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My Words to Catch (like I'm trying)

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“Don’t move,” Derek said as he closed his eyes. He could feel the effects of the wolfsbane entering his system already and he didn’t want his sister to fall into the same trap that he had. “Stay back.”

“What is it?” Cora asked, her voice seemingly distant, now. Derek held onto his head with his hands as he began to sway back and forth. His breathing became labored, his chest tightening with each gasp of air. “Derek--”

“Stay back,” Derek said again, this time with more force. His skin tingled and throbbed. It was in the air. “Get out,” Derek said as he fell to his knees, clutching at his shirt, ripping it as he began to shift, his neck cracking as his fangs elongated. “It burns.”

Derek didn’t want to open his eyes, for fear of it getting in them, despite the fact that he was inhaling it. It wasn’t normal wolfsbane, that much he knew. Trust them to find some ancient form of it lingering in the air in a Mayan site in the middle of nowhere, Mexico. Derek roared as he heard Cora run out of the room and down the hall, back out into the open air.

The room began to spin around him and he was unable to keep upright, hitting the ground hard as he tried to catch another breath. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as he succombed to the sensation of drowning, his body seemingly swaying and bobbing in the non existent water.


They’d been traveling for months together, backpacking their way across Mexico, visiting ancient Mayan temples because that was what he’d studied in college, back before he’d gone back to Beacon Hills. With nothing but the packs on their backs, they’d roughed it together, bonding like they hadn’t had a chance to do because of the fire.

Derek had been healing, allowing himself to enjoy life for the first time since he was sixteen. He and Cora would get up with the sunrise, meditating together and doing yoga to clear their minds before continuing on their journey together. He’d found himself again, found meaning in life with her.

Now, he felt like he was dying.

He couldn’t hear, or feel. He tried to open his mouth to get air in his lungs, but it felt as though cotton balls were stuffed in it. His skin felt like pins and needles, as if his entire body was asleep. His limbs were heavy, too heavy for him to lift and his eyes-- he couldn’t do anything but lie there.

There were muffled noises, a touch on his shoulder that felt like razors. He turned over, throwing up without evening knowing he was going to. As he did, he felt a damp cloth on his forehead and a male’s voice that was calm, soothing. Familiar.

“Where were you?” They asked. Derek was surprised he could make it out, considering he couldn’t hear anything else. His hearing was dampened, and he could only hear what was directly by him instead of for almost a mile around. It was quiet, too quiet.

“Palenque,” Cora said. Her hand was in his, squeezing it for comfort. She had no idea it hurt. “It was one of our stops, one of the last ones-- we went to Calakmul, Lamanai, Coba--”

“Very interesting.”

“Can you help him?” Cora asked.

“You were right to call me,” Deaton said as he opened one of Derek’s eyes, flashing a light in it, testing something, but what Derek had no idea. “It’s a very rare form of wolfsbane, an ancient one. I’ll have to research it before I can do anything. We need the plant itself in order to reverse its effects.”

“I’ll take you there,” Cora said as the damp cloth was wiped across Derek’s forehead once more. “He’s been unresponsive. I had to get strangers to pull him out of there, told them that he was too heavy for me, that he was dehydrated--”

“We’ll figure it out,” Deaton said in an attempt to calm her.

“It’s been nice, you know? Not having to deal with any bullshit. It’s just been us, together. I don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t, he’s stabilizing. He might not even need an antidote. Derek, can you open your eyes for me?” Deaton asked him. Derek tried again, thinking he would be unable to by himself. As his eyes blinked open, it took him a moment to focus. Cora’d been crying, her face reddened and tear stained as she wiped at her face, smiling down at him. “Good. Do me a favor and follow my finger.” Derek did as Deaton asked, following Deaton’s finger with his eyes without moving his head. “Excellent.”

Derek sighed, because he could. Cora tilted his head up, helping him get a drink of water, which helped with the cotton mouth he currently had. Derek tried to drink it too quickly and ended up choking on it.

“Slow down,” Deaton said. “That’s enough for now. He needs rest.” Derek wanted to roll his eyes, but found that he was too exhausted. He slept instead.


Derek woke up on fire. Not literally, but still. He sat up, panting for breath. Drenched in sweat, he scrambled to the bathroom in the piece of shit motel Cora had them staying in. He turned on the faucet, splashing his face with cool water to no avail. His body was on fire, his senses heightened. He looked in the mirror to find his eyes glowing. He blinked, trying to fix them, but he couldn’t. His nostrils flared as he thrashed his arms, unable to help quell the rage that built up within him.

Panting, he left the bathroom, his jaw clenched as he searched the empty room. He could smell Cora and Deaton, but it was feint. They probably went to the Mayan site to look for the plant. Derek lifted his nose in the air, breathing in a scent he hadn’t smelled in years.

He salivated, his body responding to it uncontrollably. Overcome with need, Derek grabbed his pack, his mind on one thing and one thing only: get to Beacon Hills.


“I need to see Stiles,” was not something that Stiles heard first thing in the morning. People didn’t usually burst into the Sheriff’s department screaming his name. At least, they hadn’t since he’d become Sheriff’s deputy. His high school shenanigans were behind him, so hearing his name shouted from the front didn’t bode well.

“Stilinski,” Parrish said as he appeared by Stiles’ desk. “You’re needed, immediately.”

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked as he stood, almost taking a sip of his coffee before Parrish ushered him away. “Hey, that was-- What?”

Derek. Hale.

Derek Hale was in the Sheriff’s department lobby, covered in dirt and looking like he was about to Hulk out in front of everyone. Stiles held his hands out, his eyes wide.

“Derek, Derek, hey buddy, it’s me.”

“Stiles?” Derek asked, tilting his head to the side. Stiles refrained from making a dog joke as he nodded his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“It’s me, man, you wanted to see me?”

Derek’s nostrils were flaring and one of the other deputies had their hands on their holster, ready to draw in case Derek was dangerous. He certainly looked dangerous, all things considered. Stiles still had his hands raised defensively, looking towards Parrish for back up.


Finally, Derek nodded. Stiles visibly relaxed, but kept his wits about him as he waved Derek back behind the reception desk.

“Come on,” Stiles said.

“You can use my office,” Parrish whispered in Stiles’ ear.

“Thanks,” Stiles said back, giving Parrish a smile. Derek growled. “Okay,” Stiles said, pursing his lips as his eyebrows lifted. “Let’s go talk, you and me.”

Stiles reached out as Derek stepped forward, putting his hand on Derek’s shoulder to guide him. As soon as he did, Derek moaned, almost falling to the ground. Quickly, Parrish helped Stiles practically drag Derek into the Sheriff’s office, setting him down into a chair. Both Parrish and Stiles leaned against the desk, crossing their arms as Derek panted, doubled over and clutching onto his stomach.

“What the fuck?” Stiles asked. “What was that?”


“Dude, you roll on up in here after six years and almost wolf out?” Stiles asked, his voice getting louder with each word.

“This office isn’t soundproof,” Parrish reminded him. Stiles sighed, his shoulders slumping as he wiped a hand across his face, clearly frustrated.

“Do you have an explanation?” Stiles asked.

Derek looked at Parrish, the corner of his mouth lifting as if he was about to growl again.

“Do I need to get a spray bottle?” Stiles asked. “Are you feral?”

“No,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “I-- I need to talk to you alone.”

“I don’t think I should leave you,” Parrish said, honestly worried. Stiles waved him off.

“I’ll be fine, but can you text Scotty? Tell him Hale is back.”

“Will do,” Parrish said as he got up to leave, eyeing Derek as he did so. Once they were alone, Stiles’ attention was back on Derek.

“Spill,” Stiles said, leaning forward. Derek visibly took Stiles’ form in, his eyes raking up and down Stiles’ body, his pupils blown and glassy. “Are you okay?” Stiles asked genuinely, his brow creasing. “You don’t look so hot.”

Derek laughed. Well, Derek’s shoulders shook, once, like a chortle but Stiles wouldn’t call it that. It was a silence Derek laugh, one that Stiles used to see from time to time, but not in the past six fucking years.

Stiles waited somewhat patiently for Derek to speak. It looked like it was difficult, by how Derek’s chest was rising and falling rapidly and he kept gritting his teeth.

“Are you going to throw up black shit? Holy shit, you have wolfsbane poisoning, don’t you?”

Derek nodded his head, looking up at Stiles, his mouth hanging open.

“How, what? Where is the wound?” Stiles asked as he came forward, searching Derek’s body. There was no blood, no bullet hole, nothing. He couldn’t find any evidence of a gunshot wound. Derek moaned again when Stiles touched him. Stiles held his hands up, surprised at the noise.

“Where were you shot?”

“Wasn’t shot,” Derek said, his eyes flashing bright blue.

“You’re poisoned, though, how?”

“Air,” Derek gasped. “In Mexico.”

“What the fuck, how did you get all the way here from-- what were you doing-- Dude!”

Derek reached out for Stiles, grasping the collar of his uniform and pulled him close, burying his face against Stiles’ neck. Stiles stilled as Derek breathed in his scent, his body shaking. Stiles, unsure of what to do, pat Derek’s back awkwardly.

“Okay, we can hug it out, this isn’t weird.” Derek’s body did that weird silent laugh thing, a guffaw if you will, as Stiles continued to pat his back. “You smell rank, though. The beard is new, I like it. Very mountain wolf.”

“Stiles,” Derek said as he clung to Stiles. “I don’t know how to-- fuck,” Derek started to pull away, but then it was as if he couldn’t do it. “I smelled you on Deaton and I just-- I had to come back. I had to see you.”

Stiles made a face. It probably wasn’t a very attractive face but he was really fucking confused and he had a werewolf attached to him like a spider monkey who refused to let go.
Of course, it was the perfect time for Scott to burst through the door. So he did. Scott stepped into Parrish’s office, quickly shutting the door behind him.

“Dude, Derek?” Scott asked as he stepped forward. Derek was on his feet, turning to block Stiles from Derek as if he needed protecting. Scott put his hands up. “I come in peace.”

“He’s poisoned,” Stiles called out from behind Derek. “Wolfsbane, no bullet hole.”

“Weird,” Scott said, looking Derek over.

“Also: he’s acting weird as fuck,” Stiles pointed out.

“I can see that,” Scott said taking another step forward. Derek shifted. “Okay, no shifting in the Sheriff’s department.”

“Or in public,” Stiles said. “Just because Parrish and I are on the up and up doesn’t mean everyone is, alright?”

Stiles tried walking around Derek to get to Scott but Derek intercepted him, clinging to him once more.

“Call Deaton.”

“Why?” Scott asked as he watched Derek begin to scent Stiles. “Dude--”

“Derek mentioned him, okay? He’s seen Deaton just call the man.” Stiles rubbed Derek’s back, hoping it would soothe him somewhat. He waited as Scott called Deaton.

“Hey, Dr. Deaton,” Scott said, wincing. “I know you’re on vacation,--” Stiles hurried Scott along by waving his hand around. “But we’ve got Derek Hale here and he’s all--”

Scott waited while Deaton talked.

“Dude, speaker!” Stiles said. “So not a werewolf.” Scott put Deaton on speaker mid-sentence.

“--reaction. I’ve just managed to cultivate the antidote. It will need to incubate for a week, but until then he needs to be taken care of.”

“Like shoot him?” Stiles asked.

“No, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton said with a sigh.

“Start over, I didn’t hear the beginning,” Stiles said.
“Derek inhaled a specific, ancient, and rarely seen type of wolfsbane.”

“Is he dying?” Stiles asked, gulping.

“Not quite,” Deaton said with a cough. “It’s a strain I’ve only read about, thought of as a myth. It’s pollen is very potent and very unique.”

“How so?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowed. He looked at Derek, who seemed calmer as Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair. It was weird, touching him. The Derek Stiles knew wouldn’t come within a few feet of him.

“It seems that he was drawn to Beacon Hills,” Deaton said with another sigh. “What he needs isn’t really-- I’m not sure what symptoms he has now, but the form of wolfsbane in lore has been that of a carnal kind.”

“Are you telling me he wants to mate?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking.

“Who was he searching for?” Deaton asked.

“Me!” Stiles said, standing up. Derek, though, did not stand with him, but he did nuzzle against Stiles’ stomach and his--

Stiles swatted at Derek, holding onto his face as he turned his head away from his crotch.

“Deaton, why would he want to mate with me?”

“In the lore I read on it, mind you this strain was thought to be a myth, it simply said ‘one with whom the wolf desires most’.”

“Desires most?” Stiles asked incredulously.


Stiles looked to Scott pleadingly.

“Dude, what do you smell?” Stiles asked him. Scott scrunched his nose up, wincing.

“Attraction,” he said with a grimace. “I mean, I smell Derek, you, your emotions, his arousal--” Stiles made a noise that was little more than a whimper.

“You said this cure is going to take a week to incubate?” Stiles asked.

“Yes, approximately. I’m unsure exactly how long since the strain--”

“Was a myth, yeah, I got that,” Stiles grumbled. “What am I supposed to do with him for a week?”

“Slumber party?” Scott suggested. Some best friend he was.


After explaining, somewhat, what was going on with Derek to Parrish, he was able to get off work early. He took Derek home, in his Jeep, where he then pushed Derek into the bathroom.

“First you shower.”


“You reek, I don’t want you scenting me if you smell of week old werewolf funk now please will you spray down, for my sake?” Stiles asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Derek rolled his eyes then began stripping down. Stiles shut the door on him, walking away as he massaged his temples.

“This is a nightmare,” Stiles said to himself as he began to change out of his uniform. He put on something comfortable, sweats and a t-shirt, because he was not about to cuddle with Derek Fucking Hale in jeans. Cuddle. With. Derek.

“What the fuck is with today?” Stiles asked as he checked his phone. He texted Scott to keep him updated in case by some miracle, the antidote was ready before, well, before.

When Derek emerged from the bathroom, in nothing but a towel, he looked like a wet puppy. A wet puppy with more muscles than Stiles remembered him having and matted down hair and a beard that Stiles could comb his fingers through. Stiles’ dick twitched as his frequent high school masturabatory picture dropped his towel.

“Jesus fucking-- Derek!” Stiles said as he stepped forward, thrusting a pair of sweats at him. Derek took them in hand and inhale their scent instead of putting them on. He was well hung, which had been Stiles’ hope and dream his Sophomore and Junior years of high school. Now, well, now he was six years older and jaded at the fact that Derek left them down in Mexico and didn’t so much as call or write.

“Put the damned pants on,” Stiles jabbed. Derek slipped them on, then stepped forward, uninhibited, cupping Stiles’ face in his hands. Stiles wanted to push him away, but he couldn’t do it.

“You okay?” Derek asked him. Stiles laughed, looking up at the ceiling. He wanted to punch him.

“Me okay? Are you okay? You lost your mind there big guy?” Derek’s brow furrowed as his thumb caressed Stiles’ cheek. Stiles swallowed as he looked into Derek’s eyes.

“I feel better, now.”

“Good,” Stiles said belatedly, getting lost in Derek’s eyes. He forgot how fucking mesmerizing they were. Stiles looked away, pushing Derek’s hand away. “We need to talk.”

“Can we-- can I touch you?” Derek asked.

“What?” Stiles asked him in return.

“I can think better, the wolfsbane-- I can think if I’m touching you.”

“Okay, sure,” Stiles said as he sat down on the couch. He pat the cushion beside him, offering Derek the spot. Derek sat down, sliding his arm across the back of the couch, his hand resting on Stiles’ neck, kneading it with his fingers. Stiles closed his eyes.

“Why are you here?” Stiles asked eventually. He opened his eyes to see Derek looking at him, his pupils blown once more. Derek’s knee was against Stiles’ thigh, his fingers playing with the strings of Stiles’ sweatpants.

“I was drawn to you,” Derek saigh with a shrug, like it was that easy. “I-- I thought I was dying, when I walked into the dust of whatever wolfsbane I inhaled. I thought ‘this is it’. It hurt, it was so incredibly horrible-- I woke up later,” Derek said shaking his head as if reliving it, his hand animated as the other continued kneading at Stiles’ neck, massaging him. “And Deaton was there, somehow. Cora had called him, and all I could think about was your scent on him. It was faint, so faint but I locked on it. I followed it.”

“But why?” Stiles asked, his mouth dry. He couldn’t imagine why. Derek hesitated before speaking, unable to form the words.

“You remember when you were possessed?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded his head, as if he could ever forget. “While that was going on, I was looking for you, when you’d disappeared. It was after we figured out that you weren’t yourself, and I ran into Chris Argent,” Derek said, leaning ever so much closer to him, a hand now resting on Stiles’ thigh as well as his neck. “Chris said he was going to kill you if he found you, and I-- I got angry. I was so mad that he would even think about killing you, because you’re Stiles. Stiles, the defenseless loud mouth--

“Okay,” Stiles said with an uneasy laugh. “Good to know, Argent was going to kill me.”

“That’s not it,” Derek said, shaking his head again, looking off into the distance at the wall, but not really looking at it at all. “I thought about the kanima, how if it had been you, I would have killed you, any of you in order to stop it from killing. But you possessed? I couldn’t even fathom it. I couldn’t--”

“You didn’t know me, then,” Stiles pointed out. “I mean, I got you arrested. Are we really going to go through our history right now? Because it’s pretty fucked up.”

“You could have let me drown.”

“No,” Stiles said with a shake of his head. “I couldn’t have.”

“You found me attractive,” Derek said, leaning in again, bumping his nose against Stiles’ cheek. “You always smelt of arousal, teenage hormones mixed with lotion and tissues.”

“You didn’t smell tissues,” Stiles scoffed. Derek grinned at him, his eyes flashing.

“I didn’t know until I was in Mexico with Cora--”

“Not with Braeden?” Stiles asked. “Why didn’t you go to her?”

“She’s a mercenary, Stiles. She goes where she’s paid, and my job was done.”

“I thought--”

“I went to Cora. I told her I would, so I did. I had unfinished business in Beacon Hills when I dropped her off in South America, but I never intended to leave her there alone.”

“You just left,” Stiles said with a shrug as he bit his lip. “You didn’t come back, you didn’t answer my texts--”

“I threw my phone in the ocean,” Derek said, resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder. “In a moment of panic, I just tossed it. Cora’s was all we had as we hiked.”

“Where was this wolfsbane at?” Stiles asked, allowing Derek’s hands to begin to roam, sliding up his side, down his thigh, over his shoulders and down his arms.

“Ancient Mayan temple, Palenque,” Derek said with a sigh. “It was in the dust particles inside it. I transformed, blacked out.” Derek mouthed at Stiles shoulder, his eyes closing.

“Cora wasn’t hit with it?”

“No, I felt it immediately.”

“That’s good,” Stiles said as he found himself being pressed against the couch as Derek laid on top of him, his hands on Stiles’ hips.

“Is this okay?” Derek asked.

“Well,” Stiles said, readjusting himself beneath him. “I’m just not ready-- you’re poisoned.”

“I don’t feel like it now,” Derek said. “I feel great.”

“Because you’re touching me,” Stiles pointed out. Derek hummed, leaning forward and burying his face against Stiles’ armpit and inhale. “So, so weird. If you were any other werewolf I’d push you off of me.”

“Uh-huh,” Derek said as his hand slipped beneath Stiles’ shirt. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat, his hand grabbing onto Derek’s wrist, keeping him from going lower. Instead, Derek sought out Stiles’ nipple, his thumb grazing across it. Stiles moaned, unable to help himself.

His phone chose the perfect time to ring.

Stiles flailed, feeling like a teenager again as he pushed Derek off of him enough to reach for his phone.

“Scotty, thank god,” Stiles said as he sat up on the couch. “Tell me some good news.”

“Good news?” Scott said. “I have some semi-okay news to give you.” Stiles winced but nodded his head.

“Okay hit me.”

“Deaton says that if Derek is... satiated-- that the wolfsbane will wear off on it’s own but if he’s denied that it could cause further problems.”

“Further problems how?” Stiles asked. “Like death and dying further problems or like blue balls?”

“More like feral,” Scott said. Stiles frowned. “He could lose his mind.”

“Well that sounds unpleasant. He’s fine right now,” Stiles said as he leaned back against the couch. Derek had his arm around him once more. Stiles liked how it felt, to have Derek’s arm around him, but he couldn’t think like that. “Alright, thanks for the info. We’ll deal with this.”

Stiles tossed his phone back to the coffee table at their feet.

“Okay so, you heard him. Thoughts?” Stiles asked.

“You don’t smell like arousal,” Derek stated.

“Well good call there buddy,” Stiles said, slapping Derek’s thigh. “Because you are basically roofied right now, and that’s just not okay.”

“I could blow you.”

“You could not,” Stiles said with an uneasy laugh. “We haven’t seen each other in six years, Derek. The last time I saw you, you almost died. Hell, I thought you were dead when I ran to go save Scott. You left, and now you want to blow me?”

“Yes,” Derek said.

Stiles sighed, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“This is not going to go well.”


The thing was, Stiles had to work. He and Derek worked out a sleeping arrangement, which consisted of Stiles being the big spoon because he refused to be the little one. Derek had slept through the night, and Stiles had pointedly ignored Derek’s morning wood before he dressed for work.

What he couldn’t handle was Derek showing up at the station, again, looking feral. It was drawing unwanted attention to them, and it was the last thing that Stiles needed when he was still considered the rookie.

Stiles got looks, which he didn’t care for as Derek stalked towards him as if his hackles were raised. Stiles looked up at the ceiling for some sort of reprieve from a higher being though he knew it wouldn’t come. Stiles stood up, meeting Derek down the narrow pathway between desks. He reached out, putting a hand on Derek’s forearm, on exposed skin. Derek immediately visibly slackened, but he looked feverish.

“Stiles,” Derek said, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“It’s worse, huh big guy?” Stiles asked, looking around the station to see all eyes on them, silently making whatever kind of assumptions they could. Stiles clenched his jaw as he lead Derek back out the way he came. “You have to suck it up until I get off work in,” Stiles looked down at his watch, “five hours.”

Derek whined.

“I’m sorry, alright? But I’m not losing this job over you--”

They were outside, in the sunshine, when Derek asked.

“Where’s your dad, the Sheriff?” Stiles squinted his eyes in the sun, blocking it with a hand so he could look at Derek.

“He retired, the stress of the supernatural, along with his eating habits, got him a trip to the hospital and triple bypass surgery. Forced retirement. He’s okay, though,” Stiles added when Derek looked concerned, genuinely concerned for him. Stiles groaned, shaking his head as he worried at his bottom lip. “Listen, I’m going on patrol in an hour. Meet me at the diner at the corner of Maple and Spruce and you can come with. If this is a proximity thing, that should help.”

“Thank you,” Derek said. “I know this-- isn’t what you want. It was never what you wanted.”

Stiles was left standing there, his mouth gaping open as Derek walked away, leaving him with his own thoughts. Back at his desk, Stiles couldn’t concentrate on his paperwork. ‘It was never what you wanted’. They had to have another painful talk, it seemed.

Stiles’ afternoon patrol was on foot, so Derek could easily walk around with him. It turned into more of Derek stalking him, walking a bit behind him as Stiles stopped to chat with shop owners and passersby. It reminded Stiles of the old ole’ days when Derek used to creep around and watch them play lacrosse.

Turning back to look at Derek out of the corner of his eye, Stiles came to a realization. Once he was done talking to his barber, he walked up to Derek, completely serious.

“Were you stalking Scott, or stalking me in high school?”

“I wasn’t stalking anyone in high school, I played basketball,” Derek quipped. Stiles rolled his eyes. “Both of you, and it wasn’t stalking.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles said. “You were such a creeper, oh my god.” Derek looked to the ground, his eyes narrowing as his shoulders bunched up. “Listen, it’s fine, you wanted a pack, you wanted to protect Scott--”

“And you.”

“What?” Stiles said with a laugh, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Humans in a pack should always be protected. Scott was preoccupied most of the time, you needed protection.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Stiles mused, a hand on his holster. “And now I protect Beacon Hills from things that go bump in the night, and your normal shoplifters. Youths.”

“You look good,” Derek said with ease. Stiles’ eyes narrowed.


Silence fell between them.

“So you stalked me in high school, left for six years, and now are poisoned. But you’re pretty rational right now.”

“It’s getting worse,” Derek admitted, shaking his head, rubbing at a temple with the palm of his hand. “I can’t concentrate-- it’s like my body is burning up from the inside out.”

Reflexively Stiles reached out and put the back of his hand against Derek’s forehead. He was warm, with a possible fever.

“I’ve still got a few hours,” Stiles said, his voice low as he looked Derek in the eye. “We deal with this tonight, alright?” Derek nodded as Stiles leaned forward tentatively. Their lips brushed against each other; Derek’s breath hitched in his throat. When Stiles pulled away he covered his mouth with his hand, clearing his throat. “I hope that helped.”

“Yes-- thanks,” Derek said. When Stiles turned back towards him, Derek was gone.


Stiles was off duty for all of two minutes when his personal phone rang. It was his father. Wincing, Stiles answered.

“Yo,” Stiles said, feigning nonchalance.

“What’s Hale doing in town?” He asked.


“And what’s this about you kissing him? You got something to tell me, kid?” Stiles banged his head against the locker before picking up his bag to head to his Jeep.

“Yes, he’s in town. Don’t call me kid, I’m a deputy now-- and how did you even hear about that?”

“Old Mrs. Weiss saw it by the barbershop-- I’ll call you kid all I want, and you’re going to need to do a little more explaining there. Is something going on? Is it a kanima?”

“Dad, it will never be a kanima, alright?” Stiles said as he groaned. “It’s a bit complicated right now, Derek got poisoned and we are fixing it.”

“By kissing?”

“.... Yes,” Stiles said, exasperated. “I can’t explain, Dad--”

“Bring him by for dinner.” Stiles hesitated.

“I don’t think that is a good idea.”

“I’ll make a salad.”

“Wow you drive a hard bargain. Give us a few hours?”

“How about two, see you at seven.”

“Fine. Love you,” Stiles said, waiting for his dad to say it before he hung up the phone.


When he pulled into his own driveway, he saw Scott’s car in it.

“This can’t be good,” Stiles said as he got out of the Jeep, preparing for the worst. When he walked through the door, though, he saw Derek and Scott both meditating.

“This is not what I expected.”

Derek opened his eyes, which had little color left in them. It was eerie, seeing the look of pure want cross his face.

“Breathe,” Scott said calmly. Derek took a deep breath as Scott stood. “We’ve been meditating.”

“I see that,” Stiles pointed out. “Why are you meditating?”

“He’s been concentrating on the beat of your heart, and mine. It helps keep him calm.”

“Was he... not calm?”

“It was touch and go for a bit,” Scott said with a shrug. “Deaton called, suggested meditating since he and Cora did it a lot.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, putting his hands on his hips. Derek really wasn’t the same person he once knew. He wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys alone,” Scott said, giving him a knowing glance. “If you could shower after, though--”

“Don’t be a dick!” Stiles said, shoving Scott towards the door with a laugh.

“I’m just saying--”

“Out with you,” Stiles said as he shut the door behind Scott. When he turned around, Derek stood in the middle of the living room looking like he was ready to pounce on Stiles at any given moment now that Scott was gone.

Stiles gestured for Derek to come forward, giving permission as he held his arms out.

Derek pinned Stiles against the door, his hands on Stiles’ thighs, lifting him, his back sliding uncomfortably up the door.

“Watch the knob,” Stiles hissed, scooting over so that the door knob wasn’t stabbing him in the back. Derek’s face was buried against his neck, his mouth sucking. Stiles grunted, his head hitting the door. “Fuck, you were really holding back.”

Derek grunted in response, pressing Stiles against the door even more as he helped Stiles hook his legs together around Derek’s waist. Derek’s hands slid up Stiles’ body, beneath the fabric of his shirt as his body shook.

“You’re okay,” Stiles assured him, his hands smoothing down Derek’s back affectionately. “I’m here now.” He let Derek scent him, mark his neck and give him a bit of a beard burn as well. “This is so surreal to me.”

That got Derek’s attention.

“Why?” Derek asked.

“Can we sit down first?” Stiles asked, expecting to be put down. He was, after all, bigger than he used to be, with muscles and definition to boot. He was no longer the lanky kid he’d been in high school, but that didn’t seem to matter as Derek walked them both to the couch, sitting down with ease so that Stiles was straddling his lap. “Or that.”

Derek waited patiently for Stiles to talk, but he didn’t know how to say what he wanted to without being self deprecating.

“What’s surreal is that you’re here,” Stiles stated, raking his fingers through his hair. “That you came back for me. Not for Scott, not for any other reason. Wolfsbane or no, that’s pretty fucking big and I--”

“You’ve always been what I wanted,” Derek said, not looking at Stiles. “Through everything. The summer you helped me every day, looking for Erica and Boyd,” Derek said, swallowing before continuing on. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did, while Scott spent his summer away from all of that-- you sacrificed that time to help me.”

“Because we needed to find them,” Stiles said, his voice cracking. “It had to be done.”

“Right,” Derek said with a sigh.

“Also because I wanted to spend time with you when something wasn’t trying to kill us,” Stiles admitted. Derek raised his eyebrows. “You were hot, alright? Are hot. Like you don’t know.”

Derek smirked at him, his thumbs brushing against Stiles’ exposed hip bones, the touch keeping him grounded, though his body was paler than it normally was.

“When you and Scott showed up, telling me that Jennifer--- that she kidnapped your dad--”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Stiles said.

“We do,” Derek said with a sigh. Stiles wondered how Derek was managing to have a conversation, considering the fact that he could feel Derek’s erection pressing against his thigh. “I wanted to kill her then and there for you, but we needed her.”

“I know,” Stiles said, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Derek’s. “I know.”

“When, in Mexico, would you have stayed?” Stiles closed his eyes, because Derek’s voice was so quiet, so broken. “Would you have stayed if I told you not to go after Scott, when you thought I was dying?”

“You were dying,” Stiles said. “And yes,” he admitted. “Seeing you like that-- I almost lost it, but I was losing Scott, too. It was horrible-- and then you just fucking left.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered, kissing Stiles on the lips. Stiles found the kiss to be salty, because he’d started crying. All the pent up frustration of Derek leaving, of not coming back until he was compelled to. “I’m sorry,” Derek said again, kissing Stiles’ tear stained cheeks. “I thought it would be better--”

“So self sacrificing,” Stiles said as he kissed Derek again, this time deepening it.

Derek’s hands roamed as the kiss intensified, becoming more desperate as Stiles moaned against Derek’s mouth. He bit down on Derek’s lip, sucking at it as Derek palmed at his ass, rolling his hips.

This was really happening. Derek really wanted him, it wasn’t a rouse, was more than just the poison. Deaton himself said that Derek came to the one person that he truly wanted. Ancient wolfsbane indeed, making a person travel hundreds of miles while walking on pins and needles, barely able to breathe in order to reach them.

Stiles began taking Derek’s shirt off, unable to hold back as he thought about Derek, blinded by the poison, making his way to Beacon Hills and finding him. Derek took control, then, stripping Stiles of his own clothes, taking his time as he admired Stiles’ body, kissing down his chest and sucking at his nipples. Stiles gasped as Derek’s tongue played along the line of hair that lead down past his belly button, disappearing below the elastic of his briefs.

Moaning as Derek mouthed at the outline of Stiles’ erection, Stiles grabbed hold of Derek’s hair.
Derek looked up at him with heavy lidded eyes, his tongue out, waiting.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Stiles asked, his voice breathy as he panted. Derek on his knees before him was almost too much.

“Yes,” Derek said, his hands sliding up Stiles’ thighs. Stiles closed his eyes, trying to think. “Just you.”

Crazy ancient wolfsbane be damned, he wanted Derek since he was a hormonal teenager and having him now made his dick drip precome. Smelling it, Derek leaned forward, sniffing along the line of Stiles’ erection, then sucked at the tip of his cock through the fabric.


“Fuck,” Stiles hissed, his hips bucking. “Okay,” he said, allowing himself this, hoping that Derek would still want him after the effects of the wolfsbane wore off.

He wasn’t sure he’d survive if Deaton was wrong about that.

Given permission, Derek hooked his fingers around the elastic waistband, pulling it down to expose Stiles’ cock. When Derek took it into his mouth, he moaned as if deprived of it for too long. Stiles let out a whimper as Derek sucked, bobbing his head with his eyes closed, savoring him.

“I want you so bad,” Derek said, his lips red and swollen as he jacked Stiles off, licking up his length, his eyes flashing blue for only a moment. “I want to eat you, to taste you. I want to fuck you.”

Stiles’ brain short circuited as he nodded his head, licking his lips. Derek picked him up again, manhandling him until they were in Stiles’ bedroom. He was tossed to the bed, wrangled by Derek to get on his knees, exposing his ass. As Derek licked from his balls upwards, Stiles shouted, wrapping his own hand around his erection, jacking himself off.

Derek’s mouth didn’t relent, lapping at him and opening him up.

“Fuck, shit--”

Stiles couldn’t even think as Derek pressed a thumb against his opening.

“Lube is in the bathroom,” Stiles managed to get out. Derek whined, his tongue delving inwards once more before going to retrieve it. When Derek returned he flipped Stiles over onto his back. Never in his life did he think that being thrown around like a ragdoll would turn him on so much, but it did. He wanted Derek to fling him around more, to move him where he wished.

With a pop the cap of the lube came off and Derek slicked his fingers, fucking into Stiles with one and then two, readying him. He still had his jeans on, completely untouched up until he unzipped himself, slicking his cock. His jeans were at his thighs, bunched up as he spread Stiles’ legs, too impatient to take them all the way off.

Stiles thought about the condoms he kept, but thought that the poison wouldn’t dissipate without contact. Derek needed this, almost as much as he wanted it.

Stiles met Derek thrust for thrust as he fucked him, bottoming out slowly and then ramming into him over and over, their skin sweat slicked as they panted. They kissed with mouths open, moaning as they tried to catch their breath. Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s ass as he fucked him harder, nipping at his neck. Stiles came by his own hand as Derek fucked against his prostate, making him scream.

He couldn’t remember coming so hard in his life.

Derek grit his teeth as he pinned Stiles’ wrists above his head, his thrusts quickening and becoming shallower. Stiles thrashed beneath him, his mouth hanging open, a constant stream of indiscernible noises pouring out of him. Derek’s thrusts slowed as he came, staying inside of Stiles as long as possible as he smeared Stiles’ come across his stomach, then licked his fingers before burying his face in Stiles’ armpit, his hands sliding from Stiles’ wrists to find his fingers, linking them together. He rolled his hips slowly, fucking into him until he was completely spent.

As Derek pulled out of him, Stiles let out a choked sob. Derek’s lips on his made him shudder at their tenderness, despite how hard he’d just been fucked. They kissed again, and again, in short bursts as Derek pulled Stiles close as they rolled onto their sides. Though his thighs were sticky with Derek’s come, Stiles hooked a leg around Derek’s, his fingers combing through Derek’s hair.

He looked completely fucked out, smiling as Stiles massaged his head.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked, his voice shot as they laid there. Derek hummed, kissing him again.

“My mind is clear for the first time in days.”

“And?” Stiles asked tentatively.

“And I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, his brow drawn, worry setting in.

“Sorry that our first time was a necessity,” Derek said, his fingers trailing down Stiles’ arm. “You deserved better.”

“I think,” Stiles said, biting his lip. “That it was perfect.”

“Really?” Derek asked.

“You came back,” Stiles said, kissing him again. “You didn’t have to, but you did.”

“For you,” Derek whispered. Stiles smiled.

“For me.”