"Stiles you're in the Champagne Room tonight. Show those boys a good time, but remember they're not allowed to touch."
OK, that was the strangest thing that anybody had ever said to Stiles, but apparently strange didn't even begin to describe what was going on here. Stiles stared at himself in the mirror, this was definitely not his usual attire. Black Army Boots and a skintight Red Lyrca Wrestling Singlet, the soft fabric clung so tightly to his crotch that it was practically possible to see the veins on his cock. What the hell was going on? He turned and caught sight of his ass in the mirror, he continued to glance over his shoulder at his own reflection. The tight fabric was stretched over his tight, round, perfect ass, his butt was surprisingly beefy for somebody with his slight frame, he was very nearly getting hard at the sight of his own ass. He'd never been aware how perfect his ass was before, but it was safe to say, that with the things he wanted to do to himself, Danny had to be attracted to him, or at least his butt. Now he just had to find the Champagne Room, why was he going along with that without question?
It seemed like something he should freak out over.
Stiles finally found the Champagne Room and was horrified to see it occupied by Derek, Scott, Jackson, Isaac, Boyd, Danny and Peter. What the flying sideways penetration? He couldn't be here, dressed like this, in front of his best friends and Jackson, Derek and Peter. He turned to leave when Peter grabbed his hips and walking behind Stiles, steered him into the centre of the room. As Stiles stood in front of Derek, feeling vulnerable, he noticed that Derek's death glare had been replaced with a different facial expression. He was still glaring, but it less intimidating than normal, it was still unsettling and somehow penetrating, which was the least thing Stiles wanted to be thinking at the present moment. Stiles stared at Derek, feeling like he was the last meal of a man on death row, as one corner of Derek's lips curled upwards into a dangerously, seductive grin. Stiles felt the material, which offered no modesty against staring werewolves, tighten over his now stiffening cock.
Jackson stuffed a huge wad of 100 dollar bills under the shoulder strap of Stiles' singlet and said "Give my Alpha whatever he wants!" then he gestured for the others to come with him. Stiles didn't fail to notice the way Peter's gaze lingered on his well presented ass, as he left. Who knew the reason nobody would give him the time of day, was because he was total werewolf bait.
Stiles attempted to walk over to Derek with purpose, but it was Stiles and he felt a little sheepish and inadequate, so he bypassed purpose and looked instead like Derek had a knife. Which being a werewolf he sort of did. "What do you want?" he asked, he voice barely above a whisper. "Dance for me!" Derek stated. Stiles knew he wasn't much of a dancer, for dancing requires co-ordination. But he assumed what Derek actually meant was, grind against me until I cum then piss off. Stiles turned his back on Derek and lowered himself, hovering a few inches over Derek's lap, Derek's crotch. Then he started grinding, thrusting his pelvis forward as he circled his hips. He didn't want to do this, but Derek could kill him without even trying. Instead of glancing over his shoulder to make eye contact with Derek, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to ignore the silent tears that fell, while he hoped that Derek would cum quickly and then be done with him.
He expected Derek to break the no touching rule, but he didn't expect it to happen the way it did. Derek crowded Stiles, wrapping his arms around him, he rested a hand on Stiles' cheek and gently wiped away the tears with his thumb. "You don't have to do this, if you don't want to Little Red." Derek whispered in Stiles' ear. Stiles slumped suddenly, with relief, on to Derek's lap, only realising now that Derek hadn't pulled him down. That besides comforting him, Derek was playing by the Champagne Room rules. He noticed with alarm, that even through layers of material he could feel Derek's substantial member stiffen in arousal. Then unable to control his actions, suddenly filled with the need to please Derek, he ground his ass against Derek's erection, pushing himself deeper into Derek's lap. Derek buried his face in the crook of Stiles' neck, gently licking and nipping at tender flesh, while he growled his appreciation.
Stiles woke with a start, his seed cooling on his stomach. He hadn't had a wet dream in years and he was a little disturbed that the star of his first wet dream, in years, was Derek freakin' Hale. When did he stop dreaming of Lydia? Oh God, he dreamt of Derek, a wet dream, this had to be a random occurrence It was just because he'd been thinking of Derek while he was stuck in the car waiting. But why was he thinking of Derek, when did appreciating Derek's physical form turn into wanting Derek's physical form? Most pressing of all, how long would it be before Derek found out and killed him, violently? Stiles really didn't need shit like this! His life was complicated enough, with wolf business and keeping his father out of wolf business. The latest Argent defector was gunning for Stiles, more than the rest of the pack, because Stiles had thrown acid in his face. The looming danger of the Alpha Pack was ever present and Derek was borderline Psychopathic. He missed normal, why was this his life?
