"Oof!" Stiles thumped against the tree, a thick forearm pressed into his throat. This was becoming a regular occurrence, and frankly quite tiring, but it still scared the shit out of him. He always thought, 'this is it, I'm gonna die today, and the hands of Mr. Sourwolf himself.'
"Seriously, Derek, you need to stop. I might get, like, PTSD or something from this. You're the reason I'm gonna be in therapy- well, most of the reason, anyway. The other part would probably be the whole my best friend's a werewolf thing, and between that and a psycho sourwolf on my case all the time I think I might" The arm against his throat pressed harder, causing his speech to stop abruptly. Stiles gripped the arm with his own hands, trying to pry it from the throat, but to no avail. Derek just pressed harder, leaning in to talk in his ear.
"Shut up Stiles. Now why were you following me?" He released his grip on Stiles' throat, but pressed a hand to his chest to keep him from bolting.
"Oh. That. Well... umm... you see that's kind of a funny story. Scott texted me today and said you were going after something tonight and I-" Derek growled, silencing the boy.
"Scott. That little bi-"
"ah-ah-ah," Stiles sang. "No naughty language around the minooorrrr!" He felt something sharp dig into his chest, and his face twisted in pain.
"Remember," Derek growled, "I'm the one with the claws to your chest. No snarky comments."
"Fine," Stiles pouted.
"Now, about following me. DON'T. It could be dangerous, and you're human. I don't want to have to take care of you." With that, Derek ripped his hand off of Stiles' chest and walked away.
Rubbing his chest, Stiles felt the holes in his shirt and the smallest bit of blood where Derek's claws had cut him. "Fucking sourwolf..." he huffed as he made his way back through the woods, towards his jeep.
"Daaaaaddd, I'm hoooooomee!"
"Stiles," his dad sighed, rubbing his eyes and looking at his son. "I have a ton of work to do so please try to keep it down. Where were you anyway? It's almost nine."
Stiles had to think fast. "Scott's. Studying for ahhh... an English test. Gotta love those language roots!" With that, he sprinted up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door behind him, tearing off his shirt to inspect his wounds in the full- length mirror.
The cuts weren't too deep, but deep enough that they were still bleeding. Stiles silently thanked whatever was out there for the work his dad had. He hardly ever noticed anything while he was working. Picking up the shirt from where he'd thrown it on the floor, he winced in pain. He stepped into the bathroom and threw his shirt into the wastebasket, simultaneously turning on the water. He ran a washcloth under the lukewarm water, pressing it against to cuts to stop the bleeding.
"How bad did I hurt you?" Derek had snuck in without Stiles noticing. Not that that was a first.
"Ummm... well It's not that bad." He leaned over the sink and winced.
"Don't lie to me, I know pain when I smell it. I can't stand it." Derek stepped forward, placing a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "turn around."
"O-okay." Stiles' voice shook as he pivoted to face the brooding man. When he looked up into Derek's face, he didn't find anger, like he'd been used to. He found... Apology. He found concern, and he found... pain. 'Why is Derek in pain?'
"Let me... Let me try something, okay? I don't know if it will work, but I want to try." Derek sound hesitant, like he was actually asking Stiles' permission. Since when did he do that?
"Go ahead, Sourwolf." Stiles didn't know what was going to happen, but he certainly was not expecting Derek to hoist him into a sitting position on the bathroom counter, dipping his own head so it was level with the cuts.
And he really wasn't expecting the warm, wet tongue that lightly brushed the first of the wounds. "Derek, what-"
"Shhhh." Derek continued to trance his tongue across each small laceration in his skin. At first, it would sting, so much in fact that Stiles had to clench the edge of the counter to keep from flinching. But eventually the tongue became less painful and more soothing, the dull ache fading into nothing. Stiles closed his eyes. If this wasn't Derek... fuck, no, it was just hot.
After a while, Stiles noticed an absence of the warmth on his chest. He opened his eyes to see Derek staring in awe where the cuts used to be. Instead of cuts, all that was left were thin lines of pearly white scar tissue.
"How.." Stiles left the question hanging in the air. Derek raised his head slowly. Stiles noticed something else in his eyes that hadn't been there before; something he couldn't quite put a finger on.
Before he had the chance to react, Derek's lips found his. He squeaked in surprise, and Derek jerked away. "Erm... that wasn't supposed to happen..."
"That wasn't a complaint, Sourwolf." Stiles yanked on the collar of Derek's shirt, pulling him back down. This kiss was different- it stared slow but became deeper and more passionate- all lips and teeth and tongue. It was messy, but Stiles didn't care. When they pulled away from each other to catch their breath, Derek rested his forehead against Stiles'. The younger boy smirked.
"Mind telling me what brought this on?"
"Mmmm. Well... It started earlier. When I cut you with my claws, I felt the pain too. It was odd, so after I left I went to Peter for help. He said..." Derek gulped. "He said that only mates can feel each others' pain. So I remembered something from when my parents used to teach me- if you find your mate, you can heal that person by licking their wounds. So I, ah, I had to try it."
"So does that make me, like, Mama Stiles? Is the pack my pups? I would love that. Then Jackson would be my pup. I could order him around and stuff and Isaac and wow. So does this mean we're married, too? Wolf married? Because I think my dad would have a problem with tha-"
"Have a problem with what?" With Stiles' rambling, they hadn't heard his dad come up the stairs. Sheriff Stilinksi gaped at the sight before him. His son, shirtless, with an thrice- accused killer between his legs, inches from kissing. Stiles turned red, and Derek wouldn't look the sheriff in the eyes.
"Ahem... Sheriff." Derek offered in greeting.
"Hale, what are you doing in my house, in my bathroom, with MY SON?" He shot back.
"Daaaaaaadddd," Stiles whined. "Calm down. He was innocent, remember?"
"Yes," the Sheriff agreed, "but you're also underage."
It was Derek's turn to step up. "I promise you, sir, that I will not take advantage of your son in any way."
"It's going to take a lot more than an empty promise to satisfy me, Hale, but if my son is happy I'll give it a chance." Glancing daggers at Derek one last time, he exited the bathroom.
They listened to his footsteps echo down the hall until they heard the door to his bedroom shut quietly. Even though he knew they were safe, Stiles still whispered. "Did you mean what you said? Does that mean no sex?"
Derek leaned down to growl into Stiles' neck. "Fuck no."