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The creature wearing his husband’s face smirks, eyes sparkling in the same way Stiles’ do when he’s thinking about their exploits, before he takes a sip of his champagne. “I can think of a few other ways to celebrate.”
“Oh really?”
Stiles nods, looking so Stiles-like it makes Derek want to launch himself across the table and rip this thing limb from limb. But no, that’s not in the plan. He needs to bide his time, trust Stiles’ intuition.
“Uh huh,” Stiles says. “And if you’re good, I’ll tell you all about them.”
The foot sliding up his thigh reaches Derek’s crotch, and Derek finds himself gritting his teeth once again. His Stiles would never be so forward in public.
“And if I’m extra good?” Derek asks, making his voice slip extra deep and growly. He’s testing the waters because, after all, he is flirting with a sex demon.
“If you’re extra good,” Stiles smirks, leaning forward and looking up at Derek through his lashes. “Then I might even show you.”
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Or, Stiles gets captured by an incubus on Valentine's Day. Murder and sex ensue (in that order).
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