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𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔵 𝔬𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔱

*

“Oh my god.” Stiles stares at the wolf sitting in front of him. “What just happened?”

The werewolf sneezes again and suddenly there’s a red-nosed, naked Derek sitting in front of him.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles, his brows set in a fierce scowl as he untangles himself from his ruined clothes.

“Of course not.” Stiles bites his lip to keep from grinning and passes over the box of tissues. “Nothing at all funny about sneezing yourself into a wolf.” He hands Derek the blanket from the back of the couch. “So, does this happen every time you get sick?”

“I’m not sick.” Derek sniffs, tugging the blanket closer around himself.

“Really?” Stiles stares pointedly at Derek. “Because the fever and non-stop sneezing say otherwise.”

“Werewolves don’t get sick.” Right on cue, Derek sneezes again and the blanket drops as he loses the use of his opposable thumbs.

“Not really helping your argument there, big guy.” Unable to hold back the grin this time, Stiles covers his mouth with a hand and takes a seat on the couch.

The wolf whines, flopping across the cushions, his chin resting on Stiles’ thigh.

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says, tangling his fingers in Derek’s thick fur. “Being sick sucks.” He finds the spot on the side of his neck and scratches. “But, on the plus side, we have nowhere to be today.” He throws his feet up on the coffee table. “So, movies?”

The werewolf sneezes, his whole body rippling with the force. Stiles doesn’t flinch, just shifts his hand higher to run through Derek’s hair. With the other hand he reaches down to drag the blanket back up over them both.

Derek curls up to fit his legs on the couch, turning his face to press it into his partners leg. “No one in the pack can ever know about this.” 

Stiles huffs a fond snort at the muffled words.