When they arrive at the loft, Stiles' skin is itchy and irritated under the goo. Derek unlocks the door, lips pinched and barely gets out a: “Don't break anything," before Stiles is losing his pants and skipping for the shower on one leg.

Peter is out, so Stiles happily borrows the high pressure shower head in the bathroom next to his bedroom in the nearest corner of the loft.

The mirror and glass shower partition fog up immediately, steam rising from the floor and making the hair on Stiles' legs curl. Soon only breathing in tired huffs, he dives in and lets the water pound his shoulder blades, leaning against the cold tiles. Head hanging low, water dripping from his lashes, he let his mouth hang lax.

Under his fingernails, the purple loosen and slip into the drain, chest hairs unsticking from each other and Stiles sighs, droops and increases the heat just a tiny bit.

Scott and Derek could wait.

{ - - - }

When Stiles emerges from within the en-suite wrapped in a fluffy towel, Peter is sitting in an armchair, reading.

 Stiles gasps and grabs at his own chest. Peter smirks and puts the book aside.

“Don't scare me like that!" Stiles exclaims, getting his bearing.

Peter's legs cross as he leans back in the chair, having clearly been seated for some time. With an arm he gestures broadly out to the room.

“Hello Stiles, and welcome to my living accommodations. You know, the place that I call mine and often can be found roaming around in," he leans slightly forward. “Be prepared for jump scares when you decide to be a home invader."

Stiles huffs at the dramatics, turning to sift through the nearest dresser, looking for a pair of socks. “Please, I'm hardly a home invader if the home owner himself let me in through the front door."

“Well, no one is exactly lining up to accuse my dear nephew of common sense," Peter drawls from behind him.

Stiles continues to mess up the werewolf's organizing system in his search. His towel slips down a tad, before he uses a hand to drag it back up.

“You know he can hear you, right?" Stiles asks, eyebrow raised. Peter makes a dismissive sound.

“He is used to it. Besides, he doesn't have much ground to defend himself, considering that he did let in someone who sings Britney Spears in the shower."

Stiles spins around with a shrill sound, pointing with betrayal at the older man.

“Dude, you take that back right now."

“Don't call me dude," comes the automatic reply, “and go dry your hair: you're dripping onto my carpet."

Stiles makes a mean sound before stomping back into the bathroom, planning to leave a wet towel on the floor mat.

By the time he exits, Peter has slipped out and left a pair of woolen socks on top of a folded set of nightwear.

{ - - - }

“Stiles!" Scott calls from the main room, when Stiles is just about dressed. He draws the strings tight on his borrowed pajama pants and pops out the door.

“There you are," Scott says, as Derek emerges from the kitchen with a big bowl of popcorn. Stiles can tell that Scott has showered as well, outfit fresh and floppy hair floppier than usual, still shining wetly at the nape.

“Sure, just took a little extra time to get the slime off."

Derek peers at him from over the bowl, “I just called Deaton. Said that you should stop by the shop in the morning. Just in case."

“Okay then, got a late shift tomorrow anyways," Stiles concedes, bouncing a little on the impact of dropping himself onto the couch cushions. His toes wedge between the fabric and Scott's warm warm thigh. “What are we watching?"

“I don't know, whatever is on the DVD, I guess."

“Nice, that's Interstellar!" Stiles cheers. Derek gets on his feet with a groan. Despite Stiles' protests he reaches into the dvd box and pulls one out at random.

“We will be watching… The Dark Knight," he proclaims and switches the discs before sitting back down. As the familiar intro-scene plays, Stiles grumbles but still settles in against the armrest beneath him.

“And Peter doesn't get a say?" he asked, counting on the fact that the man mostly backed Stiles' movie choices. Derek shakes his head, pressing play on the remote.

“He just left, said he had some 'things' that needed doing." Beside him on the couch, Scott huffs a breath, not having to spell out his lack of excitement for Peter's obviously shady business. No need to let him know that Stiles sometimes lends a helping hand… just sometimes. On the weekends.

Movie Nights began when the pack was still gathered in Beacon Hills. Now Isaac is off to college and Jackson can be found in England more often than not. Lydia and Malia are still around, but in the latter's case, that mostly means that she pops by once in a full moon (literally) and eats everything in the cabinets.

When the loft had been overflowing with teenagers, Derek had valiantly gone out and bought a new couch, 'Pack-Size'. Even with the nest half empty the piece of furniture was still functional, especially on occasions such as tonight, when Stiles knew there was no way he was driving home to sleep, even with his apartment being only a few minutes away.

With this in mind, it isn't long before his eyes begin to glaze over, Batman falling into the background, Popcorn falling softly from his limp hand.

In the end Stiles doesn't stay awake for most of the movie and the last thing he senses before giving himself fully over to sleep, is someone gently draping a blanket over his dozing form.