Just a short ficlet based of katscrap's awesome artwork on tumblr which can be found on her blog here: post/72763518913/my-attempt-at-some-more-intrigent-backgrounds

Dizzy xx

Stiles smiles down over the edge of his balcony, cradling the mug of coffee in his hands and breathing in the steam. God he loves Saturdays. Saturdays mean to Stiles what an air ticket to France means for an art fanatic. He's gonna see something exquisite, painted by saints, carved by angels, hewn from marble and-

Yeah, he needs to stop thinking in superlatives before he drops his coffee on the guy underneath him and woah isn't that just a mental image?

The truth is this: Derek Hale, the man (bachelor, as a reliable source (Stiles' buddy, Oscar the doorman) informs him) in apartment 13A, is hot like sin, has a fantastic singing voice and tends to the plants on his balcony first thing on Saturday mornings. In the tightest tank top Stiles has ever had the fortune to see.

Right now for instance, Derek is watering his begonias in the early morning sunlight, quietly humming along to an Aerosmith track playing through his iPod speakers. Stiles nods his head along with the beat and imagines Derek quietly murmuring those words to him in the dead of night, mouthing along his jaw and up to his ear to whisper words of affection and love and sweet nothings while he holds Stiles close and gently thrusts into him.

Okay, so maybe his ridiculous crush is more than a no strings appreciation for Derek's mouth-watering assets. Maybe it's a full blown infatuation with his sour-looking neighbour who, underneath the leather and scowls and the bad boy stubble, is one of the most caring, compassionate people Stiles has ever not-met and casually stalked a little bit. It's not just the spectacularly beautiful balcony garden that Derek religiously cares for, come rain or shine. No. It's the phone calls in the middle of the night to his sister who lives in Argentina even though Derek has to be up at 6am every morning to go and volunteer at the homeless shelter down in Brooklyn. Derek who found a mouse in his apartment last December and spent hours trying to lure it into a shoebox with cheese and crackers to take it down to street level.

Also: abs. And arms. And ass. And soft, wavy locks of stroke-able dark hair and big, hazel eyes that Stiles could get lost in, given half the chance. Ahem.

Stiles takes another slurp of his coffee just as the song switches out for another and Derek startles at the sound, eyes snapping up to meet Stiles' as The Ramones' I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend starts playing through the sound system. Irony at it's painful best.

"Morning," Stiles says calmly, smirking down at Derek, who scowls back before lifting his hand to shield his eyes against the sun. The older man rolls his eyes and sets down his watering can.

"Stiles," Derek grunts. Then Stiles nearly passes out because Derek is stripping off his wife beater and is now standing on his balcony in nothing but a pair of thin, white pyjama pants.

"Gorgeous!" He blurts, staring at a droplet of sweat dripping between Derek's collar bones. It catches the light as it trails across those insanely perfect pecs. "I mean. Those flowers. Just gorgeous in that marigold colour! Exactly the right time of year, am I right?" Derek gives him an I-am-so-not-fooled-by-your-cover-story look and reaches for his pink bug repelling pellets.

"Summer is the middle of their blooming season, yes. You could always come down and take a closer look," Derek states, so matter-of-factly that Stiles is sure he has to have misheard because that sounded a lot like Derek... Like he... But... What... "Get down here, Stiles. And bring me coffee."

Stiles almost knocks his pathetic excuse for a rosemary plant off his own balcony in his haste to obey, but it's totally worth it. Derek was right – the view is even better from close up.