Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1533056.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV), 10_Things_I_Hate_About_You_(1999)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall, Cora_Hale/Isaac
      Lahey, Vernon_Boyd/Erica_Reyes, Lydia_Martin/Jackson_Whittemore
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent, Scott_McCall, Cora_Hale,
      Isaac_Lahey, Vernon_Boyd, Erica_Reyes, Laura_Hale, Talia_Hale, Lydia
      Martin, Jackson_Whittemore, Danny_Mahealani
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, High_School, 10_Things_I_Hate_About_You
      (Movie), Oblivious_Stiles, Oblivious_Derek, Miscommunication, Alternate
      Universe_-_Everyone_Lives/Nobody_Dies, Alive_Hale_Family, Human_Derek
      Hale, Human_Hale_Family, Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Anal_Sex, Anal
      Fingering, First_Time, Bottom_Stiles_Stilinski, BAMF_Lydia_Martin, Lydia
      is_Perfect, Angst, Fluff, Prom, Brief_Mention_of_Past_Derek/Danny
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-04-27 Completed: 2014-04-29 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 15940
****** I Want You To Want Me ******
by sweetbutterbliss
Summary
     Derek scrubs his hands across his face before crossing his arms over
     his chest and furrowing his eyebrows at the two idiots standing in
     front of him. Well, Scott is an idiot. Stiles is...luminescent, and
     all jerky movement, with big, golden brown eyes. And he always has a
     plan. Derek is fucked and, it turns out, unable to say no to him.
Notes
     Beta'd by Heather. (also the evil genius who got me here, obsessing
     over a tv show)
     About a month ago, I read my first Sterek. Then I mainlined the
     series and am officially obsessed with the whole fandom.
     This was supposed to be a 10 Things I Hate About You au, but it got
     out of hand.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Derek scrubs his hands across his face before crossing his arms over his chest
and furrowing his eyebrows at the two idiots standing in front of him. Well,
Scott is an idiot. Stiles is...luminescent, and all jerky movement, with big,
golden brown eyes. And he always has a plan. Derek is fucked and, it turns out,
unable to say no to him.
"So, you're telling me that I have to date Erica Reyes? So that Stiles can date
Lydia?" he speaks a little loudly to compensate for the sounds of the school
machine shop around him.
"Yeah. See, the thing is, Lydia won't date anybody until Erica starts dating.
Something about sister solidarity or something like that," Stiles shrugs,
hiking his backpack up onto his shoulder.
"But why me? I don't even know her."
"But you're both really scary," Scott spits out and then winces as his best
friend hits him in the shoulder.
"What Scott's trying to say, is that you both have the same...uhh...social
reticence," Stiles finishes with a vague hand wave and lopsided smile.
"Which is a nice way of saying we're both scary," Derek tries his best not to
smile, but he can feel himself allowing a vague smirk to cross his face.
"Uh...well you both have that super-hot, untouchable thing going on. Makes
sense right?"
Derek tries even harder to suppress the way his heart thumps at that. Stiles
thinks he's hot. But Stiles still wants him to date someone so that he can date
someone else, so that puts a damper on any other joyful feelings he might have
about that statement.
"So what, do I have to just take her out once or twice and then Lydia will date
you? That's what Lydia said?"
"Yes."
"Stiles," Scott admonishes.
"Okay fine. She didn't say that exactly," Stiles pulls a face, slightly hurt,
and rolls his eyes. Derek does allow himself to smile with all his teeth this
time.
"So you're just hoping this little scheme you two cooked up will work," he
points at both of them.
"Look. Turns out the ten year plan isn't working. Alright? So I need to try
something else. Just help me. For the love of God."
Derek actually loves to watch Stiles get riled up. His jerky hand movements and
put upon expression particularly have a tendency to make his day. He's not sure
what that says about him, but he can't help himself.
"Fine."
Scott and Stiles stare at him.
"Fine, I'll do it."
"You're the best. You won't regret this, Derek, I promise."
"Oh, I'm not worried about that. If I do, I'll make sure you regret it," he
bares his teeth at both of them as they lean back on their heels. "Now get the
fuck out, you're not in this class."
They nod and turn, tail walking fast out of the workshop. Derek shakes his head
and turns back to his project, wondering how he consistently gets himself into
these situations. Maybe it's his face.
***
Derek hates the word 'crush,' it makes him sound like a pathetic thirteen year
old girl. But if he's honest he has to admit that he has a huge crush on Stiles
Stilinski. It's been a crush from afar since Sophmore year, but it got worse
when Stiles insisted they partner up in Chemistry class. Even though Derek had
realized that it wasn't because of his charming personality but because Stiles
didn't want to get stuck with Greenberg.
Stiles is brilliant. He isn't supposed to be in Derek's class, he's been moved
ahead because he's too smart for most of the Freshman classes. His only issue
is that he thinks too fast for his hands to keep up. So Derek had done most of
the note taking while Stiles went on and on about anything and everything;
sometimes the actual assignment but usually about random things. Like
werewolves, circumcision, his dad - the Sheriff. But mostly Lydia Martin. Her
hair, her dimples...on and on and on.
Derek hadn't made the best initial impression. There'd been lots of growling
and eye rolling. He may have possibly pushed Stiles against a wall and yelled
at him to get to work once...or twice(ish).
Stiles had taken it all in stride though. He pushed back at Derek and muttered
about assholes with low blood sugar, but then routinely offered to get him a
snack. Then continued nattering on cheerfully about some inane topic that he
was too informed on.
Derek had found himself missing Stiles when the semester ended. He'd missed
sitting next to him, their knees touching under the table, the way Stiles
always smiled and waved him over like Derek would forget where he sat everyday
without Stiles' help. He'd missed his papers being covered in cheese dust and
having to stop Stiles from falling off his stool when he got too animated.
And now he was going to date some girl for Stiles. So that he could date
somebody else. He's really the biggest idiot he knows. Erica is hot though, and
maybe it'll help him get over his crush on a totally uninterested Stiles.
***
Stiles chews on his pencil, not listening to anything Mr. Harris is saying as
he leans forward and pokes at Scott.
"Hey, man. Do you think we did a shitty thing?" he whispers.
"You mean with Derek?" Scott half leans back in his chair so they can hear each
other properly.
"Yeah. I mean, he's a nice guy...okay, a good person at least. He doesn't
deserve to be used as a pawn," Stiles ignores his best friend's snort at this
statement.
"Dude, I think it'll be fine. It's not like Derek's some blushing virgin."
"What, like you?" Stiles snickers until Scott turns all the way around and
smirks at him, one eyebrow raised. "Fine. Like me. Asshole."
"You don't think he'll like...break Erica's heart?" Scott suddenly looks
concerned, his eyes widening.
"Nah. I think most of that shit is probably just rumors started by people who
couldn't handle him not wanting to be with them. Danny said they hung out last
summer for like a week and he was the perfect gentleman...well you know, not a
gentleman...but uh...he was honest and shit. Didn't lead him on."
The way Danny had acted around Derek after that summer, dropping his gaze and
dimpling, made Stiles' stomach drop and his teeth grit in jealousy. He's gotten
really good at ignoring that jealousy though. Pretty much ever since he laid
eyes on Derek lounging against the lockers, grinning at some girl leaning into
his personal space.
Stiles had been mesmerised at how beautiful he was, his thin t-shirt stretched
across broad arms as he crossed them, his dark stubble making him look about
five years too old for high school. As soon as the girl had walked away, the
smile had dropped and he'd focused his intense stare on Stiles, who'd
immediately tripped over his feet and dropped all of his books.
So, he has a bit of a crush on Derek Hale. Who doesn't? He's pretty sure even
Finstock has a crush on Derek. His grandma wouldn't be able to help herself.
Too bad the guy hates him for no apparent reason.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Asking a girl out is surprisingly nerve wracking. Derek watches Erica sitting
at a picnic table in the sunlight, a book pressed open in front of her and one
hand capturing her blonde curls from blowing in her face. She's dressed to kill
as always, a short skirt and sky high heels dangling off her foot as she
bounces her leg.
He can't remember the last time he had to ask someone; they just kind of come
to him. He hasn't thought about it much until now. He heaves a sigh through his
nose, rolls his shoulders back, and pushes himself off the tree.
"Hey Erica," he mumbles.
"Derek," She doesn't even look up, licking her thumb and turning the page.
"How are you?" Derek shifts uncomfortably, fighting the urge to cross his arms.
Laura always says that his body language is very hostile.
"Derek Hale," Erica finally looks up. "We've spoken maybe twice ever, and now
you want to know how I am. Why?"
"Look, I uh...just thought maybe you'd like to go out sometime," Derek gives up
and crosses his arms, glaring down at her. He's probably just ruined
everything, and Stiles will hate him forever.
Erica laughs and begins putting her book back in her purse.
"Alright. Why not? When?"
"What?" Derek blinks.
"Traditionally, dates usually have a date. And a start time. Do you have one in
mind?' Erica speaks slowly, like Derek is five years old.
"Tomorrow. I'll pick you up at 8," he whirls around and walks away without
waiting for an answer, wondering the whole time how this is his life.
His scowl melts when he sees Stiles standing next to the vending machines,
giving him a thumbs up and a huge smile. He nods and quirks a quick smile,
before heading inside the building. Once inside he breaks out into a grin that
he can't smother. He's so fucked.
***
The date is an absolute disaster.
Derek picks Erica up and takes her to the local diner, where they sit in
uncomfortable silence broken only by the waiter taking their order.
Erica shreds her napkin with her long, red nails and chews nervously on her
lip.
"So, um. How was your day?" Derek tries through gritted teeth.
"Good. The usual," she bobs her head, causing her earrings to swing. "Yours?"
"Same," Derek shrugs.
"You don't talk much?"
"Nope," Derek spreads his hands in an attempt at a wordless apology. "I have
two sisters. They kind of do all the talking for me."
Erica grins.
"Yeah Lydia does that too."
"How in the hell are you friends with Lydia Martin?" Derek blurts out before he
can think any better.
"People ask me that all the time. Why would perfect, popular Lydia want to be
friends with grade A loser Erica?" Erica scowls.
"No. Don't put words in my mouth. I don't get how you can stand all that..." he
waves his hands in the air.
"Bossy cheerfulness?" Erica supplies with a laugh. Derek nods. "Yeah, our
parents are friends, we got stuck together a lot and being only children...you
know."
"I guess."
"She looks after me. Gave me a makeover. Even bullied my doctor into trying new
medication that actually ended up working. I love her, but she can be a pain in
the ass."
Derek vaguely remembers something about seizures and a YouTube video.
"That's good," he really means it. Maybe Lydia's not quite so terrible. She
still loses points for making Stiles work so hard though. Although he supposes
for that he should be grateful.
They sit in silence again until their food comes. The waitress actually turns
her back on Erica to lean over and touch Derek's arms, cleavage on full
display. She asks in a simpering voice if Derek needs anything.
"Honey, I tell you what I need. I need you to stop touching my date," Erica's
voice is like ice, and she bares her teeth at the woman who rushes off in a
huff. Erica's expression is so similar to something Derek himself would have on
his own face that he laughs and instantly relaxes. He squirts ketchup onto his
fries and grins at Erica who laughs back and steals from his plate.
The rest of the date is actually pretty great after that, until it comes time
to go home.
***
"Do you think I'm pretty, Derek?" Erica leans over the stick shift, her
shoulder pressed to his.
"Uh, yeah. Of course. You wear a lot of make up," he blurts out, the tips of
his ears going red.
Erica raises an eyebrow at him, her mouth ticking up at the corner.
"But you wear it well. I mean, it looks good on you. I don't care how much make
up you wear."
Erica bursts out laughing and settles back into her own seat.
"You know, you're actually the worst at this."
"Hey," Derek halfheartedly protests, then slumps further down in his seat.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I just don't have to try usually."
"Wow that makes you sound really arrogant. But I get it. I mean, look at you,"
she doesn't actually look at him; too busy checking her lipstick in the sun
visor.
"So why did you ask me out then?" She turns, flipping the visor back up.
"I don't know," Derek doesn't look at her, suddenly fascinated with the
blinker, clicking it off and on.
"Right. So we're going to sit here until you tell me, okay? Was this Lydia's
idea?"
"No!" He says a little too quickly. "I just thought it'd be fun. Why the third
degree?"
She squints at Derek and then snaps her fingers loud enough to make him flinch.
"It was Stiles. I know it. He's always scheming to get into Lydia's pants."
"I don't think he just wants in her pants," Derek tries to defend him.
"Oh yeah, he thinks he's in love with her. Except that it's basic psych 101;
she's unattainable so he doesn't actually have to try. He's self sabotaging.
But that still doesn't explain why you agreed to help him."
Derek wills his face not to turn red and holds his breath.
"Oh my god. You like him. You like Stiles! Skinny, annoying Stiles. I can't
believe it," she's delighted, ignoring Derek's vigorous head shaking.
"He's not annoying. Or actually that skinny," Derek snaps.
"Oh honey, you've got it bad," Erica reaches out to pat his shoulder and Derek
hits his head back against the seat and nods.
"Well, what are we going to do about it then?" Erica's grinning full out at him
now, and he hates her. Mostly himself, but also her.
"You're going to go inside and I'm going to go home so I can lie face down on
my bed and forget the worst date ever."
"Oh, you got that right. I was really expecting better from such a ladies man."
"Shut up," Derek scowls.
"No, it wasn't all bad, I think we're going to be great friends, Derek Hale.
Also, we're definitely going to figure out how to get you your man."
She kisses him on the cheek, ignoring his protests, and exits the car, clicking
her way up the steps. She waves before letting herself in and Derek drives home
and lies face down on his bed for most of the night, like he promised, trying
to pretend like this isn't his life.
***
"Hey, Der, you look like shit," Cora announces cheerfully at the breakfast
table.
"Shut up."
"Are you not sleeping again, honey?" Talia runs a soothing hand through his
hair and he leans into it for a minute.
"Derek never sleeps. Just lies awake brooding," Laura teases, crunching into
her apple.
Talia clucks in sympathy and fills his plate with bacon.
"Eat up, you don't want to be late."
Derek allows himself to relax as he shovels food into his mouth, listening as
his sisters tease each other, but mostly him; his mom admonishing them but
trying not to laugh. He even lets his mom hug him before he leaves.
"Come on, Der Bear! Don't want to be late otherwise you'll miss your dream
boy," Cora laughs, dragging her backpack off the counter.
Derek follows her to the car, spluttering useless threats and denials.
"Oh stop, big brother. We're going to get you some," Cora does a swivel hip
dance in her seat and Derek prays for patience.
"For the love of God, never do that in my presence again."
"So grumpy! Stop growling at me, you weren't raised by wolves."
***
Maybe he should just ask Stiles out. His sisters and Erica seem to think so.
But they don't really get it. Every time Stiles is within a few feet of him, he
gets nervous; sweaty palms, dry throat, the works. And the way he deals with it
is to get hostile. He ends up yelling, or shoving, or just glaring and walking
away.
Afterwards, he always feels like an asshole but he really can't help himself.
And now Erica and Cora are on the same team. Team Get-Derek-In-Stiles'-Pants.
That's the official name. Erica had a whole elaborate title that talked about
Derek getting the D, but Cora had vetoed that one. So here they are, trying to
convince him to invite Stiles to eat lunch with them.
No pressure, they said.
Just a casual group thing, they said.
Derek spends his lunch hiding in the library, reading, so of course that's
where Stiles ends up finding him.
"Hey, buddy," Stiles shoves Derek's feet out of the chair and sits down beside
him.
Derek doesn't reply, only raises an eyebrow.
"Do you know you look just like grumpy cat when you do that?" Stiles asks,
grinning.
Derek exaggerates his frown, turning his mouth down further and scrunching his
eyebrows together.
Stiles laughs too loudly for the library and tries to muffle it when someone
shushes him.
"Sometimes you're exactly what I need."
Derek feels his chest tighten and smiles without even realizing it. Stiles
stutters to a stop and stares.
"You're smiling," Stiles points out, his mouth hanging open.
Derek shrugs and schools his face back into a scowl.
"Aw. Don't make it go away!" Stiles scoots his chair closer and breathes on
Derek's face; he smells of gum and Red Bull. "It's really cute. You should do
it more."
"Whatever. I smile."
"Uh, okay man. You don't smile. You smirk. That's about it."
"Shut up."
"Awww, there's the Derek Hale I know and love. Soooo, how'd your date go?"
"None of your business," Derek mumbles and pretends to read The Heart of
Darkness.
"Oh, so it went well then. Heeeyy."
Derek refuses to look up, knowing the tips of his ears are red. Stiles is quiet
for long enough that Derek does look up and sees Stiles staring down at his
lap, fidgeting with the hole in his jeans.
"You okay?" Derek touches him lightly on the shoulder.
"Uhh...yeah! Totally! Of course. Right as rain. I probably should go though.
You know...to class. Since lunch is over," Stiles is babbling more than usual,
stumbling over his own feet as he backs away.
"You sure?" Derek is almost concerned; Stiles looks pale and sweaty underneath
his blush.
"Yeah. Didn't know you cared. But anyway, I'll see ya," he laughs, stilted and
nervous, before turning and leaving.
He thought they were having an actual conversation for a minute and then Stiles
goes and freaks out for no reason. Derek will never figure the guy out.
***
Stiles made a fool of himself again. Why should he be upset? He's the one who
told Derek to go out with Erica. The guy got laid, good for him.
So why does he feel sick at the thought? He leans against the wall and knocks
his head against the tiles.
"What are you doing, Stiles?" Lydia is standing at his shoulder giving him her
usual regal stare down.
"Hey, Lydia. Just you know, trying to give myself a concussion. No big deal."
"Right," she snaps out.
"And might I say you look lovely as always, Ms. Martin."
"I know. But the flattery is still appreciated," she smiles with the full force
of her dimples, which oddly makes him think of Derek's dimples. They aren't
quite as obvious as Lydia's creases, but they're there; he'd seen them not ten
minutes ago when Derek had smiled at him.
"Stiles. Are you even listening to me?" Lydia impatiently shoves her books into
his chest and digs in her purse for something. She pulls out a mirror and
lipstick, and he watches in awe as she opens her mouth to reapply what looks
like already perfect makeup.
He wonders what it tastes like. Aren't those things flavored or something?
"Look, I see that you got Derek to take out Erica. So since a deal is a deal,
I'll go out with you," she sighs heavily and puts her hand on her hip.
"What?! You will?" Stiles can't believe that he's hearing her properly. He's
had actual fantasies about this happening; he tries to pinch himself while
holding all of Lydia's books.
"I said I'll go out with you, Stilinski. One date."
"Okay. Yes. Thanks. I'd really like that," he actually walks in a circle like a
little fucking dog before Lydia huffs and takes her books back from him.
"Next Wednesday at eight, I expect somewhere nice and you'll be paying. Don't
be late or I won't be there," she smiles again and walks off, her short skirt
bouncing tantalizingly against her thighs.
"You won't regret this! I swear!" He hollers after her; she ignores him but the
rest of the hallway turns and snickers.
He waves and does a little dance, not even caring about his audience. He has to
call Scott, hopefully he's not sucking face with Allison again. He pulls his
phone out and as he waits for it to connect he looks up and notices Derek at
the other end of the hall frowning at Stiles. No sign of any dimples now.
Stiles blanches and waves, but Derek just turns around and shoves out the
double doors, letting them slam shut behind him.
***
Derek is lying face down on his bed listening to The Smiths wail as Cora
wanders in complaining about how he's killing her with his pathetic sad music.
She lowers the volume and flops down next to him. He turns his head and raises
an eyebrow at her; she's texting one handed and patting him on the back with
the other.
"You know. Your show of unexpected sympathy would be more sincere if you'd put
your phone down."
"Oh, Der Bear, I'm calling in reinforcements."
She drops the phone on the bed and turns to face him.
"What's the matter? And don't say nothing. You're one step away from black out
curtains and eyeliner."
Derek just groans into the blanket.
"Alright. This is serious. I'll be right back. Don't move," Cora laughs at her
own joke as she rushes out of the room.
She comes back fifteen minutes later with Erica and Laura in tow. And most
importantly a tub of Ben and Jerry's complete with four spoons.
"Bowls! We don't need no stinking bowls!" Laura crows as they crowd onto his
bed, forcing him to sit up against the headboard and take a spoon.
***
"So let me get this straight?" Laura mumbles around her spoon, tucked against
Derek's side. "You don't want to be over him?"
Derek just glares at her and takes the tub back.
"And you don't want to get under someone else," Erica giggles at her own joke.
"Why are you even here?" Derek mutters.
"Face it, Derek. We're friends now."
"Lucky me," Derek grumbles as the girls giggle around him.
"I know what you need!" Laura holds up her spoon in an a-ha kind of way.
"Oh please, tell me," Derek fishes for cookie dough chunks out of the bottom.
"A party!" Cora and Laura say at the same time.
"Seriously? That's your solution?"
"Yep, and Stiles will be there and you can seduce him with your grumpy face and
that little growling thing you do. Yeah, just like that!" Cora points at his
face.
"Anyway, Mom and Dad are away for the weekend and I'm in charge. I'm in
college, it's as though it's my God given duty to throw a party while they're
gone. Honestly, I think they'd be disappointed if I didn't."
"I see. Use my pain and heartbreak as an excuse to get your college friends
wasted."
"Yes!" Laura grins at him, nudging his shoulder.
He hates to admit it but he actually feels better. There's something about
being bracketed in by people who care, especially those who care enough to
bring ice cream.
And a party will at least mean he can mope in company and with good booze. He
shrugs and let the girls' plans wash over him while he scrapes away at the last
bit of creamy goodness.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Derek sips at some sort of horrible concoction of Kool Aid and vodka (mostly
vodka) out of a red solo cup. He's already had a full glass and is feeling
pleasantly buzzed; not drunk yet, because people are definitely still annoying
him and his head is pounding from the ridiculous music and crush of sweaty
bodies.
Laura's parties are kind of an event and people he's never seen are sitting on
his couch and crowding around the refrigerator. He has to peel more than one
over zealous person off himself before escaping up the stairs, praying silently
that no one has decided to use his bed for anything nefarious as he swings open
the door.
The hall light illuminates someone lying on his bed, and he has a moment of
being pissed before he recognizes the profile.
Stiles. Lying on his bed, a hand behind his head and one sneakered foot hanging
off the edge. Derek clears his throat and moves further into the room.
Stiles startles, sitting bolt upright.
"Hey. Sorry, dude. I guess this is your room, huh?"
Derek sets his cup down on the desk and flicks the lamp on. The light is soft
gold and creates shadows in the hollows of Stiles' face, lighting up his eyes
and causing them to almost glow amber.
Derek swallows and sits down backwards in his chair, crossing his arms over the
back and resting his chin on them.
"S'cool. I get it," he shrugs and just watches Stiles; a little too much
alcohol in his system for him to feel bashful about it. Luckily Stiles isn't
paying much attention, chewing on his lips and staring at his shoes.
"Lydia came with Jackson," he mutters.
"Oh," Derek isn't sure what to say, he hates to see Stiles sad, but there's a
stutter of hope in his chest that he can't seem to tamp down.
"I just...she asked me out. Or I guess I asked her out and she agreed. I don't
fucking know," Stiles stares at his hands. "I'm not saying she has to go out
with me, but...Jackson. For fuck's sake. What a douchebag."
Stiles flops back onto the bed with a groan and Derek can't help but feel a
need to lick the sliver of skin that's revealed when his t-shirt rides up. He
clears his throat and tries to think of something to say.
"I guess I should have known better. I'm not that guy."
"What guy?" Derek asks, confused.
"You know. The guy that gets the girl. Or the guy. Or anybody, I guess."
"What?" Derek grimaces; he can actually hear Erica telling him that he's 'the
worst' in his head.
"Nothing. I'm sure you don't need me moping around, harshing your mellow and
all that."
Stiles stands and straightens his shirt, walking the few feet to the door
before he turns back.
"Thanks for listening. It's nice not to have everything you say compared to
something Allison said or did. I love Scott, he's my bro but...he's kind of
obsessed. And well, anyway, thanks..."
Derek is suddenly furiously angry. He shoves the chair out of his way and
stands.
"I don't fucking get it."
"What? The girl of my dreams came to a party with the biggest douchebag I've
ever met. I'm pathetic...I was just wallowing in it. What's not to get?"
Stiles' shoulders slump forward and Derek, in two quick steps, is in front of
him, shoving him against the door as it closes with a thunk.
Stiles tenses and holds his hands up, turning his face to the side. Maybe it's
the alcohol or the desperate feeling in his chest, but he feels like he has to
make Stiles understand. He brackets Stiles' head with his two hands, his nails
scratching against the wood.
"Look at me," he waits until Stiles turns to him, his honey brown eyes wide and
confused.
"I don't fucking get why you don't see it," he grinds out.
"Dude, can you just take a step back?" Stiles pushes ineffectually against
Derek's chest, clearly not listening.
"You're worth more then this bullshit, Stiles. You're so fucking smart and
loyal. Lydia should be begging you for dates. And I hate....hate that you don't
even see that."
Stiles has stopped pushing, his hands unconsciously clenching into Derek's
shirt. He licks his lips and Derek can feel his face turning red.
"I don't..." Stiles huffs a breath. "I don't understand."
Derek scowls, drops his hands and goes to take a step back, but Stiles stops
him with a hand on his shoulder.
"I want to understand though. Talk to me."
Derek looks at the floor, chewing on his bottom lip. He knows that this will be
mortifying later, when Stiles leaves and tells his friends just how awkward
Derek Hale really is. He's already started this, and if it's going to be
terrible later then he may as well make it worth his while.
"I'm not that great with words," Derek shrugs helplessly.
"Yeah no shit, buddy. You're definitely the strong, silent type. But I
just...kind of need you to tell me what you meant. I can't go home and just lie
awake thinking about it. Trust me, sleep deprived Stiles is not a version of
Stiles that people enjoy."
Derek steps forward and slides his hands down the side of Stiles' neck, his
fingers buried in the hair at the back of his head, and his thumbs cradling his
jaw. He tilts Stiles' head back and just looks at him; crowding in until Stiles
is pressed back against the door and running a thumb across Stiles' lower lip.
Stiles closes his eyes and Derek can see the smudge of his eyelashes; he wants
nothing more than to kiss across the hollows in his eyes. Instead he presses
his mouth against Stiles'. Stiles clutches at the back of Derek's shirt and
pushes forward into the kiss, instantly opening up under Derek's mouth.
It's perfect, the way their bodies slot together, and the kiss is warm and wet.
Stiles trembles as Derek's hands slide down his shoulders and to the sway of
his lower back, bringing them closer together. They're both already hard and
the friction is beautiful; Derek experimentally grinds his hips up and Stiles
moans into his mouth.
Derek tears his mouth away and gasps for air. All of his nerve endings are
firing and every touch is sending sparks across his skin. He turns them around
and kisses across Stiles' face and down his neck, manhandling him backwards
toward the bed. Stiles is surprisingly quiet; when Derek had allowed himself to
think of this he'd always pictured a lot of babbling from Stiles, or sex talk
at least. But Stiles is just letting out these little tiny little moans and
gasps of air when they break apart and it's so much better than anything Derek
ever imagined.
He gets Stiles on the bed with a gentle push. Stiles ends up sprawled across
it, cater-cornered, his long legs hanging off the side and his arms still
gripping at Derek, pulling him down on top of his body. He continues to make
the little noises in the back of his throat as he drags Derek closer, and Derek
just kneels above him, smiling like an idiot.
"I really love it when you smile," Stiles runs a finger over Derek's mouth and
turns red, a flush spreading across the bridge of his nose.
"I love it when you make me smile," Derek grabs Stiles' wrist and sucks his
fingers into his mouth. He tastes salt and Kool Aid, and Stiles looks like he's
about ready to come just from this; his pupils blown wide and his hips
unconsciously making little thrusts up toward Derek.
He moans loudly when Derek lets them slide out with a pop.
"Let's be clear," Derek bends down to bite at Stiles' neck, where his t-shirt
has exposed his collarbone.
"Clear?" Stiles manages to choke out, gripping at Derek's hips, trying vainly
to tug him closer.
Derek sits back on his heels and strips his shirt off.
"Yeah. I want us to get naked together and I'd really like to fuck you, but I'm
honestly okay with anything. So let's be clear with each other."
Stiles pants underneath him, his eyes shut tight, and Derek sees his Adam's
apple bob as he swallows deeply.
"Uh...yeah...fucking, please. Can we do that?"
"You sure?"
"For the love of Christ, Derek," Stiles props himself up on his elbows and uses
one hand to tug at Derek's belt. Derek laughs at Stiles' angry growl when he
can't get the buckle undone.
He slides off the side of the bed and stands, removing his pants and boxers in
one movement. Stiles groans and covers his eyes with his hands.
"You're too much. Why are you allowed to be so hot?" Stiles lowers his hands
and nervously fiddles with the bottom of his shirt.
"You have no idea how long I've waited to see you like this. So shut up and
take your clothes off."
"Ugh. Bossy," Stiles grins and goes to pull his shirt over his head, but
forgets about his flannel and ends up tangled up in it, his arms trapped above
his head. Derek huffs a laugh and, while Stiles is otherwise occupied, makes
short work of his jeans, tugging them off and pulling his briefs down. He
resists the urge to lick at Stiles' hard cock pressed up against his stomach
and instead straddles him, gently freeing him from his shirt prison.
"Should have known you'd need help," he takes Stiles' face in his hands and
kisses him. He still can't believe he's here, doing this. He has Stiles in his
bed and he knows what Stiles mouth tastes like, and how he sounds with his
hands touching his body. He can feel Stiles' tentatively running hands up and
down his back, gripping at Derek's hips; with one surprisingly smooth move, he
knocks Derek onto his back and crawls over him while Derek laughs up at the
ceiling.
Stiles bites at Derek's throat hard enough to leave a mark and Derek feels a
thrill in his stomach thinking about wearing Stiles' marks for a few days.
Stiles bites down harder and Derek moans loudly.
"You like that?" Stiles pulls back to grin down at him. His pupils are dilated
and his mouth is red and swollen.
"Fuck yes," Derek rolls them back over and pins Stiles down with his hips as he
fumbles for the lube and condoms in his bedside table. Stiles doesn't make it
easy, continuing to suck and bite bruising marks wherever he can reach Derek's
chest.
Derek finally finds what he needs and drops them on the bed beside them. He
growls low and attacks Stiles neck, leaving matching marks across his pale
skin.
"Oh my God. How am I going to explain this?" Stiles says, but his moans, and
the way he's grinding up against Derek's hip leaking precome all over them
both, make Derek confident that he doesn't actually care.
"Just tell them that they're from me," he sits back on his knees, admiring his
handy work, he runs one hand down Stiles' chest which has turned red and
blotchy. It still feels surreal and he has this feeling like any minute he's
going to wake up with sticky sheets and another depressing day ahead of him.
"Are you ready?" he asks past the knot in his throat.
"Umm...yeah. Okay, yeah," Stiles nods quickly.
Derek gets his fingers wet, he doesn't want this to be in any way
uncomfortable, but he wants to fucking wreck Stiles; leave him speechless and
debauched.
He slides the first finger in and it's tight, so tight that he just sticks with
the one for a while. Stiles is staring at him with an open mouth, inhaling
deeply through his nose. Derek smiles at him and strokes his side with his free
hand, soothing him as he adds a second finger. Stiles' eyes are shut tight and
his hands are fisted into the covers. Derek is worried that he's doing
something wrong, so he gently crooks his fingers hunting for Stiles' prostate
knowing that it'll make him relax. He takes a minute to find it and when he
does, Stiles' eyes widen almost comically and he knees Derek in the ribs.
Derek laughs and runs his fingers over it again; Stiles' cock twitches and
Derek repeats the movement, making Stiles shout and come all over himself.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry."
"Do you want me to stop?" Derek stills his fingers, holding his breath.
"No. No. I can get it up again," Stiles grins and Derek leans forward to kiss
his face, his cheeks, his eyelids, and finally his mouth. He gently moves his
fingers again and Stiles stops participating in the kiss, his mouth slack and
soft noises coming out from it. Derek grins and moves back to add a third
finger, spreading them out and Stiles winces a little but, when Derek stops
moving, he impatiently pushes himself down, fucking himself on Derek's fingers.
Which is...which is probably the hottest thing Derek has ever seen.
"Fuck, Stiles," he puts a hand on Stiles' hip, stilling him and pulls fingers
free. "Just stay still for a minute."
Stiles nods and his cock is already half hard again. Derek rolls the condom on
and then slicks himself up with more lube.
"Up," he pats Stiles' hip and shoves a pillow under his ass, draping his legs
over and around Derek's hips. Derek runs his hand down Stiles' legs, never
having realized how long they are, he gets distracted for a moment - until
Stiles makes a frustrated noise and pulls Derek closer with them, wrapping them
around his waist.
"Okay. Tell me what you want, okay," Derek braces one hand against the
comforter next to Stiles' shoulder and guides his cock to Stiles' hole. He
pushes gently, his eyes squeezing shut at the tightness. His whole brain goes
offline, all that's left is tight, hot, Stiles, want.
He pushes forward agonizingly slowly until he finally bottoms out. Stiles puts
a hand on his chest and pants out for him to 'wait.' Stiles shifts his hips a
bit and tilts his pelvis, biting his lip, a look of concentration on his face.
He moves his hips around and Derek grits his teeth in the effort not to move
with him. He can feel himself trembling, in his arms and his stomach until
Stiles closes his eyes and then opens them wide a few seconds later. The golden
brown stares up at him and he smiles; it's slow and spreads across his face
like melting butter. Derek groans and leans forward to kiss him.
"Okay, okay. You can move now," Stiles says between kisses.
Stiles' cock had been half hard but had gone down again with the waiting and
initial discomfort. As Derek slides out and then in again, angling his hips to
find the best way to wring noises out of Stiles, it begins to fill again until
it's fully hard and wet at the tip. Stiles' belly is already a mess of sweat
and come, and Derek uses his free hand to swipe his fingers through and taste
it. Stiles makes a hnnnng sound and lifts his arms to the headboard, pressing
his palms flat and using the leverage to fuck himself down onto Derek's cock.
Derek takes a moment to look down to where they're joined together, watching
intently for a few strokes. He meets Stiles on the upstroke, but Stiles isn't
making any kind of coherent noise anymore, just loud keens and shouts,
occasionally Derek's name but mostly just fucks and yeahs. He gets
progressively louder as Derek happily thrusts into him, willing everyone to
hear Stiles calling out Derek's name.
He grips Stiles' cock in his hand and it takes only two or three strokes before
Stiles is coming and making even more of a mess of himself. Derek hitches
Stiles' suddenly boneless legs up around him again and lifts his ass higher
with his hands, losing all rhythm as he fucks him, Stiles' ass still clenching
and spasming around his cock. He stills and comes with a quiet groan and a
muttered Stiles.
He winces in sympathy at Stiles' uncomfortable hiss as he slowly pulls out.
"Sorry. Sorry," he mutters as he disposes of the condom, practically tripping
over himself to get back to the bed. Derek collapses on top of Stiles and tucks
his head under Stiles' chin, wrapping his arms around and underneath Stiles'
back. Stiles runs his hands through Derek's hair, their legs tangled together.
"I could fucking die happy right now," Derek mumbles into Stiles' sweaty
shoulder, then he stills as he realizes how ridiculous he sounds.
"Oh good. I thought I was the only one," Stiles laughs and Derek relaxes
completely.
"We're going to be glued together Derek," Stiles reminds him.
"I don't even care. You're not allowed to move," Derek squeezes him tighter and
ignores the gross slick of their bellies pressed together. He really doesn't
want to move and have to do the awkward after-sex thing. He wants to stay like
this for as long as they possibly can.
Stiles shrugs as best as he can when being squashed by Derek.
"Okay," he whispers.
Eventually, Stiles complains about not being able to breathe and being thirsty.
Derek grumbles but peels himself off and shuffles to the bathroom, grabbing a
wet washcloth and a glass of cold water.
He cleans himself off, and then Stiles, while he inhales the water, fumbling
the glass onto the bedside table.
"I think you broke me, Derek Hale. All my limbs have stopped co-operating."
Derek laughs and tosses the washcloth toward the vicinity of his dirty clothes
pile, throwing himself back into bed.
"Well, I guess that means you have to stay, can't have you driving home without
co-operating limbs."
He arranges Stiles, who's almost completely asleep already, into the position
of little spoon. He drags the sheets up from the bottom of the bed and pulls
them up around them, draping an arm around Stiles' waist before gently biting
at his shoulder. Stiles flails a bit and tries to smack him but misses. Derek
kisses the mark better and pulls Stiles in tighter before quietly drifting off
himself.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Stiles wakes with a jerk and immediately regrets it. He hurts, it's kind of an
all over ache, but it's definitely centered somewhere in the vicinity of his
ass. When he remembers why he hurts though, it morphs into a good hurt. He's
still hurting but at least he's pleased about why he's in pain. That apparently
makes a world of difference.
He stretches gingerly and rolls over slowly to look at Derek. To look at naked
Derek! Asleep! Next to him! He's pretty sure his brain short circuits for a
second or two. He smooths his hand gently over Derek's shoulders and down the
dip of his back, running fingers across the tattoo, wondering what it means.
He's not sure whether he wants Derek to wake up or not, so he holds his breath,
gently exploring. Derek remains asleep, but he has a vague smile on his face
and he seems to unconsciously angle his body into Stiles' touch.
Stiles has to bite his bottom lip to keep himself from grinning too wide. He
feels like if he speaks, or if Derek wakes up, it'll ruin the entire moment.
Stiles is hard again, because it's morning and because he's 16. He's not so
sure about fucking again (yet) but he'd like to maybe have an up close look at
Derek's cock in the light of day.
Just as he's working up to shake Derek awake, his phone blares at him from the
floor. He starts, windmilling his arms and just about stops himself from
toppling off the bed.
"Smooth, Stilinski," he mutters to himself as he hunts down his pants and then
extracts his phone from the pocket. It's Scott, so he hits answer, but before
he says anything, he hides himself in the bathroom and shuts the door.
"Hey man, what's up?" he whispers. He attempts to sit on the side of the tub,
remembers the pain in his ass too late, and pops back up immediately, just
about managing to muffle a pained moan.
"Are you okay dude?!" Scott sounds a bit frantic.
"Yeah. What's the matter? You don't sound so great, bro."
"Uhh...yeah. You're in deep shit!"
"What're you talking about?" he frowns at himself in the mirror, noting the
bruises and bite marks littering his torso. Scarves it is then.
Scott doesn't answer and suddenly the stomach-sinking, anger filled voice of
his Dad comes across the line.
"Son, if you're not home before I get back there from Scott's, I'll actually
kill you. And I'll get away with it too, because I'm the Sheriff. You've got a
lot of explaining to do."
"Oh God," he squints at his phone, and his stomach drops even further when he
sees that it's nearly 11am. He should've been home hours and hours ago. "I'm
sorry, Dad. I'll be there. I promise."
He can hear the anger but also the fear in his Dad's voice. He hates to make
his Dad worry like that since his Mom died; he can't imagine making his Dad
think that he'd lost someone else. He feels like a colossal douchebag. An
exhausted, colossal douchebag with a sore ass. Great start to the day.
He hops around the room trying to pull his pants on, simultaneously attempting
to hunt down his shirt. He finds the tee but gives up on the flannel. He leans
over the bed to shake Derek; Derek who still doesn't respond. The man sleeps
like the dead and Stiles really doesn't have time for this. He decides he'll
just text him later and shoves his feet into his shoes, running out of the door
and down the stairs. He spots a wide eyed Laura standing at the counter, a cup
of coffee raised halfway to her mouth. She breaks into a smile and is just
about to say something before Stiles cuts her off.
Stiles shakes his head and waves. "Igottagososorrypleasetellderekbye!" He races
past her and out of the house, ignoring his aches in favor of just barely
speeding to make it home in time. The Hale house is kind of out in the boonies,
next to the Preserve. He beats his Dad by seconds; he's just turning off the
ignition when he pulls in next to Stiles.
His Dad looks tired and in need of a shave and some coffee. He points at the
house, his mouth a thin line.
Stiles trudges into the house, his head hanging low. He leans against the
kitchen counter, hands in pockets, staring at his shoes.
"Stiles," his Dad huffs, clearly trying as hard as he can not to shout.
"Stiles, for a Sheriff's kid you actually have a lot of freedom. I mean, I
don't have much choice with my schedule. I have to be able to trust you."
"But you can, Dad. You know that," Stiles attempts.
"Look, we had a deal. If you weren't home by two you had to call me and tell me
where you were. Do you know what time it is?" The Sheriff doesn't actually wait
for an answer. "It's almost noon. That means I had no idea where you were for
ten hours, Stiles!"
"I'm sorry, Dad. I fell asleep," he knows it sounds like the worst excuse, but
it's technically true.
"Oh, well at least one of us got some sleep. Lucky you. Ten hours, Stiles! You
can't...you can't do that to me," his voice breaks, and Stiles wants to curl up
on himself and disappear into the floor.
"Give me your phone."
"What for?" Stiles asks, but reaches into his pocket anyway, placing it in his
Dad's hand.
"Because if you can't be bothered to use it, why have it? It's locked away for
a week. No exceptions."
Stiles really can't argue. It's not that terrible, really. He doesn't think his
Dad is aware that he can still talk to all of his friends through Hangouts or
Skype. So he nods and lets him rant a bit longer until he runs out of steam.
It isn't until much later that day after all the manual labor his dad has put
him through, that he remembers that he never called Derek. He sits back on his
heels, wiping sweat from his forehead, trying not to smear potting soil all
over himself at the same time.
"Fuck," he mutters quietly. He doesn't know Derek's number and he can only
imagine the look on his Dad's face if he asked to see his phone or even go
anywhere today. He resolves to see Derek on Monday and explain himself.
He feels a bit giddy about it actually, and can't tamp down the smile on his
face as he digs further into the dirt with renewed energy.
***
Sunday is the longest day of his life. He hates Sundays. His dad has a rare day
off, so Stiles can't even sneak off to the Hale house while he's at work. He
re-arranges his room and then re-arranges it back again. He finishes all his
homework, finishes reading the assigned book for class, and starts on the next
one; even though they won't start it until next semester.
He paces his room before giving in and stalking Derek online. He only finds a
few articles about baseball stuff. There are some "pillar of the community"
articles but those are mostly about Derek's parents. He doesn't even have a
Facebook for fuck's sake. Stiles considers calling Danny, who could probably
get him something, but it's late and Danny would want some great big favor for
such a tiny bit of info. He decides to sleep, or attempt to sleep, and just see
Derek in the morning.
***
Derek's using Erica as a human shield. He's not too proud to admit it. He's got
her tucked into his lap, one hand on her hip, and his chin hooked over her
shoulder. She's taking it in stride, chatting with Cora about some guy she met
at the party. Boyd works at the ice rink and wants to take her skating after
hours. Derek's ears hurt from all the squeeing coming from the two of them, but
he can't bring himself to leave; he needs their closeness and protection.
He'd woken up on Sunday morning...afternoon...alone. There's no note and Laura
says Stiles had rushed out in a panic a few hours before.
"I think he said to tell you bye, but it was kind of a mush of words. Soooo, he
spent the night..."
Cora hoots from the kitchen. "Get it my son!"
Derek tries not to grin and laugh, but it's a losing battle. They spend the
rest of the day recovering on the couch, with lots of Gatorade and greasy take
out food. Derek still has Stiles' number from their Chemistry project and he
texts a few times. He tries to be subtle, but he checks his phone constantly,
double checking it's on and even if it's still working by texting Erica. She
replies right away, but he still gets no answer from Stiles.
He texts again, aware that he's edging into desperate stalker territory. He
just can't help it, his chest feels tight and his stomach hurts from more than
just a hangover. Cora and Laura keep sending him worried glances as he gets
progressively more morose throughout the day. He ends up snapping at them about
how unsubtle they're being.
"I'm sure there's a reason, Derek. Maybe an emergency came up."
"There is a reason. I'm an idiot. Simple," he crosses his arms and slinks lower
into the couch, resting his chin on his chest. He doesn't care that he's being
melodramatic. He ends the night with his head in Laura's lap, as she runs her
hands through his hair and watches old episodes of The Office.
In the morning his phone is still text free; he grinds his teeth and grips the
case so hard it creaks. Alright, so Stiles used him to forget about how upset
he was about Lydia. That's fine, he doesn't need that kind of shit. He can move
on.
He spends the drive to school wavering between anger and desperate sadness. He
tries to focus on Cora's chatter, but it's impossible, so he just lets it flow
over him as he drives too fast.
They wait for the first bell in the courtyard, and as soon as he sees Erica he
drags her into his lap. He already filled her in yesterday about the awful
radio silence and she seems to get it, just shrugging and holding his hand in
her lap. He closes his eyes and smells her shampoo; something fruity and he
makes himself think of anything but Stiles until the bell rings.
***
"Allison bought condoms," Scott looks stunned, peering at Stiles with wide
eyes. "Why do you think she did that?"
They're sitting on the bench in the locker room, tuning out Finstock berating
Greenburg again.
"I don't know, Scott. Maybe she wants to start a lubricated balloon animal
business."
He stops talking as soon as he sees the crestfallen look on Scott's face.
"I'm pretty sure it's cause she wants the D, buddy," he pats Scott's back and
almost laughs when his dopey grin returns.
"So, have you been able to talk to Derek?" Scott suddenly remembers that other
people besides Allison exist.
"No," he tugs at the net of his stick, pouting.
"Why not?"
"He's not interested. I saw him this morning with Erica Reyes. Believe me, he's
not worried about me. Guess it was a one night stand," He he and tries for a
nonchalant expression. The way Scott looks at him tells him that he failed.
"Maybe it's all a misunderstanding. You should really try and talk to him,"
Scott pushes.
"Yeah. Maybe. And maybe I'm a pathetic loser who read too much into what was
clearly just a drunken fuck," he leaps off the bench and jogs out to the field
to take his place on another bench, just so he doesn't have to hear anymore of
Scott's optimistic encouragement.
***
Derek is positive that Stiles is avoiding him, which he's totally fine with. He
ignores his sisters, who say that he should just go and talk to him; that using
someone for sex doesn't sound like Stiles. He just shrugs and smirks, knowing
he's not fooling them for a minute.
He goes on a few dates and ends them abruptly and rudely, and it has nothing to
do with Stiles. It doesn't.
He just can't focus, they're so dull he can't even make himself pretend to pay
attention. And he turns around and drops them back off without apology. He'll
get over it eventually, but for now he just wants to hang out in his room.
Mope like an overgrown baby. as Cora calls it, with a flick of her ponytail.
So he hangs out with them and, though he doesn't make an effort, and they all
sigh and roll their eyes at him, he does feel better. It's hard to mope when
someone's throwing popcorn at your face or making you watch Pitch Perfect for
the 800th time.
He doesn't sing. Much.
It wouldn't be so terrible except that all of a sudden he can't avoid Stiles.
For some reason their friend groups have mingled and they end up eating lunch
together, and car pooling, and he's about to pull his hair out if he has to
watch Stiles ignore him one more time.
He knows Lydia went on a date with him finally, but since she's still hauling
Jackson around by the balls so it must not have worked out. He pretends not to
notice that Stiles has been hanging out with a tiny blonde girl. He also
pretends that he doesn't know her name is Heather and that they were childhood
friends and he most certainly doesn't notice how Stiles ducks his head and
smiles at her...a lot.
He doesn't notice because he doesn't care. He starts hiding out in the library
more often. It's working for him; this nonchalant attitude and the hiding.
Especially the hiding.
Until a month later when he ends up alone in the Camaro with Stiles.
***** Chapter 5 *****
They've all been at a party and Stiles has drank a little too much to drive the
jeep home. And somehow, after a lot of whispering between Erica, Lydia and
Allison, and manhandling by Scott, he ends up in Derek's passenger seat. Before
he can protest, Scott grins and shuts the door on him.
Derek looks harassed, muttering to himself about evil sisters who should go to
hell as he jams the key in and starts the ignition. He lets it run a little,
Stiles can feel the vibration as he revs the engine and smiles.
"S'great car," he mumbles into his own shoulder, grinning helplessly.
"Yeah. Thanks. Don't throw up in it."
He peels out and Stiles giggles for no reason. He closes his eyes but that just
makes his stomach roll and the world feel like it's spinning.
"The world is spinny," he opens his eyes and reaches out to touch Derek, he
needs some kind of anchor.
"It's not. You're just drunk," he hears Derek sigh, but he lifts his hand and
runs it through Stiles' hair, rubbing his scalp gently.
Stiles lets out a little moan and Derek's hand stills for a moment. He sighs
harshly through his nose and continues rubbing, only pulling away when he has
to shift. He pulls up to Stiles' dark house and kills the engine.
"Your dad home?" he asks, slapping Stiles' hands away from fumbling with the
seatbelt.
"Nope," Stiles doesn't attempt to deal with the door, he just lies there and
stares up at Derek.
Stiles is grinning a lot, his body sending shivers up and down as he sighs
quietly.
He's not sure how it happens, but he's suddenly in his living room, wobbly and
clutching onto Derek.
"Wha? How did you get in?"
Derek rolls his eyes and jangles Stiles' keys at him, one hand around his
waist, but his body held stiffly away from him at the same time. Stiles doesn't
understand because Derek is so warm and...
"You smell really good," he giggles and wobbles some more. "Oh man. My legs
don't work. Kind of like after you fucked me."
He laughs a little hysterically, and Derek drops him. He lands on his ass with
a loud fuck.
"I'll find you a blanket or something," Derek literally stomps out of the room.
Stiles feels the vibrations against his cheek which is somehow now resting on
the floor. He feels sleepy and maybe a little embarrassed, even through the
haze of alcohol. He decides that sleep is probably the best solution, so he
closes his eyes and is out like a light before Derek even comes back.
***
Derek wakes up to a frowning Stiles, who doesn't look shockingly hot with bed
head and sleep creases on his face.
He's holding a mug of coffee and thrusts it into Derek's hands the minute he
sits up.
"Not sure how you take it, but there's shit in the kitchen," he turns slowly,
obviously holding himself gingerly. Derek follows him because he likes his
coffee full of milk and sugar. Just enough coffee in it to actually call it
coffee and not sugared milk.
He busies himself doctoring his coffee and tries not to wince as Stiles guzzles
his down black. Stiles is in the middle of making breakfast; from the look of
it, it's lots of greasy fried ham and fried eggs.
"Do you want some?" Stiles stands at the stove, holding the spatula poised to
flip, and doesn't look at Derek once.
Derek is about to make his apologies and leave, but his stomach growls
embarrassingly loudly, and Stiles turns, actually smiling at him. And no matter
what happened between them, Derek is still completely fucked, and head over
heels for Stiles, so he nods.
***
Stiles can't decide if he's pleased or pissed. He doesn't understand why Derek
gets to be here, gets to be some hero who brought his drunken, blurry ass home
and what...watched out for him all night. What a bunch of bullshit.
He grips the spatula tightly and stares at the eggs sizzling in the pan.
"So, why are you here?" he grinds out.
"I just wanted to make sure that you didn't choke on your own vomit or
something. Sorry," Derek scowls into his coffee.
"I hope you like over medium, 'cause that's what I made," he tips the pan over
and lets the eggs slide out onto the plate. He piles some ham next to it and
shoves it across the counter at Derek.
"S'fine," Derek says, through a mouthful of eggs. And Stiles is swinging back
over to pleased, watching Derek wolf down the food he made and guzzle his
sugared water. He suppresses a smile and tries to be pissed again as he breaks
more eggs into the pan.
"Where's your dad?"
"He's out of town. Some conference," Stiles shrugs. He actually knows exactly
what the conference is about, had in fact helped his dad do the research and
write his speech on Animal Attacks in Small Towns Bordering Large Forests. He'd
sent him off with stern instructions to not make any Dad jokes, just stick to
the cards.
"Oh," Derek mops up the last of his food just as Stiles sits down to eat his
own. He doesn't get up and leave, and Stiles tries not to be happy about that.
"Thanks. You know...for bringing me home," Stiles manages to actually sound
grateful.
"Where was...uhh...what's her face? Helen?" Derek rubs a hand over his own face
not looking at Stiles.
"Heather. And I don't know," he shrugs, confused at the non-sequitur.
"Shouldn't she be the one taking care of you?" Derek waves his hands vaguely.
"Um. No? "Stiles frowns, and stares at Derek in confusion.
"I thought you two were dating?" Derek turns red and Stiles thinks it's fucking
adorable and bites his lip to stop himself from smiling.
"We did a little bit. But it didn't work out," he eats his eggs and doesn't say
that everything after Derek has been kind of grey. Heather's sweet and they'd
messed around a bit. And, you know, don't get him wrong she had boobs and boobs
are awesome and squishy. But he couldn't stop himself from imagining stubble
burn and calloused fingers instead.
So they'd agreed to be friends and that had been the end of that.
Suddenly, he's pissed again. Fuck Derek, and his stubble, and his fingers, and
his perfect jaw, and his stupid abs.
"Seriously though, why are you here?" He gets up and takes Derek's plate with a
jerk, turning on the hot water and scrubbing at it vigorously.
"I was worried about you," Derek tells the counter quietly.
"Well you don't get to be worried about me. Not now. You had your fucking
chance and now I'm none of your business. Who I date, or whether I die of
asphyxiation," Stiles flails and dish water splashes around the kitchen.
"You're the one who left, Stiles," Derek growls out.
"I had to leave, you fucking asshole. I tried to wake you up but you were
totally dead to the world."
Derek scoffs. "Whatever, Stiles, I don't sleep. I doze at most."
"Well I guess I wore you out with my amazing skills, 'cause you wouldn't move,
pal."
Derek folds his arms across his chest and knits his eyebrows together.
"But you didn't call."
"My dad took my phone. And then on Monday I saw that you'd moved on," Stiles
tries not to sound too bitter, as he thinks of Erica in Derek's lap as though
she fucking belonged there.
"Moved on? What the hell are you talking about? Fine. You tried to wake me up.
Fine. Your dad took your phone. You couldn't have talked to me at school? Any
of the number of times we've seen each other? You just assumed that was it?
Fucking man up, Stiles."
"Man up?! Fuck you! Do you know what the fuck it's like to have your first time
be with someone like you?! And to have it be mind blowing and perfect, and then
suddenly it's as though it was nothing!!" he shouts and then realizes what he
just said, slumping against the counter, his face heating up.
Derek looks like he just deflated, his face is pale and his mouth hangs open.
"Your first time?"
"Yeah. I was a fucking virgin. Congratulations," Stiles mutters and crosses his
arms.
"I had no idea. You should have said something."
"What for? I wanted to do it. And I had a good time, so you know...let's just
leave it at that."
Derek rushes at him and hauls him up onto the counter, crowding into the V of
Stiles' legs.
"You should've said. I would've been...better...gentler. It's important," he
buries his face in Stiles' neck and huffs out a breath. Stiles isn't sure how
to react, his hands shake as he pushes Derek's hair back.
"It's fine...really. I had a good time," he laughs a little sadly.
Derek lifts his head and searches Stiles' face, and then he's kissing him,
Stiles completely melting into it. It's open mouthed and tastes like too sugary
coffee, but it makes him feel hot all over. His skin is too small for his body
as he kisses back and Derek moans into his mouth. They pull apart and Derek
still looks sad and guilty. Stiles' heart sinks; he doesn't need some sort of
pity fuck here.
He shoves at Derek until he can hop off the counter, and keeps on shoving until
Derek moves toward the door.
"I don't fucking need this shit. I'm fine. Thanks for a great fuck but
otherwise, stay the fuck out of my life."
Derek lets Stiles shove at him, his hands held up palms out, and occasionally
glancing behind him, his face twisted in confusion. Stiles holds the door open
and turns his face away.
"Stiles, I don't understand."
Stiles feels tired, his body sagging against the door, all of his anger leaving
him in a rush.
"Just go, Derek. Please."
It's the please that does it. Derek looks defeated. His shoulders droop and he
nods, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turns and walks out. Stiles sees
him wince as the door slams shut. He turns and trudges up the stairs to sleep
off his headache and to maybe wallow in his own self pity for a little bit.
***
Stiles sighs over his economics textbook. The words blur into one as he
daydreams about a certain asshole that he's supposed to be mad at. Right...mad.
He needs to be mad. He picks up his pencil and sighs again.
"Oh for the love of God, Stiles. Would you stop moping? It's very distracting,"
Lydia glares at him, shiny lips pursed.
"Sorry. Sorry," he mutters. One good thing about this has been the discovery
that Lydia is an amazing friend. First of all, she doesn't ditch him to go and
make out with Allison. And she's funny, and smart, and doesn't take any of his
shit.
He takes a minute to look at her, bent over some intense chemistry formulas.
She still makes his heart skip a beat, all dimples and red hair escaping
artfully from her braid. She'll probably always have that effect on him, but
lately it's been muted and now that he can form complete sentences around her,
he'd rather make her laugh or debate the psychological impact of Bruce Wayne on
all of his decidedly underage sidekicks.
Not to mention that he wishes she had a bit of a beard and you know, a dick. He
sighs for about the 800th time and ducks when Lydia throws a pencil at his
head.
***
Derek is confused about Stiles' reaction. What did he do wrong now? He can't
seem to catch a break with the damned idiot. Beautiful, fiercely smart, but
still an idiot.
Or maybe Derek's the idiot.
Cora and Laura seem to think so. Even his Mom chimes in, insisting that when he
fixes the mess he made, he brings Stiles over for dinner. She wants to meet the
young man who has her son so tied up in knots. Erica, of course, thinks Derek's
an idiot but that's just status quo. She says Boyd agrees and Boyd just shrugs,
quiet and stoic as always.
He likes Boyd. It's a nice change of pace from all the squawking he usually
hears.
"Maybe you handled it wrong. You should apologize."
On second thought, maybe Derek doesn't like him as much as he thought.
"For what?!"
"Does it really matter? I mean, you hurt him somehow. Doesn't that deserve an
apology? Or at the least, a conversation," Laura looks at him, her face serious
for once. "Look, I know we give you shit, Der-Bear. But you obviously have a
thing for this guy. You're not usually...scratch that...ever broken up over any
one else. Just talk to him. You know if he blows you off you can start moving
on. Summer's coming up, so at least it'll be easy to avoid him then."
She shrugs and gives him a lopsided smile. The others nod at him sadly.
"Fine. I'll talk to him. Just to get you people off my back," he grumbles as he
pushes out of the kitchen door, hearing a small cheer echoing as the door
swings back.
He grins and thanks fuck for his family, even if they annoy him. He doesn't
know what he'd do without them.
***
Stiles pulls into the driveway, the jeep lurching to a stop as he pops the
clutch, shocked to see Derek sitting on his front steps fiddling with the
little ceramic frog that was his Mom's.
Derek sets the frog down gently, which makes Stiles' chest hurt for some
reason. Stiles manages to get out of the jeep with dignity, not his usual
falling out, with too long legs and arms flailing to hold onto the door for
dear life. He straightens and takes a deep breath. Derek stays on the stoop,
watching Stiles quietly, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth twisted to the
side in a scowl.
"What's up, Derek?" Stiles tries for civil and nonchalant.
"Hey, Stiles. Do you have a minute?"
"Yeah, maybe. I have to get dinner started or my Dad will use it as an excuse
to order take out."
Derek flashes a smile and Stiles pretends that his knees don't temporarily
weaken. He considers inviting Derek in, but he's scared that he can't control
himself. That he'll lose all sense of dignity and just drag the man upstairs to
his tiny bed. Then he'd feel like shit again when Derek left, especially now he
was just getting back to normal. Well, a relative sense of normal, as normal as
anyone can get after being desperately in love with someone who isn't
interested in them.
He realizes he's gotten lost a little in his head again when he notices Derek
just staring at him with a small smile.
"Uh, sorry," he gestures to his head and rolls his eyes, and Derek nods like he
understands. But he doesn't, Stiles has to remind himself. He's good at this
kind of stuff; making people want him, and he's just here because he feels
guilty. That's it. Get a grip, Stiles.
"So I wanted to talk about last time."
Stiles nods and bites his lip.
"Yeah, I was a bit rude. Sorry for...just...shoving you out like that," he
slumps down on the step above Derek, as far away as he can get without falling
into the flower beds.
"You don't have to apologize for it. I just wanted to know why."
"Look," Stiles isn't sure he can do this. He doesn't want to watch Derek put on
this big concerned act and try to make Stiles feel better so they can be
friends, or friends of friends, or whatever. "I don't want to do this. Okay.
There's nothing else for us to discuss. Please don't feel bad or guilty, or
whatever. I really, really don't need your pity. Let's call it what it was, a
good time and we can just move on."
Derek blinks at him, his mouth tightening.
"Is that all it was?"
"Yeah. Don't worry about it," Stiles forces out a laugh. "I just don't want you
going around feeling like you hurt me, or took advantage of me or some shit.
It's fine. Really."
Stiles stands and Derek looks up at him silently.
"If that's what you want."
"It is. Thanks though. Like I said, got to go make dinner," he goes to unlock
the door and Derek stands, brushing his unfairly great ass off.
"So I'll see you around then," Stiles calls to his retreating back.
Derek just waves and doesn't turn around, sliding into his sleek car and
driving away. Stiles makes his way inside with heavy steps. He drops his
backpack to the floor and surveys the kitchen. He decides he doesn't want to be
responsible right now, so he orders some pizza with bacon and extra cheese, and
makes a beeline for Halo and the mindless entertainment that he needs right
now.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Stiles is good at pretending. He's done a lot of it, pretending he's okay
without his mom, with his dad working all hours, with his best bro ditching him
for a girl. Now he's pretending that he's over Derek, or better...that he never
even liked Derek. He worries over his homework, about how he got himself into
this. He just wanted one date with Lydia, and yeah he got that, but now he has
this. This sick feeling when he sees Derek in the hallway, the forced smiles,
and ignoring whatever he sees in Derek's eyes.
He's stopped talking about it with his friends, but he catches the occasional
sad look and notices they've stopped dragging him to eat lunch at Derek's
table. He's quietly grateful; it's a lot harder to pretend when you're forced
to sit across from the person and their stupid, indescribable eyes, and
shouldn't-be-adorable-but-are bunny teeth.
He saves the not pretending for when he's at home. He bakes cookies, just so he
can eat the entire tray before they even cool down. He watches mindless action
movies and plays Playstation with Scott and Allison. He sometimes offers them
cookies if there are any left. Which there rarely are.
"So prom's coming up," Allison pipes up at lunch. Her dimples and ringlets
shining in the sun make it hard for Stiles to scowl at her. It's half hearted
at best.
"Come on, you have to go," Scott says, all earnest puppy eyes.
Stiles sighs and puts his sandwich down.
"Why do I have to go? It's just an archaic mating ritual. People spend lots of
money so they can look the most fuckable and then end up ruining their lives in
the backseat of some asshole's car. Who'd want to go to that?"
Scott and Allison raise their hands.
"Ugh," Stiles puts his head in his hands.
"Why don't you ask Heather?" Scott nudges.
"Because Heather's going out with Jared. Hopefully he doesn't yak all over her
pretty new dress," Stiles is a bit shocked at his own bitterness.
"You could go stag. We can all go as a group!" Allison tries.
"What a great idea, babe!" Scott gazes dreamily at Allison who returns the
look. Sickening.
Stiles knows he's lost them, he gathers up his backpack and dumps the rest of
his lunch out as he lopes back into the building. He doesn't see Derek watching
him and frowning as he goes.
***
"I don't want to go, Mom."
"Derek, it's your senior prom. It may seem silly now but it'll be something you
regret if you don't go. Why don't you take that nice Stiles boy you like?" His
mom smiles at him across the dinner table.
His heart skips a beat at the thought of Stiles giving him the time of day,
much less going on a date with him.
"Nah, Mom. Derek's too cool to be seen there."
Derek scowls at his younger sister. "Who are you going with?"
"Isaac," Cora flips her ponytail over her shoulder.
"Who the hell is Isaac?" Derek growls, ignoring his mom's admonishment of
'language.'
"The guy I'm going to prom with," Cora sticks her tongue out at him. "Anyway, I
heard Stiles isn't going either. So your big plan of avoiding him would be
pointless."
"Whatever. It's nothing to do with Stiles. Where's Laura?" He changes the
subject, trying not to think of Stiles sitting at home while all of his friends
go to prom.
"She decided to actually stay at her dorm for once. I'm sure we'll see her once
she runs out of clean laundry."
His mom changes the subject to the local elections and Derek makes listening
noises while he pushes his food around his plate, trying desperately not to
think of prom or Stiles.
***
Lydia is visibly pissed and Stiles keeps eying her warily. Her red hair is
practically standing on end and she's gnawing angrily on her lip. They're
supposed to be going over English, The Taming of The Shrew. Which Lydia hates,
because it's "patriarchal bullshit."
"You better believe if anyone tried to "tame" me I'd have their balls," she
spits out, throwing the book across Stiles' room. She sits up on the bed and
glares at Stiles some more.
"What did I do wrong, Lydia?" Stiles doesn't actually want to know, but he can
tell she wants him to ask.
"You're an idiot."
"Probably. Why this time?" He drops his head back against his computer chair
and looks at the ceiling.
"Come here," she pats the bed next to her and smiles. Stiles hesitates, because
her smile looks predatory and he doesn't trust it.
She pats the bed more aggressively, narrowing her eyes slightly.
"Come here, now," she demands, not used to having to repeat her orders. Stiles
scrambles out of his chair, tripping over himself and sitting on the edge of
the bed.
Lydia leans into his space and she smells good, like cinnamon and lilacs. He
closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He may have faced the harsh reality of the
ten year plan failure, but he'll always be a little bit helpless when it comes
to Lydia Martin.
He feels her hands pressing against his shoulders and he opens his eyes just in
time for her to meet him with a kiss. He flails his arms and kisses back on
instinct. His first thought after the internal screaming is that her lipgloss
does taste nice, followed immediately by his second thought of "meh."
He'd kind of expected fireworks, the foot pop, all of the romantic movies he's
ever seen, rolled into one. And it's nice. But it's no big deal. He pushes
himself back on the bed until he's out of reach of Lydia's nails and mouth.
"See. You're an idiot," Lydia primly goes about shining her mouth back up.
"What?" Stiles is reeling, he's just kissed the love of his life and he'a
disappointed and unimpressed. His heart sinks as he realizes he wishes she was
Derek. He groans and slumps back against the wall, his chin against his chest.
"Look. If you and Derek don't figure out your shit, I'm going to murder both of
you. I have much more important things to worry about and all of this UST is
very distracting."
"What?"
Lydia rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically.
"Stiles. You're amazing, and I love you deeply, as a friend. But right now
you're being totally useless," she gathers up her textbook and purse, and
stands on her impossibly high heels. She raises an eyebrow at Stiles and
flounces out of the room, leaving him gaping after her.
***
Derek shoves his books into his locker, why does he even go to class? The last
few weeks of his senior year are absolute bullshit. Already accepted to
Berkley, and bored out of his mind, he was planning on skipping out as much as
he could. It doesn't help to see Stiles moping around in the hallway,
skittering out of sight when Derek turns into a hallway. It makes him want to
punch lockers, so he's ditching.
Better than mindless violence, he figures.
He turns around, his keys in his hand, and is brought up short by a terror with
red hair and sky high heels, standing in his path.
"Um. Lydia?" He backs up a bit when she steps forward into his personal space.
His back hits the brick wall and he smiles nervously.
"You're incredibly stupid," she stabs a finger into his chest.
"What? I don't think I'm that bad..." he trails off as she glares at him.
"I'm talking about Stiles," Lydia huffs.
"What? I tried! He didn't want to hear it. "
"Try again. Try harder," punctuating each word with a stab of her finger. Derek
tries to pretend like he isn't wincing. She has long nails, okay?
"Look. I'm bored. I don't like to be bored. Can you two just get together and
we can move on already?"
"I don't understand."
"You were trying to say that you aren't stupid?" she asks with a dimpled smirk.
"Uh..." he feels like he can't get any sentences out.
"Look, Stiles is desperate for you and you feel the same way," she holds up a
hand. "No. Don't argue, don't waste your breath."
She glares at him a moment longer, whirls around, and marches away.
Derek rubs his chest and slumps against the wall. He's not sure what just
happened, but he might have just been cowed by a girl half his size. Less than
half his size. He can hear her in his head, insisting that Stiles is
'desperate' for him. He grits his teeth at the way his heart thumps, pushing
himself off the wall to go and find his sister.
"Lydia Martin is fucking scary and I need a tux for prom," he announces when he
interrupts Cora making heart eyes at a tall, curly haired guy.
"I couldn't agree more about Lydia," the guy shudders visibly but grins. "So
you're the one that has Stiles all in a funk. Nice to meet you, I'm Isaac."
Cora smirks and pulls out her phone.
"We're going to need reinforcements."
***** Chapter 7 *****
Derek puts put his foot down about the bowtie. He doesn't care if it makes him
look 'dapper.' He's caved on the skinny tie, but plans to take it off and throw
it in the backseat of the Camaro as soon as he's out of sight; and unbutton his
top buttons so he can breathe.
His mom makes them take approximately 800 photos before they leave, and Derek
has to admit his sister looks beautiful in her trailing, chiffon gown; she
blushes and ducks her head when he tells her so. His mom takes a few more
pictures, yelling at Derek to smile and stop giving Isaac the evil eye, and
asking Isaac to 'please stop edging away from Derek, you aren't even in the
frame anymore.'
"Oh for God's sake. He doesn't bite," his mom sighs, finally giving up.
"Says her," Derek bares his teeth at Isaac, who visibly pales, but Cora swats
at him, hiding a smile. Laura just laughs from the doorway, but gives him a hug
and tells him she'll be here if he needs her. He nods and sighs, he might end
the night eating ice cream and watching Titanic with his sister, but he hopes
not.
He forgoes the limo, wanting an escape vehicle if he ends up humiliating
himself. He walks in, grimacing at the spangly streamers hanging in the
entrance; of course he ends up tangled up in them. It doesn't get much better
inside, terrible pop music blares over speakers with the bass set too high and
he's pretty sure the DJ is singing along into the microphone. He rolls his eyes
at the horror and scans the room for Stiles.
He spots Scott and Allison first. Scott glares at him, which is hilariously
ineffective, but Allison dimples broadly at him and points toward the
refreshment table. Allison is an actual angel and he nods his thanks after
spotting Stiles. He takes a minute to just look at him. He's wearing a fitted
suit that had to have been picked out by one of his friends; Lydia or Allison,
because it's perfect for him.
The pants are tailored and make Derek gulp. He's wearing a bronze colored tie
that Derek knows from over here will bring out his eyes, and he imagines
wrapping it around his fist and tugging Stiles toward him. He takes a few deep
breaths, before making a determined beeline for Stiles.
Derek melts a little as he gets closer and Stiles' eyes widen, his face
breaking out into a smile that he barely attempts to restrain.
"I'm sorry..." Stiles blurts out.
"I was an asshole," Derek interrupts.
They laugh a little shakily, Derek rubs the back of his neck and tries again.
"No. I'm sorry."
"I was an idiot," Stiles talks over him.
Derek smiles and reaches out to tug open Stiles' lapel, the lining of the suit
has some sort of paisley pattern that matches the tie. He smirks and raises an
eyebrow. "Lydia?"
"Um. Yeah. I guess I'm her own personal Ken doll. Except, you
know...anatomically correct," he gestures to his crotch and then blushes,
covering his eyes with a hand.
"Yeah. I know," Derek laughs and steps closer so he can speak quietly.
"Oh right, yeah. Been there, done that," Stiles shrugs nervously, fiddling with
his tie, flipping it up and down. Derek can't stop staring at his long, elegant
fingers.
"Can we go outside maybe?" He grasps at Stiles' fingers and gently pulls him
out a side door. The music and the echoing noises of the gym fade as he leads
him into the hallway; they duck into an empty classroom and Stiles shuts the
door behind them.
Stiles braces himself against the door and worries his lip between his teeth.
All Derek wants to do his kiss him until his nervousness goes away.
He leans against the teacher's desk and crosses his arms.
"God. You look good in a suit," Stiles stutters out and then blushes again.
Derek shouldn't find him so charming.
"Thanks. You look good in pretty much everything."
Stiles shakes his head in disbelief.
"Well, you don't get to decide. I do, because I'm the one who has to look at
you. And I say you're hot. One hundred percent of the time."
"Well, you haven't really seen me in the morning or like, with a hangover. Or
when I spend the weekend in my boxers playing Halo and eating only curly fries.
Personal hygiene goes out the window, it's actually disgusting."
"Stiles...shut up."
Stiles nods and opens his mouth again, but Derek holds up a hand.
"I need to apologize. I didn't...I'm not good at this."
"Uh...you mean basic social interactions?"
Derek scowls, but nods.
"I don't have to talk to people much. They just kind of..." he shrugs.
"Throw themselves at your Adonis-like body and impossibly scowly yet handsome
face?" Stiles guesses with a frown.
"No. I mean...yeah. Damn it. I just don't know how to talk to you, and I kind
of screwed everything up, and I want to apologize."
Stiles waits patiently for the first time in his life, staring at him.
"Right. So...yeah, I'm sorry," he runs his hands through his hair, disturbing
the painstakingly created, just-rolled-out-of-bed look that Laura had spent an
hour on.
"Derek, first. Thank you for the apology. It actually means a lot, like, I
didn't know I wanted it until you said it. But I owe you one too. So I'm sorry.
We're useless at this, huh?"
Derek laughs and nods.
Stiles twists his fingers together and stares at the floor, opening his mouth
like he wants to say something but he suddenly snaps it shut.
"What is it, Stiles?" he asks warily.
"I just...what does this mean? Like, okay we've said our sorries. But is that
it? Are we now lunch buddies and we have to hang out 'cause our friends are
friends? Which you know, I'm totally cool with that, dude. If that's what you
want. But, is that what you want?"
"I think it's adorable when you babble," Derek interrupts.
"What? Adorable? That's not actually a compliment, dude. I'm not a kitten. Take
it back."
Derek stalks towards Stiles, his teeth bared, and shakes his head. He braces
his hands against the door, crowding Stiles against it and looks down at him.
He kisses him then, and Stiles immediately opens his mouth up to it, relaxing
against him. He wraps his arms around Derek's waist and pulls him closer. Derek
can feel Stiles' body heat radiating against him from hip to chest; he groans
and cups Stiles' face in one hand. They pause for breath and Stiles smiles up
at him, his eyes hazy.
"Adorable," Derek whispers, rubbing a thumb over Stiles' lower lip.
"Shut up," Stiles dives in for another kiss, it's slow, and warm, and dirty.
Derek doesn't realize he's grinding his half hard dick against Stiles' hip
until he hears Stiles make a little whimpering noise under his mouth and feels
him grind back. He fully plans to continue right here, get them both off in Mr.
Harris' classroom and then take Stiles away to make of use the hotel keycard
Laura had shoved in his hand with a wink.
Except for the loud banging and Lydia Martin standing outside shouting at them.
"Have you two made up yet?! Because it's time to take pictures, and I need a
group one! Let's go already!"
Derek hears Jackson muttering and trying to pull Lydia away. Stiles laughs and
knocks his head against the wall. He shrugs and pushes Derek back far enough
that he can open the door.
"We'll be there in a minute, your bossyness."
Lydia must agree to this because Stiles shuts the door and turns back to Derek
with a rueful grin.
"Can we just get out of here? I have a room. We can start over again."
He reels Stiles in and wraps his arms around his waist, lifting him up a bit
and burying his face in Stiles' neck, biting gently. Stiles gasps and squirms.
"No, dude."
Derek's face must look pathetic because Stiles smiles fondly and smooths his
thumbs over Derek's eyebrows.
"Such frowny eyebrows. I didn't mean never. I just mean, I want to stay for a
bit. I got all fancied up, and I'd kind of like to show you off," he grins and
waggles his own eyebrows.
"You can show me off at school. Stiles, I really want to take you out of this
suit and take my time with you."
He can see Stiles wavering and his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
"You are the fucking worst. Still. No. Lydia would murder us."
Derek thinks for a minute.
"Yeah...she probably would," he agrees.
"And dude! We're making memories here," Stiles grins dopily and kisses him once
before dragging him back out of the classroom and into the gym.
***
"Making memories" consists of taking a bunch of pictures where all of their
friends try and photobomb each other and crowd into one big picture, laughing
and shoving at each other. Derek can't stop smiling and kissing Stiles. It also
includes Stiles dancing like a wounded flamingo with his friends, twirling
everyone he can reach across the floor in a terrible faux tango, dipping them
at the end. Erica surprises him by dipping him instead and planting a wet,
smacking kiss on his forehead. Stiles wipes his forehead with a grimace and a
laugh.
The best parts are the slow songs, where Derek won't let Stiles move away. He
holds his hips and grinds up against him, trying to convince him to leave by
whispering all the dirty things that he wants to do to him when they're finally
alone. Stiles shudders against him and clutches the back of his jacket, moaning
quietly when Derek loosens his tie, wrapping it around his wrist to pull him
closer and suck bruises where his collar opens up to pale freckled skin.
After the fourth one, all their friends are ready for them to leave too.
"Go get a room, you pervs," Cora shouts at them and starts shoving them toward
the entrance. "We're all meeting up at Waffle House in the morning, come back
then. Fully clothed!"
They laugh and it takes another half hour to say their goodbyes and make it out
to the car.
At the hotel, Stiles growls and pleads as Derek takes his time opening him up.
"I'm not a virgin any more, Derek. Please just fuck me."
Derek just shakes his head, determined to do it right this time. Stiles won't
stop begging until Derek slides in, in one smooth stroke. Suddenly he's still
and quiet, save for the quiet gasps and whimpers.
"Move, Derek," he opens his eyes and begs. So Derek does, because he still
can't really say no to Stiles, and thinks he'll never be able to. Derek hopes
that Stiles never discovers that particular weakness, but he knows he's
probably doomed as Stiles grins up at him and starts fucking himself down onto
Derek's cock.
***
They do meet up with the rest of the group in the morning, Stiles covered in
marks and looking suitably debauched. Derek just smirks and eats his bacon,
snapping it between his teeth. He finds the time to take a minute to glare at
Isaac, who suddenly finds his waffles very interesting. Stiles smacks him and
tells him to leave the poor guy alone. Derek distracts himself with watching
Stiles who, as usual, can't sit still and gestures wildly with his utensils,
dripping syrup across the table.
When they get the pictures back, there's only one that Derek wants. It sits in
a frame next to his bed and he knows there's a matching one in Stiles 'room.
It's one of the ridiculous group shots, where everyone is hanging onto each
other and caught in mid laugh. Scott has Allison on his back, and Erica is
draped across Boyd, her feet in Cora's hands. In the background is a moment of
stillness, Stiles and Derek not paying attention to anyone but each other.
Derek's hand is cradling Stiles' head, fingers threaded through his hair;
Stiles' head is tilted back and their eyes are closed as they kiss.
A memory made, captured in time.
End Notes
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