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“But you…but you don’t understand.” Derek lurched forward a little, sloshing the margarita over the edge of his cup. “I never…I never thought ‘bout guys that way, y’know?”
Scott did not know. Scott’s angsting over his sexual orientation had lasted approximately five minutes. Once he realized he thought both Allison and Isaac were hot and would totally be okay with being the filling in that sandwich, he hadn’t given it too much thought.
Someone who had the ability to get drunk should probably be taking care of Derek, who was currently going through a bottle of Jose Cuervo and a bottle of margarita mix like they were apple juice. But Scott was Alpha, so nursing Derek through his first binge-drinking (and what would inevitably be his first hangover) was his job.
"But his mouth.” Derek gulped down half the margarita and slammed the cup back on the table. “His fucking mouth. Should be illegal. Hell, he is illegal. ‘M going to the special hell.”
”Who’s illegal?” Scott asked loyally.
"Stiles.”
Scott choked on his own drink. “What?”
Derek nodded mournfully. “I know. I’m a bad person.”
“What? No, Derek, you’re not—” It should not be this hard to keep up with the damn conversation; Scott wasn’t even drunk. He tried again. “You’re not a bad person. Why would you think that?”
“‘Cuz he’s seventeen and his dad’s the sheriff and he’s seventeen.” Derek pointed with his cup for emphasis, sending more margarita splattering on the table. “S’bad. Not supposed to like him like that, but he’s funny and smart and loyal and brave and he’s not scared of me and I trust him—”
Scott bobbed his head and hummed with assent. Besides, it wasn’t like Derek was wrong about any of it. Stiles was awesome.
“—and his fingers, oh my God, his fingers are beautiful and he fucking fello…fellay…fellaysh…he shouldn’t be allowed to use straws,” Derek continued. “Last time I saw him drink a soda I had to spend half an hour in the shower after ‘cuz it was like porn.”
And that was TMI right there. “Whoa!” Scott held his hands up. “You think my best friend’s hot, fine, but I don’t need to hear about your…shower habits, all right?”
"But he’s seventeen,” Derek said for about the millionth time. “And he likes girls. I shouldn’t…there’s a special hell for people like me.”
Scott sighed. “Okay, Derek, one,” he held up one finger, “he’s gonna be eighteen in like three weeks, and you’re barely six years older than us, okay? You’re not going to the special hell. And two,” he held up the second finger, “Stiles is bi. He has literally asked for sex in the middle of the locker room, and I’m pretty sure he’d have taken Danny up on it if Danny hadn’t been joking.”
Derek stared at him blearily, eyes blinking back and forth between gold and their regular green, brow furrowed like he was trying to decipher the meaning of life from Scott’s words.
"You’re not going to the special hell just because you think Stiles is hot,” Scott repeated, slowly, hoping to get it through Derek’s drunk brain. “Okay?”
Derek’s face cleared, and he opened his mouth as if to reply.
Then he lurched to one side and puked all over the floor.