#i need five minutes alone with the person who wielded the razor #crime against humanity #that’s what that is
(tags via dizzzylu)
WAIT BUT HOW HAS NO ONE WRITTEN THE AU IN WHICH STILES IS THE LOWLY ASSISTANT ASSIGNED TO SHAVE DEREK HALE’S HAPPY TRAIL BEFORE A PHOTO SHOOT
HOLDING THE RAZOR BTWN TREMBLING FINGERTIPS
HOT PALM ON THE SHARP CUT OF HIS DEREK’S HIPBONE
BREATH GHOSTING ON HIS SKIN
DEREK LOOKING DOWN AT THE TOP OF HIS DARK HEAD AND BITING DOWN HARD ON HIS LIP
BOTH OF THEM THINKING “KEEP IT PROFESSIONAL” SO HARD EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ROOM CAN HEAR IT BUT THEM
"Stiles, you’re late and you’re needed in trailer five ASAP!" Joey the PA shouts at Stiles as soon as he bursts into the studio.
"Yeah, yeah, well, today was supposed to be my off day," Stiles grumbles, taking the clipboard from Joey. "What’s the big emergency? I thought the big shoot was tomorrow."
"You know big-talent divas. Apparently he called in and said he had some family thing, so they pushed it to today."
Stiles scowls, hefting the dufflebag that contains his style kit and pushing his way into trailer five.
Derek Hale, action star of the hit movie series Alpha, is sitting in the makeup chair, wearing a pair of jeans, a scowl, and nothing else. He catches sight of Stiles freezing up in the doorway and glares at him. “You’re not Erica.”
Stiles shakes himself to try to get rid of the brief bundle of nerves that bristled through him when he first saw the action star in his trailer; it’s not like he hasn’t been jacking off to posters of Hale for most of his high school years, and he definitely didn’t watch the shower scene in The Alpha Returns on repeat just last night.
Stiles should have paid more attention to the clipboard he’s holding instead of glancing through it; he can now clearly read in small letters - Derek Hale, body hair removal.
"Erica’s on her honeymoon," Stiles says, his lips dry. His eyes trail down Derek’s bare chest, all tanned and defined— "What do you need body hair removal for anyways? Your chest is already waxed."
Derek’s face tightens, and Stiles can note with some amusement there’s a faint trace of pink making its way into his cheeks. “Not—Matt has these stupid ideas for poses, and he wants—can you?” Derek makes a furtive gesture to his lower torso, and oh, now it’s Stiles’ turn to flush, looking at the healthy trail of black hair curling from Derek’s navel, running down into the waist of his jeans.
"Sure thing," Stiles says, looking away and taking out the necessary tools for a shave. I’m a professional stylist, he reminds himself. I will not get hard while working on my client. I will not—
Stiles turns around with the shaving cream, and Derek has unzipped his jeans and pulled them down a generous amount, revealing the neat cut of his trim hipbones and even more hair.
"Maybe you should—" Stiles starts to suggest, pull your pants back up? There’s no way you’re gonna need to be shaved that low—
And Derek just says, “Oh, okay, if you think so,” and just whips his jeans off entirely.