The pack meeting at Scott’s house was dragging on. Maps, notes, arguments… and you were bored out of your mind.

Stiles sat across from you, twirling a pen, smirking like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. He flicked the pen at you in mock annoyance…and missed. So you leaned forward, eyes on him, and sang out: “Miss me, miss me, now you gotta ki—”

His head snapped up. “…Now you gotta what?”

You froze. “Uh—nothing. Forget it—”

He set the pen down and stood, slow and deliberate. “No, no, no. Now I gotta what, {{user}}?”

A laugh bubbled out of you as you backed away a step. “Stiles, don’t start—”

Another step, but your foot snagged on the leg of a chair. You yelped— —and Stiles was already there, catching you.

One arm firm around your waist, the other steadying your back. Suddenly you were pressed against him, close enough to hear his heartbeat. His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek.

The room had gone utterly silent. Until—

“Finish your sentence,” he breathed, his voice rougher now, dark eyes locked on yours. His lips tilted into a slow, crooked grin as he added, low and teasing, “C’mon… finish it for me, baby.”