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Based on the fic Not As Described by Febricant

“Oh, this one’s interesting. Maybe a bit too much for you to handle though, I’d say.” Lydia is looking pointedly at her nails, searching for non-existent flaws in her polish. Stiles knows he’s being baited, but there’s only so much interest in his phone he can maintain when the muttering breaking out around the room has such a tone of disapproval.

Stiles looks up. The werewolf on the stage is decidedly not meek, nor is he particularly young in the way the others mostly have been. Stiles guesses he’s more towards the beginning of his thirties, although with werewolves it’s always difficult to tell. More to the point, though, he looks angry. Not in such a way that’s obvious but certainly in the set of his shoulders, the careful unclenching of his fists. Stiles reluctantly feels his interest catching, mostly because this is the first sign he’s seen that all is not quite as fine and polished as it seems.

Sterek AUStiles feels a little sick now that the adrenaline of competition has worn off, the enormity of what he’s just done only now sinking in. He’s bought a guy. Well, a werewolf, but still. A man. A man that Stiles, now that he thinks about it, can’t imagine for even a nanosecond doing something as mundane as dishes.

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