Happy, happy birthday to my darling @derpylittlenico I wrote a lil Stargent just for you. Love you lots! ❤️
It’s Friday night, and Chris is holding down his favorite barstool at Mick’s. The music isn’t too loud, the pool table is well-maintained, and the crowd is mostly affable.
He swivels around on the stool and leans backwards against the bar to survey the crowd while he waits for his food. He spots Deputy Phillips at his own favorite table, in the corner near the jukebox.
It’s then that he sees him. Well, truthfully he notices the ass first. The man’s back is to him, and damn, it’s a nice back too. A round, firm ass that even his loose jeans can’t hide, a trim waist, broad shoulders, and muscles that bulge just a little under the long sleeves of his Henley. The guy pushes his sleeves up as he talks, and yeah, those are nice forearms too. They don’t look like the kind of muscles someone gains from working out at the gym all the time, more the kind that comes from doing manual labor, and lots of it.
Chestnut hair curls around the guy’s neck, and Chris imagines running his fingers through it. Hmm. Been awhile since he’s felt attracted to someone like this. Granted, the guy hasn’t even turned around yet, but it’s hard to imagine there would be anything so wrong with the front that it would put him off.
Almost as if hearing his thoughts, the guy turns around, and Chris tracks his eyes up from that waist, up to the bit of dark hair showing through the unbuttoned Henley, up to the guy's face and—Jesus Christ. Stiles Stilinski? Chris only just manages not to smack himself in the forehead at the realization that he’s been ogling Stiles Stilinski’s backside.
Tonight is definitely not his lucky night, because Stiles is looking right back at him. He smiles at Chris, a wide smile that he refuses to recognize as knowing. No. Stiles didn’t catch the hungry look he was giving him. Absolutely not.
Stiles says something to Deputy Phillips, and then he’s heading across the bar towards him. Shit. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look any less attractive than he did before Chris knew who he was. He knows that Stiles had worked on a fishing boat doing tours off the Oregon coast before fighting wildfires all over the west in late summer, and all that manual labor had done that body good.
“Hey Chris,” Stiles says.
Chris swallows. His name in Stiles’s mouth. It sounds so strange. Why does it sound so strange? Then it hits him, Stiles has never called him by his first name. It was always ‘Mr. Argent,’ or in recent years, ‘Mr. A.’ Said with a little smirk that made Christ fluctuate between wanting to wring the kid’s neck and throwing him over his shoulder to do something more fun with him.
“Stiles,” he says, jerking his chin upwards.
Stiles grins. “Still holding down the fort huh?”
“Yup.” Chris wishes he could speak in something other than monosyllables, but it doesn’t seem to be happening at the moment.
Stiles leans up at the bar next to him, and Chris has a hard time taking his eyes off the movement of the muscles in Stiles’s forearm as his fingers tap the bar.
“Hey, Clint,” Stiles says as the bartender nears their end of the bar, “Can I get another beer?”
”Sure, Stiles,” Clint says. He’s young and blonde and handsome, and he winks at Stiles when he hands over the beer a few moments later.
Stiles just grins and looks down at the counter. Still not used to attention then, although looking like that, there’s no way he hasn’t gotten plenty of it.
“Been awhile,” Chris says. “How have you been?” There. That’s normal conversation, right? This is Allison’s friend, and he’s Allison’s dad. This is the sort of thing your friend’s dads ask you. Granted, none of Allison’s other friends have been sending him memes all summer, and making him laugh with increasingly ridiculous texts.
“I’ve been good,” Stiles says, grinning over at him, “And it’s good to be back, to see…everyone.”
The energy crackling between them isn’t the same energy he normally feels around Allison’s other friends either. His mouth feels dry, and he licks his lips and goddamn nearly blushes when Stiles’s eyes track the movement. Fuck. “Good,” he croaks out. “That’s, uh. Good.”
Stiles is full out smiling now, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Chris stares across the bar and tries to remember how not to be attracted to Stiles. He was just some kid at one point. Some defiant, brilliant kid always winding up places he shouldn’t be.
“You good to drive?” Stiles asks.
Chris nods, confused.
“You got your bike?”
Chris nods again.
Stiles puts his beer down on the bar decisively. “Take me for a ride,” he says.
His brain shorts out a little at that. He happens to keep an extra helmet on his bike because he’s not immune to pretty people asking him for a ride, but this feels different.
He feels like he should be protesting, but he lets himself be dragged out of the bar, and over to where his motorcycle is lined up with a bunch of others along the curb.
Stiles runs his hand over her appreciatively. “Just as sexy as I remembered,” he says. “Extra helmet, huh? You do this a lot?”
“Not a lot,” Chris protests, shuffling his feet.
Stiles laughs. “Whatever you say, man. I’m not mad about it. My dad would be pissed if I got on a motorcycle without a helmet, so it all works out.”
Chris just shakes his head, still feeling like he’s about to do something incredibly unsafe, helmets or no. That wicked grin on Stiles’s face as he pulls on the helmet only confirms it.
The rumble of the bike is soothing in its familiarity, as is the winding road up through the trees at the edge of town. Stiles’s arms are tight around his waist, and he lets himself sink into it a little.
He doesn’t know he’s taking Stiles to one of his favorite places until he arrives at the overlook. Stars wink into focus as he shuts off the bike and takes off his helmet, the lights of the town down in the valley spread out below them. He gets a little mesmerized by the sound of the wind in the pines until a disgruntled grunt wakes him out of his reverie.
“Can’t. Get. it. Off,” Stiles says, wiggling hard enough that he threatens to overturn the bike.
Chris laughs. “Get off the bike first, baby, and I’ll help you,” he says.
Stiles gets off the bike, and Chris follows, running his fingers under the strap to the familiar buckle and carefully lifting the helmet off Stiles’s head.
“Did you call me baby?” Stiles asks. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is rumbled and he looks delectable.
“Maybe,” Chris says.
Stiles squints his eyes at him, but he heads over to the large, flat rock in the middle of the ring of rocks surrounding the pullout.
“You’ve been up here before,” he comments, settling down on the rock beside Stiles.
“Yup. Used to come up here all the time with Scott. Derek, too, once in a while.”
“Derek too, huh?” he can’t help but ask. “Did you two ever, uh…”
Stiles gets what he didn’t say. “Nah. Don’t get me wrong, I would have, but he was never into me like that.”
“His loss,” Chris says before he can think better of it.
“Damn straight.” Stiles laughs, leaning into Chris a little.
Chris puts his arm around him and pulls him in closer because that’s what he wants to do, and he’s really tired of denying himself what he wants.
Stiles lets out a little contented hum, and leans his head on Chris’s shoulder. They don’t say anything for a long while, and he can’t help but wonder when his feelings shifted in this direction. Sure, it was Stiles’s body that first drew him in tonight, but if that had been all it was, then it would have dissipated when he knew who he was looking at.
He thinks maybe it was that phone call in late August. It was the only time Stiles ever called him. He’d sounded worn down and a little shocky. He hadn’t wanted to go into details, but Chris gathered it was a moment gone wrong, a change in the fire that could have gone south quickly. “Just wanted to hear your voice,” Stiles had said, and Chris had wondered why me? But kept talking to him until Stiles’s voice had gone soft and slurred, and Chris had told him to hang up and get some sleep.
Or maybe it was before Stiles had ever left. That pack BBQ when Stiles was 24 and they were picking teams for volleyball. When Stiles had said, “I want Chris,” and Erica had giggled, and Chris had found himself replaying the words in his head later that night for reasons he hadn’t been able to articulate.
Maybe it was when Stiles turned 23, and Chris had made him a knife for his birthday. He spent hours shaping the blade and carving the handle, and researching what ruins to put where, and it had all felt worth it when Stiles flung himself into his arms and held on tight for an awkwardly long moment when Chris gave it to him.
Maybe he’s been a little blind.
He kisses the top of Stiles’s head and threads their fingers together.
Stiles squeezes his hand and lets out a deep breath. “You know, I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to dream all the time about showing up back home and you finally seeing me like that, finally wanting me back. I feel like I should pinch myself, like this can’t be real.”
The ache in his voice makes Chris’s heart hurt. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long. I was so stuck on how I thought I should see you, that I didn’t really let myself see you in any other way.”
“That’s okay,” Stiles says, snuggling closer, “These past few years have been good. I learned a lot about myself, and I had a lot of fun, and I just kept loving you more.”
Chris stops breathing. There’s a long silence.
Then, Stiles whispers into the dark. “Oh fuck. Wasn’t supposed to say that.”
Chris laughs, feeling lighter than he has in ages. “I think I kept loving you more too, I was just too stupid to know it.” He tips Stiles’s chin up so he can look him in the eye. “You’re so smart, baby, are you sure you want to be with a stupid old man like me?”
“You’re not stupid,” Stiles says, already starting to giggle before he adds, “Now, the old man part-”
Chris shuts him up with a kiss right on the corner of his smiling mouth, then nuzzles against his face until Stiles kisses him again, holding Chris’s face and murmuring against his mouth and still smiling too much to turn it into a proper makeout.
“I want to take you out on the boat I worked in Oregon,” Stiles says in between kisses to Chris’s neck. “And I want to go running with you in the mornings,” he says while caressing Chris’s face.
“We should get a dog,” Chris says, slipping a hand under Stiles’s shirt.
“Mmm, yes,” Stiles says, crawling over to straddle Chris’s lap. “You know I let my lease go on my apartment when I left,” he adds.
“Move in with me,” Chris says, cupping Stiles’s ass.
“Okay,” Stiles answers, running his fingers through Chris’s hair. “Let’s become regulars at Lucy’s. I wanna be one of those guys who eats breakfast out most of the time.”
“I could like that,” Chris says, although the last word comes out a little wobbly when Stiles grinds down on his lap.
He retaliates by biting down on Stiles’s earlobe, and Stiles moans before he asks, “Do you have a fireplace at your place? Because we need to sit in front of it and read books and drink hot cocoa.” He pulls back to look Chris full in the face, gripping his cheeks between his hands, “This is a very serious fantasy of mine. I need it.”
Chris kisses him. “Yes, I have a fireplace. And I have a faux fur rug in front of it that would be nice and soft on your hands and knees,” he says.
“On my hands and knees?” Stiles asks, and then his eyes go big. “Christopher!” he sounds scandalized, and Chris can’t help but laugh.
Stiles laughs too, before leaning in to kiss him again. “We’ll definitely use the rug,” he says, scraping his nails gently down Chris’s back, “and the bed, and the couch, and probably the kitchen counter.”
“So unsanitary,” Chris says, pulling Stiles’s shirt to the side to kiss his collarbone.
“You’ll love it,” Stiles says.
“I’ll love you,” Chris counters, and Stiles’s answering smile is brighter than the full moon overhead.
Teen Wolf - Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski - General audiences
Summary: Chris is wary as he enters his apartment. Something has set off the motion detectors while bypassing the wards and while it could just be a malfunction, life taught him better than that. If by teaching you mean beating the lesson in until it stuck.
The Micro Pod Fest 2022 inspired me to record a bunch of under-5-minute podfics this last weekend and this was the one I submitted to be included in that collection. I had a lot of fun recording shorter ones (and getting to the gratification of posting them a lot faster!) and it was a joy to pick out some shorter fics that I love. I've also been wanting to record some more Stargent stuff so it worked out perfectly!
If podfic isn't your thing, check out the written work here.
& definitely check out the other stuff by nezstorm on AO3!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Relationships: Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Chris Argent, Stiles Stilinski
Additional Tags: Sexual Coercion, Loyalty, Older Man/Younger Man, Age Difference, Seduction, Canon Compliant
Series: Part 1 of The Thigh Holster Hottie
Summary:
Stiles first noticed it in the hospital the night Lydia had been attacked. Chris had stepped a little too close, held Stiles against the wall a little too long. He was a cop’s kid; he’d been made hyper-aware of the signs leading to bad touch since he was old enough to learn about stranger danger.
He'd just never thought he'd be able to use it to his advantage.
Prompted by @bloody-bee-tea because I wanted something short and fluffy. Enjoy!
~*~
He's thought about it before. He's always loved Peter, so of course he'd thought about it. But it was always something too out of reach.
He got to have Peter, against all odds. He lost so much and there were years when he thought he'd lost Peter, and the years when they were too broken to be anything but bad for each other.
And they got past that, survived all of their shit to find each other and he knew he was lucky. Knew that Peter loved him beyond thought or reason.
It would be selfish, to want more.
But, secretly, he did.
~*~
Chris showed him the ring and Derek smiles. “He'll love it,” he says, honestly and Chris beams at him. “When are you going to ask?”
“This weekend. We're finally both home together, and I don't want to waste the opportunity.” Derek hums. He’s heard all about the way Stiles training and Christopher’s hunting kept them both traveling, and how hard it was to get time together.
Still. Five years and they made it work. They were deliriously happy together, something Derek had never been able to fathom.
He bumps the older man’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”
“Have you thought about asking Peter?” Chris asks, and Derek freezes.
~*~
“Christopher called,” Peter says as he opens the door to their little house, and Derek shifts, looking up at his lover. “Said you were upset.”
“Chris should keep his damn mouth shut,” Derek grumbles and Peter arches an eyebrow, studying Derek for a long moment, before he hums in his throat and goes into the kitchen to make dinner.
The surge of love he feels for Peter at that, the little bit of space--it makes his chest squeeze and for a second, Derek fights back the burning in his eyes, before he stands and slips into the kitchen.
He gets to have this.
He gets to have Peter.
It would be so selfish to ask for more.
And Peter--they had the house together, had built their lives and pack around each other, had spent years building that life, together--but they didn’t talk about the future. They never even planned vacations, just did whatever spontaneous traveling Peter dragged Derek along on.
He presses against Peter’s back, familiar and solid and grounding and Peter’s hands squeeze Derek’s where they rest at his waist.
“Chris is proposing to Stiles,” Derek whispers.
Peter makes an approving hum, and then, “I know you aren’t in love with our best friends, darling. So why does that upset you?”
It would be selfish to ask for more.
“I want to marry you,” Derek says, pressing the words to Peter’s skin like a secret, burning them there with the heat of his breath.
Peter turns, easy and eager in his arms, and Derek catches his wide, smiling eyes, a heartbeat before he kisses him, desperate and hungry, the sharp needy edge that marked their first kisses, that sometimes Derek still misses.
He’s panting, breathless and hard, when Peter pulls back, and he blinks down at bright blue eyes.
“I thought you would never ask, pup,” Peter whispers, and Derek smiles into the next kiss, sloppy and perfect.
It was selfish, to ask for more. But Peter had always been selfish, when it came to Derek.
~*~
Stiles and Chris came over three days later, a ring gleaming dully from Stiles’ finger and a proud smile on Chris’ face.
“You’ll be our best men, right?” Stiles asks, while he and Derek fetch more beer.
Derek glances at Peter, lounging next to Chris, a ring hidden on a chain below his shirt, and smiles. “If you’ll be ours.”
This isn't really a prompt so I'm sorry but just like any stargent please? Obliviousness? Pining? Maybe a dream or two about Stiles?
This??? Turned into a soulmate au???????
???????????????????
I’ll be real most of this was co-written by a neat bourbon.
Christopher Robert Argent didn’t have a soulmate.
It wasn’t unusual. Roughly a quarter of the population didn’t. Another quarter had more than one. The other half had the standard, One for One Soulmate Match.
But not Chris.
He knew because his dreams were his alone. They never took on that particular sharp quality that everyone described when they were viewing the day to day life of their soulmate. Around the age of 18, when most of his friends were excitedly describing trips to the grocery store, or a laundromat they’d never seen in the hope that someone else would recognize it and be able to point them in the right direction, Chris was dreaming about the stages of wolfsbane poisoning and how to recognize a banshee.
By 20, he’d accepted the sting of not having a soulmate, and agreed to the arranged marriage his father wanted. A daughter came shortly after, and Chris thought that not having a soulmate was worth this. His eventual divorce was worth this. Raising her as a single parent with no support from extended family was worth this. His baby girl was worth everything.
So how was he supposed to explain to her that he’d started having dreams about one of her best friends?
__________
“Hey Daddy,” Allison said, dropping a kiss on his cheek as she sat at the dinner table. Picking up her fork, she continued, “Stiles is coming over to work on our American History project in about half an hour.”
Chris inhaled sharply and choked on a piece of lettuce. Coughing, he grabbed his water and tried to clear his throat.
“You okay?” Allison asked, concerned.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Uh, you and Stiles have a project together?” Chris prompted.
“Oh, yeah. We’re doing a report on William Henry Harrison.”
Chris furrowed his brow.
“The president who died a month after taking office from pneumonia?”
“Yep.”
“... That was Stiles’ idea, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.”
His idea. Because he was a high school student, invested in the shortest, easiest project possible.
High. School. Student.
Young. Probably not even capable of having soulmate dreams yet.
Chris sighed, and then concentrated on eating his dinner fast enough that he could shut himself away in his office before Stiles arrived.
He was just cleaning up the last of the dishes when the doorbell rang. Chris cursed quietly to himself, hurrying to dry off his hands and disappear-
“Hey Mr. Argent.”
Chris spun around, trying to arrange his face into a casual, no-I-wasn’t-running-away expression.
“Hello, Stiles. How are you doing?’
Stiles dumped his backpack on the table and leaned a hip against it, crossing his arms. It made the definition on his forearms stand out-
Chris deliberately snapped his gaze back up to Stiles’ face.
“I’m fine. We have a lacrosse game tomorrow night, you should come.”
Chris took a brief moment to consider Stiles, sweaty and worn from lacrosse, approaching him after-
“Ah, I have some prep work I need to do for a gun show tomorrow night, Stiles. Sorry about that.” And God, was he ever sorry.
Stiles was clearly disappointed, but just shrugged and said, “Maybe next time? We have games every Friday.”
“Maybe,” Chris agreed before hightailing it out of the kitchen.
__________
“Hey Chris,” came a voice from down the aisle. Chris looked up to see Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles pushing a cart behind him.
Chris sternly reminded himself that cereal boxes are not camouflage and tried to relax his stance.
“Sheriff, what can I do for you?” Chris asked.
“Oh don’t be like that,” the sheriff said, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he reached him. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Make sure Stiles isn’t making a nuisance of himself while he and Allison work on their project of theirs,” he chuckled out.
Chris smiled stiffly and looked back at the cereal boxes, looking at the labels as if they were hardline journalism. He definitely didn’t say I wish your son would make much more of a nuisance. I wish he would break every single goddamn thing in my house, so that maybe I wouldn’t be so pitifully sad every time he leaves.
Instead, he said, “Nah, he’s a good kid.” Eager to do something with his hands, he grabbed a box of Trix and dropped it in Stiles cart. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “Well, I better get back home and make some dinner for Allison. Be seeing you.”
It wasn’t until he’d made it all the way home, cooked dinner, and gotten halfway through the dishes that he realized he’d picked out Stiles’ favorite cereal, the one he saw him buying in dreams at least once a week, and given it to him.
God fucking damn it.
__________
Stiles didn’t have a bad life.
It wasn’t “My Super Sweet Sixteen” all the time, but it wasn’t bad. He had friends, his dad clearly loved him, and they didn’t struggle to pay basic bills.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t have bad days.
Chris woke up one Thursday morning after a dream. A sharp, clear, Stiles dream, where Finstock had reamed him in front of the whole team for fumbling a couple of catches.
Chris knew without a doubt that it had happened the day before, and he also knew that he would finally be going to a damn lacrosse game, if only to try to wipe the downtrodden expression that Chris had seen.
The next night, Chris made a point to cheer loudly whenever Stiles was on the field, celebrating his successful passes with a touch too much enthusiasm, if Allison’s looks were anything to go by.
After the game he tried to sneak out with the rush of the crowd, but Stiles still caught him.
He was sweaty and breathing hard. They’d just barely won, and he was clearly riding the high.
“Mr. Argent! You came!! I heard you cheering! Holy shit, you’re a yeller aren’t you?”
Stiles lunged forward to give him a hug, battering Chris slightly with his chest pads.
“Oh shit, sorry-” and before Chris could even think of a protest, Stiles was ripping off his shirt, and then the hard pads, leaving him in a paper thin, completely transparent undershirt. Then the hug was happening again.
Oh Lord, the hug.
Chris silently, but fervently hoped he would get a replay of this moment in a dream.
Eventually Stiles pulled back, smile beaming.
“I-”
He was cut off by a horde of lacrosse bros, barreling down on them to cheer and push him toward the locker rooms.
Stiles tried to say something else, but it was drowned out by the general crowd and excitement of teenagers.
Teenagers.
Chris sighed.
Turning to look, he saw Allison at his elbow, smiling her dimpled smile.
“Are you going to stay?” she asked.
Chris shook his head.
“I don’t want to get old man cooties all over your youthful fun,” he teased. Allison laughed and leaned forward for a hug.
“You don’t have old man cooties, dad. Not since you stopped using Brooks Brothers aftershave. You could stay, you know. It’s not just us whippersnappers who get together after games. Melissa will be there, and the sheriff if he doesn’t have to work. Derek and Peter will be there too, and Laura comes sometimes. Burgers and milkshakes are an all ages kinda deal.” She paused for a moment. “... You’re allowed to have relationships outside of me and business, you know.”
Chris stared at her as she paused again, clearly steeling herself.
“... if you happened to discover that you have a soulmate, you could pursue that.” Her words couldn’t have been more to the point.
“Allison,” Chris said slowly. “What do you know?”
“I-”
“ALLISON!” Chris heard Lydia yell from across the stands. As soon as Allison was distracted, Chris slipped away.
Whatever Allison knew, he didn’t think he was ready to hear.
__________
Chris was two fingers deep in whiskey when there was a knock on the door.
It was late, but Allison had texted as soon as she realized her dad was gone.
10:23 p.m. AllyI’ll be home by 1. We’re talking in the morning.
It was only about 11:30 now, so it wasn’t likely to be her. She rarely forgot her key anyway.
Chris reluctantly lurched out of his chair to check the peephole, just in case there was some kind of emergency.
There wasn’t an emergency, but there was a Stiles.
Chris opened the door just as he raised a fist to knock again.
“Oh!” Stiles said, jerking his hand back and almost unbalancing himself. Chris quickly stepped forward to catch him, but the whiskey had nibbled away at his own equilibrium, and he ended up overcorrecting and dragging them over the entryway, into the house together.
They fell back against the wall directly behind the front door, Stiles pressed against Chris, and Chris feeling too stupid to remember why that was a bad idea.
Then they were kissing.
A deep, searing, tongue tied, slick lipped kiss that started at the mouth but quickly moved to the whole body. Stiles was clearly inexperienced but very eager, and Chris had never felt so engaged in a kiss.
His hands gripped Stiles’ waist while Stiles’ framed Chris’ face, stroking along his cheekbones and petting down to the back of his neck. When Chris licked along the point of one of his canines, Stiles moaned, and Chris finally had to pull away to breathe heavily.
Stiles didn’t give him a moment, though, immediately latching his mouth on to Chris’ neck, sucking and licking his to his collarbone. Chris tilted his head, exposing more area for him to work with. He had a fleeting thought that he’d never tried to sell guns with a hickey before-
And the sudden realization splashed over him like a bucket of cold water.
“Stiles- Stiles, stop. Stop.” Chris couldn’t bring himself to physically push him away, and it clearly took a moment for the words to pierce the fog of lust that Stiles was currently lost in.
“What?” he asked, pulling back, brow furrowed and eyes slightly dazed.
“You- I- this is illegal.” Chris finally pulled a hand away from Stiles to rub it down his face. “Oh God. You’re the sheriff’s son.”
Stiles looked confused for a moment before his expression suddenly cleared.
“I was held back in fifth grade,” he said. “The year my mom died-” he cut himself off, looking uncomfortable. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I had to repeat fifth grade, which made me a year older than all the other kids. Which means I’m still a year older than all the other kids.”
Chris’ mouth was hanging open.
“Which means I’m definitely legal,” Stiles continued encouragingly. “And… also old enough to be having soulmate dreams?” he finished tentatively, turning the statement into a question asking something other than what the words said.
For the rest of their lives, Chris would blame his slow uptake on the whiskey.
Stiles would blame it on his mind-bending kissing skills.
In any case, it took a solid thirty seconds before the light finally clicked on, and Chris dragged Stiles all the way inside, barely pausing long enough to text Allison that she should stay at Lydia’s that night.
It’s still Wednesday, right? God this day has been long. Anyway, still working on my stargent fic. Have a lil bit of sexual tension. As a treat.
“Did you see his face?” Stiles crowed. “I thought he was going to literally wet his pants.”
Chris shook his head, but he was smiling too. Jake wouldn’t be bugging Allison again. With any luck, he wouldn’t be bothering any girl ever again.
“Wait, is that him?” Stiles squinted down the street. “He must live this way. Quick, in here.” He dragged Chris into the narrow space between two houses on the street they were walking down.
They were toe to toe, and Stiles found himself surprised yet again that they were basically the same height. Chris just always seemed taller, he thought.
In the dim light reaching them from the street, Stiles could make out the bemused look on Chris’s face. “Why are we hiding?” Chris asked.
“Uh. I don’t know, just seemed weird to see him after we just threatened him?”
Chris’s face split into a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know, but you like it,” Stiles said, grinning back.
Chris’s face went soft and serious. “Yeah, I do,” he said.
Stiles felt tingles all up and down his body. Chris was looking straight at him, and then he wasn’t, his eyes darting down to Stiles’s lips. Whoa.
Stiles licked his lips, and Chris’s eyes tracked the movement.
He’d been doing his best to put his crush behind him. He hadn’t been exactly successful, but it helped that he figured he had zero chance. But this?
