#yes Stiles is a tap dancer because i say so and i love it

[clotpolesonly]

Curtain Up (Thank You, Five)

some cheesy af theater AU nonsense because based loosely on the teenwolfdrabbles prompts of “act,” “patch,” and “knowledge”, which @tiniestawoo put into a theater context and then it would not stay drabble-length XD

 | Sterek | Gen | 2k | Theater AU | Oblivious Stiles | First Kiss |

(also on AO3)

~~~

“Patch! I need a patch!”

Stiles careened through backstage, dodging set pieces and actors getting to their places, trying not to make a gigantic ruckus in his tap shoes. Of course this would happen the one night their costumer couldn't be there to oversee things. That was when Allison would drop her curling iron onto Stiles' shirt for the opening of act two and burn a hole straight through it.

"It's eight til places!” Stiles whisper-shouted, as loudly as he dared backstage. “For the love of god, does anyone know how to sew a patch?"

"I do."

Derek, already dressed for his own entrance, was leaning up against the back wall and eyeing Stiles' bare chest with a raised eyebrow. Thank god for the low lighting, because Stiles did not think he could’ve handled it if Derek had been able to see the way his face—and probably the rest of him too—flushed.

“You what?” he asked, because he was an idiot.

Derek obviously agreed. His eyebrow hiked up even higher and he nodded at the shirt clutched in Stiles’ hands.

“I know how to sew a patch,” he said. “Do you have something to patch it with?”

Wordlessly, Stiles held up a scrap of fabric that Scott had hastily fished out of some bin from a distant corner of the dressing room. It was nowhere near the same color as the shirt, but it was a similar fabric and it fit in with the general color scheme of the number. The hole was dead center in the back too, so they figured that it could maybe look like it was sort of on purpose.

Derek took the scrap and the shirt without comment—not without more eyebrow judging, though, because who would he be without his judgmental eyebrows?—and slid past Stiles in the direction of the stage manager’s podium on stage left.

Mason wasn’t there, but Stiles could hear him back in the dressing room, announcing five til curtain up. He joined in the chorus of “thank you, five” by reflex, and Derek snorted into the little box of detritus that he was digging around in. Stiles would’ve snarked at him for it, but then Derek was pulling out a needle and thread and he couldn’t be anything but relieved.

“It’s not gonna be pretty,” Derek warned him, spreading the shirt out on top of the podium under the blue-tinted working light and positioning the patch where it needed to be.

“It just needs to not fall apart before the number’s over,” Stiles said, muffled around the thumbnail in his mouth. “Peter can pull me something else from the closet tomorrow.”

“He’s gonna bitch at you so much for this.”

Derek had the audacity to laugh at the idea, as if Peter hadn’t reduced poor Sydney to tears the time she had accidentally gotten red lipstick on her white dry-clean-only dress during a quick change. Stiles was not looking forward to informing Peter that his perfectly realized vision was irreparably tarnished and he needed to find a new costume for his lead dancer before tomorrow’s matinee.

“It’s not like it was my curling iron,” Stiles muttered.

He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling weirdly exposed even with Derek’s focus entirely on the task before him. The needle looked impossibly small in his large hand, but it dipped in and out of the fabric easily, leaving a line of tidy stitches in its wake.

Stiles tried not to find this newfound skill of Derek’s attractive, but, frankly, everything about Derek was attractive to him. The fact that he had been able to keep his crush on Derek more or less subtle and under wraps for the whole rehearsal process was a feat for which Stiles deserved a fucking award. Every time Derek laughed at one of his jokes, he was caught between looking for the Candid Camera guy and drafting their wedding vows.

And yet, despite his innate awkwardness, he had somehow managed to become friends with Derek. Derek, with the pretty eyes and the smooth voice and the perfect smile that he sometimes deigned to grace Stiles with. Derek who could sight-read a song note-perfect on the first try and match Stiles’ sarcasm quip for quip. The guy was literally perfect, and now he could sew too? It was just downright unfair.

Stiles dragged his taps across the floor with a metallic shhhnk and asked, “So, uh, where’d you learn to do this?”

Derek paused in his sewing just to send Stiles a flat look. “My uncle is a costumer,” he pointed out. “And my grandmother was too. She wouldn’t let any of her grandchildren get away with not knowing how to take care of their own clothes.”

“And everybody else’s, apparently.”

“Nothing is worse than a performer who does nothing but perform,” Derek said. It sounded like a mantra, a pearl of wisdom his grandmother had passed on to him. “That’s how you get entitled shitbags like Jackson who make demands of the crew without knowing what it takes to make those demands happen.”

Stiles snorted, remembering the fit Jackson had thrown over not getting a spot for his feature. One verse of a song was clearly not enough to showcase his talents properly, especially not if he wasn’t dead center with a white hot spotlight on him. He and Derek had had a grand time roasting Jackson for that one. Not that Jackson had noticed; he was arrogant enough to have actually taken their sarcastic compliments as genuine ones. Which was exactly what Stiles had bet that he would do. Derek had bought him a milkshake as his prize.

“I work set design,” Stiles found himself volunteering.

Derek glanced up at him again.

Stiles suddenly remembered that he was shirtless. He crossed his arms a little tighter and cleared his throat.

“When I’m not performing,” he clarified. “I help build the sets. And I’ve done lighting a few times! I know how to work the light boards and everything. Tried stage managing, but that one’s really super stressful, so I’ll leave it Mason. I’m not—”

Not one of the entitled shitbags, he wanted to say. Because Derek was still looking at him, eyebrows slightly less judgemental than usual. Because Stiles cared what Derek thought of him. Because Derek was the kind of performer that Stiles wanted to be when he grew up.

Not that Stiles was not already grown up, or that Derek was even that much older than him. Stiles was just a disaster bi with a huge crush and a major talent boner for their leading man, which apparently left him unable to control his mouth. Damn it, he had been doing so well at not making a fool of himself in front of Derek. And now here he was, shirtless and scrambling because he didn’t know how to fucking sew. Everybody should know how to sew! Fuck, maybe he was an entitled shitbag.

Except that Derek was smiling. It set Stiles’ stomach to fluttering more than any case of stage fright ever had. Every time.

“I suck at stage managing,” Derek admitted. “I happily leave that to my sister. It’s sets, sound design, and costumes for me. Though I would love to direct someday.”

With that, he leaned down to bite the thread, since the one thing the stage manager’s box of wonders did not seem to have was scissors. He shook out the shirt and held it up with a proud flourish for Stiles to inspect. It was still pretty obviously a last minute patch job, considering it was just a random splotch of blue on the back of an otherwise normal white shirt, but it was relatively neat and it would be a hell of a lot better than showing skin.

“You’re a prince among men,” Stiles declared. “Truly, Derek, I owe you my life. Or maybe just a favor or something, I dunno, a life debt seems a little dramatic. A favor is probably reasonable, though. So if there’s something you want, you can have it, anything you w—”

“How about a kiss?”

Stiles stuttered to a stop, hand already tangled in the shirt that Derek wasn’t letting go of yet. “W-what?”

Derek grinned, unrepentant, and gave the shirt a little shake. “For payment,” he said. “Or for luck. Or maybe just because you want to.”

Stiles gaped at him, running the words over and over in his head until he was absolutely certain that they were, in fact, the words that his ears had thought they’d heard. Even once that had been determined, the only thing he could think to say was, “Do you want me to?”

Derek opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly Mason was right there, headset on and clipboard in hand.

“Will you two quit flirting!” he snapped. “I called places two minutes ago. And Stiles, why aren’t you dressed? Don’t make us hold. I want to get out of here sometime before midnight.”

Stiles snatched his shirt out of Derek’s hand and hastily pulled it on. It was not graceful to tuck a shirt into trousers while running, but desperate times and whatnot. Ignoring Mason’s hissed “Quiet feet backstage, Stiles, for the love of—”, he slid into place in the right wing more or less stage-ready and with Derek right behind him.

He devoted ten seconds to making sure that his hair wasn’t too fucked up, then rounded on Derek.

“Were you serious?” he whispered. “Like, actually serious? About the kissing thing? You want me to kiss you?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Well, I did ask you to kiss me. I figure that can probably be construed as me wanting you to, yes.”

“Since when?”

The judgmental eyebrows returned in full force, accompanied by the swell of the entr'acte from the orchestra out front. “Stiles, I have been flirting with you for the last two months. You can’t possibly have missed that memo.”

Stiles gaped a bit more. Squished into the wall behind him, Scott was laughing, and he did not stop when Stiles turned to demand, “Wait a minute, did you know about this? Has Derek really been flirting with me this whole time?”

“Dude, literally the whole time.”

“Dude! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew!” Scott was laughing so hard, he almost couldn’t get the words out. “You’ve already been on a date and everything!”

“No, we haven’t!” Stiles insisted. Then, to Derek, “Wait, have we?”

Derek shrugged. “The milkshakes were sort of a date.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said faintly. “My whole life is a lie. A good lie! Don’t get me wrong, this is absolutely a good thing, like, seriously the best thing on the planet, but also I’m an idiot and I’m having an existential crisis right now and I—”

“You have to be on stage in two eight counts,” Derek said. “Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

Stiles did not waste any time. He had already wasted the last two months being oblivious, apparently, and smudged lipstick and a late entrance were a price he was willing to pay for the noise Derek made into his mouth. He didn’t let up until Scott started slapping at his arm in a panic, and even then, it took all his will power to manage it.

“We’re coming back to this later,” he murmured against Derek’s lips.

Derek said, “It’s a date,” and then shoved him out onto the stage.

The patch held up through the number. Late entrance aside, it was the best Stiles had ever danced, and the milkshake Derek bought him after the show was the most delicious he had ever had.

[seriousshit88]

Lockdown

“This DJ sucks,” Stiles groused into his empty shot glass. He slammed it back down onto the bar and stuck a lime slice between his teeth, sucking out all of the juice before dropping the rind into the glass. He motioned to the bartender for another tequila shot.

Scott nodded. “Tell me about it. If I hear I Gotta Feeling one more time, I’m gonna cry.”

“I’m gonna hurl.”

“We can cry and hurl together,” Scott said, clinking the neck of his beer bottle against the rim of Stiles’s new shot glass. “That’s your third one tonight, by the way.”

Stiles stared Scott straight in the eye as he downed the shot. Scott sighed. He really didn’t want to have to carry Stiles out of here, but he began preparing himself for the possibility.

It was Friday night after a long week of grueling classes. Stiles was still trying to get used to being back in California after transferring to UC Davis for his senior year. Scott teased him about missing a certain werewolf best friend, and, well, Stiles didn’t outright deny it. Scott missed him, too, so it wasn’t really a surprise to anyone that they now shared an apartment while finishing up their undergrad degrees. By an incredibly suspicious stroke of luck, they even shared an ethics class, despite being different majors.

Not that Scott would complain about that. It was almost like old times. Happier, more innocent times. Back when the universe actually made sense.

“-dance?” Stiles was asking.

Scott pulled himself from his thoughts. “What?”

“Do you want to dance?” Stiles repeated, leaning closer to Scott’s ear. His warm breath sent a little tingle across Scott’s exposed skin.  “I’m buzzed enough to finally dance to this crap.”

“Um…” Scott surveyed the dance floor. It wasn’t packed, but there were a fair number of people out there gyrating and bobbing around to a mid-tempo, late 90s electronica song Scott forgot the name of. The thought of being that close to Stiles tonight was something Scott didn’t know if he could handle at the moment. A certain amount of tension was ramping up between them since Stiles moved back, and tonight Scott felt like he was trying to balance on the edge of a soap bubble.

He must have taken too long to answer because Stiles shrugged. “It’s okay, buddy.” Stiles patted Scott’s shoulder and hopped down off his bar stool. He ended up using Scott’s arm to balance himself. “I can tell you aren’t feeling it. I’ll go get my groove on for a bit, then we can leave. I need burgers, anyway.” He wandered off into the mix. Scott lost sight of him but could still pick out his heartbeat over the loud music if he concentrated.

The fact that he could do that was oddly comforting. Scott felt a warm glow in his chest that he couldn’t blame on the alcohol.

“I kinda wish I could,” he mumbled to himself.

“Wish you could what?” the bartender asked as she cleared Stiles’s spot.

Scott jumped a little, startled. He’d focused so intently on Stiles that he completely missed her coming back over.

“Nothing,” Scott said. “It was nothing.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure,-” he glanced at her name tag, “-Kendra. When my friend gets back, we’re going to head out, so if I could square up the tab...?”

Scott reached for his wallet, but Kendra shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. Everything’s taken care of.”

At Scott’s questioning expression, she pointed to someone out on the dance floor. At first, Scott couldn’t pick them out, but then he spotted a guy who appeared to be a little older than him and Stiles. He was tall, good-looking, well dressed, and was dancing alone. He was also very clearly moving deeper into the dancing throng of mostly drunk people.

The tiny hairs on the back of Scott’s neck rose.

“Thanks,” he said quickly to Kendra as he hopped from his barstool and made his way to the dance floor. He pushed his way through the crowd, narrowly avoiding errant elbows and shuffling feet as he followed his ears until he found the owner of a very familiar heartbeat.

“Hey.” Scott said, tapping Stiles on the shoulder.

“There he is!” Stiles practically cheered. He spun around and grabbed Scott’s hips to steady himself. “Glad you decided to join me!”

“How are you already so gross and sweaty?” Scott asked, wrinkling his nose.

“I’m literally that hot, I guess,” Stiles smirked.

Scott snorted. “Okay,” he said dryliy.

“Shut up and dance with me, dude.”

Scott really didn’t want to be out there, but that guy gave him the creeps and was headed straight for Stiles. He couldn’t let a buzzed Stiles deal with that alone. There’s no telling what could happen. Yeah, the music was terrible, but Scott didn’t want to be banned from the place entirely.

He let Stiles lead. Scott, not for a lack of trying, could admit that he wasn’t the best dancer. In fact, he was just shy of terrible. Stiles, however, was a natural. A flaily natural, but a natural all the same. Even after three tequila shots, he could keep his body loose and on beat. Scott might not have wanted to dance before, but he at least found it easy to follow Stiles, to match his movements and rhythm. Scott liked how Stiles’s large hands rested heavily on his hips, grounding him, keeping him in the music. He placed his own hands on Stiles’s shoulders and felt his neck heating from the sideways smile Stiles gave him.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Scott said softly. He didn’t know if Stiles even heard him, but he got his answer when Stiles pulled him a little closer. They danced that way for awhile, the two of them.

“Scott?” Stiles said after a long while of neither of them speaking.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…I mean, would you be mad if-”

One of the people dancing near them shuffled into the small space Scott and Stiles occupied. “Hi.” It was the man Kendra pointed to earlier.

“Hi,” Scott said cautiously. The fine hairs all over his body rose to attention. The man’s proximity to him and Stiles made Scott feel a little self-conscious and more than a little wary.

Stiles didn’t let go or stop dancing. He kept Scott’s hips moving in time with his own and simply narrowed his eyes at the intruder.

“How are you?” the man asked them.

“Fine,” Scott replied. He hoped the curt answers would drive the man off. Unfortunately, he seemed determined to speak with them.

“That’s great. Since I paid for your drinks tonight, I thought it would only be fair if I introduced myself,” he said over the loud music. “My name’s Gabriel. Gabriel Pantera. What’s yours?”

Stiles scoffed. “You’re in the club cruising while using an obviously fake name? Bro, c’mon. You can do better than that. Have you tried Grindr? It’s a little risky, but a man like you has to live on the edge, right?” Stiles snarked.

Scott wanted to know what risky experiences Stiles was having with Grindr, but those questions would have to wait for later.

Gabriel stiffened slightly. “What?”

“Grind-errr,” Stiles said, over enunciating the word.

“You know,” Gabriel said slowly, “I expected a little more...civility...from two fine gentlemen such as yourselves.” His oily gaze slid across Stiles’s body and over to Scott. “I think you’re both very exceptional. I don’t buy drinks for just anybody.”

Scott’s hackles rose even more. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve been watching you two all night. You’re lovely together.”

“Well, that’s not creepy at all,” Stiles said. Scott caught the acrid whiff of fear mixed with anger tainting Stiles’s previously relaxed scent. Scott also sensed something else. Something wilder. Urgent.

Gabriel’s hand twitched, and Scott had him in his grip before he could even raise it. A snarl surged from Gabriel’s throat as his eyes flashed an electric blue. Scott’s own flashed red in automatic response. He wasn’t sure what Gabriel was about to do, but apparently his wolf wasn’t down with whatever it was.

“Holy shit,” Stiles muttered, finally stopping his movements.

“I don’t think you want to do this here,” Scott said quietly as he ever so slightly strengthened his grip on Gabriel’s wrist, drawing a pained winced from the older man. “Thanks for the drinks, but you need to move along before innocent people get hurt.” Scott’s words were polite, but a little of his alpha power bled into the tone of his voice.

“I had no idea an alpha and his mate would be here this evening,” Gabriel ground out through his teeth. “My apologies.”

“Leave. Don’t ever let me see you in here again.”

Scott released Gabriel, and he and Stiles watched as he slunk away and melded back into the crowd. Luckily, no one else in the vicinity paid them any attention. They were too busy dancing.

“What the hell was he? Obviously a were-something. Panther, like his fake name? We should keep an eye out just in case, be ready to take him out if we have to. He might be a threat. What if he already knew who you are?  I’ll run a background check on him Monday. Maybe he’s been dumb enough to use that name somewhere else.”

Scott gave his jangled nerves a little time to settle before turning to Stiles. “Did he say ‘mate’?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “That’s your takeaway from all this? Aren’t you the one who’s usually obsessing over keeping people safe?”

“It’s just weird, is all,” Scott said more to himself than to Stiles.  

“Yeah. That was weird, but is it so hard to believe?” Stiles said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my hands are still on your hips.”

Scott actually looked down to confirm that, yes, Stiles was still holding him. “Oh.”

“And the alpha thing? I’m not gonna lie: sexy as hell.”

Scott’s heart thundered in his chest. “You’re more drunk than I thought. Maybe we should be heading home.”

“I’m not that drunk, Scott.” As if to prove his point, Stiles resumed their dancing. Slowly, the air between them stilled to a comfortable level. The music’s tempo had slowed considerably, and Scott let their repetitive motions lull him into a warm, relaxed spot. He glanced at Stiles and saw he had his eyes closed.  

“It hurts me that you think you’re so hard to love,” Stiles said. The comment seemingly came from nowhere. Scott was used to Stiles’s non sequiturs, but this...this was different.

The words cut through the nervous fog threatening to overtake Scott’s thoughts. Scott didn’t think he was hard to love. Did he? Wait, what was Stiles saying? Hard to love?

Stiles opened his eyes. At first, he couldn’t meet Scott’s gaze. Apprehension, Scott senses told him.

“Hey,” Scott said. “Are you okay?”

For the first time since Scott found him on the dance floor, Stiles moved his hands. He cupped Scott’s face in his palms, smoothed his thumbs across Scott’s cheeks. Scott found himself transfixed by Stiles’s warm, serious, slightly out-of-focus eyes boring intently into his. “You’re the only reason I came back, you know.”

“Stiles…” Scott didn’t know what to say. The only thing he was certain about was that they should probably have this conversation somewhere else. Some place a lot more private.

“I was going to ask you something before we were interrupted.” Stiles’s eyes flicked to Scott’s mouth and then back up again. “That Panther guy probably killed the mood, but he proved we need to lock this down.”

Scott didn’t have to ask what ‘this’ was. He knew Stiles well enough to know exactly what he wanted right then. Scott knew what he wanted, too. If Stiles was willing to take a leap of faith, then Scott was willing to jump with him. “Dude, if a guy with a name as ridiculous as Gabriel Pantera could get between us, we obviously weren’t that solid to begin with,” Scott shakily joked.

“So, we’re solid? Solid enough for this?” Stiles wondered.

“Why don’t we just try it and find out?”

They met each other halfway, and the initial press of their lips was soft, tentative, chaste. Its sweetness belied the depth of emotions bubbling inside Scott.

Relief. Happiness. Uncertainty. Need. Hope.

The delicate bubble surrounding the tension between them popped into a million glittery effervescent fizzies. Scott wasn’t sure which one of them deepened the kiss. It honestly didn’t matter. He could suddenly taste lime and salt and tequila and Stiles, and he wanted more. Distantly, Scott was surprised by how effortless it was to kiss Stiles. He didn’t have to think about anything. A small, involuntary moan escaped Scott as he fisted a hand in Stiles’s hair, which was longer than usual. Perfect. He tugged Stiles’s face closer to his.

“Scotty, whoa, slow down,” Stiles chuckled breathlessly, breaking the kiss. He gently removed Scott’s hand from his hair. “It’s not that I’m not into that--believe me, I totally am--but I want to go a little slower. Is that okay? I don’t want to rush this ‘thing’ with you. It’s too new, but I’ve known you forever, and we have to protect that, you know?”  A brief moment of confusion blocked out the rest of Scott’s higher brain functions.

“Huh?” Scott asked. “What? Did I do something? I’m sorry, I-”

“Shush,” Stiles said, placing a finger over Scott’s lips. “Stop over-thinking it. Just tell me what you feel.”

Scott felt a lot of things, some he could quantify and some he couldn’t. One word kept repeating itself in Scott’s mind, though. “Finally,” he sighed.

“Finally,” Stiles repeated.

“Yeah, finally. We’ve been tiptoeing around it since you moved back. It was making me nuts.”

“Same here,” Stiles said.

Scott felt himself smiling. “I’m glad we’re going to try this.”

“You’re a really good kisser, dude. I can’t believe we’ve been missing out all this time. I had no idea you were so easy.”

“Wait, what? Who are you calling eas-” Scott’s protest was cut short by Stiles’s lips on his again. Scott let himself get lost in the deft plushness of it all. At some point, Stiles began gently stroking the shell of his ear. It felt incredible. Scott’s knees grew a little weak. Then, as if wanting to drive him completely out of his mind, Stiles drew Scott further in and sucked the tip of his tongue with only the barest hint of pressure.

Scott thought he’d left his days of instant boners back in middle school. Yet here he was, a grown adult, rapidly chubbing up in his pants, exactly two seconds away from embarrassing himself in a shitty bar, thanks to his best friend--boyfriend?--kissing him to death. Stiles was shamelessly taking him apart with only his mouth, like this was something he needed to do for a long time.

The sound that came out of Scott was sort of a desperate whine.

Stiles, exhibiting a rare moment of mercy, pulled back. His eyes swept Scott’s face, examining his handiwork. He seemed pleased as he ran a thumb over Scott’s kiss-swollen lips. “Do you feel as wrecked as you look?”

“You went from zero to a hundred without even…didn’t you JUST say you wanted to go slow?” Scott struggled to catch his breath.

Stiles, for probably the first time in ages, looked sheepish. “I thought that was slow?”

“Tongue-sucking is slow for you?”

“I may have done a little research prior to tonight and may have wanted to test a few theories. Also, booze makes me bold, so...”

Scott didn’t want to know what ‘research’ and ‘theories’ meant. That was a conversation best saved for a time when his brain could actually access oxygen. “You’re going to kill me if you try to do everything at once,” he said. Scott took a deep breath in an effort to clear his head. Stiles didn’t seem as if he were totally unaffected, either. On the contrary, it was apparent Scott had been giving just as well as he was getting, if Stiles’s mussed hair and flushed cheeks were any indication. Arousal poured off of him, and a primal part of Scott’s brain felt really proud. I did that, Scott thought. So, while Stiles was just more smug about it, he was getting just as heated as Scott was. Or maybe it was the tequila.

Stiles gave him an innocent smile that was anything but.

Definitely not just the tequila.

“We have to talk,” Scott said. “Let’s leave, get your burgers, and discuss this before we go any further. And in the morning, if you still feel the same way, we can decide where to go from there, I guess. No pressure. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything. Deal?”

“Hmm. Fine. I’d rather talk about your dick jabbing me in the thigh just now, but I guess burgers and feelings are okay, too.”

“That was entirely your fault. Give me your keys. I’m driving.”

Stiles huffed an exaggerated sigh and retrieved his keys from his pocket. He smoothly placed them into Scott’s back pocket, taking a quick opportunity to squeeze Scott’s butt.

Scott raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” Stiles said with the same fake innocence from before. “Don’t you test the melons before buying them from that hippie co-op place you like?”

“We’ve been dating for, like, ten minutes, and I can already tell you’re going to be the worst,” Scott said lightly as he grabbed Stiles’s hand and led him off the dance floor.

“We can be the worst together, Mr. I-Shower-With-The-Door-Open,” Stiles countered.

Scott was grateful Stiles couldn’t see him blushing. Or adjusting his jeans.

“I had a feeling that tonight was going to be a good night,” Stiles said obnoxiously as they passed the DJ booth on their way out.

As if he’d summoned a demon from the depths of hell, I Gotta Feeling came pumping through the sound system.

Scott groaned. At this rate, it was going to become their song.

But now that he thought about it, maybe he could live with that.