Can you imagine?
This is actually a perfect mental image.
And you know, Scott and Danny and Jackson just do this evil thing to Stiles. And buy him a Derek-stripper-lapdance for his birthday.
So. Much. Of very angry glaring.
Why is this so perfect.
“You are extremely hot,” Stiles manages hoarsely, as said extremely hot guy slides smoothly into his lap.
“I know.” The stripper growls, glaring as if its -Stiles’- fault his ridiculous genes decided to be perfect. So perfect that the glare kinda makes him hotter. Rude.
“Like, ridiculously hot, you get that all the time I bet. On a scale of one to ten how annoying does that get? I’m guessing at least a fifteen because I’m starting to fear for my life, to be honest.” The guy is rubbing his barely clad dick against Stiles chest. Its quite possibly the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him and he can’t. stop. talking.
“Do you ever shut up?” And there is that sexy voice again, glaring eyes going narrow like the guy can picture about five ways to kill Stiles without even trying.
Yep. Still hot.
Yeah, Stiles is thinking he may need therapy after this, he’s not really sure?
“Yeah, okay, a long awkward silence sandwiched by boners. I can do that.” He stammers.
The stripper makes a noise like he doesn’t believe him.