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In hindsight, Stiles should have known that playing strip poker with the pack, including Derek, was a very, very bad idea. But of course at the time it had just seemed like a fun way to kill an evening.
It had been going fine the first few rounds, right up until Stiles hit a loosing streak. He'd lost his shoes, socks, and hoodie in quick succession. He hadn't minded too much at first, too caught up in staring at Danny and Jackson who had opted to take their shirts off first instead of something else. Within the next few rounds both of his shirts and his pants were off as well, leaving him in just his boxers.
At first no one had noticed how tense and quiet Derek was since he was usually pretty silent, but by the time Stiles' pants were off everyone had noticed the low growling that had started when the first shirt had come off. Derek didn't seem to be quite aware of what he was doing, but it was obviously making the rest of the pack uncomfortable, especially Stiles since he was also being stared at by the alpha.
Stiles lost the next round, surprising no one, but as he stood to take his boxers off, Derek stood as well, letting out a roar that had the other werewolves cowering. Before Stiles even realized what was happening, Derek had scooped him up and carried him up the stairs and to the master bedroom. He could barely make out Lydia calming the others and suggesting they head home and “leave those two idiots to it.”
Stiles could safely say that he'd never expected a game of strip poker to end with him laying in bed next to Derek, exhausted and sated. Not that he was complaining. In fact, he was already planning a way to play again. And soon.