I kept getting distracted by the idea and had to write it up. sourwolfsparking
Stiles slides out of the Jeep and snorts when he catches sight of Derek sitting in front of the loft building, totally wolfed out, his black tail swishing along the ground as he watches Stiles approach.
“Hey Lassie, you lock yourself out?”
His ears twitch to face Stiles, and Stiles practically sees the judgment in his pale eyes.
“Ok,” he concedes. “Not my best material, I’ll admit, and you’re probably more of a Cujo than a Lassie, but…” He trails off, expecting a huff or even a playful nip at his shins (Derek’s trademark snark tends to come out in this form as painfully adorable dog antics that Stiles has tragically yet to capture on camera). But Derek just looks back at him, unmoving.
Stiles drops to a crouch in front of him, lifts a hand to run down Derek’s back, and smiles when he leans into the pressure.
“Seriously though, dude. What’s with the puppy suit? You don’t usually just hang around all day in your second skin like this. Low profile, all that? You point blank refused to come play Frisbee fetch with me in the park last week, as though people would seriously be able to tell you apart from a dog and freak out, but whatever.”
Derek whuffs faintly, leans forward to sniff at Stiles’ face.
He leans away from the wet tongue, laughing.
“Hey, quit it. Yes, I ate a Reeses on the way over; no you don’t get any, especially in this form. Chocolate’s bad for dogs. I think.” He pauses. “Right?”
Derek whuffs again, turns to lap at Stiles’ fingers. Stiles rolls his eyes, tugging his hand back and shaking out the wet digits.
“Yeah, ok, wolf slobber is not the way to convince me to give you treats. …I mean, not treats treats because like, you’re not a dog and that would be speciesist and all that. But really though, what’s up with the extended wolfiness? Did you lose your clothes in the woods or something? Did you get stuck in wolf form and now you’re not sure how to turn back?”
Derek yips at that, chasing Stiles’ waving fingers and nipping pointedly at his hand. Stiles freezes because…
“No wait, seriously?”
Derek snuffles into his palm, nosing into it before turning
back and huffing again, low and urgent.
“Shit, Derek. Ok, you’re freaking me out here. If you can turn back just, seriously please turn back now. We’re behind my Jeep, there’s no one around. Look, I’ll even avert my eyes for decency and everything.”
Which he does. He actually covers his eyes with his hands to block out any potential glorious nakedness, that’s how freaked out he is right now.
About ten seconds go by, before Derek huffs and licks at the back of Stiles’ hand.
Which is most definitely a wolf thing to do, not a human thing. A trapped in wolf form thing.
Derek’s trapped in wolf form.
Stiles drops his hands away and, sure enough, there Derek is: fur, tail and all, watching Stiles with a mildly put out expression.
“No no, hey, this cannot be happening. This can’t happen to you, Derek, you’re like, the most wolfy-aware person we know. Who the hell are we supposed to go to for advice about you being stuck like this?”
Derek seems to be echoing Stiles’ agitation, lifting a paw to nudge at Stiles’ knee.
“Yeah, yeah. We could go to Deaton but you know how helpful he always is. Which is not at all, by the way. Shit, ok, we can handle this though. We’ll figure this out. You can come home with me for now, I’ll get you some paperwork or something, a collar, so people don’t think you’re a stray and try to take you away. And I know, man, I know that sucks and you’ll hate wearing it but it’s better than having to worry about dog catchers on top of everything else.”
He fists a hand into the thick fur of Derek’s nape, using the touch to ground himself because the world feels frighteningly unstable right now.
Derek’s an actual wolf. Derek could be trapped as a wolf forever and then…
“And what does this mean for us, Derek? After everything we went through… we were just starting to work things out and now. I mean… damn it, we’ve only been dating for two weeks and now my boyfriend’s a wolf.” Derek ducks his head regretfully, licks at a bit of chocolate along the edge of Stiles’ thumb. Stiles instantly feels like crap for making this about himself, for giving Derek something else to worry about. He tries to gentle his tone out of raw panic as he lifts his other hand to rub soothingly behind Derek’s ear. “Man, you’re cute as hell like this, don’t get me wrong. But like, in an ‘I want to snuggle and pet you’ kind of way. And I’m really not into the whole bestiality thing dude, I wish I was, but I think we’re probably gonna have to put our next lunch date on hold until we get this—“
He breaks off at the sound of a throat clearing pointedly behind him, looks over and finds Derek standing at the loft entrance, his arms crossed and his brows arched high on his forehead. Half a step beside him stands a pale woman in her mid-thirties, who is watching Stiles with an expression that’s more than a little disturbed.
“Stiles,” Derek says very carefully, as the wolf-Derek (not Derek?) continues to lap chocolate off Stiles’ palm. “What are you doing with my new tenant’s dog?”