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With all the wolfy-supernatural business going on all the goddamn time, Stiles found that certain things in his life just started to fall by the wayside. Like the cleaning of his room for instance.
It was a disaster area to say the least. So, when there was finally a quiet Saturday, the teen turned off his phone, turned up the music, and got to work corralling the mess.
His father was out, a double shift at the station, leaving Stiles alone in the house, so he didn’t hesitate to dig out his favorite guilty pleasure. He grasped a heavily played CD and, looking around suspiciously for witnesses, slipped it into the drive of his laptop.
A whir, a quiet moment of loading, and the music started.
“YO I’LL TELL YA WANT I WANT WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT, SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT WHAT YOU REALLY REALLY WANT…”
The brunette teen hopped up, dancing around the space with reckless enthusiasm. So reckless that he had to grab for a a lamp before it crashed to the cluttered floor.
Moment of clumsiness aside, Stiles began working to remedy the mess. T-shirts were piled on the floor, crumpled bits of paper littered the carpet where he’d thrown them after a particularly frustrating night of research… he picked up a pair of pants and inspected a dirty gash in the denim at the knee.
He thought back to the incident that resulting in the destroying of his favorite pair of jeans and sighed. It had been a rough full moon. Scott was finally starting to get control of his inner wolf, but just enough that he didn’t want to kill and maim his best friend. Not quite to the point that he didn’t go running off towards the first howl of a fellow werewolf that he heard. And that night the first howl came from everyone’s favorite homicidal, stalker wolf, yep, Derek Hale.
That had certainly been a fantastic meeting. Derek and Scott threw each other around the forest, uprooting trees, destroying shrubs, and scaring wildlife, while they argued about The Pack and Stiles scrambled out of their way like his life depended on it (spoiler: it did).
But outside of his wolfy form, Stiles really didn’t know how he was supposed to react to Derek anymore. Of course he was scared out of his ever-loving mind of him at first; he’d have to be mentally deficient not to be.
But during the whole incident dealing with the psychotic Peter Hale and Allison’s hot, but admittedly deranged, aunt, he felt they’d grown a little closer. I mean, he wouldn’t call them friends, by any stretch of the imagination, but the guy had wanted him to cut off his arm with a electric bone saw in an animal hospital. That involved a certain level of trust.
So Stiles put it out of his mind for the time being, allowing the raunchy 90’s pop to drown out his confused thoughts. He began by trying to sort through laundry, but that just ended up as him reorganizing piles into different piles and couldn’t really be considered progress. He also tried rearranging the collection of textbooks and supernatural reference books he was perpetually borrowing from the library. More piles. Huh...
Eventually Stiles just abandoned all pretense of cleaning and decided cranked up the the music as loud as it would go. No one was home, right? So…
“COLORS OF THE WORLD, SPICE UP YOUR LIFE! EVERY BOY AND EVERY GIRL, SPICE UP YOUR LIFE, EVERY BOY AND EVERY GIRL, SPICE UP YOUR LIFE, AWWWWW-- OH my GOD!”
The teen stopped his wild dancing abruptly because just as his turned to face his bedroom window, a dark-haired leather clad intruder was making his way into the room.
“What the HELL are you doing in here,” he demanded, recognizing the shadow as Derek Hale almost immediately. He slapped his laptop shut, cutting off the music and adopted a threatening kung-fu pose (or what he hoped was threatening, oh God it definitely wasn’t threatening, he was so dead). “Don’t make me get Scott to go all wolfy on your furry ass.”
Derek rolled his eyes derisively, “That’s probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I’m not here to hurt you, I just wanted to talk...” The older boy paused. “What were you doing when I came in?”
Stiles eyes went wide and his face flushed bright red, “What, nothing, I wasn’t doing anything. Cleaning, and stuff, that’s all.”
Derek raised a dark eyebrow and stalked closer to the teen, cornering him.
“Really? Because it looked like dancing and it sounded like Spice Girls.”
Oh God, Derek was suddenly very close. Very, very close. Too close? But the heat, the smell of leather, his bright hazel eyes, it was… nice? Oh my God, it was nice, and Stiles was enjoying it and oh no, this was not good… He blushed harder, now pinned against his door in a familiar fashion.
“What? No, I don’t, what? I don’t listen to Spice Girls. And I really don’t dance. Nope. You don’t even want to see that; it’s like a-a twitchy lemur o-on stimulants. Not pretty.” He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the new Alpha’s presence, now surrounding him seemingly from all sides. There was a strange snuffling, and oh God Derek was sniffing him. Derek Hale was sniffing him!
“Mm, a shame,” he pulled back and fixed Stiles with a smoldering glare. “Because I thought it was pretty… hot.”
Stiles froze and was pretty sure he stopped breathing.
“Wha-- are you serious? Me? Hot? I mean, to the ladies sure, but Danny would never really answer my question about whether or not guys would find me att--”
Derek growled and slammed a hand on the door next to Stiles’ head.
“You talk to much,” he rumbled, and pressed his mouth over Stiles’ still moving lips.
Stiles froze in a reaction of self preservation, but after a few moments he realized he wasn’t being torn open with sharp wolfy claws and there weren’t any needle-like teeth at his jugular, and wow, this was actually really, really nice. He relaxed a bit, right into Derek’s broad chest.
Derek pulled back, taking the rest of the younger boy’s breath with him. There was a pause.
“So,” Stiles swallowed hesitantly, “what did you want to talk about?”
Derek smirked, “Actually, that’s about it.”
Stiles smiled in response. “Oh, okay… um, good talk then,” and he patted the werewolf’s leather-clad shoulder.