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“Derek, you know your eyebrows can’t actually jump off your face and strangle me, right? That’s just not physically possible, no matter how much you wish it was.”
Derek just glared harder at Stiles, willing him to stop smirking.
“Stiles. This is not what I meant when I said ‘pick up some new shirts for me.’ This is about as far as you could possibly get from what I asked for without putting me into a dress.” Derek’s eye twitched at the glazed, faraway look that came over Stiles’ face. “Stop picturing me in a dress, you ass.”
“Awwww, c’mon, Der-Der. I think you’d look adorable in one of those cute retro dresses Erica wears. Sexy and sensual without being overly revealing. Just like you!” Stiles laughed when Derek growled at him. “Seriously though, you’d look awesome.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed in a way that would make a lesser man think he was about to meet a very messy and painful end. Stiles just grinned and jerked his chin toward the bags on the sofa.
“At least try them on. If you still hate them, I’ll exchange them for your usual boring-yet-still-sexy-enough-to-make-me-pop-a-boner-as-soon-as-you-walk-into-the-room Henleys and wife beaters. Deal?”
Stiles held his breath while Derek deliberated.
“Fine.” Stiles exhaled loudly. “But only because I could smell how excited you were about these when you came in.”
Derek would never admit it out loud, but he’d do pretty much anything Stiles asked him to do. Like risking life and limb for the last of the ginger snaps at the organic market. He swore the old lady who lives down the street tried to bite him when he snatched the box off the shelf and away from her withered hands yesterday. She already had two boxes in her basket! What did one old woman need with all those snaps, anyway? Could she even actually chew them with her dentures?
Stiles snapped his fingers in front of Derek’s face. “Grumpykins, you still with me?”
Derek growled and snatched the bags off the couch and stalked toward his bedroom, glad his back was turned so Stiles couldn’t see when he smiled at the laughter following him down the hall.
***
“C’mon, Derek, lemme see! You’ve been in there for twenty minutes!”
“No.”
“Deeeeeeereeeeeeeek,” Stiles whined and scratched at the door. “Lemme seeeeeeeeeeeee.”
The door opened a crack and one eye glared balefully out at him.
“I hate you,” Derek muttered before opening it the rest of the way.
Stiles breath caught and he stumbled into the doorway, leaning against the frame while he looked at his boyfriend.
The fitted, faded blue check button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows under a pale yellow bowtie and matching suspenders contrasted beautifully with Derek’s lightly tanned skin. Sinfully fitted brown and cream pinstripe trousers hugged his thighs in a way that made it necessary for Stiles to wipe drool from the corner of his mouth, and the brown leather oxfords made his feet look sexier than those work boots Derek favored ever managed.
Derek self-consciously tugged at the bowtie and tried to not blush too much at the obvious approval (and arousal) radiating from Stiles. His brows pulled together in confusion when Stiles gurgled and waved a hand toward his bedside table. “What?”
“Glasses. Now. Please.”
Derek lost the fight he’d been waging against his blush. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Pleeeeeeeeease, Boo? For me?”
“Oh my god, never call me that again.” He tried to glare at him for a few minutes before his shoulders slumped in the face of Stiles’ patented ‘pretty please’ face, complete with ridiculously large and shimmery eyes. “Fine.”
Derek stomped over to the the table and snatched up the thick, square plastic frames and settled the specs on his nose.
“Happy?”
Stiles flailed a bit and gurgled again before stumbling over to stand in front of Derek. He had been thrilled down to his toes when he found out that even werewolves can be near-sighted when they weren’t shifted. So thrilled that he'd dragged a red-faced Derek straight to an eye doctor two towns over and picked out the perfect frames for his perfect face. And so what if Derek's new glasses do things to Stiles. Things. Good things. Sexy things.
“Almost,” he muttered and tucked his fingers into one of the suspender straps. He tugged and gave Derek a dirty grin when he automatically stepped forward, into Stiles personal space. “Any chance I can talk you out of date night so I can fuck you against the door while you wear nothing but that bow tie instead?”
Derek shivered and felt the tips of his ears burning and his cock jerk at Stiles’ words. “But I’m really looking forward to dahl and a bowl of cardamom kheer.”
Stiles bit Derek’s chin before licking a path up his jaw and nibbling on his earlobe. “I promise to make it worth your while,” he whispered and reached down to rub the heel of his hand on the large-and-getting-larger-by-the-second bulge in Derek’s trousers.
Derek gasped and closed his eyes, tipping his head back to make room for Stiles to kiss and lick his way down to his adam’s apple. “Yeah, okay.”
Stiles hid his groan against Derek’s throat, then pushed him back onto the bed. “Get those pants off before I have to rip them off of you. And keep your glasses on, Hipsterwolf.”
Stiles grinned when Derek laughed and started unbuttoning his trousers. He really did have the best boyfriend ever.