Stiles couldn't believe he was about to do this.
He had promised his mother years ago, before she died, that he would never do anything to endanger either his father or himself, yet here he was in a closed animal clinic with a dying werewolf about to expose his greatest secret. A werewolf, he might add, that would gladly rip his head off with a smile.
He had not even told Scott about his 'special condition.'
"Dammit!" the teen spat under his breath as he sat said werewolf down on the floor.
Crouching down beside the injured teen Stiles grabbed first the wolf's bicep, just above the black tendrils that had been blossoming from the wound for the past several hours, then his forearm, again just past the newly blackened veins. Derek hissed in pain whipping his head around to growl menacingly at the offender.
"Stiles?" he snarled as he moved to wrench his arm away, "let go of my arm." He growled again when his arm didn't budge and the younger teen held on tighter, "Stiles!"
"Derek, shut up and listen to me."
The boy's voice shocked Derek into silence. If it was an order from any other human (or even Stiles's normal stuttering attempts to be butch) Derek would have snapped their neck right then and there for sheer disrespect, but something about the way the normally soft hearted boy's voice hissed tightly out of his mouth had made the older teen still.
Stiles had yet to take his eyes off the blackened bullet hole. He tightened his grip on the wolf's arm ignoring another hiss of pain. Taking a deep breath in through his nose Stiles allowed his control to slip very slowly. Closing his eyes he addressed Derek, "I can get the poison out, but I need you to do two things for me."
Derek, who had been watching in suspicion as the other boy's hands gripped his arm with a strength he thought impossible of a human, jerked violently as a sudden and overpowering smell caught his nose. His body put two and two together faster than his brain as he tried to rip his damaged arm away from the crouching boy next to him.
No, he thought, a wave a fear falling over him as he thrashed violently against his prison, not a boy. How could I have missed it?
But Stiles wouldn't let go.
His hands clenched tighter around the wound.
Derek couldn't stop the whimper that fell from his lips.
"Do you want to die Derek?" Stiles hadn't opened his eyes, but the wolf stilling beneath his hands was enough of an answer for him. Stiles took another breath when he was sure that his captive wouldn't move again. Another bit of his control slipped.
Stiles could now hear the excited thumping of Derek's heart. He could smell the desperation of needing to get away tinged with a slight hint of fear that he wouldn't be able to. More importantly though, he could feel, underneath his fingertips, where the blood from Derek's heart slowed as it forced its way through the poisoned veins.
He felt his excitement jump.
Pulling Derek's arm closer to his body, Stiles allowed his knees to take his weight so that he was no longer crouching. Flattening that arm in front of him like some macabre turkey dinner Stiles opened his eyes.
Ah…there it was.
Rivers of red ran back and forth through lightly tanned channels. With every beat of the wolf's heart the rivers sped up for a second before slowing down sending wave after wave of those precious oxygen giving cells down the channel only to have it stopped at the dame creating by Stiles's hand. Said boy licked his lips at the sight and allowed his eyes to follow the river upstream. It always amazed Stiles how intricate the human body actually was. Layers and layers of muscle, tissue, nerves and veins were used to make the most advanced machine ever known to man.
Stiles furrowed his bow as the river began to turn black and sluggish.
So easy to destroy.
Derek cleared his throat uneasily. There were very few things he was afraid of and considering what he was this really came as no surprise to anyone who knew him. But every predator is pray to something. And let's just say that Derek know knew what it felt like to be the deer caught in a trap of impending death.
"Did you need something Derek, or did you just have a hairball logged in your throat?"
Derek swallowed thickly, cleared his throat, and tried again hating the fact that he couldn't keep the shake out of his voice, "What two things?" he cringed as he fought to remain as calm as possible. It wasn't working.
A slow, oddly sensual smile that did not belong on the teens face made its presence known as the boy bent his head down closer to the overly warm skin. Peaking his tongue out he gently licked the bullet wound relishing in the salty copper taste that danced on his taste buds. He was brought back to reality by a sudden harsh bite of something that burned like fire on his exposed tongue. Stiles wrinkled his nose before finally turning his eyes to Derek. The younger teen smirked at the barely visible flinch given by the wolf as he tried to back farther away.
If Derek had ears right now they'd be lying flat against his head right now
Stiles took another breath.
"I will try not to hurt you, but it has been a long time since I have taken blood from a warm body, and this will be the first that I have done so from a werewolf," Stiles paused as though waiting for Derek to nod or show some sign that he had heard him. Derek's heart skipped. "I don't know how I will be affected by your blood so if the time comes were I can't stop, I need you to do it for me."
This time Derek did nod. He also relaxed slightly.
When Stiles had looked at him Derek had been consumed with the natural instinct to run. Those eyes weren't Stiles's. Those eyes had no white. Those parts were blackened to the core; the pupils as red as any blood Derek himself had spilt. Those pupils spoke with an ancient hunger, older then even his own, that desperately needed to be filled.
And yet, the concern and determination that had shown through could be none other than the boy's own.
He had control over his beast.
Even more so than Derek.
It was Derek's turn to take a breath as he forced himself to relax further, "And two?"
Stiles black and red eyes stared at him for a second before he spoke, his voice becoming deadly serious, "Don't tell Scott."
Then his lips peeled back as his canines extended. Gripping the arm beneath him tighter he whipped his head around and sank them deep into the werewolf's flesh.
Derek's laugh at the boy's request ended in a yelp of pain.
As suddenly as it came though, the pain receded.
It was replaced a pair of warm silken lips as they formed an airtight seal around his wound. He blinked down at the buzzed head in a strange awe inspired trance.
All trace of fear were gone in an instant.
He felt like a curious puppy as he watched as the boy he thought he knew sucked the tendrils of poison out of his body, occasionally swallowing when his mouth got to full.
The smell, which at first had been unpleasant and fowl was no longer so. A soft aroma of musk and oak, which in his over excited state he had confused for death, settled gently in his nose with a new memory of dusty tomes and wilderness. Stiles emitted a certain power that reminded Derek of when he used to watch his sister hunt. So violent and animalistic yet graceful and not all together unappealing. His eyes wondered to his poisoned arm. He blinked in surprise to see how far healthy his arm looked.
His body, sensing that the poison was finally being eradicated from his system, had begun to finally heal itself. Where the skin had once been gray and sickly looking, color was starting to return. The mind numbing weakness was turning into strength and causing his arm to flex a little under the ministrations the vampire lips were giving him.
Now that his fear was under control the wolf had decided to investigate.
Stiles jerked on the arm as Derek's muscle rippled under his mouth almost dislodging himself, but he gripped tighter forcing himself to hang on. He wanted to throw up. Even though he would not die from the wolfs bane, it still burned his mouth and throat as it went down. Tears sprang to his eyes as he forced another mouthful down.
The concerned tone in Derek's voice went unnoticed by the teen vampire as he dutifully continued his task. Also going unnoticed to him was the small moan of pain that escaped his throat as yet more wolfs bane was forced down.
He didn't feel the hand that rested hesitantly on his head and gently began to stroke his hair.
Finally, with one last giant gulp, Stiles tore his face from Derek's arm, shot up off the floor, and retched into the washtub basin.