A/N: Inspired by a recent episode of Mistresses.
Why do I always have food in my fics?
Hope you enjoy.
Stiles enters the studio gym and stops almost immediately, not even a full foot into the room, to start fanning himself with the collar of hoodie. "Sweet baby Jesus, I'm on fiyah! Why the hell is it so freaking hot in here?!"
One of the members walking around Stiles, who is partially blocking the entrance, hears his outcry (as do most of the people already there). "It's hot yoga. Right now it's 95 degrees but it'll get up to 105 when the session starts."
"What the – and people willingly participate in this? Most sane people would call this a form of torture, dude."
"No pain, no gain. And don't call me dude." She simply responded.
"Well, I'd rather drop the pain completely and just gain the result of a night spent in the loving company of some Buffalo wings."
"Oh, don't remind me of wings. I miss my weekly pizza and wings night from college." The woman stares off into space as does Stiles, wishing he was on the couch with a buffalo sauce facial from diving into a plate full of wings. The class begins to fill up with members and the bustling to get the best location knocks the woman beside Stiles out of her trip down memory lane. "Sorry, I need to grab my spot near the best view in the house," cutting their brief conversation. "Good luck."
Stiles viewed a group placing their yoga mats around a single open space, while he kept fanning and chastising himself for his ill-suited choice of clothing. A baggy, hooded lacrosse sweatshirt and heavy gym shorts. He was going to kill Derek for his brilliant idea to join in on his weekly yoga session. It was the werewolf's idea for Stiles to try it after tripping through the forest for what seemed like the hundredth time since they met. Stiles reluctantly accepted the advice realizing he was never going to acclimate to his long limbs on his own if he hadn't already at this stage in his life.
So here he is, about to join Derek in his yoga class in his quest to stop being a spastic loser with as much control over his arms and legs as his ability to not use the word 'dude' in every other sentence. Derek's words, not Stiles'. He turns to leave the room to rid himself of a couple layers off his already overheated body, only having been there for less than 5 minutes, and greets the wall of man named Derek. His body presses fully against him briefly, but not briefly enough for Stiles – that contact was definitely material for his brain to be used later…not of his own volition.
The muscle shirt Stiles could see Derek wearing after flailing backwards was working overtime to wrap itself around the werewolf's bulging pecs and the lack of sleeves gave the uncoordinated young man full access at every curve and dip of the impressive biceps before him.
"Dude, are you trying to kill me? I already have a heatstroke to worry about; I don't need you popping out of nowhere to scare me to death. And speaking of heatstroke, why didn't you tell me this was boiling hot yoga?"
Derek stares unimpressed with arms crossed at Stiles. "I did tell you. It's not my fault you listen a fraction as well as you talk, Stiles." Stiles gets ready to throw more words at the brooding werewolf but a chorus of 'Hi, Miguel' interrupts his action. The greetings are clearly directed at Derek, who starts to flush red in embarrassment and not at all because of the heat (freaky-ass heat-resistant werewolves).
Stiles lights up with a knowing smile. "Hey, Miguel, haven't seen you in a while."
"Shut up, Stiles. You have no idea what some of these people are like. If I gave them my real name, I'd probably see them popping up on the welcome mat of my front door every day."
"Aw, the stalker doesn't want to be stalked. I think some may call that poetic justice." Stiles says, while Derek rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, Miguel. Your secret is safe with me," Stiles promises with a chuckle. The two moved to the back of the room much to the dismay of Derek's fan group. Stiles had a good feeling those hateful glares were directed at him.
The session started well enough once Stiles adjusted to the heat by taking his sweatshirt and long sleeve shirt off, luckily wearing a comfortable tank top underneath it all. He was feeling pretty good from a few deep breathing exercises, some simple stretching poses that actually felt surprisingly relaxing and allowed his normally racing mind to quiet down (not completely but much less active than normal).
But then the more advanced moves began and Stiles was having his ass handed to him, literally. The yoga instructor, Mitchell…or Micah, Stiles hadn't clearly listened when he introduced himself to the class due to the close proximity of Derek helping Stiles with a few body loosening techniques. During which: His hips and chests were covered with Derek's hands. His ears were tickled by Derek's calm instructions. And his eyes were in the back of his head as he tried to maintain some composure over his body.
Anyway, the yoga instructor, Stiles was certain the name started with an M, was lightly pressing his hand on the edge of his butt cleft to nudge Stiles' body closer to the proper position. His feet were overhead nearly reaching the floor as his ass hung in the air and arms laid flat on the mat, forming a triangle with his body.
"Very good job, you're a natural. Just breathe and relax." Stiles tried to relax but could feel the hand of the instructor roaming to unclaimed territory and his body became even tenser.
The meandering hand disappeared so suddenly without warning , Stiles took his eyes off the current view of his knees staring back at him to try tilting his head to see if the leader of this yoga class was still there. What he saw was Derek squeezing the short ponytail of the man, bringing his head backwards. "Back off and back off now, granola boy. I'll assist him. He's mine." Derek's words shocked Stiles and even himself and he hurriedly amended his words. "My responsibility, I mean."
"Okay. Just remember to breathe and relax." He imparts to Stiles (and Derek, indirectly). "Okay, I'm gonna help someone else." The trainer spews out quickly when Derek growls at the man.
As Stiles concentrated on relaxing his body, sans the lecherous trainer, he could see the effect paying off, folding closer to his body. "Dude!" he exclaimed excitedly to Derek, at his side helping him out. "A little more practice and I am going to have a much more interesting sex life with myself."
After the session had finally ended, Stiles threw his legs back to solid ground with a thud and laid flat on the mat to give his sore abs (and other body parts) a chance to rest. "This isn't too bad," blowing out a tired breath. "It would be way more enjoyable if I could strip down to my boxers." He complained while soaked in sweat and started rubbing, with the pads of his fingers, the small exposed area of his stomach from where his tank top had ridden up.
"You could do that…we could do that…at my place. We wouldn't even need the underwear and I could show you some…positions." Derek offered, on bended knee by Stiles' midsection.
"Ha ha, Der…uh, Miguel. Good one."
"What did I say that was funny?" Stiles was gazing at the ceiling in confusion from Derek's comment and craned his neck to get a look at Derek. From his vantage he could see Derek staring directly down to where his own hand was still absent-mindedly scratching at the light trail of hair leading from his belly button to under his shorts. This close to his face Stiles noticed the way Derek's eyes followed the motions in a hypnotic, trance-like state. As an experiment Stiles stopped his fingers' dance along the heated flesh and observed the werewolf's roaming vision end at the same time. And as a final act to solidify his theory, he restarted his previous movements with the same result of Derek tracking his hand.
Stiles abruptly sat straight up in an unnerving panic causing his shirt to cover his pale skin, unsure of how to feel. "Derek?" he hoarsely says to the pouting face in front of him, forgetting to use his alias. "You feeling alright? Are you – did you run into a witch or druid recently? What year is it? Who is the president? Did someone poison you with wolfsbane?" Stiles whispers his questions to keep the supernatural secret between them, as he tries to understand the weird behavior taking place today.
"What the hell are you talking about, Stiles?" Derek asks with his trademark scowl focused on Stiles.
"I dunno…nothing I guess," He mumbles partially to himself. (Maybe he was wondering how I can be so scrawny after all this time spent hanging with werewolves.)
"You are so weird," shaking his head in fond familiarity. "But the only thing weirder is your hair right now." He smirked as he commented on the sweat-soaked hair plastered on Stiles' forehead. "I don't think I've ever seen it that flat before." Derek softly rakes the hair upward from Stiles' face with his hand causing the younger man to stare back dumbfounded. "There, that's better," he says softly after being satisfied with Stiles' hair sticking up at all ends. When the moment of silence between the two passes for too long Derek excuses himself to the bathroom and Stiles finds his earlier thought called into question.
Stiles turned to the mirror covered wall to see a deranged looking version of himself gazing back. And his 'deer in headlights' expression was not helping. His self-scrutinizing was forgotten when the woman he spoke to at the beginning of the class stopped by as the rest of the class began to leave.
"Hey, congrats on landing Miguel." She said as she patted herself down with a towel.
"Who? Oh, right…no, we're not together. Just friends, sorta. Pretty close to friends." Stiles tried to explain.
The woman scoffs. "Right, because friends are always possessive over each other like he was. Don't worry, it's 2015 and you're in a yoga class. It's perfectly fine to admit you two are a couple here. I just wish I had known earlier that he was taken. I wouldn't have been so shameless in my pursuits. So sorry about that." She went to exit the room, leaving Stiles' mouth floundering like a fish at the inaccurate assumption.
Derek returns from the bathroom and asks, "You ready to go?"
"Um, how about we, uh –Instead of coming back here, we do the, uh, private…naked yoga…thing you talked about earlier. I mean, if the offer still stands." (And wasn't a joke. Dear God.) He wished he had gave more time on how to approach this as he stammered along.
"Absolutely," Derek grabs Stiles by hand, yanking him up from his seated position on the floor, and pulls him with urgency towards the door. "Might as well start now since you're all limbered up and already sweaty."