Author's notes: Story based on this tumblr prompt from wolfprompts
Stiles somehow ending up with burned and bandaged hands.
Stiles trying to sleep, tossing and turning but to no avail as the problem between his legs only became worse.
Stiles not being able to do anything about it.
What he didn't expect was Derek sneaking in through his window, supposedly passing by the neighbourhood and listening to his grumbling.
What he also wasn't aware of was the fact that Derek could now smell it all over him while it was currently getting worse.
Stiles trying to keep his shit together and not jump out of bed and right on Derek's lap, feigning sleepiness so Derek could fuck off leave.
And what kind of almost friend would Derek be if he didn't tentatively sit next to Stiles on the bed and try to lift the covers off him, completely making him aware of the fact that he knows and he could maybe, just maybe lend him a helping hand just this once so Stiles could go back to sleep. Awkwardness and then not so much awkwardness ensues. And if Stiles can't finish and Derek decides to take matters into his own mouth, that's entirely up to you.
I would write it if I was native or more comfortable with english but since I'm neither - PLEASEH, SOMEBODY!
It inspired me. Hope you guys like. Drop me a line and let me know.
Love,
Emy
"How, on Earth, did you manage to burn BOTH your hands with a kettle of water, only God will know, because, honestly, Stiles – this! – this right here is beyond me!" John gestures wildly at his son's tightly wrapped hands as Stiles sits on his bed and groans at the indescribable pain of having both of his hands covered – as in COVERED – in third degree burns.
"I don't know, dad." Stiles gathers up all of his sarcasm. "Maybe it was boiling and fell over my hands..." John shakes his head.
"Stiles, son." He says, sitting by Stiles' side. "You are no longer allowed anywhere near the stove."
"Dad! I'm not five!" Stiles protests.
"Yes. You are not. At least then you would have had a plausible excuse." John shakes his head and leaves Stiles on his own with a huge sigh and a light pat on his leg. Stiles gapes at his father's retreating form, mouth opening and closing a few times, like a fish out of water. As his bedroom door closes Stiles realizes he's still wearing his outside clothes. He groans but there's no way he's willing to humiliate himself and call his father back to help him get undressed and settle in bed for the night, so, instead, he just settles in, jeans and sneakers still on is legs and feet.
It doesn't take long for his whole skin to become itchy, too small for his body. Stiles groans.
"Why me?!" He whines to the ceiling trying his hardest to scratch an annoying itch right at the top of his left leg. "Ouch!" He complains when he disturbs one of the burns on his fingers. "Fuck!" follows soon after because of course he has to knock his hand into his groin while scrambling to pull his hand safely back. And of course little Stiles thinks it's happy time and swells just enough to make his pants too tight. Another whine leaves his lips when he sits back up and the zipper creates just the tad bit of friction needed for little Stiles to get half way there into being interested. "Fuck, why me? Why do these things always have to happen to me?"
"Because you're an idiot." Comes his answer in Derek's voice. Stiles screams out loud like a girl. He tries to clutch his heart, but another whine of pain escapes him since he keeps forgetting that both of his hands are burnt!
"What the fuck, man? What are you doing creeping into my room at night... again?!" Stiles asks, flailing like an octopus. Derek moves soundlessly, like a supernatural creature that he is, and gently grabs Stiles' wrists.
"Calm. Down." He says quietly. Each word a sentence of its own. He just takes Stiles' pain, veins going black on the back of his hand.
"Thanks, man..." Stiles sighs and slinks back into his pillows. "I feel much better now." Derek lets go of Stiles' wrists and nods.
"You need me to help you get you into sleep clothes...?" Derek asks shyly. Stiles swallows. The thought of Derek taking his clothes off making little Stiles even more interested than before. He watches Derek's nostrils swell a little as he inhales. Stiles blushes.
"I'm... I'm..." Stiles stutters through what should be a coherent answer but is nothing but a jumbled mess of sounds that can't even actually qualify as words.
"Come on, get up... I'll help you." Derek says, but ducks his head. Stiles thinks he can see a slight blush on Derek's neck, but it's dark and he can't be sure. He swallows again and goes with it as Derek pulls him up off the bed by his elbow, making sure he doesn't cause any pain
"Ok..." Stiles exhales. He focuses on his breathing as Derek takes off his plaid over shirt careful not to touch anywhere near the ugly white bandages covering Stiles' hands. Still, even with the amount of care that Derek is putting into the action, Stiles somehow managed to get his hand caught in one of the sleeves and hisses when he tries to pull it free. Derek takes his pain instantly, his hand a gentle weight on his forearm, and mumbles quiet apologies, as if it would have been his fault.
"Don't worry... I did that myself..." Stiles tries. Derek meets his eyes. Worry and determination shine through. Stiles swallows and gets even more excited about things going on. Derek's nostrils swell up again. Stiles blushes this time.
Derek takes off Stiles' printed shirt next making Stiles put his hands up without further discussion. Stiles feels exposed as soon as the material is off. Frankly it's the first time he's been topless in front of Derek. It makes him feel self conscious. More self conscious than he'd ever thought possible. He crosses his arms over his chest even though annoying little Stiles still thinks it's happy time and is getting more and more interested with each passing second.
It only gets worse when Derek pops the button of his jeans and kneels down in front of him to take them off. Stiles tries to look away but he's transfixed of the sight of Derek gently touching his lower legs, taking off his skinny jeans, mouth slightly parted as he seems to inhale deep through his nose.
There's no way – no way in HELL – that Derek has missed Stiles' aroused state. Even if he hadn't picked up on the scent of it, the rather prominent bulge in Stiles' black boxer briefs is a dead give away. Derek looks up at him through his lashes and Stiles loses every sense of embarrassment, dropping his arms by the sides of his body.
"Derek... I..." He tries but Derek shakes his head, looks back down to where he's taking Stiles' second foot out of the denim, mouth still a little open, as if wanting to take Stiles' scent deeper inside of his lungs.
"It's ok..." Derek answers quietly. "I told you I'd help." Stiles almost misses his words, that's how quietly Derek speaks before hooking his fingers in the waistband of Stiles' boxer briefs and gently peeling them down. Little Stiles bounces out happily slapping back against Stiles' lower abdomen, making Stiles hold back a tiny moan of pleasure and relief. His hands are itching to touch, but Stiles is not sure what he wants to touch first – his very happy, very interested cock, or Derek's soft and appealing hair.
Derek looks up at him and Stiles suddenly decides what he'd want to touch. Derek's hair. He'd want to brush it back from Derek's face. Run his fingers through it. See if it really is as soft as it looks. Massage Derek's scalp. A little whine escapes Stiles' chest and he closes his eyes to keep in his tears of annoyance. Of course he wouldn't get to touch Derek. Of course he wouldn't be allowed to reciprocate. Of course his stupid lack of attention would cost him so dearly.
"Shhh..." Derek shushes him, clearly misreading Stiles' noise. He pulls Stiles gently to sit on the bed. Always gentle. Always careful. He doesn't allow Stiles to use his hands to support his weight as he sits down, instead Derek holds his wrists again and lowers him down slowly. Gently. As if he were china.
"Derek..." Stiles whispers as he goes with Derek's gentle push and lies down. Derek lies by his side, resting an elbow by Stiles' head, supporting his weight, his other arm resting on the middle of Stiles' chest over his rapidly beating heart.
"Let me?" Derek asks, as if the clear agreement of Stiles' body wouldn't be enough. Stiles doesn't trust his mouth not to say something stupid so he bites down on his own lip and nods. Maybe a little too eagerly if the pain in his neck is anything to go by. Derek smiles shyly and leans forward just a little. He's one tiny fraction of an inch away from Stiles' lips yet he stops. Stiles doesn't get it so he pushes forward through the little distance to mold his lips to Derek's.
Derek sighs, moves his head to the side, opens his lips a little, makes Stiles match him, deepens their kiss until Stiles lets out a little noise, arms wrapping around Derek's neck. Derek allows it for a little while and Stiles delights in the closeness and warmth but Derek soon pulls away. He's smiling again. It makes Stiles' heart stop, beat erratically, skip another beat then start running wild inside of his chest.
"Don't touch..." Derek whispers. Stiles whines. "You'll hurt yourself. Let me." Derek says before kissing Stiles again. With abandon. As if getting lost in Stiles' taste. Kind of like Stiles is getting lost in Derek's.
Stiles doesn't even notice when Derek's hand is moving lower on his body until his fingers are gently wrapped around his throbbing girth.
"Derek..." Stiles breathes out in Derek's mouth as Derek closes his fist tightly and starts moving his wrist up and down at a perfect rhythm as of he already knows what Stiles likes, knows how to make him go wild. Stiles moans into their next kiss, hips lifting up off the bed, into Derek's hand, without his consent. Derek swallows down each and every one of Stiles' noises and pumps him faster and faster, quickly taking Stiles to his peak.
"Let go. I've got up." Derek whispers and flicks his thumb over little Stiles' head then right under it, right where Stiles is most sensitive. Stiles arches off of the bed completely, his arms tightening around Derek's neck, holding on for dear life as he explodes all over Derek's fist. "Good pup... my good pup..." Derek praises milking Stiles' orgasm to the very last spasm. Stiles swallows hard as he slumps down against the sheets. Derek kisses his lips once more. "Sleep, now, pup... sleep..." He whispers into Stiles' temple.
Stiles wants to protest but the injury and the intense orgasm take away his ability to form words. He nods, closes his eyes and doses off in less than a minute.
In the morning, when he wakes up, Stiles' bed is cold and lonely. He'd dressed in a pair of comfy sleep pants and the covers are carefully tucked around his naked torso. A pang of sadness hits Stiles right between the ribs thinking Derek didn't want him in the daylight. Still. The memories of last night are amazing and Stiles can't help a tiny smile from creeping into his face. He stretches out like a cat, but forgets about his wounded hands and hits one of them onto the headboard.
"Fucking shit!" Stiles squeaks cradling his hand to his chest. There's a thump on the other side of the room and Stiles looks at Derek with wide eyes.
"You're such an idiot." Derek says, but there's no bite to his words. Just fondness. And worry. Stiles imitates a fish again as Derek sits by his side, taking his hurt hand by the wrist and pulling out his pain once more. Stiles blinks. He blinks a lot.
"Why did you leave?" He finally manages to get out when Derek seems to have stopped draining his pain.
"Didn't want you to feel embarrassed." Derek answers and that's definitely a blush creeping up his neck. It's so sweet Stiles can't help but smile.
"Stay, this time?" Stiles dares to ask. He's already moving aside, making room for Derek when their eyes finally meet. Derek slowly nods. He moves to take off his jeans and shoes and slips under the covers. Stiles smiles like a big idiot, happiness taking over his heart when Derek puts his arms around him and pulls them together so close that not even air can fit in between them.
"Never leave again." Stiles lets out, sighing happily.
"Ok." Derek simply replies. It carries more weight than any declaration of love. Especially when Derek kisses the back of Stiles' neck and relaxes against him.