Don't Give Me A Reason

Disclaimer:

As usual, it's unbeta'd so any and all remaining mistakes are my own. I don't own the show or the characters.


Stiles was almost positive it was possible to die from sexual frustration.

Every day he watched Derek from afar (while standing right next to him) and ignored his body's demand for attention. But just because he ignored it, it didn't mean that certain meddling werewolves did too. No, they usually smirked at him and generally made being a horny teenage boy even more traumatising.

However, it wasn't all bad. Derek didn't seem to be aware of his little crush, so Stiles wasn't crying himself to sleep quite yet. Although, if Erica and Isaac kept up with the constant teasing, then he may have to reconsider.

Scott was great about it; then again, they were bros, and Stiles had put up with all his ramblings about Allison and lately, Kira. Still, Stiles was glad he had one friend that wasn't a total asshole.

The girls thought it was adorable; Lydia had even gone so far as to take him shopping for new clothes (''You are never going to date him whilst you insist on wearing flannel, Stiles.'') but apparently he was even worse with fashion than he was with getting attached to emotionally unavailable man.

In the end, the only one he could really rely on was Derek, and that was only because he hadn't noticed Stiles making goo-goo eyes at him yet.

Not that he made goo-goo eyes. He didn't, not at all.

But still, every day Stiles hid his feelings behind his sharp wit and brilliant humour, and tried to forget that his heart did this weird twisty thing whenever Derek bestowed a half smile on them. On him.

He deserved a sainthood. Or a medal. Maybe both.

Most of the time he spent in Derek's presence, he was purposely pissing him off, just so he could get his undivided attention for a few minutes while Derek chewed him out.

It was worth it. The glare did things to him; don't judge.

Although, as awkward as being around the pack was sometimes, nothing had been as awkward as when his father had figured it out. Stiles was pretty sure he scarred for life.

''Son, you know you can talk to me, right?'' His father had said, while staring intently at the TV screen. ''About anything.''

Stiles had gulped and nodded slowly, ''Yeah...'' He figured less was safer.

His father nodded absently, ''Good. That's good.''

Stiles thought he was safe as his Dad trailed off, but soon enough the words hit him in the face (or ears, whatever) and he had turned bright red and started stammering.

''So...'' The Sheriff started. Stiles froze in anticipation. ''Derek Hale, huh?''

''What?! No, I have no idea what you mean. Like literally, what are you even-I don't-''

His Dad had silenced him with a look, ''Please. I know my son and this is exactly how you acted in the third grade when you started liking Lydia.''

And Stiles really couldn't argue with that. ''Please don't shoot him.''

Smirking at the TV and adjusting the volume, his father replied, ''Don't give me a reason to shoot him...''

If Stiles thought he couldn't find Derek any more attractive, he was wrong. Now he knew it was dangerous, it was even more appealing.

Fucking cliches...

-END-