Chapter Text
Derek’s brain short-circuited the moment he saw Stiles in a crop top.
Stiles—I can’t ever stop wearing ugly flannels if my life depended on it—was in a t-shirt he’d obviously cut up himself, if the jagged edges were anything to go by. Apparently, underneath all that plaid, he had a lean figure.
And the running theory Derek obsessed over was close to being confirmed: Stiles had moles everywhere.
He was stretched out on the couch, arms thrown over his head, looking completely unguarded. Derek’s eyes caught on the waistband of his boxers, hanging low on his hips, and the sight knocked the air out of him.
Then Stiles shifted, and more came into view—the faint pull of his stomach flexing, muscle tightening before relaxing again.
Something in the way Stiles held himself drew Derek in, every tiny movement revealing more than he was ready for. It was as if the world had disappeared around him.
Which meant he couldn’t focus for the next two hours while Scott went on about the threat of miniature trolls with bad attitudes and worse posture planning to take over the Beacon Hills bridge.
Derek was supposed to care, but Stiles’ shirt wouldn’t stay down no matter how many times he tugged at it.
It was only when the top had fully lifted, revealing his pecs and the hint of a nipple, that Derek jerked his eyes away, breathing heavily.
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Did you even hear what I said?”
Stiles groaned and pushed himself upright, shirt slipping back down. Derek’s jaw clenched, a frustrated growl catching in his throat.
Blinking rapidly, he forced the words out through his teeth, “Been listening for too long.”
Stiles leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee and waving his other hand around. “Totally agree, man. Can’t we just kick their old asses out of here? I mean, I have a baseball bat in the jeep, ready to use if you wanna head out now.”
Scott scoffed. “Clearly you two weren’t listening. I said I don’t wanna hurt them. I think they need a place to stay, so we gotta figure out the most peaceful way to handle this.”
Stiles nearly burst out laughing, jumping to his feet and stretching far longer than necessary. Derek froze in the middle of a breath, his heart leaping at the exposed happy trail and a neat patch of hair peeking out.
“You’re way too nice. What, you gonna send them to a bed and breakfast? Pamper them with a massage?” Stiles’ voice dripped with sarcasm.
The alpha glared, crossing his arms in frustration. “They need a place to stay and we’re gonna make sure it’s safe—for everyone.”
Stiles planted his hands on his hips, looking annoyingly attractive while he shot Scott a big, toothy grin. “Fine, but I’m not paying for any of this. You’re the one who’s got a soft spot for wrinkly men, and yeah, nothing wrong with that, but that’s barking up the wrong tree for me.”
Derek clenched his fists in his lap, forcing his eyes anywhere else, but his mind betrayed him, imagining what kind of trees Stiles liked to climb.
Were they older, emotionally repressed trees that really liked him in crop tops?
Derek turned to Scott, voice flat. “You’ll handle it then? Not sure what you wanted from me.”
Scott looked a little sheepish. “Well… you have the money.”
Stiles threw his head back, letting out a sharp laugh that made Derek stare. His neck was long, dotted with a few moles and very biteable.
Derek should really kick them out.
“Oh, this is perfect. You want him to pay for a hotel for trolls? We can scare them off with a few roars, and this is your plan?”
Derek had been ready to agree, the words almost slipping out. Then Stiles dropped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, folding his arms behind his head. His legs sprawled open carelessly, every inch of him looking like an invitation he didn’t even realize he was making.
Derek’s patience broke. “How much will it take to get you out of here and give me five minutes of peace?”
Scott beamed at him, undeterred, as if this was the breakthrough he’d been waiting for. “I have to meet them first, see how many there are. We’ll figure it out from there.”
“So what are you still doing here?” Derek muttered, gesturing toward the door.
Scott nodded as he stood, still smiling. “I’ll go talk to them.”
Once he left, silence stretched for a few minutes, making Derek uneasy. He glanced at Stiles, whose grim frown said everything—he was not happy with the decision. “Why the hell did you agree to that?”
“I thought you two would leave me alone.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “He’s got that handled, and I made it clear I’d rather swing my bat.”
He reached down to scratch his stomach, and Derek couldn’t stop himself from looking. “You sure you don’t want to help? He could get kidnapped.”
“Honestly, I’m more interested in watching you drool over me than saving anyone,” Stiles stretched lazily across the couch, eyebrows raised, daring Derek to deny it.
“I—I wasn’t. I didn’t… Can you go home?” Derek choked on his own words before clearing his throat awkwardly.
“Hey, relax. I didn’t ruin this shirt on purpose just for you to kick me out,” Stiles laughed.
Derek took a couple deep breaths, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “You’re… really distracting.”
“Right, that’s the point,” Stiles nodded. “Good job getting on the same page as me.”
Derek knew this whole thing was a bad idea, but the boy was sprawled across the couch, so impossibly relaxed and confident that he couldn’t pull his eyes away. Just as he leaned forward, drawn like a moth to a flame, Stiles’ phone rang, and they both startled.
Stiles grabbed it from the coffee table, tossing it lightly from hand to hand. “Scott,” he grumbled. “Wonder what he wants.”
Derek sighed in relief, letting himself straighten slightly. Finally, a way out of this.
Stiles swiped to answer, putting the phone to his ear. Derek could hear Scott’s muffled voice on the other end, “So hey, bro, totally misjudged the situation. I’m sorta tied up under the bridge in a literal sense, but I used Siri to call you.”
Stiles sat up fast. “Can’t your ridiculous super-strength get you out of that?”
There was a pause, then Scott’s awkward reply came through the speaker, “Yeah, but they seem like they might have a heart attack if I do, and I don’t wanna be responsible for that.”
Stiles groaned, pinching the top of his nose. “You’re a werewolf, Scott, not a damsel in distress.”
Derek rubbed his temples, biting back the urge to growl. The relief he’d felt a second ago was gone, replaced with the familiar thrum of irritation.
A quiet night was impossible with these idiots, but Derek had made his peace with it. Annoyance was a small price to pay for the comfort of not being alone.
He snatched up his keys and followed Stiles, who had already slammed the door open, gesturing wildly and stomping a few steps ahead as he argued with Scott.
Derek’s eyes kept drifting to the bare skin of Stiles’ back every time he moved, and he sighed quietly. “I can’t believe this is my life,” he muttered under his breath.
Somehow… he didn’t actually hate it.