Sterek One-shots

Paint.

Stiles flailed, chair falling backwards as he did, creating a thump louder than the one that had originally scared him. The man by his window stood up, adjusting his clothing as he walked towards the younger boy whose eyes were blown wide, heart beating a mile a minute. Derek inhaled deeply trying to determine what it was he could smell. Fear. Stiles was scared, but it wasn't unusual of Derek to stop by, he'd been doing it a lot more recently. There was something a bit more tangy mixed in, something Derek definitely wasn't used to smelling emanating off Stiles: embarrassment.

He realised he'd halted by the corner of Stiles' bed and that Stiles was now scrambling to set himself back on his feet. Shaking his head, he continued to pick his way through the books strewn across the floor. Research, Derek noted as he finally reached the desk Stiles was now frantically trying to get back to and failing instead tripping over a book open on a page that said "Araxine" in dark bold cursive lettering, "Weakens all but true heirs of the Blood-Thorn Witches." was written underneath.

Derek made a mental note to ask Stiles why he was researching witches when their newest "deadly" creature was a small (in comparison to others they'd heard about) pissed off ogre. The answer would probably be something about never being too prepared, especially when it came to The Pack. Derek would be inclined to agree.

He briefly considered helping Stiles stand and stay on his own two feet before his dark eyes travelled over the desk in its entirety, now close enough to see everything positioned in an uncharacteristically organised layout. He took in the pencils, the watercolour and acrylic paints, the brushes resting in a glass of slightly murky water and finally, finally, his eyes landed on the thick sketchbook paper.

The artistic - almost complete - painting was of a brown-haired young adult male with a smattering of moles contrasting his pale white skin - Stiles. He was wearing his statement red hoodie zipped up so you could only see a small triangle of grey peeking over the top, dark black trousers clinging tightly to his legs. He stood just above the middle of the marbled blue-purple pool of colour on the page. But that wasn't what shocked him, it was the fact that Stiles was paired with a black, shaggy looking wolf that stood tall just in front of him, head turned to face whatever was ahead of them. The wolf had blood-red eyes that - despite being painted - seemed to glow like stars in a clear night sky, the end of its snout a lighter grey than the rest of its body and ears stood to attention.

He bit back a gasp of realisation, it was him, it was Derek. The two of them seemed to be guarding one another despite Derek being positioned in front of Stiles they both held a protective, strong stance. Derek's wolf was painted delicately, in a light he'd never seen himself in and it made him wonder if that's what he really looked like or if that's just how Stiles saw him. He couldn't help the small flicker of hope that it wasn't Stiles over exaggerating and in fact, was the latter.

Gently, he stretched a hand out towards the piece that was so well done it could've been easily mistaken for a professionals work but before he could touch the paper a hand slapped his away.

"Go away." The first words spoken, not counting the screech Stiles had let out when Derek first entered the room, broke the thick silence and Derek's trance. They came out strong yet wary but the illusion of 'I don't care' was broken by the wave of embarrassment, slight anger and undertone of confusion.

"Why?" He wasn't sure if the word was a question as to why Stiles had illustrated such an intimate work or as to why he should go. Either worked.

"Just go, please." The plea in his voice was so immensely desperate and unsure that Derek knew - could just tell - that he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. But Derek wanted to stay and talk despite never wanting to do such a thing for eight or more years. He knew he should leave, he was invading the home of a sheriff, he was invading Stiles' home. The latter seemed mildly more threatening than the former.