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“Deeeeerrrrreeeekkkkk!” Came the whine followed by the slamming of the loft door and the shuffling of feet. Derek let out a sigh and closed the book he was reading, lifting his head and looking towards the walking blanket bundle that was moving into his bedroom. He raised his eyebrows, prepared to ask what was going on but figured he ought to save it.
“I’m sick.” Stiles, who was wrapped in what looked like two blankets, a hoodie and some sweats under it all, announced. Derek could hear the congestion in his voice and just watched as he came over and flopped down on Derek’s bed.
“That sucks but why is that my problem?” the wolf asked, standing up from his chair by the window, setting down the book he was reading. The whole pack was supposed to be at school and gave him a much-needed six hours of alone time. He then turned and watched the heap on his bed with arms crossed over his chest.
There was some grumbling and rustling around on the bed until Stiles’ head finally appeared from under the blankets, his hair in complete disarray and his face looking like he got hit by a train. “Because all my friends are werewolves and they don’t get sick anymore, and I’m the only member of the pack that can get this and you’re the alpha so it is your job to take care of your pack. I am pack. Take care of me.”
Derek stood there staring at the sick teenager for a second before he rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms. He knew he would regret this, but he still went and grabbed a box of tissues from his linen closet before walking over and tossing it on the bed next to Stiles. “Fine.”
There was a slight smile before Stiles started to sneeze and scrabbled to grab a tissue. Derek rolled his eyes again because he had just washed his sheets and now he’s letting this sick kid ruin it.
Ten minutes later Derek was walking from the kitchen back to his bedroom with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a cup of hot tea. He isn’t really experienced in the pains of human sickness, but Stiles kept on insisting that soup is a cure all and that if Derek didn’t make him some he would die (literally die right then and there in Derek’s bed and it would be all his fault).
He hadn’t been gone long, but Stiles had managed to already build up a pile of used tissues on his nightstand and floor. “Ugh Stiles, I know I can’t get sick, but that doesn’t mean this is any less gross. Can you at least try to not make a mess of my room?” He said sitting down on the bed next to the boy. The only response he got was a handful of mumbles.
He set the soup and tea on the bedside table before he started to tug at the blankets. “Stiles.” He said with a stern voice, trying to get the boy to cooperate with him.
He unburied the teen and placed a hand on his forehead. “Jeez, you’re burning up!” He stated and started to pull the blankets off with more force, throwing them onto the ground. Stiles whined and flailed to grab the blankets as they were being pulled from him. Eventually giving up, he just curled up into a ball. “Nooo I’m freezing!”
“You have a fever, idiot you need to cool down. If you’re temperature doesn’t start to drop I might just throw you in a bathtub of ice.” Derek grumbled as he continued to uncover the boy. “Just eat the hot soup and tea I brought, that should help with the warmth you crave.” He grabbed Stiles and forced him to sit up on the bed. “And…I’ll let you siphon heat off of me.” That seemed to be the magic sentence because then Stiles become more compliant. Derek managed to get him sitting up and holding the soup bowl and taking occasional bites. Derek sat behind him, acting as a backrest and also held the tea for Stiles to grab if he wanted it.
“You’re lucky. You don’t get sick. You don’t even get hurt. I mean, not for long. You fall down the stairs and break your arm and you jus--*cough* just wait to heal. So lucky.” Stiles rambled as he took a few bites of soup and squished his body into Derek’s. There was a slight pause and hum of enjoyment when the soup seemed to be warming him up a bit. “Is there such thing as like werewolf flu? Or werewolf pox? Like chicken pox, but for wolves? Or would that be like getting fleas? Wait, can werewolves get fleas?” Stiles went into a coughing fit for a second. He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose, then resumed his questioning. “Do I need to get Scott some flea protector or repellant? You could like mix it with cologne.”
Derek was getting more irritated by the second. Unfortunately, Sick Stiles was just as annoying and chatty as regular Stiles. “Just shut up and eat your soup.”
It took him awhile, but when he finally did finish his soup, Stiles set the bowl on the bed in front of him and leaned as far back as he could into Derek, tilting his head to look up at the wolf. “Thanks.” Stiles said softly and offered a slight smile.
“You didn’t give me much choice.”
Within the next few minutes, Stiles had managed to ramble on about things until he drifted off to sleep. Which was both good and bad news for Derek. The good part was that if the kid was asleep, that meant he wouldn’t be spewing nonsense, but now he was asleep on top of Derek, preventing him from going anywhere. The wolf let out a sigh and accepted his fate as a pillow.
His eyes bounced around the room, looking for something to give him some sort of entertainment but being it was his own bedroom, there wasn’t much to look at. Eventually his eyes came to rest on the face that was passed out on him.
Derek’s eyes began to study the features of his face. It’s not as if this is the first time he has looked (stared) at the guy but it is the first time he has seen him completely still. Stiles has a mole located on his left cheek, about an inch and a half away from the corner of his mouth. From there Derek’s eyes started to trace down to connect to one under his chin, then to the next one on his neck and so on until his eyes run into the collar of the boy’s shirt. Playing connect the dots with his eyes is really the only thing he can do to keep himself entertained without moving, so logically his eyes just start to trace backwards until they reached back to the one on his face.
In his sleep, Stiles let out a strange noise, which Derek couldn’t figure out if it was a hum or the kid trying to talk in his sleep. But the noise did get the wolf’s eyes focused on the human’s lips. The lips that drive Derek crazy because they are always moving, much like Stiles’ entire body. He is either talking or singing or eating and yelling. All of which get on Derek’s last nerves.
And yet, right now while they are still and silent, they are actually quite appealing. So much so that he starts to slowly lean his body down, doing his best not to jostle the sleeping body too much. He continued until his lips finally pressed to Stiles. The kiss held for a few seconds before Derek pulled away and then waited for Stiles to make some sort of comment about it all.
But he didn’t. Well not a conscious Stiles anyway. The kid moved a bit in his sleep and sort of smiles slightly while muttering, “Nice Stilinski.”