"Derek? Yo, Earth to Derek?"
Derek blinks and his eyes snap back up to Stiles’s face. “What?”
"Am I boring you or something?" Stiles asks. "I mean, you’re the one who wanted me to research this."
"Just give me what you’ve got and go away," Derek says, reaching out to take Stiles’s notes.
Stiles grabs them up and holds them against his chest, against the ridiculous v-neck shirt he’s wearing. It shows off the tuft of dark hair at the top of Stiles’s sternum. As if all of Stiles’s pale skin wasn’t taunting enough on it’s own with the little moles dotted all over it. Derek has never seen Stiles without a shirt on before—now he’s not sure he could survive the sight.
“My notes, a-hole. You either listen to my explanation or you research it yourself.”
"Then hurry up and get to the point," Derek says impatiently.
It’s impossibly tight pants today and a different v-neck, this one cut even deeper. Where is Stiles even getting these clothes? Derek never thought the day would come when he’d miss the tasteless graphic tees.
Peter is looking very proud of himself when Derek goes to stand beside him.
"What did you do?" Derek asks.
"I haven’t done anything, nephew."
The both of them watch as Stiles squirms and tries to tug his pants into a more comfortable position. Derek doesn’t think there’s any way those pants could be comfortable, though, and that’s saying something considering the tight jeans Derek often wears.
Derek shakes himself out of it and glares over at Peter. “You did, too. You wouldn’t seem to pleased with yourself otherwise.”
"Well, I’d like to think Stiles has realized that the clothes I got him for his birthday are much more fashionable than his usual ensemble," Peter muses. "But somehow I don’t think that’s it."
"You bought a teenage boy clothes?”
Peter rolls his eyes dramatically. “Don’t make it sound so lewd. I was doing the world a favor by shopping for him. I can’t wait until he wears the Henley. It’ll make his shoulders look incredibly broad.”
That’s the last thing Derek needs—Stiles with accentuated broad shoulders. And what if Stiles leaves the buttons undone? Just how far down would that neckline go? Sweet merciful god…
Finally, the next day, Derek breaks. It’s more of the same clothes and Derek can’t stand it anymore. “Why? Why are you wearing that?”
"Wearing what?" Stiles asks, face crumpling in confusion.
"That shirt. With the hair."
Stiles looks down at himself and blushes, actually reaching up to shield his chest hair from view. “Dude, don’t even. Our washer’s been busted for weeks and I am literally at the very bottom of my wardrobe now. I’m gonna have to go to the laundromat or something. These pants are suffocating my balls. And, like, I wear skinny jeans; I’m used to a certain amount of ball suffocation. But these are above and beyond, man.”
"Stop talking about your balls," Derek says.
Stiles shrugs. “I’m just being honest. You’re the jerk who’s picking on me about my clothing choices.”
"You could do some clothes at my place…"
Derek nods and moves closer to Stiles, curling a finger in one of Stiles’s belt loops. “Maybe the ones you’re wearing right now.”
Stiles smiles slyly. “But these are still pretty clean. I just put ‘em on like an hour ago.”
"Then maybe we should get them dirty first."
Eventually, Derek fixes the Stilinski’s washing machine. Stiles works the low cut shirts into regular circulation, though, because he apparently loves to drive Derek to distraction.
Derek takes his revenge by covering Stiles in hickeys. Not that Stiles seems to mind, of course.