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teen wolf ficlet: overdressed
Overdressed
Derek/Stiles | PG | ~500 words
Derek turns and walks toward the kitchen, all long legs and fantastic ass and not enough clothes in general.
Photoficced for this Tumblr image.
Overdressed
Derek has annoying creeper hearing, so he opens the door before Stiles even starts knocking.
"Stiles."
"Um," Stiles says. It's the best he can do under the circumstances. "You, uh."
Derek frowns like Stiles is the one wearing a tiny Speedo thing at nine in the morning. When it's raining. "What are you doing here?"
"My hoodie," Stiles says quickly, because the last time he stopped by alone and unannounced, he embarrassed himself by flirting awkwardly and smelling like horny teenager and maybe suggesting they make out a little. Derek wasn't an asshole about it or anything, just sighed quietly and told Stiles to go home, but Stiles isn't looking to make things more uncomfortable. "I gave it to Isaac the other night, and I kind of need it back. It's the only one I have that isn't bloody or clawed up."
"Okay."
"I can, um -- I can come back, if you're busy."
"It's on the couch." Derek turns and walks toward the kitchen, all long legs and fantastic ass and not enough clothes in general. He has what looks like bed sheet under his arm, and Stiles just stares.
"Is this some weird werewolf thing? On Sundays we wear bathing suits around the house?"
"Yeah," Derek says mildly. "We call it laundry day."
So much for not embarrassing himself this time. "Right. That's -- you do that. I'll just, you know." His hoodie is hanging over the arm of the couch; he grabs it and heads for the door. "Thanks.
"Are you in a hurry?" Derek asks, suddenly behind Stiles, standing too close. Stiles is going to have a werewolf-induced heart attack one of these days, he's pretty sure.
I, uh -- no."
"Stay," Derek says, curling his hand around the back of Stiles' neck. He strokes the skin behind Stiles' ear, then leans in and noses at Stiles' collar.
"What are you -- hey," Stiles says, turning around. "Last time I was here, you weren't interested."
Derek smiles, a sly twist to his mouth that makes Stiles want to kick him. "That was three weeks ago." He slides his hand over the curve of Stiles' shoulder, leaves it solid and warm at the hollow of Stiles' throat. "Three weeks ago you were still seventeen."
"You could've told me that."
"And you would've been over here every day, trying to change my mind."
Which, okay. That's a valid point. Stiles can take no for an answer if he really has to, but maybe or later just means he hasn't found the right argument yet. "I kind of hate you right now."
Derek huffs out a soft laugh, then kisses him, all slow heat and stubble and Derek's thumb tracing the line of his jaw. Stiles sighs into it, pulling Derek closer, sliding his hands over Derek's waist and back, too much warm skin in every direction.
"I feel overdressed," Stiles complains.
"You are," Derek says, tugging at Stiles' shirt. "You should probably take this off."
Derek/Stiles | PG | ~500 words
Derek turns and walks toward the kitchen, all long legs and fantastic ass and not enough clothes in general.
Photoficced for this Tumblr image.
Overdressed
Derek has annoying creeper hearing, so he opens the door before Stiles even starts knocking.
"Stiles."
"Um," Stiles says. It's the best he can do under the circumstances. "You, uh."
Derek frowns like Stiles is the one wearing a tiny Speedo thing at nine in the morning. When it's raining. "What are you doing here?"
"My hoodie," Stiles says quickly, because the last time he stopped by alone and unannounced, he embarrassed himself by flirting awkwardly and smelling like horny teenager and maybe suggesting they make out a little. Derek wasn't an asshole about it or anything, just sighed quietly and told Stiles to go home, but Stiles isn't looking to make things more uncomfortable. "I gave it to Isaac the other night, and I kind of need it back. It's the only one I have that isn't bloody or clawed up."
"Okay."
"I can, um -- I can come back, if you're busy."
"It's on the couch." Derek turns and walks toward the kitchen, all long legs and fantastic ass and not enough clothes in general. He has what looks like bed sheet under his arm, and Stiles just stares.
"Is this some weird werewolf thing? On Sundays we wear bathing suits around the house?"
"Yeah," Derek says mildly. "We call it laundry day."
So much for not embarrassing himself this time. "Right. That's -- you do that. I'll just, you know." His hoodie is hanging over the arm of the couch; he grabs it and heads for the door. "Thanks.
"Are you in a hurry?" Derek asks, suddenly behind Stiles, standing too close. Stiles is going to have a werewolf-induced heart attack one of these days, he's pretty sure.
I, uh -- no."
"Stay," Derek says, curling his hand around the back of Stiles' neck. He strokes the skin behind Stiles' ear, then leans in and noses at Stiles' collar.
"What are you -- hey," Stiles says, turning around. "Last time I was here, you weren't interested."
Derek smiles, a sly twist to his mouth that makes Stiles want to kick him. "That was three weeks ago." He slides his hand over the curve of Stiles' shoulder, leaves it solid and warm at the hollow of Stiles' throat. "Three weeks ago you were still seventeen."
"You could've told me that."
"And you would've been over here every day, trying to change my mind."
Which, okay. That's a valid point. Stiles can take no for an answer if he really has to, but maybe or later just means he hasn't found the right argument yet. "I kind of hate you right now."
Derek huffs out a soft laugh, then kisses him, all slow heat and stubble and Derek's thumb tracing the line of his jaw. Stiles sighs into it, pulling Derek closer, sliding his hands over Derek's waist and back, too much warm skin in every direction.
"I feel overdressed," Stiles complains.
"You are," Derek says, tugging at Stiles' shirt. "You should probably take this off."