Author: Sparkle Itamashii
Title: Helpless
Notes: Written with permission off of this prompt: neverafuckgiven dot tumblr dot com slash post/29370223386
Chapter Two
Derek parked beside Stiles' Jeep, flung his door open and slammed it behind him. He strained to hear anything, could just barely pick out the hammering of Stiles' heart. The house was dark as he unlocked the front door, drew it open and peered inside. A light shone up from the basement, and Derek pulled the front door shut, moved toward the belly of his home. It was silent as he approached, thundered down the stairs, pulled up at the bottom.
No shuffling papers.
No turning pages.
Just Stiles, on his back on the floor, barely breathing, eyes wide open.
Derek's heart skipped a beat and then he stumbled forward, was on the floor, calling Stiles' name, not daring to touch him for fear of hurting him. "Stiles! Stiles, what happened?" he called loudly. The boy reeked of wolfsbane, leaves of the wretched plant scattered around him where the book had fallen from Stiles' nerveless grasp.
Stiles turned his head just slightly, wide golden-brown eyes falling on Derek's face, unseeing.
Cursing, Derek took stock of the area, of the wolfsbane, of the smell of it everywhere, and couldn't think. Surely Stiles couldn't have been stupid enough to eat any of it, which meant something here could poison by touch. Which one? Which one had he touched? There was only one Derek knew had enough oil to transfer through touch, but it shouldn't affect humans. Not like this.
A thin, choked noise escaped Stiles, and Derek managed to splay a hand over his chest, to feel his heartbeat, to feel the rise and fall of his chest. And then he smelled it, underneath the sour, bitter wolfsbane, something else, something overwhelming. It pulled the air from his lungs, choked him, and he was afraid for an instant that the wolfsbane was airborne, that he would be joining Stiles on the floor.
Stiles groaned and the sound rumbled up through Derek's hand and he jerked it away, all of his attention focused on the human. His hand moved to Stiles' jaw, moving his face around as Stiles' eyes began to focus.
"Stiles?" he asked, and his voice cracked over the word. "Stiles, come on. Wake up. Focus. Stiles. Stiles!" he yelled as Stiles' eyes closed. The boy's heartbeat rocketed upward, skin flushed. "Stiles!"
"Derek?" Stiles asked, confused. His heartbeat fell, but the flush remained on his skin, the patches near his jaw turned red.
"Are you injured?" Derek stressed, turning Stiles' face to him. "Can you move?"
Giving Derek a completely bewildered look, Stiles closed his eyes again and just breathed for a moment. "Um... I'm not hurt. I'm just... can you hear that?"
Derek froze, listened intently for a moment but all he could hear was Stiles' heartbeat, the rasp of his breath in and out of his chest. "Hear what?" he asked cautiously.
"That... pounding. It's so loud," Stiles exclaimed. He looked over at Derek and his brows drew together. "You." And then his eyes cleared as he understood. "You- your heartbeat. I can hear your heartbeat."
Scowling, Derek managed to repress the urge to smack Stiles upside the head- but only just. "Get up," he growled. "You shouldn't even be here alone."
"Not alone," Stiles said quietly, but he rolled over and got onto his hands and knees. "It's so hot in here. Isn't it hot in here?"
"It's not hot in here," Derek told him, helping him to his feet.
"Very hot in here," Stiles argued. And then he wasn't letting go of Derek, even though he was on his feet, even though Derek had let go of him. "Derek... do you... I smell something... amazing."
One thick eyebrow rose. Could even Stiles smell what Derek had scented a moment ago, what Derek could still smell all over the boy in front of him? A vague memory struck him then, and his eyes narrowed. "Stiles." He made the name a warning. "Did you... eat any of the wolfsbane you found?" It seemed silly the moment it left his mouth. Stiles was smarter than that. Of course Stiles was smarter than that.
Then Stiles giggled, and Derek remembered that sometimes, Stiles was an idiot.
"Come on," he said, and began to drag Stiles toward the staircase. He would have to get the youth home before the wolfsbane rendered him unable. Still a little disoriented, Stiles followed him, managed to make it up the stairs, froze at the top as they stared down the hallway.
"Derek," Stiles said softly, and Derek had to close his eyes, swallow before answering because that tone, and his fingers wrapped in the leather of Derek's jacket, tugging him back.
"We have to get you home," Derek told him firmly.
"Don't want to go home," Stiles whined, tugged at his sleeve again. "Don't make me go."
Derek growled, low in his throat, because how unfair was that request? How unfair that it came now when Stiles was out of his mind. "You have to."
And Stiles was scooting up behind him, and Derek stiffened, moved away from him, turned to look at him wide eyed. Stiles just advanced again. "Please, Derek," he pleaded. "Want to stay. Want you to stay."
He was almost too late catching Stiles' wrists as his hands reached out, and Derek had to shake his head to clear the fog. That scent, it was everywhere, and he knew what it was, and he knew why Stiles was acting like this. He knew what would come next, and he had to get the boy out of here, back to his own home, and get away from him. Because he didn't want to; he had to because he didn't want to, because if he did what he wanted to instead, Stiles would never forgive him.
"You shouldn't have eaten that wolfsbane, Stiles," he admonished and Stiles honest to god whimpered when Derek said his name.
Squirming in his grasp, Stiles attempted to wriggle closer to Derek. "It didn't say... Derek, please," Stiles pleaded again. "Let me... please let me. I want..."
"Shut up," Derek ground out through clenched teeth. It wasn't fair, and he closed his eyes trying to get a grip on his thoughts, trying to push out that scent even though it was clinging to him, and he knew it was Stiles but there was wolfsbane in there. For just a moment he let himself ignore the last, imagine that Stiles would be the one pressing his wrists into Derek's palms, that Stiles really would be murmuring senseless pleas.
Stiles slipped his wrists out of Derek's hands when they loosened, moving forward, his fingers pressing down the werewolf's chest. Curled his trembling fingers under the edge of Derek's shirt and rested his head against Derek's collarbone. He felt it when Derek sighed, laid hands on his shoulders to push him away. He pushed back.
"If you don't want... you don't have to... touch me," Stiles said, and Derek shuddered, his head foggy with the strange scent. "Just let me... please."
"This will wear off in a few hours," Derek said quietly, and he wasn't sure if he was saying it to Stiles or to himself, but he meant it. He could feel Stiles' breath, warm on his shoulder, feel the twitches as Stiles pressed himself closer, and he didn't want to tighten his grip on the boy's shoulders, to stop him. But he had to, because in a few hours, Stiles would be angry if he did anything else. Because Stiles trusted him. Because if Stiles didn't trust him, this would never happen for real.
"Hours," Stiles repeated breathlessly, and he caught Derek's eyes, and they were talking different hours.
Not fair.
"Not like this," Derek said firmly. "In a few hours, if you want to talk hours with me-" He had to pause, clear his throat because his voice broke over the words. "Then we can talk."
"Don't want to talk," Stiles murmured, eyes glassy. He hesitated, blinked slowly, took a deep breath through his nose. "Why do you smell so good...?"
Perhaps Derek could have held him at bay indefinitely. He was stronger, but he didn't feel stronger- not with that scent wreathed around them, not with the wolfsbane in the human's system. Not with the way Stiles squirmed, not with the "please, Derek"s that fell from his lips.
"Stiles," he said, because it was the only word he could manage when Stiles tucked himself full up against Derek, hands running along his jaw, over his collarbone, down his chest. He said it again when Stiles tucked his warm nose into the crook of Derek's neck, when his tongue made a quick swipe over the ridge of Derek's collarbone.
He couldn't arrest the growl that stole from him, because god dammit he shouldn't have to put up with this; Stiles should have known better than to go eating strange things. He shouldn't be here alone, shouldn't be in Derek's house, going through Derek's books, smelling like Derek's life. He didn't want him to stop.
Then Stiles' lips were on his skin, and he could feel Stiles' teeth scrape gently on his shoulder, and in his shock he found the strength to grab the boy and shove him back a step, to move down the hall no matter what he wanted. "Fine," he choked out raggedly. "You can stay here. I can't. Not like this."
His hand was on the door when Stiles made such a lost, irretrievable noise that Derek turned. Stiles leaned against the wall, was staring at him with such a hurt expression that Derek knew he wasn't leaving. Briefly he entertained the idea of taking Stiles home, to his father, to his own room, and just leaving him there, but all he could imagine was Stiles crawling across the center console, all pawing hands and pleading, and fuck it, he wouldn't be able to drive with that. Like driving wasn't hard enough when Stiles sat still and was quietly uncomfortable on the other side of the car.
He hated himself for moving away from the door. He hated the enormous, stupid sense of curiosity somehow stuffed into the teenager who was plucking at his shirt the second he was in range. Derek grabbed his face in both hands, made him look up, caught his amber-brown eyes and held them. Searched, desperately, for some sign that Stiles was aware of what was going on, some sign that it was Stiles' fingers that slipped under his shirt, ran across his skin, tucked themselves just under the edge of his pants, thumbs running over his belt buckle.
Some sign that it was Derek that Stiles wanted, not just who-ever came across his path first.
Stiles smiled, and the breath he drew was shaky, caught in his throat halfway. "You're thinking too much," he teased, leaning into Derek's hands, pressing past them until their lips met.
For a moment Derek didn't kiss him back, just felt the warmth of his lips, the feather-light touch of his breath over his cheek. He shouldn't let this happen, knew that Stiles would not forgive him. But would he forgive him for walking away, letting him wander out into the forest alone like this? He would wander off, Derek knew, and when he made it to town (because he would do that as well), it wouldn't be Derek he found first. It would be someone else, someone that perhaps wouldn't stop him, someone that might hurt him, or have him arrested.
A jolt shot through him when Stiles bit his lip, and he had to stop him, had to just breathe for a moment, hands on Stiles' shoulders, almost pressing his back against the wall. Because it wasn't Stiles doing these things, not Stiles saying his name in ways that set his skin on fire with desire. It was the wolfsbane, and when it wore off, it would never be Stiles.
"You shouldn't have taken that wolfsbane," he murmured, shaking his head. But as soon as he'd said it, he kissed Stiles anyway, and Stiles kissed hungrily back. He couldn't bring himself to care, not with the way Stiles pressed into him, hands roaming, pulling him in closer. "You're going to kill me tomorrow," he said as they broke apart for a moment.
To his surprise, Stiles rolled one shoulder, twitched his head into the shrug. "Maybe," he said, and it was almost lucid. "My head's so fuzzy, but you feel so good, smell so good. I just want you."
Derek groaned and closed his eyes, because it was ridiculous to hear those words rolling off of Stiles' tongue, directed at him. The human pushed forward and Derek pushed back, stronger, backing him up to the wall with a thump. Gently, he let his forehead fall to Stiles' shoulder, allowed himself a moment to just breathe him in. He could smell the desire clouding around the boy, could smell the arousal, the need, and he wanted so badly to give in, to believe that Stiles did want him.
He could smell the wolfsbane, but when Stiles moved, kissed his cheek, his jaw, whispered "please" so low and needy in his ear, he found his hands on the boy's hips anyway, fingers digging in. Maybe he could just hold him there until it wore off, just keep him in one place. Let him touch, but keep him pinned against the wall, under control. If he just-
But Stiles was squirming against him, discovered that if he rocked his hips just so, Derek would make the most delicious noise. For a moment it was all he could do just to cling to him, to grasp at the tendrils of coherent thought that escaped him, try to remember what exactly it was that he had decided to do. Something about pinning... holding... he was sure there had been control.
It didn't feel like it. It didn't feel like there was control at all.
He grabbed at Stiles' wrists, just to stop his hands for a moment, to keep them from finishing their task and Derek realized as his belt buckle hit his thigh that Stiles had already gotten it halfway undone and unthreaded. Before he could issue any sort of reprimand, Stiles keened. It was distress and desire and need and utterly not fair what it did to Derek, the way his own hips rocked forward of their own accord.
"Please," Stiles groaned, low and pleading, pressing forward despite that Derek had his wrists tacked to the wall behind him. "Derek."
The name went straight to his cock, shot straight through him, and he just couldn't take it. His throat was closed, choking him with how badly he wanted this, with how monstrous he felt as he pressed back, crushed his lips to Stiles'. His hand released Stiles' wrists and he could smell the bruises even as he ran his hands down Stiles' sides, to the backs of his thighs, pulling forward to unbalance him, lift him, slam him into the wall without ever breaking the kiss.
Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek, pulling their hips together. He slid his arms under the jacket, around Derek's sides as they kissed, dragged claws down Derek's back until he growled. Panting, they parted, foreheads touching, eyes closed. Stiles' fingers wove restlessly through Derek's hair, across the nape of his neck and he whispered nonsensical things between breaths. Over and over he just pressed his lips to Derek's, feeling Derek's hands tightening on his hips like he wasn't going to sit still forever.
"Derek," he murmured insistently, drawing Derek back to his senses, just barely.
A deep rumble was his only response, and Stiles whimpered because Derek's grip was so tight he knew there would be more bruises. Derek's entire body stiffened at the sound and he pulled back, just enough to feel Stiles wince when his grip loosened. His stomach turned as he realized what happened, how he'd let himself go, hurt Stiles.
But Stiles didn't let him go, clung onto him tighter. "Don't," he begged, legs tightening around Derek's hips. "Don't you dare. I'm stronger than that, I'd tell you to stop. I don't want you to stop. I need-" but his words dissolved into a senseless, mewling noise as Derek pressed into him. "Derek..."
Tiny, worried kisses, needy kisses, were the ones he pressed to any part of Derek he could reach. Along his jaw, his temple, his cheek, his brow, the little, soft, sensitive hollow just beneath his ear, all the time murmuring it was ok, he was fine, just don't stop, please.
It was the please that broke Derek, that reminded him of how strong he wasn't. Not strong enough to say no to Stiles touching him, only strong enough to hold him there. He kept his head pressed into Stiles' shoulder, just trying to think, just trying to get a grasp on what was happening, what he had done, what he would do if Stiles just didn't stop, just didn't stop him. Because he was whispering "it's ok, just let go," and Derek couldn't quite fathom the degree to which he wanted to do just that.
It was a degree not lessened by the way Stiles insinuated his hand between them, stroked oh-so-gently up along him so that all Derek wanted in the entire world, all he could remember of his entire life, was that particular moment and how badly he wanted the human wrapped up around him. He knew Stiles could feel it, in every line of his body, every raggedly drawn breath as he struggled for control.
Then there were lips against his throat and he felt them pulling back, felt Stiles' teeth against his skin, felt him bite so softly, the ghost of a dominant nip.
"Please," Stiles whimpered.
It was the please that broke him.
I'm not used to writing things like this, so please excuse my fumbling around with words.
