Stiles hates shopping. He hates that he has no idea what he wants. No, that's not true. He knows it well. He needs a new jacket because winter is coming and the one he used to wear is just too short. He grew a lot during the summer. He's as tall as his dad and way taller than Scott, haha.
But buying a new jacket is… Argh! He has absolutely no idea which shop to start with or what color to look for. Seriously, does any guy around 17 know what color suits him? Well, okay, Danny probably knows. His clothes are just really… Stiles is man enough to admit that he looks ho— attractive. But shopping with Danny? He's not sure he'd love to break the news to his dad like that. Although after finding him in a gay bar, the sheriff really shouldn't be surprised to hear rumors about Stiles going shopping with an openly gay teenager. Who happens to be Stiles' friend! Acquaintance. Classmate... Whatever. But no, Danny is not here with him. And he didn't want to ask Lydia for help, either. Because seriously, it would have ended with Lydia buying a wardrobe worth of winter collection and would have made Stiles put on ridiculous clothes in which he would feel like a douche. A dapper douche, but a douche nonetheless.
So here he is, in the middle of the shopping mall, money in his back pocket, and he looks around like a lost kid in the middle of a fair. As the only solution that seems to spare his very, very rare free time, he starts towards the first shop that is closest to him. Entering, a friendly girl steps up to him and asks him if she could help. And that's the second reason why he hates shopping. What is he supposed to tell her? 'No, thanks'? That would be simply rude. Should he tell her what he's looking for? Nah, she would just dump a pile of jackets on him and he would have to parade around in each piece and humiliate himself in front of the whole shop. So he tries to reject her help with a polite 'No, thanks, not sure what I'm looking for', ducks his head and scurries towards the back of the shop.
Another shop assistant is there who seems to be talking to someone in the fitting room. She looks tired and bored at the same time, and Stiles can't help but think that yes, that's exactly how the girl from the entrance of the shop would look like after spending 10 minutes with helping Stiles. So he just smiles and thinks how much of a hero he is, because he just spared the poor girl from a couple of grey hairs when he hears it. No, he is hallucinating, he is pretty sure, because he knows that sound and could tell who that sound belongs to but it's just not happening. No, it can't. Not here. He is about to shake it off when he hears it again. It sounds louder now, and it is definitely coming from that very shop Stiles is in.
He is so shocked that he is just standing there, frozen. Next to the bras, with one in his hands. He has absolutely no idea when he grabbed that – beautiful black bra with fine lace on it – but he feels his face heating up as he looks around to see who caught him creeping in the lingerie section and hangs it back when nobody is looking his way.
When he hears the growl a third time, he tries to locate it and it leads him to the fitting room.
The fitting room, where a nervous looking and slightly pale assistant holds so many things in his hands that the top of his head is the only thing visible behind the ball of clothes. Most of them are long-sleeved shirts and a few pairs of jeans. He looks really uncomfortable and close to tears as he tries to fight the textiles in his arms so he could take a look at the man who he is playing a personal stylist for.
"I can look around in the storage room for another one if you'd like" he all but breathes and bites at his lower lip as he waits for the axe to drop on his neck.
"Bring all the black ones out!" the unforgiving voice demands.
And he sounds angry. Well, that isn't really a surprise. That's his usual setting, at least Stiles hasn't seen the dude being all bubbly and smiley.
The poor assistant literally runs away and tosses the clothes in his hands to one of his co-workers to put them back to their places and takes a sharp turn to thud against a door that soon after closes with a loud thump.
Stiles smiles at that a bit, because he knows really well how the poor guy must feel. He's been on the receiving end of The Death Glare™ many times and he presumes the verbal equivalent of it must be pretty terrifying, too. No, scratch that, he knows it is.
So he contemplates taking basically anything off of the hanger as an excuse to just walk to the cubicle next to the man's and see his reaction. He knows that, by now, he must have been identified by his smell, but then, he really wants to see that reaction.
And Stiles wants to see Derek. Because Derek Hale in a clothes shop is a sight to behold. Also, like a apparition, really, because Derek freaking Hale is not a peasant who does mundane things like buying clothes. Or that's what Stiles thought. Actually, he didn't really think about it. But now that you mention it, he should have given it some though, because Stiles noticed that the stuff Derek wears is actually not something you can dig out from a dumpster or steal from under the bleachers after a lacrosse game. No, they are mostly new, fashionable, perfectly clean garments (except when he is chased through the woods, because then he looks like a homeless model). But even if he rolls around in leaves one day, when he puts the same clothes on next time, there is not a speck of dust on them. So yes, Derek Hale and clothes have a really close relationship, they must have.
Which means Stiles has to get closer. He looks around and sees that the assistant with the pile of clothes is almost finished putting them back on the hangers and the other one is still in the storage room. Stiles takes a slow and careful step closer and tries his best to peek through the small crack between the wall of the fitting room and the curtain. All he can make out is a mop of black hair and hands running through it. When the hair disappears out of sight, he moves a bit closer and tries to change the angle at which he can look in. He sees jeans and a sleeve – one sleeve, not a whole shirt, just a sleeve, oh God, no wonder the poor guy was so fast getting the hell out of Derek's way – lying on the floor of the fitting room, the ominous leather jacket hanging from a hook on the wall.
Stiles moves a little bit more and he stops dead. Because what he sees is something… well new. And shocking, really.
What catches his sight first is the heap of half torn, half rumpled clothes on the floor. But then he sees Derek's feet. Bare. Which shouldn't be that surprising, since he's in the process of changing clothes but he has only shirts, tee-shirts and jeans around him, so that doesn't explain why he has no socks on. And then he wiggles his toes a little, digs them under the fabric of a shirt and seems to just feel and relish in the softness of it. It is strangely adorable.
As his eyes roam higher on Derek's body, he takes in the well-shaped and incredibly long shins that are covered in light curly hair; the thighs that are just as strong and begging to be touched and as he lifts his gaze even higher, he has to blink a few times. Because cute toe-wiggling is okay, even for Derek, but what he sees is really hard to process. His underwear. His dark red briefs. Dark red briefs that fit his oh-so-delicious butt perfectly; the dark material is in total contrast with his lightly tanned skin.
Derek moves a little bit, his hips swaying invitingly and he lets out a small huff of breath. Stiles starts to feel his face heating up, and okay, he has to admit that seeing Derek's ass finally with nothing but underwear on, is having, well, effects on him.
His eyes move greedily over Derek's torso, stop for a moment to appreciate the way his back stretches as Derek still sways around and smirks at his own reflection as he admires his muscles. Wait. What? Rewind that a bit, will you? Is it really what he's seeing? Derek standing almost completely naked in a fitting room, ogling his body in the mirror? Oh, God, let that sink in for a second, okay?
Jesus, why is he just standing there?
Stiles tries to pull out his phone, because he would be damned if he didn't take a picture of Derek. Not only the nakedness, which would be worth a pre-Raphaelite painting on its own, but the briefs and Derek's posture as he moves his right foot a little in front of his left and cocks his head a bit to see himself even more.
Stiles has a really hard time trying to reign in the laughter that threatens to bubble out of him because, geez, forever broody Derek 'I'm-gonna-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth' Hale is in a fitting room with nothing but red briefs, admiring his stunning body.
He clutches his phone tighter, calms his breathing and zooms in on Derek's reflection in the mirror. That's when it happens.
Derek bares his teeth, fangs coming out a little bit and licks them slowly with his tongue. Then looks down and his eyes leave the mirror. Stiles zooms out as fast as he can and follows Derek's eyes to see that he is stroking his arm with his other, and then turning it so his muscles are rippling under his skin.
And then what he does has Stiles doubled over in a second because at the sight of Derek lifting both his arms above his head and flexing his biceps, twisting his hips a bit so his ass is jutting out. Stiles can't help but remember Arnold Schwarzenegger and that alone makes him laugh even more hysterically, so he misses The Death Glare™ entirely.
At the sound, Derek struts out of the fitting room, probably catching up on the scent of Stiles, not even bothering to put on anything.
It can't be expected of Stiles to keep a straight face at the sight of a very angry and almost naked Alpha glaring at him who has a fucking wolf on his red briefs.
Stiles just wipes at his eyes as he wheezes, and lifts his phone.
"Smile for the camera, Der!" he shouts and snaps a picture, and doesn't stop to think twice about sending it to everyone in the pack. He knows he'll regret it and Derek will make him pay for this, but there isn't a force on this Earth that could make him stop.