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"Is this really necessary?" Stiles tries not to move as the strangely terrifying eyelash curler nears his face. The question earns him a tug of his ear and he squawks in protest.
"Yes it is. Now hush, Honey bun," says the drag queen above him doing the torturing.
Well, he's being overly dramatic about all of this; Ginger would never actually hurt Stiles but Stiles never really expected this to be the favor Ginger called in after she agreed to get people to go to Lydia's party all those months ago. In the last half hour he's had his eyebrows plucked, his legs waxed (he swears that there were no tears shed at that time, no matter what Ginger says), underarms shaved, and now he's getting his eyelashes curled.
Seriously, what is his life?
"I really don't get how this helps you in anyway, Ginny."
The impromptu nickname earns him a sharp tug of his hair. Ginger made him grow it out for the past month or so.
He sort of regrets it now.
"Make-overs help me relieve stress and I have been stressed lately,” she sighs out, and then perks right up, "Plus, I've got this brand new make-up from a new company and you are the perfect guinea pig!"
"I feel so loved," Stiles deadpanned. He doesn't complain any further, though. He'll let Ginger have this if she wants.
He finds himself done up with lipstick, eyeliner, blush, (and whatever the hell else Ginger said, he lost track) and there's even a natural looking dark brown wig on his head that just about reaches his shoulders. Now, Ginger is eyeing a bunch of tight, sexy looking women's clothing to throw at her new toy.
Stiles whimpers on the inside.
"Um. Those look kind of short and, uh, constricting," he points out.
None of it looked like it fit Ginger, but Stiles was having a hard time believing all this stuff was bought specifically for him.
"Nonsense! I made sure they were all your size!"
And with the revelation that all these clothes were indeed all for him, he is pushed into the bathroom with a bright red top and a really tight black leather miniskirt. Just as Stiles manages to squeeze into the skirt he is assaulted with some knee-high black boots with a heel that isn't ridiculous - which he's glad for because he doubts he could really walk in stilettos like Ginger could without his face meeting the ground.
When Stiles comes out of the bathroom the first thing he hears is Ginger's squeal of glee.
"GORGEOUS. I've outdone myself, honestly," Ginger preens as she forces Stiles to look at himself in the mirror. He almost gasps at his reflection, because Ginger is absolutely right. If Stiles could describe himself, he'd say he looked like a cross between Allison - with the hair and almost natural make-up - and Erica with the fierce outfit, fake but totally believable cleavage and fabulously done nails. (Why is fabulous apart of his vocabulary now? Oh God, what has his life become?)
Just when he was about to open his mouth to comment, his phone howls (it will never not be funny, no matter what Derek says about stupid teenagers not knowing discretion if it bit them in the ass) with a message from Scott.
dude youre late to the pack party. Lyds is gettin mad get here b4 she wants to cut your dick off
Stiles would text back about proper punctuation and how important it is, even through text, but he needs to haul ass to Lydia's place before she comes to castrate him. She's spent too much time setting everything up for them and she takes parties very seriously.
"Oh my God, Ginge-"
"You have to go," she finishes for him with a wise smile, "Go on, Honey - Shoo! Make some jaws drop for me!"
"Thanks!" he kisses her on the cheek (she is actually a good friend so she can get all the Stilinski-lovin' she wants) and runs out of the posh apartment to head to Lydia's before Ginger's words actually sink in.
The Jeep rolls in front of the house about twenty minutes later - an impossible feat without a few too many traffic violations; Stiles' father would be so disappointed, really, but what's new?
When he's just about to ring the doorbell, the door swings open to reveal an annoyed Erica. However, the annoyance is quickly replaced by shock, and soon after a decidedly wolfish grin.
"Well, if I were a guy I'd just love to bend you over," she gives him a once-over and smirks, "Hell, I'd even do it now."
Stiles can't help the, "What?" he squeaks out before he looks down at himself and realizes what a mistake he'd made.
"Oh god!" he flails about, turning to run back to the jeep and speed home for some normal clothes, but Erica grabs his arm and pulls him inside the house with an evil giggle.
He stumbles into Boyd after dislodging himself from the she-wolf and whips around to apologize. Only, he is too unnerved to say anything because Boyd's just...staring at him. Creepily. So much that Erica slaps his arm in what looks like...jealousy?
"Uh, sorry, um," Boyd looks sheepishly at his girlfriend and clears his throat.
"It's okay. I was just asking Stiles if he wanted to join us for a threesome one day," she states saucily.
And with that, Stiles starts to choke on his own spit (in his defense, so does Boyd) and he gets the hell out of there because, bad, wrong, not happening.
Stiles heads for the kitchen for some much needed water. He's just about put his lips to the cup when he hears Lydia's voice,
"Um, excuse me? Who are you and what are you doin-" her eyes widen when he turns around, "Stiles?"
"...I can explain," he murmurs weakly.
"Good, because that skirt looks absolutely fabulous and I demand to know where you got it. Jeez, look at your ass!" and this is not how Stiles imagined Lydia would be touching his butt. Ever.
Jackson walks in when Lydia is fondling Stiles' fake boobies and promptly looks constipated.
"Lookin' good Stilinski," he tries a mocking tone, but it only sounds like someone is squeezing his balls and that's not an image Stiles ever wanted in his head about Jackson so he decides to get the fuck out of there too.
"Oh, dude, Scott!" Stiles is relieved when he spots his best friend over at the table devouring the appetizers all by himself like the hungry wolf he was.
"'Tiles?" Scott questions with his mouth stuffed with Tostitos and guac before he swallows, "What's with the skirt? And boobs? And…stuff? Are you trying something new?"
There is no judgment in his tone and this is probably why Stiles loves Scott so much.
"No, uh, I was just over at Ginger's. She wanted to give me a makeover, but then I got your text and rushed over here, forgetting what I was wearing," Stiles lets out a laugh, "Crazy, huh?"
Scott rolled his eyes as if he'd expected nothing less of Stiles, "You look nice, I guess."
"You guess?" Stiles feigns a hurt look, "I'll have you know Lydia thought my ass looks great in this skirt!"
Stiles watches as Scott's face twisted with an unidentifiable emotion, "Actually, you look kind of like Allison," Scott says.
Stiles blinks twice. Nope. No. No No No. Just, nope. He understands that Scott and Allison are still broken up and he's being mopey about it but...Scott was like his brother for crying out loud.
"Right. I'm. Just...going to go that way," Stiles points in a random direction and slinks away in the opposite one. Scott tracks his every move until he disappears in the hallway.
So of course that's when he bumps into Isaac. Of course.
"Okay, get it out of your system," Stiles puts his hands on his hips, "Comment on my ass or whatever. Go ahead."
Isaac just splutters, turning a bit pink in the cheeks. Stiles narrows his eyes when Isaac brings his face a little closer. But Isaac doesn't do anything but blurt out a, "you look pretty," before he hightails it away from there.
Huh. Stiles just scared someone away with his hotness. He finds himself preening a little before he feels someone grab him from behind and take a long sniff of his neck.
"Hmmm. You're looking very fashionable today, Stiles" and oh god that's Peter Hale, "I think I like you better in this than that ratty old red sweater and those dreadful plaid shirts you insist on wearing."
And that's just downright insulting. Sam and Dean wear plaid all the time, so why can't he? All thoughts fly out the window when warm hands start rubbing his legs, however.
"Er. Peter?"
"Yes, Stiles?"
"What are you doing?" Stiles commends himself for keeping his voice calm.
"Touching your legs, obviously. I would have thought you felt that, but whatever," he snarks, "You have some really nice legs. Your skin is rather smooth. Why don't you show your skin more often? It's a shame you cover this up all the time."
Stiles can't help the shudder that runs through his body and he's sure there's a fierce looking blush growing on his face to match his top. Peter chuckles when Stiles moves to get out of his hold.
"Alright, dude. Enough with the badtouch, yeah?"
"Oh, I assure you I can make it so good," Peter licks his ear before he can get away.
"Oh my god," and Stiles is horrified. Really, he is. No turned on teenage boys dressed in drag here. Nope.
Before Peter can do anything, though, Stiles is yanked out of his grasp.
"Peter," there's a smooth, deep voice with a hard edge to it.
"Hello, dear nephew. I was just talking to Stiles here. Doesn't he look edible?"
When Stiles glances over at Derek, he finds the man glaring so hard at Peter that Stiles is afraid he might hurt himself. Peter rolls his eyes at the non-answer and puts his hands up.
"Fine," he grouses, "don't share."
And Stiles is left alone with Derek and his glare of doom.
"Um, thanks?"
"Why." Derek looks...well, Stiles can't really tell because he's never seen the expression on Derek's face before. The dude's eyes are darting everywhere and his mouth is pressed in a really thin line.
"Well-"
"You know what. I don't care," Derek grabs Stiles' hand and pulls, "Come with me."
Stiles doesn't try to pull his hand away for some reason, "What? Where?"
"To your place. I need to get you out of those clothes."
"Oh! Okay, good," Stiles beams.
"Yeah?" Derek looks at Stiles with another new expression. His eyes are starting to get a little wide.
"Yeah. Totally, man," Stiles says.
And there's a grin on the wolf's face now as Derek's pupils begin to dilate. The reaction makes Stiles a bit confused and it takes him a bit to realize that,
oh.
Oh. Wait.
Derek takes Stiles' face in one hand before leaning in for a kiss that absolutely wrecks Stiles' mouth. There's tongue and lots of teeth, and there's no more lipstick on Stiles' lips but it's all over Derek's. When they pull apart, Stiles' lips feel bruised because they probably are and Derek wastes no time in dragging him out of the house.
Not that Stiles is complaining.