doesn’t say anything as Derek heads towards the kitchen, just trails behind, breathing in the strong scent of laundry detergent on Derek’s pyjamas and something that smells a little bit like muted arousal.
Derek pulls open the fridge in search of God knows what, but Stiles sits at the table, one hand over his stomach as though he’s just finished a whole large pizza by himself. It certainly feels like it and it’s making him sleepy. Derek turns around with a carton of milk in his hands, which he opens and drinks from without a glass, before dropping into the seat opposite Stiles.
“We were expecting you two days ago,” Derek admits, just when the silence is getting truly awkward. “How did you stay in control?”
Mentally, Stiles gives himself a high five because he’s obviously better at everything than Derek expects.
“I thought about my dad,” he says, rubbing one hand over his buzzed head. “I just had to remember when I thought about drinking from him and it helped a lot.”
“But you have no issues with drinking from me.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t taste so good,” Stiles retorts, pausing when he realises what he’s said. Derek actually has the nerve to smirk. “Stop it, or next time I’ll actually use my teeth.”
Derek pauses as though he’s imagining it and the scent of arousal is suddenly not so muted. Stiles actually has to turn his face away so it’s not so overpowering. Derek clears his throat quietly, taking another mouthful of milk, but it’s obvious they both know there’s an elephant hanging out in the corner of the room.
“What do I smell like now that I’m, y’know?” Stiles asks suddenly, unable to stop himself. Derek blinks, clearly taken by surprise, but Stiles watches his chest rise as he breathes in deeply.
“Blood,” is the first thing Derek says and Stiles isn’t at all surprised. “You still smell like the old you; it’s on your clothes, but it’s obvious that you’re not human.”
“Do I smell like a corpse?”
Derek doesn’t even hesitate before shaking his head negatively.
“No, you smell like me.”
“Like wet dog?” Stiles jokes because he doesn’t know what to do with an admission that large. Derek shakes his head again and frowns.
“No, it’s like when you go to someone else’s house and you don’t realise that they smell different until you get back home and everything is familiar again.”
It’s a little bit more than what Stiles was expecting.
“Oh,” he says softly. “Would it go away if I stopped drinking your blood?”
“Eventually. Are you planning to?”
Stiles shrugs with one shoulder and drums his fingers against the table.
“Not if you keep letting me feed.”
“We need to make sure you’re fully in control before we stop.”
Stiles nods because that sounds a lot like Derek is asking him to come back and he isn’t going to turn that down.
“Should I see how long I can go without feeding again?”
Derek shakes his head and straightens a coaster in front of him with his thumbs.
“Come back here in two days. I need you alert.”
Stiles fidgets for a moment before finally realising that’s an out for him.
“I should get back before my dad finds out that I’m missing.”
Derek nods and stands to put the milk away, while Stiles starts heading for the front door, his veins thrumming with life that isn’t his own. It’s slightly comforting in a macabre sort of way.
“Thanks for the fix,” Stiles jokes as he steps outside, turning around to find Derek lingering behind.
“Anytime,” Derek replies, somehow making it sound like an invitation and Stiles can’t wait to take him up on it.
*
PART TWO »