Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/994299.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Danny_Mahealani/Stiles_Stilinski, Danny_Mahealani/OMCs, Isaac_Lahey/Scott
      McCall_(background)
  Character:
      Danny_Mahealani, Stiles_Stilinski, Original_Characters, Scott_McCall,
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Jared_(Teen_Wolf)
  Additional Tags:
      Coffee_Shops, Cluelessness
  Collections:
      A_Bite_Off_Center
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-30 Words: 9825
****** I asked for Coffee ******
by Hllangel
Summary
     Stiles works in a coffeeshop and Danny keeps bringing his dates in.
     Stiles definitely does not approve. Not actually an AU.
Notes
     Thank you Donutsweeper, who waved the pompoms and cracked the whip
     and heard me talk about this thing way more than it deserves. For my
     real life Adam, who will always get a cameo/namedrop in my Teen Wolf
     fic. Siryessir, I fit you in! In the way you thought, not the way I
     thought, but hey, you're here!
     This has already been jossed by the vague spoilers for season 3B that
     are starting to float around.
     Title from a Mae West quote: "If I asked for a cup of coffee, someone
     would search for the double meaning."
See the end of the work for more notes
If there is a way to show extreme displeasure while tying apron strings, Stiles
is going to make sure he figures out how to do it. But it's hard to express
those feelings while his hands are busy behind his back, relearning a new angle
on a skill he thought he'd mastered in the second grade. His dad looks entirely
unimpressed by the attempt as he orders enough coffee for the entire office.
Despite the fact that he's earning decent pocket money, there's no getting
around the fact that his new job is punishment. Okay, so his dad hadn't
actually described it in punitive terms, but he'd been honest about the fact
that this was the only thing he could think to do after he (a) found out about
werewolves, (b) found out that Scott was a werewolf, (c) found out just how
deeply Stiles was involved in the whole mess, and (d) how many near death
experiences Stiles had had as a result of (c). And that didn't even take into
account his own kidnapping.
He'd put all of that together and figured out that there was no way he could
just forbid Stiles from being involved. After all, he'd only had minimal
success trying to keep Stiles out of the sheriff's office and out of official
sheriff business over the years. Since he couldn't exactly ban Stiles from
seeing Scott, and he couldn't really impose a curfew that he expected to also
enforce, he'd come up with a creative solution: get Stiles a job, and bribe
them to give him enough hours to fill all the time he doesn't spend in practice
or doing homework.
Two weeks in and Stiles has to admit (not out loud) that it's working
brilliantly. He has to go straight from practice to work, and gets home with
just enough time to do his homework and collapse into bed, more often than not
still surrounded by all his books.
Scott has started complaining that they never see each other anymore, which is
ridiculous because he and Stiles see each other all the time. They're in four
classes together, plus practice every day after school. What Scott really means
is I can't get you to do my werewolf research. It's not the end of the world,
since nothing's happening right now, but Stiles still feels like he's somehow
letting down his best friend on top of the always-there guilt about having led
Scott into the woods that night in the first place.
The only time Stiles is able to see any of his classmates outside of class or
practice is when they come in for coffee. Which is actually pretty frequently,
given that their little shop with their squishy chairs and loveseats is
actually a pretty hot date spot. Or pre-date. Or meeting place for when you
meet someone online and want to be sure they're not going to kill you before
inviting them into your home.
It's a legitimate concern in Beacon Hills. At least, most people think it's a
legitimate concern, and Stiles isn't going to disabuse them of that notion
because it is partly valid, but also because the real things they need to worry
about are too weird for most people to believe.
When Danny comes in with a date, though, Stiles has to congratulate him on his
good instincts. Not that he's doing this out loud. At school, they're in a
bunch of the same classes and the same sports, but they're not friends, not
exactly. Even after everything they've done together. Or at least experienced
from different angles. Everything's relative, Stiles knows. And he also knows
that Danny's understanding of the last year or so are highly dependent on how
much he knows about werewolves. Stiles isn't going to be the one to tell him.
Stiles immediately changes his mind about Danny's instincts when he sees
Danny's date. He knows that face, doesn't like that face, has seen that face
more times than he can count on both hands. Mostly behind bars at the station
when he's bringing his dad dinner. A few times it's been through reinforced
windows in the back of a squad car. He's no evil half-alpha twin thing, but
he's not exactly good news either. Stiles would have to sneak a glance at his
records to confirm, but he's pretty sure that at least three of his arrests
have been for assault.
"What can I get started for you," he asks, when Danny makes his way to the
counter. It's pretty bland as far as greetings go, especially for someone he
actually knows, but it's a far cry better than
What the hell is wrong with you? That guy's arrest record is as long as my arm.
I'd rather set you up with 'Miguel'. He's creepy and inept but probably won't
actually kill you himself.
"Two black coffees, room for milk," Danny says. He's opening his wallet and not
even looking at Stiles. Which is pretty par for the course, as far as Stiles
has experienced it so far. Most people don't look at the person handling their
money or their cards or their food. But there's a bit of disappointment that
someone he's known for most of his life doesn't actually want to acknowledge
that he's right in front of them.
Stiles counts out the change and hands it over, and then goes to get the
coffees. He's not fully trained on the espresso machines and varieties yet, but
he can put brewed coffee in a cup. "Careful, it's hot," he says when he hands
it over. "Sleeves are by the milk."
"Got it," Danny says, looking up and seeing Stiles for the first time. But then
he's gone before Stiles can tell him any of the long list of reasons why he
needs to get the hell away from Trevor? Stiles thinks that's his name. It
doesn't actually matter.
They leave after half an hour, tossing empty cups in the trash (well, Trevor
was going to leave his but Danny picked it up and tossed it along with his
own). And he tossed a wave back at Stiles before going through the door.
Well, at least that was something.
                                       *
With Derek out of town, it's surprisingly easy for Stiles to go a whole week
without having to get involved with weird things which are likely to give his
dad a heart attack. Even with Deaton's prediction that they'll be at the eye of
a supernatural hurricane sometime soon, Stiles has yet to see a hint of it
anywhere.
Not that he's been out much to look for signs of activity, but Scott informs
him that nothing's happening, except that Isaac's slept over at Allison's for a
few nights running. (Stiles is not ready for this conversation with his best
friend; he's unsure about whether the problematic point of that sentence is
that Isaac isn't home with him, or that he's at Allison's.)
When Friday rolls around, Stiles is once again working, and this time he gets
to make all the complicated drinks, supervised by Becca. By 9:45, near the end
of his shift, he's mostly gotten the hang of the machine, and has successfully
figured out pneumatics to keep the major drinks straight. After that, it's just
remembering what weird things people like to pollute coffee with. And in his
vast experience of two weeks, the ones who have the fussiest, frilliest drinks
are the rudest jackasses.
So when a new customer in jeans and a blazer that's the wrong size comes in and
orders a "large non-fat soy latte with three pumps of caramel and whip, no
foam, and make it fast I don't have all night," Stiles knows it's going to be
bad. He smiles, takes the cup from Becca and wishes he could ban the guy from
the shop instead of serving him.
He takes his time making the monstrosity, wanting to get it right so that he
doesn't have to make it again. Of course, when the drink isn't on the counter
immediately, the guy starts very obviously looking at his watch. This is about
the only situation where Stiles wishes he had let Peter bite him last year. Or
gotten Scott to do it as soon as he turned alpha. A flash of glowing yellow
eyes and teeth would get this guy to calm down and wait his turn.
Or possibly flee in terror, which Stiles would absolutely not feel guilty
about.
Leaving would be great, Stiles thinks, as he presents the drink with a smile.
Let him just be passing through on his way to Big Sur or something over on the
coast. Maybe then he'd fall off a cliff into the ocean and never bother poor
baristas again. Unfortunately, he sits down right in the middle of one of the
love seats, arm flat out across the back, knees spread wide, taking up the
entire two-person seat, and waits.
On Friday nights, 10pm is when they get busy, everyone trying to fortify
themselves with coffee before going out, or meeting dates before going out.
Basically, they're the last sober stop of the Beacon Hills nightlife, such as
it is.
Even though there's a decent line, Stiles keeps an eye on Toe Tapper and winces
when he sees who is meeting him, because it's Danny. Of course it's Danny.
Becca takes over making drinks when it gets crowded, since she's both faster
and more accurate than Stiles, which means Stiles is on the register when Danny
comes up for his coffee.
"Black, room for milk," Danny says with a smile. Stiles gets him his coffee and
his change, and they chat a bit about the coming Lacrosse tryouts, since Danny
is the last in the line for the moment.
Behind him, Stiles sees Italian Loafers getting increasingly irritated and
fidgety, so does his best to trap Danny in conversation until someone else
comes in and he has to shoo Danny away from the counter. Danny drops a few
dollars into the tip jar and goes to meet his date, who barely moves from dead
center on the loveseat, forcing Danny to squeeze in, half on top of him.
What a scumbag, Stiles thinks.
Unfortunately, they're still there when Stiles' shift ends, so he has no idea
whether they leave together or not. He hopes Danny threw hot coffee in the
guy's face. He even has a lawyer referral ready for the inevitable lawsuit.
                                       *
"Why are you being so weird about this?" Scott asks him the next day. It's
Saturday, the one day off Stiles gets. No school, no work, no practice (for
now, at least). He spends most of the morning doing homework so that he can
head over to Scott's and get a week's worth of Quality Best Friend time in one
afternoon.
He's still stewing over Soy Caramel Asshole, but after Stiles complains for at
least twenty minutes, Scott cuts him off. It's probably more like three, but
Scott has always liked hyperbole.
"Why do you even care?"
Stiles hits pause on their game half a second. He's not sure why. Danny is at
least an acquaintance. He's known Danny since he was a kid. So they're more
than acquaintances but not quite friends, since the only thing they really have
in common is werewolf research fun times and whatever sport is in season at
school. But Stiles, who apparently inherited his mother's overprotectiveness,
doesn't want to see him with a total douchebag who may or may not be abusive.
Or an asshole who thinks the world owes him twenty. Or anyone who also may not
know that Danny is, actually, underage. It's hard to tell on first glance,
though.
It's not like he'd said anything during the Twin Conquest of Ethan and Aiden,
and look how that had gone.
"It's Danny," Stiles says. He's aware that it's not really an explanation of
anything. "His best friend is Jackson, who shipped himself off to London to
avoid his feelings. Then he was going out with Ethan..." Stiles trails off for
a minute trying to figure out what he's trying to say. "He doesn't deserve to
get mauled by humans, too."
Scott shrugs, which is probably the only reaction he's going to get from Scott.
"What?" he asks. "I just don't want to see him get hurt."
"Sure," Scott says, and changes the subject to Allison, and how long it will
take before she agrees to actually date him again.
                                       *
On Wednesday, Stiles is working until 9:00, and Danny comes in at 8:30 with
someone new. From the backpack he's carrying he's likely a student, but he
doesn't look familiar, so not Beacon Hills high. There's still the slight
possibility that he's from the private school across town - Stiles swallows
around something that's prickling at the corner of his eye because he can't
send Heather a text to verify or disprove the hypothesis - but it's more likely
that he's from the hippie liberal college over by the coast. Not that Stiles
has anything against the school, per se, he's even considered applying there
himself if only to keep an eye on his Dad after graduation, but it's the very
epitome of overly expensive and privileged.
Despite the hipster hair and glasses, something about this guy reminds Stiles
of Jackson. It's the carefully shined shoes, he thinks, which are totally
incongruous to hipsterdom. Of course, this is probably why Danny's on a date
with him, and why Stiles can't stand him on sight.
Danny gives him a smile when he picks up the coffee, and Stiles purposefully
gets New Jackson's order wrong to see what he'll do. Look, no one ever said
that Stiles wasn't provocative. And these days he's used to provoking much
scarier things than yuppies in overly thick-rimmed decorative glasses.
He's proven exactly wrong when the guy makes a face but just continues to sip
it. Stiles had screwed up the flavoring - caramel instead of vanilla, so it's
nothing that actually tastes bad, but some people are prone to overreacting. Of
course, now all he's accomplished is that Danny is on a date with a nice guy,
and the two have their heads bent close together, drinks almost forgotten on
the table next to their squishy loveseat.
They leave before Stiles' shift is over, when he's in the back digging up a new
stack of napkins so he doesn't see if they leave together or separately, but
he's pretty sure they're together, or if not, that there will at least be a
second date. Good for Danny. He needs more nice guys in his life.
Yeah, it's definitely a good thing. For everyone.
                                       *
On Thursday night Hipster Glasses comes in again, at the same time and orders
the same thing. Stiles doesn't screw it up this time, but ten minutes later
he's wishing he had. The guy was obviously on a date again; he's wearing the
same shoes and jacket, but Danny never shows. It's weird, Danny isn't the type
of guy to stand up a date. Even for forced group projects he's pretty much the
only person Stiles has ever worked with who hasn't bailed on a meeting or work
that they're supposed to be doing.
Stiles keeps an eye on Glasses between customers, and eventually he's joined on
his loveseat. By another college-looking guy that Stiles is pretty sure he's
seen before. Maybe he used to go to Beacon Hills High, or maybe he just has one
of those faces. But whatever, Shiny Shoes had been in with Danny just last
night, and it looked like they'd been having a good time.
They leave, not bothering to clear their table of crumpled sugar packs, napkins
and empty cups. Yeah, Stiles doesn't like the guy.
                                       *
Friday means date night and pre-bar coffees, which means lots of turnover.
Stiles is on his break, and therefore doesn't even realize that Danny is in
until he comes back out to wipe down tables and rearrange the furniture as much
as he can. Danny and his date are bent close over a table tonight; different
table, but the same guy with the glasses. The same guy who was here with
someone else last night. He feels like he should say something to Danny, warn
him that they've been on two dates and his new boyfriend is already cheating on
him, but he's not supposed to interrupt customers like that.
It's a close call.
Instead, he goes back behind the counter and taps Jared out to take his break
while they aren't swamped. Even though there isn't a line, there are plenty of
things that need to be done, things to be washed from the last rush of coffee
fiends. He's elbow deep in suds and hot water when there's a throat cleared
behind him, and he turns to find Danny at the register.
"What can I get you, Danny-boy?" Stiles asks, biting questions back about
Hipster Glasses and how they're apparently on a second date.
Danny puts his cup on the counter. "Just a refill for the road."
Stiles bites the inside of his lips while he's pouring the coffee, and watches
them walk out.
By the time Stiles gets home, he's got about two hours before he absolutely has
to be asleep in order to be marginally awake for breakfast in the morning.
Instead of doing something useful (like homework) or totally un-useful (his dad
never did figure out parental controls on their internet, and even if he had,
his passwords are totally predictable and written down on post-its in his
night-stand drawer), he opens OKCupid and makes a profile.
Stiles has to lie about his age, but that's not really new: he's been doing
that online for way too long. He doesn't really have many pictures of himself,
and most of them make him look like he's about 14. He's still only 16, but
Stiles likes to think that he at least looks older than that now. At the very
least, he and Scott had gotten better fake IDs and successfully tested them in
the next town over, sleeping it off in his jeep before sneaking back just
before sunrise a few times over the summer.
The point is that Stiles is very good at pretending that he's not sixteen. Once
he fills out the basic information, he starts answering questions; they are
endless and weird, and Stiles gives up around 1:00AM, crashing into bed without
taking off his socks.
                                       *
Saturday morning in the Stilinski house isn't for sleeping. Because of how much
Stiles' dad works, they've always set aside one day a week to have an actual
sit-down meal. It moves around depending on the Sheriff's schedule, the school
calendar, and now, Stiles' work, practice and game schedules. So right now,
it's Saturday morning.
"Your coffee skills have improved," his dad says while Stiles is cracking eggs
into a bowl for omelettes (he carefully dumps half the yolks down the drain
while his dad isn't looking - he leaves just enough so that the eggs look the
right color when they're done).
"I'll have you know I stopped poisoning customers weeks ago."
"And here I thought that was from the diner."
When they're done with eating and the dishes, Stiles sequesters himself in his
room, ostensibly to do his homework for the week, but really to see if anyone's
looked at his profile. There are about twenty messages waiting for him when he
logs in, so he prints out all the profiles and starts spreading them out on the
floor so he can see everyone at once.
He's attacking the first one with a red sharpie when his Dad walks in to see if
Stiles needs anything from the store.
Stiles has, of course, printed out all the pictures with the profiles, in
stunning color, so it's a bit late to pretend that he's doing homework when he
looks up to find the question on his dad's face.
"Something you want to tell me, Stiles?"
Stiles thinks back to the night he and Scott broke into Jungle, the way his dad
had so easily dismissed even the possibility that Stiles might be gay. That
night really had been about following murderous lizards, but this is about
something totally different. Okay, so it's not that different - he's trying to
keep Danny out of the line of fire. Just because Danny's best friend-turned
homicidal lizard-turned werewolf isn't in town anymore doesn't mean that
Danny's safe. Not with the guys he's been dating. One guy. And a bunch of
douchebags. Two. But it's more than Danny deserves to put up with.
"Just helping out a friend," he says.
It looks like his dad wants to say more, but he doesn't, just closes the door
behind him.
A few hours later when Stiles has red sharpie marks all over his hands, no
clear pattern on the type of guys in the area who use OKCupid, and no potential
dates for Danny, he decides that he's doing this wrong, and pulls up Danny's
profile to read. Aside from the fact that Danny is lying about his age, he
looks really good on paper. (And in real life, but for science, Stiles is
trying to forget that he actually knows Danny.) Stiles hovers over the message
button, halfway through mentally composing a greeting, and then abruptly closes
the tab. He reminds himself that he's doing this for Danny, and not looking for
a boyfriend for himself. As if Danny would go out with him in the first place,
even if Stiles swung that way.
Clearly, the problem isn't with Danny's profile. The problem is everyone else.
The problem is that Danny's a nice guy who has a history of going after
terrible boyfriends. Like Matt. And Ethan. And Loafers and Glasses and Arms-
length Arrest Record.
                                       *
"I figured it out," he tells Scott over burgers and curly fries.
The diner is harshly lit and badly decorated, but they've got the best fries
and the thickest milkshakes. All the things Stiles doesn't allow his dad to
bring home.
Scott is in the middle of a bite when Stiles makes his proclamation, so it
takes a minute for him to get his question out around it. "What are you talking
about? Nothing's happening."
"Danny. It's not that all guys are a douchebags, it's that Danny keeps picking
douchebags. I need to fix that."
"I still don't get why you're making it your problem."
Stiles shrugs. He hasn't exactly figured out that bit either, but he's too deep
in it to pull back now. Besides, he's good at excuses. "I feel guilty that we
never told him about Ethan before he took off in the middle of the night."
"The werewolf part or the murdered a classmate part?"
"Either. Both. Whatever. Dude's had a rough few years. Best friend turns
homicidal lizard turns werewolf turns gone to London. Paralyzed for a night by
said best friend, sleeps with homicidal half megazoid werewolf --"
"The better half."
"Granted, the slightly less violently crazy half of the megazoid twin alpha
thing, and now he's dating college trust fund hipsters and abusive jerks.
Something's gotta give, so I'm gonna make sure it happens."
"Dude, you can just tell me stuff."
Stiles freezes with his last fry halfway to his mouth, but recovers quickly.
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
                                       *
Stiles is fighting to shove his books into his locker monday morning when Danny
comes up behind him.
"So," he says, drawing it out and waiting for Stiles to finish what he's doing.
When Stiles has the right books and his locker clicks shut he turns to where
Danny is leaning, looking relaxed and way too alert for the hour. If Stiles
takes a minute to appreciate how long and lean he is when he's on display like
that, then it's only because he appreciates people of any gender who look good.
"I saw your profile," Danny says.
Profile? They are facebook friends, he's probably facebook friends with 90% of
the school, but ever since Stiles' life took a turn into the "you wouldn't
believe it even if I told you" territory he's stopped using it so much. He
doesn't really care what Jared gets up to outside of work if Scott's in danger
of decapitation weekly. And he definitely hasn't updated his profile in at
least a month, except for a few embarrassing pictures of his first attempts
using the machine at work. Which means that Danny's talking about his fake
dating profile. That Stiles only made to pre-screen men for Danny. And which he
definitely doesn't want to talk to Danny about. But apparently, that's what
they're doing. Fantastic. Just what Stiles needs early on Monday morning,
before he's managed coffee. "Just checking a few things out."
"You looked at my profile."
Stiles bites his cheek. He hadn't known about that particular feature when he'd
looked. "Right. Um. I can explain."
"Let me know if you want to talk." And then Danny's gone, disappearing into one
of the science classes on the main hallway.
                                       *
Stiles shows up with barely a minute to spare for work on Tuesday. Practice had
run long and Stiles had hit every red light on the way across town and not even
being the Sheriff's son could save him from speeding tickets, so he can't make
up for lost time that way. (He knows this for a fact. Several facts costing a
few hundred bucks each.) As soon as he arrives, he throws his things in the
back and comes out before he even finishes tying on his apron, taking over the
register from Jared just in time to see Danny and his cheating Hipster ready to
order. Danny's got his wallet out, Hipster has his hands in his pockets.
"One black coffee, one Vanilla skim latte," Danny says, handing his card to
Stiles, who swipes it, hands it back and goes to start the drinks. This time he
deliberately leaves out all the flavoring hoping to provoke him into doing
something to show his true colors.
This backfires spectacularly when Danny brings the cup back and politely asks
for the vanilla that Stiles forgot. He fixes his drink and just when Danny is
turning back Stiles figures that maybe it's time to intervene.
"We should talk," he blurts out. Nowhere near as casual as he'd meant to say
it, but it's direct and to the point. Could have been worse.
"Sure. After practice tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Stiles agrees, then lets Jared take his register back while he goes
into the back room trying to figure out what the hell he's doing.
                                       *
"You wanted to talk?"
Danny is pulling on his shirt as he approaches, and Stiles looks away, making
sure he's got everything he needs out of his gym locker, and that his towel
isn't on the floor where it won't dry and instead will get moldy. Not that he
knows this from first-hand experience, of course.
"I've got some time before work. Want a drink? My treat."
They chat amiably on the way, and Stiles isn't in danger of running any red
lights to get there. He's got half an hour before his shift starts by the time
he parks the Jeep.
Becca gives Stiles a weird look when he shows up early, but Stiles ignores it
and ducks behind the counter to grab Danny his usual and and a cup of iced
coffee for himself. There are a few students scattered around with piles of
books and notes, but it isn't too crowded so Stiles picks a table as far away
from the counter as possible. No use making it easy for his coworkers to
eavesdrop.
They each add things to their cup, and then sit. Stiles twirls his cup around,
not sure how to start. Yes, he needs to talk to Danny because Danny has no
sense of self-preservation. But now that he's actually here and sitting across
the table from Danny, it's hard to actually say the things he wants to say. The
words all sound terrible in his head, and they're going to be worse once he
speaks them, but no one ever accused Stiles of backing away from things.
"Okay, so I'm not sure what I'm doing here, but bear with me because I've been
practicing how to say this and everything sounds awful."
Danny interrupts him. "Don't say it if you're not ready. No one should be
forced to say or do anything they're not ready for."
"So these guys you keep bringing here. Where do you meet them?" It's part of
the problem, but not actually what Stiles is trying to get at. He'll find his
way there eventually.
"Online, mostly. It's not like Beacon Hills has a huge gay population. Dating
sites like OKCupid, some gaming forums have corners for gay gamers to talk, I
can give you a list."
"Perfect, thanks," Stiles says without thinking.
"Happy to help," Danny says. "You're not the first guy from school I've done
this for. You might be surprised."
It seems a bit absurd to Stiles that anyone else has been paying that much
attention to Danny's sex life that they've come to the same conclusions. Stiles
knows that he's got a very roundabout way of solving problems, it drives most
of his teachers up the wall. It's really unlikely that anyone else at school
would both have the same puzzle pieces that Stiles does and put them together
in the same way. He's about say this out loud when realization slams into him,
and Stiles is suddenly aware that they're having two very different
conversations.
Stiles is trying to get Danny to make better life choices and Danny is coaxing
Stiles out of his nonexistent closet.
"Wait what no," he says in a rush. "I'm not coming out. Not that there's
anything wrong with it, obviously, but this isn't about me. This is about you
and your dating deathwish."
The easy-going smile drops from Danny's face, but Stiles plows on, regardless.
"You have terrible taste in men. I realize that Ethan split in the middle of
the night, Matt turned out to be a murdering psychopath, and Jackson is just an
asshole, but you need to stop trying to replace them with abusive jerks and
douchebags. I'm good with patterns. I see things. And this new one with the
glasses? I hate to break it to you, but he's not the exception."
"We're done here," Danny says.
He leaves his mostly full coffee on the table.
                                       *
Danny doesn't come back. He's been pretty predictable since Stiles started
working at Lestat's. He comes in Fridays, sometimes other days, gets his black
coffee and spends an hour or two with whatever hipster he's picked up that
week.
Okay, so he's dated three guys in the last few weeks. And it's only been three
weeks since he started watching Danny, but he likes things that come in threes.
It means patterns, and patterns mean that Stiles can make close to accurate
predictions.
But then his Friday night shift comes to an end without Danny, even though
there are plenty of people on dates. Danny had been at school all week, but
Stiles hadn't paid much attention other than that he was there. It's not like
they cross paths all that often when there aren't any werewolves around. School
isn't the problem and anyway, school was pretty much the only place where he
gets to spent time with Scott.
When Monday rolls around again, Stiles goes looking for Danny, who promptly
starts walking away as soon as Stiles gets close. They share a second period
class, but even though Stiles is sitting closer to the door, Danny is in later
and out first. By the time Scott and Stiles get to the locker room the change
for practice, Danny is in his gear and headed towards the field.
If three's a pattern, this one is definitely Danny avoiding Stiles, which is
completely unfair. Stiles was just trying to help.
"I was just trying to help!" he says to Scott when practice is over. "And now
he won't talk to me. Or look at me. Or stay in the same room when not required
to."
Scott shrugs. "So go apologize."
"But I was trying to help," Stiles repeats, with extra emphasis. He's the good
guy here, and Scott needs to know that.
"What did you say to him?"
"I told him that he needs to stop trying to get over his homicidal ex and
asshole best friend by dating douchebags and abusive jerks. His new boyfriend
cheated on him after one date. Someone needs to look out for him since he
obviously can't do it himself."
The problem with being someone's best friend for nearly a decade is that you
can tell when they're trying not to say what they really think. Scott, for
instance, literally bites his lips to keep his mouth closed.
"Dude, just tell me what it is," Stiles says, impatient. "I have to get to
work."
Scott pulls on his helmet and says, "Maybe you should listen to what you just
said." Before Stiles can respond, Scott starts the bike and drives off.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He yells at Scott's retreating back,
knowing that Scott can still actually hear him, even if he's probably not going
to come back to explain.
                                       *
"Your friend was here yesterday," Becca says when he walks in for work on
Sunday.
Stiles just gives her a look. Scott doesn't visit here all that often, but he's
been in a few times. Not that he could have been here yesterday, since he'd
been with Stiles all day. So unless she's talking about one of his Dad's
deputies, Stiles has no idea who she's talking about.
"What, my Dad sending people to spy on me again? He knows I don't work
Saturdays."
"No, the cute one. Who was dating that hipster guy with the glasses."
Danny. Right. They're definitely not friends, Stiles thinks, not now. But if he
wants information, he needs to not say that out loud. "Yeah?"
"Came in with a new guy."
"Not the guy with the glasses?" Well that's good news at least.
"He wasn't wearing glasses. He was asian, kinda tall. Another friend?"
"Maybe," Stiles lies. Or rather, stretches the truth. He doesn't know the guy
in person, but he might have found his profile online the other night. One of
the better looking ones, physically and metaphorically. He pulls up his phone
and finds the picture he was thinking about, handing over his phone so Becca
could see it. "This the guy?"
Becca shrugs. "I think so. Profile pictures can be misleading.
Stiles had to smile at that, given that his own had been carefully selected to
make him seem as far away from sixteen as possible.
His shift drags on forever, but by the time he gets home he has a plan. He
quickly opens up his computer and logs onto OKCupid. It's pretty easy to find
Phillip's profile again, and Stiles sends him a quick message. He must have
been online because he responds right away, and before he knows it, Stiles has
a date.
They agree to meet at the Starbucks across town, much farther away from school
and work and the Sheriff's office, making it a much safer place for Stiles to
vet the guy.
He gets there early and orders his iced coffee, dropping a few dollars in the
tip jar and adding all the milk and sugar to drown out the biting, bitter taste
of cheap subpar coffee. Five minutes later, Phillip walks in, picks Stiles out
and sits down next to him, not bothering to get a drink first.
They talk for a while; Stiles' natural awkwardness makes it harder to get
Phillip to talk about himself, mostly because Stiles just can't stop talking.
He does find out that Phillip graduated from Humboldt last year with a degree
in marketing, and that he has family in Beacon Hills; his cousins are opening
up a spa out on the borders of the preserve, and they've hired him to be in
charge of their marketing.
Nice enough, even if he is six years older (four, going by his and Danny's
profile).
"Meet anyone nice in town?" Stiles asks.
Phillip smiles, "A few. Right now, for instance."
Stiles blushes, suddenly very aware of the fact that he's on a date. With a
guy. Which, of all the weird situations that have come up in the last year, is
the one he probably anticipated the least.
He's about to answer when he feels a draft of cool air coming from the door. He
looks up automatically and there's Danny, who naturally sees Stiles right away.
"Stiles! What the fuck are you doing here with him?" Danny is usually pretty
chill, even when he's in full on defense mode on the field, so it's really
weird to see him this angry.
"You two know each other?" Phillip asks, brows creasing.
"We go -- went to high school together," Stiles says at the same time Danny
says,
"The scene's not that big in town."
Danny crosses his arms, which just makes his shoulders look wider, his shirt
stretched tight across them. He's glaring at Stiles.
Phillip backs away. "There's obviously some unresolved issues. I'm gonna go."
"Yeah, I'm leaving too," Danny says.
Stiles runs his hands through his hair. "Wait, Danny."
And he does. He still looks pissed as hell, but he's not walking out the door.
"What the hell, Stiles?" Danny asks.
It's a fair question, but Stiles doesn't answer right away.
"Let me buy you a drink," he says instead. "Since you obviously came in for
one."
Danny nods, and Stiles leaves his bag at the table and orders Danny's usual.
"I know there's been weird shit in town the last year," Danny starts.
Stiles laughs, because he's still not sure how much Danny actually knows. It's
not like he can call Jackson and ask. "You could say that."
Danny rolls his eyes. "I mean, you've been acting really strange. Even by the
Beacon Hills definition."
Stiles bites his lip on the you have no fucking clue that wants to push out. He
wants to bring Danny in on the big secret, but he can't do that without
revealing how he got involved, which is information that is definitely not his
place to give out. "Seriously, though," he says instead, "I'm sorry. I thought
that after Matt and Ethan and Jackson you deserved better than the guys I saw
you with at Lestat's."
"Adam was a nice guy."
"He was cheating on you."
"There's nothing to cheat on. We went on a few dates, that's all."
Stiles licks his lips and looks down at the table, fiddling with the crumpled
white wrapper from his straw. "Right. Okay. Sorry."
"Just let me make my own mistakes," Danny says. "And maybe try a few of your
own." With that, he's gone. Stiles watches him walking out until Danny turns
the corner and he wonders when his life turned from supernatural teen drama to
plain old teen drama. It's a bit of a letdown, to be honest.
                                       *
Stiles' weekly routine goes back to normal. School, practice, work, breakfast
with Dad on Saturday, the rest of the day his to do whatever, which mostly
meant video games with Scott.
Danny starts coming into Lestat's more often, and mostly alone. Stiles gives
him the coffee for free about every fifth time, but he's not counting. Danny
now has a regular table where he does his homework, laptop out, the rest of the
table piled with messy stacks of books and paper. When he does bring a date in,
he takes time to talk to Stiles while he's fixing their drinks, and Stiles
stops deliberately getting orders wrong.
One Tuesday night Scott comes in with Isaac, and they crowd around one of the
tables in the corner that are barely big enough for two people to put their
cups down. Stiles gives Scott a grin when he comes up to the counter.
"Something you want to tell me?" Stiles doesn't really need to ask, though.
"Be cool, dude," Scott warns him. Then he nods to the opposite side of the room
where Danny's at his usual table, with a date tonight. "You okay with that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You know," Scott says, with a vague gesture.
"We talked. It's fine," Stiles says.
"You sure you don't want to tell me anything?"
"Dude, be cool," he parrots back to Scott.
Scott doesn't say anything else, just picks up the two drinks he orders when
Stiles hands them over and goes back to his table with Isaac. Stiles is due for
a break soon, and he wants to go over and sit with Danny, like he's been doing
lately, but there are two werewolves in the room, and they'll be able to hear
everything he says perfectly. Besides, Danny's on a date, too.
Instead, he catches up to Danny at school the next day.
"Scott's been bugging me about you," he tells Danny. "He might come after you
next."
Danny just shrugs. "Thanks for the warning."
He never gets to find out exactly what Scott has planned, because later that
night, while Stiles is on shift, Danny comes in with another date. Different
from the one he'd brought the night before, but this time it's someone Danny
knows. Not by name, but he knows the face. One of Argent's hunters. Stiles had
thought that Allison was done with the old hunting ways, or at least that's
what he'd gathered from Lydia when she bothered to talk to him. A new code
should mean breaking with the people they'd worked with before.
Except that one of them is back in town. On a date. With Danny.
This is it. Stiles has reached his breaking point, and he has to do something.
He's not sure what,, but something.
He storms up to Danny and the hunter. "This is what I'm talking about," he says
to Danny, then turns. "You need to get your ass out of this town. I don't give
a shit who sent you here to do what. There's nothing here for you to do so
leave. I want you on the road tonight, and I can enforce that. My Dad's the
sheriff and he listens to me when I tell him there's a problem."
Danny grabs Stiles by his shoulder and yanks Stiles back to face him. "You
don't get to do this."
"Fine," Stiles says. "I'm done trying to help. You want to keep dating psychos
and hunters instead of regular nice geeky guys your own age, I'm done."
His shift isn't over, but he storms out anyway. His keys and wallet are in his
pocket, and he can come back later, much later, to get his backpack from the
breakroom.
He runs a stop sign two blocks from home because he's too angry to pay
attention to the roads, but no one's out anyway, so there's no harm done. Now
that he's home, he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to call Scott, he
can't call his Dad, and Lydia is out of the question. He doesn't even
contemplate any of the Hales. There's no one else.
Even though the house is empty, Stiles shuts himself in his room and suddenly
feels incredibly lonely. It's been years, but some nights the house is just too
quiet when he's home by himself. He misses the sporadic clatter that
accompanied his mom making dinner, or the hum of the TV from below when he
still had an early bedtime, and his parents took advantage to cuddle on the
couch in the living room. The memories temper his anger some, mostly because he
can't hold both at the same time and stay in one piece.
He closes his eyes and breathes as slowly as he can, letting the cool air wash
through him, trying to let it carry away his grief and anger all at once. It's
just starting to work when the doorbell rings and Stiles nearly jumps out of
his skin. No one rings their doorbell. Scott got a key ages ago, even if these
days he comes in and out of Stiles' window more often than not.
The doorbell means bad news or missionaries, and it's definitely the wrong time
of night for the latter. Stiles vaults off his bed and makes it down the steps
in seconds, skidding to a halt at the door before wrenching it open.
Only to find Danny, carrying Stiles' backpack.
He has no idea what to say. "Er, thanks."
"Nice, normal and geeky?"
"To be fair, I also said your own age."
"Can I come in?" Danny is uncharacteristically fidgety, shifting his weight and
rocking from side to side on the balls of his feet.
Stiles steps back instead of answering it verbally, using the chance to catch
his breath and force his heart to accept that it's not the bad news he'd
expected.
Danny is holding out the backpack, and Stiles takes it, tossing it into a
corner of the kitchen. "So," he says, voice awkward in the too-still room.
"Water?" He has no idea what to do. Angry werewolves are easier to deal with.
"Can I try something?," Danny says, not answering the question.
Stiles isn't sure where this is going, but he's in the middle of pulling cups
down from the cabinet. By the time he's filled them, drank half his own, and
turned around again to offer one to Danny he finds Danny a lot closer than he
expected, given that he didn't hear him cross the kitchen. It's not fair; just
because Stiles long ago learned how to avoid the one squeaky floorboard doesn't
mean that Danny gets to figure it out on his first try.
Danny gently takes the glasses from Stiles hands and sets them back on the
counter, still coming closer, not stopping even when he's breached Stiles'
personal bubble. Hands free, Stiles brings them up between the two of them,
trying to keep a few inches of space. Danny stops.
Slowly, he brings up his left hand and sets it gently on Stiles shoulder.
Stiles suddenly wishes that he'd been better about following the diet plan he'd
forced onto Dad. His heart is going to give out any minute, it's beating so
fast. He mentally reviews the symptoms of a heart attack, which he definitely
isn't having, and a panic attack, which probably isn't happening, either.
Stiles meets Danny's wide, dark eyes, and can't find much to go on. Most of
Danny's face is thrown into shadow from the ceiling lamp behind his head, and
Stiles is suddenly regretting the energy saving tear he'd gone on last year
because the halogen light is so much brighter than the old bulbs had been, the
higher contrast making him squint if he wants to see more than a stark outline
of Danny's head. In another situation with other players Stiles would probably
feel threatened, and try to make a run for it, or failing that, attempt talk
his way out. But his throat seems to have closed, and his lips won't obey him.
Danny brings his other hand up now, too. This one starts at Stiles' shoulder
and glides up to his neck, fingers splayed out. Stiles needs to have a good
long talk with his lungs about how they're deserting him now, of all times, and
taking all of the oxygen with them. Danny's thumb swipes gently over the corner
of Stiles' mouth, and his lips involuntarily fall open, the last of his breath
escaping with a small sigh.
And then Danny presses in closer; Stiles' hands are turning traitor now, too.
His fingers starting to curl and catch on the fabric of Danny's shirt, pulling
him in instead of pushing him away. His eyelids flutter shut just as Danny's
lips meet his own.
Danny is warm and his lips are chapped and rough, catching as he tilts his head
enough for more than just a peck on the lips. Stiles sways forward into Danny,
enough to show that he's not running away, before gaining control of his limbs
and pulling back, putting a few inches between them.
"That was unexpected," he says. It's not the only thing he wants to say, he has
tons of words parading around through his head, but apparently that's all he's
going to get.
Danny's smile is warm and open anyway, crinkling his eyes at the corners as he
talks. "Not really," he says. "I thought you'd break ages ago."
Now Stiles is genuinely puzzled. He'd just wanted Danny to find someone that
was good for him, who wasn't violently unstable, who wasn't mixed up with
supernatural chaos, and he only fits one of the three. He'd never even
considered throwing his own hat in the ring. The idea was insane.
Except, here Danny is, pinning him against his sink, and looking like he wants
to kiss Stiles again. And this definitely isn't a dream.
"Do it again," Stiles demands.
This time, he is prepared. He knows what's coming, and he thinks he knows how
to deal with it, but everything flies out the window when Danny's mouth meets
his for the second time. There's more, this time. More force, more heat. Stiles
doesn't have much experience here, he never did deal with his virgin problem
before things had moved into new categories, but he's not completely clueless.
He opens to Danny's tongue, letting him do most of the work at first while
Stiles figures out how to move with him and finally, pushes back.
Danny groans, or maybe that's Stiles. It's hard to tell anymore, as his breath
is being sucked out, and his chest is on fire. When he finally pulls away and
leans his forehead against Danny so that he can really and truly breathe again,
he laughs.
It's catching, because Danny starts laughing, too. Stiles can't even remember
the last time he felt like this; light, breezy, and happy. Some veil has lifted
in Stiles' mind and he can see again, too. Wonders when he started to fall in
love with Danny, when he finished falling, and when he forgot all about it.
He kisses Danny again, quickly, and then slides out from where he's pinned,
letting his hand trail down Danny's arm until their fingers catch and tangle
and he can pull Danny from the kitchen and up the stairs.
In general, Stiles moves through the world quickly. He can't stand to stay
still. He's definitely never climbed a staircase this slowly. Then again, he's
probably not had this much fun on the stairs since he got too big to ride a
mattress down without breaking things at the bottom.
Now, though, Danny keeps pulling him down, pulling him back to kiss, to touch.
By the time they reach Stiles' bedroom it feels like they've been doing this
forever and not long enough. Stiles is about to crawl out of his skin, or into
Danny's, he can't decide which. He pushes Danny against the inside of the door
to close it, using his advantage to burrow his hands up and under Danny's
shirt, to finally get his hands on Danny's skin.
Danny's abs feel every bit as good as they look, maybe better, Stiles thinks,
because he can feel every shift of Danny's breathing, every twist of his torso
as he presses further into Stiles' hands. Stiles thumb grazes Danny's nipple
and it earns him a groan, muffled against Stiles' lips.
Stiles's makes his way down Danny's body, outlining all of his muscles, as far
down as he can until he meets the hard line of Danny's jeans, which block him
from exploring further. He hesitates for a second, pulling back from Danny's
mouth as well. Instead, he buries his face in Danny's neck and breathes.
Before tonight he hadn't really contemplated the fact that he apparently likes
kissing dudes. Well, he definitely likes kissing Danny. Wants to do more than
kiss him, probably; he's achingly hard, and Danny probably wants the same
things, even though Stiles doesn't have empirical evidence of that. Yet. He
knows that he could find out easily. He just needs to decide if he wants to
find out right now. He's been warned about letting his dick do all his
thinking, in different words, by most of the adults in his life. And as much as
Stiles appreciates the advice, if not necessarily the awkward way it had been
shared, but he's never really been one to follow advice. And he definitely is
one for going all in once he decides to do something.
Decision made, he slides his hands around to Danny's back and presses their
hips together, having trouble keeping back a groan at the increased pressure on
his hard cock. He definitely can't keep it in when Danny pushes back against
him, his fingers digging under the waistband of Stiles's own jeans and down to
cup Stiles' ass.
Danny's hands are incredibly warm, spreading searing heat wherever they hit
Stiles' skin, which is, as far as he can tell right now, everywhere. Danny
pulls him closer and finds his mouth again, distracting Stiles so that he can
pull them away from the door and deposit Stiles on the edge of the bed,
spreading Stiles' legs and looming over him briefly before sinking down to his
knees.
He's hesitant as he reaches for the button on Stiles' jeans, making sure he
gets permission before he goes ahead with his plan. Stiles leans down to kiss
him before whispering, "Yes. Please," as he pulls away.
Danny pushes further into Stiles's space, spreading his legs more, hands coming
up to quickly open Stiles' pants, helping Stiles move his hips up enough to get
the fabric far enough out of the way so that he can pull out Stiles' dick.
The air is a cool shock to Stiles, but he forgets about it pretty quickly when
Danny's hand wraps around him, pulling slowly, testing Stiles' response. Like
there's really a question; Stiles is sixteen and he's never had anyone else's
hands on him. Of course he's going to like it. Of course he wants more. He's
about to tell Danny as much when Danny's mouth closes around the head of his
cock, causing Stiles' entire world to narrow down to just the two of them.
Werewolves? What are those?
For all that Stiles has imagined getting blown, which is a quite a bit, the
real thing is even better. Danny's mouth is hot and wet, and he clearly knows
how to use his tongue to press against the underside of Stiles cock in tandem
with his hand on Stiles' balls. He wants to thrust up and get more, but Danny's
other hand is holding Stiles' hips down, forcing Stiles to go along with
Danny's pace while he grips his rumpled blankets as tightly as he can.
Stiles wants this to drag out forever, but knows it's going to be over all too
soon. "Danny," he bites out, bringing one hand down to get Danny's attention.
"I'm going to -" He can't quite finish the sentence as Danny twists his hand in
a particularly perfect way. But Danny gets the message and pulls back,
continuing to work Stiles with his hand until Stiles comes with a loud moan.
He's suddenly very glad that they're alone in his house.
He slumps back on the bed leaning on one elbow while he pulls Danny up with the
hand, gasping as his oversensitive cock comes in contact with the rough denim
of Danny's pants. He can feel an edge of sleepiness coming in, but as Danny
settles on top of him he realizes that Danny is still hard, and that it would
be entirely unfair of him to sack out now.
Stiles pokes at Danny's chest, "move."
Danny does, looking puzzled until Stiles points in the direction of the
pillows. The covers get even more rumpled as they kick and shift their way to
laying the right way on the bed, their clothes sticking and twisting, limiting
their movement. Eventually, though, Stiles has Danny on his back, legs spread
tangled up with Stiles, who is half on top of Danny and definitely enjoying the
part where Danny's shirt has ridden up halfway, exposing his perfect six-pack.
But that's not what Stiles is looking for.
He reaches for the button on Danny's jeans, and it's more awkward getting it
open than he expected, but he's working through a post-orgasm haze and at an
unfamiliar angle. He eventually manages to get them open with Danny's help, and
reaches in to wrap his hand around Danny's dick. Danny hips buck up into the
contact, making it easy for Stiles to figure out Danny's rhythm. He fumbles a
bit, because as much as he does this to himself, it's different to be doing it
for someone else. Danny clearly doesn't mind Stiles' clumsy fingers, though,
because it's not very long before he's arching his back and coming, thick white
ropes spilling out of his cock and onto Stiles' hand.
He gives Danny's dick a few more gentle pulls, relishing the way he twitches in
Stiles' hand, and claims Danny's mouth again. The kiss is gentle this time,
long and slow, and he can concentrate on how Danny tastes and feels against
him. When he brings his hand up to cup Danny's cheek he realizes that it's
covered in cooling, sticky come, and makes a face while Danny laughs at him.
Stiles is about to wipe his hands on Danny's shirt in retaliation, but he
realizes that he'd already ruined it, and wipes his hand in the same spot where
his own come had apparently landed earlier. Danny hits him in the arm, but
without any real force behind it.
"You can borrow one of mine," Stiles says, before leaning in to capture Danny's
mouth again.
They're settling in against each other, still mostly clothed but loose and
tired and light when Stiles phone goes off. Just a text, and he'd ignore it,
but they're both children of the digital age and Danny is digging into his
pocket for him, bringing it up so Stiles can look.
"It's just Scott," Stiles says. "I don't need to answer." He takes the phone
and tosses it over the side of the bed, hearing it fall to carpeted floor with
a soft thud.
"What did he want?" Danny's words are slow and lazy, taking their time to
finish his thoughts.
Stiles snuggles millimeters closer and smiles into Danny's neck.
"He asked me if I'd figured it out yet."
End Notes
     Thanks to the mods at A Bite Off Center, for organizing this fest and
     keeping up the posting for a full month. Now that I've (finally)
     finished mine, maybe I can even go read a few!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!