Stiles looked as if he had been hit by a train and ran over multiple times. His brown eyes were slightly red from the crying, but as he wiped his nose with the bottom of his brown plaid shirt, Stiles couldn’t help but stare deeply into Derek’s eyes, who suddenly grew uncomfortable and had to stand up to breathe.
“I---um,” Derek paced up and down the room that had grown darker.
From the window, Stiles saw that it was getting darker and the moon was covered with fluffy gray clouds. In fact, the entire sky was covered hidden behind the gray mask. Derek bit on his fingernails, and Stiles couldn’t help but think he was the cutest thing he had ever seen.
“You think I’m beautiful,” Stiles broke the unbearable silence, a grin on the top of his face. No one ever called him beautiful or handsome, and having heard Derek say that he was good looking was more than a shock of lightning, it was magic.
But as Stiles realized, maybe it concluded even more that this moment was just a dream, and he was still in his jeep at the accident or stuck in a coma . . . Who knew?
At Stiles’ words, Derek flicked his head in the direction of the bed, biting his nails and continuing his anxious pace around the room, keeping the anticipating Stiles waiting for an answer. Derek paced up and down the room for what seemed like days.
Stiles scooted for the edge of the bed.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Derek, stopping suddenly, but then doing his usual runs. “You’re still a bit woozy and you shouldn’t be on your feet for a while. I’ll make you more food.”
But Stiles wasn’t hungry, he was just anxiously awaiting for an answer.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re just delusional,” said Derek, which made him chuckle.
“Well, if I’m delusional.”
Stiles stripped off his plaid shirt and threw it across the room.
This got Derek’s attention quickly and he froze when the shirt had fallen inches away from his feet.
Derek looked at it, and then back at Stiles who laid across the bed, leaning backwards on his arms with a gaze that made Derek growl. But not an angry growl. A frustrated growl. A prowling growl that was watching his prey and inches before finally pouncing.
“Then what ever happens tonight, I won’t remember. Ever.”
Stiles took off his gray shirt and threw it to Derek. Stiles’ chest was bare and his soft skin gleamed from the dim lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Stiles was fully aware of what he was doing and how much was at stake.
What if Derek refused---was repulsed by the sight of seeing Stiles’ almost nude? What if Stiles’ couldn’t handle the pressure of Derek’s beastly hands, teeth, lips, chest, his---. The thought of seeing Derek with nothing on but a smile made Stiles gulp and again.
Derek grined as if he had heard what he was thinking.
It was a good thing his demon was out of his head --- well, for now at least. Maybe if Stiles had more treatment to his head injury the demon would appear? For the time being, he was happy that Derek couldn’t read his thoughts, but maybe if he did, the process of begging him for sex would move the process faster?
“What are you implying?” Derek said oblivious.
“I think it’s obvious, don’t you think?
“You’re hot,” Derek asked it as a question that made Stiles chuckle. It had been a while since he heard himself laugh, but when he was with Derek, it just came out naturally. Derek brought out the best side of him.
“ . . . for you . . .”
“You’re delusional,” he said, again.
“All the more to take advantage of me now,” Stiles said. Where had this new Stiles come from? He was being a temptress---tempter. And judging by the blood coursing throughout Derek’s entire body, although he had not yet moved from his position for quite some time, Stiles was winning.
“You would like that wouldn’t you?” Derek smiled.
“Well, lets see. I’m in your bedroom, for the first time I might add, no one but Scott knows that I’m here, so there won’t be any disturbances for a while, and I’m practically naked on your bed. The picture seems like a fantasy.”
“Besides your delusions, your head injury and me being older than you, which would categorize our love making---” Stiles whimpered at the mention of “love making” and Derek elicited one back, only to be walking up and down the bedroom, again “--- as underage sex and could possibly have me in handcuffs by your father and in a jail faster than I shed my pants.”
“Then I’ll take um off for you,” Stiles cut in. “To save you some time, of course.”
Stiles felt like he had gotten a boost of courage when Derek said that he was beautiful, and what better time to take advantage of his predicament: he was alone with Derek, in a house where he could scream from the top of his lungs and not be heard by any neighbors.
“That gash in your head really screwed up your brain,” said Derek. He had taken the farthest wall away from Stiles, and Stiles remembered is being the exact same posture from the night Derek came to visit him some nights ago.
Stiles tried to stand up but Derek was next to him in a flash to lightly push him back down. This made Stiles smirk, and he grabbed Derek’s shirt and hung onto him, looking right into his eyes, covered by a cover of darkness.
“What are you doing?” Derek gritted his teeth.
Stiles pulled the hem of Derek’s shirt down, and Derek followed, kneeling in front of Stiles that had grabbed both of his cheeks, bringing their faces so close, their noses touching.
“Tell me that you don’t want this,” said Stiles, temptingly. Derek’s pink lips were moist, and the prickle of his unshaven face had Stiles whimpering with excitement.
In Stiles’ grasp, Derek looked into the boy’s eyes for a moment, then looked away, to the window as if he heard something from outside. Stiles grew silent to listen for a noise, but all that came was the rustling leaves and the tiny branches hitting the glass.
“I don’t,” Derek exhaled finally.
Stiles let go of Derek’s cheeks and grew flustered with mixed emotions: sadness, anger, resentment, hurt. Stiles wanted to punch something, to punch Derek in the face, to die.
At that exact moment.
“I’m such a---an idiot. Shit!”
Stiles flung himself backwards on the bed, tossing his head around, fighting back the new fresh tears. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
He chuckled, but found nothing funny about prostituting himself for free, to a werewolf that could have hotter tail than he would ever be. But why would Derek call him beautiful if he didn’t mean it? There were small signs: the moments of silence, the small whimpers(but Stiles thought that it might have been of disgust), and punched the air with a tight fist.
“Get me the fuck out of here!” he shouted, sitting back up.
Derek hadn’t moved, and his face was still covered in shadows.
Stiles couldn’t look at him without wanting to punch his face . . . his perfect, unshaven face that played through his head like pictures in a slideshow.
“Take me home,” Stiles said darkly.
Just then, Derek gently pushed Stiles on his back and cradled two legs on either side of Stiles’ torso.
Stiles felt confused and a sense of blood rush up through his toes up to his head, but when it reached his head, it hurt. He brushed the feeling aside.
Derek stared into Stiles’ eyes with contemplation but sunk lower until their noses were touching again.
“Kiss me,” Stiles breathed out swiftly.
“You’re gonna thank me for this,” Derek whispered and Stiles felt the tang of anticipation.
Stiles watched as Derek sunk lower, but before he reached his lips, there was a nauseous and painful feeling. Derek was pushing down on his gash, and soon after Stiles passed out from the pain.