justlurkinghere | Stripper Pole Suite - The Arms Hotel, Monday Morning

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Stripper Pole Suite - The Arms Hotel, Monday Morning

After an evening of vigorous cuddling, Derek found himself awake. And back in his right mind.

And handcuffed to a bed.

If that wasn't enough to make him extremely uncomfortable and ticked off, there was someone drooling on his chest. The same someone who had handcuffed him to the bed in the first place.

He gritted his teeth, tugging hard on the handcuffs until the metal creaked and groaned under the strain. Someone was going to die for this weekend. Die horrible. He would murder the island itself.

[[for the mate-no-more, up early for le slowplay]]

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For once Stiles didn't feel the need to disobey an order. He was eager to scramble away from Derek and put distance between them. He put so much distance between them, in fact, that he fell off the side of the bed. Ow.

"This wasn't my fault!" Hadn't hurt his mouth though.

Derek shifted in place, relieved beyond reason that his jeans remained on. Ugh, this was the worst weekend ever.

He sat up, carefully breaking the hinges on the cuffs and tossing them aside. "This--" Derek waved at the room in general. "Never happened."

"Never happened, I am totally behind that," Stiles said from where he was laying on the floor. "No werewolf wedding, no handcuffing, no nose kissing--no kissing at all. Wow, never in my life did I think I would want my never-been-kissed title back, thanks Fandom."

Welcome to Stiles off of Adderall, Derek. Enjoy it.

Derek rolled his eyes, getting out of the bed on the other side to find his damn shirt. That someone had demanded he remove last night. "It didn't happen," he snapped, angrily pulling the shirt on.

Because angry dressing was a thing that happened when Derek and Stiles were involved.

"I totally agree. Never happened," Stiles said, sitting up and wincing when he noticed how tender his neck felt. Great. The island hadn't erased his hickeys. "On a scale of one to ten, how bad does my neck look?"

Oh, the guilt issues that would crop up from this weekend.

Derek took a break from angrily getting dressed in order to glance over at Stiles and suppress a wince. "Buy some makeup."

"Oh my god, just friggen great, Derek!" Stiles said, flopping back down on the floor. "You get off completely unscathed and I've got to go around for god knows how long looking like I got mauled by an animal!"

"Shut up, Stiles. And put a shirt on." Before people noticed!

"What? Oh right," he said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. You weren't supposed to notice that sort of stuff, Derek! He was pale and scrawny, it was embarrassing. "...why does this room have a stripper pole?"

Quick, Derek, be polite and look at it while Stiles scrambled to get his shirt on!

Polite? NEVER.

"A what?" Derek turned suddenly to find that yes. Yes there was a stripper pole in the middle of the room.

Seriously, how was this his life.

"Why couldn't you have knocked yourself out attempting that last night?" he grumbled. All of his problems would have been solved if you'd concussed yourself, Stiles.

"Pfft the way last night was going it would've been you using that," Stiles said as he buttoned his shirt up. "You know, if you hadn't been handcuffed to the bed, I mean."

Derek turned back to give him such a glaring for that. THEY HAD AGREED IT DIDN'T HAPPEN, STILES. A GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT HAD BEEN FORMED.

LIKE EITHER OF THEM WERE GENTLEMEN.

Stiles couldn't help it, he started to laugh. Come on, it was kind of funny. You should laugh, Derek.

Damn it, logic!

Derek continued to glare as though he wanted nothing more than to smother him with a pillow.

"Oh you're no fun." Was he ever fun, Stiles? Was he ever? "Look at least you don't have to explain to the sheriff of the Beacon Hills police department why you invited him to your werewolf wedding. I just hope he thinks I was on peyote or something 'cause he will track your ass down. Or the other you's ass which would be funny if I didn't think he'd track me down and kill me."

He spit on fun! Only not literally. Because Ew.

"I called my sister." Who was both his older sister and alpha. Did you understand how much he was going to be mocked? Did you? "About a 'werewolf wedding'."

Stiles put his hand over his mouth, like that was somehow going to hide the fact that he was smiling. "I'm sorry that's horrible for you."

Okay he had to start laughing again.

""Shut up, Stiles." You don't have a sibling that hasn't been mentioned before! Lydia shares his pain!

Hey, he could totally have an older brother or something, you don't know!

"Look, it's either laugh or cry and I'm not crying in front of you," he said, shaking his head. "It's not a big deal, Derek, everybody was acting weird. I mean Eric let me feel him up and I got glitter on my hands from doing it now that's weird."

Yes, please don't cry. It would just get awkward. Save those tears for stubbing a toe or something.

Derek settled for some glaring at those hickies and then looked thoroughly disgusted by the corpse groping. Seriously, Stiles. Stick to the living.

"Don't look at me like that," Stiles said, attempting to cover up his neck with a hand when he noticed Derek looking. "Is my hand even big enough to cover the whole thing?"

Stiles was curious as to what his neck actually looked like and wandered over to a nearby mirror to check out--oh. Oh dear god. "DEREK!"

Derek, meanwhile, took that his cue to escape the room. Like a dog with its tail between its legs.

If anyone asked, he was being mysterious and cryptic. Not a complete baby.

Stiles, of course, didn't notice Derek was leaving until he was actually gone. "Oh you asshole."

This wasn't over, Derek!

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Stripper Pole Suite - The Arms Hotel, Monday Morning

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