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Of course, their evil supernatural being of the week has to attack at a gay bar on a Friday night, out of all places and all days. Of course, this has to happen right when nobody wants to trust Derek, which, understandable, but he’s doing his best. He’s not malicious, he’s not trying to mess up plans, but it would be easier to do that if they just told him about them in the first place. Now, he’s stuck in the middle of too many sweaty bodies and he can’t even have fun with it because nobody has his back. He’s here alone, probably with a death wish, but whatever. What else is new?
According to the announcement the MC is currently making, tonight’s amateur performer night, which explains why the place is more packed than usual. Of course, let’s make Derek’s mission to save lives more inconvenient than it already is. If it weren’t for his werewolf healing, his teeth would be dust by how hard he’s been clenching his jaw in effort to resist shifting. He just needs to find the thing and light it on fire. Shouldn’t be too hard. Not like it spits flesh-eating venom or anything. Shouldn’t cause too much disturbance in a very crowded public place.
Ha.
Why were his closest allies moody teenagers, again?
Shit. Well, actually, not shit, because Derek thinks he’s found it. Shit, because he thinks he found it lurking in the wings of the small club stage. Why are there wings in a nightclub? Is that normal? Well, at least it’s flaming body will be relatively obscured to the general public. He hopes there aren’t too many performers backstage. As grateful as he is for the fact that this creature’s weakness is fire, being that it’s pretty accessible and doesn’t require any complicated heists or spells, he wishes he could just rip its throat out and be done with it. Much less showy. He only likes dramatics when it suits him, and this certainly is not one of those situations.
“Everybody! Let’s welcome our first drag queen onto the stage!”
Derek tunes it out before he can catch her name. Shit. The lights are so bright on the stage that he can barely see the wings over the glare. Okay, Derek, focus. Turn down the hypersensitivity. Focus.
There!
Above the lighting rig, it’s talons are gripping the beams so hard that dents are left when it lets go. Derek is forcing his way through the crowd when a particularly offended guest yanks him back with enough force to throw a human to the ground.
Luckily, he’s not human.
Frustrating the angry patron even more by Derek’s stillness, he yanks again, accompanying it with a poor excuse for a growl. Derek looks over his shoulder and bears his teeth and eyes with enough ferocity to guarantee there’s definitely a bite behind his bark. The guy startles and lets go, imitating Derek in his haste to get through the crowd; to get away from the monster.
Derek shrugs it off and curses when he can’t locate the creature again. Either that confrontation took longer than he thought, or there’s less new performers on the roster than he thought, because it seems one is about to go on as the finale.
“Last but not least, let’s give a warm welcome for a burlesque finale!”
As Derek scans the stage for a hint of the creature’s shining talons or glowing orange eyes (all four of them), he almost misses the familiar face that poses on the stage, waiting for their music to begin.
Almost.
On stage, wearing sparkly red stilettos, black fishnets, black ruffled skirt, and a red corset, is Research Extraordinaire Stiles Stilinski. The same Stiles who flinched at the jerk of Derek’s head, who almost saved his life by cutting off his arm, who never ceases to annoy Derek in every single interaction they’ve ever had, is standing on that stage.
In that outfit.
Fuck.
No, he will not be distracted by Stiles’ legs in those heels with those tights, or his bare arms and shoulders against the ruffles of the corset, the contrast of the fabric with his skin perfect, and his fucking body as he kicks and spins and gyrates what the fuck-
Stay focused. There’s still a murderous monster on the loose with no capacity for reason or compassion, bent on revenge against humans, made more powerful by each kill. And now Stiles is in danger, because he’s on stage, and the creature is inching its way into the left wing from the ladder going down from the lights. The wing that Stiles will exit in within the next two minutes.
Derek runs to the steps on the far left of the stage, easily evading the lone guard. They never look into the shadows, only scanning the multicolored, strobe-lit crowd. Idiots. Whatever, he needs to save Stiles, no matter how much he annoys Derek.
Derek finally sneaks his way into the wing right as the creature does; its orange, slitted eyes locking onto him, opening its mouth--but Derek darts to the right, deeper into the darkness of the backstage, thankful that the wings are kept clear as they’re so cramped it’d be impossible to move otherwise. But, shit, the creature has turned its attention back on Stiles, whose music is coming to an end. Derek lunges and claws at the back of the creature’s neck, successfully distracting it. As the creature starts to turn, Derek flips backward to distance himself, kicking the base of the creature’s skull on his way around.
Hissing viciously, the creature whips around, opening the glans that will spray Derek and disintegrate the flesh off his bones faster than he’ll be able to feel it, let alone heal it. It locks eyes with Derek’s now glowing red ones just in time for him to fire up his homemade hairspray-and-lighter flamethrower. Just in time to feel its own flesh burn off and let out an inhuman screech as Stiles’ music comes to one final crescendo before ending with a roar of applause.
Luckily, the creature’s supernatural predispositions means it burns fast and clean. All that remains of the creature is a pile of smoldering ashes once Stiles makes his way backstage. He freezes, immediately spotting Derek, who hasn’t quite shifted back in time to leave unnoticed.
“Wh...What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, the confident dancer who was on stage minutes ago now replaced with an insecure, fidgeting boy, wrapping his arms around his torso protectively. Derek has no answer. Well, he does, but his brain has conveniently stopped working now that Stiles is within reach in that outfit.
“Derek? Hello? What did you burn? Who did you burn? Your eyes are still red, dude. Did you see me earlier? Oh God, please don’t tell Scott, I really don’t need any more shit from him for this, I don’t have enough blackmail material to level the playing field yet. Of course, once I finally get the confidence to perform, you have to be here, fantastic, Mr. Macho Man has to see me in this ridiculous outfit-”
“It’s not ridiculous” Derek blurts, because apparently he’s got as much of a brain-to-mouth filter as Stiles at the moment.
That startles Stiles into silence. “What?” His voice is small; unsure.
Taking a deep breath, Derek steps toward Stiles. Just a small step. But his voice is much steadier when he says, “Your outfit is not ridiculous, Stiles. It’s amazing.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. You were amazing. I could barely keep my eyes off of you long enough to kill this stupid thing.”
Stiles’ breath hitches, glancing back down at the still-warm ashes, and back up to Derek, something clicking behind his eyes.
“This is what you tried to warn us about.”
Derek sighed. He might still be annoyed with Stiles, no matter how good he looks. He’s beginning to think the annoyance might be worth it.
“Yes”
He still can’t keep his eyes off of Stiles, but makes his best effort to keep them on his face, not wanting to explicitly objectify him.
Ever the perceptive one, Stiles smirks, remembering Erica back when they were enemies.
“What’s the matter, Derek?” He puts a hand on his hip, straightening his posture, but looking at Derek from underneath his eyelashes, “Why are you so focused on my face?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek says, eyes widening, leaning back.
“I think you do,” Stiles’ smile broadens. He takes a step closer, making sure to sway his hips with the movement. “I think you’re trying to avoid looking somewhere else on me. Am I that distracting, Derek?” He asks, voice husky, placing a hand on Derek’s and leading it to his waist.
Derek tenses for a second, searching Stiles’ eyes, before wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him to his chest.
“Fuck,” Derek growls, eyes flashing red before he dives in.