AN: Yes, it's that scene - the one Jeff Davis brainstormed but that never actually made the cut. I don't really have an excuse for this beyond - well - Tumblr. Tumblr is my excuse.

I don't own the boys or the show - I just like messin' with 'em.

UPDATE: This monster is basically a series of short stories - one per chapter. I figured it'd be easier to put them all together rather than try and sort the collection individually. So - welcome to the Once Bitten Verse. I hope you enjoy your stay :)

Derek would really fucking appreciate it if the universe would stop paralysing him and throwing him in the path of Stiles goddamn Stilinski. Actually, scratch that - he'd appreciate it if it'd stop throwing him in Stiles' path full stop.

Stiles huffs, breath fanning across Derek's jaw and for all he's pumped full of fucking kanima poison Derek feels every hot nuance of it. Screw his life so hard.

"Can you move yet?" Stiles asks. Derek growls low, because it's not the first time he's asked and just like before, the answer is still the goddamn same.

"No," he bites out. "Stop asking."

"Pardon me for wanting a progress report on the plan to save literally every person I care about," Stiles hisses and it's disconcerting, hearing the vehemence in the tone without the customary flailing that should go along with it. Derek huffs and flexes his fingers - he's managed to shift enough to unsheath his claws, fat lot of good it's doing.

"Your leg is pinning my hand," he growls. "I can't get close enough to kick start the healing process."

It takes Stiles a moment to get it. "That's your big plan?" He scoffs into Derek's skin. "Claw at yourself until your wolverine healing kicks in?"

"You got something better?" Derek says, jaw clenching and Jesus fuck, it's bad enough he's paralysed - weighed down in his own body and trapped - he seriously - seriously - could have done without the five foot ten slab of teenage sarcasm plastered all over him to boot.

Fucking Matt. A good fucking pair his ass.

Stiles goes silent for a few moments and Derek would relish it but he knows the signs that proceed one of Stiles' disaster plans. It should probably be worrying that he knows him that well.

"How hurt do you need to be?" Stiles asks and yep, Derek's not going to like this at all.

"I don't know," Derek says. "Enough that my body thinks it's a threat."

"So... Broken skin?"

Derek frowns. "Probably, what-what the fuck are you doing?"

Stiles stops to hiss him quiet which Derek would take offence at except holy fucking Jesus-

"Be quiet," Stiles says. "I'm trying to get to your neck."

"By licking my face?" Derek hisses. A breeze sneaks in under the door and prickles cold across the wet stripe of where Stiles had prodded at Derek's jaw. With his tongue. The actual fuck.

"I'm not exactly enjoying this y'know," Stiles gripes. "But my mouth is the only thing I can move right now and if I'm going to get close enough to bite-"

Oh hell no. "You are NOT biting me," Derek growls and Stiles - fuck him - scoffs. Actually scoffs.

"I really, really am," he says. "You said it yourself - you need to kick start the healing gig. Well here I am - this is me, kicking."

The thing is, it's not a bad plan - not logically, but instinctually? Derek feels a low, feral snarl build in his chest and Stiles, through whatever marvel of Stiles-ness, actually manages to freeze on top of him, while paralysed. Derek bites back on the growl and gnashes his teeth, claws itching.

"Come on, man," Stiles says, voice a little thinner than a moment before. "This is our only-"

"Do it," Derek bites out, harsh and furious because fuck it, Stiles may be a guided fucking missile aimed solely at Derek's last nerve but he's not wrong. This is their only choice.

Stiles sucks in a breath, steeling. "H'okay," he says and then-

"This is fucking ridiculous," Derek says, because he has to. Because if he doesn't say something he's going to be focusing too much on the feel of Stiles' fucking tongue, lancing out and pressing - nudging across his jaw to the tick of his neck just under his ear...

"You know what else is ridiculous?" Stiles gripes. "Your freaking stubble. Who taught you how to use a goddamn razor, a bear?"

Derek opens his mouth to reply but ends up choking on his words when Stiles' next lick-prod slides the wetness of his tongue right into Derek's motherfucking ear.

"Oh my god," Stiles groans. "If we get out of this, please don't kill me."

"Just hurry the fuck up," Derek growls and yep, that's his ear again. Stiles is breathing hard now, because apparently tonguing at Derek's face is fucking exerting or something. Derek swallows harshly and tries not to shiver which is proving mortifyingly difficult because Stiles' breath is hot and his tongue is right there, and how, how is this Derek's life?

With one last mind-bendingly traumatising prod, Stiles manages to push out enough that his head falls into the crook where Derek's neck becomes his shoulder. Derek doesn't care that he takes satisfaction at Stiles' grunt of pain as his forehead hits bone. Because there had been tongues in ears.

Stiles groans and Derek would jump if he were capable because fuck - for all Stiles' tongue had just been on his face, the feel of his wet, open mouth against Derek's neck is about ten times more intimate.

"Ready for this?" Stiles says. It comes out a mashed slur of words against Derek's skin but he understands it.

"Get it over with," Derek says and he braces himself. Fat lot of fucking use it does.

The first press of teeth against his neck washes his vision red, blood rushing in his ears as the wolf part of him - the alpha - all but howls it's challenge. It's all he can do to clamp down on the snarl that wants to break free. Stiles - thank god - doesn't stop. Derek doesn't think he could stamp down on another first wave of instinct if he did. Instead he seems to steel himself, opening his jaw slightly wider with a shaky scrape of teeth before gaining a grip and -

Derek stops breathing, air catching low and sharp in his chest as he feels his fangs lengthen and fuck...

It hurts - because of course it does - but it's not that that's making his heart thrash and claws score grooves in the linoleum floor. It's the burn of being dominated. Pressed down and marked.

Derek's submitted before of course. His father, as his alpha growing up, had pulled him into line on more than one occasion. After him had come Laura - Laura who wouldn't let him succumb to the guilt of what had happened - who had snarled and slammed him bodily though those first few years - the hardest years.

This though, this is different. Derek doesn't know if it's because he's an alpha himself now or whether it's because Stiles is human but the wolf side of him - the dark heat of instinct and pack - is twisting in on itself. Derek's never felt anything like it. The confusion is blinding but under that is a strong, hot thread of something he can't describe beyond intense.

Then Stiles lets go and the feeling whiplashes like a rubber band across his senses.

"Oh god," Stiles says, lips still against Derek's neck, now wetter than just breath. "Blood is so, so gross."

Derek clenches his hands and - Derek clenches his hands.

"Did it work?" Stiles asks. "Please say yes, I have absolutely no desire to do that ever, ever again."

Derek's answer is to reach up and grab a handful of Stiles' shirt. Dragging Stiles off him feels like lifting a semi-trailer but it's progress, progress that sees Stiles sprawled not on him for the first time in half an hour so Derek really can't complain. Stiles' mouth is bloody, teeth red as he grimaces. Derek finds himself not knowing what to do with the sight of it.

Then Scott bursts into the room and it doesn't matter anymore.