Derek always called at the worst possible times, like when the girls from the Jungle were teaching Stiles how to apply makeup—on himself.
It had started out as a fluke, really, but he had been curious, and the girls had been eager to help. The end result was that he barely recognized himself in the mirror. He looked softer, almost pretty. He wasn’t completely sure if he liked the effect—especially the eyeshadow—but it was interesting to see what his face looked like without all the moles and other blemishes that came with being sixteen years old. And part of him definitely liked the way the lip gloss emphasized his lips, drawing the eye down. He’d picked it because it was the same lip gloss that Lydia used and he’d always loved it on her.
He looked downright kissable, if he said so himself.
But because Derek had the best timing ever, he called just when Trudy was putting the finishing touches on Stiles' eyelashes.
Stiles pushed her hand away, wary of the mascara wand being so close to his eye, and grabbed his phone. “Hello?”
“I need a ride,” Derek said, as brusque as usual. He gave Stiles an address and hung up.
Stiles sighed. “I have to go.”
He glanced in the mirror one last time before hurriedly gathering his things. He wished that he could take the time to wash his face, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone to see him like this, at least not until he decided if he liked it or not. But when Derek called needing a ride, it could be life or death. It could also just be a desperate need to get away from the pack to indulge in some Stiles time. Stiles always preferred those calls--not just because they usually led to the best kind of stubble burn, but also because he didn’t like being shot at. Unfortunately, with Derek you never knew, so he had to treat every call like it was a red alert.
The girls waved him off with instructions to use a gentle face soap to clean up later as he ran out the door.
When he got to the address Derek gave him, he was pretty sure he was dealing with a Stiles time call and not a zombie apocalypse call—mostly because Derek was leaning casually against his Camaro and didn’t look like a man in need of a getaway car.
“Finally,” Derek said, opening the passenger side door and climbing in.
“Finally?” Stiles repeated. “Finally? I’ll have you know that I ditched girls’ night with Roxanne and Trudy and ran three red lights to get here, and you haven’t even been shot. We need to figure out a code word if all you want is a booty call.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a booty call.” He jerked his head in the direction of the car. “I have four flat tires courtesy of a hunter’s spike strip.”
Stiles looked more closely at the Camaro, and it did indeed have four flats and what looked like four very bent rims. “How did you manage to shake them while driving on the rims?”
Derek shrugged. “Isaac and Scott made a distraction.”
“And they’re okay?” Stiles asked, concerned.
“They texted me the all clear just before you got here,” Derek reassured. He turned to look more closely at Stiles, sniffing the air. “Why do you smell like makeup?”
“I told you it was girls’ night,” Stiles answered, he pulled out of the parking lot and started driving in the direction of Derek’s latest warehouse hideaway. “They did my makeup.” He felt suddenly self-conscious and squeezed the wheel tight enough that his knuckles turned white. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” Derek replied. It was his usual gruff one word answer and Stiles wished, not for the first time, that Derek was more expressive with his words.
“Are you sure? Because some guys might have a problem with—“ Stiles started.
“Not me,” Derek said. Stiles risked a glance over and saw a complete lack of judgment on Derek’s face. In fact, if anything, he had the same look on his face that he got right before Stiles ended up with a massive case of stubble burn.
“You know,” Stiles said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Since I’m here anyway, we could make it a booty call.”
Derek laughed at that, a low chuckle that always made Stiles’ stomach flip in the best possible way. “You sure you don’t want to get back to girls’ night?”
Stiles parked behind Derek’s latest hideout and turned to look at him. “I think they’ll survive without me.”
“Mmm,” Derek agreed. He reached over, unbuckled Stiles’ seat belt, and pulled him over into the passenger side, giving him a rough kiss.
Stiles shifted around until he was straddling Derek’s lap and kissed him back briefly before trailing his lips down Derek’s jaw. He kept going until he reached the base of Derek's neck, where he stopped to sucked hard against the tendon, trying, like usual, to leave a mark. Of course it never worked because werewolves healed ridiculously fast. While he tried, Derek was returning the favor underneath Stiles’ ear and he was pretty sure that he was going to need all of the makeup tips Roxanne and Trudy had given him to hide a major hickey from his dad.
After a few minutes, Derek slipped a hand underneath Stiles’ shirt, and Stiles reluctantly stopped his ongoing quest to mark Derek and pulled away. “Not in the car. Last time we almost got a public indecency charge.”
Derek sighed. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Stiles’ chest. “Scott and Isaac are inside and I should probably talk to them anyway.”
Stiles nodded and untangled himself from Derek to move back over to the driver’s side. He gestured at his face. “I don’t know if I want to them to see me like this.”
“They aren’t very observant,” Derek said. “Put your hood up and go straight to the bathroom. You can wash up.”
As Derek talked, Stiles noticed that there was a pink sheen to his lips and a shiny smudge just under his bottom lip. Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.
“Come here,” Stiles said. Derek didn’t move, merely raising an eyebrow. Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed Derek’s shirt, pulling him closer. He rubbed roughly at Derek’s mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I got lip gloss on you.”
Derek withstood the rough treatment without complaint, and once he was done, Stiles climbed out of the car, pulling his hood up. He followed Derek into the warehouse, immediately slipping away into the bathroom to wash his face while Scott and Isaac filled Derek in on the rest of the chase.
Derek didn’t have a lot of amenities, but there was a moderately clean washcloth and a bar of soap, which Stiles used. The girls would probably lecture him if they knew he was using the harsh body soap on his face, but it did the trick and before long, the face in the mirror looked like him again--younger, sharper, and more masculine. He stared at himself for a minute, relearning his features, when he was distracted by yelling. He couldn’t make out the words, but he recognized Scott’s voice.
Stiles ran out of the bathroom and found Scott facing off against an amused looking Derek.
“You think this is funny!” Scott yelled, pounding his finger against Derek’s chest.
“Scott,” Isaac said, grabbing his arm. “Calm down.”
“No,” Scott snapped, yanking his arm free and glaring at Isaac. “He’s covered in Lydia’s scent. Fuck, her lip gloss is all over his neck.” Scott turned his glare back to Derek. “How could you do that to Stiles?”
Stiles looked at Derek’s neck, and there were indeed streaks of pink gloss glittering in the harsh industrial lighting. Stiles started laughing, almost hysterically, actually doubling over and holding his stomach. He’d managed to mark Derek after all.
“Stiles?” Scott asked, suddenly confused.
Stiles gasped for a breath, trying to regain control of himself. “As much as I appreciate you defending my honor…” He paused, suddenly getting an image of Scott in medieval times riding in on a white horse, which was so absurd it made him start laughing again.
Scott took a step toward him, his voice gentle. “Stiles, I know you can’t smell what I do, but trust me—“
“It’s not what you think,” Stiles interrupted, his laughter trailing off at Scott’s genuine concern. “Scott, the only person in this room who’s actually kissed Lydia is you.”
Scott frowned. “But his neck. And he smells like—“
“Lip gloss,” Isaac finished for Scott. “He smells like Lydia’s lip gloss, but the rest of the scent is all Stiles.”
Scott looked back at Derek, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. “I don’t understand.”
Stiles shrugged. “My lips were chapped.” It was a blatant lie and all three of the werewolves knew it, but Scott and Isaac let him have it.
“Oh,” Scott said. “Right. That’s okay then.” He glanced at Derek. “Sorry about that.”
Derek responded with a shrug. “You should probably get home. Isaac, make sure he gets home without another run-in with the hunters.”
Once Isaac and Scott had enough time to get out of werewolf earshot, Stiles walked over to Derek and ran his fingers lightly over the sticky pink marks on his neck. “It’s not a hickey, but I kind of like it.”
Derek slid his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulled him flush against his chest. “I can live with it,” he said, his voice hot against Stiles’ neck. He licked at the bruise he’d left under Stiles’ ear.
“It is only fair for me to mark you too,” Stiles said, tilting his head to give Derek better access. “I probably ought to get a brand that smells less like Lydia though.”
“Mmhmm,” Derek agreed, biting gently at the bruise he’d made.
Stiles groaned and put all thoughts of makeup shopping aside for later.