Sterek One Shots: Book Two

A Disorganized Blank

A Disorganized Blank by hernameisgeorge
*Happy December 1st*
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It was like a constant buzzing in the back of his mind.

Stiles woke up that morning knowing it was one of those days. The days where the Adderall didn't work like it should and the only solution his brain could come up with was to tap, tap, tap away at whatever was in front of him, not even bothering to inform him that he was doing it.

Tapping his fork on the plate until his dad told him to take his medication, even though he already had.

Tapping on the steering wheel while he drove to school.

Tapping his foot in class, prompting the teacher to tell him to stop multiple times.

"Dude," Scott said at lunch, finally noticing that for the last ten minutes he'd been staring blankly ahead while tapping on the table, "did you forget to take your Adderall today?"

Before he could answer, Jackson sank into the chair opposite him. "All right, what's the deal, Stilinski? You were staring at me across the cafeteria."

"What? No I wasn't."

"You kind of were," Scott said.

And he didn't know how to explain that he wasn't, he was just staring off into space, and Jackson happened to be in the way.

"So why were you staring at him?" Scott asked after Jackson had left.

"I wasn't," Stiles said. "I was just zoning out. Seriously, I could've been staring at Lydia's chest for all that I noticed. Not that I would stare at Lydia's chest, I'm not that kind of guy, it was just an example. How would I feel if someone couldn't keep their eyes off of my junk, you know? Though that does remind me of the time I caught myself accidentally staring at Derek's crotch for like twenty minutes." He paused. "Hey, have you noticed any significant differences now that you have a werewolf dick?"

Scott blinked.

"I mean, obviously it could be different for a born werewolf. Or maybe werewolf dick is exactly the same as regular dick. How would I know, right?"

If he was talking to anybody else, they would've given him the Look. The look that he got every time his brain-to-mouth filter malfunctioned and he started spewing absolute nonsense about whatever random thing popped into his head.

But because it was Scott and Scott understood him, he just patted his shoulder and told him to eat his fajita. Which he couldn't do because it kept reminding him of werewolf dick.

That evening as he sat in Derek's loft, going through topics of conversation like oxygen, tapping against his leg, he slipped into talking about werewolf dick again. Derek rolled his eyes fondly before stilling his hand and shutting him up. With his mouth.

And maybe, just maybe, the buzzing stopped for a while.

((Hey, I was thinking of posting a one shot every day leading up to Christmas. Would you guys like that or ?? I'm going to post two for now to make up for none yesterday.))