Scott Howard, Random dancers
Two werewolves, and a demon, and Stiles walk into a club....
August 4th, 2015
Jungle Club, Beacon Hills
Beacon Hills - The Jungle
During open hours, the bass beat is probably felt before anything else is perceived. The place smells of mingling bodies and cologne, the music always turned up to dance party levels. The place itself is unremarkable: There's a full bar all along one wall, a performance stage againstanother wall, and everything in here is dark, barely even showing up in the dim lighting, except for one obvious fact: Targeted spotlights shine down from above, giving tables and the dance floor just enough light, but not enough to distract from the constant laser light show going on inside the place. Colored beams of light constantly zap back and forth in tune to the beat of the music, making the whole place feel like a never-ending rave.
Ethan Carver, shirtless of course, is on the dance floor, writhing to the heavy beat with some random guy who can't seem to keep his eyes or hands off the wolf's pecs and abs. Not that Ethan seems to mind, but it's also clear he's bored with this guy already, just going through the motions and trying to lose himself in the music.
Stiles is... frankly wondering why the hell he's here, but he is. Sitting at the bar and sipping a Coke, he looks somewhere between bored and mildly glum. Perhaps he came for a hook-up and hasn't found anyone, or perhaps his date is late... or who knows. Last anyone heard, Stiles was straight, anyway, which makes his presence here, well... at least slightly unusual. It is Stiles. He's been known to do weirder things than sit in a gay club.
Poor Scott Howard, he had to leave The Wolfmobile outside town because it's out of gas... and of course, Stiles didn't have a gas can in it. Just a bunch of 'Teen Wolf' T-Shirts and other merchandise. Scott was exhausted anyway... so he's walked into town with plans to find somewhere to crash for the night. He's a stranger in a strange land.... and has no idea where he's going. And try finding a phone book when you need one. Funny, they used to be so common back home. "You're not in Kansas... err, Nebraska anymore Scott." Scott offers to himself as he walks inside the club... having been drawn in by the music. He at least makes Stiles look more at home here... because he doesn't look like he belongs at all. A drink does sound good right now though... as he does his best to try to slip past those who spot him as he makes for the bar.
Ethan Carver takes hold of the boy's wrists when his hands wander below the beltline. "Yeah, not happening," he grumbles, causing the boy to pout, as Ethan begins shouldering his way out of the crowd. He looks grumpier than usual tonight, as he stomps to the bar for a Coke. "Stilinski?" he growls, looking Stiles up and down. "You waiting for McCall? I had a feeling about you two." Without warning, he leans over, grabbing the bottom of Stiles's shirt and wiping the sweat from his face with it.
Stiles is about to return Ethan's greeting with a snarky rejoinder when the werewolf goes and wipes his face on Stiles' shirt, which prompts an immediate, animated response: Nearly falling off his stool, Stiles manages to end up in a standing position, flinging up his arms (and barely missing knocking his drink over) to glare at Ethan indignantly. "Whoa, hey, hey! What the balls, dude!?" Inwardly, he wonders where in hell that expression came from--then dismisses it. "I'm not your freakin' sweat rag, you hairless furball!" He calms down a little, sitting back down with an air of exasperation, and adds crossly, "No, Scott and I are not--dude, he's completely straight, okay?" He draws a deep breath, then gives Ethan the side-eye. "You know, kind of like Thing 2. So what's got you all frisky? The full moon was, like, nights ago." He pulls out his phone to glance at it, apparently sees nothing helpful, and annoyedly shoves it back into his pocket.
Scott offers his best charming smile to the bartender... who's giving him 'The Eye'. Scott may not be 21.... but he looks even younger due to his pretty boy features. "Hey... yeah... I'll have a beer." Scott grins even wider as he fishes for his wallet. The music is bugging his keen were-senses a bit... but right now he's dealing with it best he can.
Of course, the bartender isn't about to fall for serving a minor. Not even one that could charm the pants off of just about anyone in the place. "Yeah... not happening 'Kid' Shouldn't you be in bed for school anyway?" Poor Scott, no repsect in a new town. But then what else is new.
Scott's about ready to influence the guy so he can get a beer... cause he's really not in the mood for this when he hears the name 'Stiles'. "Stiles?" Scott asks, as he glances around... wondering if somehow Stiles followed him. At least until he figures out that the shirtless guy was talking to someone else. "Well, he's got the same charming Stiles mouth." Scott doesn't realize that he's bene monologuing all this. Or that he's clearly made it aware that he can hear the pair over the music.
The aura is what hits first: it's definitely not something that most animals will be comfortable with. It's unsettling, even a little frightening, to know that there's something like whatever it belongs to, and it's close. The clicking of boots accompanies it, growing louder as the figure appears: leather-clad like a biker, though contrasted by a cute, cartoony shirt. It all sets off that intense red hair.
"Is there a problem?" Lance calls, though he doesn't walk any faster. His movement is with clear purpose, and if he's upset, he doesn't show it very clearly. But once his eyes settle on Ethan, they don't leave him. Once the new arrival has drifted over to where the others are, he stops slightly in front of Stiles, in part placing himself between Stiles and Ethan.
Ethan Carver gives his eyes a roll, leaning an elbow on the bar. "Chill, Stilinski. You're twitchier than usual." His Coke finally arrives, and he tips it back for a long gulp, some of the sticky liquid spilling over his chin and onto his bare chest. Letting out a loud breath of relief, he turns to the newcomer, head tipping slightly to one side. "What're you supposed to be?" Snorting, he gives his eyes another roll, then lets them slide past Lance to look around the bar some more, finally landing on Scott. Nostrils flaring a bit as he tries to sort out all the clashing scents, he narrows his eyes. "Who're you?" he growls, standing upright and squaring his shoulders defensively.
Stiles starts to answer Ethan, groaning and reaching up with both hands to slide them over his head. "Well, you're not usually wiping your face on my shirt." But it's halfhearted outrage. He just can't muster it. Of course, whatever else he planned to say goes out the window when Lance arrives, and Stiles hops--quite literally makes a sprightly hop--off of the stool to pounce against Lance from behind, resting hands on the biker-looking guy's shoulders. "Hey!" he says, now suddenly all smiles, and--not even really thinking about it--leans in to greet Lance with a kiss, completely spoiling whatever dramatic conflict was brewing. Then, standing on his toes and leaning over Lance's shoulder, he calls over to Ethan, "Down, Cujo! This is Lance. Lance, this is Ethan--but we mostly just call him Thing 1." Scott, who's behaving like a reasonable person, hasn't been noticed yet, but perhaps their antics will draw his interest.
Scott can't help but feel a bit of a chill up his spine when the large man dressed like a biker approaches the bar. There's just something that puts his senses on alert... though he's not experienced enough with other supernatural beings to really understand why he's feeling the way he is. Of course, the huge guy... especially by Scott's standards doesn't seem to really be interested in him. But then the shirtless guy is giving him the stinkeye and growl-demanding to know who he is. But instead of a growl in reply, there's more of a confused doggie sound and cock of his head when he sees Stiles greet the guy with a kiss. Yeah... this Stiles is clearly nothing like his Stiles. He snaps out of his confused brain-freeze and looks back at Ethan. "I'm sorry... what were you saying again?" Scott asks, now that his brain has rebooted.
It looks like things might go in a particularly nasty direction, but Lance can't stay upset with Stiles basically pouncing him. He smiles just a little, but cautiously, and he looks from Scott, back to Ethan, before wordlessly turning halfway to Stiles. "Sorry I'm late. It took a lot longer to hide all those bodies than we thought. Next time you're gonna have to just rent a wood chipper, okay?" And he smiiiiles. He's trying to make it clear to Stiles this time that he's joking. Even if everyone else might not get it.
Ethan Carver looks Scott up and down a few more times, then suddenly lunges forward, grabbing the kid by the shoulders and pressing his nose against Scott's neck for a long sniff. As he steps back again, his eyes take on the characteristic blue glow of a werewolf suffering from the guilt of slaying an innocent, and his upper lip curls in a snarl, revealing his lengthened canines. "Who are you?" he growls again, more forcefully this time. So intent is he upon this new wolf, he completely misses the playful affection between Stiles and Leatherman, and thus lets the opportunity for merciless teasing slip away.
Scott's mastery of control over his werewolf side isn't exactly reliable. Especially when he's already on edge cause he's out of his element. But then he's got this huge shirtless guy lunging a him and Scott's features start to shift just a little bit. He doesn't go full-on 'Teen Wolf' though, but Scott does shove Ethan back after he's sniffling him up like... well, a wolf. When Ethan moves back... Scott's showcasing fanged canines as well, in addition to other changes. And his eyes glow as well, though they're a bright red, an alpha trait with most wereolves. As is the deep rumble that rises up from Scott's throat that takes on a commanding resonance. "Back... Off!" The music and chaos of the club will likely keep the rest of the club from noticing unless a full on werewolf brawl breaks out... but Stiles and Lance have ringside seats.
Of course, Ethan had to go and ruin the moment by going all aggro on some random--whoa, hello, random new werewolf. "Okay, we better break this up," Stiles says to Lance. Slipping free of the embrace, he circles around to approach Ethan from the side, holding up both hands. "Ethan, dude... don't do this. Not in here. You wanna get banned for life?" He licks his lips nervously, glancing between the others, and suggests as forcefully as he can (moderately), "Now let's calm it down and take this outside, so we can talk like civilized... creatures of the night."
Is nobody going to say anything about how Lance literally talked about him and Stiles murdering multiple people and disposing of the bodies?! Dammit all, that was a good opening line! But apparently no one finds it curious or worthy of concern, or even amusing, so Lance just moves with Stiles to look between the two. "Do I need to make anyone's eyes bleed?" It's asked very softly. To Stiles, probably, since he seems to be the only one with a cool head prevailing of the three assembled here.
Ethan Carver's eyes immediately de-glow...un-glow? Go back to normal, as do his fangs. Blinking a few times at the unexpected Alpha, he can't help but flash a cock grin, his stance relaxing. "Oh. Hey. Wanna dance?" He clasps his hands behind his back and flexes his pecs a couple times, just for show, as he scans Scott up and down again. Glancing briefly at Stiles, he continues grinning. "Chill, Stilinski, it's all good. I was just...." His eyes go distant, brows drawing together, as his brain catches up on everything that's been happening in the last few minutes. Narrowed eyes dart between Stiles and Lance a few times. "Did you just -kiss- this guy?"
Scott probably would have reacted more to the mention of casual murder... if he hadn't had a half-naked guy leaping at him. So blame Ethan that the desired impact was defused by werewolf behavior. Scott hasn't fully transformed... but he's looking a bit strange, his skin sweaty and his now sharp pointed ears peekking out of his cheap haircut. In addition he's still sporting the fanged canines and his fingers now sport elongating claws. But when things seem to start to defuse, Scott eyes lose their glow as well as his features start to return to normal. "I don't think I'm your type, but..." He looks towards Stiles and Lance. "Same qusstion. Does your Cousin know? Is that why he's so defensive about things?"
Suddenly, Stiles goes from being the helpful guy breaking up a fight to being the center of attention. Not. Cool. He blinks at Ethan a few times, jaw dropping, and then he reaches up to wipe a hand over his face, leaving it pressed across his chin for a moment as if in thought. Then he drops the hand, only to raise both again, held parallel in front of him and cocked vaguely toward Ethan. "You... you just pounced some random new wolf in town... and now you're... you're interrogating me about kissing my boyfriend?" He throws up his hands, glancing to Lance, and says in exasperation, "Right about now? That might be seriously helpful." But then the new guy's talking, and Stiles blinks at him--seven times--before he seems to get it. Pulling a face of mixed revulsion and bafflement, he asks, "My cou--what, Rupert? The pothead amateur con artist from Nebraska? Who the hell are you?"
Lance is...confused. He doesn't know who any of these people other than Stiles actually is, and this whole thing started with a very aggressive Ethan clearly upsetting someone dear to him. Fortunately no one else noticed the little scuffle or the wolfen features emerging before they vanished again. But then Stiles is saying he should make people's eyes bleed? Lance leans closer to Stiles, lowering his voice slightly. "Did...you really want me to do that? Because I can totally do that. For you." Oh Stiles. You have a nuclear bomb on legs.
Ethan Carver lets out an exasperated sigh and gives his eyes another dramatic roll. "Stilinski, I was just checking to make sure he was what I thought he was. And you kissing -anyone- is big news, let alone some guy." His gaze scans over Leatherman again in open appraisal, and then he shrugs one shoulder. "Gotta admit, he's an improvement over the sock you've probably been dating since junior high. But when'd you switch to my team? I'm hurt you didn't come to me first." He even puts on the poutiest face he can muster, before turning to Scott again, thrusting out a hand. "Ethan. You from Nebraska or something? Long way from home. Welcome to Beacon Hills, Weirdness Capital of Northern California."
Scott offers Stiles a bit of a scowl when he starts talking about his Stiles. "Hey now... Stiles, err.... MY Stiles isn't that bad of a guy. He's ... well..." Scott rubs the back of his head a bit. Stiles does have a bit of a point about the whole pothead amateur con artist thing. But Stiles is still his buddy, even if... well... his life would have been a lot less complicated without Stiles pushing the whole 'Teen Wolf' thing. "He's just a complicated guy..." Scott offers with a sheepish grin and a shrug. "Stiles does have a point... I don't think you get to ask questions when you're leaping all over the new guy in town." Oh god, does this mean that he's this Stiles's wingman and enabler in this town? What kind of fresh hell is this. Scott can't help but laugh though when Ethan takes a shot at Stiles and his crusty scok. "Ok, that's the first guy who's ever jumped me in a club that I actually wanna buy a drink." Scott offers his hand to Ethan and then finally answers Stiles about who he is. "Scott." Hello weird coincidence. "And your Beacon Hills has nothing on Beacon Town. But then I was the weirdest thing back home."
Stiles takes a deep breath, pressing his lips firmly together for a long moment, before he turns to Lance, managing a fond smile in spite of everything. "Okay, so... that... is called sarcasm. We don't really make people's eyes bleed, okay? Just... gotta make sure that nobody's getting hurt." He leans over to kiss Lance's cheek and adds, still smiling, "But you are the sweetest for being so ready to help." It's downright mushy.
When he turns back to Ethan, he holds up one finger pointedly. "Don't. Make. This. Weird." Dropping his hand, he shakes his head with a groan. "And I didn't 'switch' to any team. I still like girls... in theory, anyway. And I wasn't looking for anyone. Lance found me." He mellows again, an effect Lance seems to have on him, and then looks toward Scott again. "You seriously know Cousin Rupert? That's... weird." At the repeated referencing of "Stiles," Stiles glares at Scott. "I am Stiles. Rupert is Rupert. And Beacon Hills is--you know what, I am not doing it. I'm not defending my town against Lamesville, Nebraska." He takes another deep breath. "So, are we all done lunging at jugulars and acting like idiots?"
Lance's smile widens at the kiss, and while he'd clearly very much like to make it even more of one, the situation is also clearly not one that lends itself well to makeouts. The redhead listens, but the conversation doesn't really pertain to him at first, so his hand wanders and he gives Stiles a little goose. Just a little! Unseen, looking so innocent, or at least as innocent as he can. Which, to be accurate, isn't very. But when Ethan makes his implications, that's enough to start Lance from his silence and stoicism. "I thought you were really interested in that Derek guy. Wasn't that his name? Wait, am I remembering how this went wrong?"
"Beacon...Town?" Ethan's eyes go distant for a long moment, then light as he grins. "No way! Beacon Town, Nebraska? You're not...?" He digs his smartphone from his back pocket and begins tapping the screen. Squinting, he examines it, then examines Scott, then examines the phone again. "You are! You're the Teen Wolf basketball player! Look, guys!" He turns the phone, flashing everyone a shaky Youtube video of Scott Howard playing for the Beavers, looking more like a miniature Wookiee than a familiar werewolf. "Dude, you were famous for about five minutes. Weren't you worried about Hunters?" And yet again, he's passing up a chance to mercilessly tease Stiles, but that's okay. Knowing Stiles, there will be plenty more such opportunities in the near future. Ethan does, however, look Lance up and down again, nostrils flaring a bit as he sniffs the guy from a distance.
"I thought it was already weird..." Scott faux-whispers to Ethan, glancing beteen Stiles and Lance. "Hey..." Scott grins and offers his hand to the large guy who Stiles was all over a moment ago. Scott wrinkles his nose just a bit when Stiles keeps calling his friend... ugh, Rupert. "Woah now, he was Stiles before I met you. Can't you people just share the name? It's not like I'm asking for you to return it." Scott notes to Stiles. "I can't promise I'm done acting like an idiot. But I'm not interested in any casual neck chewing." Scott notes to Stiles. "Ugh.... has the news spread even this far. I was hoping to lay low and this was the first place I could think of. Stiles always talked about his 'Black Sheep Cousin' in Beacon Hills... so figured it was good a place as any." Scott doesn't say exactly why he's trying to find a place to lay low however. "I didn't expect to run into more special people out here though." Scott notes and then pales a bit when Ethan pulls up the Youtube. "Heh.... funny you should mention hunters."
Stiles looks like he feels the universe is conspiring against him. But in fairness, he feels that way a lot. Quietly, to Lance, he says, "The Derek thing was different, and... nobody needs to know about it but you and me." He does settle against Lance, though, wrapping am arm around his waist, and let some of the tension evaporate from his body... right up until Scott starts up again. Stiles practically falls over, he's so outraged. "Black sheep!? I'm not the slacker asshole from Throwback Town!" he seethes. "You can call him anything you want in Nebraska, wolf-boy, but here, here I'm Stiles, me!" He seems really quite worked up over the whole thing, so much so that he hardly even reacts to Ethan's clever bit of detective work--and they're even, because under normal circumstances, Stiles would have loved to have teased Thing 1 for being a shaggy teen wolf fanboy. All he manages is a glance, a glare, and then back to generalized bristling indignation.
"Oh. Sorry." Lance looks between Ethan and Scott again, still not exactly sure what to think or what to say. So since Stiles appears to be the one most upset and most distracted, he decides to do what he did before -- apparently too mildly -- and gooses Stiles again. This time much more noticeably than last time. Maybe that'll slightly derail his ranting about his cousin! If that's...really what this is about. Lance is, to this moment, really not sure what anyone's talking about; the one element he thought he understood, he got wrong.
Ethan Carver chuckles as he watches the video, shaking his head. "Man, I can't believe you dressed up like a refugee from a Star Trek convention," he says, looking at Scott again, as he tucks the phone into his back pocket. "So where's the rest of your pack? You bring them out here from Oklahoma, too?" Okay, mixes up Star Wars and Star Trek, Nebraska and Oklahoma. What can he mangle next? He turns to Stiles with another exasperated sound. "Will you chill? Nobody's trying to replace you...Though when McCall finds out you're letting some other guy paw you in public, he might have a thing or two to say." He lifts his chin at Lance. "What'd you say your name was again?"
Scott sheepishly blushes just a bit and runs a hand through his hair. Though he does grin just a bit at Stiles. "You do realize that if uh... a manipulative con man calls you the Black Sheep... it's kinda a good thing right? I mean... unless you're torching puppies or somethng on the side." Scott pauses just a bit and gestures a bit to Ethan. "And he doesn't count." Scott grins playfully at Ethan and then glances at Lance. "You have my permission to kiss him again or worse if he keeps having that reaction to mention of his cousin." Scott stifles a bit of a yawn, given he's been driving so long and it's finally catching up with him. Scott does address Ethan's questions though. "No pack... just me." He doesn't want to out his Dad in case it gets back to the hunters somehow. "Refugee from a Star Trek convention? What?" Scott looks very confused at Ethan. "Anyway... any place I can get a room for the night or something. The ... uh.... Wolfmobile ran out of gas outside town and Stiles... MY Stiles didn't have a gas can in it."
Stiles is just starting to calm down a bit when Ethan makes the crack about "McCall finding out," which leads Stiles to leap up in another display of pure indignation. "Scott doesn't care who I date, and--!" "And" is lost to time, though, because that's when Lance gooses Stiles so sharply. The last one he could miss as a casual touch. This time, he visibly jumps, his cheeks flushing red, and he has to grab hold of Lance to keep from slipping and falling from his sudden jump. "L-Lance," he says, his features breaking into a little pout that seldom surfaces in front of anyone but the likes of Scott's Mom or Lydia Martin. "I was... ranting!" But at least he's stopped. He manages to clear his throat and say, more or less in command of himself again, "Well. Uh. Welcome to Beacon Hills. Word of advice, though: 'Wolfmobile.' Not subtle." He goes back to holding on to Lance, now beginning to feel quite silly about the whole thing.
"Demogorgon the Undying, the Reaper Dyed Red with the Blood of His Enemies. Carnal Ravager of the Black Pit. Occasionally, 'AAAAHHH!!'" Is he joking? He's got to be joking. He just has some sort of macabre sense of humor, evidently. "But you can call me Lance." Sliding an arm around Stiles, in part to sturdy him where he stands, he clicks his tongue and bumps the side of his hip against the boy. "I'm beginning to feel even luckier. Stiles tried to convince me he just wasn't into anyone, but first Derek and now Scott...? You've talked about Scott, right?"
Ethan Carver stares at Lance for a long moment, his eyes starting to glaze over at the long list of grisly names. "Uh huh. I'm just gonna call you Stilinski's Leatherboy." His eyes light again as he throws an arm around Scott's shoulders, flashing that cocky grin once more. "Hey, you can crash at my place tonight. My brother's still outta town, so you can have his bed." He pauses to give his brows a waggle. "Or you can just roll over after we're done and sleep with me. Just don't hog the covers, 'kay?"
Scott Howard just nervously blushes just a bit. "Uhhhhh....your brother's bed is fine. I don't take up much space. But uhh... I'm gonna hit the can first. And thanks you three... for making me feel awkwardly welcome."
Stiles boggles at Lance, jaw dropping again... but he recovers quickly with a too-loud laugh, clapping a hand onto Lance's shoulder. "Yeah, Lance is... hilarious!" he declares, and then there's more about Scott and he just groans. "Lance... dude... Scott's my best friend. He's like a brother to me. Let's not make it weird, okay?" He shakes his head a bit at Ethan, muttering to Lance, "God but he's shameless. I mean, it's kind of impressive... in a terrifying stalker kinda way." He gives Scott--this is going to get so confusing--a wave as he departs, then sighs. "Wow. From bored as hell to never a dull moment, huh?" He digs out his phone, tapping at it absently while standing there with Lance's arms around him. Apparently, this is a proven method of calming the raging Stiles Stilinski.
"You're just going to call me Lance," he corrects, and with a sort of assurance that this is a fact. And cheerfully enough, when Scott includes him in the thanks, his smile widens and he gives a pleasant little nod. It's a kind of dissonance: everything he seems to do, and even the way he carries himself, would all seem to point to a fairly chipper personality, good-natured and maybe even easygoing. But there's that aura, and his sense of style definitely is much more of a "bad boy" kind...though the t-shirt, besides showing off his underlying musculature, indicates he does have a sense of humor. Though there is that whole impression of being faintly, though undeniably, confused when he's corrected about Stiles and his various crushes and lusts. Still, he's content with his arms around Stiles, and he clearly does have deep feelings for him. "Why would that make it weird?" He at last asks. He couldn't figure it out.
Ethan Carver chuckles a bit as Scott slips away, leaning back against the bar as he watches the new wolf heading for the bathrooms. "Cute, in a Leave it to Beaver sorta way." He returns his attention to the Couple again, smirking. "You two are pretty cute together, too. Gotta say, Stilinski, I didn't think you had it in you. Seriously, your man's not bad too hard on the eyes at all. Don't suppose you'd wanna come home and help me break in the new kid? We could make a party of it." Yet again, his gaze wanders over Lance's body, as his tongue slowly wets his lips.
Stiles slides his phone back into his pocket, eyeing Ethan dubiously. "Thanks," he says at the compliments, finding them disarming--and therefore suspicious. Of course, then he's distracted by explaining to Lance, reaching to rest his hand on top of Lance's, "Well, generally, incest is considered an uncommon behavior. I'm not personally one to judge, but... I don't think I could think of Scott that way, not really. And believe me, I'm a red-blooded teenager. I've thought about it... but I've come to a decidedly negative conclusion on that front." He smirks, adding, "Besides, after you? I love Scott to pieces, but he'd be boring." Then, glancing back up to Ethan, Stiles says with only moderate snark, "Thanks, but I had 'gratuitous orgy' for lunch. I'm good."
Lance has to look away and stifle his laughter, but it's not a mocking gesture. By the time he's got his laughing down, he glances over his shoulder at Ethan. "Stiles is so modest around his friends, but he's really very kinky. *Very* kinky." A hand may or may not have defied the bounds of the boy's waistband. In fact it definitely did, even if they're in public. What does Lance care for propriety? He's seen worse on the dance floor in this place. "Oh, was that what you've been up to today?" This towards Stiles. "I thought you weren't into orgies. How many people were there? I'll bet you were so popular." Far from being upset, he sounds kind of proud as he leans closer and kisses the curve of Stiles's ear. Evidently, this man Stiles has caught is not even slightly bashful.
Ethan Carver looks as though he's about to say something incedibly witty to Stiles, but he pauses when Lance speaks, eyes widening a bit. "Kinky, him?" He looks Stiles up and down a few times, then wrinkles his nose. "Seriously...him? Mister Vanilla White Bread and Mayonaisse, kinky?" Then his lips curl in that cocky grin, as he takes half a step forward, locking eyes with Stiles. "Prove it. Right here, right now, on the dance floor. You, me, and your man."
Stiles would probably react badly to this, except his eyes have gone wide and he's biting his lip, trying very hard to not get too worked up while Lance's hand is roaming in that particular region. "Kidding," he murmurs to Lance, "About the orgy. Engaging in... wanton hyperbole." He squirms a little, but then Ethan starts in again, and Stiles regains himself, eyes narrowing. Some part of him that normally only surfaces on the Lacrosse field--and, weirdly enough, usually when Scott's playing--steps up to say, "Yeah? What'd you have in mind, Thing 1? 'Cause I'm pretty sure--" He's not saying it. He's not. Oh, god, he's saying it. "That your bark is way, way worse..." He trails off, shrugging, and smirks. "Eh, you get the idea."
Lance ends up laughing again in such a short time. "Vanilla...white bread and..." But as he moves slightly, it's plain to see his hand has dipped more than adequately past the waistband of Stiles's pants. In the front. "What...is he talking about, Stiles?" If there's really any modesty or shame in Lance's personality anywhere, it's not being shown at the moment. On the dance floor? Is this the orgy?
Ethan Carver's gaze trails down Stiles's body, following Lance's hand, and his grin only brightens. He brings his eyes up to Lance's, wetting his lips. "Maybe I underestimated you. Looks like you managed to find some kink in Stilinski after all." He moves in closer still, rocking his hips forward suggestively. "Can't help but notice you've got two hands, and one's not doing a whole lot." For the first time, he actually touches Lance, sliding his fingertips lightly down the man's arm to his wrist. And while he's so close, he can't help taking a few more sniffs, trying to determine just what Lance really is. There's something oddly unfamiliar about his scent.
Inside his mind, Stiles is shouting Oh my god!, but outwardly he just watches Ethan warily, leaning back into Lance a bit. In a strained voice, Stiles says, "I'm not exactly 'mister action,' Lance, um... we kinda talked about that. Until you came along... I didn't have much luck. Girls or guys." His brow furrows some, and he asks, "Are we... seriously... doing this? Like... here? And... sober?" There's a plaintive note in his voice, not quite a whine--but he's clearly well outside his comfort zone.
It's so quintessentially unfamiliar, like Lance's scent has made a professional effort to maintain its unfamiliarity. It's not something particularly comfortable -- there's a tremendous threat, right there in front of Ethan, but at the moment it doesn't seem to be presenting any real malice. The only thing it's doing is manhandling Stiles a bit, but even that is being done lovingly. Lance may be fairly shameless, but there's a sort of adoration in his every act to and with Stiles that shows he's not putting on. It's not fake; whoever or whatever he is, there's real feeling there for Stiles. He doesn't object to being touched, at least not unless Stiles does. Such a curious scent. Definitely not another wolf. But not something Ethan's really encountered to this point either. "Would you like a drink, or a smoke?" The gesture Lance makes illustrates that he clearly means pot, not cigarettes. "I can get you anything you want," he adds, just about whispered right in Stiles's ear, just about breathed in soft tones. Of course, that one hand doesn't slide out. He doesn't care if someone can see. "Be gentle with him. I love him." This said to Ethan, and so plainly, it might as well be about the weather, but Stiles knows -- surely he knows -- how dramatic a statement it is. Here, the being for whom the slightest affection has been a stranger, has become utterly enamored with Stiles of all people.
"Relax, Stilinski," Ethan says, lowering his tone to something almost soothing, as he closes the distance and presses his body firmly into Stiles's side, one hand sliding up the front of his shirt. "We're not gonna DeePee you here in the club." He lets his eyes meet Lance's again, giving a brief nod. "I can do gentle," he admits, grinding ever so lightly against Stiles. "Prefer it, to tell the truth. I've had my fill of the rough stuff." Oddly, his tone sounds incredibly sincere, likely something Stiles has never heard from him before. His free hand trails back up Lance's arm to his shoulder, as he lowers his voice further still, eyes still fixed on the man as he licks his lips again.
"I'm not... against... a drink..." Stiles manages to get out, finding this all very strange and surprising, especially the sudden gentleness from Ethan. "I've never really smoked pot, not since that time I tried when I was like thirteen, and it just didn't go well, and my dad found out, and then I thought my life would literally end, right there on the spot, but by some miracle he didn't murder me, and oh my god I'm babbling like an idiot and we please go somewhere else if you two are going to be touching me like this!" He buries his face against Lance's arm, conveniently there in front of him, though his ears remain visibly crimson.
Lance smiles so contentedly. He's happy to hold Stiles close, comforting him, being there for him and supporting him. "Are you okay with Ethan?" It's such a breathy question, so airy in its tone, but he doesn't seem to be willing to move away until and unless he has the affirmative from Stiles. The hand past the waistband continues to stroke and caress. He smiles to Ethan, now they seem to have achieved some kind of understanding. As long as Stiles will be okay, that's all that really matters to him. He doesn't have to worry about himself. Leaning down, he kisses the top of Stiles's head so delicately. But Ethan will notice that there's so much more, so much more fierce and terrible that could be unleashed from Lance. He is a pleasant wrapping to a decidedly terrible candy.
Ethan Carver shudders just a bit, licking his lips again, as he continues to breathe in Lance's scent. It's just...off somehow. Not entirely unpleasant, but definitely dangerous. Kanima? Wendigo? He gives his head a quick shake to clear it, as his fingers trail up Stiles's chest, rubbing briefly over a nipple. "Uh, yeah, we can go somewhere," he mutters, trying to remember just what his goal was in this game. "No drinks for me though. I can't get drunk. Which sorta sucks, when you stop to think about it. Wanna follow me back to my place? Stiles, you prolly know the way. Where the Argents used to live. We're renting it till graduation."
"Okay," Stiles says softly, feeling a bit scared but also a bit thrilled by all this. He holds on to Lance's arm, saying, "We can follow Ethan home." Though Thing 1 is given a mildly sour look. "Allison's parents' old place? Weird taste, dude." He licks his lips, then looks back to Lance. "We can go. Just... I don't want to do anything here, okay? Not... not really." Apparently, an exhibitionist... Stiles is not. "It's actually not that far away from my place," he adds quietly, knowing Lance at least knows where that is.
Lance leans closer and presses his lips to Stiles's, and he deepens the kiss slowly and with a tremendous desire. His eyes fall closed, and for a moment when he opens them, it looks like they're solid black. But then he blinks again and they're fine. Must have been an illusion. Surely that couldn't have been real. He sighs as he draws back, running one hand through Stiles's hair, smiling as he slides the other hand over Ethan's hip. "As long as Stiles is okay with it," he softly murmurs. "Only if Stiles is okay," he adds, barely a whisper.
Ethan Carver's hand slips free of the shirt as he takes a step back, sucking in a cleansing breath and giving his crotch a good adjustment. "Yeah, let's go," he says, still looking a little confused. This really wasn't part of his plan for the night. All he was looking for was a quick hookup to relieve some of the tension that's been brewing since he met Liam. This is...unexpected. Looking Lance up and down once more time, he nods toward the exit, then gives Stiles a shrug. "It was available and not too expensive, so why not? If the Argents don't mind, I doubt McCall will, right?" He turns toward the bar and leaps partway onto it, stretching across its surface as he reaches behind and grabs his leather jacket. With a nod and kissy-lips toward the bartender, he hops back down and pulls it on, and with one last glance at the couple, he turns toward the exit. Along the way, he collects Scott Howard.
Muttering to himself, Stiles says, "Yeah, kinda hoping Scott never hears about this at all." He turns to Lance, brow furrowing a bit. "Look, I... I'm okay with going and hanging out, and you guys can... have fun if you want, but... I'm really not sure I'm into the orgy thing." He smiles faintly, then says, "Anyway, let's go." And, taking Lance by the hand--reluctantly extracting it from his pants--he leads him from the club.