Just putting it out there that

My friend told me today that photos from his Instagram have been posted without his knowledge on gay dating sites (he’s more flattered than anything) and if that doesn’t have mistaken identity sterek fic with Stiles randomly running into the guy he’s been flirting…

Uh, is it kosher if i just…?

            “…So then I ate the elephant,” Scott says casually, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Uh huh,” Stiles says noncommittally and then, startled out of checking his phone, “What?”

Scott rolls his eyes. “You’re chatting with him again, aren’t you?”

“Ugh, maybe.”

Scott raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Fine, yes. But we were just setting a time up for later.”

“Stiles, every time you sext with him you come whine to me after about how wrong it is that, and I quote, ‘a body like that belongs to a bro-tastic bore who misspells “coming.”’ There are other fish in the sea! Like, literally a million other fish just on that app.”

“I know,” Stiles whines. “But every time his chat-speak drives me away, those abs bring me back.” He gives Scott a long, baleful look that doesn’t quite get him the sympathetic response he feels he deserves.

“He won’t even meet you in person,” Scott says. “Give up, dude.”

“Well, that’s the point! If he’d just do me already I could get it out of my system. And I mean, he’ll chat with me any time I’m on, so clearly it’s not a lack of inter… what?”

Scott is staring over Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey, check it out, I think that’s him.”

“No way, we’re at a bookstore,” Stiles scoffs, glancing back automatically.

But the man sitting there is unmistakably Rippeddude69. He has the ass, the broad shoulders, and even with the (delightful) scruff he’s grown since he took the photos Stiles has seen, those cheekbones are unmistakable.

“Technically, a bookstore café,” Scott says. “Maybe he really likes the coffee?”

“Oh my god,” says Stiles. He’s tall, too, like taller than Stiles tall. He’d started to think that’s why they hadn’t met yet, that he’d lied about being over six feet. “I’m so turned on I think I’m hyperventilating.”

“No, you’re not. Go talk sexy to him, tap that, and get it out of your system,” Scott says, grinning.

“You’re a bro, Scott,” Stiles says. “The good kind of bro, I mean. The best.”

Scott gives him an encouraging double-thumbs up as he approaches his virtual hook-up who is, against all odds, reading a book that doesn’t have pictures.

“Hey,” Stiles says, slinging himself onto the stool at the other side of the table. “Look at us, meeting cute. Let’s do real names: I’m Stiles.”

The other man looks startled, which is fair considering this is a complete one-in-a-million chance. Okay, maybe more in Beacon Hills, population 20,000, but still.

“Derek?” he replies, with a questioning lilt. His voice is higher, smoother than Stiles expected. It fits him though. Why hadn’t Stiles suggested phone sex?

“Nice to officially meet you,” Stiles says. “I didn’t know you’d have such a hot voice.”

Wow, uh, thank you,” Derek says, flustered.

He’s actually shy, Stiles realizes. After approximately thousands of words of sex role-play he’s nervous in person. Somehow that’s even hotter than the pushy ‘suck it, slut,’ personality over the phone.

“Oh, that’s not the only thing you’ll be thanking me for,” Stiles purrs with a salacious wink.

Derek is almost entirely red now, but he’s grinning too. “You are incredibly forward,” he says.

“Yeah?” Stiles says in a low voice, aware that they’re in public. “What can I say, after all the talk I just want to get you alone and see how you taste.” Stiles licks his lower lip, chases his tongue with his teeth.

“Okay,” Derek laughs, holding his hands out in the universal ‘slow down,’ gesture, “All this talk?”

Stiles leans in over the small table. “You’re not really working with me, here, Derek,” the name feels good in his mouth. “Tell me something you’d like to do to me.”

“K-kiss you?” Derek asks, like that’s maybe too much.

“You wanna come on my face?” Stiles offers, eyebrows raised.

Derek balks. “What? Why would you think I….”

“Please, that’s how, like, 50% of our sexts end,” Stiles protests, offended. He remembers these things.

“Wait, what? We don’t sext,” Derek protests.

“Uh, yes we do,” Stiles corrects, “We were talking about it literally minutes ago. Dude?” He pulls out his phone, opens the app and thrusts the evidence at Derek.

“Oh my god,” he says, cringing as he scrolls through the account. Stiles is embarrassed too, and angry. Does this guy do so much sexting that he can’t even remember who it’s with? Stiles puts effort into making his dirty texts as great as possible; maybe this is why Derek always seems like a numbskull – he’s multitasking.

“I knew those would come back to haunt me,“ Derek says.

Stiles grabs his phone back. “Well, excuse me for thinking you were actually interested. I’ll stop bothering you.”

“No,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles’ arm. “I mean, that’s not me. Or, it’s me but… those are just some old pictures my sister took a couple years ago for her photography blog, I don’t even have an account on that site.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, and then he feels his face basically go up in flames with embarrassment. “Oh.”

“I would… not choose that user name.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says weakly, “Yeah, probably not.”

“But, I would totally try to chat with someone like you,” Derek adds, with a small, hopeful smile.

Stiles sits back down with a thump. “Even after I offered to let you come on my face five minutes after meeting you?”

“It was sort of endearing,” Derek says, generously. “But for now let’s start with me buying you a drink, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says.

Behind them, Scott does a vicarious fist-pump.

Even after I offered to let you come on my face five minutes after meeting you?”

“It was sort of endearing,” Derek says, generously.