Chapter Text
The bus arrived back in Beacon Hills without fanfare, incident or anymore deep and meaningful pack talk from Stiles, which he was quite happy about if he were honest. He spent a few hours unabashedly playing Minion Rush on his iPad.
He jumped down from the bus and moved off to the side, stretching his arms out over his head, expertly dodging the prodding fingers of his pack as they passed him, even Danny joined in, laughing when Stiles prodded him right back, mocking him when he hid behind a bemused Ethan.
“Stilinski!” the coach shouted from barely a metre away and Stiles yelped. It wasn’t even a manly yelp. It was high pitched yelp that sounded like he’d been breathing in helium.
“Yes Coach?” he ground out. The coach drew him away from the rest of the class.
“I have no idea what you get up to in your spare time and nor do I want to know; if you have secret lovefests and exhibitionist orgies with your creepy little friends, that’s your business.” Stiles was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. Pure disbelief, that’s all he could feel. “I don’t take kindly to you flaunting it all on my bus! The next time we have a field trip, you’re sitting up front! Alone! I’ll have no hanky panky on my trips! You hear?!” he stomped off, muttering under his breath and Stiles was still staring at the space the coach had just abandoned.
“That would have been the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Boyd was there, patting Stiles on the shoulder. “If I didn’t hear him muttering about how impressed he was that you got as much tail as you did.”
“You are a horrible, horrible individual, Vernon Boyd,” Stiles transferred his stare to Boyd, who shrugged, uncaring.
“You’re our alpha, isn’t it your job to know if someone is talking about us behind our backs?” his tone sounded genuine and Stiles almost believed him, but then he glanced into Boyd’s eyes and saw them dancing.
“Your eyes are dancing,” he said, voice flat. “You are horrible and you relish the thought of me suffering with my internal misery. RELISH!” he cried and stomped off, not stopping until he reached his jeep in the parking lot, where his phone started to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and scowled some more. “My coach thinks I’m having orgies with the pack. Your pups think its hilarious.”
“Why is it when you’re annoyed at them, they’re suddenly my pups?” he heard the grumbled voice of his mate and huffed down the phone.
“ORGIES!” he shouted.