The Mage, The Wolf and The Locked Words of a Diary - The Black Wolf Diaries II

Chapter 7: Save The Last dance For Me... I Think

(Author's Note: this is a loud shout out to everyone, I may not have much time to reply to everyone of you, but I want you all to know I am extremely grateful to everyone's praise for this story. It's literally the only bright part of my life, and doesn't that just tell you how shitty life is! ANYWAY more than that, I realize I have readers in South Africa!!! So from one South African to all of you... "THANK YOU"!!!!! )

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Chapter 7: Save The Last dance For Me... I Think

Key for this chapter:

Stiles' Thoughts

Anyone Else's Thoughts

'Old dialogues memories, spoken out loud thoughts, the past in general...'

POVs

""Not an Actual Speech or Thought""

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Warning: Alternative POVs

Wednesday 17th, September, 2015

 Seven AM

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Stiles yawned sleepily as he trudged to the grand as fuck bathroom, peeing and then moving in to take a shower, basically completing his morning schedule on automatic, his body lax and still half asleep, even though his mind was glaringly awake.

LOUDLY awake...

He woke up spooned around Derek, like an octopus, with a hard on from hell, and the instinct to ground in to the man, and under his skin as he'd woken up nuzzling the man to death. But thank the blasted gods of sexual frustration, Derek slept like the dead.

Pulling the water all the way to the cold side of the equation he froze his balls off, debating if there was a possibility in drowning under a spray of running water.

By the time his skin felt like shriveled up prunes, Stiles switched the water for hot and warmed his frozen bones, just long enough to wake up completely. Shutting off the water, he pulled a towel around his waist and brushed his teeth.

Thinking back this whole semester seemed like atonement or punishment, he had a type. Hot, unattainable and sinful.

First Lydia, then Mark, and now Derek, obviously he was cursed. And the day had just begun, after this he was likely to get his ass tossed all over yonder, because Capoeira was a gentle graceful form of martial arts, and he was a reckless ball of energy.

One would liken him to a cat tossed into a tub of water.

His nerves were frazzled, and he felt like every drop of blood in his system had given up on pumping through his veins.

Sighing he stretched and moved to the adjacent door, where both Derek and he'd left their bags. The walk-in closet space was luxurious in its existence and he pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans, a dark grey full-sleeved Henley, and a beanie, he'd need Derek help in changing the bandages around his head, which he'd kept out of the range of the shower head, but were still wet.