My heart your heart (Fic: Derek/Stiles, Chapter 5)
Title: My heart your heart
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC17 fSummary: Rewrite post episode or later chapters
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to episode 9
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or teen wolf!
6.
Chapter 5
Stiles POV
Stiles watches as Scott cocks his head quickly to the side, then turns to look at Derek, “We have to move, now!”
“What’s going on?!” Stiles exclaims.
“Cops - we need to go!” Scott replies, already moving towards the cot.
Slowly, like a predator contemplating his prey, Derek turns to face them, “Does someone want to explain to me why the police are practically on my doorstep?”
Stiles glances at Scott who looks back with equally wide eyes, stalled where he stands a foot away from the cot. /crap… we are in so much trouble/. Scott stutters over an answer, “Well there was this… you see… ummmm a little help here buddy?”
“Someone may have…accidentally that is…sort of…toldmydadyouwerethemurderer….” Stiles blurts on a breath.
“You… WHAT?!” Derek bellows, trying to climb out of his reclining position “I swear to god I’m going to kill you two idiots!!!!!”
“Don’t look at me! I’m innocent in all of this!!!” Stiles rushes to get out, hands raised in defence.
“Scott!” Derek turns, eyes changing, teeth bared. Stiles reflects that it was probably supposed to be scary, the effect ruined by the bedhead and mass of bandages adorning his chest. /heh… /.
“Whatever - we don’t have time for this! We need to move, growl at me later!” Scott scoops an arm under Derek’s armpit and pulls him to his feet. Stiles watches the flinch of pain and winces in sympathy as it echoes to lance through his own side. His arm wraps around his abdomen and he sucks in a breath, /oh god…again?…got to move/. With adrenaline born from the shock of pain Stiles takes up Derek’s other arm and helps Scott half drag, half carry him to the stairs. That’s when he hears the sound of car doors closing softly, of booted feet on old wood. Through broken window frames and cracked glass he watches the approach of shadows, they’re here.
“Back... there’s a fire escape” Derek wheezes on a breath, weight sagging between them. He must have been worse off than Stiles had thought this morning to react like this to movement. He had to get him out of here.
Taking a deep breath Stiles replies, “You take him, I’ll go get in the way.”
Scott gives him a look, “What? Stiles you could get hurt - they might shoot you by accident or something.”
“It’s alright; they already think I’m around here somewhere. The jeep isn’t exactly hidden” he says. He takes a breath and looks at Derek, eyes catching his. Derek hasn’t said anything but he stares at Stiles in an assessing way, as if he’s a puzzle that he can’t figure out.
“Move!” Stiles says, pushing them towards the back of the house and taking off down the stairs. He hasn’t even reached the ground yet when the door flies open and he’s face to face with a half dozen guns pointed in his direction.
Derek POV
Derek watches as Stiles glances frantically around before settling a determined gaze on Scott. “It’s alright; they already think I’m around here somewhere. The jeep isn’t exactly hidden” he blurts, eyes finally moving to meet Derek’s own. Derek thinks, /what is he looking for?/ for just a second before, /oh!/ and /oh…/. There’s something there, something in that boys eyes that clicks.
Earlier, Derek wincing with pain at Scott’s rough grip. Stiles grabbing his own abdomen in sympathy. /sympathy?/
/it had to be…unless… no it’s not possible/ and then Stiles is gone moving down the stairs with a shove to Scott and a “Move!” thrown over his shoulder. Derek doesn’t have time to think let alone speak before Scott is dragging him towards the back of the house and the fire escape. Behind them he can hear the door break open and several exclamations of warning from the police. He prays, even as he is pulled forward, that that kid /Stiles…/ has the brains to drop to the floor.
When they reach the back of the house Derek gestures at the charred remains of a back wall. “Out there”.
Scott leans him against the least damaged wall and peers out over the edge at the rusty remains of a fire escape, “So do you want to jump or do you want me to carry you?” he asks with a grin.
Derek levels a glare in his direction, “Just go.”
“Want me to catch you?” Scott hedges.
“Move Scott!”, and he watches as Scott turns to the wall and just leaps up and over the debris. He pushes himself up, arm wrapped tightly around his gut and moves as quickly as he can to the edge. The fire escape doesn’t look as if it would hold a child let alone a full grown werewolf, /no wonder he jumped… okay Derek you can do this/. Unfortunately his jump turns out to be more of a fall with his injuries. He releases a grunt as he lands, wincing as pain shoots through his body. He doesn’t even have time to think that maybe he should have taken Scott up on his offer, before everything fades into blackness.
Scott POV
Scott stands outside the charred remains of the Hale home, waiting for Derek to choose his route. He probably should have just grabbed him and taken the plunge because there was no way he was going to make it on that ladder. The older wolf was just stubborn as hell sometimes…
/well all the time really./
He watches as Derek moves to jump and then sort of stumbles and falls towards him. Scott reaches his arms out to catch him, but only manages to soften the blow the ground produces. He winces as Derek grunts in reaction and watches as his eyes roll back into his head. Suddenly things just got more complicated, /and heavier/ his mind produces. Without hesitation he throws the unconscious man over his shoulder and breaks for the woods, hoping all the while that Stiles has things covered inside.
Stiles POV
“Freeze!” “Get down on the ground!” “Move!”
So Stiles does as he’s told for once and throws his arms over his head and topples onto his belly, eyes on the upper floor. Rough hands grab at his arms and hold on as others pat him down, /all in all, not really how I pictured this happening…/.
“Stiles Stilinsky that had better not be you!” and he has never been so grateful to hear his Dad’s voice.
“What’s up pop?” he quips from his place beneath two armed policemen.
“Get off him, let him up” the Sherriff replies on an exasperated sigh, “What the HELL are you doing HERE??”
/Think fast - think fast/ Stiles stalls as the uniforms pull him up off his painful perch on the stairs and rubs at his arms where he had been held. “I wanted to teach this guy a lesson, I mean… he tried to kill us!”
“Stiles - how many times do I have to remind you that I’m the one with the gun, that this is my job. Not yours! It’s not safe for you to be doing these things!” he replies, grabbing Stiles biceps and shaking him softly to emphasize the point.
Stiles knows his Dad worries about him, he does, but this is really just the tip of the iceberg here. Suddenly he wishes he could just share everything, tell him all about werewolves and alphas and what really happened that night.
About the confusing rush of blue, blue eyes and pale skin.
Looking up at his fathers concerned face he knows he can’t do it, can’t burden him with the knowledge. However before he can give it any more thought the pain strikes again, shooting from his abdomen and down every nerve ending in his body. A wave of dizziness hits him and he feels himself sway towards his father.
Scott POV
Scott makes it a few hundred feet into the forest before he realizes he has no idea where to take an injured werewolf. So he starts running through the options in his head. He knows he can’t take him home, his mother is just way too attentive for that. Allison’s is out of the equation for obvious reasons. The school is too open; the clinic is just a bad idea after the last time.
/Where can I take him that no one is going to think to look for him?/, and then, /got it/.
He starts to run.
Stiles POV
Stiles stumbles forward and has to use his father to steady himself. When he looks up his father’s concerned face is very close to his own. “Woah… what happened?” the Sherriff asks, hands already moving to help Stiles steady himself.
“I guess this has all taken more out of me than I thought… I should go sleep it off… the stress that is, not you know, anything else.” Stiles blurts as his father stares wide eyed, the shadow of a smirk warring with the worry lining his face.
When he’s standing on his own two feet again his father looks him in the eye once more and asks, “Are you okay son?”
“Fine, guess I need more practice facing down an armed squad” he quips.
“Not a chance… are you sure? Maybe we should take you in to get checked out…” the Sherriff replies, hand still braced on Stiles shoulder.
“I’m fine Dad, I just need to sleep - really.” Stiles replies, trying his best to look innocent. The wry smile on his fathers face combined with a dismissive head shake reminds him that his father knows the innocent look well. “I’m just going to go home then…” he continues on.
“Sleep Stiles, let me handle the rest - okay?” his Dad says earnestly.
“Sure Dad!” He throws out as he stumbles towards the door and the group of annoyed looking officers, “Hah! Sleep!” he mutters under his breath as he climbs down the front stairs, “What are the chances…”
Scott POV
Scott unceremoniously dumps Derek’s unconscious body onto the bed before him, and stands, groaning, to rub his sore shoulders. “What the hell do you eat man?!” he mutters under his breath.
He starts to walk away, then feeling a little guilty for his rough treatment turns and goes to help settle Derek in a better position on the bed. He is just pulling his body up the bed when two hands fist themselves in his shirt and he’s faced with angry eyes.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Where are we?” Derek growls.
“I’m helping your sorry butt escape, remember?” Scott replies, “Just relax, heal, and DON’T leave this room.” Derek loosens his grip and releases him slowly, eyes watching as Scott turns to leave the room. Scott looks back once before closing the door, eyebrows raised as if to emphasize his point. “Stay here.”
Scott jogs down the stairs two steps at a time, intent on finding Stiles now that Derek was settled. He makes it to the bottom step just as the front door opens and Stiles walks through. /speak of the devil/ When he sees Scott he startles back and does a double take,
“Scott? What’re you doing here? Where’s Derek?”
Scott looks back with a sheepish grin, “Upstairs?”
“What?! What were you thinking?! He can’t be here!!” Stiles explodes, arms flailing in emphasis as Scott watches. He knew Stiles would react this way, but he would come around, he always did.
“It was the safest place to take him…” he begins, but Stiles already has his back turned to him and is pacing the living room.
“Safe?! Safe?! How am I going to explain the murderer in my room to my Dad????” he shrieks.
“That’s the thing, you can hide him - no one will ever think to look at the Sherriff’s house!” Scott replies, tone of voice rising to match Stiles. He watches as Stiles slows his pacing, hands coming up to rub his temples, eyes closed. Scott knows this look well, Stiles is processing.
“Fine… just go before Dad get’s home. I’ll deal with this... mess” Stiles replies, frustration lacing his tone. Scott feels bad for a second, but only for a second. He believes in his plan, believes it’s the best choice, and that ultimately Stiles will understand in the end.
“Just text me later, if you need any help.” Scott states as he makes a strategic escape, pretending all the while that he can’t hear the disgruntled sigh following him out the door.
Derek POV
Derek watch’s Scott’s back as he retreats from the room, turning only to re-emphasize his point, “Stay here.” Derek rolls his eyes and pulls himself up onto his elbows, taking in the room around him. Gray, gray and more gray, the room screamed of teenage chaos and echoed with years of use. . He inhales deeply, /Stiles/.
Below him he can hear the front door open and close, the sounds of Scott and Stiles frantic discussion. He pushed himself to standing and begins to move around the room, taking in the pictures, the books, scenting here and there. He still doesn’t know what’s going on with that kid, /with Stiles/.
He has so many unanswered questions.
/What had happened that night? Why had Stiles helped him? What had he seen in those eyes?/
He keeps running over it in his head, the way Stiles has been acting around him, how tense he had turned when Scott arrived. How he had risked his own life to help Derek, twice now. How he had looked at Derek as if he were more than a monster, more than just some guy, like he meant something. How Derek’s own pain had been reflected in his eyes. Before this, Stiles hadn’t taken much space in Derek’s thoughts. He had noticed the boy, sure, he was hard to ignore, but he’d never thought so hard about the different looks his expressive face carried or the way his heart beat changed from calm to worry.
He snorts to himself, frustrated, fisting his hands against the wall and shaking his head; this wasn’t helping. His temper was flaring, he didn’t like mysteries, and he didn’t like feeling out of control.
Derek turns when he hears the door close once more downstairs, and listens as Stiles slowly climbs the stairs. He makes his way toward the bedroom door intent on finding some answers.
Stiles POV
Seconds after opening the bedroom door Stiles feels hands grab his shoulders and slam him into the wall. He squeaks and winces, startled, feeling his heart beat pounding in his ears. When death doesn’t immediately come he pries his eyes open and is met with Derek’s face, inches away from his own and studying him closely.
Derek stands with one hand around Stiles throat, the other holding his shoulder to the wall. It is a position that screams of intimidation, of danger.
Strangely Stiles feels neither.
Met with those familiar eyes, Stiles pulse slows beneath Derek’s restraining hand. He sees it the second it registers, and Derek’s hand on his throat relaxes into a gentler hold. Derek’s eyes glance down as if to look directly at Stiles heart and ask the question Stiles can read in them. As if catching himself Derek’s eyes snap quickly back to his own, and he watches as Derek scents the air, nostrils flaring.
“You smell like fear… and pain.” Derek rasps, hand releasing Stiles shoulder and easing down his chest. Eyes glancing down once more, following the trail of his wayward hand as it searches out hidden wounds. “Are you hurt?”
“I… I’m fine” Stiles replies, voice coming as a whisper.
When Derek’s gaze returns to his he has moved infinitesimally closer, mere centimetres separating them, and Stiles can’t help it. Couldn’t fight the temptation if he tried, not standing there with Derek’s hand resting on his belly, on his bared neck.
He glances down at those lips for just a second, but it is long enough.
Derek has seen.
The hand around his throat tightens the slightest bit and then relaxes. Green eyes stare intently into his own, warm breath ghosting across his face. Suddenly, and deliberately, Derek moves his body closer pressing against Stiles’ and trapping his hand between their bodies. Stiles breath catches in his throat and his mouth opens on a gasp, breath coming in short pants. Derek’s nose nudges his own, their breath mingling until Stiles can barely stand it.
It takes a split second for him to decide and then he is tilting his head that tiny bit forward and their lips are brushing gently. Stiles feels his eyes slip closed as their mouths linger, and then Derek is suddenly very much there. Tongue brushing his lips asking Stiles permission before plunging inside and taking. Derek surges against him, an animal force all of his own and Stiles clutches at him pulling him even closer and taking everything he gives. Hands linger on Stiles skin and it strikes him that he has never felt anything like what he is experiencing now, and he can’t imagine that anything would ever compare.
Their bodies surge against one another desperately seeking each other out. Derek tastes like black liquorice and pine, flavours mingling and consuming him from the inside out. He can’t get enough of him, of his taste, and he pulls him harshly forward against his willing body.
They break apart on a gasp, both of them remembering suddenly, painfully, that Derek was not at full form. His own gasping breath seems to attract Derek’s eyes to him once more, and he stands panting, pinned by that gaze. He watches as Derek moves closer to him, eyes on his as he leans forward excruciatingly slowly and finally brushes his lips gently against Stiles’ own.
/oh/.
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC17 fSummary: Rewrite post episode or later chapters
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to episode 9
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or teen wolf!
6.
Chapter 5
Stiles POV
Stiles watches as Scott cocks his head quickly to the side, then turns to look at Derek, “We have to move, now!”
“What’s going on?!” Stiles exclaims.
“Cops - we need to go!” Scott replies, already moving towards the cot.
Slowly, like a predator contemplating his prey, Derek turns to face them, “Does someone want to explain to me why the police are practically on my doorstep?”
Stiles glances at Scott who looks back with equally wide eyes, stalled where he stands a foot away from the cot. /crap… we are in so much trouble/. Scott stutters over an answer, “Well there was this… you see… ummmm a little help here buddy?”
“Someone may have…accidentally that is…sort of…toldmydadyouwerethemurderer….” Stiles blurts on a breath.
“You… WHAT?!” Derek bellows, trying to climb out of his reclining position “I swear to god I’m going to kill you two idiots!!!!!”
“Don’t look at me! I’m innocent in all of this!!!” Stiles rushes to get out, hands raised in defence.
“Scott!” Derek turns, eyes changing, teeth bared. Stiles reflects that it was probably supposed to be scary, the effect ruined by the bedhead and mass of bandages adorning his chest. /heh… /.
“Whatever - we don’t have time for this! We need to move, growl at me later!” Scott scoops an arm under Derek’s armpit and pulls him to his feet. Stiles watches the flinch of pain and winces in sympathy as it echoes to lance through his own side. His arm wraps around his abdomen and he sucks in a breath, /oh god…again?…got to move/. With adrenaline born from the shock of pain Stiles takes up Derek’s other arm and helps Scott half drag, half carry him to the stairs. That’s when he hears the sound of car doors closing softly, of booted feet on old wood. Through broken window frames and cracked glass he watches the approach of shadows, they’re here.
“Back... there’s a fire escape” Derek wheezes on a breath, weight sagging between them. He must have been worse off than Stiles had thought this morning to react like this to movement. He had to get him out of here.
Taking a deep breath Stiles replies, “You take him, I’ll go get in the way.”
Scott gives him a look, “What? Stiles you could get hurt - they might shoot you by accident or something.”
“It’s alright; they already think I’m around here somewhere. The jeep isn’t exactly hidden” he says. He takes a breath and looks at Derek, eyes catching his. Derek hasn’t said anything but he stares at Stiles in an assessing way, as if he’s a puzzle that he can’t figure out.
“Move!” Stiles says, pushing them towards the back of the house and taking off down the stairs. He hasn’t even reached the ground yet when the door flies open and he’s face to face with a half dozen guns pointed in his direction.
Derek POV
Derek watches as Stiles glances frantically around before settling a determined gaze on Scott. “It’s alright; they already think I’m around here somewhere. The jeep isn’t exactly hidden” he blurts, eyes finally moving to meet Derek’s own. Derek thinks, /what is he looking for?/ for just a second before, /oh!/ and /oh…/. There’s something there, something in that boys eyes that clicks.
Earlier, Derek wincing with pain at Scott’s rough grip. Stiles grabbing his own abdomen in sympathy. /sympathy?/
/it had to be…unless… no it’s not possible/ and then Stiles is gone moving down the stairs with a shove to Scott and a “Move!” thrown over his shoulder. Derek doesn’t have time to think let alone speak before Scott is dragging him towards the back of the house and the fire escape. Behind them he can hear the door break open and several exclamations of warning from the police. He prays, even as he is pulled forward, that that kid /Stiles…/ has the brains to drop to the floor.
When they reach the back of the house Derek gestures at the charred remains of a back wall. “Out there”.
Scott leans him against the least damaged wall and peers out over the edge at the rusty remains of a fire escape, “So do you want to jump or do you want me to carry you?” he asks with a grin.
Derek levels a glare in his direction, “Just go.”
“Want me to catch you?” Scott hedges.
“Move Scott!”, and he watches as Scott turns to the wall and just leaps up and over the debris. He pushes himself up, arm wrapped tightly around his gut and moves as quickly as he can to the edge. The fire escape doesn’t look as if it would hold a child let alone a full grown werewolf, /no wonder he jumped… okay Derek you can do this/. Unfortunately his jump turns out to be more of a fall with his injuries. He releases a grunt as he lands, wincing as pain shoots through his body. He doesn’t even have time to think that maybe he should have taken Scott up on his offer, before everything fades into blackness.
Scott POV
Scott stands outside the charred remains of the Hale home, waiting for Derek to choose his route. He probably should have just grabbed him and taken the plunge because there was no way he was going to make it on that ladder. The older wolf was just stubborn as hell sometimes…
/well all the time really./
He watches as Derek moves to jump and then sort of stumbles and falls towards him. Scott reaches his arms out to catch him, but only manages to soften the blow the ground produces. He winces as Derek grunts in reaction and watches as his eyes roll back into his head. Suddenly things just got more complicated, /and heavier/ his mind produces. Without hesitation he throws the unconscious man over his shoulder and breaks for the woods, hoping all the while that Stiles has things covered inside.
Stiles POV
“Freeze!” “Get down on the ground!” “Move!”
So Stiles does as he’s told for once and throws his arms over his head and topples onto his belly, eyes on the upper floor. Rough hands grab at his arms and hold on as others pat him down, /all in all, not really how I pictured this happening…/.
“Stiles Stilinsky that had better not be you!” and he has never been so grateful to hear his Dad’s voice.
“What’s up pop?” he quips from his place beneath two armed policemen.
“Get off him, let him up” the Sherriff replies on an exasperated sigh, “What the HELL are you doing HERE??”
/Think fast - think fast/ Stiles stalls as the uniforms pull him up off his painful perch on the stairs and rubs at his arms where he had been held. “I wanted to teach this guy a lesson, I mean… he tried to kill us!”
“Stiles - how many times do I have to remind you that I’m the one with the gun, that this is my job. Not yours! It’s not safe for you to be doing these things!” he replies, grabbing Stiles biceps and shaking him softly to emphasize the point.
Stiles knows his Dad worries about him, he does, but this is really just the tip of the iceberg here. Suddenly he wishes he could just share everything, tell him all about werewolves and alphas and what really happened that night.
About the confusing rush of blue, blue eyes and pale skin.
Looking up at his fathers concerned face he knows he can’t do it, can’t burden him with the knowledge. However before he can give it any more thought the pain strikes again, shooting from his abdomen and down every nerve ending in his body. A wave of dizziness hits him and he feels himself sway towards his father.
Scott POV
Scott makes it a few hundred feet into the forest before he realizes he has no idea where to take an injured werewolf. So he starts running through the options in his head. He knows he can’t take him home, his mother is just way too attentive for that. Allison’s is out of the equation for obvious reasons. The school is too open; the clinic is just a bad idea after the last time.
/Where can I take him that no one is going to think to look for him?/, and then, /got it/.
He starts to run.
Stiles POV
Stiles stumbles forward and has to use his father to steady himself. When he looks up his father’s concerned face is very close to his own. “Woah… what happened?” the Sherriff asks, hands already moving to help Stiles steady himself.
“I guess this has all taken more out of me than I thought… I should go sleep it off… the stress that is, not you know, anything else.” Stiles blurts as his father stares wide eyed, the shadow of a smirk warring with the worry lining his face.
When he’s standing on his own two feet again his father looks him in the eye once more and asks, “Are you okay son?”
“Fine, guess I need more practice facing down an armed squad” he quips.
“Not a chance… are you sure? Maybe we should take you in to get checked out…” the Sherriff replies, hand still braced on Stiles shoulder.
“I’m fine Dad, I just need to sleep - really.” Stiles replies, trying his best to look innocent. The wry smile on his fathers face combined with a dismissive head shake reminds him that his father knows the innocent look well. “I’m just going to go home then…” he continues on.
“Sleep Stiles, let me handle the rest - okay?” his Dad says earnestly.
“Sure Dad!” He throws out as he stumbles towards the door and the group of annoyed looking officers, “Hah! Sleep!” he mutters under his breath as he climbs down the front stairs, “What are the chances…”
Scott POV
Scott unceremoniously dumps Derek’s unconscious body onto the bed before him, and stands, groaning, to rub his sore shoulders. “What the hell do you eat man?!” he mutters under his breath.
He starts to walk away, then feeling a little guilty for his rough treatment turns and goes to help settle Derek in a better position on the bed. He is just pulling his body up the bed when two hands fist themselves in his shirt and he’s faced with angry eyes.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Where are we?” Derek growls.
“I’m helping your sorry butt escape, remember?” Scott replies, “Just relax, heal, and DON’T leave this room.” Derek loosens his grip and releases him slowly, eyes watching as Scott turns to leave the room. Scott looks back once before closing the door, eyebrows raised as if to emphasize his point. “Stay here.”
Scott jogs down the stairs two steps at a time, intent on finding Stiles now that Derek was settled. He makes it to the bottom step just as the front door opens and Stiles walks through. /speak of the devil/ When he sees Scott he startles back and does a double take,
“Scott? What’re you doing here? Where’s Derek?”
Scott looks back with a sheepish grin, “Upstairs?”
“What?! What were you thinking?! He can’t be here!!” Stiles explodes, arms flailing in emphasis as Scott watches. He knew Stiles would react this way, but he would come around, he always did.
“It was the safest place to take him…” he begins, but Stiles already has his back turned to him and is pacing the living room.
“Safe?! Safe?! How am I going to explain the murderer in my room to my Dad????” he shrieks.
“That’s the thing, you can hide him - no one will ever think to look at the Sherriff’s house!” Scott replies, tone of voice rising to match Stiles. He watches as Stiles slows his pacing, hands coming up to rub his temples, eyes closed. Scott knows this look well, Stiles is processing.
“Fine… just go before Dad get’s home. I’ll deal with this... mess” Stiles replies, frustration lacing his tone. Scott feels bad for a second, but only for a second. He believes in his plan, believes it’s the best choice, and that ultimately Stiles will understand in the end.
“Just text me later, if you need any help.” Scott states as he makes a strategic escape, pretending all the while that he can’t hear the disgruntled sigh following him out the door.
Derek POV
Derek watch’s Scott’s back as he retreats from the room, turning only to re-emphasize his point, “Stay here.” Derek rolls his eyes and pulls himself up onto his elbows, taking in the room around him. Gray, gray and more gray, the room screamed of teenage chaos and echoed with years of use. . He inhales deeply, /Stiles/.
Below him he can hear the front door open and close, the sounds of Scott and Stiles frantic discussion. He pushed himself to standing and begins to move around the room, taking in the pictures, the books, scenting here and there. He still doesn’t know what’s going on with that kid, /with Stiles/.
He has so many unanswered questions.
/What had happened that night? Why had Stiles helped him? What had he seen in those eyes?/
He keeps running over it in his head, the way Stiles has been acting around him, how tense he had turned when Scott arrived. How he had risked his own life to help Derek, twice now. How he had looked at Derek as if he were more than a monster, more than just some guy, like he meant something. How Derek’s own pain had been reflected in his eyes. Before this, Stiles hadn’t taken much space in Derek’s thoughts. He had noticed the boy, sure, he was hard to ignore, but he’d never thought so hard about the different looks his expressive face carried or the way his heart beat changed from calm to worry.
He snorts to himself, frustrated, fisting his hands against the wall and shaking his head; this wasn’t helping. His temper was flaring, he didn’t like mysteries, and he didn’t like feeling out of control.
Derek turns when he hears the door close once more downstairs, and listens as Stiles slowly climbs the stairs. He makes his way toward the bedroom door intent on finding some answers.
Stiles POV
Seconds after opening the bedroom door Stiles feels hands grab his shoulders and slam him into the wall. He squeaks and winces, startled, feeling his heart beat pounding in his ears. When death doesn’t immediately come he pries his eyes open and is met with Derek’s face, inches away from his own and studying him closely.
Derek stands with one hand around Stiles throat, the other holding his shoulder to the wall. It is a position that screams of intimidation, of danger.
Strangely Stiles feels neither.
Met with those familiar eyes, Stiles pulse slows beneath Derek’s restraining hand. He sees it the second it registers, and Derek’s hand on his throat relaxes into a gentler hold. Derek’s eyes glance down as if to look directly at Stiles heart and ask the question Stiles can read in them. As if catching himself Derek’s eyes snap quickly back to his own, and he watches as Derek scents the air, nostrils flaring.
“You smell like fear… and pain.” Derek rasps, hand releasing Stiles shoulder and easing down his chest. Eyes glancing down once more, following the trail of his wayward hand as it searches out hidden wounds. “Are you hurt?”
“I… I’m fine” Stiles replies, voice coming as a whisper.
When Derek’s gaze returns to his he has moved infinitesimally closer, mere centimetres separating them, and Stiles can’t help it. Couldn’t fight the temptation if he tried, not standing there with Derek’s hand resting on his belly, on his bared neck.
He glances down at those lips for just a second, but it is long enough.
Derek has seen.
The hand around his throat tightens the slightest bit and then relaxes. Green eyes stare intently into his own, warm breath ghosting across his face. Suddenly, and deliberately, Derek moves his body closer pressing against Stiles’ and trapping his hand between their bodies. Stiles breath catches in his throat and his mouth opens on a gasp, breath coming in short pants. Derek’s nose nudges his own, their breath mingling until Stiles can barely stand it.
It takes a split second for him to decide and then he is tilting his head that tiny bit forward and their lips are brushing gently. Stiles feels his eyes slip closed as their mouths linger, and then Derek is suddenly very much there. Tongue brushing his lips asking Stiles permission before plunging inside and taking. Derek surges against him, an animal force all of his own and Stiles clutches at him pulling him even closer and taking everything he gives. Hands linger on Stiles skin and it strikes him that he has never felt anything like what he is experiencing now, and he can’t imagine that anything would ever compare.
Their bodies surge against one another desperately seeking each other out. Derek tastes like black liquorice and pine, flavours mingling and consuming him from the inside out. He can’t get enough of him, of his taste, and he pulls him harshly forward against his willing body.
They break apart on a gasp, both of them remembering suddenly, painfully, that Derek was not at full form. His own gasping breath seems to attract Derek’s eyes to him once more, and he stands panting, pinned by that gaze. He watches as Derek moves closer to him, eyes on his as he leans forward excruciatingly slowly and finally brushes his lips gently against Stiles’ own.
/oh/.