|Compromising Positions | Into the Black | Contact|
Just DanceNotes: This story is inspired by Jeff Davis' response on Twitter about who can dance and a behind-the-scenes clip of Dylan dancing on the set of The Internship to "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepson. Yes, that is the song that's playing in the fic. Unbeta-ed because I thought I'd give my beta a break.
It’s Danny’s birthday, so they’re all at The Jungle, gathered around a small table in the corner. Once again, Stiles’ baby-face and shitty fake ID have consigned him to soda. He gnaws on his straw and jitters along to the music, avidly looking around. Danny and Boyd have managed to score some alcohol – Danny keeps his beer, but Boyd, being completely immune to the effects of alcohol, hands his vodka cooler off to Lydia and Allison to share. Scott is playing with Allison’s hair, completely oblivious to anything but her. Isaac tries to look tougher than he is, frowning at anyone who looks at him twice, and Erica laughs at him. They chit chat as much as they can over the loud music, but mostly just hang out, enjoying the company and complete lack of supernatural emergency.
“Oh my God, I love this song!” Stiles exclaims, as the familiar beats of a pop song start up. He tosses his well-chewed straw back into his Coke, and bounces out onto the dance-floor.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Lydia says with disdain, rolling her eyes.
“Is that –?” Isaac asks.
“Yup,” Danny replies with a grin. Boyd looks lost, and then the chorus starts and he starts to chuckle.
“Oh, my God, seriously?” Scott says, as he finally gets it, too. “Who wants to be Stiles’ best friend? I don’t think I can be anymore.”
“Uh, guys?” Allison, says, drawing their attention to the dance-floor where Stiles, the boy who can barely cross a room without bumping into something, or tripping over his own feet, is dancing like he was born to dance. He is absolutely mesmerising – his whole body moving to the music, head, arms, and feet working in perfect counterpoint to the swivel of his hips and shoulders, his eyes closed as he sings along enthusiastically.
A feral smile crosses Erica’s face and she calls, “Dibs,” as she strips out of her leather jacket, and tosses it towards Isaac, who is too flabbergasted to even attempt to catch it, and it tumbles to the floor. Clad in the tightest jeans Danny’s ever seen, and an almost-as-tight tank top, with black bra straps showing, Erica joins Stiles, slotting into the negative spaces around him perfectly as she moves with him.
Danny starts looking around the club, knowing full-well that Stiles’ innocent face and oral fixation combined with the way he’s moving, will be nearly irresistible to the chicken hawks, despite Erica’s presence. He spots Creepy Dave slinking out of the shadows, making a bee-line for Stiles, and is about to go run interference when the queens come out of nowhere and make a fabulous, glittery, bewigged wall between Dave and his target. The last thing Danny sees before the crowd blocks his view is Anita Mann looming over Dave in her four-inch heels giving him a cold stare that could freeze fire.
In the meantime, Allison and Lydia have convinced, or in the case of Isaac, dragged, the other boys onto the dance-floor. Scott makes a valiant first effort, looking around at everyone else, and freezing up, before Allison draws his attention to her. Once he relaxes a bit, he manages to find his rhythm. He’s never going to be a great dancer, but at least he’ll be a passable one. Unlike Isaac and Boyd, who despite all of Lydia’s efforts to engage them, move like they’re made of wood.
“Isn’t it your birthday?” Comes a familiar voice out of the shadows, followed by the ridiculously hot form of Derek Hale. Ever since their first mortifying encounter, Danny’s felt a little uncomfortable around Derek. It was bad enough that even while taking the bait, Danny knew that Stiles had been transparently using his “cousin Miguel” to get his help, but it was even worse realizing, after officially meeting Derek, that Derek had known all along, too.
“Yeah,” Danny replies, taking a sip of his drink, trying to play it cool.
“Shouldn’t you be out there?” Derek says, nodding towards the others.
“Yes, but someone needs to watch the drinks,” Danny answers. He still can’t believe how stupidly naive his friends are.
“Go. I’ll watch them,” Derek replies, leaning his elbows back against the table, stretching his already too tight t-shirt across his chest, threatening its structural integrity.
Danny swallows and forces his eyes upward to Derek’s knowing smirk. “Don’t you want –” Danny begins, gesturing towards the dance-floor.
“Nah, not my scene. Go. Have fun,” Derek says. He reaches back and snags Stiles’ Coke, pulling the straw out before taking a swig.
Danny tips back the rest of his beer, and heads towards his friends, who open up a space for him as he nears. He glances back, and briefly wonders exactly how Derek’s supposed to be watching their drinks when his eyes are glued to Stiles, but then his favourite song starts to play and he loses himself in the music.