You Strip Me Down

As Stiles is rummaging through one of the drawers, he spots the beginnings of a pretty familiar design peeking out from the bottom of the pile. He pulls it out, and as he thought, Derek apparently owns an LA Dodgers shirt. Which is incredibly unsuspecting. And also… small? Derek must’ve put it in the dryer one too many times, Stiles thinks. He’s not even picturing Derek wearing this petite shirt, the stretch of it over his biceps and the way it would undeniably ride up his abdomen, probably coming up right below his navel, happy trail exposed and out in the open for Derek - or Stiles, because after all, he is an ambition young man - to just scratch at any time he wants. Nope, not picturing that at all.

Instead, he contemplates putting it on, just to surprise Derek when he comes out from his shower, and ultimately concludes, yes, Stiles Stilinski, man of rash decisions, that is a great fucking idea. He pulls it on slowly, careful not to rip the seams, and it’s actually a pretty good fit for him, snug in all the right places but still long enough to reach the waistband of his boxers. Maybe he’ll just ask if he can have it since the likelihood of Derek reviving the crop top movement of 2014 is upsettingly slim.