Stiles isn’t looking for a boyfriend. In fact, he’s not even looking for new friends. For flourishing art student Stiles Stilinski, they’re just distractions. But when Stiles’ buddy, Danny, gets him involved with a model with insanely good looks, suddenly it seems like art maybe isn’t the most important thing in the world after all…
“When you said you were going to get a model for me to draw off of, I was sort of expecting something like a bowl of fruit, something nice and easy to do, not…well, um, that.”
To which Stiles was referring to the seeming relative of some Greek god currently taking up residence in the living room of Danny’s apartment, so radiant that Stiles felt the need to turn around and shield his eyes…alright, maybe it wasn’t just his radiance. Maybe it was his stark nudity.
“In my defense, it wouldn’t be very difficult to do that.” Danny smirks. When the only response he receives from Stiles was a slight eye twitch and the growing prominence of a singular vein on his forehead, Danny hurries on, “And, well, I just wanted to introduce you to drawing life forms. Look, you’re great at drawing inanimate objects and things, you know, but don’t you want to get used to drawing things more complex? Fluid? You’ve been in kind of a slouch lately, Stiles. Hey, don’t give me that look, I’m just sayin’. This is just the sort of good, old-fashioned shove that you need. In fact, maybe you should be thanking me. ”
Stiles sighs, his eyes involuntarily darting over to ‘Adonis’ (the nickname he had suddenly decided to dub the model with) in the living room. Stiles presses his lips together and he ignores the slight hitch in his breath before looking back at Danny. “That depends on whether or not we’re even still talking about drawing here.”
But it’s too late; Danny’s hands come together in a loud clap and he takes Stiles by the shoulder, steering him to the seat in front of the easel, curling Stiles’ fingers around a pencil and an eraser. Then, slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Danny heads for the doors, much to the silent, indignant inner screams of rage that Stiles wished he had the boldness to utter aloud. “Alright, Stiles, I’ve got to go, but you have fun- with drawing. I’ll see you later, Derek. Thanks for this, by the way. We’re even,” And with that, the sly bastard seals Stiles in with the very-much-lacking-clothes Adonis Derek.
Stiles is too busy sending nonverbal curses after Danny to notice that Derek is waiting for him to begin. Stiles rigidly rotates to face Derek once again, his face gaining a light red tint as his eyes once again definitely do not rake over Derek’s body. When his eyes meet Derek’s and he notices the amused smile and raised eyebrow that paint Derek’s features, Stiles snaps back to attention. “Ahem. So, I’m Stiles. And… well, I’ll just be…you know, drawing, now.”
“Okay, Stiles.” Derek replies calmly, a subtle smile curving his lips upwards, lightening up his face and causing his green eyes to catch the light just so as the skin around it crinkles a little bit and the shadow of a dimple begins to surface…
Stiles shakes his head. Nope, that’s not going to happen. He takes a moment to steady his breath(which was weirdly uneven for some reason unknown to Stiles), and then he focuses, becoming the artist that he usually was. The pencil was like an extension of his own hand, dancing like liquid across the paper, the simple lines of Derek slowly began to come to life: his slightly ruffled hair, his chiseled jawline, his hard, muscular arms and abs, sliding all the way down to his…
Oh, god. Oh, god. Okay. Stiles. You are a professional. Sort of. If this isn’t uncomfortable for him, you sure as hell shouldn’t feel uncomfortable either. So just draw. Oh, and for the love of God, stop staring!
“You know what, why don’t you just put this on?” Stiles is blurting out before he even fully realizes, and the next thing he knows, his hand is practically shoving a blanket in Derek’s face. “For the time being, at least.”
“Oh. Sure. Are you new at drawing with a model?” Derek asks, sounding genuinely curious as he covers himself up with the sheets.
Stiles looks over into Derek’s eyes over the top of the easel, carefully keeping his eyes focused on Derek’s face only. Hell, yes. “…Sort of. I mean, it’s not you that’s making me awkward; actually,” Stiles adds on as an after thought. Out of the air, he grasps at another lie. Shrugging nonchalantly, his hand lazily guiding the pencil over lines that already had outlines of outlines, he continues on, “I’m…just not used to this environment. Messing up my chi and all.”
“Your chi?” Stiles doesn’t look up, but he can practically hear the smile in Derek’s voice, and can picture a hand reaching up to stifle a gorgeous smile. Wait, hang on, when did Derek’s smile suddenly become gorgeous?
Stiles grudingly supposes it was around the time Derek’s eyes ‘caught the light just so’.
“Well, if the feng shui in here is really screwing with your chi that much, why don’t we just go to your place next time?”
Stiles freezes, and suddenly, he’s blissfully thankful that his face is obscured by the easel; though, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the heat that radiated off of his face caused the easel to go down in a burst of flames. “N-next time?” Stiles asks hoarsely. “My place?”
“Only if you want to,” Derek amends, leaning over to try to make eye-contact.
Stiles is once again forced to take a soothing breath in and finally steps away from the shield of the easel. His brow furrowed in humiliation, Stiles directs his amber eyes to glare into Derek’s. “We’re only drawing, got that?”
Derek lets out an abrupt cough of a laugh, a smile twitching on the corners of his mouth. “Of course, Stiles. What did you think I meant?”
Stiles flushes all over again. “I meant- I-“ A nervous breath escapes Stiles. “What do you think- obviously I just wanted to make sure-that’s what- you- I mean…You know what? Why don’t I shut up and just start drawing now?”
I’ve been seeing a few of these lately and thought it would be a fun thing to do. This is a collection of slow-tempoed songs that mostly revolve around a Derek and Stiles falling out of love. Also good for general moping and falling asleep. I hope you enjoy it either way!
Tracklist: 01 Leaving Tonight - The Neighbourhood; 02 I’m Not Yours - Angus and Julia Stone; 03 Hollow Drum - Laura Welsh; 04 You Could Be Happy - Snow Patrol; 05 Sparks - Coldplay; 06 I Was Wrong - Sleeperstar; 07 You And I Know - Ra Ra Riot; 08 Last Embrace - Northern Room; 09 Feels Like the End - Mikky Ekko; 10 Sunrise on Lake Pontchartrain - Alexandre Desplat
At Beacon Hills’ stuffy academy, a fundraising ‘junior-bachelor’ gala-auction is being held, and hot-shot Stiles Stilinski is stealing the show. Backed up by his best buddy, Derek Hale, Stiles is perfectly content to have girls and boys alike throwing their money more so for a date with him than for new school facilities. He was prepared for anyone to win the auction…except for the one person that actually did.
The junior-bachelors were called up to the stage. Each one had dashing good looks and took their places with a substantial amount of cheers and hormonal screams appraising them. But then Stiles stepped onstage, and it was as if a thousand banshees had been unleashed upon Derek’s ears. Even in that stupid radish-red suit, Stiles still managed to drive nearly every single girl crazy with a single smug smirk.
Except… well, maybe the radish suit wasn’t so stupid after all. It actually fit him extremely nicely, and to be honest, it wasn’t radish red. It was a silky, sultry red. And normally Derek wouldn’t have ever described a color to be ‘sultry’, but for Stiles, it was the least he could have said.
And it was obvious that Stiles knew just how wow he looked. His thumbs hooked into his pockets, his lean figure standing straight and relaxed. Stray locks of carefully tousled chocolate brown hair fell to his forehead. His lips were curved up into a teasing shadow of a smile that promised a good time.
“Three hundred fifty!”
So when Stiles actually winked at the crowd, eliciting a fresh wave of frenzied bids, Derek was definitely a sympathizer.
“Four hundred twenty-five!”
The bids continued to rack up, and finally when the bidding had reached a ridiculous six hundred and most had decided that suffering their parents’ wrath maybe wasn’t worth a date, there were only a few voices still calling out.
Derek, loosening his tie, looked on flatly at each one of the bidders. Then one caught his interest. No. Derek’s head whipped to Stiles, and sure enough, the cocky composure Stiles had on was barely suppressing glee at the fact that Lydia Martin, the most notorious girl at school, was out for him.
Only two lone voices were duking it out, surging up, slowly but surely, to seven hundred.
Derek’s mind shifted into gear. It couldn’t be Lydia Martin. Maybe Derek hadn’t sorted out his feelings about Stiles out enough, but if the thoughts that occurred to him at night were any indication, they weren’t as innocent as they had started out to be. Which meant that Derek definitely didn’t need time to sort out his feelings about Lydia Martin.
“Seven hundred fifty!” Lydia finally finished.
“Seven hundred fifty! Would anyone like to bid? Going once…going twice…aaaand go-“
“Eight hundred!” A voice suddenly shouted.
When nearly every single pair of eyes in the room turned around to face Derek, it was only then that he realized that he was the one who had placed a bid.
“Eight hundred!” The auctioneer roared with a flourish. “Going once!”
Derek blinked. What the hell had just happened?
Lydia’s green eyes blazed, but her mouth remained shut.
Derek looked up at Stiles. For the first time that entire night, the façade was gone. To anyone else he looked shocked. To anyone that actually knew him, Stiles was irate. Stiles wasn’t moving a muscle, but with the look in his eyes, he might as well have been screaming – pull your bid.
“Gone! It looks like we have a winner, ladies and gentleman!”
“Derek.” It sounds genuinely surprised when its beady, black eyes fixate on Derek. A nasty grin spreads across its face, somehow making such a familiar face to Derek look completely foreign. “You’re supposed to be rotting in hell right now.”
Derek leans against the burnt door frame of his former house, looking completely at ease despite the pure adrenaline pumping through him. “I’m going to save Stiles. But I’ll give you the chance to leave his body first.”
Its eyebrows raise, an incredulous grin curling its lips. “Who do you think you are, you fucking dog? You must have some new toys.” It draws closer to Derek, trailing a hand down the sleeve of his jacket, sending Derek’s skin crawling. “Remember, mortals fighting me will only hurt dear Stiles. Unless…”
Derek knows that it’s figured it out, and his only response is the color draining out of his eyes, replaced by an inky pitch black.
“Didn’t you say you were going to save Stiles?“ It asks curiously, cocking its head to the side. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m just fine with this, it’s actually pretty funny, but you and I know there are better solutions than this. Do you want to know what I think?”
“I’d rather just kick your ass.”
“I think,” it continues, ignoring Derek, “that you enjoy this. You do, don’t you? You’re already a werewolf, but no, that wasn’t enough. You wanted more power, and this does the trick perfectly. You probably don’t even love Stiles, because you sure as hell aren’t not doing this for him. You’re doing this for yourself.”
And because Derek finds himself actually terrified that he’s lost for words, the only thing he does is throw the first punch.