haleicious: (are you thinking what I'm thinking?)
The book lay unread in Derek's lap as he bored holes into the back of Stiles' head with his unwavering glare.

He was wearing one of Stiles' too-small shirts, sitting near his bed, trying to focus, but only able to focus on Stiles. He can smell him. His scent was strong near the bed, the smell of a teenage boy's sheets two weeks out from the laundry, fresh and stale arousal alike clinging to the fabric. But beyond that, over it, he can smell Stiles' interest. It caught his attention when Danny was still here, vetoing his shirts. He wasn't stupid, he knew that it was a ploy to keep him peeling those clingy shirts off his body, one after another. And Danny hadn't been the only one who'd liked what he'd seen.

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haleicious

February 2014

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