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    Summary

    “An Alpha...am I supposed to be impressed?” Stiles raised an eyebrow and Derek smirked.

    “Have something against Alphas?”

    “I have one at home,” Stiles said, purposefully lacing his tone with annoyance as he fought to keep his breathing even, since the ridiculously attractive man had not left his personal space. “I actually came to this bar to get my mind off of him, though."

    “Well, I don't know how desperately you're wanting a distraction tonight, Red," Derek said, his eyes raking over the tight black shirt clinging to Stiles’ toned torso and down to his acid-washed skinny jeans. "-but I've got an empty house and a top-shelf wine cellar. I'm sure I could figure out a way to get your mind off of your shitty anniversary."

    Stiles pretended to think it over for a moment while tracing the ring of his glass with his finger, before asking, “Do you have a car?”

    “Camaro out front.”

    [or: derek and stiles occasionally like to pretend they're strangers in a bar and go home together]

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