Work Text:
He’s dying.
He’s pretty sure he’s dying. It certainly feels like it. His throat is killing him, his head is pounding repeatedly, and he can’t breathe- he feels stupid laying with his mouth open. Not to mention he’s on constant hot-cold shivers so he can’t figure out whether he wants to be completely covered with his blankets, or just lay spread out on top of them.
It’s so unfair. It’s summer, it should be illegal to get sick during the summer. He’s not even sure how it’s possible to get a cold in summer. But there he is, cooped up in his room, feeling absolutely miserable because the rest of his friends are enjoying their summer, immune from colds because of their stupid werewolf immune systems and can’t get sick (Lydia and Allison are just too pretty and badass to get sick). But Stiles is human with a human immune system, and even if he saves the day with all his research, getting dragged into a river by - get this - a river mermaid and submerged for a second too long didn’t exactly sit well for his T cells. He doesn’t even remember much about it, one second they’re trying to save someone and the next it’s just water, a roar, and more water. And all that water left him feeling absolutely miserable.
His dad had left him with strict instructions not to overdose on the medicines he had picked up earlier in the day, telling him that it was the blue pills every two hours and, if he still felt horrible, he could take the liquid Nyquil. But Stiles can barely bring himself to stand up and reach the pills anyway so OD’d is definitely not the way he’ll go- he’s more likely to brain himself on his bedside cabinet if he tries to move.
He paws helplessly at his laptop that’s just barely out of reach on the floor (he can touch the corner of it) but he thinks he just succeeded on pushing it further away. He gives up, hanging half off his bed because his head has started to throb again and he’s sure his arm muscles have given up completely. And his neck hurts.
He groans.
He feels a breeze from his window, which he distinctly remembers closing (or maybe his dad closed it, point is, it was closed), and lets out a manly squeak and heavily worded sentence when he falls completely off the bed, his nose inches away from black boots.
Stiles groans again, curling into a fetal position on the floor. He’s pretty sure he’s seconds away from his imminent death because a simple cold should not feel this bad.
The breeze stops.
“Stiles.”
“Shhh.” Stiles curls further into himself. “Leave me to die in peace.” God, his voice sounds awful, it sounds like he just smoked three packs of cigarettes in less than five minutes. Even a chain-smoker would sound better than him at the moment.
“You missed the pack meeting.”
Stiles is proud of himself for not throwing up on the Alpha werewolf. Granted, he hasn’t talked to Derek since the mermaid incident so he wouldn’t know that Stiles is on heaven’s door and Scott probably felt like he didn’t need to share it either so, okay, Stiles will give him a pass (and he also has no idea where he left his phone). But clearly, he can see that Stiles isn’t in any position to drive, let alone stand up again and attend a meeting that will inevitable end up with him squished under three unfortunately heavy werewolves.
He remains quiet, eyes shut tightly in an effort to keep out the light coming from the window. There isn’t much he can say anyway and he’s trying to focus all his energy on breathing rather than reply to stupid observations.
“You smell bad.”
What a charmer. Derek certainly knows how to make a sick person feel better- he’s lucky he’s pretty. But Stiles may or may not have missed a shower in three days. He can’t smell anything so it doesn’t bother him, but little werewolf noses are sensitive so Stiles can pretty much guess how bad his room must smell like to Derek. He can’t bring himself to care at the moment. He’s had to smell things much worse during their supernatural outings anyway so, whatever. The werewolf can deal.
“Uurghh.” Stiles thinks that pretty much gets his point across.
He opens his eyes (wincing slightly, because light) when he feels strong hands grabbing him and lets out a rather gritty squeak when Derek manhandles him back into the bed. The jostling makes his stomach queasy and he really hopes he doesn’t throw up on Derek, he’s not sure the dry-cleaners accepts leather jackets and he can’t stop Derek from clawing him at the moment.
“Wha-”
“Don’t move.”
Well that Stiles can listen to. He’s really in no position to go anywhere even if he wanted to. He sees Derek give him one last look- probably making sure Stiles will do as he’s told for once- before he steps out of the room, his boots echoing as they go down the hallway.
Stiles is left to wonder what exactly is happening, but it becomes too much and his head hurts so he closes his eyes again and clutches his Batman blanket close to his chest, Batman makes everything better.
A few minutes later, he opens his eyes to find Derek staring at him. Totally not creepy. He groans in response and brings the blanket over his head. Maybe Derek will go away if he can’t see him.
“Come on.”
Stiles peeks out from under his blanket, hesitant. “Mrehh?”
Derek huffs, rolling his eyes like Stiles is being especially difficult. Rude. Stiles is sick, he’s allowed to be confused. “I prepared a bath for you.”
In no universe does that make sense to Stiles, nor did he ever think he’d hear those words come out of Derek’s mouth. He continues staring at Derek, sure that what he said was just something Stiles imagined him saying. It’s not that far off really, he might’ve, once, dreamed of Derek giving him a sponge bath and he will never admit it out loud. The sickness is just making him woozy.
“Do you need me to carry you?” Derek looks like anything Stiles says in an affirmative response will only result in him being thrown out the window.
“I-” Stiles squints at Derek. Apparently his lack of response is not good enough for the werewolf so he takes it upon himself to try and shift Stiles into a sitting position on the bed. “Whoa, head rush. Ow.” Stiles brings his hands to rub at his temples, eyes shut in pain. The throbbing is getting unbearable now.
Strong hands are suddenly next to his own, replacing them at his temples and the throbbing reduces significantly. “Oh god, I forgot how useful your werewolf juju can be.” Stiles might slur his words a bit, but he doesn’t care. He could marry Derek’s hands at the moment.
Derek makes a sounds between a huff and a snort and Stiles hopes he didn’t say that last bit out loud. Knowing him, he probably did. Oh well. He’s sick, it’s ok. “Can you stand up?”
“Um…”
Derek’s arm is suddenly around his waist and Stiles would probably be enjoying this a lot more if he weren’t breathing unattractively with a clogged nose and hazy eyes. He lets Derek pull him up, the blanket pooling around his ankles as his legs give in a little (like he’s a damsel in distress- or a man in distress, he’s not about to genderize distress). It’s been a while since he tried to walk so he totally blames his sickness for how he’s draped over Derek’s very firm and very comfortable pectorals.
“Your chest. Is the perfect pillow.” Stiles hopes his words are muffled enough that Derek won’t understand him because he’s pretty sure he’ll end up on the floor sooner rather than later.
Derek, thankfully, remains silent as he walks them over to the bathroom. He carefully sets Stiles on top of the closed toilet seat and Stiles takes the time to notice that Derek did, in fact, fill the bathtub with water.
And bubbles.
“Those are bubbles.” Stiles says rather intelligently. But he didn’t even know they had a bubble bath.
Derek gives him a wry smile. “So observant of you.”
Stiles doesn’t say that he gets his excellent observational skills from the werewolf. He decides to stare at his pajama pants instead and wonders how he’ll manage to take them off without braining himself on the sink.
Derek is suddenly there, as if to answer his current life’s problems. “I’m going to take your clothes off now.” He looks uncomfortable, and Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want to see Stiles naked or because he wants to see Stiles naked (just not in these conditions). The former is most likely the reason why, the latter being more of Stiles’ flimsy hopes.
“I thought you’d at least take me to dinner first.” Stiles jokes, voice still gravely and deep from the stupid cold, but he gives Derek a reassuring smile.
Derek rolls his eyes, which Stiles takes it to mean he succeeded in making the situation slightly less awkward. His shirt comes off first, and Stiles resists the urge to shiver in disgust when the shirt unsticks from his back as the sweat from three days is suddenly clear. Ugh. Next are his pants, which are a bit more difficult because Stiles has to prop himself up so Derek can lower them down his hips and thighs.
The werewolf is clearly trying to give him privacy, looking away as he takes them off, leaving Stiles wearing only his Captain America boxers. At least it wasn’t the Batman ones which had holes in them.
“Are you- can you get in- into the tub?” Derek asks (which is remarkable in itself, Derek using question marks).
“I can try.” Stiles stands up with the help of the sink and takes wobbly steps towards the tub. Derek is close enough that Stiles can feel the heat coming off him, and that’s pretty amazing since Stiles feels like he’s burning up. “Um…” He thumbs the waistband of his boxers. He’d like to say he’s gotten better at being comfortable with his body (running after and away from supernatural creatures gave him some muscles), but getting naked in front of Derek when he’s looking green doesn’t exactly sit well with him.
“I won’t look.” Derek promises, keeping his eyes on Stiles’ face. That’s probably even worse because Stiles can see the different colors in Derek’s eyes from being so close. But he can blame the blush on his cheeks on his sickness so he nods once and lowers his boxers, not even bothering to kick them away because he knows if he tries that, he’ll end up tripping and falling and possibly die on the spot, which is definitely not one of the best ways to go.
He manages to lower himself into the tub without slipping, the bubbles do a good job of keeping his dignity intact so Derek has no problem in kneeling next to the tub. And that is something Stiles never thought he’d see either, Derek next to his bathtub in jeans and leather jacket, making sure he’s ok.
The water is the perfect temperature and it feels so good after being soaked in his own filthy and sickness for three days, so Derek really can’t blame Stiles for moaning a bit after he’s all settled down, the water lapping at his neck. He could totally fall asleep in the tub, but he settles with closing his eyes and enjoying the bubbles. It’s nice. It’s really nice.
The sound of a bottle cap opening and closing reaches his ears and he’s proud of himself for not flinching when a hand is suddenly petting his head. “Is- is this ok?”
Stiles hums his approval, a smile on his face when Derek continues to lather his hair in shampoo. It’s so relaxing that he doesn’t even care if he’s dying. Which makes him freeze. “Oh god, I’m dying, aren’t I?”
The hand on his head stops before continuing hesitantly. “What.”
But he’s still unsure. “You’re being nice. You’re never nice so I’m dying, right? Like I’m totally at death’s door and that’s why you prepared me a bubble bath.” Stiles opens his eyes and glances at Derek, who has a mildly annoyed look on his face, which is usual, so maybe he isn’t dying because Derek would look happy if he was, right? Unless Stiles’ death is annoying to him?
“You’re not dying.” Derek manages to sound exasperatedly firm, and then a slightly more offended, “I am nice.”
That makes Stiles snort. “Ok.”
Derek glowers at him. He stands up and wipes his hand on a towel. “You can finish washing up, right?”
Stiles barely bites back the if I can’t, will you help me but he figures that’s the fastest way to ensure he dies drowning so he settles for nodding. Derek gives him one last glare before leaving the bathroom to do god knows what because at this point, Stiles doesn’t know what to make of the werewolf, one second he’s slamming Stiles against walls and the next he’s making bubble baths. It’s leaving Stiles slightly (extremely) confused about his feelings.
He (along with everyone else) knows that Derek is attractive. It’s unquestionable. Like even his eyebrows are attractive, so the physical attraction is there. And he’s basically the reason why Stiles made up his mind that hey, maybe he does bat (and pitch and catch) for both teams (and the baseball metaphors are only there because he’s sick, deal with it). Now the emotional attraction… yeah, it’s there too. After almost two years of battling supernatural creatures alongside the werewolves, Stiles has come to learn things about Derek, things that his Betas have no clue of. Like how he’s secretly a DC geek and he totally loves English literature (the nerd) and how he gets worked up at all the werewolf movies because they’re not even remotely close, Stiles, how can people watch this?
So Stiles might be a little bit in love with Derek. Just a tiny bit. Enough to reject the cute barista because he didn’t have green eyes and a stubble, even if he did seem interested in Stiles- but that’s beside the point.
He has managed to finish shampooing and washing himself when Derek comes back in with clean clothes in his hands, which he places on the counter next to the sink. He lost the leather jacket, leaving him in an unfortunately tight V-neck that makes Stiles think of Coach Finstock because now is not the time for involuntary body reactions.
“Are you done.” And they’re back on the no question mark questions.
“Yeah, squeaky clean.” Stiles answers, brushing away some foam on his arm.
Derek walks over and unplugs the tub, his arm coming out all wet and Stiles can’t help but look at all the veins on Derek’s very nice arm as he straightens up again. “Can you stand up.” Derek looks oddly pained at that.
Stiles thinks he has enough motor skills to stand up now that his head has cleared up a bit so he nods in response, gripping the edge of the tub with one hand and splaying the other against the tile wall as he pushes himself up. He’s vaguely aware of Derek turning around, his back towards Stiles, as he waits for Stiles to wash away any stray bubbles and wrap himself with a towel.
“Um.” The water is almost all gone, but Stiles has no idea if he’ll be able to climb out of the tub without ending up on the floor. “A little help?”
Derek peeks at him, and Stiles figures he deems him covered enough to go and help him. A hand is carefully place on his hip while Derek lets Stiles lean against him and take his weight while Stiles grips the towel and steps out of the tub.
“Thanks.” Stiles mumbles, blushing because hand. On his hip. On his bare skin. He can feel it even after it’s gone.
Derek grunts. “Get dressed. Then go to your room.” He leaves again, but not before Stiles has managed to utter a yes dad, which earns him a withering look as he closes the door but not completely. Stiles thinks it’s so he can hear if Stiles trips and dies.
Getting dressed is easier than getting undressed. After drying his upper body, he puts on the t-shirt Derek brought him, one with the Batman symbol that’s actually his favorite. Putting on his underwear is slightly more difficult because even after he’s dry, he has to make sure Derek won’t come in anytime soon so he kinda wants to rush but he knows he’ll end up tangled and making a lot of noise, which means that Derek will come then. He puts them on hastily when he hears doors closing downstairs (from the kitchen, if Stiles is right) and then the basketball shorts.
It’s only after he’s dressed that Stiles realizes that Derek went through his drawers and touched his underwear. Stiles will totally blame the heat from the shower and the cold for how his whole body flushes red.
As Derek instructed, Stiles makes his way back to his room while toweling his hair in hopes of drying it a bit. He stops at the entrance of his room when he notices his bed is made. With clean sheets and everything. Even his Batman blanket is folded neatly on the foot of his bed.
Derek made his bed.
Stiles stays gaping at it for a few seconds before walking towards it, approaching it carefully like it’ll attack it. He gives it a pat, still in shock that Derek took his dirty sheets and changed them. They probably smelled bad, right? That’s why he changed them.
He sits cross-legged in the middle of it, looking around his room and noticing that his dirty clothes that he usually leaves strewn all over his room have disappeared. What the hell. It’s like a cleaning tornado hit his room- which is totally a thing. A thing that apparently Derek is.
He continues to be amazed that he can actually see his floor that he startles as someone clears their throat to get his attention. And that’s pretty much the last straw for Stiles. Because Derek is holding a tray (one that Stiles has never seen before in his house) with a bowl and a cup, both of which are steaming.
Stiles doesn’t whimper. He totally doesn’t. “Did you make that?” Stiles asks, remembering all the doors closing, probably the cupboard and stuff.
Derek looks vaguely uncomfortable as he nods and places the tray on nightstand next to Stiles’ bed. He looks at Stiles and then at the bed, (he’s shy, Stiles thinks, which leaves his mind blank). “My… mom used to make this for the humans in our pack. When they got sick.”
Stiles feels his mouth drop open, completely unattractively (and vaguely notices he can breathe slightly better- probably the steam from the bath unclogged his nose a bit). “Oh my god.” He didn’t think it’d be possible to fall even more in love with the stupidly caring werewolf. His eyes go to the tray. “You made me soup.” Stiles says, faintly. “And tea.”
Derek’s face is deliberately blank, like he thinks Stiles is going to make fun of him for making food. Which is the dumbest thing ever. Because Stiles is touched that Derek would make him something his mom used to do.
“Thank you.” Stiles looks back at Derek and hopes he sounds earnest enough because he’s unable to keep the smile off his face. “I don’t care if I die right now, I’m already in heaven.” And Lord have mercy, kill him now.
Derek snorts and shakes his head, but Stiles counts it as a win because he’s pretty sure that’s a smile on Derek’s face. “Eat, you need something in your stomach so you can take your medicine.”
Stiles scrunches up his face in disgust because medicine doesn’t get any better as an adult (he’s legal now, hell yeah) but he’s eager to taste the soup so he scoots closer to the nightstand. He grabs the spoon and blows on it because it really is steaming a lot and then he’s trying hard not to moan because chicken soup has never tasted so good, even if he does burn his tongue.
“Igh hoh goo.” Stiles prattles as he flaps his hand in front of his mouth, trying to soothe the burn. It doesn’t work.
Derek rolls his eyes at him when he comes back with the medicine. “You’re an idiot.” He sounds fond though, so Stiles doesn’t let it get to him as he attempts another spoonful.
“I didn’t even know we had the ingredients for this.” Stiles mumbles, trying to slurp the soup quickly in hopes that the heat isn’t too much. “You’re amazing.” And he’s not sure if he’s talking to Derek or the soup. Both, probably.
Derek shrugs. “It’s not that hard to make.” He sounds nonchalant but Stiles has become fluent in Derek-mood so he knows the werewolf is secretly pleased when Stiles continues eating the soup like he’s a dying man with his last meal (he still thinks he’s closer to death because the last hours have been surreal).
Derek holds out his hand and waits for Stiles to open his before dropping two pills on his palm and then procures a water bottle out of thin air that he settles next to Stiles on the bed before taking a seat on the chair by Stiles’ desk.
Stiles holds onto the pills, opting to finish his soup before taking them, and he’s disappointed when it’s gone too soon. It must show on his face because Derek speaks up, “There’s still some more downstairs. You can have some more later.”
Stiles looks at him, smiling widely. “Awesome.” He turns back to the pills, grimacing slightly as he takes them one at a time, gulping down the water quickly. He almost finishes the water bottle when he realizes he hasn’t been staying hydrated, which is basically the number one thing he should’ve been doing.
He grabs the cup with his tea, scooting backwards on the bed so he’s leaning against the headboard and takes a sip. Chamomile tea with honey. The thought of Derek making him tea causes his lips to curve up in a fond smile.
“What.”
Stiles turns to the werewolf who’s looking at him curiously (Derek has a blank look on his face but Stiles knows what curious Derek looks like). “Nothing, just-” He takes another sip and shrugs, “You are nice.”
Derek huffs and looks down at his hands, but not quick enough for Stiles to miss the sudden blush underneath the stubble. “I told you so.” That only makes Stiles smile wider, there’s something about Derek sounding like a petulant five year old that’s just absolutely endearing.
Silence falls between them, but for once, the need to break it doesn’t reach Stiles. This is probably the best he’s felt in the three days he’s been sick and he’s not about to ruin it by saying something that’ll make Derek leave. He likes all this pampering, and he’ll gladly take advantage of it while he can.
But he still hasn’t seen any of the pack- besides a quick visit by Scott the day before- so he’s curious as to what the pack meeting was about. He hopes there’s not any more trouble, Stiles isn’t sure he’s up for researching at the moment. “What did you guys talk about in the meeting?”
Derek startles slightly, and a cloudy look crosses his face. “Nothing.” He says, a bit too quickly.
Stiles narrows his eyes at the werewolf. He might not be able to hear heartbeats, but he knows when Derek is lying. “Dude, I’m sick, you’re really lying to a sick person?” Stiles is not above using guilt at the moment.
“Don’t call me dude.” Derek says automatically, but he huffs and continues to look at his hands. “Lydia thinks that the river mermaid was actually a Naiad. She thinks the reason the Naiad wanted you was because-” Derek shifted in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You’re… not ugly.”
Stiles can’t keep the laugh from bubbling out, but it ends up as a coughing fit so laughing is out for the moment, especially when Derek looks like he wants to be anywhere else. “A Naiad wanted me because she found me attractive?”
“Deaton said in Greek mythology some guy names Hylas was taken by Naiads because they thought he was beautiful.” Derek is still looking uncomfortable, his lips grimacing around the word beautiful. “They’re also apparently jealous creatures so- there’s that.”
“Look at you, all knowledgeable on Naiads.” Stiles says, enjoying this too much because a Greek mythological (or not so mythological apparently) creature thought he was hot.
Derek scowls at him.
But now that Stiles has that bit of information, things are suddenly very clear. “Oh my god.”
Derek sighs. “What now?”
“I think the Naiad liking me might’ve been my fault.” He winces slightly and hurriedly finishes his tea so he doesn’t have to look at Derek.
“What did you do?” Derek looks murderous. But Stiles can’t exactly blame him, the Naiad had lured someone else into the water and that had been the reason why they found her in the first place because apparently, the river wasn't included in the Hale territory package so Derek hadn’t been aware of it being there.
Stiles burrows into his pillows and tries to sneakily wrap himself with the Batman blanket. “I- well, I might’ve gone to the river-or stream whatever it is- like two weeks ago because I needed freshwater for something Deaton was teaching me.” Derek is still glowering at him. “But he always tells me that I should be nice to Nature whenever I take something, so I don’t know, maybe the Naiad was around when I was getting the water and she heard me talking.” Stiles laughs softly, “and I have to tell you, that’ll probably be the first and last being that falls in love with me because I’m babbling nonsense to water.”
Derek is starting to growl. “And then she saw us during training.”
Stiles snorts. Which turns out to be disgusting because he has boogers so he can’t even snort properly. “Ugh.” He needs tissues. “But yeah, she could’ve gotten jealous then and decided that she could get my attention by trying to drown someone.” Stiles puts the cup back in the tray and wraps the blanket tighter around his chest. The shivers are starting to come back. “I’ll give her props for originality, she almost took ‘kill for you’ to a whole new level.” He falls silent, the only noise being Derek’s soft growls. “Wait, what did you do to the Naiad?” He had missed that bit of action after being saved.
A dark look clouds Derek’s face. “I killed her.”
“….Oh.”
Derek clenches his hands into fists. “She took you Stiles- I turned my back for one second and then she’s dragging you into the water- I-” He breaks off and looks away.
Stiles eyes him curiously because he always figured his feelings would never be reciprocated, like never in a million years, because it’s Derek. He could have anyone. And yet Derek is acting like he was genuinely upset the Naiad almost kidnapped him.
“Hey.” Stiles waits until Derek turns back to him. “Come here.” He pats empty space on the bed.
Derek gives him a wary look, eyes narrowing, but he complies with Stiles’ order and goes to the bed. He settles down next to Stiles after taking off his boots, movements stiff and uncomfortable, but suddenly he’s flush against Stiles’ left side.
Stiles doesn’t think he’s been this close to the werewolf since the pool incident. It’s oddly comforting.
“You’re the one that pulled me out.” Stiles doesn’t ask, it’s more to just say it out loud.
Derek nods grimly. And hey, he should be happy he saved Stiles’ life. Unless he isn’t?
Stiles nudges him slightly. “Alright, what’s wrong?”
“I-” Derek grips his thighs for a second only to splay his fingers against the denim. “I thought you were mad at me.”
Well that’s an eye-opener. At this point, Stiles is seconds from proposing marriage. Why would he be mad? “Um, what?”
Derek squirms, jostling the bed a bit, which causes Stiles to end up leaning against Derek. “You didn’t answer your phone.” Derek rushes to get the words out, like he’s having trouble speaking. Because you know, feelings. Derek doesn’t do well with feelings. “You weren’t at the pack meeting.”
Stiles turns to look at Derek and freezes when he notices just how close they are. He could literally count the eyelashes on Derek, and wow, his eyes are just breathtaking and the stubble- Stiles needs to look away right now before he tries to burrow closer. “I don’t know where my phone is.” At least he’s telling the truth. But he still has no clue why Derek would think he was mad. “Why would I be mad at you?”
Derek closes his eyes. “Because I didn’t get to you fast enough.”
“Dude, you saved my life, and it wasn’t your fault.” Stiles is at a loss and he knows it’s not because of the medicine. Derek really had no reason to be feeling guilty over this.
“You were blue, Stiles, you had so much water in you- I- I couldn’t protect you.”
Stiles squints at him. Derek looks absolutely heartbroken. “Are you saying this because you’re the Alpha and you’re trying to protect your pack or- something else?” He’s not getting his hopes up or anything. It’s just clarification.
“I-” Derek clears his throat. “I don’t make bubble baths for just anyone.”
And that’s all the clarification he needs. Because Derek is blushing, and Stiles’ heart is about to burst and all he wants to do is kiss Derek. Which is what he does. Or tries to anyway. Because he had momentarily forgotten that he was sick, so rather than place his lips anywhere on Derek, he sneezes into his blanket (it would’ve been mortifying if he sneezed on Derek).
Stiles groans and hides his face. He had imagined his first kiss with Derek to be in the middle of battle, where they would run to each other bloody and dirty with nothing to stop them and it would’ve been awesome. Reality is much more disappointing. And snotty.
There’s an arm snaking around his waist though, and that’s enough to distract him from his own embarrassment. And then- that’s a nose. Right under his ear. Oh my god. “You smell all wrong.”
And here’s Stiles thinking things would be romantic. “I’m sick.”
Derek hums. The vibrations running from his ear right to his toes. “You smell fishy too.” Derek scrunches his nose, ticking Stiles. “I don’t like that.”
“You should do something about it then.” Stiles says, trying to sound flirty only to end up sounding like the old man that sits outside the corner bookstore yelling gruffly at everyone he deems worthy to be yelled at. Stiles is one of his favorites.
And because life has decided he’s had enough good things during the last hours, he sneezes again, effectively clogging his nose again. “Oh fugg, I cath breeth. Tho groth.”
Stiles is the epitome of sexiness.
Derek chuckles, still nosing under his ear. “You need to rest.”
Stiles has been resting. For three days. But he’s hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion when Derek continues smelling and nuzzling and petting. He squirms down the bed, not even bothering with the covers because between Batman and Derek, he’s warm enough.
“Thtay widd me?” He needs tissues. Why doesn’t he have tissues?
Derek shifts down with him, turning on his side to look at Stiles, which is pretty much the perfect answer.
Stiles grins, wriggling closer to the werewolf while snorting and coughing unattractively, but he doesn't care- he's totally in heaven right now.