stealth mode: sneezing? (Teen Wolf - Derek Hale)

[Owlinatree]

It's been a while since I was on here; life's been crazy. However! I'm back and here with some self-indulgent third-person stuff. Not too much sneezing in this (see: self-indulgent plot things) but I have one more part that's a bit more exciting, from Stiles' POV. In this fic, Stiles is 23 and Derek is 27, and werewolves are slightly different. Enjoy! ( @Voodoo huntress I swear I didn't mean to disappear off the face of the Earth! I hope that you can forgive me )

 

She doesn’t feel too bad about herself later, as she’s filling out the paperwork and making formal apologies to her superiors, that she didn’t notice. And really? It’s not her fault. Nowhere in her manual or in her training did they address allergies, so she really can’t be blamed for missing the rest.

It was only her second posting, and the likelihood of her catching any wolves, let alone any worth writing home about, was slim to none. Which was, incidentally, why she had no backup and no help. Weres were rare in the kind of B&B that she was put in charge of, and the vague specs she had been provided really didn’t help— Muscular man, may have facial hair, constant glare, angry demeanor. May be traveling with other shifters, also muscular, unconfirmed human companion, antagonistic relationship. Best chance with female hunter; seduction. Which is why she didn’t think anything was out of the norm, besides the obvious; in suburban Syracuse, gay couples generally stayed secret or moved down to the city.

A few months in, a nondescript silver car pulls into the parking lot. Two men get out, one lithe and pale, the other well-built, tan, and a little older. This is nothing new, though, consistent with her normal clientele. The paler one stretches in the driver’s seat, causing his worn graphic tee to ride up, and there the other man’s hungry gaze makes the duo far more interesting. She watches as the older man licks his lips and stares unabashedly at the exposed strip of torso, reaching over to offer his hand while using the other to rub at an eye. Hmm. Long trip? She’d watch a bit more, but the inn calls her attention. When she puts down the phone, the two men are walking into the lobby, the younger hefting a large duffel and the older trailing behind, a slight furrow in his thick brows and the heel of his hand grinding into the same eye as before. She notices the pink tinge that colors both of his eyes, and the slight flare to the man’s nostrils as he sniffs warily.

This, now, is worth note. Is the man scenting the inn? Not that he’d be able to smell any aconite from the well-warded lobby, but that he seems to be trying trips alarms in her mind. She plasters on a large smile and leans onto the counter, watching intently.

“How can I help you two gentlemen?” she drawls, seeing the younger smirk and lean into the older, now caught up and standing close to the other.

“We’d like a room, please.” the other man squints and elbows him “One bed! We only need one bed.” he breaks off, waggling his eyebrows in a way that could either be suggestive or could suggest the imminent departure of key facial hair. Maybe Wolf snorts amusement, then a look of confusion steals over his face as he reaches for his shirt collar. She grips her taser under the counter, not sure what’s happening, when the man pulls the collar of his henley over his nose and mouth and flinches into a triplet of adorable sneezes. She would be hopelessly charmed if he weren’t clearly already taken, but the disarming action still manages to convince her to disarm, and she hands over a box of tissues instead.

“Allergy season is rough here, and it sounds like you’ve managed to catch the very beginning of it!” He dips his head slightly, face still covered. “We have a box of tissues in every room, but I can get some extras sent up to you if you’d like.” The man’s ears flush, and when he attempts to refuse politely, his companion steps in.

“That would be great; thank you so much. Der gets horrible allergies in the spring, and it’s been pretty bad since we got up here.” She sees her chance to press for information, so she takes it.

“Up here? Were you in the city before? Real different from the rest of the state.” He nods, then adds “We were in the city for a while; wanted to try the great outdoors. Seems like they don’t agree too well with this one here.” The one in question moves in an aborted kind of twitch, making a strange noise deep in his throat. It could almost be a growl, but then the man is coughing dryly into his fist, and she chides her paranoia for getting in the way of good hospitality. The inn might be a cover, but that doesn’t mean she can’t take it seriously.

The men take their room key and duffel, ambling over to the elevators and chatting quietly. She adds them to her mental list, because they fit some of the suspect parameters, and resolves to keep watch. The phone sounds its latest plea for her attention, and with a sigh, the men are relegated to the back of her mind.

 

She’s clearing some breakfast plates, bringing them to her kitchen staff, when the two make their next appearance. The skinny one is wearing a flannel and a smirk, and his counterpart has donned a henley and a glower. They are making their way to a table, one gesticulating wildly and the other barely listening. Flannel pulls out a chair with an exaggerated curtsy, and Henley rolls his eyes but softens, a small smile finding its way onto his face. She strolls over with a short menu and a cheerful grin, and Flannel waves an exuberant hello.

“Good morning! Well, I guess no mornings are good for Sourw- uhh Sourwaffle over here, but he’s practically nocturnal, so. I am, too, though, y’know, with the hyper and all and stuff. Anyways, pancakes! Do you guys have those because if not you really should consider the awesome that pancakes are and—oww, dude!” Her ears have given up, she thinks dazedly, as the young man yelps and sends a mutinous look at Sourwaffle (?) across the table, who is rolling his eyes again and passing a beat up mint container across the table. He turns to her, and in a voice rounded with congestion, requests a glass of milk and a mug of coffee with some half and half. His eyes are less bloodshot today, but his nose is faring no better than the night before, crinkling as he worries at the tip with a knuckle. When she returns with their drinks, Flannel is placing the decorative wildflowers that had adorned their table on the booth at his left, and brightens visibly when she sets down the milk, immediately downing it with two small pills from the mint box.

“Adderall, for the,” he gestures vaguely at his disjointedly bouncing legs with a wry grin. She glances around to the rest of the room, which is empty, and pulls a chair up to the small table.

“I haven’t had the chance to properly introduce myself!” She opens with small talk, quickly tossing the conversation over to the two newcomers. Flannel catches on easily.

“I’m Stiles, and this fine specimen of man here is Derek.” The fine specimen in question grunts, opening a packet of sugar for his coffee. “Mornings are really not his thing. Or afternoons. But nights, however—” cutting Stiles off seems to be the chief form of communication in which Derek engages.

“Do you know any good mechanics out here? Our car’s got some engine problem. Might need to be towhh-towed—” he breaks off, wriggling his nose and grabbing vaguely at the table. He’s handed a napkin by his tablemate, but not quickly enough; Derek’s head whips down so that he catches most of his first two sneezes in his shoulder. He brings the napkin up to muffle the next sneezes, which are gaining intensity and frequency, finally granted a respite after several more such outbursts. His eyes have teared up, and he blinks rapidly as his breath falters, chest heaving with exertion and neck muscles tense. He pulls some real tissues from his pocket, and she startles a little at the volume as he attempts to clear his abused sinuses. His ears and the back of his neck are ruddy with embarrassment, and he ducks his head slightly, slumping down in his seat as if he’s trying to shrink.

“I thindk I mbight haahve to go back to the roomb for toohhiih . . . heh- hhrUSHew . . . . hhURSH- IISHoo!” Derek has his head cradled in his arms, like he’s trying to block out the pollen that’s attacking his misguided immune system with shirt sleeves and sheer force of will. Stiles makes a small noise of sympathy, reaching across and ruffling Derek’s now thoroughly mussed hair fondly. He excuses both of them before his pancakes are made, slinging a lithe arm around the shoulders of his unsteady companion, directing them to the elevators with soft direction.

“C’mon, big guy. Let’s get some of the good stuff—” he looks back and mouths ‘Benedryl’ “—in you. We’re gonna cuddle for today, I think.” It’s a testament to how miserable Derek is that he doesn’t even try to protest, following along with eyes squeezed shut and a hand massaging his nose, which has reddened in response to his fit. He gives a liquid sniff and leans on his partner, nuzzling Stiles’s ear with his irritated nose.

“Hey, no, uh-uh, not today, snotty,” Derek snuffles in protest “is this payback for me driving? If so, you’ve definitely won.” Stiles tilts his head and, before Derek can react, plants a tiny kiss on the tip of his twitching nose. Derek manages a fleeting glare before leaning into Stiles’ secure embrace, burying his face in a flannel-clad shoulder in resignation, tired sneezes quiet, muffled into the soft fabric. She realizes that this moment isn’t meant for her, so she turns her back, walking to the kitchen where she arranges for pancakes to be brought up to their room.

[ID2006]

It feels like it's been forever since I've read some good Sterek material. Really hope to see this continued.

[RemedyBane]

STEREK! please continue?

[Voodoo huntress]

Hey! Dat me!

I've never been tagged in anything before, thank you!

And honestly, I've been away from the forum too. I made a snz tumblr blog and I just post my art on it. 

[Owlinatree]

On 6/24/2017 at 11:14 PM, ickydog2006 said:

It feels like it's been forever since I've read some good Sterek material. Really hope to see this continued.

!!! Thank you!!! Wow omg thats really sweet of u <3 

On 6/25/2017 at 3:41 AM, RemedyBane said:

STEREK! please continue?

Yup, it sure is. uh,,

On 6/25/2017 at 8:23 AM, Voodoo huntress said:

Hey! Dat me!

I've never been tagged in anything before, thank you!

And honestly, I've been away from the forum too. I made a snz tumblr blog and I just post my art on it. 

Really? you deserve it tho! (also I made one too! i just started posting but it's a nice community.)

 

OK OK OK Time for part 2! This one's from Stiles' POV and I like the snz content in it a lot! reviews and feedback in general make my heart happy. Still more plot than snz, but also my first fic so i will let it slide lol. ALSO i changed some bad words so hopefully that's ok? if not somebody lmk and i will change it ASAP. Here you go!

 

__________________________________________________________

 

He’s pissed at himself, later as they check into a small B&B just outside Syracuse, that he hadn’t figured it out before he strong-armed Derek into a full week’s vacation in the allergy capital of the Northeast. Because of course, that was the one variable he forgot to account for, and of course, Derek wasn’t about to say anything about his own health or safety. Stiles just, he feels like a selfish prick because he’d planned the whole trip around himself, even scanning forecasts of atmospheric air pressure and humidity for his own stupid 23-year old arthritic joints, but hadn’t thought to check pollen forecasts for his boyfriend, the one with a ridiculously sensitive nose that rejects anything that couldn’t be found a thousand years ago in a remote Minnesotan forest, and whose supernatural inclinations metabolize any medications ingested within the hour. This could easily have ended up as a minor miscalculation with no consequences, but obviously, it didn’t. He’s Stiles; he should be used to it by now.

“Look, Der, it’s not that I expected you to swoon or anything, but it would be nice if you expressed a tiny bit of appreciation for the time and effort I put into this!” He scans the table despondently, taking in the various lists and meticulously planned schedules that would all have to be scrapped. Derek has folded his arms and carefully shaped his face into a blank expression that has Stiles’ stomach sinking; this is the face Derek pulls when he’s about to revert back to his old, uncommunicative self, the man who had shoved Stiles into several hard surfaces, the man who had, in the past few years, been able to reconcile the mistakes he’d made as the teenager he was with recognition of value in the man he is. He still closes himself off, though, when he feels vulnerable or if he thinks that some shortcoming of his will inconvenience others, and Stiles is working on accepting that it’s a coping mechanism, and nothing personal. It’s hard, though, given that he’s worked two full days on just a few hours of sleep to get together a vacation that can give them alone time while still ensuring that pack matters are taken care of, and he wanted them to have something good for once, and when Derek takes a full minute before saying, simply,

“I don’t like New York.” Stiles simply blinks and bulldozes ahead.

“It’s not the city, because I know you went there right after the fire with Laura. You know I wouldn’t make you go there and revisit that trauma, or, well, I hope you do, and if you don’t, I’m letting you know now, and I had to make upwards of ten phone calls— phone calls— to get all the pack obligations sorted, and—” He’s distantly aware of the fact that he’s lost control of his mouth, and that Derek is staring at him while absentmindedly rubbing his nose, but far more present is his anxiety: he’s worked so hard on something, using all of his best skills and strengths to make this work, and it’s devastating that his best will still be rejected. He’s standing by, watching a train crash a mile away, while sinking into a (much more urgent) pool of lava. Derek puts an end to the litany with a firm, grounding hand at the nape of his neck, pulling their foreheads together briefly.

“I— uh, I didn’t mean it harshly. Trust me, I know that you wouldn’t do that kind of thing. It’s stupid of me, anyway, and you’ve been so invested in planning this thing. I could use some time off, without the pressure of,” he flaps a hand in the general direction of his office “and we both deserve a break.” Stiles nods curtly, and doesn’t press the anti-New York issue further, instead pulling the sole suitcase they own from the hall closet. Never let it be said he can’t avoid his feelings let something go. Really.

“Ta-da! It’s going to be great!” He hefts the worn suitcase onto the table, or tries to. By the humor of some asshole celestial power, the suitcase has split entirely in two. They take a duffel.

---

They’re barely two hours out of LaGuardia Airport when it starts, Derek driving their rental, and Stiles sleeping in the backseat. Stiles stirs at a gas station, briefly mumbling something about driving and cheetos, before returning to some much needed sleep. He’d been working non-stop on a case for weeks and had managed to pull together all of the necessary evidence for arrest just hours before the plane departed. He’d been too keyed up to sleep while in the air, stumbling through all necessary interactions with people, chatting up TSA officers and running the paperwork for the car they’d reserved, before conking out in the back with his pillow almost immediately after opening the car door.

---

Stiles brushes the surface of wakefulness, wondering what might have roused him. He doesn’t open his eyes, instead taking advantage of the rare calm in his head. He inhales, tasting the plasticky tang of new car, some kind of coffee, and the fresh scent of cut grass. He pays attention to his body, feeling the carpet of the seat, almost painful beneath his arm, which is sandwiched under his pillow. The moving car rumbles steadily underneath, and Stiles feels the vibration of machinery and small bumps in the road, jostling him slightly. He listens, next, easily moving on to the sound of the car as it hums along, accompanied by faint bird calls and the chirping chorus of crickets. He gradually becomes aware of a sound that he is slow to identify, harsh and irregular. He blinks his eyes lazily, then snaps them open when he registers the source of the noise; Derek. His boyfriend has one hand on the wheel and one at his face, where he is using his palm to press his leaking nose upwards in a familiar gesture, attempting to stave off an allergy attack. He’s clearly trying not to sneeze, eyes narrowed into slits and nose creased, but he doesn’t hold out for long before

“Hhhiihh … hhhfrick shhhit hh-hnngxt! Hhheh? hhhACKchew-nngxch!” Derek’s barely even looking at the road at this point, so consumed by the itching, burning feeling that’s taken over his whole face. He rubs his tongue across his palate, though he knows it will do nothing, and returns to scrubbing at his traitorous nose as if he can intimidate it into submission. He knows better, that he won’t really get rid of the damned tickle until he’s been away from the allergen for upwards of a day, but he’s willing to try again just in case his body’s finally gotten the memo.

Stiles frowns at the painful stifles, realization dawning that in order for his sneezes to be this irrepressible, Derek must have been feeling like shit for a while. And Stiles had slept through it. He decides to curb his guilt trip before he ends up taking two vacations in one day, instead electing to stretch and yawn loudly so as not to startle his poor boyfriend. It’s no use, though, because Derek’s entire consciousness had so devoted itself to suppressing his reaction that he manages to be surprised anyway.

“Wh— Stiles? WhehhHRSHew! hh-URsh-Uhshew! Hhhiiiihhh…hISHew! Shit, sorry, snf, whed did you wake uhhih-hrUSHoo!” Stiles takes pity on his ailing partner, answering the unfinished question.

“Just now, in time to catch that particularly spectacular display” Derek flushes, embarrassed. “When did your an allergy attack start?” Shifty eyes tell him he’s going to receive a lie, and sure enough: “Uhh, dot too log ago. Mbust be sobethig id the … umb, the fielhhhd.” He punctuates the statement with a thick sniff and a nod in the general direction of the window, moving on now to grinding the knuckles of his fist into his nose, which has long passed pink and is swollen with histamines.

His face is broadcasting allergic misery, and Stiles wants to put him in a bubble and teleport him home immediately. He attempts to relay this message to Derek, but is first interrupted by another furious flurry of sneezes, now too harsh to even attempt to stifle, then is assured that Derek is actually fine, that he’s just adjusting to the area, and that they can still follow the itinerary. Stiles feels like an idiot as a gear clicks into place, and he groans.

“Shit, Der. You said you didn’t like New York, but I thought it was just a weirdly vehement hatred for the Rangers or something. I didn’t know you meant that the air is literally toxic to you!”

“To be fair, I did’t say as buch out loud. Wasd’t by best—hhUSH-uh! by best hour of combudi— uhh, tellig you thigs.” Derek attempts to find words without any ‘m’ or ‘n’s in them. He’s … not entirely successful, but he blames that on the several colonies of fire ants that have established themselves in his eyes and sinuses. It makes everything else seem much less important. Stiles hums a sympathetic little whine, then straightens.

“Pull over. I’m driving.” Derek seems about to protest, but then Stiles raises an eyebrow in the mirror at his boyfriend’s reflection after a few particularly violent sneezes send the car weaving across the (thankfully empty) road, and he acquiesces reluctantly. Stiles doesn’t usually drive; he tends to treat all cars as if they were his beat-up old Jeep, deciding that they should be able to survive any terrain and that if they can’t, then there’s always duct tape, but he’s rested enough to safely drive the car to the nearest motel, hopefully one with decent A/C and air filtration. The car starts to make a strange popping sound when he hits the brakes, and though Stiles swears he’s not done anything, he can’t deny that the car will most likely need attention later.

---

Stiles fist-pumps in victory when he reaches the turn-off for a bed and breakfast, the kind he and Derek rarely stop at due to the National Hunter Society setting up shop at the majority.

Fortunately for their cover, Derek’s allergies are somewhat of an anomaly for a werewolf, especially given their intensity, and most B&B stationed hunters are not particularly well-versed in the intricacies of werewolf physiology; they’ll be safe as long as Derek remains non-threatening. One glance at the man beside him reassures Stiles that “threatening” does not describe the supernatural killing machine awkwardly curled up in the passenger seat. Derek’s snoring loudly with his mouth parted for breath, thin mucus running down his upper lip. His eyes and nose are puffy, tinged a deep pink, and his nose twitches every so often, eyebrows drawing together intermittently. His leather-clad arms are crossed over his well-defined chest, but he looks vulnerable like this, curled up against the window.

Stiles smiles softly. They will be fine, if only indoors for the duration of their trip.

[ID2006]

Lol, I love it. Plenty of snarky banter and sneezing, and it's Sterek! Hard to go wrong with Sterek.

[Voodoo huntress]

I refuse to believe this is your first fic because this is better than my sub-standard crap and DON'T ARGUE WITH ME ON THIS

We should follow each other! I only have yuri on ice art atm but I plan on expanding into more of my favorite ships *cough*Sterek*cough*. 

[ID2006]

1 hour ago, Voodoo huntress said:

I refuse to believe this is your first fic because this is better than my sub-standard crap and DON'T ARGUE WITH ME ON THIS

We should follow each other! I only have yuri on ice art atm but I plan on expanding into more of my favorite ships *cough*Sterek*cough*. 

Please do, which reminds me I haven't checked the art section in ages.

[Voodoo huntress]

2 minutes ago, ickydog2006 said:

Please do, which reminds me I haven't checked the art section in ages.

Its on my tumblr, lol. Docjamie is the name of it. Feel free to gaze upon my crappy art

[Owlinatree]

2 hours ago, Voodoo huntress said:

I refuse to believe this is your first fic because this is better than my sub-standard crap and DON'T ARGUE WITH ME ON THIS

We should follow each other! I only have yuri on ice art atm but I plan on expanding into more of my favorite ships *cough*Sterek*cough*. 

 YOU ARE TOO NICE OMG

I followed you! My blog is kinda empty right now though 

[queenie]

Wow, that IS some quality snz content. 10/10, would revisit!!

[RemedyBane]

i love this <3