Send Nudes (Teen Wolf)

It's Stiles so, of course, it's going to happen.

Derek's running in the preserve, listening to a mix that Jackson uses when he works out in the gym, which he'll never admit is any good but, yeah, it kind of is when his phone vibrates and ruins the drop of an otherwise good bass. He wrinkles his nose, none too pleased, but he's got a rhythm going and he doesn't want to disrupt that so he doesn't check it. Not even when it buzzes another four times in quick succession and then, five minutes later, buzzes again.

There's a ninety nine percent chance that it's a bored Stiles but it's the one percent of a possible emergency that has him stopping and checking his texts.

He really shouldn't be surprised when it turns out to be the former.

Hey, Derek, what are you doing?

Derek

Derek

Derek

Deeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeek

The only acceptable reason for ignoring me is if you're jerking off. Send nudes. ;)

He stares at his phone for a second before rolling his eyes and putting it back in his pocket because there are a lot of things he'll do for Stiles but sending nude pictures is not one of them. Given how terrible he is with technology, there's a very real possibility that he'll send them to his mom or, worse, Laura. He would never live it down.

He waits a beat to see if Stiles is going to text him again but, when he doesn't, he restarts his music and sets off on a jog. The rest of his run goes well and he's still got that adrenaline high when he comes out of the shower, a towel loosely wrapped around his hips while he looks for a shirt. He's bending over to rummage through one of his drawers when the blinking blue light of his phone catches his attention. He picks it up with one hand, absentmindedly unlocking it and pressing on the notifications.

Fuck it, I don't need your nudes to jerk off to.

I mean, I've seen you naked enough times.

The next one isn't a text so much as a picture, Stiles's chest and abdomen which are no longer the pasty white they used to be. He's got some definition going there, proof that he really is working out in the gym like he says, but it's his face that has Derek laughing, scrunched up and looking like he's concentrating far too much.

I sent mine, where's yours?

Derek laughs, texting back as best he can with one hand, Not in your dreams, Stilinski.

Once Stiles realises that Derek doesn't mind the pictures, it becomes a thing. He'll text him at the weirdest times of the day-and, sometimes, the night since Stiles is a college student-but the pictures are never that good. Some of them are blurry and out of focus, not intentionally done because it isn't artful in the slightest, and others are washed over with an awful fluorescent light. Derek doesn't mind, though, thinks it's kind of sweet because he'd been worried about going long distance and the pictures tell him that Stiles thinks of him.

He still adamantly refuses to send one back.

One day, I'll send you such a good picture, you'll want to send me one back.

Keep trying, Stiles, I like your enthusiasm.

It's a minute past midnight when Derek gets a text and, since he's procrastinating, he reaches over for his phone because his essay isn't going to get done anytime soon.

Happy birthday, beautiful!

It comes with a picture and Derek is surprised at it, considering Stiles has been sending him bad ones for the past month and a half. It's ridiculous but he likes this one, black and white, with Stiles staring at the camera so perfectly that Derek almost think he's looking at him. He isn't smiling, or making a face like he usually does, but just staring with an intent that isn't usually there. It's far too hot, especially since he's wearing a shirt.

Derek looks at the picture for the longest time.

He starts at least a dozen texts but he deletes them all, settling finally on I miss you, I wish I was there.

Yeah, me, too.

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