Be warned—this is pointless, trope-y, and ridiculous.
This is from a very long, very random, conversation I had with orangegirl22. So she deserves partial blame for this insanity.
Title is from the Pink song of the same name.
Stiles loves glitter. It's maybe not a passion he would admit to readily, but ever since he was little and doing crafts with his mom at the kitchen table glitter has had the strange ability to make him happy. For that reason alone, whenever there is even the slightest excuse for it, Stiles will drag out the bin of craft supplies still hidden in the back of his closet and go to town.
The fact that glitter always ends up everywhere—on the table, in the carpet, in the pocket lining of the uniform pants pressed and hung in the Sheriff's closet up the stairs and down the hall from the kitchen where Stiles still likes to do any and all crafting—is the reason that the Sheriff has banned Stiles from doing anything involving glitter in the house.
And that, well, that is only one of the reasons that Stiles is working on the "creative" part of the creative presentation that he and Lydia have to prepare for science class (Lydia having decided that her intelligence was far better served by a formal essay than by anything involving glue sticks) at Derek's loft.
The fact that it means he gets to ogle Derek whenever he takes a break is just a bonus.
Derek usually stays out of the way when Stiles is working on a project; today, though, he is being particularly distracting. It isn't even that Derek is making a ton of noise, or doing anything in particular other than existing.It's just that he's mostly naked, and, well, Stiles is pretty much helpless against the allure of that much of his boyfriend's bare skin.
Stiles is carefully tapping the side of a tube of blue glitter, sprinkling it evenly over a line of glue, when Derek reappears from the kitchen. Stiles glances up at Derek; he's only wearing a pair of plaid boxers slung low, one hand scratching lightly at his hip just under the waistband, and the sight causes Stiles to stare, a little pile of glitter accumulating all in one place where his hand has stopped still tipped over his project.
Eventually, Stiles rights his hand, glitter gripped tight nearly to the point of being crushed in his palm while he watches Derek. Derek walks towards Stiles's spot on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, stopping just beside him to flop down onto the couch and grab the book that is hanging open over the arm.
For the next while Stiles tries to focus, but he's hyper aware of Derek behind him, his knee brushing against Stiles's shoulder whenever either of them moves. It's making Stiles twitchy knowing that Derek is there (and so very underdressed) but not doing anything about it. Derek must notice Stiles's inability to sit still and the tight line of his shoulders while he works, because Stiles is startled by the sudden warmth of Derek's hand on the back of his neck, massaging gently before settling into a simple, relaxing touch.
The only problem is that the steadying weight of Derek's hand may be helping Stiles to relax, but it is doing nothing at all to calm his hormones.
Stiles lasts all of thirty seconds before he wrenches himself around and clambers—not entirely gracefully—into Derek's lap. Stiles barely catches sight of the smirk overtaking Derek's face before he's pressing his lips to Derek's, feeling the smirk melt away into a deep kiss. They stay tangled in the kiss for long minutes, and Stiles lets his hands grip at Derek's bare shoulders, grappling for purchase when large hands grab hard at his hips and tug him in closer.
Stiles doesn't realize anything is amiss until he slides his hand down Derek's chest and encounters grittiness that shouldn't be there. He pulls back, glances down, and immediately starts laughing—there's blue glitter scattered all down Derek's torso, trailing from just under his right collarbone to where the tube is overturned in his lap and the last of the glitter is pooled along the waistband of his boxers and scattered across his crotch.
Derek sweeps his hand down his chest in an attempt to brush glitter away, and he comes away with a palm full of glitter but seemingly no less of it on his chest. He growls lightly, glaring at the glitter now stuck to his hand.
"Oops?" Stiles says.
"Stiles," Derek grits out, "what the hell?"
"It's glitter, Derek!" Stiles says, trying to convey the joy of glitter in his voice. "Didn't you or your sisters do crafts when you were kids? How have you never been exposed to glitter before?"
Derek growls again, turning his glare away from is glitter-covered palm to direct it at Stiles instead. "I have been exposed to glitter, Stiles. Maybe never quite this exposed …" he says, glancing down at his naked torso.
Stiles barks out a laugh and leans in to kiss Derek. "I think it's hot," he murmurs, lips still nearly pressed to Derek's. "You're like my very own Edward Cullen."
Derek rolls his eyes and shifts Stiles off his lap and onto the couch beside him. "Not a vampire. And definitely not anything from Twilight."
"You're no fun," Stiles says, crossing his arms in faked anger. His expression flips suddenly when Derek stands up; Stiles scrambles to grab Derek's arm to try to drag him back. "No, hey, where are you going?"
"To shower off the glitter that my dumbass boyfriend unceremoniously dumped on me."
"Hey, you were the one distracting me while I was working!"
"I wasn't doing anything," Derek says.
"Are you kidding me right now?" Stiles asks, one hand gesturing at Derek's body. "You walk around like that and you don't expect me to be distracted? You're going to make me fail this project because I can't even think when you're that close to naked."
There's a slight smirk on Derek's face when Stiles looks up at him. Stiles opens his mouth to call Derek out on being a little shit and distracting him intentionally, but Derek cuts him off, voice carrying a clear hint of amusement. "I'm going to go shower. Do your homework, Stiles."
"Wait, but don't you want some help washing all that off?" Stiles asks, pitching his voice low in an attempt at sexy, but coming off more desperate than anything.
Derek turns, forcing Stiles to let go of his arm so he can saunter off with more than an innocent amount of bounce in his step and calling back, "Wouldn't want you to fail because I was distracting you."
Stiles can only flop back into the couch cushions in defeat.
The shower runs for a long time—long enough that Stiles finishes the last of his project and has to head home to meet his dad, Scott, and Melissa for dinner before Derek reappears. He leaves Derek a note—perches it on top of his glitter-covered project where it's still drying on the coffee table. Stiles knows that Derek will be unable to resist sending at least a cursory glare at the offending glitter and will see the note when he does.
Stiles is planning to call Derek after dinner, but he never gets the chance. He's just about to settle onto his bed, phone in hand, when Derek climbs (far too gracefully to be fair in Stiles's opinion) through his window.
"You do know you can use the door, right?" Stiles asks in lieu of a greeting.
Derek doesn't seem inclined towards either niceties or playing along with Stiles's perpetual teasing over the fact that he still climbs in through the window even though they've been dating for months, and that the Sheriff is well aware of Derek's presence regardless of how he enters the house.
"What did you do to it?" Derek asks in a half growl, shoving Stiles up against the wall—rather more playfully and with much less force than he used to use long before they started dating (and with full knowledge that even then it usually only served to turn Stiles on, rather than actually scare him).
"What did I do to wha—" Stiles asks, voice coming out a little breathy.
"The glitter, Stiles. It won't come off." Derek is clearly going for gruff and threatening, but the end comes off like a whine, and Stiles can't help but laugh at the hint of desperation in his voice. The Big Bad Wolf brought down by craft supplies—Stiles will have to remember that. And possibly use it for blackmail purposes.
"Dude, it's glitter. It's the herpes of craft supplies. I didn't do anything to it; it just sticks." Derek drops his hand from Stiles's shirt and steps back, looking somewhat abashed.
"So there's no way to get it off? It's all over my—it's everywhere, okay?"
It only takes a second before Stiles realizes what Derek means, and then he bursts out laughing. "Ohoo my god, there's glitter on your junk!" Derek breaks out in a blush: hot, angry red creeping up his cheeks. It's such a weirdly endearing thing that it sort of makes Stiles want to hug him. But instead he just keeps laughing. He laughs so long and so hard that his stomach cramps up and tears fill his eyes, and by the time he calms down and his vision clears Derek has disappeared back out the window into the dark.
When Stiles picks up his project the next day there is no mention of glitter. Derek doesn't bring it up, and Stiles is in too much of a hurry to make it to school in time (if only to avoid Lydia's wrath should he turn up late with the project) to get into it.
It isn't until far too late at night, when Stiles finally decides to crawl into bed with his laptop, that he flings back the covers and is engulfed by a cloud of rainbow glitter. His bed is full of it, carefully hidden beneath the blankets he had left rumpled that morning.
When the glitter settles out of the air—and he stops coughing up what he inhaled—Stiles moves on automatic. He doesn't bother to try to clean up the mess, or even brush the glitter out of his hair; he just grabs his keys, his phone, and a sweater and stalks out of the house, sending his dad a quick text as he goes. (It's Friday night, and Stiles is 18, but when he doesn't need to be sneaking around he would rather not cause his dad any undue stress by just disappearing without a word.)
When Stiles gets to the loft, he doesn't knock; he uses his key to unlock the door and tiptoes in as quietly as he can. Derek is asleep, sprawled across his huge bed, and Stiles knows that Derek is accustomed to him—that he knows the distinct sound of Stiles's heartbeat and his footsteps, and the smell of his soap—and that his presence alone won't wake the man despite his heightened werewolf senses.
Stiles tiptoes to the window, cracked to let in the early autumn air, and intentionally slams it shut as loudly as he can.
There's a startled snuffling noise and then Derek's sleep-gravelly voice croaks out "What are you doing, Stiles?"
"Climbing in the window."
"No you aren't," Derek says. "Loft … human." Stiles holds back a chuckle at Derek's sleepy voice.
"Sure I am," Stiles says cheerfully. "Even though I have a key and could use the front door." Stiles walks towards the bed. He plants his knees on the edge of the mattress and uses his hands to press Derek's shoulders down into the pillows, leaning close to growl playfully into Derek's ear in purposeful imitation of a good old fashioned wall shove. "There's glitter everywhere. Do you know how pissed my dad is going to be?"
"Mhmm. Retaliation." Derek says. Stiles growls lightly again, but Derek's hand finds his wrist, tugging him properly down onto the bed and Stiles doesn't want to fight it. Instead, he kicks off his shoes and curls up into the warmth of Derek's side.
They lie in silence for a bit, and Stiles can tell Derek is drifting back towards sleep. Stiles is still too awake to attempt it, so he watches Derek instead—the flutter of his eyes and the even rise and fall of his chest. Even in the dark he can see that there are still bits of glitter scattered across Derek's torso.
"Hey, Glitterwolf?" Stiles whispers, eliciting sleepy acknowledgement. "You're still all sparkly."
"Showered four times," Derek grumbles. "Couldn't get it off. Herpes of craft supplies."
"So you decided to put glitter in my bed."
Derek shrugs against the bed. "Yup," he says, popping the p sleepily.
"It got all over me," Stiles says, drawing out the words for emphasis.
Derek smirks. "Sparkly junk," he says, eyes closed and voice slow and heavy even as he breathes out a laugh. "S'ok. I promise I'll help you wash it off in the morning."
Stiles snuggles down into the pillows, letting the comforting weight of Derek's arm across his waist and his slow, deep breaths begin to lull him towards sleep. "Y'know," he says, "if you wanted shower sex all you had to do was ask—there was no need to jeopardize my love of glitter."
"'s better this way. Now you're like my very own Edward Cullen."
Stiles can't do anything but laugh as he tangles himself further with Derek, enjoying the feel of warm skin under his hands and watching the slight glint of moonlight on sparkles as he drifts ever closer to sleep.