It's really a simple fact – Derek just wants to jump Stiles. Right now, the overactive teenager is going on a tirade about not being attractive to gay guys and all Derek wants to do is push him against a wall and, well, smell him. Because Stiles smells really, really good. Too good for Derek to just stand by and let him act like the ADD-crazed kid he is and not want to climb him like a tree. Derek takes a deep breath, trying to calm down the raging wolf senses that are telling him to go to Stiles because Stiles – whether he realizes it or not – could totally be Derek's master, which Derek thinks is actually really hot. He imagines Stiles being forceful with him, for once fighting back against all of Derek's aggression, being aggressive on his own, shoving Derek –

"Derek!" Derek looks around, startled by Stiles shouting his name in a way that isn't filled with lust or heat or anger or, well, anything except irritation. "Can you pay attention to this? I'm having a crisis!"

"Stiles, just do us all a favor, and shut up," Isaac says, shooting Stiles a peeved look. "No one cares about your sexuality crisis."

"I think it's kind of cute." Erica's smiling, trying not to laugh at Stiles' crazed expression.

"Yeah, well, whatever." Stiles looks around, trying to keep the blush from creeping up his face, but Derek can tell just by the way his pulse has started to race, the way his neck is starting to heat up in such a way that makes Derek want to put his mouth on –

"Um, earth to Derek!" Derek shakes his head, trying – and failing – to clear his head of Stiles.

"What?" he snaps.

"If you were a gay guy, would you find me attractive?" Stiles ignores the collective groan of everyone assembled in Derek's hideout, fixing his gaze on the Alpha. "Like, if we were at a club, clubbing, would you, I don't know, dance with me?"

Derek fights the image of Stiles grinding against his crotch at a club as he answers, "I can't answer that, Stiles. I'm not good with hypothetical situations."

Now it's Stiles' turn to groan (Derek tries to ignore how hot it is) like it's the most annoying thing in the world to find out you aren't attractive to people you're (supposedly) not even attracted to to begin with.

"If you're still upset about what happened at the gay bar, just admit it," Erica says.

"I'm not upset about that!" It's obvious that he is, though, and everyone knows it. "Good for Scott, getting a drink from someone. I'm cool with that." He licks his lips (Derek looks away), nodding. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine! Right?"

Isaac rolls his eyes. "Maybe you just… give something off that makes people stay away from you." He shoots Derek a look. Derek growls to make him shut up.

"You know what? Whatever. I give up. I'm never going to know." Stiles grabs his red hoodie and the keys to his Jeep, making to head out when Derek stops him with a hand on his arm. "Let me walk you out," he says.

Stiles just eyes him suspiciously before shrugging and following Derek out. When they reach the Jeep, Stiles looks down at the keys he's jangling in his hands as he says, "What did Isaac mean, when he said I give something off?" He looks up then, meeting Derek's eyes with the question. "What do I give off? Can you smell anything on me? Is it my cologne?" He twists his head so his neck his bared to the werewolf, and Derek just stares. He doesn't know what to do.

"You want me to… smell you?" Derek doesn't know if this is a godsend or a recipe for disaster.

"Yeah. Use your werewolf senses and all that." Stiles looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "You'd be able to tell, right?"

Derek sighs, looking away as if he'd find an answer in the surrounding environment before looking back at Stiles. Here goes, he thinks before bending over to sniff Stiles' neck.

He can't control himself, though, and within a second he's all over Stiles, gripping his wrists with one hand and cradling the back of his neck with the other as he shoves a thigh between Stiles' legs and takes a deep drag of the heady scent. A low growl comes out of the back of his throat, and it's all arousal, all attraction to the teenager who's now panting as Derek presses him up against the side of the Jeep. Derek's mouth is on Stiles' neck now, tracing the line from behind his ear to just over his collarbone, his scent driving him wild, driving him over the edge to where he can't control himself anymore, he just can't, everything around him is Stiles and the way his smell is taking over his senses, and he's so far gone that he doesn't realize he's started to wolf out until he feels more than hears the rising panic coming out of Stiles' mouth.

"Derek, um, what are you doing, exactly?" Stiles is breathless, Derek can tell, and he can also tell by the position of his thigh that Stiles isn't exactly opposed to this new closeness between them. Derek takes a step away from Stiles, panting, embarrassed to have lost control like that. He feels his claws retract as his pulse calms down, feeling Stiles' pulse as it comes down, as well. "Um. So," is all Stiles manages to say.

Derek finds he can't look at the fragile human who's still leaning against his Jeep like it's the only thing keeping him from falling down. He briefly looks up to find him staring at him like he's become some new kind of species, and it's all Derek can do to turn around and leave him be instead of finishing what he started.

Later that night Stiles is calling Derek at two in the morning and while Derek is tempted to just ignore it and roll over and keep sleeping, it's Stiles, and Derek has never – even against his better judgment – been able to ignore Stiles. "What?" he growls sleepily into the receiver.

"Whoa, are you like, sleeping, or something?" Stiles is drunk. Great.

"What do you want, Stiles?" Derek's sitting up now, wishing he had just rolled over and gone back to sleep.

"'Cause I thought you would be doing werewolf shit," Stiles slurs. "Don't you have like, werewolf stuff at night?"

"Where are you?" Derek hoped Stiles wasn't thinking he would be driving like this. "I'm picking you up."

"Sorry, honey, but this body is not for sale." Stiles laughs, and Derek stifles a groan of frustration. "Actually," Stiles begins, "I'll give you a discount, since I think you're cute." He giggles.

Deep breath. "Stiles, seriously, where are you? I'm not letting you drive yourself home."

"I'm at…" He pauses, breathing heavily into the phone as he tries to figure out where he is. "I'm at that bar. The gay one."

Derek closes his eyes, trying to stay calm. "I'll be there in five minutes."

Stiles is a mess. Once Derek pulls up in his car, Stiles is motioning for him to roll down his window, giggling as he does so. Derek complies, if only out of curiosity. "What?" he snaps. Stiles – still giggling like he's a six year-old girl – leans into the opening, propping himself up on his elbows. Derek can tell by the way his shoulders are set that he's sticking out his ass and wiggling it like he belongs on a street corner. "What'll it be then?" he slurs.

"Stiles, I'm not in the mood for this shit. Get in the car."

"Tell me about it, stud." Stiles tries a wink, but succeeds in only closing both eyes and not opening them for a few seconds in confusion. "I…" His head slumps, and he gets out of the window and opens the door, stumbling as he tries to slide in. He's quiet for a minute or two as Derek stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

"How did you get like this?"

"Like what?" Stiles attempts a coy expression, but only succeeds in wrinkling up his eyes.

Whacking Stiles on the head ("Ow!"), Derek asks, "How did you get so drunk?"

"I'm not drunk."

"Yes, you are. What happened?" Derek held up a hand as a threat.

"I dunno, those drag queens kept handing me things…"

Giving up, he asks, "Does your dad know where you are?"

"Dad? I told him I was having a sleepover with Scott." Stiles was staring at him glassy-eyed, unfocused, mouth hanging open wetly. "I'm not supposed to be home until… until…"

"For a while, I get it." Derek put the car into drive, taking off before Stiles has a chance to fumble with his seatbelt.

They don't talk for a few minutes. Derek focuses on driving to Stiles' house while Stiles focuses on Derek. When Derek pulls up to the curb in front of Stiles' driveway, putting the car into park, Stiles shifts and looks out the window. "Why did you go to the bar?" Derek asks softly.

"Because," Stiles' voice is soft, too, but unfocused and still slurred. "I… wanted to prove… attractive… gay…" He blinked a few times, brow furrowed in concentration. "You said I wasn't."

"What? No, I didn't."

"What was that for?" Derek had long given up on trying to figure out what Stiles was talking about. "You… when you sniffed me… you only had to sniff… I didn't…"

Derek looks down at his hands still on the steering wheel. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

"Sorry?" Derek feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up, surprised to see Stiles crouching next to him. "That felt amazing." The declaration of mutual attraction negated somewhat by the girlish giggling now emanating from Stiles' mouth, Derek is, to say the least, a little speechless. Stiles narrows his eyes, wagging a finger at Derek. "You like me. You like my smell." Derek feels himself blush, but Stiles doesn't notice. "And I…" Derek's holding his breath now, because Stiles is edging closer and his hand is on Derek's thigh and it's sliding up and his breath is on his face and it reeks of alcohol but at the same time it's Stiles and Stiles smells good no matter what and –

"I like you, too." Stiles leans in, planting a wet kiss on Derek's stubbly cheek. "I like you a lot. You're just so cute." He's trying to straddle Derek now, but failing, so instead he decides to put his head in Derek's lap. He looks up, smiling cutely. "I wanna give you a blow job," he slurs, and Derek starts to panic because his hands are already at his pants, trying to peel them off as his drunk fingers trip and stumble over the fly. "Stupid pants," he mutters to himself, and while on any other occasion Derek would find this incredibly adorable and such a turn-on, the fact that Stiles is drunk is making him wish he had never thought it a good idea to pick him up.

"Stiles, get off of me," he says as he tries to push him away. For being only 147 pounds, he's incredibly stubborn when he wants to be. "I don't want a blow job."

"Oh, don't be such a sourwolf," Stiles chuckles, and Derek's about to lose it when his pants are opening, Stiles' hands reaching, and he's imagining those lips on his dick and Stiles is still chortling and it's the most amazing sound he's ever heard – okay, well, except for maybe the groan of want whining in the back of Stiles' throat as he tries to find his way around Derek's underwear. Derek knows he'll regret this later if he lets what's happening continue happening, though, so he puts a firm hand on Stiles' shoulder and pushes him back into a sitting position. Stiles sulks, but doesn't say anything. Quickly, before he goes back on his resolve, Derek re-does his fly and gets out of the car. "Where are you going?" Stiles shouts from inside, but Derek is around the car in a second and is dragging Stiles out of his open door before the drunk teenager even has a chance to protest. "What are you – hey!" He tries to smack Derek's ass as he's being picked up, which really isn't helping when all Derek wants is for Stiles to keep his dignity – or, at least, what's left of it.

"Come on," he says, carrying him up to the door like a groom would his bride (Derek tries not to think of that, but hey, he's only human – mostly). The whole way, Stiles is protesting that he can walk perfectly fine, that all he wants is for Derek to do that thing to him again, but Derek refuses to listen, instead reaching up to find the key he knows the Stilinskis keep hidden behind the gutter over the porch. "Hey, how did you know –" But Derek is already carrying him across the threshold (still not trying to think about weddings) and up the stairs to his room, where he dumps Stiles on his bed. "Oh, getting frisky, are we?" he giggles. Derek just rolls his eyes as he starts taking off Stiles' shoes.

By the time Stiles is undressed and tucked in, he's already fallen asleep, and Derek takes a minute to watch him and plant a kiss on his forehead before leaving through the window.

Author's Note: This is the first thing I've written in a long while, so I feel like my writing has gotten pret-ty sloppy. Anway, any comments with some constructive criticism or ideas (I don't know how long this is going to end up oh god) would surely be welcome!