A lifetime of dealing with the supernatural has prepared Stiles for a lot of things. He can totally run a mile in seven flat, he can dress his own wounds with nothing more than a half-shredded t-shirt and one of the alcohol packets he always keeps in his jeans, and he once hot-wired Derek’s camaro using only a ballpoint pen. He’s like MacGyver, but for things that go bump in the night. He’s so used to the weird and bizarre, in fact, that he was even relatively able to roll with the punches when “a werewolf and a mage walking into a nudist colony” became his actual life instead of the start of a dirty and undoubtedly hilarious joke.
Nothing, however, could have prepared him for this.
Derek is three feet to his right, naked as the day he was born, and he is beaming.
Derek is totally, butt crazy, in love with the nudist colony.
It had all started when Isaac caught the scent of a shifter in the preserve two days ago. The pack’s a lot better now, they don’t go into things all half-cocked, so they actually took the time to do a little investigation to see if it was an actual threat or just another wayward beastie sucked in by the renewed Nematon, since there’d been quite a few of those since Stiles’s post-death experience three years ago. Unfortunately, while the pack had chosen the path of tranquility, calm, and non-violence, the shifter had decided to go in the complete opposite direction. Now a hiker was dead and the shifter was on the run, and Derek (naturally) felt responsible and was determined to bring him to justice and prevent him from hurting anyone else.
That sense of responsibility had led them to where they were now - bare-assed in a rented mobile home at “The Crack of Dawn,” upstate California’s premiere nudist colony.
“They prefer to be called naturists,” Derek corrects, looking over at Stiles from where he’s stretched out on the tiny couch, hands pillowed behind his head.
Stiles pulls his phone away from his ear long enough to glare at Derek - a way more ineffective move than it usually is, considering Stiles is glaring a foot above Derek’s head and slightly to the left - before turning back around and rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, naturists,” he says waspishly, tucking his phone back under his chin. “Anyway, Derek traced the scent of the shifter back up to here. We think he’s hiding out in the woods somewhere.”
“Uh huh,” his father says dryly. “And you decided the best course of action was to go undercover.”
“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say undercover, technically we’re… uncovered? Is it still undercover if you’re not actually wearing any clothes?”
“Right,” Stiles says, clearing his throat. “Yes, we’re undercover. I guess the… naturists get a little touchy if they think someone’s hanging out in their woods, creeping on their naked drum circle. We didn’t want to get caught tramping around and get arrested. At least now we have a reason to be spending time in the woods near the camp.”
“Apparently, naked birdwatching is a thing,” Derek calls out helpfully. “They gave us a pamphlet.”
Stiles can practically hear his father rubbing the bridge of his nose through the phone when a knock sounds throughout their little home away from home. Derek hauls himself off the couch to answer the door and Stiles valiantly tries not to stare at Derek’s bare - and, unsurprisingly perfect - ass.
Stiles attempts to bring his attention back to his father as Derek chats with Joyce, the sixty-year old naturist in the camper next door. He’s in the middle of trying to convince his dad that this is not in fact some kind of elaborate joke when Derek turns back to him, a serene smile on his face.
“Joyce just asked us if we want to play volleyball,” he says, resting his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You wanna play?”
“Volleyball,” Stiles repeats weakly.
Derek nods. “Yeah. Should be fun. Just gotta smack the ball to the other side of the net, and not let it hit you in the face.”
Stiles head flops onto the table in front of him. Through the receiver, his father starts laughing.
This is the thing, prior to this weekend, Stiles would have been willing to swear on a stack of werewolves that he had his epic crush on Derek under control. He cannot stress this enough. He contains his episodes of pining to the half an hour after pack meetings that he spends reading really emotional Castiel fanfiction and munching on peanut butter cups, and the rest of the time he is 100% over it. He doesn’t stare at Derek while Derek cooks the dinners for the pack he insists on making or when he makes adorable and mostly unfunny jokes, he doesn’t get all mushy when Derek falls asleep on the couch during pack movie nights and wakes up on Stiles’s shoulder during the credits, all sleep rumpled and adorable, and he flat out refuses to think about Derek naked. He had this shit on lock.
Now he’s actually seen Derek naked. He’s knows exactly what those tight-ass jeans are barely hiding, and dear God, no one would doubt the existence of the supernatural if they’d ever seen Derek’s ass. It’s a preternaturally spectacular ass. His body looks like it was carved out of marble. He’s seen Derek’s cock, hanging soft between his thighs in a patch of neatly trimmed hair and swaying slightly as Derek rolls a bocce ball down the court to Nora, Joyce’s wife. And honestly, Stiles could have even handled the nudity if Derek hadn’t been so damn happy about it. Derek is thrilled to be naked. He’s more happy - and bizarrely, more social - than Stiles has ever seen him. He did arts and crafts hour yesterday, for fucks sake. He sat on the grass in a circle, naked body practically gleaming in the sunlight, and wove green and yellow plasticized-PVC tube together and smiled.
And Stiles? Stiles has now seen Derek’s literal and euphemistic boondoggle, and he is traumatized. Some things you can’t unsee, and a happy, beautiful, naked Derek Hale making a friendship bracelet is one of them. There is no way Stiles can go back to pretending he’s anything but madly in love with Derek. His crush is in full flower, much like the begonias Derek is currently coaxing to life in Joyce’s garden. Stiles has been forced to start carrying the bestiary with him constantly so he always has emergency cover for his frequent and regular erections.
Hell, as it turns out, is a nudist colony in Northern California.
Predictably, Scott is zero help, as when Stiles calls him in a panic about being trapped with Derek’s naked and magnificent form the True Alpha laughs so hard that he wheezes himself into his first asthma attack since he became a werewolf. Although, ultimately, Scott does help capture the shifter, as Stiles hangs up the phone and stomps off in a snit only to stumble upon the shifter in the woods where he manages to catch him himself.
It’s not until the shifter has disappeared into the back of a van belonging to one of Argent’s hunter buddies and they’re packing up to come home that Stiles notices exactly how quiet Derek is.
“Hey,” Stiles says softly, nudging Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Argent says this guy follows the code. He’s gonna bring him back to Beacon Hills so he can go to jail, he’s just going to give him something to make sure he can’t shift and get away.”
Derek shakes his head. “No, it’s not that,” he says, an edge of sadness creeping into his voice. “I’m just… I’m going to miss it here.”
“You ah… you did seem pretty comfortable,” Stiles hedges. “I’m kind of surprised, actually, that you were so… into it.”
He shrugs. “Wolf thing, you know,” he says. “I grew up running around without any clothes on. No point, if you were just going to shift and ruin them.”
“Makes sense,” Stiles agrees.
“And,” Derek adds softly, “It’s been nice, being here. With you.”
Derek’s eyes flick towards him, then back down at the table. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, turning away, and no. Just, no. Stiles has never seen Derek smile more often than he had over the last couple of days, and he is not ready to let that smile go yet. “Hey Derek, no,” he says hastily, reaching for him. “Dude, it’s cool. I’m glad you were so comfortable around me. I want you to feel like you can let your guard down with me. I am totally cool with Derek the naturist, okay?”
Derek shakes his head. “No, that’s not…” he sighs. “I know my… feelings for you,” he grits, “made you uncomfortable. I know that’s why you were always stomping off, or hiding in our camper. It was just hard, just finally seeing you... I’m sorry, okay? I can keep it under control when we get back to Beacon Hills. Just… don’t be weird about it? Please?”
Stiles can’t do anything more than stare at him, mouth open, gaping like a fish. Feelings? Derek has feelings? Derek has feelings for him? Stiles may have lost the ability to speak. Or think. He can’t even with whatever is coming out of Derek’s mouth right now. Stiles has lost the ability to can.
“Your feelings?” Stiles finally squeaks. “Your feelings for me?”
“Yes,” Derek growls. “And I am asking you to please not be weird about it.”
Stiles spends another minute doing his best limp dick impersonation before he flings himself at Derek, wrapping around him like an octopus and attacking him with his mouth. “Do you even know,” he says in between kisses, “how incredibly difficult it was for me to keep myself under control?” He pushes Derek backward and onto the couch, climbing over him and straddling his thighs, gulping air before diving back in. “I have been in love with you for years.” Stiles can feel Derek smiling into their kisses, and he huffs a laugh against Derek’s lips. “Years, Hale,” he says, nudging Derek’s nose with his own. “So don’t you tell me about how hard it was for you. Jesus Christ, I think I’m gonna have to buy that bestiary dinner after how many times I had the damn thing pressed up against my cock to hide my boner. You were just walking around all fucking beautiful, happy and naked and I thought I was going to die.”
Suddenly, Stiles loses his equilibrium as Derek flips him on to his back. “You know, we’ve already paid for a few more days,” Derek says, crawling over him and gently biting Stiles’s skin. He’s going to leave marks. It’s going to be awesome. “And I don’t have any reason to rush back home, so…”
Stiles reaches down to grab Derek’s ass, because it’s there and Derek’s naked and because he can. How could he have ever thought he hated this place? Stiles fucking loves nudist colonies. “Oh yeah?” he slurs. Jesus, he already sounds sex drunk. “You wanna stick around?”
Stiles can feel Derek’s shrug against his chest. “I’m just saying it would be a waste of money to leave,” he says, grinding his hips down, and jesus fuck. “If we stay, I’ve got some ideas of how we can fill our time.”
“Oh, yes,” Stiles sighs, rolling his hips against Derek’s. “Absolutely.”
They don’t end up making it home for a week. By the time they get back, Stiles is covered in stubble burn and Derek’s grinning bigger than he did when he won the set of lawn darts playing naked Bingo.
(Now, whenever Derek’s stressed out, they go back to the nudist colony for a couple of days. Last time they were there Stiles made a phallic boondoggle. Derek proudly uses it as a keychain.)