"Check out the nark," Stiles elbows Scott from where they’re standing in the wings, nods towards the super hot, furious looking dude that’s hovering in the entrance to the club. He’s so clearly uncomfortable, out of his depth, Stiles isn’t sure whether he wants to go warn all their regulars to ditch their stashes, or march up to the dude and give him a hug.
"Who? Oh shit!" Scott ducks behind him, covers his face.
"What, what? You know him?"
"It’smybrother," Scott mumbles.
"Noooo," Stiles grabs his shoulders, gazing over at the dude he now knows is called Derek, and absolutely hates Stiles. Apparently, according to an —unwilling to spill until held down and sat on— Scott, Derek thinks Stiles is a bad influence.
Derek, oh great and holy hotness that he is, is a self righteous prick in Stiles’ book.
"He come for the show?"
"No," Scott snorts, "He’s probably here to drag me out by the ear."
"Huh," Stiles smirks, catching Derek’s angry glare across the room. Derek narrows his eyes at him, shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away. He actually shuffles his feet. God, it’s so pathetically adorable. Stiles wants to take him home and sit on his face.
"Dude," Scott groans, slapping the side of his face, "You said that out loud."
asked by nevertrustawildfox