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Stiles puts his red hoodie in Derek's laundry and turns Derek's underwear pink.

Inspired by (x)

The first time Stiles saw Derek, he didn’t know who it was. All he saw was a scary looking, sexy, hot, look-at-his-ass-jesus, and-his-arms-dammit, fuck-it-ogle-everything man.



 



So of course, when the serial killer look-a-like had finished stuffing his laundry into the washing machine, Stiles scurried over and shoved his red hoodie in after it, because Stiles was currently broke and the serial killer was wearing some expensive-looking clothes so he couldn’t possibly be hurting for money. Might as well piggyback on the guy’s laundry cycle. Stiles could just come back before the dude came back and then he’d pull out the hoodie before he ever knew what happened.



Of course, because this was Stiles, and Stiles was as forgetful as fuck, Stiles found himself skidding into the laundry room an hour later (it had been a productive hour, Stiles had beaten Scott’s high score on Llama Or Duck). It would have been fine except that the serial killer was opening the washing machine lid and pulling out…Stiles’ hoodie.



“Shit,” muttered Stiles as he tore across the room and jerked to a stop besides the guy. “Um, hi!” Stiles said brightly, hoping that if he was happy and chipper enough, the dude wouldn’t kill him.



True to his looks though, the guy ignore Stiles and stared at the red hoodie for a few seconds while his other hand reached in and pulled out a pair of briefs. A pair of briefs that were the lovely shade of pink one gets when washing whites with red colored things, red colored things such as Stiles’ bright red hoodie. Well shit.



“Um,” Stiles started, before hastily trying to cover his mouth as an amused snort threatened to break out. “That’s uh,” a giggle escaped his mouth as the dark haired man turned to scowl at Stiles—the image much less scary looking with the pink underwear held up to his chest. “That’s mine—” a snort of laughter broke through as he saw the guy quickly glance down at the pink briefs, “no, uh, the sweatshirt, I mean.”



Glowering at Stiles, the man shoved the item at Stiles, managing to shove him back a step (goddamn he was strong). “Why the fuck is your shit in my load of laundry?” he growled (no seriously, he growled).



Stiles offered up a weak smile as he clutched his sweatshirt to his chest. “Uh, I mean, you only had a few clothes in there and uh, saving energy and everything! Go green!” With that, he turned to scamper off but the guy grabbed a hold on the collar of Stiles’ shirt and dragged him closer. Stiles definitely didn’t whimper, nor did his dick give an interested twitch at the manhandling—nope, definitely not that.



“You asshat, your stupid sweatshirt turned my clothes pink!” snarled the guy (Stiles needed a name, seriously, he couldn’t keep referring to him as “the guy” or “serial killer” although it really fit) in Stiles’ face.



“Well, real men wear pink, y’know?” Stiles quickly regretted saying it as the dued yanked violently. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you had whites in there!” yelped Stiles.



Shaking his head, the guy gave a disgusted huff and dropped Stiles. “I expect you to pay for new boxers.”



“What?!” cried Stiles indignantly, “But those are briefs! Boxers cost more, and besides it’s not like they can’t be worn anymore! I’m a college student on a scholarship, not like you, Mr. I-Wear-Hollister-Jeans-That-Smell-New.”



Said man glared at Stiles and snapped, “Well I didn’t ruin someone else’s clothes!” The two locked eyes in a glaring contest that lasted for barely a minute before Stiles had to break the gaze and blink his watery eyes. The dude had the nerve to look smug.



Stiles agreed to pay for a pack of boxers.



--



Derek didn’t like the boxers that Stiles bought him. He had given Stiles his dorm number (they apparently lived in the same complex, Stiles never knew that—if he had, he’d have ogled at Derek a long time ago known to avoid the guy. and told (ordered) Stiles to bring them to him the next day.



And so Stiles had gone out and bought Derek a pack of superhero boxers.



Derek was not amused.



Thus started an animosity charged acquaintance.



--



Eventually, Stiles wore Derek down with his constant cheeriness and non-stop babbling. Stiles introduced his friends to Derek’s, and while Stiles and Derek hadn’t hit it off at the beginning (Derek denied any amity with Stiles still), Scott and Derek’s cousin Allison started going out the day after their introduction. They quickly became the epitome of a sweet, nauseously adorable couple. Stiles’ friend, the Catwoman to his Batman, had started on her quest to seduce Derek’s frat brother Boyd, while Danny had immediately become best friends with the angelic Isaac, one of the newer pledges of Derek’s frat. Lydia, president of the sorority that Jackson (one of Derek’s douchebag frat brothers) was dating took Erica under her wing, claiming that the girl had what it took to make all men cower.



The upside of this immediate pairing off and friendship was that Stiles had more friends.



The downside was that the more Stiles saw of Derek, the hotter the guy got.



--



It was almost a year after the laundry incident when Stiles finally made a move and kissed Derek. He had been expecting to get punched in the face, but instead had gotten a very enthusiastic Derek Hale make-out session.



By now, Derek had acknowledged their relationship and turned out to be a very possessive and clingy boyfriend who remembered all the sappy dates.



Although, he still got pretty pissed off when Stiles threw in his red hoodie and dyed Derek’s underwear pink again.



--



A year to the date of the laundry fiasco found Stiles being lifted onto a washing machine as Derek crowded in between his spread legs, with Stiles clutching at his boyfriend’s broad shoulders.



“Derek, this isn’t very sanitary you know, people wash—nnngh…” Stiles’ protest is swallowed by a moan as Derek slants his mouth over Stiles’ and licks into the moist heat. Tilting his head to gain better access, Stiles’ hands sliding down to paw at Derek’s muscular chest. When Derek presses forward, one of Stiles’ hands is forced to prop himself up against the washing machine as Derek’s arms cage Stiles in. Derek rumbled into Stiles mouth as his lips glided gently over Stiles’ for a second before pressing more firmly against his mouth as his tongue traced against Stiles’ bottom lip, probing for an entrance. Stiles opened up to it, his own tongue flicking out to entangle with Derek’s. Breaking away for a breath, huffing out a breath of air as Derek moves to mouth at Stiles’ jawline, nosing along up to just under Stiles’ ear, nipping an licking, causing Stiles to squirm and pant in arousal.



A thought passes through Stiles, and as is usual during make-out sessions with Derek when he has no brain to mouth filter, he says it out loud.



“Heh, so is your underwear still pink?”



Derek tenses and pulls away for a second to glare at Stiles before it melts into something darkly seductive. Stiles swallows audibly, throat bobbing as his boyfriend’s eyes darken with lust.



Leaning close enough for their lips to brush against each other, Derek whispers, “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” breath warm against Stiles’ lips.



Shivering and blushing profusely as Derek touches his lips to the corner of Stiles’ mouth, Stiles babbles out “That…” trailing off as Derek nibbles at Stiles’ bottom lip, “that is a thing we could definitely do.”

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