He was drunk.
So fucking drunk.
The night had started as most did these days. Stiles ate dinner by himself, almost glad that the Sheriff was at work rather than home to see his son stare blankly into his plate, all the while stealing sips of whiskey from the bottle he’d taken from his father’s nightstand. Did the Sheriff know his son was stealing his booze? Maybe, but after the Nogitsune thing, he’s had enough leeway it was difficult to tell.
There was an itch beneath his skin, and tonight, he just had to scratch it. Stiles shed his sweats in favor of his tightest, darkest jeans and a blood red t-shirt. He lined his eyes with the stuff he’d picked up at the drugstore with his last prescription for sleeping pills (black on the top, red on the bottom), and topped it all off with black converse. One more scalding swig of whiskey, and he was out the door, ready to take his fake ID downtown.
Before, his hyperactive ass would get tossed by the bouncer for obviously being underage. Truth be told, the burly man that regularly stood at the door to the Jungle really didn’t care, so long as it was convincing. That’s how guys like Danny got in without any trouble. But Stiles had learned a thing or two while possessed. He learned how to use his body…to slink his hips, wear the right clothes, and not to say a damn word to the bouncer as he hands over his ID. Instead, he just stares the man down with a challenge in his eyes, and without much ado, is permitted inside.
Three more drinks, and Stiles was ready to start searching.
He first dances with a bear of a man whose hands are a little too daring, and Stiles has plans greater than the third stall of the men’s room or a spot on the wall in the back alley. He spun himself around and through the mass of bodies on the dancefloor with ease, heart pounding along with the music, as he bumps into someone closer in age to himself.
The second guy looks a little too like Scott for his taste, but he doesn’t dismiss him out of hand. His name, he learns, is Caleb, and he’s from two towns over. His family is conservative, so he comes to the Jungle rather than his local gay club for fear of someone he knows outing him to his parents. And while dancing with Caleb was fun, he talked as much as Stiles usually did, and obviously wouldn’t be taking him home. So, as politely as he could manage while drunk off his ass, Stiles parted ways with Caleb and found himself grinding with a guy a few feet over.
This guy was better- he didn’t talk with anything but his hips. Stiles didn’t get a good look at his face, but ultimately, it didn’t really matter. They say that the more drunk you are, the more attractive someone is, so if Stiles could get another drink or two, he figured he could go face to face with the guy and imagine who he really wanted.
This guy was too scrawny. It wouldn’t be enough to delude himself into believing he was fucking a hot, older werewolf- a hot, older werewolf who skipped town with a girl for hire who was far prettier and decidedly more female that Stiles would ever be and FUCK if that didn’t hurt. He’d been in love with Derek for what felt like forever, and while he’d always known his chances were slim to none, the fact that he was gone again made him weepy and desperate.
Stiles weaved his way back through the crowd and over to the bar, set on knocking back a few more shots to ease his pain and erase his annoyance at the lack of viable options presenting themselves.
One shot, two shots, three shots, four, and Stiles can tell that he’s walking sideways- he just doesn’t care. He came here for a reason, and he wasn’t leaving alone. Trying his best to stay upright, Stiles staggered over to where he’d spotted Danny loitering on the edge of the crowd and placed a hand on the small of his back before wrapping his body around to the front to talk to him.
“Hey, Danny,” Stiles grinned wickedly, hoping that he was being seductive rather than tipping the other teen off to the fact that he was intoxicated. He spared a glance down at Danny’s lips before continuing, “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Stiles, what are you doing?” Danny’s voice dripped with concern as he placed a steadying hand under his elbow.
“Clubbing. At the club. You know?” For a moment, he let his trickster attitude go and slipped back into Stiles, for which he cursed himself. A quick recovery was in order. “Alright, Danny boy, you caught me. I was over at the bar when I saw you standing here in those tight pants of yours…” he moved his hand down to cup Danny’s ass in punctuation. “And I just had to come over and say hi.”
“You’re drunk, Stiles.” Okay, so obviously Stiles’ charm was ineffective thus far. New tactic.
“Yeah, I am. But drunken words are truthful thoughts, and you, my friend, are hot. I’m tired of ignoring it for the sake of friendship.” Stiles leaned in, speaking directly into Danny’s ear. “I wanna be bad tonight. Take me home with you?”
“What the hell, Stiles.” It wasn’t even so much of a question, so much as a statement of disappointment. Stiles hated that look on his face. He’d seen it too many times on his father and Scott, and they were about the last people he wanted to think about tonight. Well, second to last.
“Oh, Danny, don’t be like that. I’ve seen you check me out before- like that time that I accidently dropped a condom in econ.” A fox knows how to play dirty.
“That doesn’t automatically mean I want to sleep with you, Stiles.” Now he was irritated. Stiles thought about backing off, but what the hell. Their friendship was probably already over at this point, not that there was much of one to begin with. He was too far gone to respectfully back off now.
“I just wanna get fucked…wanna forget everything that makes me sad and feel good for a little while. I thought with how much we flirt that you might be willing to help me with that.”
“Okay, Stiles, I’m taking you home. You’ve had way too much.” With a sigh, Danny moved his arm around Stiles and Stiles’ arm around his shoulder, intent on supporting him for the walk out, but Stiles would have none of it.
“Let me go!” Stiles whined, intent on staying put. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Danny wasn’t going to fuck him tonight, and he had every intent that some guy would, or he’d pass out trying. “If you don’t want me, let me find someone who does. I know what I’m doing!”
“Stiles, listen to me,” The older boy tried, “Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want your first time to be a drunken one night stand. In the morning, when you wake up in some guy’s bed, you won’t feel anything but regret. Now come on, let’s get you home.”
Stiles dodged Danny’s second attempt at grabbing his arm. “I don’t fucking care, Danny, I just want it to be better now.” His emotions- everything he tried to push away or bury- conspired to get the better of him. All his pain and loneliness hit him like a freight train, and the longing he felt for the long gone were burned in his gut far worse than any of the booze did.
“Tell me what hurts,” Danny coaxed, pulling Stiles in by the hips to the warmth of his body, intent on helping as best he could. Jackson always said he was good at listening. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d soothed a drunken friend. And in spite of everything, that is exactly how Danny saw Stiles, and it hurt him to see the boy so afflicted.
Stiles was wrecked, emotionally speaking. Everyone from Scott, to his dad, to Chris Argent had asked him if he was okay in the last few months, but no one had cut right through his bullshit deflection until right this moment. He couldn’t choke out an “I’m fine,” from behind his false mask of indifference this time. Something about the words Danny chose had him on the verge of tears as he answered, “everything.”
Danny looked at him with understanding before turning and leading him outside by the hand. Defenses down, Stiles could no longer bring himself to fight it. He already knew he’d feel like an ass in the morning and that Danny didn’t deserve that, but right now, he needed to be cared for, and that’s exactly what Danny planned on doing.