Beyond The Bite(Sterek fanfiction)(M/M)

Chapter 8

Beyond The Bite  •  Chapter 8
(Word Count: 1,917)

"Stiles."

"Wake up."

"It's here."

I jolted awake with a gasp, my hands frantically casting off the tangled sheets while a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm me. I bolted to the bathroom, my stomach heaving as I vomited into the toilet.

Wracked with shivers, I remained doubled over, the remnants of the previous evening's meal making a dreadful reappearance. The taste of regurgitated pizza was bitter on my tongue.

After the tumult subsided, I flushed away the evidence of my discomfort. The toilet's flush echoed, the gurgling noise reverberating through my throbbing head and eliciting a grimace from me.

A knock interrupted my misery, sending a spike of tension through my already rattled frame. "Stiles, it's me," came Derek's voice, muffled yet concerned through the barrier of the door.

With a shaky exhale, I dragged my hand through my damp, sweat-slicked hair and trudged toward the door. Opening it, I was met with Derek's visage - one clearly etched with immediate concern. His attempt to maintain eye contact, despite my scant attire, didn't go unnoticed. His voice carried an odd note that I soon attributed to my current state of undress—bare in just my boxer briefs.

"I heard you across the hall." Derek's tone carried a thread of concern, his eyes scanning my disheveled appearance—a clear indication of my distress.

"Sorry. Bad dream," I croaked, a chilling draft slipping around me like wraiths, causing me to shudder.

"Did you get sick?" Derek inquired, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer, the back of his hand gently meeting my feverish skin. "You feel like you're on fire."

"Since when do werewolves catch the flu?" I joked weakly, my lids heavy with the weight of my exhausted state.

"We don't," he responded, his grip firm yet gentle on my arm, steering me back to the sanctuary of my bed. "Lie down. I'll be back."

I complied without protest, the mattress a welcome cradle for my weary form.

Derek returned, pulling the desk chair beside the bed.

I audibly winced at the sound of the chair shrieking across the floor.

Derek placed a comforting hand on my bare shoulder, the warmth was a comforting contrast to the chill that suddenly struck my body.

"Concentrating on something specific might alleviate the sensitivity," Derek suggested, his voice soothing as he laid a cool, damp cloth upon my fevered brow.

Grasping onto Derek's advice, I zeroed in on a rhythmic beating that resonated soothingly in my ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Derek's heartbeat played like a lullaby.

Feeling my body begin to unwind, Derek began to prepare a medicinal mixture, the scent strong and potent—a sharp contrast to the subtler tones I needed.

Refocusing, I found consolation in the familiar scent of leather, musk and earth. The essence of Derek wrapped around me like a blanket.

Noticing my quiescence, Derek's expression softened.

"Better?"

"A bit, yeah," my voice was a parched whisper as Derek passed me two cups, one containing his homemade remedy.

"What is it?"

"It's a remedy my mother made when those of our family who were human felt unwell... It doesn't taste great from what I was told but it helps."My heart contracted with empathy at the mention of his family. The family he lost.