#porn for meeeeee
When Stiles set up the playlist for Derek, he meant it to be a joke poking at Derek’s age and old-man mannerisms. The laughter died before it could reach his lips though when Derek went pale, distraught, and then let out a shaky breath.
With a heartbreaking smile, a lowered head, and the harsh blinking of eyes, he said quietly, “My dad liked jazz,” and then he pulled Stiles into a quick hug that wasn’t as quick or violent as the ache that bloomed in Stiles’ chest because…
…because Stiles hated being a fucking asshole.
Stiles just shrugged and played it off, (“Yeah, mine too!”) and resolved to get his dad out of classic rock and into jazz—at least part-time—to cover all his bases.
Now, two months later, the music has become a constant in the loft, and no one ever asks Derek to play anything else. Stiles has become so accustomed to it that he finds himself unable to focus without the slow, sultry hum of saxophones or the triumphant blast of trumpets.
As he stands from the floor, where he’s been hunched over Peter’s laptop trying to translate the bestiary, the background music flows through him and his stretch turns into a little bump and grind. He’s about to laugh at himself when he feels a tug against his waist and jumps, startled. He whirls to see Derek standing behind him, a little smirk tilting his lips.
“Dude, seriously, a collar with a cow bell or something! I will superglue it to your ridiculous body!”
Stiles doing a lap dance. All my dreams have come true.
Post link
