Just Friends

Society of the Stupid

"Right here." Miguel directs, and Stiles parks in front of a looming mansion. It smells like bad news. Expensive perfume, metal, dust, even the barely noticeable scent of cleaning materials.

Stiles gives me a long, hard look. I nod, letting him know that we've got the right place, but I don't meet his eyes. That would be a disaster. Whiskey eyes that shine like gold... Oh no, I'm getting hard just thinking about it.

I tense my thighs, getting out of the car, and after thirty seconds of holding my thigh muscles that way, it's unnoticeable.*

Miguel is wearing a cheap suit, and Stiles is in jeans and a blue button-down that makes my mouth water. There are already two buttons undone... Okay, seriously, I need to stop fantasizing about Stiles.

We approach the huge glass doors that appear to be the front entrance. A man in a suit tells us, "The gala will be held in the ballroom upstairs."

I raise my eyebrow. That's perfect. I won't even need to sneak upstairs.

I climb the stairs with ease, but I notice Stiles and Miguel several steps down, breathing heavily. "Dude, how are you not out of breath? That's a lot of stairs." Miguel wheezes.

Stiles, despite breathing heavily, still manages a witty comeback. Naturally. "Same way he maintains those abs."

I bite back a smile, and go back down the few steps to Stiles. "I think we should get you into cardio, Stiles."

Stiles glares. "I'm not out of shape, I'm just... Stairs! Besides, I have more energy than you most of the time."

Miguel's cheeks get rosy and he turns away. What does that- oh. OH. He thought Stiles meant in bed, not in pack meetings, of course.

'If only.' my subconscious mind says. Traitor.

The first thing I notice when we enter the gala is the smell. Wine, cosmetic products, and perfume to cover the stench of debilitating, dying cells. It's a noxious reminder of what money and power does to you. It makes you lazy, it makes you unhealthy.

I can hear mindless chatter. Snippets of conversation.

"I thought perhaps the senator would make an appearance."

"Pity if he does, pity if he doesn't."

"Do you suppose the food is any good?"

"I should hope so, I heard they hired an Italian cook. Straight from Naples."

As for the sight, well... Imagine a high school gymnasium, but fancier, packed with a whole bunch of middle-class people dressed like upper-class.

Stiles speaks, drawing my attention back to my little group of three. "Miguel, if you're alright mingling, I'm going to go get some of those appetizers. Derek, come with?"

Miguel motions for us to go, and saunters over to a lady in a tight-fitting charcoal dress.

Stiles slows to walk next to me. "Anything?"

"No," I reply, "But he could be masking his scent. He could be listening right now." Stiles looks around anxiously.

"How do you even mask a scent like that?" "Wolfsbane, salt water, and lily pollen. It's pretty potent." I crinkle my nose at the thought.

Stiles nods, and eyes the appetizers table. "I doubt they have curly fries." I tease, and Stiles looks at me strangely.

"What, you think that's all I care about? I don't just like one thing."

I have the feeling the joking around has become a metaphorical discussion. I don't know what the unspoken meaning is, though.

Stiles grabs a bite-size chocolate cake and shoves it in his mouth. He looks at me with bulging chipmunk cheeks and I swallow hard. Is he doing this on purpose?

Maybe I'm just unhealthy obsessed with my best friend.

A man wearing a suit in a hideous shade of brown-green approaches us, and I don't acknowledge him until I can confirm he's fully human.

"Where are you two from?" I smirk and shake my head. "We're actually accompanying my boyfriend's cousin, since his parents couldn't make it. He's right over there if you'd like to talk to him." I point out Miguel, and the man smiles and heads in that direction.

"I don't think Miguel will thank you for that. Looks like he was flirting with that girl until Mr. Pea Soup Suit butt in." Stiles smirks and oh no, I can't breathe.

I look away, my eyes flicking over faces and facades aimlessly. Looking anywhere but at Stiles.

"Hey, Derek, you okay?" Stiles asks, and I don't answer or even acknowledge that I heard him. "Derek, look at me."

I suck in a breath and meet his concerned gaze. "Derek, what's wrong?"

I pointedly look around. "Nothing is here, and I really don't like these people. They're fricking ants but they act like kings. I swear, I'm going to rip someone's throat out if I stay here much longer."

It's not a lie. That may not be the reason why I'm so uncomfortable, but it's certainly not helping things.

"Then let's go. By the way, I'm the only one you get to use that threat on. It's practically our song! How romantic, huh?" Stiles is chattering nervously and all I can think about is how much I wish it wasn't just an act, that we really were dating, and had a song, and that Stiles really was a jealous boyfriend.

"Come on, just play along." Stiles doesn't explain further, but drags me towards Miguel.

As Miguel looks up at us, Stiles presses his lips against mine, running his fingers through my hair. I kiss him back, although my heart is aching with the knowledge that it's not real, and since it'll be the only time I'll ever be able to kiss Stiles, I get carried away. My hands stroke at the silky hairs just above the back of his neck, then trail down his back until they rest on his lower back, pushing him against me.

I'm pretty sure my dick is poking against Stiles' thigh, but I'm too distracted by my current activity to care much.

Looks like Stiles is going to know how I feel about him, for better or for worse.

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*A/N: This is actually true. If you get hard and need it to go away really fast, tense up your thigh muscles and hold them like that for thirty seconds. The blood in your dick will go into the muscles of your thigh. Just for your 411, if you have one.

I don't, although sometimes I wish I did. It seems much less painful than womanhood.