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Description
One hour later and he’s still dancing.

It’s a hot night, even with the sun down, and at this point nearly everyone around him have shed most of their clothes. Shirtless torsos are everywhere, moving in rhythm to the music. The sky is darker and the party lights are making their skin glow in a golden and warm light. Stiles’ red shirt is lying wherever he tossed it after it started to cling to his sticky skin.

[…]

A warm body presses up behind him, an arm sliding around his waist, and Stiles’ heart stops; knowing who it is without having to look.

Derek’s arm circles around him, hand brushing past his hipbone and to the sensitive area just below his navel. Not to stop him but to move with him. Stiles feels his firm chest press against his back, locking their bodies together like the halves of a two-piece puzzle. A sandpapery chin touches his shoulder, hot breath in his ear. He smells of salt and beer and Stiles recognizes his cologne. Derek’s heart is pounding against his shoulder blades; its pace rapid but still not as fast as Stiles’.

He’s never gone so hard that quickly before.

— Move A Mountain by zainclaw

Description
One hour later and he’s still dancing.

It’s a hot night, even with the sun down, and at this point nearly everyone around him have shed most of their clothes. Shirtless torsos are everywhere, moving in rhythm to the music. The sky is darker and the party lights are making their skin glow in a golden and warm light. Stiles’ red shirt is lying wherever he tossed it after it started to cling to his sticky skin.

[…]

A warm body presses up behind him, an arm sliding around his waist, and Stiles’ heart stops; knowing who it is without having to look.

Derek’s arm circles around him, hand brushing past his hipbone and to the sensitive area just below his navel. Not to stop him but to move with him. Stiles feels his firm chest press against his back, locking their bodies together like the halves of a two-piece puzzle. A sandpapery chin touches his shoulder, hot breath in his ear. He smells of salt and beer and Stiles recognizes his cologne. Derek’s heart is pounding against his shoulder blades; its pace rapid but still not as fast as Stiles’.

He’s never gone so hard that quickly before.

— Move A Mountain by zainclaw