Stiles sighed, far louder than he would if his faculties were not soaked through with alcohol, and licked his lips.
Derek looked fine. Damn fine.
It was a good thing, Stiles thought, that everyone in the room, even the wolves, were just as sloshed as he was. ‘Cause otherwise they’d be able to smell just how turned on he was by Derek. They also probably wouldn’t all still be naked after their evening run, either, though.
Derek, in Stiles’ completely unbiased opinion, was rocking the whole skin-is-in vibe better than any of them.
It wasn’t wasn’t just because the obvious, either. Oh, Stiles could happily rant and rave — until the moon danced around the earth and back again — about Derek’s perfectly round nipples and the astonishingly exquisite V of his Adonis belt and his superbly furry chest and the impeccable cut of his abs and well, now that Stiles’ had got a look at it for more than a few seconds? Even the man’s cock looked exquisite: long and thick, with a magnificently generous foreskin and heavy, low hanging balls that Stiles just wanted to suck inside his mouth and…
Stiles sat back and hoped no one noticed he was hard, or drooling. Thankfully they were all, apparently, too focused on the fact that Derek had just downed his third wolf’s brew in a row. He was beating the Markowitz pack’s alpha by at least half a glass.
What really turned Stiles on, more even than all of the above, was that Derek was letting himself relax and enjoy and be something akin to what he might have if not for all the shit that Beacon Hills had thrown at him over the years.
He looked happy.
“Hale’s going to beat Dad,” Alexandr, the future Markowitz alpha, moaned as he slid a little closer. He’d been friendly with them all, but a little more so with Stiles. The attention was nice. Even if it could go nowhere because of distance and pack politics and the fact that Stiles was very much head-over-unrequited-heels for his own grumpy alpha. “You’ll help me deal with the shame, won’t you, Stiles?” Stiles could practically hear the guy’s lashes fluttering.
Then he heard a crunch and crash and turned around and Derek’s eyes were rage-red and he was bleeding around the shards of shattered beer glass in his hand. He was making a sound Stiles didn’t think he’d ever heard before — a low, warm rumble that seemed to come from under his lungs rather than in them. His fangs had dropped.
Stiles caught, out of the corner of his eye, the sharp movements as Alexandr bent his neck and then most everyone else followed.
The Markowitz alpha didn’t quite go that far, but the man sounded contrite, even to Stiles’ drunk ears. “Our apologies, Alpha Hale. We didn’t realize Mister Stilinski was spoken for. I’m sure my son meant no offense.”
Stiles blinked and tried not to notice that Derek’s body, all of his body, was at attention, ready to fight: the knot was difficult to miss. He summoned his own voice, hoping that it didn’t waiver. “Derek?”
Derek shifted his gaze from Alexandr to Stiles, his eyes fading back to green. He blinked a few times and seemed to focus his gaze on Stiles and flared his nostrils and.
Stiles could not not notice that Derek’s still-hard cock twitched.
Stiles sighed, far louder than he would if his faculties were not soaked through with alcohol, and licked his lips.
Derek looked fine. Damn fine.
It was a good thing, Stiles thought, that everyone in the room, even the wolves, were just as sloshed as he was. ‘Cause otherwise they’d be able to smell just how turned on he was by Derek. They also probably wouldn’t all still be naked after their evening run, either, though.
Derek, in Stiles’ completely unbiased opinion, was rocking the whole skin-is-in vibe better than any of them.
It wasn’t wasn’t just because the obvious, either. Oh, Stiles could happily rant and rave — until the moon danced around the earth and back again — about Derek’s perfectly round nipples and the astonishingly exquisite V of his Adonis belt and his superbly furry chest and the impeccable cut of his abs and well, now that Stiles’ had got a look at it for more than a few seconds? Even the man’s cock looked exquisite: long and thick, with a magnificently generous foreskin and heavy, low hanging balls that Stiles just wanted to suck inside his mouth and…
Stiles sat back and hoped no one noticed he was hard, or drooling. Thankfully they were all, apparently, too focused on the fact that Derek had just downed his third wolf’s brew in a row. He was beating the Markowitz pack’s alpha by at least half a glass.
What really turned Stiles on, more even than all of the above, was that Derek was letting himself relax and enjoy and be something akin to what he might have if not for all the shit that Beacon Hills had thrown at him over the years.
He looked happy.
“Hale’s going to beat Dad,” Alexandr, the future Markowitz alpha, moaned as he slid a little closer. He’d been friendly with them all, but a little more so with Stiles. The attention was nice. Even if it could go nowhere because of distance and pack politics and the fact that Stiles was very much head-over-unrequited-heels for his own grumpy alpha. “You’ll help me deal with the shame, won’t you, Stiles?” Stiles could practically hear the guy’s lashes fluttering.
Then he heard a crunch and crash and turned around and Derek’s eyes were rage-red and he was bleeding around the shards of shattered beer glass in his hand. He was making a sound Stiles didn’t think he’d ever heard before — a low, warm rumble that seemed to come from under his lungs rather than in them. His fangs had dropped.
Stiles caught, out of the corner of his eye, the sharp movements as Alexandr bent his neck and then most everyone else followed.
The Markowitz alpha didn’t quite go that far, but the man sounded contrite, even to Stiles’ drunk ears. “Our apologies, Alpha Hale. We didn’t realize Mister Stilinski was spoken for. I’m sure my son meant no offense.”
Stiles blinked and tried not to notice that Derek’s body, all of his body, was at attention, ready to fight: the knot was difficult to miss. He summoned his own voice, hoping that it didn’t waiver. “Derek?”
Derek shifted his gaze from Alexandr to Stiles, his eyes fading back to green. He blinked a few times and seemed to focus his gaze on Stiles and flared his nostrils and.
Stiles could not not notice that Derek’s still-hard cock twitched.
ALSO. Imagine stiles causing conflict w the supernatural bc things are DRAWN to him and the pack is constantly having to chase away creatures that are trying to cOURT him like he’s some maiden in the seventeen hundreds or something and are prepared to DUEL TO THE DEATH for him and ?? He’s so confused
IM SCREAMING THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I LOVE AND ADORE
look look i have the headcanon that stiles is just used to people wanting scott instead, like there is a ridiculous amount of people who see stiles and try to flirt but stiles somehow either doesn’t notice or thinks they want to get with scott.
look this is how the interaction normally goes down:
person: *looks at scott and stiles always together, always all over each other being affectionate* person: *approaches stiles* so, um *blushes* i was wondering if you’re dating that boy or- stiles: ahah scotty? nah, we’re just bffs person: *perks up* oh! well, i was wondering if- stiles: sorry he’s in a commited relationship *pats their shoulder and walks away* person: ??????????????????????????
like this boy’s self-esteem is so bad he doesn’t even think people wOULD WANT to date him or flirt with him and that iS TERRIBLE because you have people panting after him left, right and center
and not only THAT but they know he likes lydia martin and they’re not really sure what’s up with that but just in case lydia is playing hard to get or anything they do NOT want to interfere and summon her wrath
and when they know for sure she doesn’t want to date stiles there’s suddenly a group of VERY ATRACTIVE teenagers around stiles and on stiles all times of the day
not only that, there’s that SCARY OLDER BOY WHO LOOKS LIKE HE’LL MURDER YOU IF YOU LOOK AT HIM WRONG always around him, scowling, looking menacing and bantering back and forth and oh-oh stiles is hot but they really do not want to get murdered
so now they all just think stiles is in a polyamorous relationship with those teens and that older boy is probs his sugar daddy
and the pack is just so frequently around him (fight me i want happy pack i will get happy pack) and so the flirting overtures are close to impossible and when they are possible stiles is oblivious and misunderstands them every single time.
so they just content themselves to taking not that subtle pictures of him (and probs jerking off to them at home lesbereal) and putting them up on that one blog the reyes girl started all that time ago before she turned hot and became part of stiles’ harem. like she’s proof right there dreams come true
(extra points if erica takes pictures when stiles isn’t looking and destroys everyone’s lives with them, there’s q&a time at her blog. ppl cry out their frustrations as she cackles and gives them deets on how capable stiles seems to be at stuff)
aND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE SUPERNATURAL because it’s like stiles is a beacon to them and they just want stiles as theirs and stiles is so oblivious and doing all these things that just make them have a constant boner, be in a constant state of arousal and the pack is just defending him like “look i know but hands off pal”
and when they tell him this dispute is because the supernaturals want him in their pack he’s just like “ahah, v funny guyz but for real tho”
and i could keep going but i actual have another ask about scott and derek having to fend off other werewolves at conventions so i will talk more about supernaturals and how stiles’ ass is a beacon for them in that post
“Nice butt!” someone shouts from
across the park, and Stiles glares in the general direction of the
voice as he clenches his fingers more tightly around Derek’s.
“Assholes, seriously,” he mutters.
“I am literally holding your hand, you’d think it’d be
obvious that you’re taken, ugh. Some people…”
Derek stops, and seeing as their hands
are locked together, Stiles is forced to stop too.
“What?” he asks when he realizes
Derek are staring at him.
“I’m taken?”
“Well… yeah,” Stiles says,
suddenly cautious. Because they are exclusive… aren’t they?
“Unless you-”
“Don’t,” Derek cuts him off. “Don’t
start that again. I’m definitely taken. By you and with you,” he
adds, because he’s an adorable goober like that, and Stiles leans in
to peck his lips, heaving a small sigh of relief.
“Judging from how many hot people
catcall you even when you’re attached to me, you can’t blame
me for worrying just a little bit.” That you might one day take
someone better than me up on their offer. He
doesn’t say it, but it’s obvious Derek knows that he’s thinking it,
and barely a heartbeat later Derek is pulling him in, until they’re
touching from knee to neck, Derek’s hands clutched possessively on
his ass and the back of his head respectively, as he licks into his
mouth.
Stiles
is a little dazed when Derek finally slows down, and lets their lips
part, slow and lingering.
“Idiot,”
he breathes fondly. “They’re talking about you.”
“Bwuh?”
Stiles asks, still a little kiss-dumb.
“The
catcallers. Do you even know what you’re wearing?”
“…jeans?”
Derek
makes a hot noise in his throat. “Yeah. The good ones Lydia got you
for Christmas.”
“So?”
“So…
they make your ass look fucking edible.”
Stiles
blinks slowly, because what?
“But…
but you’re the one-”
“I’m
wearing board shorts and tennis socks, Stiles.”
Stiles
has to look down and check, because he hadn’t even remotely noticed
what Derek was wearing, too busy that morning lamenting that Derek
chose to wear clothes at all. And he’d worn his own jeans because
Derek had handed them to him while he was busy ogling. Damn, that was
a sneaky move.
“You
picked these for me to wear,” he accuses, though he can’t help but
smile, because he loves it when Derek is a little bit devious.
“Yes,
I did,” Derek admits smugly, not a hint of shame on his face.
“Soooo,”
Stiles drawls. “I should just take one of these offers, then?”
The
heated snarl and thorough necking he gets for that is very
satisfying.
shealwaysreads 