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Okay, so like. It's not a thing, no matter how much Scott wrinkles his nose and tells Stiles that it's definitely a thing. Like. Just. It's not a thing! It is absolutely, definitely, positively, 100% not a thing.
“It's a thing,” Lydia says. It's bored, matter of fact. She's filing her nails, but she pauses to inspect them and make sure they're all even. “Every time Derek so much as moves his arms, you're practically drooling. It would be cute, except you're a pathetic loser and you're having some sort of gay crisis over Derek's arms.”
“I'm not having a gay crisis,” Stiles says. Well, it's more like a squeak because Derek appears in the parking lot like he's been summon. He's wearing a sleeveless white tank, which means his arms are on full display and honestly? Stiles legitimately wants to lick them. “First of all, I'm bi so it can't be a gay crisis. Second of all, I gotta go bye!”
Stiles sprints away to, uh. Anywhere? Anywhere that's not on the front steps of the school, where Derek is. Because he's picking up his pack from school. Because he's a good alpha—not that Stiles would trade Scott for anything, because him and Scott are like brothers, basically, but there's things Derek has that Scott definitely doesn't. For starters: the juiciest, bulgiest, most beautiful biceps that protest being hidden from the world to the extent that Derek almost never wears sleeves if e can go without a jacket. Not that Stiles has noticed anything like that. Haha. Ha. That would be crazy.
“Did you run away from Derek again?” Scott is loading books from his locker into a backpack. He's not even looking at Stiles, which means he must have done the creepy heartbeat thing that Stiles has asked him not to do like a million times. “You know, you could try talking to him one of these days.”
“I don't think talking's really what Stiles wants to do with Derek.” Lydia's suddenly behind him, and Stiles doesn't jump. He doesn't. “If you catch my drift.”
“Okay, um. No offense, because I'm very supportive of whatever you might want to do with Derek and stuff?” Scott zips up his backpack and then turns to put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. “But please never, ever tell me about it unless it's PG-13 and below.”
“I want him to hold me against a wall and fuck me,” Stiles blurts out and Scott makes a pained noise.
“What did I just say? I don't want to hear about your freaky kinks, Stiles. I'm leaving. Please never talk to me about this again.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Lydia says as Scott walks away to go to lacrosse practice or whatever it is he has to do, “I'm pretty sure Derek can do it.”
“How would that make me feel better?!”
Lydia grins. It shows her teeth, perfect and white. “Everyone feels better after a few orgasms, Stiles.”
She pats his arm while he just gapes at her and then leaves him standing in the hallway, alone with his thoughts.
----
It's, uh. It's a little bit unclear how he got in this situation? If Stiles is being completely honest with himself, which he always is except for when he isn't. Anyway, Derek's pressing hil up against a wall and part of Stiles is, like. Melting? Just a puddle of ooze on the floor, ready to be mopped up by a janitor, because having Derek and Derek's muscles this close to him is just. Words??? How do you words when a literal Adonis is standing in front of you. Stiles has officially lost the ability to even, honestly.
Well. Not exactly, because with Derek this close, all he really can think of is what it would be like if Derek did lift Stiles up and fuck him against the wall. Like. Right now, in Stiles' head, it's some kinda HD Sean Cody porno starring him and Derek because fine! He has a thing. He has a huge, astronomical thing for the way Derek's muscles flex and the strength hidden in them. And yeah! Stiles really, really really wants Derek to lift him up against the wall and fuck him. Not here, in like. Public? Because Stiles definitely doesn't have a thing for that, but just you know. In general.
And, like. Biologically or whatever, Stiles knows that's just his beta-ness responding to an alpha he's compatible with because he's like. In the prime of his life or whatever? And you know, if he was gonna settle down now would probably be a good time to do it, 'cause he's finishing up college and if Derek was his mate then Stiles probably wouldn't even have to worry about being provided for because Derek is just such a good alpha who's strong a virile and dEFINITELY LEANING DOWN TO SCENT HIM, HOLY SHIT.
ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!
“Okay. Okaaaaay.” Stiles pushes Derek's face away from his neck and tries not to panic too much. “We are in public and that is noooooooot a level of PDA I am comfortable with at all, because we don't even know each other except for when we all get together on the full moon and like. Uh. Just. I don't put out before a first date! Or after a first date, if I don't feel like it because I'm an independent beta who needs no alpha.”
“Sorry, I.” Derek steps away, looking vaguely dazed. “I shouldn't have, but you smell...”
Derek trails off and Stiles is absolutely not waiting to hear how that sentence ends. That's silly. Absurd. Absolutely preposterous.
“Um. I'm Derek,” Derek says, instead of finishing the sentence Stiles definitely didn't want to hear the ending to. “Do you—can I take you out for dinner sometime? Like, uh. As a date. To be clear.”
“Yes,” Stiles says. It's too quick and too eager, but for once in his life Stiles' gives no shits about social niceties. “Yes. Please take me on a date so you can scent me and fuck me against a wall. In private.”
When Stiles tells his future children the story of how their parents got together, he thinks he's probably going to have to leave that part out.