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Summary
Whatever the fuck this is, the longing looks, hiked up shirts and low-slung shorts on sharp hipbones, it goes no further. Derek will make goddamn sure of that. Stiles deserves better than some broken mess like him.
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Stiles can see through Derek like a window. He can see the buried want, the shame he’s drowning in because of it, and the underlying guilt that he’s carried for the last seven years since Paige and all that followed. He can see that under the sharp swoop his styled hair and the perfect edge that he maintains his stubble, Derek is nothing but softness. Sure, he has a killer jaw, but his cheeks, the elegant flow of his neck into his broad shoulders, and the slope of his nose in profile are nothing but gentle curves and easy roads to travel. Derek is something soft pretending to be hard, but Stiles isn’t a fool.