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He knew he shouldn’t. Contrary to all evidence, Stiles did in fact have a highly tuned self-preservation instinct. He just regularly ignored it.
When he was younger, he ignored it to satisfy his never ending curiosity listening to the police scanner and more often than not, sneaking to the scene of the goriest and scariest of calls he caught, while his dad was on duty. Granted, it was also his way of checking that his dad came back home safe from each of these calls.
Later, after the incident in the woods involving a half of a dead body, a crazed alpha werewolf and his best friend getting drawn into the world of supernatural, he ignored it to help fight the things that go bump in the night. It wasn’t that he didn’t recognise the dangers, it was his need to keep everyone around him safe by any means necessary.
He didn’t have a death-wish. He was more than aware of the deadly consequences of the actions his crazed mind was trying to get him to act out. But by God, never was a man more sorely tempted than Stiles at this very moment.
The sight before his eyes was one very familiar to him. He had spent more time than he cared to admit covertly examining it. He had dreamed about it. He had fantasised about it. It was familiar territory, so to speak. He had not, however, ever touched it.
A subtle clearing of a throat had Stiles spinning his head towards Lydia, who was rolling her eyes at him. She turned her gaze back and continued pouring through the ancient tome explaining the differences between trolls and goblins.
Stiles’ cheeks burned with embarrassment from having been caught - once again - staring at Derek’s perfectly sculpted backside. He surveyed the room and its occupants but no-one else, besides the ever observant Lydia, seemed to have noticed anything amiss. Not even Derek, who continued his discussion with Cora, crouched over her shoulder, examining the map in front of her.
And there it was again, that ass. The ass that haunted his waking hours and made his dreams the most exquisite form of torture. Well, it wasn’t JUST the ass if he was honest with himself. Oh no, Derek was definitely the whole package kind of a deal. There wasn’t an inch of that man that Stiles was not obsessed about.
Derek’s soft black hair that curled when he let it grow just a bit too long. His mesmerising eyes, whatever their colour was. His mouth that could produce the most blinding smile Stiles had ever seen. The whole perfection of Derek’s bone structure, the jawline that Greek gods could only dream about, all crowned with that stubble that seemed to highlight the glory that was Derek’s face.
His broad shoulders, biceps and arms that made his shirt sleeves taut and stretched. His chest and abs, that were possibly copied from a comic book hero and slapped on Derek, just to see if people actually noticed that it was impossible to have muscles that perfectly defined. His thighs that seemed determined to rip denim to shreds at the slightest movement. And that brought Stiles’ inventory of Derek back to his ass.
It was right there, in his line of sight. Just the most wonderfully full and round muscles, squeezed into maybe a size too small jeans, like Derek hadn’t noticed his muscles had grown and needed more room.
Stiles’ mind provided him with images from the fantasy he had last night, during his alone time, safely under the cover of a blanket and the darkness of his room. Derek’s body pressed to his, naked and sweaty with exertion, both of them out of breath, moving frantically, yet in perfect sync. Stiles’ hands wandering down Derek’s back, grabbing that beautiful ass and pressing Derek closer still.
His hands itched with the fantom memory of how those hard muscles flexed and shivered. His fingers spasmed in an aborted grope.
A sharp kick to his ankle brought his attention back to Lydia. “Get a grip,” she whispered and pointed to the corner of her mouth before turning back to her book with a suffering sigh of one who is saddled with the enormous inaptitude of the rest of the world.
Stiles wiped his own mouth to catch the bit of drool that had been about to make its escape down his chin. “I think I need some water,” he said, his voice rough and unsteady.
He got up from the table and made his way to the kitchen. As he passed Derek, the werewolf straightened up and glanced at him, then walked over to Lydia and started questioning her on her findings.
In the solitude of the kitchen, Stiles berated himself for getting caught in the act of pining for Derek. It seemed to be a source of constant amusement to the rest of the pack and their thinly veiled jibes at Stiles’ undying thirst were becoming so obvious, that Derek must be cottoning on to it.
But honestly, they had the embodiment of a perfect specimen of a man in the form of Derek in their midst and Stiles could not for the life of him understand how each and every member of the pack was not a quivering mess of horniness all day, each day. God knew he was. How was he the only one affected by that beauty of a man-beast? Was it something he ate, something he drank? He took a careful sniff of the water he had poured from the tap. Smelled like water. Tasted like water. Can’t be that.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had fallen victim to Derek’s charm after all? Erica for sure took notice of her Alpha in all his manly glory. Come to think of it, she was also needlessly touchy-feely with Derek during their sparring matches. If she couldn’t keep her hands off Derek, it was only natural that Stiles felt the same pull. He was only human, after all. With human weaknesses.
Human weaknesses such as forgetting what he was talking about when Derek turned his eyes directly to his. Weaknesses such as tripping over his own feet when Derek’s shirt rode up by the stretch of his upper body, as he tossed one of his betas into the practice mats. Or not being able to tear his eyes off the man whenever they were in the same room. Normal stuff. Everyone had those.
There was the itty bitty issue of Stiles’ hands wanting to take part in the adoration of Derek. His eyes had had their share of the good stuff, the rest of his body wanted in on the action. It was hardly fair that the wolfy members of the pack had the excuse of the practice tussles to get their paws all over Derek and his suntanned skin. Stiles couldn’t think of a single excuse to have his hands trace Derek’s arms or back or chest or abs. He’d tried, there was just no innocent reason to do that. But he wanted. He needed. He was going crazy with the lack of touching.
He caught himself leaning towards Derek when they were within a few feet of each other. If they were sat on the couch, Stiles’ legs seemed to fall open of their own accord and the leg closest to Derek would inch toward him, until Stiles noticed it and shuffled to another position. More than once he’d caught his hand reaching toward Derek’s back when they tried to find answers to the mystery of the day in the rebuilt Hale library.
One of these days he would not notice his own body’s treacherous intention until it was too late and then he would need a solid reason for getting up close and personal with Derek’s body. And that day was getting closer, he could feel it. All this time spent in the same space with the Alpha, researching, watching the practices, and just hanging out with the pack, all this was messing with his libido and control.
Stiles had thought that spending as much time as possible with Derek would have helped wean him from his Derek-addiction but unfortunately, the end result had been just the opposite. It didn’t help matters that Derek had apparently grown accustomed to Stiles and his sarcastic wisecracking and instead of exasperated sighs, Stiles was now on the receiving end of twinkly eyes and warm smiles.
Resigning to another night of self-love fuelled by fantastical leaps of his imagination, Stiles gulped down the water and returned to the living room. As always, his eyes were instantly drawn to Derek. Derek, who was still standing by Lydia, leaning with both hands on the table, one knee bent, the other foot supporting him against the table. And his ass pointed straight at Stiles, beckoning him.
Suddenly that ass was within his reach and Stiles realised dazedly that he must have walked over from the kitchen doorway. He felt a slight hysteria take over himself and with a manic smile on his face, he felt his arm raise to level with his shoulder. It had to be done. That ass was perfectly situated for what was to come. It was meant to be. Given the opportunity, everyone would do it, Stiles’ mind assured him.
With a small giggle, Stiles let his hand land in an arc across Derek’s ass. The sound the contact made was unsatisfyingly muffled by denim but still loud enough to get everyone’s attention.
Three things happened in quick succession: 1) Derek wheeled around to face Stiles, 2) grabbed him by the arms and slammed him to the nearest wall and 3) the rest of the pack looked at each other, stood seemingly in unison, grabbed their things and rushed out of the loft.
So this is how I die, Stiles thought as Derek crowded into his personal space, totally worth it. “What was that about?” Derek’s breath ghosted over Stiles’ cheek as he rumbled in his ear.
“Friendly banter in physical form?” Stiles squeaked, hysteria still bubbling from inside, his mouth stretched in a wide, toothy grin. “OK, no, I’m sorry. I know it was wrong of me to touch without consent. I promise I’ll never do it again. I mean it, I’m a safe place, I give you my word. I don’t know what came over me just now.”
“If I give you my consent, would you do it again?” Derek whispered and looked into his eyes. “Wha-a-a…?” Stiles let out his breath in a surprised swoosh. “I could? If that’s a thing you’re into? I mean, if it made you happy. No, what I mean is, I’ll do whatever makes you happy. I would love to make you happy, touching. If that’s something I can do?”
“I think we’re ready to move beyond the looking and lusting to finding out what actually feels good,” Derek murmured as he started nosing along Stiles’ neck, his lips and tongue sliding to his shoulder.
“Oooooooh, huh, ah, so you saw me looking? And lusting?” Stiles stammered, grasping at Derek’s back for support as all the muscles in his legs seemed to melt away.
“Saw it, smelled it, practically felt it on my skin. You’re not as subtle as you think you are. I was just waiting for you to - I don’t know - mature enough to make something of it,” Derek admitted. He moved his hand to the back of Stiles’ head and let his eyes fall to Stiles’ mouth. “I should’ve known better than to expect your first move to be a mature one,” he chuckled.
“Oh man, you totally should’ve!” Stiles gasped and attacked Derek’s mouth with his own.