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“You actually don't look all that different, you know?”
Danny throws a quick glance over his left shoulder as he feels a gaze pinning him down. “I'm serious,” he says, abandoning his beer on the bar and fully turning to the left, taking in the figure standing next to him. He utters an appreciative sound, then looks up into a pair of ruby colored eyes. “Hey, you don't even have to try to glare . It comes natural to you.”
A slow smile spreads over his mouth as he watches the other's lips peel back, revealing long, sharp incisors. He waves a hand in the general direction of the face before continuing.
“I mean, the whole dental work is ehm, well, impressive to say the least. I mean: WOW ! If you wore that on a daily base, it would seriously cut back on interrogation time, know what I mean?”
His eyes roams over the face, taking in the dark stubble and hair, the otherworldly colored eyes and the fangs - yes; fangs ! - protruding over a pair of sensual looking lips. A pool of liquid heat forms in the base of his stomach that has nothing to do with the temperatures being jacked up by hundreds of bodies huddling together in a relatively small, enclosed space.
Leaning back against the bar, Danny slips his thumbs in the utility belt of his sheriff’s uniform, trying to maintain some form of composure. It’s hard, in more than one way.
Pun totally intended.
In all their rush to get interstate permissions for the team after word arrived of their runaway suspect - actually, runaway is the wrong word, the bastard having stowed away on a freight boat from Honolulu to Seattle, effectively disappearing from their screen for over a week - being spotted at some fan convention, and then coming up with the plan - Danny’s plan; yessirree! - to join the ‘crazy crowd’ as characters from Grace’s favorite ' Teen Wolf' TV series because one of the show’s stars - some guy named Tyler Hecklin? - would be there, he hadn’t noticed what his partner actually looked like as his alter ego ‘Derek Hale’.
Admittedly, the slight - OK, major - discussion about who would be which character had diverted his attention as well.
“I don’t want to be the Sheriff. That sheriff is a lot taller than I am. I want to be the werewolf.”
“Danno, you look nothing like that werewolf! And he’s taller too, so your argument doesn’t hold. Don’t glare at me; you know I’m right.”
“I don’t care. If they can cast Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, I can be a werewolf. And being a sheriff is not dressing up if you’re a cop all day long.”
“Come on, Danny. You basically got the same hair and eye color, and you pull off the whole cop thing very well. It’ll be a piece of cake. And we don’t have a lot of time for preparations.”
“Very well, huh? OK, but only if I get to wear a real revolver.”
“Fine. Fine!”
With all that going on, he hadn’t really noticed his partner’s transformation.
(Hah! Transformation! )
But now, now that he can take in the long legs encased in what appear to be painted-on black jeans combined with the muscled torso covered in nothing else but a simple white wife-beater at his leisure ... yeah, Detective Williams has no problems admitting that it is totally working for him. In the best possible way!
A sound draws his eyes up to his partner’s face. He’s ... winking! Danny grins, winking back.
“I hear you, Steve, I hear you.” He sighs. “But we’ve got to wait, you know. Duty and all that, catching the ba..”
“Danno!”
The name is hissed out, sounding slightly muffled by the fangs.
Danny looks up again, then frowns. Steve’s now blinking furiously at him with just one eye. Immediately Danny whips his head around to all sides, trying to catch sight of whatever it is his partner’s obviously trying to draw his attention to. An impatient sound draws him back around.
There’s more furious winking and ... tears?
“Dammit, Danny. My contact..” Steve lisps around his fangs.
OH! Right.
“Well shit. Go to a bathroom or something and take it out. Sheesh, McGarrett.”
A hand whips into his vision. Well, more like a claw , as it’s adorned with five very long, very lethal and pointy looking nails. Danny imagines one of those nails coming near an eye and winces.
“Yeah, no. That complicates matters.”
He sighs, sliding off the bar stool while adjusting the holster containing the very real gun.
“OK, partner. Follow me. We’ll find a quiet place and I’ll help you.”
Grabbing hold of one of Steve’s arms - and damn how often does he work out anyway? Because there’s muscles upon muscles! - Danny starts walking towards one of the exits, dragging his partner (still furiously blinking and now slightly whimpering) along with him.
“Oh stop it, you big baby. I’ll have you fixed in a minute.”
He stops, quickly bending backwards and taking in Steve’s posterior, grinning as he straightens out again and looks at his partner’s face.
“I could, you know, fix some other things as well.”
The furiously winking eye is joined by a dangerous looking scowl and what sounds like an actual growl coming from Steve’s mouth. Danny gulps, feeling his body respond in the most interesting of ways. Oh yeah, his idea of dressing up like characters from Teen Wolf is really, really working for him.
Danny doesn’t notice the other pair of eyes - these a whiskey colored brown - glued to his partner’s behind, tracing the muscular posterior walking towards the exit until a hand obscures the owner’s vision.
An outraged “Hey!” escapes a pair of full, rose colored lips.
“What the hell, man!”
Furious brown eyes clash with a pair of cool, multi-hued green ones, then drop down to take in the smirk lifting the corner of a sensuous mouth just before it opens.
“You were drooling.”
It’s a calm statement, delivered as a matter of fact. Yet there’s a condemnation lying just beneath the surface.
“I was..”
A slender, long-fingered hand quickly moves up to swipe over the pink lips, which subsequently draw down in dissatisfaction.
“I so was not drooling, mister! Lies !”
Broad shoulders encased in a dark blue button down lift in a shrug, causing the tactical vest to tighten over an expansive chest.
“You were staring though.”
“And?! I mean, just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu, you know. And that particular dish? Did you even see that butt? That was an awesome looking butt, Derek!”
“If you say so, Stiles.”
“Yes, I do say so. On a butt scale from ’10 out of 10 would not touch again’ to ‘bootylicious’ that wa..”
The young man emits a squeak as one of the high heeled shoes he’s wearing catches on the hem of the long, silvery gown enveloping his lithe figure, pitching him forward off the bar stool. He’s saved from doing a very embarrassing face plant by a quick hand sneaking out to grab his elbow, then safely pulling him upright against Derek’s muscular body.
“Shi.. oh my God! Getting blood out of this dress would have been impossible , and then Lydia would have no choice but to murder me.”
A shudder runs through Stiles’ body as he reaches to pull the gown’s strap back over one exposed shoulder, his other hand straightening the sleek black wig. He feels rather than hears the shudder of the breath Derek slowly exhales, and looks up to find those impossibly hued eyes slowly roaming up and down his body before stopping at his face.
“What? Come on, Steve McCreeper, I know you can do words.”
Derek swallows, wetting his lips as his gaze fixes on the youth’s face.
“You, ehm, you really pull off this - what’s her name? - ‘Kono’ character very well. It suits you. The dress, I mean, and the female aspect.”
“I do? I mean, yes, of course I do! After all it was Lydia - all Hail to the Queen of Dress-Up - who picked out both the character and the costume. Don’t get me wrong; I totally saw through that ‘here’s two Emerald City Comicon tickets for Stiles’ eighteenth birthday’ ruse as the actual ‘the pack wants a breather from Siltes & Derek’s PA’ thing that it was, but I’m not complaining!”
A slow smile appears on the werewolf’s face.
“And we don’t want to go up against Lydia Martin, do we. I definitely don’t. As a matter of fact, there’s somebody else I have in mind that I would like to get all up against.”
Two strong arms tighten around Stiles, drawing him even closer, and it’s immediately obvious that Derek really, really approves of the outfit Stiles is wearing.
“Ooohhh, who’s a naughty puppy!”
A soft growl tickles the hairs in his nape, and Stiles feels a shiver of delicious anticipation run over his body. Then his damned ADHD kicks in, even refusing to be stopped by something as mind blowingly good as Derek’s attraction to Stiles.
“You realize we actually know Delicious Butt Man and his partner, right?”
Stiles leans back, watching as a look of confusion draws down those dark eyebrows which these days no longer continuously spell doom & gloom. Totally because of Stiles’ taming of the wolf. Totally .
“What do you mean, we ‘know’ them?”
“Remember when we were on Oahu last year for that little - well, little isn’t really the right description, I mean, that moho lizard thing was HUGE! - problem Danny’s family had? Those two cops we spotted at the beach that were taking the piss out of werewolves?”
The green eyes watching him suddenly flash red as a soft growl comes from Derek’s mouth.
“You do remember! Hah!!”
Stiles’ mouth turns into a broad grin as he lifts a hand towards Derek.
“Want me to swat you on the nose like I did back the..”
He never even sees the hand that stops him midair, then emits a soft “Oompf!” when the air is forced from his lungs as he’s suddenly slammed into a hard body.
“Not unless you want to me to bite off those pretty long fingers.”
There’s a hint of fang peeking over Derek’s lower lip, and Stiles should not find that a turn on. Which he does. All the turn on happens whenever the wolf is set loose, and Stiles blames it on his serious lack of self-preservation. Because, werewolves. But then again, Derek.
“Alright, OK. Got it. No smacking the bad puppy.”
“Stiles..”
“Sheesh, OK. Calm down, McGrowl.”
Derek sighs, wondering what exactly it is that draws him irrevocably to this antagonizing teen.
“Please stop with these Hawaii 5-0 references. It’s driving me up the wall !”
“Hey, don’t blame me. Blame Jackson. He’s the one who suggested we’d dress up as characters from that show.”
A frown appears on Derek’s face.
“Lie.”
Stiles gulps.
“OK, it was Jackson’s idea after I’d told him I think the lead character of the show is hot like burning. Because he is. And so are you, of course. I mean, you are both tall and very muscly - is that even a word? muscle-y? - and you both do the glaring and..”
Derek shuts him up by slamming his mouth over his, breathing in the nervous scent emitting from the boy hanging in his arms. A scent which quickly takes on the tang of want and arousal, and Derek emits a soft groan, then looks up a little dazed as two hands firmly push him away.
“OK, look, I’m totally on board with the nuzzling and kissing and whatever comes after, but I think we’re drawing a crowd here, dude.”
And of course Stiles is right. Derek sighs, retreating a little while the wolf whimpers at the loss of contact. He watches Stiles straighten his dress again, still a little amazed at how right Lydia had been that Stiles would be able to pull off looking like a woman so well. He feels his wolf perking up again and realizes he needs a diversion.
“Just for the record though: I hate that Teen Wolf show.”
Stiles looks up at him, anticipating him to continue. He does.
“For one, the wolves are wrong.”
“You’ve watched it.”
Derek quickly shakes his head, thanking his lucky stars Stiles isn’t an actual wolf and can’t detect lies. Only to find out - again! - how much he keeps underestimating his boyfriend. The teenager emits a squeal of glee.
“You’ve watched it! You did, you so totally did!”
The little happy dance the teen does has him teetering on his heels, and Derek’s hand shoots out again to steady him before he falls. Or breaks an ankle. Or whatever impossible things Stiles manages to do under seemingly safe circumstances.
“Calm down before you hurt yourself, Stilinski. Let’s go upstairs and discuss these cops you think you’ve recognized.”
Leading Stiles towards the exit opposite the one the other two men disappeared through, Derek catches a few interested glances thrown in Stiles’ direction. He manages to keep the wolf at bay and not snarl, proclaiming the boy to be his.
“He’s too short, you know.”
Turning his head towards the teen whose arm he’s still holding, Derek raises an inquiring eyebrow.
“What?”
“The one cop impersonating the sheriff from the show. He’s too short. Dude’s taller.”
Derek sighs.