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***
There is the hottest twink shaking his ass on the dance floor turning down anyone and everyone who approaches him. Fresh faced twinks, muscle bound men and everyone in between are being politely shut down. Apparently this kid really does just want to dance.
It’s frustrating in the extreme watching him put a semi pornographic display because he’s just so completely unobtainable. Then again, watching him writhe frenetically on the dance floor is better that not watching him.
***
Arms wrap around Stiles’ waist, the strangers hands coming to a stop low on his hips before pulling him back against a slightly damp chest (and seriously, ew). “Hey sugar,” the sweaty stranger drawls in his ear, “Let me buy you a drink then how ‘bout we pour you out of those jeans?”
Snorting out a laugh, (because honestly, how is that even a line?), Stiles dances easily out of the man’s grip and holds up the water bottle in his hand. “No thanks, but you have a great night!” He replies with a smile because unlike some people (AKA the town’s resident sourwolf and his band of misfit betas) he doesn’t enjoy being rude.
***
Returning from the bar with four beers (because if he can avoid waiting in line for another fifteen minutes he’s gonna take it even if it means their second drink will be slightly warm), Mark hands two over to his boyfriend Brad before turning to scan the dance floor for the energetically flailing, yet somehow hypnotically sexual kid. “What’d I miss?”
“He’s turned down another twink making it three so far (one blond; two brunets), two ‘roid fuelled bruisers and I swear to god, the guy he was just chatting was Zachary Quinto.”
“Dude, I told you that was him at Starbucks yesterday!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brad agrees easily, because right now this kid is way more interesting than Spock sightings, “Apparently he doesn’t have a thing for eyebrows.” Sidestepping to avoid the drink the cute (but obviously straight) crooked jawed kid next to them just spat out, Brad ponders the hottie on the dance floor as he turns down another muscle bound hero trying to save him from his shirt. “Maybe he’s ace?” he says musingly.
“I wish,” the crooked jawed kid mutters sighs.
***
Finishing off the last of his water, Stiles checks out the line at the bar and sighs. Guess he’s gonna miss the next few songs while he waits in line for a drink.
***
Seeing the cute guy finally come back up to the bar, Eric makes a beeline for him. Both his co-workers are halfway though drink orders and he knows if he doesn’t grab him first they will as soon as they can.
“Hey cutie,” Eric greets as he flashes a smile he knows works his dimples, “What can I get for you?”
“Oh uh,” the kid stammers, blushing a little, and oh yeah, Eric is so in, he remembers from his writing course he had to take last year that stammering and blushing are signs of nervousness/attraction “I think these guys were before me?” he finishes gesturing at the people to his right.
Wait, what? Laying on the charm a little thicker in case he’d missed that he was flirting earlier Eric tries again, “I just had to come get you before someone else could. What can I get for you sweetheart?”
“Oh,” the kid looks taken aback, “Just a bottle of water thanks.”
Eric grabs a water bottle from the fridge behind him, ignoring the ones below the counter in front of him so he can bend at the waist to show off his ass. He hands over the bottle but doesn’t take the proffered money straight away deciding to try one last time, ignoring the chuckles of the people he’d ignored to serve this guy, “You sure I can’t tempt you with anything while you’ve got me?”
“Water’s good for me,” he confirms, but softens the blow with a smile before he waves and heads back onto the dance floor.
***
“Yo Scotty,” Stiles mutters under his breath to grab his attention (because who wants to be the weirdo talking to no one on the dance floor – not Stiles, that’s who) and once Scott makes eye contact across the dance floor, he points over his shoulder and mutters “Heading to the bathroom dude, don’t miss me,” and gets a nod in return before Scott returns to scanning the dance floor for possible dangers to Stiles’ person (seriously, one kanima goes nuts paralysing people in a gay club and suddenly you need a werewolf to watch you whenever you want to go out dancing).
Whinging aside though, forevermore it shall never be said that Scott is not the bestest bro to ever bro, because while at times the boy can be as dumb as a box full of rocks and overzealous when it comes to guarding him, he always comes out to Jungle with him while Derek is off being busy doing secret squirrel stuff (or should that be secret wolf stuff?).
***
Craig is just finishing up washing his hands when he catches sight of the stunning boy from the dance floor entering the bathroom through the mirror and decides his hands could use another wash because while he really wants to get this guy’s name, it would be seriously uncool to go talk to the guy while he’s peeing.
“Hey man,” the guy greets as he comes up to the sink next to him and Craig officially cannot believe his luck – the guy started talking to him! “You have no idea how many people out there could benefit from your attentiveness to personal hygiene.”
“Yeah definitely,” Craig finally says, still a little dumbstruck that the hottest guy in the club just started a conversation with him. “Nothing worse than being all sweaty.”
“Yes!” The guy agrees animatedly, as he lathers up his hands. “Especially when it’s someone else’s sweat. That’s just nasty. But anyway man, you have a great night!” Having rinsed the soap off his hands (well before Craig because he’d honestly stopped thinking and had been staring at the guy’s mouth while he spoke) the guy dried his hands with the paper towels by the door and was gone.
Alright, so the guy noticed probably thinks he has OCD because he’s just pretty much spent five minutes washing his hands, but he’s still counting that as a win – the hot guy spoke to him.
***
Hearing the start of his favourite remix of Blink 182’s Feeling This Stile’s looks up at Scott across the dance floor again and waves him over (because you can’t not dance to Blink 182 when it comes on; see friendship rule #3). Seeing Scott shaking his head (because apparently he has a thing against dancing with his best friend in a gay bar) Stiles decides this calls for desperate action and throws a fishing line at Scott, knowing that he won’t leave him hanging (see friendship rule #11).
***
“Did he just..?” Mark trails off, looking over at Brad who’s looking just as surprised as he feels.
“Wow, I would’ve put money on that kid being straight.” After watching him dance awkwardly next to his grinding partner for another minute he mutters, “Definitely would have put money on him being straight.”
***
“Can I go now?” Scott whines as he shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot (because Stiles refuses to call what he’s doing dancing - he’s not even moving his hips or arms!).
“Fine,” he huffs, “But you lose bro-ship points for leaving halfway through the song.”
“You’ll be fine,” Scott replies, rolling his eyes. (He earns back some of the bro-ship points for hugging him before he abandons him on the dance floor again).
***
Craig had noticed the guy within moments of his entrance; he looked like he could be a GQ model with his stupidly perfect face and tight jeans / leather jacket combo despite the humid interior of the club. What made his entrance even better was the fact that he attention immediately zeroed in on the hottie.
The guy looked like he’d never been turned down for anything ever. This was going to be hilarious.
***
“Hey baby,” a voice growls in his ear, as a warm body presses up against his back. “You’re way too good for a place like this, you should let me take you some place nicer; I hear my bedroom’s great this time of night.”
Turning around with a grin, because that was a truly awful pick up line, Stiles happily jumps into Derek’s waiting arms and wraps his legs around his boyfriend waist. Pressing a kiss onto his nose first (because he’s slightly taller than him now that he’s climbed him and just because he can) before wiggling slightly down so he’s in a better position (and honestly the extra stimulation to both of their cocks had been purely accidental so the swat to his ass was completely unnecessary as all it accomplished was riling him up further) and kisses his boyfriend hello properly.
Breaking away from the kiss before he forgets that they’re surrounded by people, Stiles leans back far enough that Derek’s lips are no longer a complete distraction and breathlessly asks, “Home time?”
“Home time,” Derek growls in agreement.
***
Eric watches in awe as strong, silent and stubbly walks out of the club with the hot twink from the dance floor literally wrapped around him.
Maybe he should try to grow a beard.