The general consensus around the IT department is that Derek Hale is a graceful, evil muscle man with a pretty face and an A-plus ass. God, he is pretty. All of him is just so... gorgeous. All but his personality. Or at least that's what the rumors say.
The first time Stiles meets Derek Hale personally, It's on a business trip to this huge conference where the company would be represented by twelve of their most prominent employees. Stiles isn't one of those employees, mind you, not by a long shot. He might one day be, if he ever gets promoted into the engineering department. But Derek is a big shot in the financial department, notorious for making huge deals based off intimidation strategies. Stiles doesn't personally agree with his methods, but then again, Stiles isn't the one handling millions and millions of dollars worth of the company's money on a daily basis. Stiles' job is strictly internal IT, but occasionally someone of the IT department will be asked to join the business people on a trip, as a standby IT-expert, just in case one of the older people forgets how to log into their email account again. That's why Stiless is on this business trip.
He ends up on the same flight, and sitting next to Derek Hale. Derek Hale is by far the youngest and most attractive Big Shot in their company. Big Shots referring to anyone who works on the twenty-fifth floor or higher. Derek works on the thirtieth, thirty one being the highest and CEO floor. Stiles and a few of his coworkers quietly refer to Derek Hale as 'Money Shot' sometimes. It's horrible and they could get sued and fired for sexual harassment probably, but their job isn't that interesting. Stiles works on the nineteenth floor, which might sound pretty high, but that's only because floors one through seventeen are strictly for the company engineers, where the geniuses of the company are developing everlasting light bulbs and – this is just what Stiles imagines is so important that they need seventeen floors for – flying cars that run on solar power.
Stiles only got to go on the business trip because he happened to be the only person available for the entire weekend – if that's not a great reflection of Stiles' social life, then he doesn't know what is – and when he sits down next to Derek Hale in first class, he is thoroughly intimidated and horribly self aware. Obviously Stiles has never flown first class before. In fact, he's only ever been on a plane twice before in his life: five years ago when he was still in college, going to and coming back from Sydney, Australia where he spent five months for an internship.
Derek Hale looks like he was born in first class. His wrist watch alone looks like it should have its own seat, maybe the one Stiles is sitting.
“I'm Stiles,” Stiles decides to say once they're in the air. It's clear from the beginning that Derek Hale is prepared to ignore him completely, and Stiles is initially ready to accept that. Initially. Before he realizes that this is going to be a six hour flight and that he is a pretty nervous flier.
Derek doesn't reply at first, and Stiles thinks that he might not have heard him, considers saying it again, when Derek sighs. It sounds pained.
“Derek,” Derek says, staring ahead.
“I know, you're from the thirtieth.”
This time Derek turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised and wow. “You're from the company?”
“IT,” Stiles says, and holds up the company badge he has hanging around his neck. He's the only one who is going to have to prove that he's important enough to be at this conference, you see. Derek Hale isn't going to be wearing a damn badge. “At your service,” Stiles then adds, and clamps his mouth shut before he can say anything about what kind of services he might than willing to perform on this man. He thinks about it, though. Oh, does he think about it.
To his surprise, all Derek says is: “You're going to have a lot of free time once we get there.”
“Really?” Stiles asks, because he hadn't even thought about that.
Derek shrugs. “Francis is giving a presentation of our numbers, and he's about eighty five years old and uses his iPad as a coaster, so you should probably be on stand by for that one.”
“That sounds super exciting, I can't wait,” Stiles snorts, settling into his seat. What happens next is unexpected. Derek pulls the conference schedule up on his phone and shows Stiles what their team will be doing over the course of it. As it turns out, there is only Mister Francis' presentation that would really need Stiles' attention. The rest of the weekend is filled with meetings and presentations of other branches of the company, which Stiles has nothing to do with. He considers this only for a second, and then the plane makes a noise that startles him and he throws himself into conversation with the man who only seems to be listening to him with half an ear.
The flight goes by quicker than Stiles expects. He forgets about Derek Hale for a moment when Stiles realizes he has to figure out where to go from now, how to get to a hotel. That's when Derek tugs on the back of jacker. Stiles turns around to see the man pointing at a shiny black Mercedes waiting by the sidewalk. The driver – the driver – opens the trunk.
“Unless you'd rather take a cab,” Derek says, before sauntering off and depositing his bag in the back of the car.
“This will do, I guess,” Stiles snorts, and throws his own bag in as well.
Once they're in the back of said car, Stiles can't help himself. “This is horrible.”
Derek doesn't react. He's focused on the screen of his phone, and Stiles considers shutting up and not bothering him anymore, but decides against it.
“The company is supposed to be completely focused on renewable and durable energy. They couldn't have sent a hybrid car, at least? Electric?”
“We can stop and you can walk the rest of the way, if that's going to make you feel better,” Derek says easily, but doesn't take his eyes off his phone. Until he does.
“Do you know what you'll be doing once we arrive at the hotel?” he asks, putting his phone away and and startling Stiles with the sudden attention. “They're probably going to treat you like trash, but as long as you don't give in to their shit you'll be fine.”
“What - I figured I'd just follow you guys around until one of you needs me.”
“I don't think you want to do that.”
“Why would you want to follow these people around?”
“Because it's my job?”
“It's not, though. Don't you have a card? Give them your phone number, and they'll call you if they need you. If you're lucky they'll forget all about you and you got yourself a free weekend.”
“That's not...Can I do that? I mean, not that I have a card, but it sounds like I'd be blowing this whole thing off.”
“Do you really think the Plaza wouldn't have someone stationed in every conference room corner to help out with technical difficulties?”
“We're stay at the Plaza?”
“How uninformed are you, exactly?”
“Dude, I found out I was doing this like, yesterday. All HR told me was that I was to be tech support for you guys, wherever you go. That's it.”
Derek shakes his head, but there's a small smile playing around his lips.
“What?” Stiles asks. “What?”
“Nothing. Do whatever you want. Whether that's your job or not, I personally don't care.”
“I think you care a little bit, otherwise you wouldn't have said anything about it,” Stiles points out. “Hey, did HR book a room for me or was I supposed to do that myself? Because if that's the case I'm going to have to ask the driver to drop me off at a motel.”
“You'll have a room,” Derek says with something resembling a snort. It looks like he's going to add something when his phone buzzes to life. He answers it and is on the phone for the next thirty minutes, all the way until they arrive at the hotel. He doesn't actually say anything interesting; it's all work related, and on more than one occasion does Derek put the phone down while the other person is still talking.
Stiles has stayed in hotels before, but when the girl behind the front desk gives him his room key with, a huge smile, and a little speech about how happy she is to have them here, he realizes that this is going to be something different.
And he's right. Derek was nice enough to forward him the schedule for the weekend, and the schedule tells him that there is absolutely nothing for him to do until two thirty that afternoon, leaving him with the entire morning and lunch hour free. At least that is what Derek tells him, because when Stiles looks at the schedule himself, the first item on it reads D.G Hale – M.K Whittemore 12:30. Stiles figures he rushed off to get ready for his meeting, wonders faintly what it would be about.
Once Stiles finds his own room, though, he stops caring about everything. There is no doubt in his mind that he's going to be spending every free second that weekend clad in the fluffiest bathrobe he's ever seen, rolling around in the most amazing bed he's ever laid in -
He's in the process of testing the bounce on the bed when the room's phone rings on the bedside table. He stares at it for a good three rings before he clambers towards it to answer it.
“Mister Stilinski? This is the front desk. I would like to redirect a call from mister Hale to your room,” the voice of the lady at the front desk comes through crystal clear.
“Really? He misses me already?” he jokes, flopping onto his bed, adjusting a pillow behind his head.
“I'll redirect the call, sir,” the girl says, and Stiles can't help himself, he makes a face.
“Unless you have something better to do, you can sit in on my twelve thirty meeting. Whittemore is bringing his son,” Derek starts, without a greeting.
“Am I your son now?” Stiles blurts into the receiver. The softness of this bed is making him way too comfortable, it seems. “I mean, sure, I can be there. But I'm not going to be any help. Wouldn't it be better if you asked one of your peers?”
“This meeting is between Whittemore and myself. That was the deal. His son is just baggage that I have to deal with.”
“So I'm your baggage? Or like... your son?”
“There's a free three star lunch in it for you,” Derek sighs.
“Sold. What do I wear?”
There's a short pause and then Derek says: “Not what you were wearing just now.”
“That is hurtful. You're lucky I packed clean sneaker.”
“Great, meet me in the lobby at twelve.”
“Okay,” he says, and then quickly adds: “Dad,” before hanging up.
Stiles doesn't necessarily mind being a seat filler. He's here to work after all, and being nice to someone in Derek's position could seriously help him up the ladder. Besides, Derek isn't bad company. Up until now he's proven to be a lot less of a horror story than rumors have made him out to be.
Or at least that has been Stiles' impression of him up until twelve o'clock that afternoon. Things change after Stiles meets him down in the lobby. The man seems to have turned a switch; the small but pleasant smile from before is gone, his face seems far less open and his entire posture is...well, business.
“How do I look?” Stiles asks hesitantly
Derek says, without hesitation: “It's good enough. Lose the badge.”
Stiles removes the company badge from where it's hanging around his neck and shoves it in his back pocket. Stiles showered and groomed himself for this as best as he could with the limited supply of clothing he brought with him. Thankfully he had thought of bringing something proper in case he was expected to pretend to be fancy, but he's clearly lacking in comparison. The man looks like he's walked right out of an Armani add. He's even exchanged his Rolex for another Rolex.
“Listen,” Derek says, and Stiles snaps his attention away from the man's physique. “Whittemore is a tax lawyer, his son is newly graduated and starting out for his company. This meeting is going to be about cutting taxes on the production of our renewed solar bulbs. The new production method is cleaner, which means we should be getting a cut down in environmental taxes. He isn't going to want to sign that contract because we're bordering on the edge – just below, but on the edge – of the required pollution cut down to qualify for the tax cut down. This means I'm going to have to force him to sign it.”
Stiles doesn't say how incredibly boring all of that sounds. Instead he says: “Sounds like you're planning on torturing him.”
“If I have to,” Derek says, pulling out his phone. “This could save the company up to fifty million dollars a year.”
“Torture away,” Stiles says, suddenly extremely relieved that he chose to major in engineering and environmental studies and forwent a business degree. He can't imagine being responsible for all that kind of money. He can't even keep track of his own checking account sometimes.
They arrive at the hotel restaurant early and Stiles is absolutely starving. He wonders how appropriate it would be if he ordered the burger and fries for twenty five dollars. Probably not very. There is no fancy business way to eat a burger, and if there is Stiles doesn't really want to know about it.
“So,” Stiles says, when it becomes apparent that he doesn't know what half the things on the menu even are. There is a McDonalds down the street and some chicken nuggets would be really great right about now. Derek doesn't react. “What can I eat?” Stiles continues, tapping Derek on the arm.
“Whatever you want, I don't care. I'd stay off the alcohol for the afternoon.”
Stiles hadn't considered getting smashed, but the fact that Derek considered that Stiles might consider it is reassuring in a way that Stiles now knows that Derek apparently has absolutely no exceptions for him whatsoever.
“What does fijian albacore mean?”
“No fucking way,” he snorts, shaking his head. “And what does Aligot mean? Chicken?”
“You are fucking with me,” Stiles laughs. “Guess who's having the fanciest mashed potatoes in the world for lunch?”
“It's good,” Derek shrugs absently.
Stiles is having a pretty good time, orders coffee and gets three cookies with it, and then the Whittemores finally arrive. There are brief introduction and the senior Whittemore asks: “Is this your assistant?” before Derek can introduce him properly.
Before Stiles can object, Derek says: “Not at all. This is Stiles Stilinski. He's one of our best junior engineers.”
It's half true. Stiles does officially hold the title 'junior engineer' within the company, but all it really means is that he and a few of his colleagues in the IT department work overtime when needed, and have degrees that prove that they could do engineering work, even though they don't do any actual engineering in their current job. Stiles figures it has to do with being in the running for a promotion to the engineering department some day, and that's good enough for now.
But Derek's words seem to be having an immediate effect on the senior Whittemore. His expression tightens and his smile fades. When they're finally settled in and have put in their orders, Stiles feels the youngest Whittemore's eyes on him. The man has a perfectly chiseled face, heart shaped lips, and eyes that show nothing but boredom. Clearly he has no interest in being here and Stiles thinks that's kind of funny. He ignores him.
Next to them, Derek and the senior Whittemore are discussing the contract using a ton of legal terms that Stiles doesn't understand. It's not until the solar bulbs come up, that Stiles' interest in the conversation peeks. “That's not true,” Stiles hears himself say when the older Whittemore make a misinformed statement about the use of solar energy. He looks at Derek who gives him a barely there nod to continue. “Uh, solar power and solar energy aren't the same thing. Solar power has to do with the conversion of sunlight and heat into electricity. Solar energy is what you use, it's the product. The light bulbs run on solar energy, while for examples our solar panels are solar powered. They do the converting.”
“It all sounds the same to me,” Whittemore says shortly, but Derek cuts him off.
“Whether it sounds the same to you doesn't matter. Since when do lawyers deal in overlooking details?”
Stiles wants to interject that it really isn't a detail, but a pretty big difference, but decides against. Something about the set of Derek's jaw.
“Sign it,” Derek then says, no, commands, and okay. Stiles is starting to get familiar with the tyrant-part of this man's personality.
Stiles would be more impressed and maybe even turned on, if he wasn't still pretty hungry. How long does it even take to make mashed potatoes?
Whittemore stares at the contracts laid out before him, then looks at his son who is staring at the waitress at the far end of the restaurant. There is a sigh and then Whittemore picks up the pen.
“If that's all, we'll be leaving early. We have other meetings to attend,” Whittemore then says, standing up, gathering one of the contracts and yanking his son with him.
“Better luck at those,” Derek snorts.
“But you ordered,” Stiles says. It's strange, but the senior Whittemore looks kind of upset and Stiles isn't heartless. They can at least eat their food, right?
“Good day,” Whittemore says with a tight smile and then leaves.
“What a dick,” Stiles mumbles. “We're still eating though, right?”
Derek makes a sound in agreement, eyes skimming the contract one last time before slipping it into a manila envelope and slipping it into his briefcase.
When their food finally comes Stiles is too distracted by getting a boner for the most unreal mashed potatoes he's ever tasted to think of anything else, but afterwards, he remembers something. It's almost two thirty and they're making their way to the conference hall where the next meeting is held.
“Hey, how did you know I was junior engineer?” Stiles asks.
“You talked about it for an hour on the plane,” Derek shrugs.
“I didn't know you were listening. Didn't really seem like it.”
“You were ten inches away from my face, it was hard to miss.”
Still, now that Stiles knows what is actually on Derek's mind – work of the extremely important kind – Stiles feels like he might be a bother rather than an asset to this group of people. Maybe that's why Derek suggested he slink away earlier, in the car.
As if the man can read his man, Derek says: “You were useful,” before they enter the conference room. “With Whittemore, that was good.”
“Oh, no problem. Happy to help, you know,” Stiles says, probably smiling a bit too brightly, because Derek shakes his head and pushes him into the room by his shoulder.
They are the last to arrive, Stiles realizes. There are eleven people sitting around a long dark table, and Stiles immediately freezes up when everyone turns to look at him when he enters.
Except that none of them are actually looking at him. Derek passes him, and it suddenly feels very strange to follow him. He's not Derek's assistant. He's here to assist everyone with their technical difficulties, but at this point Derek is the only person he knows and Stiles has come to depend on him to tell him what to do. He has kind of imprinted on him like a duckling.
“How did the meeting with Whittemore go?” an older woman asks, nodding towards Derek who is making his way to one of only two empty chairs left.
Derek shrugs.When Stiles looks around the room, they all seem to know what the hell that means because faces light up and there are sighs of relief all around.
“Great,” the man sitting at the head of the table says, before absently turning to Stiles' general direction. He's not looking at him, just referring to him with his body language. “Could you get us some coffee? It was supposed to be here before we came in.”
Stiles hates himself for it, but he immediately looks at Derek. The man first just rolls his eyes and then shakes his head, eyes the only other empty chair in the room, across from Derek. That gives Stiles some more confidence. Stiles takes the seat. “Actually, I'm a junior engineer,” he says. “I'm happy to help with any technical problems and any questions regarding the workings of our company products.”
It's probably the most boring thing Stiles has ever had to sit through. He sets up everything for mister Francis' presentation which is an hour long and is basically a retelling of numbers that mean absolutely nothing to Stiles. The lights are dimmed for the Powerpoint presentation and Stiles can't help but stay on the edge of dozing off; he's still delightfully full from his meal, and the fact that he got out of bed at four in the morning to catch his plane doesn't help. The coffee comes in late, but when it finally does, they all jump on it like it's the only thing that's going to keep them alive.
After the hour long presentation, there's another hour of discussing it. Derek is passive through the whole thing, paying more attention to his phone than to the meeting. Stiles knows that the next meeting is over dinner and that Derek isn't on the list of people going, which makes him wonder what Derek will be doing instead. Stiles' name isn't on the schedule anywhere, which explains the company badge. Which he forgot to put back on. Whatever, Derek hasn't -
Jesus, Stiles really needs to stop thinking like Derek is his personally boss because he isn't. There are people sitting around the conference table who are probably twice as rich and powerful as Derek Hale, and Stiles should be more worried about staying on their good side than being worried about what Derek's schedule might look like for the evening.
The meeting ends at four thirty and there is a three hour gap in the schedule between that point and the dinner meeting. Stiles decides not to go to that, simply because he doesn't have any clothes that are 'dinner at the plaza' approved. What he's wearing right now was barely 'lunch at the plaza' approved, and he doesn't have anything better.
Which thus frees his night up to get chicken nuggets across the street and hang out in his wonderful room, wearing the wonderful bathrobe and lying in the wonderful bed.
When the meeting ends, he waits for Derek by the door of the conference room and asks him what his plans are for the night despite himself.
“I have work to do,” Derek says. “A lot of it.”
“Huh, are you going somewhere?”
“No, I have a room.”
“Oh. Okay, well, good luck with that.”
Stiles leaves before blurting anything stupid or incriminating. Getting back to his room, he slips out of his clothes and into the bathrobe he's been thinking about all day. After he climbs into bed, It takes about two seconds for him to zonk out.
Stiles is startled awake by his own rumbling stomach, and when he looks at the time on his phone he sees that it's already a quarter past ten at night. He kind of feels betrayed by the bed for being so damn delicious, that it let him sleep half a day away and that it has now pretty much double jet-lagged him.
He's hungry, but not necessarily in the mood to leave the warmth of this room. He figures there has to be some kind of room service, and since he's alone, no one can judge him for ordering a burger and fries. So that's what he does, and on an impulse he asks the girl at the front desk to redirect his call to Derek's room.
“Yeah, hello?” Derek answers, with less of a kick in his voice than Stiles remembers it having from the few hours they've spent together earlier that day.
“I'm going to go ahead and guess that you didn't take a five hour nap,” Stiles says. “Are you still working?”
“I still have a few things to look over,” Derek replies dryly. “Do you need something?”
“No, not at all. I'm just checking in. You know, if you haven't eaten yet I can order something for you and have them send it up to your room.”
“You don't have to do that. I thought we were clear on the fact that you're no one's assistant.”
“I know that. I was just, I don't know, trying to say thanks because you helped me out today even though you didn't have to do any of that.”
“Don't worry about it.”
“Okay, well, if there is anything I can do...”
“Got it. I'll see you in the morning.”
Derek hangs up before Stiles can even say goodbye. He has to wonder if he might have crossed a line. Maybe Derek isn't interested in talking to him outside of a work atmosphere. Which wouldn't be too strange. Stiles doesn't care about hanging out with any of the other suits that are on this business trip. Then again, he hasn't really talked to any of them much either.
When Stiles' food finally arrives, he wolves it down and spends another hour texting his dad and a few friends about the trip. Once that kind of dies out, he's feeling antsy. He's in New York City. He's twenty five years old. He could go out, find a club, a bar, something cool to do.
Instead, Stiles pulls on a pair of pajama bottoms, and yanks the hoodie he'd been wearing that morning over his head. He slides his room key and some change into his pocket and goes for a stroll around the floor. He is probably too old to be playing 'haunted hotel hallway', but he concedes that it is eerily quiet and the lights that are hung on the wall after every five feet or so do seem a bit dim. If one of them were to start flickering, he'd be running, he knows that much.
To his defense, he only watched The Shining a few weeks ago, so when he arrives at the elevator and it dings open before he even comes near a button, it is completely justified for him to jump ten feet in the air.
“Really?” and of course Derek Hale is just getting out of the elevator.
“You scared the living hell out of me, dude. I was already getting ghost hotel vibes,” Stiles says, when he's finally caught up with his breathing. That's when he sees it. Derek isn't wearing his jacket any more, he's lost his tie, leaving the first few buttons of his shirt undone. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing a set of great forearms of which one is decked with that amazing wrist watch.
“Are you going down?” Derek asks.
“Hell yeah,” Stiles gulps.
“Go then,” Derek says.
“Are you even awake?” Derek then asks, taking a few steps forward, knocking Stiles' shoulder with his own lightly as he passes him.
“I am. Too awake. I slept all evening and now I have too much energy and nothing to do,” Stiles complaints.
“So you decided to haunt the halls?”
“You and me both, apparently.” Stiles wants to ask him what he's doing, if he's done working and if he's planning on going to bed soon since the first meeting starts at nine the next day. These are all questions Stiles doesn't ask, because well. Derek made it pretty clear that he wasn't all that excited about talking to Stiles on the phone earlier.
“I've got some work for you to do, if you're really bored,” Derek then says. Stiles blinks up at him in surprise. On the one hand, he doesn't really want to work. On the other hand, he'll get to look at this man the entire time he's doing it so who cares?
Stiles has never had a problem with having sex on a first date. Not that it has happened to him all that often, but when it's on the table he's not one to decline. It's not the same thing as a one night stand for him. Banging a stranger is not the same thing as banging someone who you've consciously decided to go on a date with because you like them, and are planning on seeing again. He doesn't necessarily consider one to be better than the other, just that one works better for him personally.
Stiles can't figure out in which category to put Derek Hale.
Stiles has spent some time with him, has decided that he sort of likes him as a person, but there hasn't been any time to actually get to know him. Stiles doesn't know what kind of movies he likes, whether he has any siblings, whether he's close to his parents. Stiles can't even be sure that Derek isn't in a relationship or even married. He could have kids, for all Stiles knows.
And yet, it takes one look - that look - to get Stiles hot enough not to care about any of that.
Their knees are touching, their arms keep brushing and Stiles has felt Derek's breath on his neck a few times. There is no way two grown men need to be sitting that close together to go over a few statistics.
There is a second in which Stiles thinks that he might get fired if he goes through with this, but the thought only makes him hotter. So he leans over to the side, counts to three, and then kisses him. To his instant relief Derek answers his kiss without hesitation. It's slow and unhurried, and Derek's hand comes up, brushing his fingers against Stiles' neck before settling there. Stiles parts his lips, fights a moan when Derek reacts exactly the way Stiles hoped he would - by deepening the kiss, taking his breath away with the swipe of his tongue. It's Derek who pulls away first, slowly, and his hand stays where it is on Stiles' neck, fingers stroking the hairs at the back of his head.
"This isn't why I called you in here," Derek says. It's not an accusation, Derek isn't telling Stiles to get out. It sounds...like an apology?
"I know," Stiles says, and then repeats, "I know," when Derek looks at him, suddenly looking a lot more hesitant than he did a moment ago. "I didn't come in here thinking you wanted...this. I'd understand if you want me to leave."
"Do you want to leave?"
Before Stiles can finish shaking his head, Derek has caught his mouth again.
Stiles braces himself with one hand on Derek's thigh - the firmness he encounters there only spiking his arousal further. He wonders if climbing into the man's lap is too much.
"I'm warm, are you warm?" Stiles pants. It's a lame excuse to stand up and rid himself of his sweatshirt, but it works. Derek is out of his chair immediately, and when they lock eyes again Stiles sees that the unsure expression Derek held a few second ago is gone. There is just lust there now, lust for Stiles, as his eyes drop and roam over his torso. It shoots a surge of confidence through him, and he can't help a smile as he backs away from Derek slowly. The bed is only a few feet away. The man follows him like they're tied together with a string, only stopping when Stiles hits the bed with the back of his legs.
"Do you want this to happen?" Stiles asks, fiddling with the knot that is holding up his pajama bottoms. All Derek has to do is nod his head, say yes, give any kind of affirmative sign, and Stiles will be as good as naked for him within a second.
Derek does him one better. He takes a step forward and tugs the knot loose himself, his arm sneaking around Stiles' bare waist. He's warm and firm, hard muscle everywhere Stiles touches. He fiddles with the button of Derek's shirt, popping one open after the other, while feeling his own pants slip lower and lower on his hips
Once Derek's shirt is finally off, Stiles has to take a moment.
"This is way better than what I imagined you having under there," he admits. "I mean what I was imagining was good, don't get me wrong-"
"You're one to talk, look at you," Derek tells him, squeezing Stiles' sides. Then the man's mouth is on his neck, and behind his ear and all Stiles can do is to cling onto his shoulders for dear life.
"Fuck, fuck ," he curses. He's getting really hard really fast and there is no hiding it when Derek ushers him backwards onto the bed. His pants are shoved down to his thighs in the process and he kicks them off before letting Derek slide in between his legs.
"There is no real reason for you to still be wearing pants, is there?" Stiles asks hoarsely. His voice sounds strange to his own ears. There's usually not a lot of time to hear himself speak when he's this aroused.
"I don't think anyone can get undressed as quickly as you just did," Derek points out, but he's already sitting back and tugging his belt loose.
Stiles scoots further back onto the bed and watches. He could watch all day, that's the thing. Watch how Derek's muscles move and flex under smooth,tanned skin, stare at the sharp dips of his pelvic muscles-
Stiles palms himself through his briefs. “On the other hand,” he grins, “maybe slow down a little bit.”
Derek just rolls his eyes and steps off the bed before toeing off his shoes and dropping his pants completely. "Do you want a show or am I allowed up there at some point?" Derek then asks, smirk playing around his lips and Stiles likes this. Likes the ease with which this is happening, the combination of amusement and arousal in Derek's eyes.
"That depends on what's going to happen when you get up here," Stiles says, hand still on his own cock, feeling the heat coming off of it through the fabric of his underwear.
"Anything you want," Derek says easily, putting his hands on the bed, leaning forward. "You're the boss."
Suddenly Stiles can't take it anymore. He wants Derek on him, to fuck him.
He pushes himself up onto his knees, far enough on the bed that he can wrap his arms around the man's neck and pull him down with him. They're kissing again, and thistime they're doing it with their entire bodies. One of Derek's hands is cupping Stiles' face while the other is on his ass, pulling him in before rolling his hips. It's extremely promising, so much so that Stiles forgets himself: he moans into Derek's mouth. It's loud and embarrassing and he might be mortified if Derek didn't grind into him again as a response.
"You can fuck me," Stiles then pants, pulling away only a little bit because it's time . "If you want, you can fuck me."
"Don't say that," Derek groans. "I don't have any lube."
Stiles lets his head fall back on the bed, lets out a matching groan in disappointment. "Who's ill prepared now, huh?"
"Sorry, I wasn't exactly expecting to get laid on this trip," Derek says, and Stiles thinks it's way too adorable how genuinely distressed he sounds.
"Seems to me like you, out of all people, should always be expecting to get laid," Stiles tells him, hands roaming down the man's back until he reaches his ass and squeezes. Derek pushes his hips down, and Stiles thinks that that's just an amazing idea. He ruts up, and feels Derek's lips against his throat, kissing the skin there gently before latching on.
"Are you sure there's no lube anywhere? What kind of - ah - fancy ass hotel doesn't provide their guest with-"
“Sssh, enough about the lube. Get over it. I'll just blow you,” Derek mumbles.
“...Yeah, okay, that's a good idea,” Stiles squawks and lets the man slip out of his grasp as he slides down Stiles' body.
He eases Stiles' underwear down carefully and drops them on the floor next to the bed before bending down and pressing a quick kiss to the inside of Stiles' thigh. Then another one on his hip before he finally takes Stiles' cock in his hand. Stiles drops his head back into his pillow again, only then realizing he had been craning his neck to watch what was happening. He rolls his head to the side to keep watching, because this is not something he wants to miss. And he's completely right, because Derek Hale taking Stiles' cock into his mouth is the absolute most erotic thing he has ever seen in his entire life. Not only does it feel amazing, but it's a sight . Damn . There is no way he's going to last long if he continues watching, but there's really no way he's going to stop watching either, so he decides to stop thinking altogether.
Derek's fingers are leaving white marks where he has them clamped around Stiles' thighs as he sucks more of him into his mouth, his eyes hooded. He's good at this, has rhythm and reacts to Stiles' gasps and groans exactly the way Stiles wants him to. Stiles is making a lot of noise and he can barely keep up with himself, but Derek is listening and when Stiles' orgasm is only seconds away, he removes his mouth. Derek covers Stiles' wet cock with his hand, gives it two agonizing strokes and then takes him into his mouth again, right when Stiles is pushed over the edge. His hips buck up as he comes, but god, Derek is strong and he pins Stiles down as he swallows.
Derek Hale swallows.
He presses soft kisses on Stiles' stomach, making his way up until Stiles can catch his mouth with his own, taste himself on Derek's tongue and lips. He slides his hand into Derek's underwear where he wraps his fingers around the man's thick erection. It's hot in his hand, and Stiles lets out a mewl, imagining how it would have been had Derek actually fucked him with that cock.
Derek's hips move slowly to the rhythm of their kisses and of Stiles' strokes, his breathing becoming uneven after a while. Stiles is about to tell him how amazingly beautiful he is when Derek pulls out of the kiss and presses his mouth against Stiles' ear. “Fuck, you're gorgeous,” Derek says. “You're perfect.”
“You are,” Stiles replies dumbly, and Derek laughs. Stiles can't help it, it's a beautiful sound so he laughs too, losing hold of Derek's cock. Derek doesn't seem to mind though. He just reaches down, chuckles through a groan and starts stroking his own cock until he's coming.
“Right here is fine,” Stiles tells him, pointing at his stomach when he notices the almost panicked look in Derek's eyes as he starts spilling. If Stiles has a bit of a thing for cumplay, well, then now Derek knows. He hovers over Stiles' form for a moment, holding himself up with a hand on the bed, before slinking to the side and lying down. He's warm and Stiles curls into him like it's a reflex. His brain is still foggy with satisfaction and the thrill of what just happened, so he watches how Derek removes his own underwear that had been hanging around his thighs, and uses it to wipe Stiles' stomach clean.
Stiles wakes up naked in a strange hotel room, in a strange city, with a man he has only known for twenty four hours. It's not as shocking and awkward as all those movies make it out to be.
It's a tiny bit awkward, sure, because he doesn't really know if Derek has some sort of rule about this. Stiles has more than one friend with a set of rules to maintain an active sex life with multiple partners, you see. His friend Lydia would tell him that spending a whole night with someone you're nto actually interested in romantically is a dangereous thing.
But Derek doesn't seem to have any rules. He wakes up before Stiles does, and is sitting up in bed with his laptop in his lap. Stiles smells food before he even opens his eyes.
"Morning," he says tentatively, but Derek immediately turns to look at him, expression open.
"Good, I was going to wake you up. Breakfast just got in."
"Oh my god, really? That's the best news I've heard all day," he grins before pushing himself upright. "Hey, do you mind if I shower here real quick?"
"Go ahead, but be quick before your food runs cold."
"Yes sir," Stiles answers and climbs out of bed, nude as the day he was born. He wonders briefly of Derek has any 'you looked great at 2 am, not so great in the light of day' type regret when he sees him. Stiles doesn't wait long enough to find out.
He takes a quick shower during which he mentally prepares himself for what might be an extremely awkward day ahead of him. Lydia would also tell him that he's a complete idiot for having a one night stand with someone he's going to be stuck with for another day. Then again, Lydia has given a pretty detailed description about how she'd ravage Derek Hale without a second thought, that one time they saw him from across the company's parking lot.
What it comes down to is that Stiles hasn't had as much fun as he had last night in Derek Hale's bed, for quite some. He doesn't regret it, doesn't feel bad about it at all. The fact that he was sober helps, and the fact that Derek seemed casual enough about it when Stiles woke up under his sheets doesn't hurt either.
He comes out of the shower wrapped in one of the fluffiest hotel towels he's ever seen, and slips his pajama bottoms on before joining Derek at the table. It's covered in plates; eggs, sausage, fruit, waffles-
Stiles gawks at it. It's like an amazing homosexual fairy tale; banging a prince - or someone who is rich like one - and waking up to a table full of food while his prince sits there reading the news on his iPad. "Did you order everything off the menu?" Stiles asks.
"Everything I thought you could pronounce," Derek says without missing a beat. Stiles tries to glare at him, but it's hard to be mad while being overwhelmed by the smell of fresh waffles. The food is amazing, Stiles never even knew scrambled eggs could taste this way. He peaks at the time on Derek's watch which tells him there is still an hour to go before the first meeting, and a couple of hours before a meeting in which Stiles' presence would be relevant.
"So what are you doing today?" Stiles asks, pausing for two second before shoveling more food into his mouth. Derek is eating, but Stiles notices that he keeps getting distracted by something on the screen of his iPad after every bite. It's kind of funny to watch, since Derek is an enormous man and probably needs an enormous amount of food to sustain those muscles.
When Stiles speaks up, Derek blinks at him like he just remembered Stiles is even here, sharing breakfast with him. Stiles bites down on a waffle and pulls an eyebrow up in question.
"Nothing important," Derek finally says. "The New York branch manager has a presentation at two. That's really been the whole point if us being here. Everything before and after that is just white noise."
"And you're flying back home tonight?"
"Plane leaves at nine."
"Oh great, we'll be flying back together."
"Good," Derek says.
"So, last night was fun, right?" Stiles then blurts after a few seconds of silence. "I had fun."
"Me too," Derek replies easily. "A lot more fun than I usually have on these trips."
"Are you telling me that Mister Francis has never come to you room in his pajamas and impressed you with his amazing math skill? I feel like you two have such great chemistry."
"No, but I met his wife at a Christmas part once and she tried some stuff."
"I knew you guys had awesome Christmas parties in your department. You guys have awesome everything up there. I wasn't going to tell you this but you have no idea how often we sneak up to your department just to use your coffee machine, because ours is a piece if garbage."
Derek stills for a moment and then turns to look at Stiles. It's the most attention he's given Stiles all morning, and it makes Stiles a bit jittery in his seat.
"Are you the one who keeps emptying the candy jar?" Derek then asks. Stiles bursts out laughing. He is, in fact, the person who keeps emptying the candy jar in the break room on the thirtieth floor. It's the most amazing salted caramel candy Stiles has ever had. He tried one once, while he was up there to jack their coffee, and he'd immediately gone back downstairs to do a quick google search on where to buy them. He found out that they were brought in from freaking Oregan and cost twelve bucks for a box of four pieces. He hadn't really planned on continuing to steal the rich people's candy, but when he was up there he couldn't not . And also Lydia liked them a lot too, so before he knew it he was jacking coffee and candy.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he tells Derek, tries not to let it show that Stiles is absolutely delighted by the frown between Derek's surly eyebrows; a frown brought there by lack of candy. Not by his workload, not by a business meeting gone wrong. Stiles is also delighted by the idea that he had pretty much already been a part of Derek's life before they met. Even if it was just in the role of a mild annoyance, he was there.
"Next thing you're going to tell me that you drive that fucked up Jeep that keeps parking in my spot every damn morning."
"Oh my god!" Stiles almost chokes on a blueberry. "How is that your spot ?"
"How is that your car ? Do you commute to work all the way from the damn dessert?"
"Hey, it's got sentiment value, okay? I've had that car since I was sixteen. So what if it leaks random fluids now and then-"
"Random fluids? How about acid that burned away my name on the parking spot?"
"Are you saying your name was literally written on that spot?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Ugh. That is so pretentious. So the black car is yours? It's in my spot when I come in late sometimes."
"Do I park in my own parking spot when I find it empty twice a week? Wait, are you late for work twice a week ?"
"Yeah, haven't you heard? I commute to work from the dessert every day."
"Really? So this is you with a tan?"
Stiles gasps and his hand shoots out, smacking Derek right in the shoulder. Derek catches his wrist, and a second later Stiles is out of his chair and in Derek's lap.
They sit next to each other during the meetings. Everything is extremely boring and Derek isn't paying any attention at all. In fact, he looks up from his iPad exactly twice: once to pour himself and Stiles a cup of coffee, - yeah, himself and Stiles - and once when he gets a text.
Stiles uses his time during the meeting to consider the situation. Last night was fantastic, this morning was amazing, and there is a drug store only a block away from the hotel. Hypothetically, if Derek is on board, Stiles could run down there between this meeting and the next. He could, hypothetically, get some lube, he could get some condoms. Derek could, hypothetically, fuck him through that nice hotel room bed of his before check out. Maybe they can use Stiles' room this time. To even things out. Okay, so maybe Stiles gets half a boner at a conference table full of old, grey business suits. He might be on a fancy business trip, but he would never claim to be a fancy guy.
Stiles tries to think of a way to bring up this amazing idea of his in a casual way, but still has nothing once the first meeting is adjourned. He bets that all Lydia ever has to do to get her 'bone me' point across is blink her eyes at a dude. Could Stiles get his 'bone me' point across with a blink? No, he's not good at facial expressions.
"Hey," Stiles says when the first meeting is finally over and most people are filtering out of the room to go and have lunch. He goes to grab Derek's arm, and then refrains from doing so when a bunch of grey suits decide to linger. Stiles isn't going to be learning any of their names any time soon. "Can I talk to you real quick?"
"Yeah. Over lunch?" Derek suggests.
"Lunch would be great, actually. Here?" Stiles doesn't say that he'd much rather finally get those chicken nuggets he's been dreaming about since yesterday. "Because I was thinking maybe we could slip out for some...french fries," he says instead. That's not better.
"You're the boss," Derek shrugs.
And Derek calling him the boss should not be such a huge turn on, but it is.
"You can't move to New York because you like a food truck you've eaten from once."
"You can't tell me what to do. Those fries. I'm moving here for them."
They're only a block away from the hotel. On the street where there also happens to be a drug store. Which they are walking past right now. "So here's an idea," Stiles says, stopping in his tracks.
"There's no time for ideas. The next meeting starts in half an hour," Derek says and points at the ketchup stain on his cuff. "And I still need to change out if this shirt," he adds pointedly.
"Are you still going on about that? It was an accident, okay? Get over it. Besides, I can make it up to you," Stiles says. He smooths his thumb over the red stain on Derek's shirt cuff and he gets a teensy bit distracted and a teensy bit turned on by the gleam of the man's wrist watch in the sun.
"Yeah? Are we here to buy detergent or was that not your idea?"
"That was not my idea."
"You're not going to get to the point any time soon, are you?"
"Fine. I'm saying that if you want, this afternoon, you can have me. And I mean really have me," he adds, hoping that his bed room eyes come across.
Derek shoves at Stiles' shoulder until he's facing the entrance of the drugstore, and then pushes him forward.
"What are you looking at?" Derek finally snaps. Stiles gives him points for holding out for twenty whole minutes of scrutiny.
"I'm trying to figure out if the two of us will fit into the bathroom. Conclusion: I doubt you would fit in there by yourself, let alone with another person."
"Great because I'm not going to have sex with you in an airplane bathroom."
"Why not? Because your ridiculously huge body won't fit through that tiny little door?"
"Are those really the words you're going to choose?"
"I picked them out very carefully, actually. What, you're not happy that you left a huge impression on me?"
"First of all, don't make that face at me ever again. Second of all, I need you to ease up on my hand a little bit, because there's not that much turbulence."
"Oh my god, sorry," Stiles says, and loosens his death grip on Derek's fingers. He could let go, but he doesn't want to. And Derek doesn't make him. "Nervous flier, remember," Stiles adds.
"That's the trick you used to seduced me the first time around."
"Worked way better than I thought it would." When he leans over, Derek meets him in a kiss halfway.
By the time they're back in California Stiles has made a decision. He's aware that he barely knows Derek, that the fact that they had sex doesn't really mean anything. That said, he can't really think of a good reason for this to be the end of it all. Stiles would like to get to know him in a way that has nothing to do with work.
So he makes a decisions.
When they're in the front hall of the airport Derek asks him if he needs a ride home to which Stiles replies that his father will be picking him up.
"But I was thinking," Stiles then says, suddenly nervous, far more nervous than he was on the plane. "Maybe we can see each other again? On a date, I mean, not just as a hook up."
The look on Derek's face is an immediate answer. Stiles' heart sinks. He should never have gotten his hopes up. What on earth was he even thinking, asking Derek Hale out on a date? For all Stiles knows the man has a hook up in every city he goes to-
"Don't, don't look at me like that," Derek then says. "If things were different-"
"No, it's fine. You don't have to explain-"
"I think I do. You were at the meeting. You heard them. They're moving the finance department to Wall Street-"
"What? When was this decided?"
"This afternoon. You were there."
"I was extremely distracted, okay? I had no idea. So you're moving? When is this happening?"
"Two months," Derek shrugs. "You'd be wasting your time, dating me."
"I see," Stiles says. That's just his kind of luck, meeting a hot, rich, handsome jackass who's moving to the other side of the country. "Well, the offer still stands," Stiles shrugs. He's not that easily swayed. "We can hang out until you leave. You might even get sick of me way before that."
"Maybe," Derek says with a smile. "You can give me a call whenever."
Stiles' friend Scott is a twenty-five year old veterinarian who is getting ready for his second. The first time Scott got married, he and Allison were twenty years old and still in college. It didn't matter though, because he and Allison had been together since they were both thirteen-years-old, and were clearly meant to be together. Their marriage lasted for two years. It felt like being married to a sister, that's what Scott said. It just wasn't what he thought it would be. He met Kira a year later, and they've been dating for three years now, engaged for three months and will be married in two.
The point is that Scott is a hopeless romantic in the way that forever seems like no big deal to him. Stiles had figured that after Allison he'd at least take it down a notch with the dramatic declarations of forever and eternity, but Stiles had been wrong. Stiles, for one, has never had a relationship last for longer than a couple of months. Things tend to peter out pretty fast. Scott says he gives up on relationships too easily, Lydia says he's expecting too much. Stiles just knows that he's never felt anything for anyone that can even compare to the way Scott felt about Allison for all those years, or how he feels about Kira now. It's not like he has completely given up on love or anything. He just thinks that Derek could be a pretty great distraction.
“You're kidding,” Lydia says flatly when Stiles tells her about his hot weekend over lunch during the following work day. She drops her fork in her dry looking salad and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “How do you keep doing this? You're a seven, seven and a half at best. How do you keep tricking tens into sleeping with you?”
“Excuse you, he was very attracted to me and I was very charming,” Stiles grins at her and points out: “You're jealous you didn't get to go.”
“Whatever. So, are you seeing him again?” she asks.
“I think so. I'm just waiting for the right time to call so that it doesn't sound like I just want a hook up, you know?”
“But it is just a hook up. If he's moving in two months, then that's all you're going to get.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
“Do you.” It's not a questions. She picks up her fork again.
“Shut up," Stiles says.
Stiles waits two days, and on Wednesday night he gives Derek a call. He's been avoiding the break room on the thirtieth floor, because he didn't want to take the risk of saying something stupid and shooting himself in the foot if he happened to run into him there. He hasn't stopped parking in Derek's spot though.
It's almost eleven and he's alone in his apartment after having had dinner with Scott and Kira earlier that evening. He briefly considers that it might be too late to call now, but decides to risk it anyway. Derek picks up on the fourth ring, causing Stiles to have half a heart attack when his rough voice comes through the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hey, it's me,” Stiles says. Like that means anything to Derek coming from him.
“Stiles?” Apparently it does.
“That's me. So, how are things?”
“Fine, I guess. I'm heading home right now.”
“Yeah? Were have you been?”
“Work. Where else?”
“Wait, you just got off work?” Stiles asks and double checks the time on his phone. Yep, eleven pm. “What do you even do there that takes so much time?”
“Nothing. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that I can leave now. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Do you want to come over?” And that is absolutely not where this was supposed to be headed, what the hell. But he's said it now, and taking it back would be a bit weird too, right? It's better to let Derek reject the idea than to-
There's a short pause and then Derek says: “Yeah, sure.”
And that's how it starts. They hook up. And then they hook up again that Friday night. On Sunday, Derek invites Stiles over early in the afternoon, they have lunch and then Stiles spends the entire day walking around Derek's apartment in his underwear. Derek's place isn't what Stiles expected it to be. What Stiles expected was something outrageously modern with a couch that has sharp edges and weird modern art-esque situations. Instead it's just kind of empty and functional, like the place of someone who's not home very often, which makes sense for Derek. They go out for diner that evening, and while it's nothing official, Stiles secretly counts it as their first date. He finds out that Derek has a sister at Stanford, Stiles' alma mater, and that that's pretty much all the family he has other than an uncle that makes Derek's entire body go rigid whenever he talks about him. He learns that Derek is everything but the graceful and stoic business man people make him out to be. Instead, he's all jagged edges and sharp honestly, almost always giving off the vibe that he's ready for a fight. Stiles doesn't know why it makes him like Derek all the more, but it does.
Another week passes just like that, only now Stiles sneaks up to the thirtieth every now and then during his break to bother Derek in his office and drop of some caramel candy. It's a good thing they have going on, and Stiles is aware that if circumstances were different he might already be referring to Derek as his boyfriend. But that's not what this is. He can't call Derek his boyfriend knowing full well that in six weeks from now the man will be gone and this will be over.
“Do you want to go to New York?” Stiles asks him one evening, a month since the business trip. Stiles is wrapped up in one of Derek's enormous sweatshirts, his legs bare on top of the bed covers. Derek is under the covers, bare chested, and leaning against the head board. Derek isn't listening, though. Instead he's staring at his phone. He does that a lot, and it's probably the one habit of his that Stiles finds really annoying. More than the sarcastic deflections, more than the harsh way Stiles knows Derek deals with his work. The phone is a boner killer above everything else.
“Hey,” Stiles says, waving his hand in front of the screen of Derek's phone for a second.
Derek looks up at him, annoyed for a moment and then he drops his phone. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I asked you if you want to go to New York,” Stiles repeats. He doesn't want to ask whether Derek even likes his job. It seems like an extremely personal question in this case, mostly because Stiles pretty much already knows the answer. Derek doesn't like anything. Most of the time it just seems like he puts up with life in general. But then Stiles manages to pull a laugh out of him with a stupid joke, or he moans around a bite of something delicious and Stiles has to reconsider. Maybe Derek does like some things, maybe he just doesn't like the one thing that his entire life revolves around.
To his surprise, Derek replies honestly: “No,” he says. “But it doesn't really matter what I want.”
“Of course it does,” Stiles says. “It seems kind of extreme to move across country for something you don't even enjoy.”
“I don't enjoy work in general, whether it's here or there, but it's better than not having a job at all.”
Derek never said as much, but Stiles is pretty sure that he's single handedly putting his sister through university. The same university that Stiles is still paying off student loans for, and will probably still be paying off student loans for until the day he dies.
The moment when Stiles sees Derek reach for his phone again, something inside of him snaps. Stiles leans over the man's lap and kisses him before he can reach the phone, and to his delight, he quickly feels one of Derek's hands on his neck and the other on fisting into the front of his shirt. It's only been an hour since they last had sex. They've showered and brushed their teeth, essentially ready to go to bed. And Stiles isn't looking for sex at that moment. He's looking for attention, maybe validation. Stiles keeps kissing him, worms his way under the covers and latches onto the man, catches his mouth again and again until the kisses become slower and more languid, and he finally falls asleep.
"Are you mad at me, or something?" Stiles finally asks softly, four days after that night. Wasted days of unanswered calls and short text telling Stiles that he's 'busy with work'. Stiles knows that Derek is a busy man, but this has been getting ridiculous. He stopped calling and texting on the third day, thinking that if Derek wanted to see him he'd call. Stiles was wrong, of course, because the first time they talk to each other again is when Stiles finds Derek entering the same elevator at work. It's almost ten a.m and Stiles is an hour late for work, which explains why the hall and elevator are near empty.
"Why would I be mad at you?" Derek asks, staring at the back of the head of the only other person in the elevator with them.
"That doesn't sound passive aggressive at all, so I guess we're good," Stiles scoffs. He takes a step back to lean against the back wall of the elevator. He thinks that Derek might ignore him the rest of the trip up, but when the stranger leaves the elevator on the sixth floor, Derek joins Stiles at the back wall. "I'm not mad at you," Derek says.
"I don't believe you."
"Just because a relationship is casual, it doesn't mean you can be rude about things," Stiles snaps at him. "You're not attractive enough to pull that off."
"Yeah right," Derek snorts and Stiles' hand shoots out, smacking the man in the shoulder. Derek lets it happen, lets himself be pushed away and Stiles hates him for it.
"You're an asshole."
"That's not news," Derek shrugs.
"I thought you might need a reminder."
"I've been getting reminders left and right, in case you're worried I'll forget."
Stiles has to let those words roll around in his head for a moment before they start making sense. "Who's been calling you an asshole?"
"No one," Derek answers too fast. "Forget about it."
"God, you suck," Stiles sighs. They manage to go up four more floors in silence when Derek speaks up again. "My sister is in town for spring break and she's not happy about the move," he says.
"Oh. Wow, that...sucks. I mean I'm not saying it's a good excuse to be a rude asshole, but it's a reason, I guess. So, she's going to miss you?"
"She's not going to miss me, don't be dramatic.”
“How is that dramatic? Why else would she be upset about it?”
“I don't know why.”
“You're an idiot.”
“Shut up before I fire you.”
“You shut up.”
Derek gives him a look, one that Stiles has gotten used to getting from his closest friends when he's being a dumbass, and Stiles wants to tell him not to look at him like that. They're not that close, or at least they shouldn't be. Not when there are only about three weeks left before Derek might just be out of Stiles' life forever.
“Why are you late, anyway?” Derek then asks.
“Car wouldn't start this morning and my friend couldn't give me a ride until half an hour ago.”
“Is he picking you up?”
“Are you offering me a ride?”
"Not if you're going to keep giving me that attitude."
"Guess I'm out of luck then," Stiles shrugs. "Besides, I'm off at six and you're usually here until ten, so."
"I can be off at six."
"You're wasting my time. Just say yes or no."
"Sorry, I didn't know that talking to me was such a huge waste of time-"
"Arguing about this is a waste of time-"
"I'll just catch a ride with someone who's not in such a damn hurry to get away from me."
The last statement hangs heavily in the air, and Stiles wishes he could take it back. Even though Derek might not hear it for all it is, Stiles sure does and it unsettles him. There are only five floors left to go until Stiles is at his floor, but it suddenly feels like he can't get there fast enough. Like every second spent in this elevator with Derek Hale is a second too long.
"That's not what I meant," Derek says, but Stiles can't listen anymore.
"It doesn't matter. I might be going out with friends after work anyway, so don't worry about it." It's not untrue. Lydia had asked him and a few others over to her place for an evening in, but Stiles hadn't planned on going because he wasn't in the mood for it when she asked. Now he thinks the distraction might be a godsend.
"Good luck with your sister," he adds when the elevator doors finally open on Stiles' floor. Derek doesn't answer and Stiles doesn't wait for him to.
There is a good chance that the universe is completely losing it's mind. When he goes to pick up his car from the garage three slow going days later, the bill has been paid, according to the mechanic. When Stiles finally shows up for work around noon that day, Derek's parking spot is open, and Derek's car is parked at the other side of the lot. When Stiles comes to his desk, there's a small tower of five boxes of salted caramel candy waiting for him.
"Who does that?"
“Sugar daddies,” Lydia says, around a mouthful of candy. She says it like it's something obvious that Stiles should have figured out all by himself. “I'm officially jealous.”
“He's not my sugar daddy, shut up,” Stiles says and yanks the box of candy out from under her nose.
“Kidding, god. He's probably just trying to say sorry the way rich, obtuse business men say they're sorry and they miss your blowjobs.”
“He doesn't really have anything to be sorry about,” Stiles admits. “I mostly overreacted. I have a problem.”
“No, you don't. Give him a call, thank him for everything and ask him to Scott and Kira's wedding.”
“He leaves the day before the wedding, actually.”
“So you're dateless then. Weren't you dateless at Scott's first wedding, too?”
“I'm not going to be dateless this time. I'll find someone. Who are you taking?”
Lydia shrugs before reaching over and prying the box of sweets out of Stiles' hands. “I'll find someone. But I think you should still call Derek. He's obviously trying to get your attention and it wouldn't hurt to at least part on friendly terms when the time comes.”
Stiles doesn't know if that's true. What if they make up and that only makes it harder to say goodbye?
“Why is it always all or nothing with you people?” Lydia suddenly says, startling Stiles out of his thoughts. “You know that after he leaves you can still be in contact with him. People do long distant all the time.”
“We'd never do long distance. I assumed he doesn't want that since he never said anything about it,” Stiles shrugs.
“What if he's waiting for you to bring it up?”
“What if I bring it up and he thinks I'm insane for getting so attached after knowing him for six weeks?”
“Then you'll still be dodging a bullet because he'll be thinking you're crazy from the other side of the country.”
And she's got a point there. Maybe Stiles doesn't have to play it on the safe side so much. What's the worst thing that could happen? He gets his feelings crushed a little bit. That doesn't change that he and Derek did and still do have a good time together. Either way Stiles can't regret hooking up with him in New York, and he doesn't regret asking him out when they got back. In fact, he's glad he did, otherwise he would have never have found out how soft Derek looks when he's out of those expensive suits and wearing his regular clothes. He would have never found out that Derek doesn't actually care for wearing suits at all. That really the only truly fancy habits Derek has are his love for expensive watches and the occasional snobbishness about food, two things Stiles can absolutely get on board with.
He decides to send Derek a text.
Received your bribes. The candy was nice, the garage payment was a bit much. Way to flaunt your CEO paycheck around. Pizza at my place tonight?
He's a bit surprised at Derek's quick response – an hour is quick in Derek-time – but when the reply comes it brings a smile to Stiles' face, and it stays there for the rest of the day.
I'm not a CEO but it's cute that you think that. See you tonight.
That night Stiles has a hard time deciding whether he wants to eat first or have sex first. It's been over a week since they last had sex, but he's also very hungry and he doesn't think growling stomachs during sex are very sexy. Funny and distracting, sure, but not very sexy.
So he orders the pizza when Derek tells him he's half an hour away, and he figures that they'll wolf it down quickly and head for the bedroom immediately after.
That's not what happens. What happens is that Derek arrives, takes off his jacket, and tie, rolls his sleeves up and pulls Stiles into his lap as he drops onto the couch. Stiles is about to object and tell him that if they do this now chances are he'll pass out, due to starvation in the middle of it. But Derek doesn't tug on his clothes or even give him more than a quick crooked kiss on the side of his mouth. That's just how he wants to sit, apparently. And that's absolutely fine, Stiles can work with that. It's kind of nice even. They have a lot to catch up on and their position makes it easy to talk while they eat. It appears that Derek's sister left for university again. Derek isn't clear about whether they resolved their problems or not, and Stiles doesn't feel the need to pry for once in his life.
What happens next is unexpected. He wakes up in his bed, and it's morning. For a moment he thinks the entire night before was a dream, that maybe Derek never showed up and Stiles drank himself into a black out. But when he stumbles into the living room he finds Derek there, on his back and sleeping on the couch. The man stirs awake when Stiles makes too much noise coming into the room.
“Sorry,” he winces. There goes his idea of surprising him with a nice breakfast.
Derek sits up halfway, squinting up at Stiles with one eye. His hair is messy, his shirt is completely wrinkled, and it's probably the best thing Stiles has ever seen in his entire life. Still painfully attractive. So he stares.
Until Derek says: “You fell asleep in my lap. Like a damn puppy.” And then Stiles can't look away fast enough. That's what happened. Stiles just completely zonked out on him. Derek must have carried him to bed. Jesus Christ. The last thing he remembers is warmth and comfort and being happy exactly where he was. Oh god.
“You could have-” he starts hoarsely, and scrapes his throat. “You should have just slept in bed with me. Why didn't you?”
"I was actually going to leave, but I guess I fell asleep before I got my stuff together," Derek says. He sits up and rolls his shoulders and neck before pushing himself off the couch completely. He looks at his watch, frowns at it and points his thumb towards the door. "I need to go."
"No way," Stiles says immediately. "It's Saturday. What on earth could you have to do on a Saturday morning that is more important than having breakfast and taking a shower with this puppy ? I can't believe you called me that by the way."
Derek looks like he's hesitating, so Stiles continuous. He grabs Derek by the front of his shirt. "In case it wasn't clear, if you stay we'll have a ton of sex."
"No, that was very clear, but I have a meeting tonight I have to prepare for," Derek finally says. Stiles drops his hands, tries not to let jus annoyance and disappointment show too much and fails miserably. It's his own fault. He shouldn't have fallen asleep the night before.
"But it can wait a few hours," Derek then sighs quietly, taking Stiles' face on his hands before kissing him.
"Maybe grope me a little less, that would be great," Stiles tells the tailor after the fourth time the old man has copped a feel of his junk. Scott, being the amazing procrastinating dickhole that he is, called Stiles up in a panic that morning talking about how he just realized that he can't just wear his tux from his first wedding. Stiles, being the amazing best man that he is, told him this months ago and Scott just waved him off like he knew what he was doing. Stiles should really know better by now than to let him do anything.
So that brings them to this horny tailor, seven days before the wedding. It's going to cost them a fortune to have everything ready, but so be it.
"So, any luck in finding a date yet?" Scott asks him from where he's sitting back in a comfy chair, him having been groped-slash-measured first.
"Zero," Stiles admits. Truthfully, he hadn't really thought about it much. He'd been so focused on enjoying the time he still had with Derek that he wouldn't even know where to begin with asking someone else out. "I'm hoping Lydia comes alone too, so we can do the maid of honor-best man hook up," he jokes.
“No, you're not,” Scott snorts. “What you're really hoping is that your rich man misses his flight and realizes you're the love of his life and that he shows up at the wedding with this whole declaration, like in all those movies.”
“He would never do that. One time I suggested that his sister would miss him if he moved to New York, and he said I was being dramatic.”
“Sounds like a really great guy," Scott scoffs.
"No one is perfect, Scott."
"Did you at least talk to him about trying it long distance? That's what you want, right?"
"I don't know, anymore. I just don't see it happening. If we'd been together for like a year and he moved away, sure, I'd suggest long distance. But two months... It's more like a fling, not a relationship. I feel like he'd easily forget about me."
"No one could ever easily forget about you, buddy. Besides, it's not just a fling to you anymore, right? And he's been putting in an effort so-"
"So? Scott, I don't know anymore. We'll just see what happens. You need to focus on your wedding."
“So are you seeing him this weekend?” Scott asks about five seconds later, clearly not ready to let up. The tailor is finally done taking Stiles' measurements, and while the older man does whatever needs to be done with those, Stiles takes a seat next to his friend.
“I don't know. Probably,” Stiles shrugs. “I was thinking of maybe taking him to the mall, you know, somewhere really crowded. He hates that, it's hilarious.”
Scott perks up suddenly. “Kira and I are going ice skating, tomorrow afternoon. We could do a double date. Please, I'm dying to meet this guy,” he begs.
“Ice skating in April and a double date? Sounds like something he'd have nightmares about. I'll ask him,” Stiles grins and pulls out his phone. When he's done typing his text to Derek he notices Scott staring at him. “What?”
“Do you like torturing him?”
“He likes getting tortured,” Stiles objects. “No, but I like doing things he kind of hates because I know that if he really didn't want to do them, he wouldn't. He's not easy, believe me.”
The ice rink is riddled with couples and families enjoying a day out. Stiles can't bring himself to get on the ice yet. Derek said he'd be there a bit late, just fifteen minutes or so, but even if he was there Stiles wonders if it would feel any different. Everywhere he looks he sees people being completely domestic; parents teaching their toddler to skate, a brother and sister seeking out an empty lane so they can race, Scott trying to keep up with Kira's perfect twirls. It might just be him getting old, but he wonders what it would be like, to be settled into a relationship for years. To have trips to the ice rink be a regular Saturday afternoon thing.
He snaps out of his thoughts when someone settles down next to him on the bench and when he looks up Derek is there, handing him a cup of coffee.
"Did you wait long?" Derek then asks before sipping from his own cup.
"Hours, you prick," Stiles faux complains. Derek is exactly fifteen minutes late. "No amount of coffee is going to bring those moments of my life back."
"Where are you friends?"
Stiles scans the rink and spots Scott and Kira at the far end, giving everyone a lesson in what PDA really means. "They're the ones over there getting to second base."
"At least they're staying warm," he says. "Can't say the same thing for you."
Stiles looks down at himself. All he's wearing is a t-shirt and his nipples are kind of getting rigid. It was about eighty degrees outside and that's what he's dressed for. He should have probably thought to have brought a sweater or a jacket since it can't be more than fifty degrees inside the rink. Derek is wearing a jacket over his shirt, and when he catches Stiles eying it he shakes his head. "No way, come on," he says, smacking Stiles on the thigh as a way of urging him to stand up. "They sell sweatshirts at the souvenir stand back there."
And that's how Stiles ends up wearing a black hoodie with the ice rink logo on the back on this afternoon double date. He looks like someone who might work here and Derek seems to think that's hilarious, especially when Stiles gets distracted by the absolutely perfect way Derek slides onto the ice, and Stiles immediately loses his balance.
"You can skate, can't you?" Derek asks, hand fisted in the back of Stiles' sweatshirt, helping him stay upright.
"Of course I can skate. I was just distracted by your ugly face," he grumbles.
"I can just go, if that helps."
"No," Stiles says, and takes his hand in his own. "In fact if I see you reach for your phone even once, I'm breaking it. We're going to have fun even if it kills you."
Derek only responds by knocking their shoulders together in a light shove, making Stiles wobble on his skate once again.
By the end of the afternoon Kira and Derek have become the bestest of friends, having bonded over their absurd shared love for intense exercise and competition. Scott doesn't like this new development all that much, and Stiles might be a bit jealous himself if he didn't know the difference between Derek flirting and Derek being friendly. Derek's flirts are a lot less smooth and a lot more brain melting.
Everything is going great right up until the moment when they're saying goodbye in the parking lot. Stiles is standing with his faceturned towards the sun, his lame new hoodie draped over his arm, when he hears Kira say: "It's really too bad you can't come to the wedding. Stiles couldn't wish for a better date."
And Scott says: "He'll find someone else."
"Guys, this has been great," Stiles interrupts sharply and start pushing Derek towards the man's car.
"Okay, see you later," Kira says, and Stiles waves at her and shoots Scott his most vicious 'you're going to die' glare.
He doesn't look at Derek until they're at his car and Scott and Kira have entered theirs.
"Nice friends," Derek says, no heat behind his words.
"They're better than having no friends at all, I guess," Stiles sighs.
"So," Derek then starts. He unlocks his car and throws his jacket in the backseat before turning back to Stiles. "You need a date for the wedding, huh?"
"Need is a strong word. I think I'll survive the night without one," Stiles says. "I wasn't planning on finding a date," he clarifies.
"You don't want one?"
"Not really. Obviously if you were here then I'd want you to go with me, but otherwise-" he shrugs, hoping that is enough explanation.
Derek is staring at him now, like he does sometimes when he's considering something. From all the things that Stiles considers might be running through his head, what Derek says next doesn't come close to any of them.
"I could stay until Sunday," he says. "Instead of leaving Friday."
"Why would you do that?" Stiles asks. His stomach twists at the suggestion, he doesn't know exactly why. It's not a good feeling. "No," he then hears himself say before Derek can answer him. Derek closes his mouth and takes a step back, as if Stiles had just smacked him in the face. "You don't have to do that," Stiles continuous. "It would be for nothing, in the end. It's just one night."
"Right," Derek says blandly, eyes on the pavemennt before he reaches for the car door. "Forget about it. I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah," Stiles says, taking a step back. He watches Derek get into his car and drive off. He then continuous to spends a good ten minutes just standing in that empty parking spot before finally getting into his own car and going home.
By the time he's home, he's gone over the short conversation about a hundred times, and sort of knows why he reacted the way he did. It's because Derek staying for one more day wouldn't accomplish anything other than delaying the inevitable. Derek is still going to leave, he's still going to go to a city with millions of people who are all going to fall in love with him and make him forget all about Stiles Stilinski. Stiles had a knee jerk reaction of 'all or nothing' when Derek offered to stay another day, and since he knew for sure it wasn't going to be 'all', he decided to be a dick about it.
He's regretting it by the time he enters his apartment, so he decides that calling Derek up now and fixing this nasty situation immediately would be best.
“Sorry, I don't have time right now,” is how Derek picks up his phone. “I'm going into a meeting.”
“Are you serious? What kind of meeting is held a at five thirty on a Saturday afternoon?”
“One I had to reschedule because you wanted to go ice skating,” Derek snaps. Stiles is ready to snap back, when he hears Derek take in a breath. “Sorry, I have to go. I'll call you when it's done.”
“I just wanted to say I'm sorry for earlier,” Stiles says. “That's all.”
“You've got nothing to be sorry about. It was a stupid idea-”
“No, it wasn't. Listen, I would love it if you could stay longer. Even if it's just for a day, I would love it. The reason I reacted like that earlier was because I'm still kind of bitter about the fact that you're leaving,” he admits quietly. “I like you a lot, in case you hadn't noticed that yet. Probably more than any sane person would like anyone they've only known for two months.”
“That's... okay, I hear you and I will absolutely get back to you on this the second I get out of this meeting, but I really have to go now, okay?”
“I- fine, okay, weirdo,” Stiles sighs. “Bye."
Derek doesn't call him back that night. In fact, he doesn't get a call from the man until late the next morning.
"The meeting ran really late, and then Cora called after that and I just...forgot. I'm sorry."
"Sometimes I feel like you're making these meetings up just so you can get away from me," Stiles says, hoping the words sound light and not at all as an expression of his cripplingly insecure feelings about where this relationship is heading.
"Yeah, about that," Derek then says. "I wasn't going to say anything until things were final, but I think we need to talk."
And there it is. His blood runs cold as he tries to gather his thoughts. "About what?" he asks, doesn't know how it sounds now that all he can hear is his own blood rushing through veins.
"Are you doing anything right now? I don't want to do this over the phone."
"Are you busy?"
"Good, I'll see you in twenty minutes." Derek hangs up, leaving Stiles to stare at the darkening screen of his phone. He's going to get broken up with. He's going to get dumped right after he put his feelings out there, the night before.
Stiles has exactly enough time to convince himself that he's not going to cry. At least not until after Derek leaves; then everything is fair game.
Derek arrives exactly twenty minutes after the call. He looks good, better than ever, Stiles would say, but that might just be his imagination. Things always look better when you know you can't have them.
When Derek steps inside he looks at Stiles and then does a double take. "Are you okay?" he asks. "You look paler than usual."
"I'm fine," Stiles snaps, and turns his back on him, walking into the living room. "Just say what you came all the way down here for." Derek follows him, looks confused when Stiles finally looks at him again.
"Are you mad at me because I didn't call you back last night? I'm sorry for that, okay? I was going to call-"
"What are you talking about?" Stiles interrupts. "You're just stalling now, aren't you? Why would you do that?"
"I don't - okay, you look really angry right now and I have no idea why," Derek finally says, throwing his hands up in defense. "I'm sure I fucked something up, but I'm drawing a blank here if it's not about last night."
"Are you joking? I get to be angry, okay? I told you how much I liked you and twelve hours later you're breaking up with me, so excuse the fuck out of me for not being mister Sunshine right now."
Stiles watches Derek's eyes widen before his eyebrows settle in a frown. "Who is breaking up with who right now?" he asks.
"What the fuck is going on?" Stiles almost yells in frustration.
"I don't know! I'm just here to tell you that I've had a few job interviews over the last few weeks and that I finally found one that's worth it. Here, in town."
Stiles isn't easily caught off guard, but he can honestly say that 'I found a new job and am staying here' this might literally have been the very last thing he imagined to come up in this conversation. "Are you serious?" Stiles asks sharply.
"I didn't want to say anything in case things didn't go through-" Derek starts explaining, but Stiles doesn't care. He'll start caring again in ten minutes probably, but right now all he cares about is the fact that Derek is here and they're not breaking up. So he lunges forward, wraps his arms around the man - his boyfriend - and stops caring about anything else for just a few minutes.
“My sister said that my personality is bad enough as it is, and that if I moved to New York and turned into a Wall Street douchebag, she'd disown me. That's basically it,” Derek absently explains as he rummages through the drawers of Stiles' dresser.
“She sounds like a gentle soul,” Stiles says, tries to sound neutral instead of extremely horny. He has one dry finger shoved up his ass and one hand stroking himself. “Hurry the fuck up.”
“Where's your lube, idiot?” Derek snaps, turning around, cock hard and just-
“Oh fuck, I think I ran out,” he gasps.
“You're joking. Way to lead a guy on,” Derek practically growls, but there's no heat behind his words, as he makes his way back to the bed. “Spread your legs,” he orders.
“You're not going in dry,” Stiles warns.
“I was going to eat you out, but this attitude of yours-”
“Kidding, joking, do whatever you want,” Stiles yelps, spreading his legs as far apart as he can manage. Derek just snorts, curls his hands around Stiles' thighs and yanks him closer. He's about to lean in when Stiles remembers something. “Wait,” he says, and accidentally pulls on Derek's hair. “Sorry. You're going to the wedding with me, right?”
“You're the boss, okay? I'll go to ten weddings with you. After I go down with you.”
"Okay, okay, but one more thing? Can I tell Scott that you're still leaving? So I can see his face when you show up at the wedding and make a love declaration for me, like in the movies?"
"I think I'm just going to New York, after all."
"No, you're staying right here." Stiles pulls on his hair again, only this time he pulls him down between his legs.