So, my mother and I watched the entire first season of Teen Wolf in five days - we would have watched it even faster, but we do actually have to watch the munchkins during the day, so, you know - not exactly prime werewolf-watching time. Now, I have Stiles/Derek on the brain like whoa, and it's too late into the second season for me to start watching, so all I can do is write fics based off of the first season and pretend I know what I'm reading about when I peruse current fanfics. Ah, well.
As to the rationale behind this first foray into writing for this fandom.
Um. I have no idea, okay? I was thinking about Stiles being a troll and letting Danny have an eyeful of "Miguel" - over and over and over again, and then I was thinking about Derek's back, and couldn't help hearing in my mind, "That's a hot back," and then this oneshot was born.
Like all best friends since early childhood, Stiles and Scott tend to know pretty much everything there is to know about each other. Which is, you know, good, because if they weren't so aware and comfortable with their mutual awareness, the whole Scott-turning-into-a-werewolf thing would have been a whole lot more awkward. Like, beyond belief.
Still, there are some things that must remain sacred, even among the best of bros. One of those things would have to be Stiles' guiltiest of guilty pleasures. He is utterly, completely addicted to the television adaptation of Vampire Diaries.
He blames his long-standing crush on Lydia Martin. Totally. Because it is not his fault that he overheard her toward the beginning of their freshman year, going on and on to Jessica Staton about her love of the show and lamenting the fact that boys apparently found it hard to be like Stefan Salvatore. It was that little spiel that led him to slink off one afternoon when school let out, his pocket stuffed with a small wad of cash, to rent the first season on DVD.
He'd spent the entire dinner with his dad fidgeting like a rabbit, certain that he would somehow know that his son had a decidedly girly television series hidden in his sock drawer. Thankfully, the good Sheriff chose not to comment, accustomed to his kid's penchant for abnormal behavior. More likely than not, he chalked it up to Stiles forgetting to take his Adderall, and that was that. It wouldn't have been the first - or the last - time for that to happen.
Finally, Stiles had bleated something about a biology chapter that needed to be read, and an English essay that needed to be written, and he escaped to his cave. To his ever-lasting astonishment, he actually managed to finish both assignments before slipping the rental case out of his sock drawer and putting the first DVD into his disc drive. He plugged in his earbuds and put in only the left earbud, leaving his right ear open to the noises of the outside world, just in case his dad decided to check in on him before heading in for his shift. After one more glance around his room, he clicked, "Play," and allowed himself to be sucked - hah! - into the world of Elena Gilbert, ostensibly to better understand Lydia Martin's concept of the ideal man, but eventually because, as much as he would never wish to admit it, even on pain of death, he was hooked.
He finished season one in two nights, and on the third, he started streaming the newer episodes from the CW website. And even though the show has not afforded him any insight into Lydia's heart and mind, he plans to continue his illicit dose of unreality and excessive romance until the show comes to an end.
For the most part, he's pretty good at not allowing his obsession with the show to bleed into his daily life. He does everything he can to protect his dirty little secret, and it pays off. However, some things are simply destined to be the exception to his carefully maintained rules. The first time Stiles really notices that there's more to growly, broody, scary Derek Hale than his less-than-stellar attitude and his epic badassery, his mind flashes back to that furtive night spent powering through the first half of the pilot season of Vampire Diaries.
"All I see is back."
"That's a hot back."
At the time, Stiles hadn't been able to understand the concept of a "hot back" - not even a little bit. Backs were backs, and that was all.
Except that he's glancing every few seconds at a post-adolescent werewolf in the process of searching for a halfway-decent replacement for his bloodied shirt, and he understands now. Oh, yeah, he understands. Stiles could probably write a dissertation on the meaning and making of a "hot back," and no one would be able to dispute his claims, because he would back it up with photographic evidence. He finds himself shifting uncomfortably at the sudden heat lancing through him, all leading to one incredibly awkward, incredibly ill-timed development, and he hopes like he has never hoped for anything ever before that the openly violent and generally hostile beta will assume the arousal he's scenting on the air is all coming from the same place - which is decidedly not Stiles - because otherwise, he may just become Derek Hale's next meal.
He's reasonably certain it won't come to that - Scott hasn't shown any cannibalistic tendencies yet, so Stiles is pretty sure that isn't a commonly accepted practice among werewolves. His extensive research on the topic supports this theory. Still.
He chances another look at Derek's back - and yep, those rippling muscles and that tanned skin adorned with that tattoo, definitely still the hottest thing he's ever seen in his life - and then turns to ask Danny's opinion on the latest shirt Derek has shimmied into. He earns a slightly homicidal glare from Derek for his efforts, but Danny caves under the presence of the sheer beauty that is Derek Hale, so there's a very real possibility that the pain Stiles will suffer for this later will be worth it.
Then they're at the hospital confronting Derek's supposedly catatonic Uncle Peter and the guy's psychotic nurse, and Stiles doesn't think about backs - hot or otherwise - for a very long time after that.
"Did you know you have a hot back? Because you do. You totally do. It's a very, very hot back. It's so hot, I could write odes about it. Odes, Derek." It's not even six in the morning yet, but the commute to his college campus from the (heavily renovated) Hale house is two hours long, and Stiles has always been an early riser. There's only the faintest hints of the coming sunrise peeking through the blinds, but it is enough for him to be able to make out the contours of his mate's back, and it takes him to those embarrassing moments three years ago when he tried so hard to avoid acknowledging his newfound interest in the man.
Obviously that particular endeavor failed, but Stiles definitely doesn't mind, because it means that he has the privilege of hearing Derek's sleep-muddled voice growling, "Shut up, Stiles," and watching as he flips over onto his back and then pulls Stiles down with him, cocooning him in warmth and safety and love.
He thinks back to that rant of Lydia's, about her ideal man, and huffs a quiet laugh even as he settles down for what will have to be a very short cuddle before he leaves for the day. Stiles could never have become like Stefan Salvatore, though his dad did raise him to treat women with respect, but he did eventually manage to find his own, equally tall, dark, handsome and broody, with the requisite hot back. He'd kind of like to know exactly how he became the Elena Gilbert of this situation, and wonders whether or not he should be on the lookout for some guy who could be his twin, but then he shrugs the matter off, because in spite of all the bizarre creatures in his life, vampires, to his knowledge, do not actually exist.
"Stiles. I can hear you thinking." It's silent for a beat or two after Derek's gravely announcement, and then Stiles hears him ask, "Something wrong?" It warms something deep within his chest to hear that protective note in his mate's voice, even while the man is half asleep.
"Nope. Just my mind running in circles." He's really not lying, which is awesome, because it means his heartbeat remains steady, and so there's no reason for them to drag this discussion out. Derek will be a grouchy wolf for the rest of their morning together if they stay awake for much longer, and Stiles has no desire to explain his fascination with what used to be a favorite show among teenaged girls across the country to anyone, and least of all to Derek.
"Then go back to sleep."
Remarkably, he does. And if his dreams are filled with images of Derek's back in all it's muscular, tattooed glory?
He's only human.