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What a hunk

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Stiles has never been the most subtle of guys. Scott would even go as far as to say he’s the opposite. Which Stiles totally resents, ‘cause he can be subtle when he needs to be, he totally can! 

Stiles always liked both girls and boys, he self-identifies as either bi or pan (depending on the person he’s talking to or the situation, or even just his own moods) because he’s more interested in the people that catch his eye than what gender they identify as. Scott’s his best-friend forever, has always been by his side and has always supported him, not telling him (like some people) that he couldn’t know if he’d never had any experience with anyone (yes, because heteros also don't know what they’re talking about when they say they like the opposite gender at age 5), or that he was a repressed gay (rude!), or even worse (since there’s nothing wrong with being gay, he just isn’t) that it’s a phase (his sexual identity is valid, damnit!). 

That means that Scotty is always in prime position to hear him wax poetic on anyone that catches his fancy. Which admittedly is a lot. In his defence, he’s a 17 years old virgin with a high level of teenage hormones and sexual frustration. It’s common knowledge that he masturbates several times a day, so no surprise there. He tries to not objectify anyone, but again, he’s a teenage boy with no (or a limited) brain to mouth filter, with some social awkwardness thrown in the mix. Sometimes, he really can’t help himself (not that it’s really an excuse, but still).

He also has a type, with male expressing people; tall, dark and handsome sums it up pretty well. Add muscular and bearded and it’s a winning combination. Charisma and intelligence are also an attractive added bonus. The only down side is that he also usually needs to add douchebag to the list of adjectives. Stiles, unfortunately, seems to be attracted to people with an Attitude, with a capital A. He blames it on his embarrassing response to danger (fear boner, anyone?). 

So it’s really not surprising that the first time he sees Derek Hale shirtless, he blindly grabs at Scott, repeatedly flapping his hand against his shoulder, eyes not leaving Derek’s chest and whisper-shouts ‘What a hunk!’ in Scotty’s ear. Scott, faithful friend that he is, only sighs and shakes his head. He knows that that single sentence only means one thing. Trouble. Usually big, embarrassing, trouble. Think unhealthy crush of mighty proportion with both Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore, the school’s best power couple. The former either ignores him or sends him disdainful looks, and the latter tries his best to insult and humiliate Stiles (though Scott never outright told him, Stiles knows Scotty thinks he has a thing for the humiliation and power play, a kinky thing, and Stiles likes that he hasn’t asked, ‘cause he would’t be able to deny it with any level of credibility, as good a liar as he is, not to Scott anyway).

So really, there is no surprise when Stiles starts to follow Derek around. Not to the point of being a stalker (Stiles has some restraint), and nothing that would make for a restraining order (and the almightily wrath of his dad, the Sheriff, and Mrs. McCall). 

What is surprising, though, is that Derek seems to tolerate Stiles. And when they get to talking, Stiles is agreeably surprised when he learns that Derek is actually a secret nerd, and that they actually have a lot of similar tastes. In the following weeks after they first started to really interact, Stiles crush is all but forgotten (though he doesn’t stop teasing Derek about how ripped he is), and Derek treats him more like a little brother than anything else. 

When summer break rolls around, his dad is off to a convention out of state and he decides that it means he can go up to the Hale house and see if he can catch Derek to go watch a film with him and grab some burger and curly fries at the diner. 

He’s actually never been to the Hale house on his own, nor has he actually met any of the other Hales (except for Cora, since she’s at school with him, but it’s only been from afar). If Derek wasn’t fine with being seen anywhere in his company, he might have been afraid that Derek was ashamed of him, but he thinks it might have more to do with awkward questions from his family and his own embarrassment about his family’s nosiness than anything else. Or it could be a coincidence, but Stiles doesn’t really believe in those. 

Still, Stiles goes up on his own, totally ready for the possibility of being assaulted by the rest of the family (and he is also totally planing on getting as many embarrassingly cute stories about baby Derek). 

He knowns the Hales (or most of them) are werewolves, it’s common knowledge in town that the prominent and respectable Hale family are weres, so he knows with certainty that if anyone is home, they would have heard his jeep coming up the driveway and him approaching the front door. Derek had also explained to him that he shouldn’t hesitate to just let himself in, instead of waiting for someone to answer. He had told Stiles that he was around the house and Derek enough that even though they hadn’t met him yet, they knew his sent. And Stiles feels comfortable and trust him enough to take his word for it and let himself in that evening.

He calls out Derek’s name as his goes further into the house. Lights are on, so there is at least someone present, even if it’s not the one he’s looking for at the moment. He calls out again as he directs himself to the kitchen, starting to feel slightly uncomfortable at the silence and the seemingly empty house.

‘You must be Stiles.’ 

Stiles startles at the deep gravely voice and whirls around, nearly tripping over his own feet (no one ever said he was graceful, and who ever did is a lying liar who lies).

What (who) he sees on the stairs makes his throat dry and his mouth salivate all at the same time. And seeing the resemblance with Derek, there is no mistaking who the hulking mountain of a man is. 

Mr. Hale (or, let’s be honest, Papa Hale in the recesses of Stiles own mind) is even more magnificent than his son. He doesn’t look a year over 35 (though Stiles knows for a fact that he’s over 50), and gives a new meaning to ripped. Because, dear Gods, but Mr. Hale is spectacular. At a glance, he’s half a foot taller than Stiles is, and even without taking into account the werewolf bit, looks like he could benchpress a semi truck without breaking a sweat (all the better to hold you pinned against the wall, dear). Like his son, there is also a beard, peppered with grey, that looks both soft and raspy (and Stiles can’t help but imagine what it would feel like against his skin, and the marks it would leave behind). Mr. Hale also seems to be wearing nothing but a threadbare comfortable looking sweatpants, chest and arm muscles on full display (and Stiles is pretty sure there really is nothing else, even under the sweats, if the noticeable swinging bulge in them is any indication as Mr. Hale prowls, yes prowls, towards him).

Stiles shakes his head like a dog (ha!) to clear his head, opens his mouth to speak, but the only thing that comes out is an embarrassingly high squeak (that he will deny ever making later), so he clears his throat too before trying again.

‘Yes... I, um, I was looking for Derek?’ 

It comes out more like a question than the statement he meant it to be, but at least he’s coherent, so he’ll take the win.

‘He isn’t home,’ Mr. Hale smiles down at him. ‘He’ll be back, with the rest of the family, next week. They’re in New York to see some relatives.’ 

Mr. Hale fairly spats the last word, and for once Stiles doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask questions. Though he’s honest enough with himself to admit that it’s mostly because Mr. Hale is back to smiling mischievously at him and that the thunderous look as he said ‘relatives’, did things to his libido that are frankly embarrassing.

‘I was going to make myself dinner, if you’d care to join me. Derek can’t seem to stop speaking about you, and I’m curious.’ 

The tone of voice Mr. Hale uses as he said ‘curious’ and the full body glance that followed was so hot and nearly touchable, that Stiles is left shivering, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide.

Mr. Hale continues to make his way to the kitchen and Stiles can’t help but to glance appreciatively at the back and ass on display. 

Of course, his filter decides that now is as good a time as any to fail him, and share out loud something he would usually only say to his Scotty or Der-bear. 

‘What a hunk!’

Stiles can only be thankful that it was a whisper, but if the glance back and the lazy smirk and wink are anything the go by, fucking werewolf hearing picked up the one thing he would have had prefered it didn’t, and Stiles can feel himself turn an unflattering shade of red (he tends to blotch, or so he’s been told). 

‘Get moving, kiddo!’ 

The only thing Stiles can do at this point, is nod eagerly and follow the man to his doom (later, much later, he’d blame it on his hormones or Derek, but not right now).