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Stiles is hot. Very hot. It’s only been a few minutes since they got in the club and already he can feel the heat, a flush brushing his cheeks as bodies press together, against him, sweat making its way down male faces, suspicious movement going on in the obscurity at the edge of the dance floor. The music is a regular thumpa thumpa making his blood thrums in sync and his heart beating faster. He’s beginning to sweat too, now, and he lost Danny and Derek a while back. He doesn’t even really know what he’s doing there, just that he was there went they all piled in the cars and so he went along with them. They separated in little groups of three or four when they arrived but once in the club he still managed to lost both of his group’s members in seconds. So, here he was wandering in the crowd, being groped occasionally. He tries not to think too closely about the random spikes of something coursing through him when he feels a strong chest pressing against his back or a hand brushing his ass with purpose. Mostly, he just walks - or try to, at least - through the mass and searches for the guys.
Stiles stops at the edge of the dance floor. Granted, the club is relatively big but still, he should have find one of the pack by now. He’s about to go sit at the bar, sighing, when a hand grabs his wrist and Stiles turns around: the man is tall, a few inches over Stiles at least, skin pale and eyes a light color (it’s difficult to tell with the lights) and he’s beaming at Stiles and looking at him like he’s the best piece of candy ever. Stiles is wary. The guy just tugs on his wrist, starting to walk backwards and at first, Stiles doesn’t move but he finally thinks “Fuck it” and goes with the motion. At least, he’ll know for sure if he isn’t simply confused about his feelings; that will set him straight. Well, straight… So, he just follows the guy, and once in a not so crowded spot, the guy tugs again on his wrist and plasters himself against Stiles; okay, so, he might not really be confused then because welp.
For a long moment, all they do is dance, close sure but still pretty soft core compared with some of what’s happening in the club. Then, the guy’s right hand sneaks down his back and suddenly, Stiles has a stranger’s hand on his ass. And this time, it’s not just in passing, as the guy purposefully fondles him, intent clear when he presses even closer to Stiles, making him notice the very noticeable erection against his thigh. Stiles would never admit it but at this moment, he squeaks, distressed, because oh god, they haven’t even exchanged their names or kissed and he’s getting acquainted with another man’s dick, he’s going to very manly pass out because suddenly it’s too much, too soon - and then an arm snakes around his waist and pulls and he’s safe safe safe, he doesn’t know how or why or what, who, but he knows he is.
Except that he knows exactly who. Derek.
A very pissed off Derek, growling and glaring at the stranger as if the guy’s mere existence angers him - at least, that’s what the rumble echoing through him and the glimpse of face he managed to catch tell him; he doesn’t see much from where he is to be honest, pressed together as they are. The guy flees pretty quickly, looking like he’s torn between confusion, anger and fear. Stiles doesn’t care; his breathing is returning back to normal and he begins to notice how he trembles a little, pressing himself as close as possible to Derek’s chest - it’s a little pathetic really. Derek slowly turns him around but doesn’t push him away on the contrary, he keeps a firm hold of Stiles’ waist, one hand cradling his head, thumb rubbing his scalp soothingly. Stiles pushes his face against Derek’s chest, hiding, ashamed. He just had a minor panic attack because somebody groped him. If the rest of the pack learns about that little incident, he’s never going to live this down. But, right now, he doesn’t even really think about it. He just relishes in his Alpha’s attention, and the deep feeling of safety that it brings.