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Stiles is pissed , to say the least. His Dad had forced him to come meet some new deputies that had been hired, and because he apparently wasn't trusted to be left home alone now, he had to be there too. And not only had he been forced out the house, he was forced into wearing something other than a regular shirt and pants. Unfortunately for him, the only dress shirt he owns is a size too small, and just barely opaque enough to hide his piercings. He was even wearing a tie. His Dad had then told Stiles to head home and sleep so he and his new workers could go for a drink. Normally he wouldn't have cared, if it wasn't for the fact that he was supposed to be at the pack meeting at Derek's two hours ago and was now currently stood in the rain next to his broken-down jeep, calling anyone he could think of to pick him up. His white shirt was soaked in the rain and embarrassingly see-through, a certain set of piercings extremely obvious and out for anyone to see. Somehow the tie made it look worse.
After calling Scott five times, Isaac twice, Erica three, and even Boyd and Jackson at least once, he was starting to lose hope. He called everyone in the pack at least once again, besides from Derek and Peter obviously, when his phone rang with an incoming call from the one person he wasn't going to call.
He sighed loudly, though no one was around to hear it, and picked up the call.
"Heeeey Derek, what's up?" He said, climbing back into his jeep to escape the rain, and hopefully ensure Derek didn't hear it over the phone.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Was Derek’s curt response.
Stiles winced and pulled the phone away from his ear, turning it on speaker whilst he looked for his spare hoodie he keeps in his jeep.
“I was at dinner with my Dad and some of his deputies, I couldn’t exactly get out of it since he thinks if he leaves me home alone i’ll disappear or something.”
“Why’d you call everyone then, huh?” Derek growled out, and if Stiles didn’t know any better, he would think Derek sounded almost anxious, gods knows what for though.
“Okay, so I was on the way home and the Jeep decided to break down. It’s raining really badly and I was going to ask someone for a ride home, but no one’s picked up yet, so I was just gonna walk home and hopefully not freeze or something in the middle of the street.” Stiles rushed out, still looking for his hoodie and shivering from the cold.
He heard a sigh and some shuffling before Derek said, “Stay where you are, Stiles, or i’ll kill you before the cold does.” And then the click to signal the call had been ended. Though Stiles couldn’t care less about the call, he was more focused on the fact his hoodie was missing. As in his only way to cover himself, and his secret chest adornments. Shit. And of course Derek had to be the one to come and collect him. Fuckfuckfuck.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I can just cross my arms, right? As long as I make sure I don’t move my arms when I talk. Okay, so if I just don’t talk, I won’t move, right? What about when I have to use my arms to open the door? I am so screwed. Holy shit. The pack cannot find out, especially not Derek! Even Scott doesn’t know.”
Whilst Stiles rambled, his shirt wasn’t getting any drier, or any more opaque, and his piercings weren’t becoming any less noticeable. And he was really starting to shiver now, but all wrapping his own arms around him did was press the wet material closer to his body. In his fit of panic, he failed to notice the approach of Derek’s car behind his, only barely just getting his arms over his chest when his door was wretched open by a slightly damp and very pissed-off Derek.
” Fuck! Derek!” Was all he got out before he was dragged out of his car, and a little ways down the street into Derek’s, trying his absolute hardest to keep his arms across his chest and not reaching out for something to hold. At this, Derek gave him a weird look, not used to the sudden stillness Stiles was exhibiting.
“Get in.” The short, barked order from Derek’s mouth lacked its normal aggression, instead conveying a tone of concern, maybe confusion. Stiles really should’ve known better than to think Derek of all people wouldn’t notice anything was amiss, but all he could do now was hope he wouldn’t push for answers.
“Could you, like, open the door please?” Stiles asked meekly, arms still curled around himself and shaking from the cold. Derek had already walked halfway to the drivers side of the car, and was now staring at Stiles like he’d grown a second head. He walked slowly towards Stiles, keeping eye contact the whole time as he curled his fingers around the handle of the door, opened it, and promptly shoved Stiles in. All Stiles could do was watch as he walked back over to the drivers side.
”What’re you hiding, Stiles?” Derek sighed, leaning back into his seat and staring straight ahead.
“Nothing! What would i have to hide? What makes you think i’m hiding something, huh?”
“Stiles.”
All of Stiles’ hope deflated in the face of Derek’s stare.
“It’s nothing important okay? It’s definitely not anything to worry about. Now could you get me something to cover up with please? Or is that suspicious too?”
Derek rolled his eyes, partly at the dismissive answer, and mostly at the snarky comment at the end.
“Maybe if you weren’t sat there looking like you’re about to crap yourself, i wouldn’t think you were hiding anything.” He rolled his eyes again at the look of shock on Stiles’ face, and shoved a hand sized towel at him.
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The towel hits Stiles in the face, and because his arms are currently occupied, all he does is shake his head and sigh when water flies everywhere, earning himself a glare from Derek before he could even squeeze out the dog joke building on his tongue.
***
Derek is extremely confused. In the whole year of Derek knowing Stiles, he’s never seen him this quiet, or this still for that matter. He doesn’t even attempt to catch the towel thrown at him, his arms locked tight around his chest. Derek narrows his eyes at him, looks down at the way his soaked shirt is clinging to his skin and comes to a conclusion. Stiles must be seriously insecure or something. And whilst the way his wet clothes are sticking to his body is, quite frankly, obscene, Derek can’t see why he would be acting so weird, let alone smelling like mortification and fear. He meets Stiles’ eyes again, and furrows his brows when his heartbeat speeds up when they lock eyes again. What is he so scared of?
Whatever it is, it can wait until he’s not in danger of hypothermia or something, so he gives one more look at the boy in his passenger seat, and drives off, expecting a comment or two about the Jeep or being cold, but nothing comes. Not a word comes out the whole of the drive to Derek’s house, and though his legs are bouncing and his feet are tapping, his arms stay curled around himself. He can’t smell any sign of injury, so he’s pretty sure it’s not that. Is he really that insecure? Or maybe it’s because he thinks Derek will make fun of him. He has a feeling that he won’t get a clear answer no matter how many times he asks, or how much he threatens. So he ignores it for now.
By the time they arrive at the house, Stiles’ teeth are chattering and his whole body is shaking, so he rushes them out of the car and into the house as quick as possible. He can hear the rest of the pack inside, waiting to jump Stiles as soon as he gets inside. As soon as they reach the door, it’s swinging open and Erica jumps out first, wrapping her arms around him and dragging him inside. Derek rolls his eyes and locks the door behind himself. He kicks off his shoes and walks into the living room to see Stiles, still soaked, but a towel wrapped around his shoulders. His arms haven’t moved from their place around his chest though. Derek watches as the pack crowd around the boy, but he’s focused on how still he’s sitting, and the lack of words from his mouth.
If Stiles is that insecure, shouldn’t he just use the towel to cover himself? But that question can wait until he’s no longer shivering and soaked on Derek’s couch. He’s just about to say something when he sees Stiles finally moving his arms, carefully uncrossing them and keeping one firmly around his chest. Weird. He’s in the middle of clearing his throat when scott comes bounding down the stairs, and towards Stiles on the couch. Stiles gets this look on his face like he’s just realised the world is about to end, and now Derek is really starting to worry.
***
Scott is running down the stairs, running towards him. Stiles can only watch in horror as scott jogs closer, and eventually close enough to push through the pack and jump straight onto him. His towel falls away as Scott tries to wrap his arms around him. Stiles winces, mentally preparing himself for when scott pulls away and sees him.
“Stiles man! We were all worried about you!” He practically shouted into his ear, before pulling back a bit and grimacing when he sees the state Stiles is in.
“You okay? Let’s go get you dry man.” And Stiles is helpless to do anything other than let scott drag him by his shoulder upstairs and into one of the many upstairs bathrooms. The pack follows of course.
“Damn Stiles, you would think this was a Wet T-Shirt Contest or something,” Erica commented loudly, and the rest of the pack laughed along with her. Besides from Derek, Who was still staring oddly intensely at Stiles. God this was not good.
“Everyone out.” Derek’s voice startled him from his thoughts, and after a few weird looks from the pack towards their alpha, they cleared out. Leaving Stiles and Derek alone in the bathroom. Stiles’ arms are still pressed against his chest, and he’s pretty sure if he were to pull them away now his problem would be even more obvious. He can feel the way the wet material is clinging to his skin, and his nipples are rock fucking hard. And now Derek’s looking at him like he’s crazy. He’s holding Stiles’ phone, he realises.
“Stiles.”
“Derek.”
“Catch.” And with this Derek threw his phone at him. His brand new phone. It’s not until the phone is safely in his hands and the wave of panic is over that he realises Derek is staring at him, or more accurately, his chest. Before Stiles can even say anything the door is crashing open and the whole pack is spilling into the bathroom or at least looking in from the door. He’s pretty sure he’s managed to cover himself in time when he looks up and sees the pack. Erica, Allison, and Lydia both look gleefully surprised, Scott looks purely shocked, Isaac looks embarrassed, Boyd and jackson both look like they’re seconds away from laughing, Peter looks like he’s about to say something inappropriate and Derek, Derek looks, well, for lack of better words, like he’s about to pass out. His ears are bright red, his eyes are wide, his mouth is agape and it’s such an uncharacteristic look on him that Stiles can’t help but crack a smile, before wincing and turning towards the pack.
“You have nipple piercings?!” At least 3 of them say at the same time, though he has no idea who.
“Umm, maybe?” He replies with a wince at the expression on Scott’s face. He’s gearing himself up to say something when his arms are pulled—violently— away from his chest by an almost dazed looking Derek.
“Hey!” The shout seems to do nothing to stop them from gawking at his chest, the wet shirt doing absolutely nothing to cover the two piercings. If anything it made them look worse, almost obscene. The horizontal bars and the small metal balls unmistakable to anyone with eyes.
“Get out, everyone get out.” The command seems to snap everyone into motion, and they must be smelling or hearing something from Derek because they’re all staring at him in surprise before fleeing the room faster than he’s ever seen them before. Derek’s still holding his arms away from his chest and gaping at the piercings when he steps closer until they’re almost chest-to-chest.