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it's not a bad thing (to fall in love)

Summary:

After his mom died, Stiles watched as the grief tore his father apart. From that moment on, he vowed to never fall in love. When his high school girlfriend started talking about marriage, Stiles freaked out and tried to break up with her. She refused to accept that they were over until Stiles finally blurted out that he was gay. Years later, his little white lie bites him in the ass when she invites him and his boyfriend to her wedding.

Enter Derek, who reluctantly agrees to pretend to date him and ends up giving Stiles a hell of a lot more than he bargained for.

This is a human AU where the Hale fire never happened, Stiles and Laura are best friends, and Stiles and Derek go from fake boyfriends to friends-with-benefits who fall in love all because #therewasonlyonebed.

This fic is an adaptation of Fake Out by Eden Finley.

Notes:

thank you thank you thank you for all the incredible and kick-ass moodboards!! seriously y'all we got a moodboard for every. single. chapter!!! and they are AH-MAZING! also for your patience as i worked through the story expansions.

forever grateful to em, who listened to me rant and rave about the book Fake Out by Eden Finley and wished to see it Sterek’d. that being said...seriously, this is basically a condensed, Sterek’d version of the book and i sincerely hope i’ve done it justice.

thank you to everyone who read over this (em, myblackeyedboy, prairiedale, badbrains, and nerdherdette—oh God, i hope i didn't forget anyone and i'm so sorry if i did!) helping it become the best version it could be when i could no longer see straight. i will never be able to thank you guys enough!

*what even is a 'comma'? as always… all mistakes are my own*
*also tags… tags are hard :/ so if anything is missing please lemme know*

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Stiles

Chapter Text

Stiles threads his fingers through his hair as he bangs his head on the small bistro table in the corner of his favorite coffee shop. The loud chatter around him makes him question why he's even awake right now. The events of last night play in technicolor in his mind—a painful memory that makes his hangover even more unbearable than it already is.

Why couldn't it have been a nightmare? At least that way it would eventually fade as the day wore on.

Because you're an idiot, his traitorous brain supplies.

Where was this revelation last night before he had the chance to stick his foot in his mouth and repeat the lie he told so long ago?

It had been five years since Stiles last saw his ex-girlfriend, Heather. Once he left for school at Berkeley, that was the end of them. Back then, she did everything she could to thwart his attempts at breaking up, but it wasn't until he spewed out the words 'I'm gay' that she actually listened.

Seeing her had been a shock. Stiles never thought he'd see Heather outside of Beacon Hills, especially not at a bar in San Francisco.

Dammit.

All he had wanted was to get a drink after work so he could relax. Except there she was, standing across the room with four other women. They were all decked out in party clothes. The only difference for Heather was the black sash across her torso with the word 'bride' spelled out in pink glitter. She still looked as beautiful as she did five years ago. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail, with some hair falling to frame her face. Stiles used to tuck those strands behind her ears before kissing her.

It was unfortunate that he couldn't sneak away unnoticed. Heather's eyes locked onto his, and her face lit up with a smile so bright it made Stiles's stomach churn.

When she ran over and threw her arms around him, it was instinct to hug her back. Even though her presence makes him anxious, Stiles still remembers when it felt like it was the two of them against the world.

As she sighed against him, her beer-tinged breath warming his neck, Stiles remembered the last time they were together. Heather's hair was piled high on her head in a messy bun, her sundress rumpled from their heavy make-out session and her lipstick smeared. Stiles still can't smell jasmine without thinking of the lotion she always wore or the look on her face when she slapped him after she finally accepted they were breaking up.

"It should have been us," she had whispered in his ear against the music in the bar, drawing him out of his memories. Her breath hitched as her arms tightened around him.

Stiles felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, reminding him of why they broke up.

For Stiles, it was a relationship of convenience. They had grown up together, their mothers becoming close friends after meeting at one of their first prenatal visits. After Stiles's mom died, their families grew closer. Heather's mom was practically a surrogate mother to him, and he always considered Heather one of his best friends.

It was natural to him how their relationship progressed. They were always relying on each other, especially once they started high school, then one day they kissed, and that was it. They were suddenly the 'It' couple, absolutely perfect for each other. Everyone thought they'd get married and start a family right away—everyone, except Stiles.

It was never his intention to stay in Beacon Hills after graduating. He worked his ass off in school so he would get accepted at UC Berkeley and get out of the small town of Beacon Hills. Not that he hated growing up there, by any means, but there were—and still are—too many sad memories. It didn't help that his dad worked so much that Stiles basically raised himself.

Stiles doesn't blame his dad, though. He didn't take it well after Stiles's mom died, losing himself at first to booze and then, when Stiles screamed about losing another parent, to work.

It was seeing his father's suffering that cemented the wall around his heart. Stiles vowed to never fall in love, lest he feel the same pain his father did when his mom died. Not to say he didn't love Heather, but it was different for him. It wasn't that all-encompassing kind of love Stiles saw with his parents. He didn't realize that it was deeper for her until their senior year of high school when she started talking about marriage. Stiles's pulse had pounded in his ears, the room growing hot and closing in on him. He realized then that he had never been in love with Heather.

After that, he tried to break up with her several times since she was clearly more invested in their relationship than he was. Unfortunately for Stiles, Heather was a master at making her eyes well up with large tears and wobbling her lower lip. He was helpless to appease her, if only because it killed him to see one of his best friends cry.

It took until graduation to make one last-ditch effort to end their relationship. He had taken Heather to their spot—a clearing in the woods behind the high school where they'd often sneak off to for some time alone after his mom had died, when everything felt uncertain. When they first arrived, still wearing their caps and gowns, she hadn't mentioned their future. Stiles was willing to do what he did best—to ignore the problem until it goes away—but then, after making out for a while, she straddled his waist and smiled. She asked him, once again, to stay in Beacon Hills so they could get married that summer.

Apparently, she decided he could get his degree somewhere closer, like UC Davis or even Beacon Hills College. The idea of her planning their life—his life—was daunting and suffocating.

Once again, there was a roaring in his ears and, this time, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He tried stammering through excuse after excuse, but Heather's eyes were pleading. They were already glistening with tears as she talked about this perfect life she had planned for them. She wasn't listening to anything he had to say; she wasn't listening to any of his desperate excuses as to why they could no longer be together. Finally, Stiles spouted off the only thing he could think of, a sure-fire way to explain why they couldn't be together anymore: he was gay.

What would his mother think if she were still alive? She'd probably be disappointed in him. Hell, Stiles wasn't proud of the lie—one he never bothered correcting as time went on. Of course, he hadn't expected Heather to call his dad or tell literally everyone they knew, either. Still, he supposed it was what he deserved for lying to the girl he'd grown up with. By the time Stiles got home that night, there were texts and voicemails from all his friends. It seemed easier to go along with it, considering he couldn't exactly say it was a lie without looking like a complete and total dick. Besides, since he never planned on settling down, there was no worry about what to do when he met 'the one.'

Perhaps he should have used their reunion as an opportunity to finally tell the truth. However, when Heather gave him that familiar smile—batting her eyes the way she always did to get her way—it fell from his lips once more.

"I'm not sure my boyfriend would appreciate that. He gets pretty jealous. Doesn't like to share." Stiles had hoped Heather wouldn't notice the way he was rubbing his neck like he always did when he'd tell a lie.

That seemed to shake Heather from her stupor. In fact, after Stiles's proclamation, she invited him—and his boyfriend—to her wedding the following weekend.

Stiles was all awkward smiles as he attempted to get out of the last-minute invite. Unfortunately, Heather's eyes went wide and pleading, and he found himself reluctantly agreeing. Besides, it was totally fine. He'd just bail.

Except when he woke up this morning, there was a voicemail from his dad telling him that he looked forward to seeing Stiles the following weekend. Along with said boyfriend.

Fuck!

Of course, Heather would have called her parents after seeing him, to say they ran into each other or just to inform them that she added another guest to the invite list. Stiles knows his dad still keeps in touch with her family even after they broke up, and because of it, there's no getting out of it now. Not when his dad expects him, and especially not when his dad reminded him that he hadn't been home in five years.

"Why do you look like death?" asks a familiar voice with a judgmental tone.

Stiles doesn't bother looking up. Instead, he holds his hand out, waiting for the cup of coffee he knows his best friend has brought him.

Laura Hale is a godsend. They met in their freshman year beat-reporting class and remained friends after they realized how well they got along when they were paired together for their 'man on the street' interviews.

Since Stiles is, in fact, not gay—and since Laura is an incredibly beautiful woman with dark brown hair that always falls in perfect waves around her face and piercing green eyes—he had immediately hit on her. She's shorter than him but still manages to make Stiles feel small if he crosses her. Laura's perfect for him, except she'd always turned him down. By the time sophomore year rolled around, Stiles had given up on anything more than a platonic relationship. It's something he's eternally grateful for because Laura's now one of his best friends. They even work together at the San Francisco Chronicle, having both pursued a career in journalism.

She's also the reason he's in this coffee shop instead of in bed, planning the best way to fake his death.

Sure, most people would just fake breaking up with their fake boyfriend. Still, the last thing Stiles wants is to face the inevitable looks of pity as he sits alone at his ex-girlfriend's wedding. Not to mention that Heather's mom would smother him and stuff him with homemade food—her go-to when someone she loves goes through a rough time. It would only add to his guilt.

As soon as Laura places the steamy mug of delicious hazelnut latte into his hands, Stiles pops his head up, taking a sip of the much-needed caffeine.

"Fuck, that's perfect. You're the best."

"I know." Laura's smug grin as she sips her drink makes him chuckle. Her leather jacket creaks as she leans forward, and she steeples her hands under her chin as she fixes him with a look. "Now, seriously, what's going on? Did you pick someone up last night and need me to chase them out of your apartment? Should I play the jealous girlfriend? Or maybe the crazy ex who thinks, 'If I can't have him, no one can?'" she says, already appearing lost in thought as she schemes happily.

Usually, Stiles would laugh at her antics, seeing as how they're so similar—both of them armed with an arsenal of biting wit and sarcasm. She's not far off, though. Stiles has spent the past few years sleeping around, never getting serious with anyone. Laura's dubbed him a man-whore, and yes, just like a scene out of What's Your Number? she's had to run a few women from his room when they wouldn't leave.

"Uh, not quite, but close?" Stiles's voice squeaks at the end, like a teenage boy going through puberty when their voice doesn't know whether it should sound like a kid or a grown man.

"Close?" Laura sits across from him, one perfectly groomed brow raised in question.

She's going to give him so much shit, but Stiles details the events of the previous evening with Heather. Laura's eyes go comically wide, and from the way she clenches her jaw, he can tell she's straining not to laugh.

"You…you told your ex-girlfriend…that you're gay? And never once in five years did you bother to tell her the truth?"

Stiles opens his mouth to explain. There's a reason he never introduced Laura to his dad, but she talks over him.

"How did I not know this already?" she asks incredulously. "Not only that, but you let everyone think that you're gay? Why? What happens when you meet someone?"

Stiles levels her with a look.

"Oh, don't even. I know you spew all that bullshit about never falling in love, but you could. What happens then, Stiles? And what about now? What are you planning to do about the wedding? Because let me tell you, I'm not about to throw a baseball cap on my head and pretend to be a guy while also pretending to be your boyfriend."

"No, not you." Stiles takes another sip of his coffee before steeling himself to ask this ridiculous favor. "I was hoping your brother would do it?" There's that damn squeak again.

Laura looks at him for a second before snorting so loud they draw attention from the table next to them.

"You want me to ask Derek if he'll go to this wedding with you. To pretend to be your boyfriend. Derek."

Ah, yes. The elusive Derek Hale. Stiles has never met him, but Laura talks about him all the time, which is how he knows that Derek is gay.

"That would be the one." Stiles's stomach swoops with nerves. He doesn't know what Derek looks like, but he's met Laura's parents, even her sister and uncle, and they're all attractive, so he's sure Derek is too.

Seriously, Stiles. You can't be superficial when it comes to your fake boyfriend.

"Okay, but I don't know his schedule. He might have to work. Seriously though, why don't you just say you can't make it, or that, I don't know, you're not gay!"

Laura's outburst earns them a glare from their neighboring table. Stiles fights the urge to tell them to mind their own business.

"Because I'm me, duh." Which shouldn't be surprising to her. She knows how well he ignores his problems.

"Fine. I'll ask him."

"Really?" Stiles can't possibly have heard her right. Maybe his headache is making him hallucinate? Christ, he could really use a Tylenol right now.

"Oh, don't think I'm doing this for you, Stiles." Her grin is mischievous. "This is purely for my enjoyment. The idea of you pretending to be gay for a weekend pleases me immensely."

Stiles should be concerned about the gleam in her eyes, but he's honestly too relieved to think about it.

Chapter 2: Derek

Chapter Text

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this." Derek looks up at the four-story condominium, frowning as he takes it in. The exterior consists of gray bricks and white trim, featuring tall bay windows and a small garden. The main door is painted black to match the doors that lead to the underground parking garage.

Fancy.

This is a nice place; certainly nicer than the rundown one-bedroom apartment he's renting across town. Better than Laura's, too.

"And how the hell can this guy afford a place like this on his salary at the newspaper?"

"He rents it from a frat buddy who owns it. And don't act like you're not getting anything out of this." She turns to glare at him. "I already got you out of going to Uncle Nick's retirement party."

Thank God. It's the only reason Derek agreed to this ridiculous plan. The last thing he wanted was to have his mother guilt him into attending. Uncle Nick isn't even a blood relative. He and Derek's dad have been friends since they were in diapers and consider each other brothers. Once upon a time, Derek considered Uncle Nick's son, Nate, his best friend. However, that's no longer the case, and Derek would rather not see Nate any time soon, but given how close their families are, Derek knows it's inevitable.

Still, he's desperate enough to go along with this insane idea to postpone it for as long as he can.

"You know I hate him on principle, right?" Him being this Stiles person. There's little that Derek doesn't know about Stiles, including the fact that he's not gay. However, he's never actually had the displeasure of meeting him. Somehow, in the five years that Laura has known Stiles, he and Derek have never crossed paths.

It's probably a good thing. Derek loves his sister, but they're not the closest. While Laura is loud, opinionated, and bubbly—an open book—Derek is withdrawn and reserved. He'd rather sit back and observe to get a feel for people before deciding if they're someone he wants to know. It's safer that way, less of a chance to be disappointed. Laura, and apparently Stiles, enjoy being the center of attention. Derek, however, avoids the spotlight like it's the plague.

That's not to say Derek doesn't have friends: Danny, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are some of his best friends. They met freshman year of college and have been close ever since. As far as Derek's concerned, he doesn't need anyone else. Besides, Erica is a handful in her own right.

"You're gonna love him, Der." Laura throws her arm around Derek's shoulders, squeezing him. Even though she's smaller than him, she's intimidating.

Derek adjusts his duffel over his shoulder. He's careful of the garment bag he's also carrying so he doesn't wrinkle his suit as they walk into the condominium lobby.

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure I'm gonna love the straight guy pretending to be gay," he deadpans.

Laura slaps his chest playfully. "It's gonna be fine. Besides, it's only for two nights. It gets his ex off his case and makes his dad happy."

Derek snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure you're doing this out of the goodness in your heart."

"Okay, fine. It'll get me endless hours of entertainment on Monday when I make Stiles tell me everything."

Yeah, that sounds more like it.

"You are literally the worst sister ever. Mom and dad clearly had Cora because their first daughter was pure evil," Derek huffs. His point is reiterated when they're approached by none other than a guy in sparkly, silver boy shorts with black leather straps crossed over his naked chest and angel wings on his back.

"Please tell me you're Riley," Laura says, sounding far too gleeful.

"Laura…what did you do?" Derek asks when the guy nods and Laura hands him some cash.

"It's all part of my fun."

"Your sister is evil," Riley says as if Derek didn't already know. They walk down a short hallway to a bank of elevators; when one opens, they get in and Laura hits the button for the top floor.

"You remember I have to spend the next two days with this guy, right?" Derek reminds her. The last thing he wants to do is piss Stiles off. This weekend is already going to be awkward enough.

Unfortunately, it's too late. The elevator doors ding open, and Laura grips his shirt to pull Derek out. She stops him from following Riley, though. Derek has half a mind to call out, but Riley is knocking, and Laura is grinning.

Please, God, shoot me now.

The door opens, but Derek can't see Stiles from where they're standing. Suddenly, Riley goes from being a guy wearing a stripper costume to a flamboyant gay guy in the blink of an eye.

"Stiles! Hi, darling. I'm Derek."

Derek clenches his jaw and swears under his breath.

"Uh…umm…" Stiles's confusion almost makes Derek feel sorry for him.

"Not what you expected?" Riley asks, putting his hand on his hip, which he pops out in the most dramatic way possible.

Fucking hell.

"No. I'm just wondering how much Laura is paying you," Stiles says. His voice is alight with amusement, all warm and rich. It sends a shiver down Derek's spine. Stiles sticks his head out the doorway and glares at Laura. "Nice try. Clearly, you forgot how well I know you. Also, I stalked your brother on social media. I've lost all respect for your cunning. The Laura I know would've posted this guy's mug on Derek's profile."

Derek barks out a laugh. "You're right, Laura. This was fun."

Stiles's amber eyes widen a fraction as they meet his. He has a cute, upturned nose, messy chestnut hair, and plump, pink lips. Derek has never reacted so hard to a pair of lips before, but Stiles has to have the most kissable mouth he's ever seen. This weekend just became a whole lot more awkward. Of course, the straight guy is gorgeous and exactly Derek's type because the universe clearly likes to watch him suffer.

Fuck, now Stiles is smiling.

"Hey, real Derek. I'm Stiles."

"'Sup." Really, Derek?

Laura drags him toward Stiles.

"Uh, is my job here done?" Riley asks in his normal voice.

"Yeah. Thanks," Laura says. "I'll walk you out. See you on Monday, Stiles. Call you later, Derek."

Derek watches his sister retreat, half-wishing she wouldn't leave him alone with Stiles. He really shouldn't have agreed to this. Not with his track record of falling for straight guys. Well, guy. It was only once, and Derek promised himself that he wouldn't do that ever again.

"Ready to head out?" Stiles asks. "We've got about four hours on the road if traffic isn't shit."

There's no turning back now. "Yup." Derek lifts his duffel and the bag with his suit. "All set."


"I can't thank you enough for this," Stiles says after they've been on the road for two hours. The first half of the drive was spent in stilted silence, mingled with Stiles asking occasional questions, trying to engage while Derek's mouth betrayed him by supplying only one-word answers. Apparently, Derek's brain malfunctions when he's near a guy as hot as Stiles.

Yay.

"No problem." Derek mumbles. He looks out the window and does a mental cheer for speaking two words this time.

"Contrary to what you might think, I'm not actually an asshole."

Derek levels him with a glare. Regardless of how attractive Stiles is, lying isn't cool. "It's because of guys like you that women don't believe me when I say I'm gay."

"Really?" Stiles asks incredulously.

"Really. Apparently, having muscles and liking sports is against the rules if you're gay."

"Fu-uck. Way to make me feel like more of a dick." Stiles slumps back in his seat as he drives. "How the hell did Laura get you to agree to this then?"

"She's doing me a favor."

Stiles is quiet for a moment, seemingly waiting for Derek to explain.

Except he's not going to.

"O…kay then," Stiles says after a moment. "We should get our story straight. I figure this is a new relationship, so it's probably okay that we don't know everything about each other. I mean, I know some things from Laura already, like the fact that you're a deputy for the Alameda County Sheriff's Office and—"

"Do you even know what you're getting yourself into?" Derek asks, cutting Stiles off. "You know we're going to have to act like we're dating, right? You'll have to hold my hand and touch me. Are you going to flinch every time I go near you?"

"Uh…no? Why would that bother me?" he asks confusedly, making Derek scoff. Who does this guy think he's fooling? "Two guys touching doesn't make me uncomfortable," Stiles assures him.

"Being okay with seeing gay guys touch is different than being gay." Derek rolls his eyes. "But you're right. We should get our story straight. I mean, all I know about you is that you work with Laura at the newspaper and you lie to women about your sexuality."

"Woman. Singular. One." Stiles doesn't look over as he lifts his right hand from the steering wheel, holding up a finger. "I've lied once." He grips the steering wheel again. "Probably best not to mention that."

"You've kept up that lie for what, five years?" Derek snorts.

"Yeah, okay, I get it. I'm an asshole. You want me to turn around?" Stiles offers dejectedly, glancing at Derek.

Derek sighs heavily, feeling like a dick himself now. "No. No, it's… Sorry. I agreed to help, and I will."

"Thank you," Stiles says quietly. "So, I guess we should get to know each other a little. Tell me about yourself."

The rest of the drive is spent learning a little more about each other, like how Derek has no known allergies and takes his coffee black, while Stiles eats his eggs sunny-side up and drinks his coffee with cream and sugar. Oh, and apparently he's allergic to commitment, as evidenced by the length Stiles was willing—and is still willing to go—to get away from his ex.

"Too bad Zyrtec doesn't work in this case," Stiles jokes.

Derek laughs, hating that he actually finds Stiles funny.

"Probably shouldn't bring up the commitment-phobia this weekend, either," Stiles quips.

"Smart move."

By the time they pass the 'Welcome to Beacon Hills' sign, they have their story figured out. They go with something as close to the truth as possible: Laura introduced them. It's plausible since she and Stiles are so close and work together. Combined with the fact that they all live in the same city, it's actually a miracle they haven't met before.

The brother and the best friend.

Derek looks over at Stiles and sighs.

If only.


Derek wipes the sweat from his hands as they enter Stiles's childhood home. For some reason, his heart beats frantically in his chest. He's dated a couple of times, but nothing has ever been serious enough to meet the parents. But here he is, meeting his fake boyfriend's dad. It's not any less intimidating than it would have been if any of this were real.

"Dad?" Stiles calls out, shutting the door behind them.

"Stiles?" Sheriff Stilinski steps into the entryway and clasps a hand on Stiles's shoulder. He's an imposing figure, especially in his uniform. Derek can't see the resemblance between them at all. Where Stiles has dark hair and brown eyes, the Sheriff has light hair and blue eyes. Their smiles, however, are the same—kind and welcoming.

Derek steps back when they hug, suddenly feeling like an intruder. The Sheriff's arms come around Stiles eagerly, patting his back once, then twice, before holding him tightly. "It's been too long, kiddo."

"I know, dad. I'm sorry." Stiles's voice is tight, thick with emotion. When he pulls away, his eyes are shiny. He sniffles as he takes in the Sheriff's appearance. "You're working?"

"Yeah. Parrish asked for the night off since someone's back in town, so I'm picking up his shift." The sheriff turns to Derek at that moment, extending his hand in greeting.

"Hello, Sheriff Stilinski. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Derek says, accepting the handshake. He winces internally, hoping the Sheriff doesn't judge his sweaty palms.

"Derek. Nice to meet you. I wish I could stay so I can do my parental duty and tell you all of Stiles's embarrassing stories from when he was younger—"

"Dad!" Stiles scolds.

"—but I need to head in. See you boys tomorrow for breakfast." The Sheriff chuckles, heading to the coat rack.

Stiles nods towards the stairs on the other side of the living room. "C'mon. My room only has a twin, so I'll show you to the guest room."

"Oh, that's not necessary. I put the queen in your room, son," the Sheriff says as he puts on his jacket.

"Wait, what?" Stiles's head flips around. His face contorts in a way that Derek would generally laugh at if it weren't for the fact that Stiles was clearly taken by surprise with the idea of them sharing a bed.

"I put the queen bed in your room when you called to tell me about Derek. I'm not an idiot, Stiles. I know you and Derek are sleeping together."

Derek's face heats up in second-hand embarrassment, which is stupid considering they are, in fact, not sleeping together. However, if they were, Derek would be mortified to be called out by either of their parents.

Stiles mutters something under his breath that makes the Sheriff laugh as he grabs his keys.

"Alright, boys. I'll be back in the morning. Try to behave yourselves while I'm gone." With that, the Sheriff leaves, shutting the door behind him.

"C'mon. My room's this way." Stiles leads him up the stairs. As they walk, Derek looks at the pictures that line the walls, starting with Stiles as a baby, nestled in the arms of a woman Derek assumes is his mother. There's that resemblance. She disappears from the pictures once they hit the second story landing. Stiles must have been young when he lost her.

Before Derek can dwell on it further, Stiles opens a door. His arm sweeps out, allowing Derek to enter first.

"I can sleep on the floor," Derek offers, setting his duffel bag down and shuffling his feet. He stares at the queen-size bed that sits along the wall of Stiles's bedroom. The curtains are open on the single window in the room, helping the lamp sitting in the corner brighten the large space.

Derek looks around, smiling at the various posters hanging on the walls. They're mostly Star Wars-related, but there's also a poster of Pink Floyd and The Beatles, along with a corkboard adorned with pictures of Stiles and people who Derek assumes are his friends.

"What?" Stiles appears confused as he walks to his closet, hanging his garment bag up. He holds out a hand to Derek, gesturing for his bag as well. "Gimme. We'll hang them so the suits don't wrinkle."

"Thanks." Derek clears his throat and nods at the bed. "You seemed a little uncomfortable when your dad mentioned, uh, sharing a bed."

"Oh, that? No, I just didn't even consider it until now." Stiles shrugs, toeing off his shoes before sitting on the edge of his bed. "I've always had a twin, so I figured we'd have to sleep separately, but I'm fine with sharing a bed. I just didn't mean to put this on you."

"Well, don't worry, I'll stay on my side." The last thing Derek wants or needs is to accidentally snuggle against Stiles in his sleep. The last time he woke up in bed with a straight guy, he'd gotten verbally assaulted and lost his best friend.

Stiles cocks his head to the side in apparent confusion. "Do you think I'm worried about that or something?"

"I don't know many straight guys who'd be okay with this." Derek roams the room; his fingers trailing over all the odds and ends on Stiles's shelves and desk. "If there are issues, I'd rather take the floor."

"Dude, if I had issues, I should be the one taking the floor. Not you. But I don't, so I won't." Stiles's phone pings with a notification, and he reaches over to check it. His face immediately lights up at a text he reads. "Hey, wanna hang out with a couple of my friends?"

"Uh…is that a good idea?" Derek's not a people person on a good day. Add the stressful situation, and he's liable to say something stupid. Like, for instance, that this whole thing is a sham.

Derek looks around nervously before his eyes land on something that catches his attention. He steps forward and grabs the jersey draped over the desk chair—Beacon Hills, 24, with the name 'Stilinski' on the back—and sits before turning his attention back to Stiles. With the grin Stiles gives him, Derek already knows he's going.

He grips the jersey in his hands tighter. "What sport?"

"Lacrosse." The tip of Stiles's tongue peeks out as he taps on the screen, likely responding to the message. "And yeah. My friends are cool. This is gonna be awesome."

Oh, well. Here goes nothing.

Chapter 3: Stiles

Chapter Text

Stiles beams when he sees Lydia and Parrish outside of the restaurant.

"Derek, these are my friends." Stiles shares a one-armed bro-hug with Parrish, his most favorite deputy, before wrapping Lydia in a warm embrace. As he spins her around in a circle, he can't help remembering the crush he once had on her. She smooths down the pleats of her skirt when Stiles puts her down, gracefully flipping her fiery-red hair over her shoulder.

Derek nods. "Hi. Hello."

Stiles slings an arm around Derek as he introduces Jordan and Lydia. He can't help but notice the solid, smoking-hot muscles as he pats Derek's chest. They are far more appealing than they have any right to be. "Guys, this is my boyfriend, Derek."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Sure. Boyfriend." Stiles can damn near see the air quotes around the word.

"Wait." Derek's brows furrow in confusion. He turns, leaning a little more into Stiles's space, his breath ghosting over the shell of Stiles's ear. "Do they know?" he whispers.

A shiver runs down Stiles's spine, and a rush of arousal warms his stomach from their close proximity. How had Stiles not realized just how attractive Derek is? Like Laura, Derek's hair is dark, though more raven black whereas Laura's is dark chocolate. Complete with a perma-scowl, Derek's face is perfectly sculpted—high cheekbones, accentuated by a well-groomed beard. And his eyes! They're a brilliant hazel with sunbursts of gold, surrounded by a deep pool of green and framed by a dark blue rim.

Wow. Derek is gorgeous.

The thought throws Stiles for a loop and, as heat rises in his cheeks, he takes a step back, needing to put some space between them. He clears his throat, throws on a smile, and pulls away as he explains that Parrish and Lydia (and now Derek) are the only ones who know the truth.

"Uh…" Derek looks adorably confused.

Adorably? Where the hell did that come from?

Thankfully, Parrish swoops in and admits to being the one who gave Stiles the idea to pretend to be gay. It only serves to bring Lydia's wrath. She smacks Parrish on the back of his head and then does the same to Stiles and Derek.

Derek grumbles, rubbing the back of his head. "What was that for?"

"For agreeing to be his date to the wedding," Lydia informs him in her no-nonsense voice. "If you'd turned him down, then he might have actually had to own up to his lie."

Stiles rolls his eyes, stepping between them. "Can you not injure my boyfriend, please? If I don't return him the same way I got him, Laura might not let me play with him anymore."

At Derek's snort, Stiles feels the tension leave his body.

Considering the tense introduction, dinner goes well. Stiles happily eats his favorite dish—a crispy lemon chicken with green beans and roasted potatoes—while Parrish and Lydia regale him with tales of how things have changed around Beacon Hills over the past five years. They also give him all sorts of shit for letting so much time pass before coming home.

Derek and Parrish talk about being deputies. Stiles listens with rapt attention whenever he's not answering Lydia's questions about San Francisco. He's been more and more curious about Derek in the few hours since they met. He finds himself tucking away any tidbit of information, no matter how pointless it seems, as he tries to get to know the man.

Apparently, even though he played basketball in high school, Derek's favorite sport is baseball. This fact leads to Stiles defending his love of the Mets when Derek scoffs as they talk about their favorite teams.

Apparently, Derek prefers the Dodgers.

They also talk about family. Derek mentions that he's really close with his uncle Peter, who Stiles had the pleasure of meeting when he and Laura graduated a year ago. Derek, unfortunately, had to miss the ceremony due to work. There was a terrible car accident on the interstate that morning, and all deputies were called to the scene.

The conversation eventually delves into high school shenanigans. Stiles had his fair share—sneaking off with Scott in the middle of the night, searching the woods for dead bodies, trying to stake out his dad's crime scenes, among other completely normal teenage things. Parrish even jumps in and recalls an incident where Stiles and Scott got caught by his dad coming out of the local gay club after a dare from the captain of the lacrosse team.

Parrish leans over the table. "That's actually where I got the idea about Stiles telling Heather he was gay," he whispers conspiratorially before begging Stiles to recreate the scene.

Stiles rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Well, dad," he glares at Parrish. "There's a conversation that we—"

Parrish, in a perfect imitation of Stiles's dad, says, "You're not gay."

"I could be!" Stiles yells in exasperation, just like he had that night.

Then Parrish snorts. "Not dressed like that."

Stiles's eyes snap to Derek when he hears him laugh, an honest-to-God laugh that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners. All Stiles has gotten is a perma-scowl since the minute they met.

Maybe Derek likes Parrish, his traitorous mind supplies. A flare of jealousy sinks into the pit of his stomach. Or maybe it's because he just heard an embarrassing story, and he's laughing at you.

Either way, Stiles doesn't get a chance to ruminate further, because Parrish slaps the table, announcing it's time to hit up a bar.

They settle the bill and catch an Uber to The Blue Moon, a bar downtown. Stiles managed to sneak in once when he was younger. He got far enough to order a beer, but before the drink even touched his lips, the owner dragged him out by his collar, threatening to call his dad.

Pictures of wolves hang on the faux-wood paneling, and the coasters are round and made to look like full moons. Stiles leads Lydia to a booth along the back wall, sitting under one with a wolf curled up on a rock. He looks back at Derek, who's leaning against the bar and talking animatedly to Parrish as they wait for their drinks.

His eyes rake over Derek's body, at the soft-looking maroon henley hiding his bulk and the dark-wash jeans that hug his muscular thighs and hips. His mind immediately paints a vivid picture of Derek dropping slowly to his knees while his palms sear a path up Stiles's legs to his ass.

"He's attractive."

Lydia's voice immediately snaps Stiles out of his thoughts.

"Huh? What?" he sputters, flustered.

She gives him a knowing smile. "Derek. He's handsome."

"Uh, yeah. I guess?" Stiles shrugs, swiping his finger over a gouge in the wood. The light above their table flickers for a moment. "If you're into that sort of thing."

"You mean men?" Lydia's gaze is far too knowing in his opinion, and he can't help but avert his eyes and clear his throat. He's spared from further scrutiny when Derek slides into the booth next to him. Glasses quickly get passed around, and the pitchers of beer get emptied rapidly and enthusiastically as they drink.

Stiles throws his arm along the back of the booth, his fingers grazing Derek's shoulder. Far too many people, guys included, have glanced at their table—at Derek—and the heat in their eyes is unmistakable.

Stiles tells himself that it's because they're supposed to be dating. It wouldn't look good if someone were openly flirting with Derek and Stiles didn't act at least a little jealous. If they were really, truly dating, Stiles wouldn't stand for that at all. He would definitely make it known that Derek was his.

Luckily, Derek doesn't seem to mind the contact and continues as if nothing has changed.

The chatter in the bar rises as the hours pass, with more and more people coming in. It's to be expected on a Friday night. The drinks keep flowing, and Stiles has a nice buzz going on. It makes him a little more touchy-feely, made evident by the fact that he's now leaning against Derek, his arm still around Derek's shoulders.

Soon, the music starts. Lydia drags Parrish out onto the make-shift dance floor. Stiles gestures over to them while looking at Derek.

"C'mon. You wanna dance?"

Derek chuckles into his glass as he takes a sip.

"Nah, it's okay. I don't really care for dancing. But, uh, you can go ahead. That girl keeps glancing over here."

"What girl?" Stiles's head swivels around, trying to see where Derek's looking. Sure enough, there's a pretty blonde girl at the bar giving him a shy smile.

"It's alright if you wanna go over there," Derek says. "Wouldn't be the first time I got ditched by guys picking up chicks. You remember I was part of a basketball team, right?"

"Apart from breaking the bro-code, it wouldn't be smart for me to hook up with a girl here. Beacon Hills is pretty small. You basically saw the whole town already."

There's a curious expression on Derek's face. "Bro-code?"

"Yeah. 'Bros before hos' and all that," he says, waving his hand around. "Though I really hate that expression. In fact, please don't tell Lydia I said that." He winces, then shrugs and taps his glass in a nervous habit. "Besides, you're here because of me. I'm not gonna just ditch you."

"You make it hard to remember why you're an asshole."

Stiles flashes him a wide smile. "Because I lied to my high school girlfriend about being gay."

"Ah, yes. That." Derek chuckles, rolling his eyes.

"Alright. C'mon, boyfriend. I wanna dance."

Somehow, Stiles actually manages to drag Derek out of the booth and onto the dance floor. He shimmies his hips and shakes to the beat, pulling Derek along until they're beside Parrish and Lydia. Stiles loops an arm around Derek's neck, slotting a leg between Derek's as they grind together.

At first, Derek seems hesitant. His hands hover over Stiles's waist like he's scared to touch. On the other hand, Stiles has pressed his body flush against Derek's and is running his hands over Derek's hard chest and muscular back. Eventually, after a couple of songs and an aggravated huff from Stiles, Derek's large hands settle on his hips.

"Finally!" Stiles damn near does a fist pump in victory. At Derek's confused look, Stiles leans forward. Their cheeks brush as he says, "I was beginning to think you were never gonna touch me. You wouldn't want to give your boyfriend a bruised ego, would ya?"

"Are you sure you're not a little gay?" Derek asks in a playful tone. "You're way too natural at this."

"Sorry to disappoint." Although, Stiles is surprised by how easy the word boyfriend slips out. And now that he thinks about it, it wouldn't take much for him to turn his head and kiss Derek with how close they are.

For one split second, they remain like that, their lips close in an almost-kiss. In that moment, desire pours through Stiles; he's never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life. He wants nothing more than to close the small distance between them and feel the soft press of Derek's lips against his own, but then Derek's face falls, and his eyes go wide with panic.

"Shit, I didn't mean—I'm not hitting on you. I—"

"Whoa. It's cool," Stiles says, holding his hands up. "I knew you were joking." He wants to make it as comfortable as possible between them. After all, Stiles is the one who dragged Derek into this mess. The last thing he wants is for Derek to worry he's going to flip out. Derek's downcast expression makes Stiles think he doesn't believe him, so he squeezes Derek's hips. "Seriously. It's cool."

Derek takes a huge step back, so large that he would've bumped into a couple of girls dancing together if Stiles didn't grab his arms to stop him. Stiles doesn't miss the way Derek flinches when he leans in close to whisper, "We can leave if you want."

It's quiet for a moment, Derek seemingly lost in thought, but as Stiles rubs a soothing circle on Derek's biceps, he sees the tension draining.

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry about—" Derek sucks in a breath but doesn't elaborate. Instead, he puts his hands back on Stiles's hips, moving them to the song's rhythm. "Besides, I like your friends. I was worried they'd be dicks."

"Right. Because I'm one." Stiles snorts. His head falls forward to Derek's chest as he laughs. "I guess I'm gonna have to work harder at proving to you that I'm actually a decent guy. Speaking of which, the next round's on me."


It's two in the morning when they stumble out of the Uber and back into his dad's house. They're both tipsy, but Stiles is a little more in control of himself than Derek seems to be. Then again, Stiles did buy him round after round in an attempt to show Derek he's a nice guy. Plus, Derek clearly needed to loosen up after his internal freak out on the dance floor.

"Alright, big guy. It's this way." Stiles helps Derek through the house since he gets turned around, somehow ending up in the kitchen. It's a good thing his dad's still at work; otherwise, they'd definitely wake him up with how loud they're being by tromping up the stairs to the bedroom as Stiles tries to keep Derek from face planting.

Derek stands at the foot of the bed, swaying slightly but otherwise unmoving as Stiles undresses. His shoes fall with a soft thud when he kicks them off. He pulls his shirt and pants off, letting them fall haphazardly on the floor before stretching out on his bed, clad only in his Star Wars boxers.

"C'mon. It doesn't have to be weird," Stiles says, noticing that Derek still hasn't moved.

Lust spikes through Stiles's body as Derek's gaze rakes over him. Shit. Maybe Stiles should have put a shirt on.

"It's not weird." Derek's voice comes out strangled. He looks away and clears his throat before speaking again. "Okay, it's a little weird."

Stiles watches as Derek kicks off his shoes and steps out of his jeans before climbing into bed, facing away from him.

Stiles flips onto his side, staring at Derek's back. There's a tattoo there, a triskele. Laura has the same tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Derek says after a moment. "I signed up for this. You weren't expecting to share a bed with your gay fake boyfriend either, so it's probably best if I face this way."

"I don't know why you think I'm some close-minded asshole, but I honestly don't have any issues with you sleeping next to me. And without sounding totally sleazy here, you can get comfortable. I won't care." Stiles used to share a bed with Scott. They had sleepovers until Stiles left for school in San Francisco, and Scott went to France to find Allison, the girl he fell in love with during their sophomore year of high school. She'd ended up moving the following year, but they'd kept in touch.

"You know what a lot of guys say when they find out you're gay?" Derek's voice is quiet as he faces the wall.

"I have an idea, yeah. I broke up with Heather a week before leaving for college, so I got a week of small-town, small-minded opinions being shoved down my throat."

"I'm not talking about the full-on homophobes. I'm talking about the guys who act like they're totally okay with it and then throw in a 'so long as you promise to never hit on me.' I got that a lot in college. Locker rooms were a nightmare. My eyes stayed firmly on the ground because God forbid someone thinks you're checking them out while they're naked."

"Are you saying you never check out straight guys?"

Derek lets out a sad laugh. "You check out girls on the street and in clubs, right? It's human nature. But when it comes to these types of situations—" Derek finally flips over, gesturing between them, "—where clothes are…minimal, rest assured, the majority of us won't stare, okay?"

"Okay. I get it, but I want you to know I won't freak out if you look."

Finally, Derek cracks a smile. "Goodnight, Stiles."

"Goodnight, Derek."

Derek's eyes flutter closed, but Stiles watches him sleep for a while. Attraction is a weird beast. Sure, Derek's intense, but he seems like a decent guy. Hell, he's out here helping Stiles, even though it's clear he despises the lie. Maybe, in the end, they can be something more, like friends.


The dream comes out of nowhere.

They're in the bar, dancing. Derek's hands are on his hips, gripping Stiles tightly, almost possessively.

"Are you sure you're not a little gay?" Derek practically purrs in his ear.

Instead of answering like he had in reality, Dream Stiles stares at Derek's lips, subconsciously licking his own before closing the distance between them. Derek cups the back of his head to deepen the kiss—a kiss Stiles never knew could be so hot. So consuming.

Stiles grips Derek's shirt, pulling him back towards the hall that leads to the bathroom for some semblance of privacy. His back hits a wall with a dull thud, temporarily knocking the breath from him. No, wait; it's Derek's kiss that steals his breath. Derek fists a hand in Stiles's hair, tugging his head back to latch onto his throat. He sucks possessive marks on Stiles's shoulder like he's staking a claim on Stiles's wanton, willing body.

Stiles's mouth opens in ecstasy and his whole body trembles with need. The trembling turns to shudders of pleasure as Derek rolls his hips. Stiles's breath comes out in shallow hitches from the pressure of Derek's dick against his own, hard and leaking as it strains in his jeans.

Then Derek drops to his knees.

"Oh, yes. Oh, fucking yes, please."

Derek gets Stiles's pants open, pulling them down to his thighs and freeing his dick. Stiles gets zero warning before his brain shorts out because Derek sucks him all the way down. It's like something out of a porno; Derek laps fiendishly at the head of Stiles's dick, hollowing his cheeks as he takes Stiles deep to the back of his throat before spitting him out, slick and shiny, dripping with spit.

The tiny flutters of Derek's tongue make Stiles moan in earnest, sounds and curses spill unintelligibly from his lips. It doesn't take long before Stiles slaps at Derek's shoulders in warning. Instead of pulling off, Derek grips Stiles's ass, holding him close and swallowing around him, and it's an instant explosion of bliss.

Derek lets out the most fantastic noise that Stiles has ever had the pleasure of hearing. Stiles looks down in time to watch his dick slip from Derek's lips, cum dribbling out of the side of his mouth. Just as Derek unzips his own pants, a loud snore jars Stiles out of sleep.

Stiles blinks awake. His heart is beating so hard that he's surprised it doesn't shake the house's foundation (or, at least, the bed). He's too scared to move, especially since his dick is standing at attention, begging for the slightest bit of friction. And especially since his hand is splayed over Derek's hips, half-touching his boxers, half-touching his bare skin.

The dream dredged up long-forgotten memories from college. Experimenting with his roommate during freshman year, that's all it was. It wasn't like Stiles had found another guy attractive since then.

Then why are you dreaming about Derek blowing you?

His dick jumps at the thought, but Stiles shuts that shit down.

It was only a dream, he tells himself. He once dreamt about Spider-Man, it doesn't mean he wants to fuck him. Except, he wasn't dreaming about fucking Spider-Man. Or maybe it was the alcohol. That's it—an alcohol-induced dream, added to the fact that it's been a few weeks since Stiles last had sex.

A dream is one thing, but waking up next to Derek makes it seem so real. Especially when he brushes his thumb over Derek's skin, feeling the heat in every millimeter he touches. Stiles likes it—maybe too much, considering he's harder than he's ever been, and it's not morning wood.

Stiles is horny.

For Derek.

Shit.

Okay, yeah, Stiles might be freaking out a little. Or a lot.

There's no way he's going back to bed now, so Stiles slowly—and guiltily—climbs out of bed to take the coldest shower known to man as he contemplates his life. Once in college could be considered a fluke, but now this thing with Derek?

Maybe he's not as straight as he thinks he is.

Chapter 4: Derek

Chapter Text

The day is…weird. After a long night spent listening to Stiles snore, moan, and mumble in his sleep, Derek wakes up alone. It's also later than he usually gets up, according to his phone. Almost ten in the morning. In his defense, trying to sleep next to a hot guy who's moaning is damn near impossible. Derek contemplated jerking off in the bathroom to relieve some tension, but ultimately decided against it. There's no way he's going to be that guy, the one who jerks off to a straight guy in the hall bathroom. That's sadder than he ever wants to be.

And yet, he was so close to doing it. Again, like when Nate—

Derek scowls as his conscience reminds him of how pathetic he'd been in the past. There's no way he's going to make the same mistake with Stiles that he did with Nate. No fucking way.

Someone clears their throat.

Stiles stands in the doorway with a smile on his face, although it looks nervous, maybe. Derek doesn't know him well enough to tell. As soon as Derek meets his gaze, Stiles looks away. His hair is wet like he's showered, and he's wearing a pair of khakis with a graphic tee, complete with plaid flannel over it. In his hands are two steaming cups of coffee.

"Hey. Morning."

"Please tell me one of those is for me." Derek needs caffeine before attempting any kind of social interaction.

"One coffee, black like your soul," Stiles says with a smirk that doesn't quite meet his eyes. His movements are stilted like he's unsure whether he wants to walk closer, but he finally steps into the room and hands the cup over.

Withholding coffee should be illegal, so Derek lets his disapproval be known. "Asshole."

"Aww, you already have a pet name for me. That's cute, Der-bear."

Derek shakes his head vehemently, not that Stiles would know since he's looking everywhere except at Derek. "No."

"Schnookums?"

Derek narrows his eyes.

Stiles finally smiles brightly, meeting his eyes for a moment. He places a hand over his heart. "Why, I do declare…" he says in a faux-Southern accent, "that look is almost, dare I say, fond."

Derek snorts into his coffee, making it spill on his shirt. Once he recovers, he can't help but smile. "Idiot."

Stiles sits at the foot of the bed, hunched over as he turns his coffee cup in his hands.

"You hungry? My dad ate as soon as he got home, and he's sleeping now so he'll be up and ready for the wedding. I figure we could grab something at the diner before we hit the store. I haven't picked up a wedding present for Heather yet."

Apparently, Stiles is back to no eye contact. Great. Guilt weighs Derek down, sinking into the pit of his stomach as if he's done something wrong.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Derek sighs heavily, wondering why he's attracted to yet another person he can't have.


Stiles keeps his eyes on the road as he drives to the diner, and Derek has no idea how to get him back to the fun-loving guy from the day before. He briefly considers texting Laura for help as their roles reverse from the previous day, with Derek attempting conversation while Stiles gives one-word replies.

It actually kind of sucks if Derek's honest. Regardless of being a cowardly asshole, considering the whole lying about being gay thing, Stiles is more of a dumbass than completely contemptible.

Breakfast is a subdued affair as they eat in silence. In fact, Stiles doesn't initiate any type of conversation until they're at the store. He stops dead in his tracks as soon as they enter, and Derek has to grab Stiles's hips to steady himself.

"I need you to be extra boyfriend-y. Please."

Derek's brow furrows in confusion. As he looks around, his gaze lands on a guy checking out at the counter. Derek's grip on Stiles tightens at the look of hostility and animosity on the man's face.

"Unless you regularly have guys holding you like this, I'm pretty sure this is a boyfriend move." For extra effect, Derek hooks his chin over Stiles's shoulder. Stiles smells like the Irish Spring body wash that Derek saw in the shower that morning. "You know that guy or something?"

"Yeah." Stiles turns his head. Derek does his best not to look at his mouth. "His name is Theo. We went to high school together."

Derek squares his shoulders and grabs Stiles's hand, linking their fingers together as he pulls Stiles towards the counter. Stiles's shoes squeak in protest, but that only steels Derek's resolve.

"Stiles." Theo practically sneers his name.

"Theo." Stiles lifts his clenched jaw. "This is Derek. My boyfriend."

Derek lets go of Stiles's hand, reaching out for Theo to shake. When it's clear that Theo won't, Derek drops it.

"Why would you come to Heather's wedding after what you did?" The derision is evident in Theo's voice.

"She invited us." Stiles loops an arm around Derek's waist. Derek leans into him as a boyfriend would.

The clerk comes out from the back with a gift box in her arms. She passes it to Theo, who hightails it out of there as fast as he can.

"Stiles?" The clerk turns her smile on them. "I heard you were in town. You should visit more often."

"I'm sorry. That's my fault." Derek returns her smile, placing his hand on the small of Stiles's back. "I don't let him get far."

"And who is this handsome young man?"

"Hi, Ms. Ito. This is my boyfriend, Derek."

That word falls too easily from Stiles's lips and sounds far too nice for Derek's liking.

This is fake. It's fake. That's all. Fake.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Derek. Now, Stiles, dear. How many times have I told you? Call me Satomi. I assume you're here for the wedding?"

"Yes, ma'am." Stiles pulls away from Derek, leaning over the counter. "Is there anything left on her registry?"

"Just a few items, dear."

"We'll take whatever's cheapest."

Derek snorts.

"Of course, dear." Satomi reaches for the shelf behind her, finding a box with the picture of a glass butter dish trimmed with gold on its front.

Derek leans in and whispers, "Who the hell needs a glass butter dish? Is your ex a princess or something?"

"Only in her dreams," Satomi says, pulling a genuine laugh from Stiles.

Is it weird that Derek can tell it's genuine? Probably.

Does he care? Not at all.

Satomi wraps the box right there at the counter, and once Stiles pays, she wishes them a good day, and they head outside.

"So," Derek hops into Stiles's Jeep, settling into the passenger seat. "Theo."

Stiles sucks in a breath and hesitates. He turns, leaning into the back to place the gift down on the bench seat. "He's one of the reasons I never bothered correcting anyone when I was outed."

Derek nods, remembering what Stiles told him about Heather telling everyone he's gay after they broke up.

"Most people were cool. They figured, oh darn, poor kid, pretending to be straight to fit in. I got a lot of support from people. But there were a few… Well, let's just say I found out who my true friends were."

"Lydia and Jordan."

"There were a few others, like my buddy Scott. Kira was great, too. But they've both moved away now. Sucks that Theo's still here since he clearly wasn't one of them. Dropped a lot of F-bombs, and I'm not talking about the word fuck."

"Ah." Derek clicks his tongue.

"Yeah. I mean, I wasn't gonna tell the people who decided I wasn't worth their time the truth. If they couldn't accept me for me—which is stupid, I mean, I'm still the same person whether I like men or not—then I didn't want to know them, anyway. As for everyone else? The fewer people who knew—know—the better."

Derek lets that ruminate for a moment. Then he nods, letting the subject drop.

"So, where to now?"

"Lunch?"

"We just ate breakfast."

"I'm a growing boy." Stiles rubs his stomach. The hem of his shirt is caught up in the movement, exposing the dark trail of hair that leads below the waistband of his pants.

Derek looks away, remembering Stiles's naked torso. He's lean and more toned than Derek had initially thought. While he's glad Stiles is talking to him now, he's still curious about what happened between last night and this morning that made Stiles avoid his gaze.

"I could have another coffee. I didn't get much sleep last night. Someone kept talking in his sleep." Derek tries for playful, nudging Stiles with his elbow.

Stiles stills.

Derek lets out a heavy breath. "Okay, that was a test. What's going on?"

"You know?" Stiles croaks.

"Know what?"

"About my dream. About us."

Derek's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Stiles dreamt about them? About him? "I didn't realize it was about me."

"Fuck." Stiles's face visibly pales, and Derek regrets saying anything.

Okay, he can diffuse this situation. "Is that why you're freaking out? Because you had a sex dream about us?"

"Maybe."

"It doesn't mean anything," Derek assures him. "This is an odd situation. We're sharing a bed, and you're facing demons from your past, like your ex-girlfriend getting married. Oh, and pretending to be gay for a whole town. You're allowed to have weird dreams."

"You think so?"

"I know so. I once dreamt I was married to Mandy Moore. I was sleeping with a guy on the side, but it totally counts. Dreaming about me means you're only ten percent gay," Derek teases.

Stiles laughs, but it sounds forced.

"I'm messing with you," Derek assures him.

"But what if I am?"

Derek opens his mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out. Something tells him that Stiles isn't talking to him anyway, more like musing out loud, so he keeps quiet. It's not as if he can tell Stiles what his sexuality is. That needs to be something Stiles figures out on his own.

The silence lingers until Stiles sighs, putting the Jeep in reverse. "I just gotta get through this wedding."

Something they both have to do.


"Your tie is uneven," Derek says as they get out of the Jeep at the church. The Sheriff drove separately, attending the wedding with a woman named Melissa. According to Stiles, she's Scott's mom. Apparently, Stiles and Scott have always assumed that their parents would date. However, the Sheriff was adamant that they were only going as friends. Derek saw him kiss two fingers and press them against a picture of Stiles's mom before walking out of the house as Stiles watched with a painful expression.

It's impossible to glance away from Stiles, who's standing and looking entirely too handsome in his navy suit. The sun makes his amber eyes blaze gold, and the wind sweeps his hair back like he's some kind of model.

Derek locks onto Stiles's hands as he attempts to adjust his tie, only serving to make it worse.

"C'mere. Lemme fix it." Derek waits for Stiles to walk over since it's clear he's erected some type of invisible barrier around them. He's kept at least six feet of distance between them unless they're in the car.

It's hard standing so close to Stiles now. Derek's hands shake as he fumbles with the knot of Stiles's tie. His gaze moves up to Stiles's lips, and he wonders what they taste like. His mouth goes dry, and his tongue feels thick. The scents of their colognes mix, one woodsy and the other musk, somehow creating a smell that reminds Derek of sex.

What the fuck?

Derek wonders, if they kissed right now, would Stiles give into it or push him away? That'd definitely be one way to see if Stiles was gay. Then again, that would only work if Stiles were attracted to him. Just because Stiles dreamt of them together doesn't mean he wants Derek in real life.

There's also the matter of not wanting to be anyone's experiment. Derek's made that mistake once, and he'll be damned if he goes there again.

Even if he finds Stiles incredibly attractive.

"Thought you knew what you were doing?"

Stiles's question pulls Derek from his thoughts. "It's harder doing it on someone else."

"That's what he said."

Derek can't help but smile. "Laura told me you'd crack jokes like that."

Stiles shrugs. "I'm a child."

"All done." Derek pats the tie, smoothing it down with his fingertips before stepping back. "Ready?"

Stiles takes a deep breath and nods. Without prompting, he takes Derek's hand, lacing their fingers together. "C'mon, boyfriend."

As they enter the church, Stiles's hand grows sweaty in his palm. Derek's brows furrow in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Is it hot in here?" Sweat trickles down Stiles's temple.

"Um, no? It's really not. Stiles?"

"I think I'm having a panic attack." Stiles's Adam's apple bobs in his throat. "This could have been me."

Derek places a hand on the small of Stiles's back, leading him to a pew in the back. "Sit down."

Once Stiles does, Derek turns, bumping their knees together. "Repeat after me. This isn't my wedding."

"This isn't my wedding."

"Now say it again. Repeat it until you believe it." Derek places a hand on Stiles's knee to stop it from bouncing. What the hell happened that Stiles is having this type of reaction? Hopefully, his touch helps.

Stiles's knee stops bouncing.

The ceremony is long and drawn out, but nothing like some of the Catholic ceremonies Derek's witnessed with full mass and communion. They get some curious glances, but no one says anything to them. After it's done, it's a short walk to the community center, where the reception takes place. Derek holds Stiles's hand through it all, even while Stiles stops at the cemetery to say hello to his mom.

Derek can't imagine losing a parent so young.

Lydia and Parrish save a table for them since there's no assigned seating. Derek plays the part of a dutiful boyfriend, keeping a hand on Stiles's back, or on his knee, or over the back of his chair during dinner. He keeps a hand on Stiles's knee through the awkward moment when Heather comes over to introduce her husband, and when her parents come over, all happy smiles at seeing Stiles again. As well as through all the inquisitive looks and hushed whispers thrown their way from the other guests.

Derek's reasonably sure they aren't fooling anyone.

"You know," Derek leans forward in his seat, a question on his lips after meeting Heather. She didn't come across as a homicidal bitch who would ruin Stiles. Or, at least, that's what he's been picturing as a valid justification for having to lie about being gay in order to break up. "I don't get it."

"Don't get what?"

"Your aversion to all this and your ex-girlfriend. I'm missing part of the story."

Stiles's face goes through a myriad of emotions: vulnerability, discomfort, and confusion. "How do you do that? It's like you can read me. Not even Laura has ever asked me why I'm like this."

"Well, why are you like this?"

Stiles scoffs. "You ask for my deepest, darkest secret so casually, like it's not a big deal."

"I highly doubt it's all that scary."

Stiles blows out a harsh breath. "Maybe not, but it's stupid."

"You had a panic attack in the church at the mere thought of getting married. I don't think that's stupid."

"When my mom died…" The ice clinks in his glass as Stiles takes a drink. "My dad was a wreck, trying to drink his grief away. A kid shouldn't have to take care of their parent, but I grew up quickly. I got rid of all the liquor in the house. He was pissed, but I couldn't lose him. Not after my mom. He's all I had left."

Derek squeezes Stiles's knee.

"But then he let work consume him. I hardly saw him. And I could tell…I mean, I look just like her. Everyone always says, 'you've got Claudia's eyes,' or her smile, or her laugh. I know it's hard for him to look at me. He really loved her. Loves her. And I thought…" Stiles tsks and shakes his head. "I won't do it. I can't. I won't ever give my heart to someone like that. What's the point? Why put yourself through that heartache? But then I thought my dad was finally moving on."

"With Melissa," Derek surmises.

"Actually, no." Stiles barks out a laugh. "At first, it was with Lydia's mom." He nods his head to the dance floor, where Derek sees an older woman dancing with the Sheriff. "They went on one date that ended disastrously. But yeah, after that, it was Melissa. Scott and I thought they were perfect together. Still do, but my old man is stubborn. Mom will always be it for him."

Clearly, Stiles considers that a tragedy, whereas Derek thinks that's beautiful. Not his mom's death, but that all-encompassing love.

Derek considers saying that maybe Stiles just hasn't met the right person, but somehow, he knows that would be the wrong thing to say. He's saved from saying anything when Lydia twirls over, a bright smile on her face.

"Stiles, I need you to dance with me. Jordan keeps stepping on my toes."

"Do I get any say in this?"

When Lydia shakes her head, Derek laughs. Stiles slaps his thigh and stands up, holding a hand out to her. "After you, milady."

They head out to the dance floor. Derek watches Stiles spin Lydia before pulling her close, one hand splayed over the small of her back. They look good together. As he looks around the room, he notices people looking between him and Stiles, probably wondering if they're really together. Derek thinks he's done a good job of playing the boyfriend, but there's doubt in their eyes. And why wouldn't there be? He and Stiles don't have that comfortable familiarity that a couple should have.

Derek walks over to where Stiles and Lydia are dancing, telling himself it's because he's helping Stiles maintain his cover that he cuts in.

"Hey. Mind if cut in? Give these people something to talk about?"

Stiles meets his gaze. "Sorry, Lydia. The boyfriend wants to dance."

"I'll go see if your dad wants to dance." She bows out gracefully, allowing Derek to move in.

Once they're pressed chest to chest, Stiles's breath fans over Derek's cheeks. "Show me your moves, boyfriend."

Eyes from everywhere around the room land on them. Some are the stares of the curious, and others are disgusted spectators.

"We appear to have an audience."

"This is stupid," Stiles mumbles. "Why should anyone care if I'm dancing with my boyfriend?"

At Stiles's scowl, Derek loops an arm around his back. "You're not selling this very well. Can you just pretend to like me for a little longer?"

"Pretending isn't the problem."

Oh.

Stiles's eyes flit down to his lips, and before Derek can stop it, Stiles kisses him.

Chapter 5: Stiles

Chapter Text

Stiles kisses like he's starving. Maybe he is since this is all he's been able to think about for the past twenty-four hours. When Derek's hands grip his waist, Stiles takes it as permission to trace the tip of his tongue over the seam of Derek's lips. It's exactly like the kiss from his dream, made better by the moan Derek lets out when their tongues move together. Stiles's breathing is erratic and shallow as he remembers how Dream Derek felt pressed against him. Actual Derek feels amazing, too, especially when his grip tightens, pulling Stiles close until they're flush together. It causes the most delicious friction as their dicks rub together while they sway to the slow song.

It's at that moment that Stiles's brain catches up with his dick. Thankfully, Derek pulls away—his eyes bright and pleasure-dazed. Stiles chases the taste of him before snapping out of it. He clears his throat before he speaks. His heart beats wildly against his ribcage.

"You were right. People were staring. Figured I should give them what they wanted."

Derek nods and takes a step back.

"Can we go?" Stiles asks. "I don't wanna be here anymore."

Another nod.

Stiles is grateful for Derek's silence as they walk to the Jeep and again as they drive home. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but it's probably Parrish or Lydia. Or worse, his dad. Yeah, he didn't miss his dad's worried glance as he dragged Derek out of the community center, but hey, he's kind of going through a crisis right now.

He got hard from kissing Derek. That's definitely not something a straight guy does.

And it's not the first time, his mind supplies. An image of his old roommate on his knees flashes through his brain.

This is nothing like that, he argues with himself. Except this is exactly like that.

"I'm sorry," Stiles says when they finally get home. The streetlamp above the Jeep is the only light as the moon hides behind the trees.

Derek frowns. "For what?"

"Between the dream and then all this shit with Heather stirring up—"

"Hey." Derek reaches over, gently squeezing his arm. It's so strange how calming Derek's touch is when they barely know each other. "It's alright. You don't have to explain."

Stiles nods before slipping out of the car, except— "I do. I do owe you an explanation. I'm just confused as fuck right now."

"Well, kissing a guy might do that to a straight dude." Derek shrugs, continuing up the short path to the house.

"That's not—" Stiles follows him, passing by to unlock the front door. Derek walks in, and Stiles presses his forehead to the door as he closes it. He thinks about how Derek's lips felt against his. "It wasn't the kiss."

The lock clicks. Stiles pushes away from the door, yanking his tie loose where it constricts his throat, choking him. He takes off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the couch on his way to the kitchen. When Derek doesn't follow, he looks over his shoulder. Derek appears lost in thought, fingers clenched around the knot of his tie. He looks too good in his suit. The crisp white dress shirt he wears fits snugly over his chest, and his pants are tailored tight over his muscular legs.

Stiles snaps out of it when Derek shrugs out of his jacket, laying it over Stiles's. "Derek, I'm—"

"If you apologize again, I swear to God, I'll kick your ass."

Stiles huffs a breath, raking his fingers through his hair. "I just wanna explain."

He opens the fridge and grabs two bottles of his dad's favorite beer. It doesn't cause him to bristle anymore to see alcohol in the house—that battle has long since been won. Booze wasn't the problem; his mom's death was. He hands one to Derek once he's close enough, noticing that his tie is gone and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Stiles leans back against the counter while Derek cocks a hip against the kitchen island.

"And I said you didn't have to. You don't owe me anything. You kissed a boy and you liked it. Now you're confused. That's got nothing to do with me." Derek holds a palm up placatingly.

"How do you know I liked it?" Stiles asks defensively. Apparently, he doesn't handle rejection well. But then Derek's left brow rises to impressive heights, and Stiles knows that there's no denying how hard he got just from the kiss. "Okay, fine. Obviously, I liked it. It's just—I'm not—I had a, a…thing with my roommate in college. Freshman year."

"Weren't you chasing after Laura freshman year? I thought you bonded over how you're both grateful she kept turning you down?"

"Yeah, well," Stiles blows out a breath and scratches at his neck, a nervous habit he developed in his youth. "On one of the nights I struck out with her, I went back to the frat house, and my roommate was asleep. Or, I thought he was." He takes another deep breath. "You know that unspoken rule where if your roommate's jerking off, you pretend it's not happening?"

Derek's eyes narrow. "Your roommate caught you jerkin' it?"

Stiles nods slowly. "He asked if I needed a hand. I thought it was his way of telling me to quit it, but it was…it was…"

"It was his way of actually asking if you wanted a hand?" Derek swallows thickly.

"Right, um," Stiles clears his throat. Heat rises in his cheeks as he recalls Jackson sauntering over to his bed, dropping to his knees. He looks down at their feet, the way his and Derek's ankles almost touch as they stand across from each other. "It was more like a, um, a mouth. At first, I was like, what the fuck? I'm not gay. But then he said he wasn't either. He said he and his high school buddy used to give each other brojobs all the time."

"Brojobs? Are you fucking serious? I hate that term." Derek exhales loudly through his nose. "Okay, so your roommate gave you a blowjob?"

"Um, yeah? Like multiple? It kind of just became a thing."

"And you…enjoyed it?" The tips of Derek's ears turn pink.

Oh.

Apparently, Derek isn't as unaffected as he'd like Stiles to believe.

"The first few times, I closed my eyes and pretended he was a chick," Stiles reluctantly admits. "But really, it was a wet, hot mouth on a horny eighteen-year-old's dick. What do you think?"

Derek chuckles mirthlessly. "That straight guys generally don't like being manipulated into fooling around with a gay guy, but whatever."

Stiles holds his hands up in surrender. There's clearly a story there, but that's for another time.

"Jax isn't gay." The familiar nickname falls from his lips. It's not like Stiles can tell Derek that his former roommate is Jackson Whittemore, wide receiver for the San Francisco 49ers. "I could have said no. I could have stopped it. But I didn't. And he constantly asked if I was okay with it. There wasn't any manipulation on his part. And I never touched him. Didn't even offer to return the favor, and he never asked. He said he was heteroflexible."

"Another term I fucking hate." Derek scoffs. "Heteroflexible is what someone says when they don't want to admit they're bi. If you're sexually attracted to both men and women—even if you only have relationships with one gender—congratu-fucking-lations, you're still bisexual. It's pretty fucking simple. I mean, seriously, Stiles, do you know a lot of straight guys who'll willingly give blowjobs for nothing in return? I hate to tell you this, but your man is gay."

Stiles's mouth drops open, but nothing comes out. The problem is that Stiles is trivializing what happened between him and Jackson. Sure, the first few times, he really did pretend that Jackson was a girl. It was easier to handle that way. But then it started happening regularly, and Stiles loved watching Jackson as he dropped to his knees.

It became something that Stiles looked forward to, even if he never found it in himself to take it further or ask for more. It was comfortable, like what he'd shared with Heather before all the talk of commitment. The closest he ever got was asking how they were going to continue their arrangement during the summer. Jackson had said sorry, but they had their fun. Stiles was a great roommate, and sure, he'd miss him the following year because he was moving to the dorms, but that was it.

In all honesty, Stiles kind of felt like he got dumped. It was weird, but not as confusing as the disappointment Stiles had felt over Jackson ending it. These newfound feelings for Derek brought it all back to the surface—how Stiles wanted to ask Jackson for more but didn't have the courage. Stiles wants to ask Derek for more.

"You okay?" Derek asks.

Stiles sucks in a breath before chugging the rest of his beer. "Just thinking."

"So, what happened with your roommate?"

"He moved out of the frat house the following year, so I barely saw him. Not that that would have mattered since we weren't really friends."

"He was in a frat? That'd be enough for any guy to stay closeted. I had a hard enough time coming out to my teammates. Thankfully, they ended up being cool with it, but I wouldn't have liked to have thrown in a frat on top of that."

"My point is…I put it down to experimentation because since then, I haven't been attracted to another guy." Stiles sucks in a sharp breath, meeting Derek's gaze. "Until you."

Derek stares at him. His kaleidoscope eyes bore straight through Stiles, making him feel more vulnerable than he's ever felt before. "So, you're bi."

Stiles shrugs. "I guess? I mean, I've kissed one guy and gotten blowjobs from another. Doesn't really seem like I'm qualified for the label."

"If a straight person never kisses another person, they're still straight."

Huh. Well, now Stiles feels like an idiot. Not exactly a new sensation.

"You alright?" Derek asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just—I mean, I think so? I kind of wouldn't mind kissing you again." Stiles holds his breath. When Derek doesn't reply immediately, he jokes, "You know…for scientific purposes."

Derek breaks his gaze, opens the cabinet with the recycling bin, and throws his bottle away. Yeah, that's probably not good.

"Sorry, man. Don't think that's gonna happen."

"Wait. Why not? It's not really experimenting. I mean, I think I legitimately like you." Stiles grimaces. What is he, twelve? He tries for a smile to cover his bruised ego. "But it's cool. I'm used to being rejected by you Hales."

"Could you not bring that up? It's weird knowing the guy I just kissed had a crush on my sister."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, I guess that's pretty weird. If it makes you feel any better, I've gone further with you than I ever did with her."

"No," Derek says incredulously. "It really doesn't."

Stiles tosses his bottle to Derek, who puts it in the recycling bin and then shuts the cabinet. They head upstairs, silently undressing before climbing into bed. It's somehow more awkward but also comforting to be lying half-naked next to Derek, even if he's staring at Derek's back again.

"You gonna tell me about him?" Stiles doesn't miss how Derek's shoulders tense at the question.

"Who?"

"The guy that clearly fucked you up."

"Nope."

"Come on. I'm lyin' here going through an existential crisis—"

Derek snorts, finally rolling over. "Yeah, you really seem to be suffering. You're taking this better than I ever did, and that's saying something considering I always knew."

Stiles shrugs. "I don't know. I guess it just makes sense, y'know? But c'mon. I shared, and now I feel like a dumbass. Don't make me wallow in my misery alone."

Derek heaves a great sigh. "My best friend, Nate, was the first person I came out to. He, uh, he was one of those straight guys I told you about. The kind that acts all cool to your face but stiffens when you're alone like they're worried you're gonna hit on them."

"Is he why you're all tense and constantly reassuring that you're not hitting on me?"

"Yeah. I mean, with most guys, I'd just tell them to go fuck themselves. Just 'cause I'm gay doesn't mean I wanna fuck the entire male population. And homophobia isn't exactly a turn-on."

"But it was different with Nate?" Stiles prompts.

Derek nods. "I had a huge crush on him since I figured my shit out. I never hinted at it, never poked or prodded because I was so scared that he'd find out. Nate's straight, so what would have been the point? It didn't matter anyway. After I came out to him, we drifted apart. The only time I ever saw him was during family events since our families are close. At some point last year, we started hanging out again. It was fine. I thought I was over him."

Dread settles like a lead weight in Stiles's stomach, not liking where this is heading.

"Anyway, he'd just broken up with his girlfriend, so I was being a good friend and took him out drinking to drown out his sorrows, so to speak. We ended up kissing. I still don't know if I made the first move or if he did. I spent years hiding what I felt, so I really don't think it was me, but I should have stopped it. I just—I wanted it, him, too much and for so long. The next morning, we woke up in bed together, and he—well, let's just say he freaked out."

"Shit."

"Yeah. I know everything Nate said was in the heat of the moment, but I felt like the biggest piece of shit."

Stiles reaches out but doesn't think Derek would appreciate the touch, so he lets his hand drop between them. He swallows thickly before asking, "What did he say?"

"That I manipulated him. That I took advantage of him while he was drunk."

Stiles clenches his fist, wanting to punch something. Someone.

"Said that since I knew he was straight, I should have stopped him. All we did was kiss and some hand stuff. I didn't let it get farther than that. I guess I knew it would end up this way."

Stiles blows out a breath. "I completely fucked up by kissing you, didn't I?"

"Listen, I'm glad you're figuring yourself out, and I'm happy that it's not freaking you out, but I can't—"

Stiles cuts him off. "Your friend's a dick." Stiles's anger towards Nate is irrational, but he's pissed that the guy has ruined any chance he has with Derek because now that they've kissed, he really wants to do it again. "I hate him for you."

Derek grabs his hand, squeezing it gently. "Just so you know, Laura doesn't know. About Nate. So don't—"

"Yeah." Stiles stares at their joined hands. "Yeah, I got it. I won't—I won't tell her. Um, she doesn't know about Jax either, so…"

"Your secret's safe with me, but are you gonna tell her about—"

Stiles cuts him off. "My newfound bisexuality? Eventually. I have to wait; otherwise, she'll think I'm just fucking with her."

"Nah. She'll be cool. After Nate, I told Laura. She'll be supportive."

Stiles nods. "Kind of sucks. I was gonna fuck with her by telling her we're in love." Part of him still wants to get Laura back for the guy with the wings, but his heart's not in it right now.

"Love at first sight, huh?" Derek says quietly.

Stiles isn't sure if it was supposed to be a tease or not. Instead, he sighs, giving Derek's hand a squeeze but not letting go. "C'mon. Let's get some sleep."


The morning comes too fast for Stiles. He's not sure whether he's grateful for a peaceful night's sleep or sad about missing out on another night of Dream Derek. It's odd to wake up spooning, though, especially with Derek's morning wood pressing against the crease of his ass.

Derek wakes up adorably flustered, apologizing profusely. Stiles doesn't give him shit. Not after what he learned about Nate.

Breakfast is nice. They hit up the little diner at the edge of town before his dad heads to the station, figuring they'll just leave from there. When they walk in, Stiles greets Delores, a waitress that's worked there since he was a kid. She welcomes him with a smile and lipstick on the cheek when she kisses him.

"I just want you to know that we been takin' care of your daddy," she says in her southern drawl as she walks them to a booth in the back corner. "Sam whips up a healthy lunch or dinner for him, dependin' on his shift."

Stiles beams as his dad grumbles. "Thanks, Mrs. Dee. I appreciate it."

"Don't you worry 'bout it, darlin'." She gives them a moment to look over the menu and then takes their orders, jotting something down other than the large breakfast scramble his dad attempts to order.

Derek raises a brow after putting in his order of a Belgium waffle with a side of bacon.

"High cholesterol," Stiles explains. "Dad's on a diet of—"

"Dammit, Stiles, that was ten years ago." His dad shakes his head in an all-too-familiar way, speaking to the many arguments they've had about his health over the years. His dad looks at Derek and rolls his eyes. "Does he do this with you too?"

"Um…" Derek's eyes flick to Stiles, clearly not sure of how to answer.

"No, I don't. Wanna know why?" Stiles unwraps the rolled-up napkin, smoothing it out and laying his silverware on top. "Because Derek eats healthy." He hopes.

"Derek just ordered bacon!"

Derek covers his snort with a cough, ducking his head.

"Derek is also only twenty-four," Stiles points out. Never mind the fact that his dad has a clean bill of health every year according to his physician. But Stiles lost one parent already; he won't lose another. He narrows his eyes as he points his finger in accusation. "Besides, it's not like you don't sneak food. Parrish told me about the burger wrappers in the cruiser."

His dad holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay. Okay."

Delores fills their glasses with water and their mugs with coffee. As Stiles pours cream into his, Derek hands him some sugar packets. He absolutely does not blush at the fact that Derek remembers how he takes his coffee.

Except he does.

Stiles grins as his dad does his fatherly duty of getting to know Derek since they didn't do much talking over the past two days. He asks about Derek's family. Stiles either finishes Derek's sentences or answers some questions himself, seeing how well he knows the Hales.

The whole experience is a little bittersweet. First, because this was Stiles's first time back home in so long, and Stiles has genuinely missed his dad. It's really too bad that they couldn't spend more time together over the weekend. Second, because his dad gets along really well with Derek. Stiles damn near chokes on his bacon and eggs when his dad calls Derek 'son', even giving him a patented Stilinski Hug when they leave.

Stiles is quiet for most of the drive home, wishing there was some way to convince Derek to give him a chance. The most he gets is Derek's offer of introducing him to some friends after exchanging numbers. It's not at all what Stiles wants, but he agrees, just to spend any extra time with him.

"So." Stiles parks in front of Derek's apartment building. He's not sure what he's going to say, but knows he's not ready to watch Derek walk away.

"Thanks for the ride." Derek unbuckles the seatbelt but doesn't get out yet. "Though I could have done without all the Lady Gaga, but I guess you had to get it out of your system because you're 'allowed to listen to it now.'"

Stiles snorts at Derek's use of air quotes. "Baby, I was born this way."

Derek's lips twitch, but he doesn't smile.

"C'mon. You've gotta know by now that I'm messin' with you. I mean, you are related to Laura."

"So, this was all just to torture me?"

"How else am I gonna annoy the guy who refuses to fool around with me?"

"I'm so glad we can joke about this."

Stiles reaches over to stop Derek from getting out.

"Hey. We're okay, right? Like we're friends." He feels like an idiot at the hopeful tone in his voice. "We can hang out and stuff?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna introduce you to my friends, remember? I can already see a couple of them drooling over you."

Stiles's smile goes tight at the reminder. That's not what he meant. Yes, he agreed to meet Derek's friends, but that was just to spend more time with Derek. He's not actually interested in meeting any of them to hook up. Before he can clarify, Derek opens his door and gets out, taking Stiles's heart with him.

Chapter 6: Derek

Chapter Text

Derek's barely made it into his apartment when his phone buzzes in his pocket. That's far too soon to expect any type of communication from Stiles—if he'd even reach out. The look on Stiles's face when Derek mentioned introducing Stiles to his friends didn't seem thrilled. Maybe Derek misjudged the situation. Maybe Stiles was hoping to hang out with just him.

The path to his bedroom is short, just across the small living room/kitchen combo of the small space. Once he's there, he tosses his bags on the bed and fishes his phone out. Nate's name pops up on the screen.

Nate: Hey, are you free?

Fuck that shit.

As Derek's first crush, there was a time when the mere mention of Nate would cause butterflies in Derek's stomach. Their dads were best friends growing up, and so were they. Nate was the first guy Derek ever wanted to kiss, the first guy he ever jacked off to, and the only guy he could never have. Or so he thought. They'd spent one drunken night together—sharing heated kisses as they gave each other handjobs. The look on Nate's face the following day, along with the terrible words he spat, make Derek's stomach churn whenever his name is brought up now.

Derek ignores the text in favor of stripping out of his clothes to shower.

The water cascades over his shoulders as he tries not to think of Stiles. It's difficult because he's been half-hard since first seeing Stiles and those plump, kissable lips of his two days ago. Instead, he closes his eyes and pictures a set of piercing blue eyes staring up at him. With a lick of his lips, Jackson Heywood's smooth Aussie accent begs for Derek to fuck his mouth.

As he takes himself in hand, his mind betrays him. Jackson makes him think of Jax, Stiles's roommate. Jealousy rears its ugly head as he imagines a faceless guy down on his knees for Stiles. Try as he might, Derek can't stop the Australian actor from morphing into Stiles on his knees, begging for Derek's dick.

Derek lets out a low groan. He's always been told that he has a vivid imagination, so he allows the fantasy to play out, bucking and fucking into his fist.

"C'mon, Derek. Give it to me," Fantasy Stiles says, a sarcastic gleam in his eyes. His tongue darts out between lips made for sucking dick. His large doe eyes stare up at him, wide and pleading, until Derek's dick disappears between his lips.

Stiles's eyes flutter shut. His tongue swirls around the head of Derek's dick, and then his cheeks hollow as he sucks Derek deep. Derek jerks faster as Stiles works him over like a champ, eager to please. His cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and shiny from sucking him.

Fingers shouldn't be sexy, yet Derek can't stop staring at the way Stiles's fingers are wrapped around his dick. He cups Stiles's face, brushing his thumb over the smattering of moles on his cheek.

Derek's moans vibrate off the tile walls as he imagines gripping Stiles's head to hold him in place, fucking his mouth in fast, shallow strokes. Stiles grunts and groans, trying to keep up with the pace until Derek's orgasm crashes over him in a mixture of pleasure and frustration as guilt curdles in his gut.

Logically, Derek knows he didn't do anything wrong. It was just a fantasy, like when he would jerk off to the thought of Nate when he was younger. But it all leads back to thinking and wanting a guy he can't have, even if it's clear Stiles would be up for more.

All this is going to do is fuck with Derek's head. He can't be what Stiles wants or needs right now. He won't be anyone's experiment or whatever. Still, it doesn't stop the smile that forms when he towels off and checks his phone, noticing a new text.

Stiles: You were right. Laura's cool with it. Apparently, she has a "friend" she wants to set me up with. Some guy named George. Then we argued about not knowing any sexy Georges. George is not a hot name.

Derek: Let me guess, she argued that Prince George will be a heartbreaker when he grows up. She has a weird obsession with Britain's royal family.

Stiles: I know. She literally cried on my shoulder when Prince Harry got engaged. I freaked her out today by saying I'd do Harry. This whole being bi thing could be a new fun way to fuck with her.

Derek snorts. Honestly, he's surprised that Stiles didn't do what he'd initially planned by telling Laura it was love at first sight. Maybe it hit too close to home.

Wishful thinking.

Yes, Stiles wants him, but not in that way.

Derek: Play nice, children.

Derek stares at the phone screen for longer than he'd care to admit, but he wants to keep talking to Stiles. Even though he keeps reminding himself that doing this…thing with Stiles is stupid, he can't help the giddy feeling he gets at the prospect of flirting with him.

Which is precisely why you should stop.

With an aggravated sigh, he tosses his phone down on his dresser and yanks on some sweats before going out to the living room, losing himself in a documentary on bull sharks.

Just as he's learning about their tolerance for freshwater, his phone rings. He's almost tempted to ignore it just in case it's Stiles. When he gets up to grab it, he tells himself it's because it could be his family with an emergency.

Laura's face smiles at him from the screen, but it's most certainly not an emergency when the first words out of her mouth as soon as he answers are, "Why won't you sleep with Stiles?"

Fucking hell.

"Well, hello to you too."

"No, seriously, like Stiles is hot. So why won't you fuck him?"

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. "He's just figuring this shit out, Laura. I won't be that guy for him. I won't be an experiment."

"Der, you kissed him once and now he's gay. I'd say it's too fucking late to call it an experiment."

Nate's face flashes in his mind, and Derek recoils. "Don't say shit like that!"

"Why not? You know I'm joking."

"Just—just don't." Derek sighs heavily. He wants to tell her the real reason he hates that kind of attitude, but he can't, though he knows he has to say something or she'll badger him. "It's a touchy subject. Someone accused me of that once. I just—" Another heavy sigh. "Just don't say shit like that. Okay?"

In classic Laura fashion, she responds with, "Who? Who said that to you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Uh, yes, it does. I need to kick their ass."

"As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don't need my sister—or anyone—fighting my battles. Besides, it was a while ago. It's all water under the bridge now."

"I'd like to push him off a bridge."

Derek chuckles, imagining her scowl. "Anyway. You're seriously okay with the Stiles thing?"

"Yeah, of course. He's my best friend. I mean, I kind of feel bad for him. Like, it'd be weird for me to suddenly wake up one day and like chicks. I'm not sure I'd know how to handle that."

"You'd figure it out. And I'd help."

"Like you're doing with Stiles? He said you offered to set him up with one of your friends."

"Yeah. I think that'll help."

"Don't introduce him to Danny. I love the guy, but sometimes he's too full of himself. Stiles deserves better for his first time with a guy."

Not only does Derek not want to have this conversation with his sister because he'd rather not think about his friends' sex lives, he also doesn't care for the thought of Stiles with any of them. But yeah, Stiles definitely cannot meet Danny. Or Isaac.

"Jesus, Laura. Are you always this overprotective of your friends?"

"He's my best friend, Der. I know I've always talked about how he sleeps around, but he seemed really fucking vulnerable when he talked about you. I just don't want him to get hurt."

Neither does Derek. Maybe it would be better if Derek was his first.

No. The last thing Derek wants is to put himself in that kind of situation again. Not only would Derek lose a potential friendship with Stiles, but it might also jeopardize Laura's friendship with him as well.

"That's exactly why it shouldn't be me. I can't go there with him." Needing this phone call to be over, Derek makes up an excuse and quickly hangs up. A second later, his phone buzzes.

Laura: I forgot to mention that Nate called. He needs to talk to you about something.

Fuck.


Derek manages to put off responding to Nate's message for the next week and a half, but then his mother calls.

"Sweetheart, I was talking to Evelyn, and she mentioned that Nate's been trying to get in touch with you."

Guilt sours Derek's stomach. He's never ever wanted to get his parents involved in this sham of a friendship he has with Nate.

"I'm sorry. I've been busy."

"Yes, yes. Busy. Too busy to even come to Uncle Nick's retirement party. Laura said you've picked up extra shifts at work? Honey, are you having money problems? If you need help, you just need to ask. You know we'd help."

Dammit, Laura. She couldn't come up with something better than 'work?' Derek could have done that himself. Then maybe he wouldn't have met Stiles. Or, even better, they could have met after this self-discovery of his. Then Derek could actually make a move instead of being a jackass and ignoring Stiles for damn near two weeks.

One of these days, he's going to break. And, in turn, get his heart broken.

"Derek?"

"I'm fine, mom. I picked up some shifts because we're short-staffed. Martinez is out on maternity and Rykker's on administrative leave. But I promise I'll call Nate when I have time."

"You two used to be so close, Derek. What happened?"

Nate kissed a boy and didn't like it.

Or, he liked it too much.

"College. Life. We're not kids anymore, mom. We just grew apart." Before she can start questioning why, Derek appeases her by promising to call right away and hangs up.

That, of course, means that Derek actually needs to text Nate right away before the phone tree starts. His mom will no doubt call Nate's mom, and if it gets back to her that Derek hasn't, in fact, called, then she'll just show up. Only she'd also bring his dad and sisters. And, possibly, Nate himself.

It's better to take the lead on this.

Derek shoots Nate a message, letting him know that he's free for dinner the following weekend. They agree to meet up at a pizza place that's not too far from Stiles's home.

And…now he's thinking of Stiles.

Great.


Derek sits across from Nate, attempting not to glare daggers at Angela, the woman beside him. She's probably a charming lady, but this situation is all sorts of awkward and fucked up. Especially since Nate just informed him that they're getting married.

Oh, and would Derek please be his best man?

Derek's knuckles are white as he grips his napkin tight, twisting it in his hands. If he'd known this was going to be such a special occasion, he might have shaved. Instead, he's watching the guy he once hoped to grow old with declare his love to someone else.

"You want me to—" Derek drops the napkin onto his lap and gulps down the rest of his beer so he doesn't do something rude like scoff or laugh derisively.

Nate speaks, but the blood rushes through Derek's head so loudly that he can't hear anything until a warm palm clasps him on the shoulder.

Stiles. He's not sure how he knows, but it's not a surprise when he looks up and sees those familiar amber eyes staring down at him.

"Hey, babe. Sorry, I'm late."

Derek's eyes widen a fraction when Stiles's lips brush over his cheek. Thankfully, he recovers. It's a good thing he hadn't told Nate he wasn't seeing anyone, though Nate's never once asked about his dating life.

"Yeah, I thought you couldn't make it," he says as Stiles yanks off his hoodie. His shirt rides up a little exposing his happy trail. God, if they were alone, Derek would grip Stiles's hips, pull him close, and kiss the path down to—

He's jarred from his thoughts when Stiles fixes his shirt and takes the seat next to him. Stiles's arm goes across the back of Derek's chair in a far too comfortable way. His stomach flutters as Stiles's thumb brushes over his shoulder.

"My other plans fell through," he says, snagging a piece of pizza from Derek's plate before turning his gaze on Nate. "Hi. I'm Stiles, Derek's boyfriend."

Nate's eyes blaze as they snap to Derek. "You didn't tell me you were seeing anyone, Der."

"Pretty sure I could say the same about you." Derek glares for a moment, but his expression softens when Stiles brushes his knuckles across the back of his neck.

Damn.

"Hi, I'm Angie."

Derek misses the warmth of Stiles's touch as Stiles reaches across the table to shake her extended hand.

"Derek and I are new. Unlike you two? I thought I heard something about an engagement? Congratulations."

Derek doesn't get the chance to wonder why Stiles knows that before Nate speaks.

"So, how did you two meet?" Nate's voice takes an aggressive tone, which is mirrored in the way he slings his arm across Angie's shoulders.

Derek barely manages to suppress an eye-roll. God, could he be any more obvious?

"Laura's my best friend," Stiles tells Nate.

"Wait—I knew the name sounded familiar. Stiles." Uh oh. Derek recognizes that sneer. No doubt Nate's heard the same things that Derek did. "Yeah, Laura's mentioned your affinities for the ladies."

"What are you getting at?" Stiles asks defensively.

Nate doesn't answer him. Instead, he smirks at Derek. "Really, Der? Getting a straight guy to pretend to be your boyfriend? That's just sad."

Stiles puts the pizza back on Derek's plate. "Who the hell said I'm straight?"

Derek grabs Stiles's hand. They might not know each other well, but he can tell Stiles is getting amped up for a fight, verbal or otherwise. "You'll have to forgive my friend, babe. It's all gay or straight to him. No grey area."

Nate's face burns tomato red. "Bisexuality is just one step from being gay."

"That's classic bi-erasure!" Derek's hand turns white from the pressure of Stiles's grip. His fingers tingle when Stiles finally lets go, choosing to put his hand on Derek's leg. "I'm here, I'm bi, and I like guys…and girls. Hmm, not quite as catchy as 'We're here. We're queer. Get used to it,' is it?"

Derek gives him the biggest, proudest smile. Stiles has clearly done some research. "No, it's not."

"When my boyfriend asked me to meet his best friend, I wasn't aware I'd have to defend my sexuality. Sorry, Der—" Derek bites his cheek, so he doesn't smile when Stiles uses the nickname. "—but your friend is a dick."

Somehow Derek manages not to laugh, but that's probably because Nate turns his death glare on Angie. "Get me another beer from the bar."

Yeah, that marriage is definitely going to last.

All the fight falls out of Derek once she gets up. "Nate, this is so stupid. We're not even friends anymore. Why the hell would you ask me to be your best man? There's gotta be someone else you'd rather have standing next to you."

"Our parents are expecting it." Of course, they are. Derek and Nate used to be inseparable, and they can't imagine any scenario where they're not just as close today. "Just fucking do it, Derek."

Stiles scoffs. "Well, when you ask him so nicely…"

"Who the hell asked you?" Nate's glare returns to Stiles.

No. Hell, no. There's no way Derek's going to let Nate jump down Stiles's throat just because he's a homophobic asshole who can't admit the truth about himself.

"I'll put up the appearance for the sake of our families, but you can find someone else to make the speech and throw your bachelor party," Derek says, tossing his napkin down on the table as he gets up.

"Fine."

Stiles stands beside him, taking his hand. "Let's go."

Derek doesn't look back at Nate even though he can feel the heat of his stare on them as they leave. "How'd you know where I was?" he asks Stiles as soon as the cool night air hits his face.

Stiles's answer is muted as he tugs on his hoodie. "The GPS tracker I put on your phone when you were at my dad's."

Derek's mouth falls open. What the fuck?

"Dude, you should see your face right now." Stiles barks out a laugh, doubling over as they walk down the street. "Laura told me, dumbass. She's in my apartment getting trashed right now."

Oh.

Derek rolls his eyes and pushes Stiles, making him laugh louder as he stumbles. He rights himself, matching pace with Derek before speaking again. "She told me that you were here with Nate. And about the engagement. I figured you might want some backup."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it." Honestly, Derek's not sure what he would have done if Stiles hadn't shown up when he did. "I kind of enjoyed watching you snap at Nate a little too much."

Stiles grins at him, but then it falls. "You should have said no."

"He was right." Derek shrugs. "Our parents expect it. It'd bring up too many questions if I said no."

"That's bullshit."

Derek doesn't want this fight. Not with Stiles, and not about this. "You said something about Laura and alcohol?"

Thankfully, Stiles drops it. "Yup."

Stiles's apartment comes into view a few moments later. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of Derek's stomach as they walk through the lobby to the bank of elevators. Once the doors close, Stiles turns to him.

"You've been avoiding me."

Derek blows out an exaggerated sigh. "How did I know you were going to ask that?"

Obviously choosing to ignore him, Stiles takes a step closer, which puts them chest to chest. "Why?" He persists.

Derek has to take a step back. "Honestly? I'm waiting for the memory of you kissing me to go away so I'm not tempted to do it again."

Stiles stays quiet. Too quiet after Derek's admission. If Stiles asked Derek to kiss him right now, Derek would. There's a part of him that worries Stiles hasn't asked because he's over whatever attraction he'd felt.

The elevator doors ding open, and Stiles rushes out of the confined space. Derek hurries after him, afraid that he's messed up their tentative friendship.

He can fix this. He has to.

"Stiles, wait!"

"Can't. If I stop moving, I'm gonna do something you don't want."

Derek smiles. Stiles still likes him, still wants him.

He catches up to Stiles as Stiles fumbles for his keys, a question on his mind. After hearing about Stiles's ex-roommate and knowing Stiles rents from someone in the fraternity, he's gotta know.

"So, uh, your condo…" He clears his throat. "Laura said you're renting from a frat buddy. Is it—?"

"No. It's not Jax." Stiles shakes his head, looking at Derek over his shoulder with a smirk on his lips. "Would it be a problem for you if it was?"

"Nope. Just curious."

Laura is already two sheets to the wind when they enter Stiles's apartment. "What's my brother doing here?"

"Love you too." Derek rolls his eyes and looks around. Yeah, he's definitely jealous. Stiles's condo is small, more like a studio apartment, but still bigger than the shit hole Derek lives in. His fingers graze over the granite countertops as he walks over to the couch where Laura is lying.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating with Nate?"

Stiles saves him from answering. "Nate's fiancée was there but she got a headache. They ended up leaving early. I invited Derek over for drinks."

Laura's eyes narrow as they pass between them. "Is 'drinks' a euphemism for something else? I'm all for you two hooking up, just not while I'm here, m'kay?"

"Oh, joy." Derek rolls his eyes. "I love it when she's so drunk she literally says anything on her mind."

Stiles snorts. "As opposed to when she's sober and doesn't?"

Yeah, that's a point well made. Laura's never been one to hold back.

"Anyway, your brother has drawn the lines, and I will respect that."

"Stiles—"

"Nope!" Stiles holds up a hand, then thrusts it out to Laura. "Tequila me!"

It's probably a good thing Stiles cut him off because he's honestly unsure what he would have said. Instead, Derek watches as Laura pours a shot, licks her hand, shakes salt onto it, and then shoves a lemon wedge in her mouth, facing Stiles. Stiles doesn't hesitate. He licks the salt off Laura's hand, takes the shot, and then leans in to take the lemon wedge out of her mouth.

Okay, Derek kind of hates his sister right now. But then Stiles turns his sights on Derek, getting a shot ready for him. Stiles places the lemon between his lips and turns, his eyes boring straight through Derek.

Fuck.

Derek steps forward, licking the salt off Stiles's hand while ignoring Stiles's sharp intake of breath, and throws back the tequila. His heart pounds in his chest as he leans in to take the lemon. That small piece of fruit is the only thing that separates their lips. All it would take for them to kiss is for Stiles to 'accidentally' drop the lemon wedge.

He doesn't.

Instead, Stiles flops down on the couch, in the spot Derek was going to take and props Laura's feet on his lap. He gestures for Derek to take the armchair, but Derek can't take his eyes off Stiles's hands where they rest on Laura's calves. The casual affection between them makes his heart flip.

He needs another shot. Like a mind reader, Stiles hands over the glass. Derek forgoes the lemon and salt, slamming the shot down. Stiles wiggles his fingers, asking for the glass back, pours himself a shot, and does the same.

Finally, Derek sinks down into the chair.

They watch some TV, whatever Laura was watching, but Derek's not paying attention. His brain is a traitorous betrayer. It flips and flops, trying to convince him to say fuck it, that he should drag Stiles back to the bedroom to find out exactly what Stiles sounds like moaning Derek's name, but then he remembers what happened with Nate.

Eventually, Laura passes out.

"I should go." Derek rises from the chair, swaying a little from all the alcohol.

Stiles gently slips out from under Laura's legs, holding a hand out to steady him.

"You okay? You can stay, y'know. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before."

Derek inhales sharply. Yeah, that's not a good idea. It's a great idea, which is precisely why he can't. Especially not now that alcohol is involved.

"It's alright. I'm fine."

Though the disappointment is evident on Stiles's face, he nods, walking Derek to the door. He opens it but stops Derek from passing.

"Are you…are you gonna go back to ignoring me?"

"I don't think I can." Oh. That's not what Derek wanted to say.

Stiles steps forward, a smug look on his face. "Der."

Shit. The comfortable familiarity of the nickname shouldn't make Derek's stomach flutter.

"I can't do this with you, Stiles. As much as I want to kiss you," Derek closes his eyes as he spits out the rest of his thought, "I'm not into the whole 'sexually inexperienced' thing—"

"I have had sex!" Stiles throws up his hands in exasperation.

"I can—I can still introduce you to some guys if you want. In fact, I'm getting together with them next weekend. I'll text you." Derek makes a mental note not to invite Danny or Isaac when he plans this get-together.

"Y-yeah. Sounds good." Stiles stands stock-still as Derek crosses the doorway, stepping out into the hall.

As he walks briskly towards the elevators, Derek can't get the pained expression on Stiles's face out of his head.

Asshole level achieved: expert.

Chapter 7: Stiles

Chapter Text

Stiles stands outside the Fire Fly Sports Bar wondering what the fuck he's doing here. Ever since Derek all but fled from his apartment last weekend, Stiles has been trying to let it go. Derek clearly doesn't believe or trust that he's not going to freak out over being with a guy, so it's best to just move on.

Except now he's here, walking into the brick-walled tavern to meet Derek's friends, friends who are apparently willing to 'help him out.' Derek doesn't understand that Stiles isn't looking for a quick hookup. If he was, he'd go out and do what he's always done.

No, Stiles is here for the sole purpose of spending more time with Derek.

Why is it that the one person he's genuinely liked in years—the one person he could see himself having more than one date with—doesn't want to go out with him because he's never been with another guy? And that's even debatable since Stiles has technically been with Jackson.

As he looks around the bar for Derek, Stiles notices someone watching him. Their blue eyes roaming down the length of his body. When the guy's lips quirk, Stiles realizes he's being checked out.

Is there a sign on his forehead now? Or is this something he's just noticing? Have guys always checked him out?

The guy gives him a full-blown smile, and yeah, the guy is hot, but he's not who Stiles wants. Stiles clears his throat, turning away to scan the bar again. He's pretty sure the chuckle the guy lets out is for him, but it could also be his imagination.

After a couple more minutes, he almost leaves, but then a hand closes around his forearm.

"Isaac said there was a hot guy out by the entrance freaking out, so I took a chance that it was you."

Derek. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and turns to meet his gaze. "Isaac?"

"The angelic-looking guy who practically eye-fucked you until you got weirded out and tried to leave?"

Heat rises in Stiles's cheeks. "Oh. That guy. Yeah."

"Sorry. He wasn't supposed to be here tonight, but Erica invited him. I didn't want him to…scare you away. Apparently, he no longer has to even open his mouth before people run the other way."

"He didn't scare me," Stiles says adamantly. "I just don't know what I'm doing here."

Well, actually, he does, but it's not like he can tell Derek that.

"C'mon. Come meet everyone and have a couple of drinks, and then you can leave. The point of this was to get you comfortable, not intimidate you." Derek leads him through the bar until they arrive at a table where three people sit, including Isaac. Their conversation doesn't stop as Derek introduces each person.

Erica and Boyd sit together on one side of the table while Isaac sits on the other. Isaac does indeed look angelic with his golden curls. The light behind him legitimately makes it look like he wears a halo. With her cherry-red lipstick and ample bosom, Erica is someone Stiles would have hit on in an instant if he wasn't into Derek and if she wasn't clearly dating the large man sitting beside her. Boyd has a possessive arm around her shoulder that she leans into. Before Stiles can slide in next to Isaac, Derek moves aside, letting Stiles take the end.

Stiles can't help but wonder which guys Derek intended for him to meet if Isaac wasn't supposed to be here. Instead of questioning him, however, Stiles watches as Isaac and Erica talk over each other, gesturing wildly with their hands. It's clearly a regular occurrence because Derek doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. In Stiles's experience, only three things create this type of argument: politics, religion, and—

"All I'm saying is—" Erica points a perfectly manicured nail at Isaac "—Jar Jar Binks was supposed to be comedic relief. He was created to appeal to children, much like the Ewoks were. Get over it."

Star Wars.

Stiles turns to Derek, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't be friends with someone who likens Jar Jar Binks to my beloved Ewoks." He faces the rest of the group. "And if any of you mention the Darth Jar Jar theory, I'm gonna walk out. Right now."

"Well, you passed the nerd test." Isaac flashes him a megawatt smile.

Stiles looks around the table at all of them. They're all so…mismatched.

"Derek, I think we broke your friend," Erica says. "He's looking at us weird."

The last thing Stiles wants to do is stereotype, but they're already smirking at him like they know.

"Sorry, it's just you have an odd dynamic."

Derek smiles, his dimples prominent as he taps the table. "By all means, Stiles, tell us how we're…odd."

Crap. Stiles is almost ninety-nine percent certain he's about to offend everyone at the table, but what the hell, go big or go home.

"Isaac is a struggling artist. No, wait…a musician of some sort. Erica is a makeup artist, or maybe something with fashion, and Boyd plays football."

"Congratulations," Derek says, patting him on the arm as everyone at the table snickers. "You got approximately none of them right."

Luckily, Derek puts Stiles out of his misery.

"Isaac is a vet tech while Erica and Boyd are deputies like me."

"You've had your fun, Stiles. Now it's our turn." Erica gives him a wicked grin. "So, who is Stiles?"

Uh oh.

Boyd steeples his hands under his chin, tapping twice before speaking. "Frat boy."

"Journalist," Isaac chimes in. "Who is also a total man-whore when it comes to the opposite sex."

"He might be a man-whore when it comes to women," Erica adds, "But he's only recently discovered that he's into guys."

Stiles's mouth gapes. There's no fucking way they could know all that unless—

Derek shakes his head. "They're not psychic, just assholes. I already told them about you. I also asked them to be nice. Clearly, they chose not to listen."

"There's nothing wrong with a little hazing," Boyd says.

"I made it through rush week at the frat." Stiles squares his shoulders. "I can handle some hazing."

Isaac fills a glass with the beer from their pitcher. "Drink?"

"Shouldn't I be drinking a cocktail now or something?"

Three pairs of eyes snap to him, but Derek snorts. "Okay, now you're the asshole." Derek pushes the glass to Stiles before addressing his friends. "He's best friends with Laura. What did you expect?"

"Oh, we love Laura," Erica says.

Derek gestures to Stiles. "Meet male Laura."

Great, Stiles thinks. Derek sees him as the male version of his sister. No wonder he doesn't want to start anything. Before he can retort, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Laura: You hooked up with Jackson Whittemore, didn't you??

Stiles's face flushes as his body enters panic mode.

Stiles: How did you find out??

He might have told Laura about hooking up with a guy in college when she pelted twenty questions at him after he told her about his newly discovered bisexuality, but he never said who it was. His eyes flit to Derek's, narrowing with accusation, but another text comes through.

Laura: Check the news.

Stiles opens the attached news article. The first thing that pops up is a picture of Jackson in a compromising position with another guy. Even though the image is grainy, it's evident he's in a club. The headline reads: NFL Star Jackson Whittemore Spotted at Gay Nightclub.

"What's going on?" Derek asks, his brows pulled down into a frown. Stiles shoves the phone at him, and Derek's eyes go wide. "Your freshman year hookup was Jackson Whittemore?"

The whole table goes quiet as they all pull out their phones.

"Shit," is the collective response. Isaac holds out his phone, his screen zoomed onto Jackson's abs while a guy kneels in front of him. Stiles can't look. All he can wonder is how Jackson's doing right now.

They all spout off about how unprofessional and disrespectful it is to out someone. As a journalist, Stiles agrees. He hopes Jackson never worried whether or not Stiles would out him.

He briefly wonders if he should reach out, but what would he say? Hey, we haven't spoken since the last time you blew me, but sorry someone outed you?

Yeah, probably best not to contact him.

"I think I need something a little harder than this." Stiles taps the glass of his beer. Isaac volunteers to grab some shots, so they let him out of the booth. When he gets back with a tray filled with many different shots, he sits at the end of the bench seat, leaving Stiles sandwiched between him and Derek.

Stiles doesn't miss the scowl on Derek's face at Isaac's close proximity. It warms him more than the two shots he pounds back in succession, though he reminds himself not to read too much into it. Derek's made his position explicitly clear—that he's not interested in starting anything.

Aside from the initial teasing Stiles received when he made assumptions about everyone, the rest of the night goes well. Derek's friends accept him pretty quickly, including him in their conversations. It's easy to see why Derek wanted him to meet other people that have gone through this, too. Even though Erica and Boyd are dating, they're both bisexual, and Isaac is gay. Just knowing that they understand without having to talk about it is comforting. Even with the news about Jackson, Stiles is relaxed. That is, until he goes to leave, and Isaac offers to walk him out.

The scowl is back on Derek's face, but he shrugs. "Go for it."

Stiles lets out a heavy sigh, not sure why he was expecting anything different. Move on, Stiles. Derek's made it perfectly clear that nothing's going to happen between them. He says his goodbyes and follows Isaac out, trying to think of an excuse to leave him at the curb.

"C'mon. I'll drive you home."

Stiles bites his lip, shuffling his feet. Isaac seems like a nice guy, so he doesn't want to be rude.

"I can just take the bus. I don't wanna put you out."

Isaac stops, smiling softly. "Listen. I don't know what the deal is between you and Derek, but I'm certainly not going to get involved. This is legitimately just me offering you a ride. Plus, it's a chance to screw with Derek for not telling me about tonight."

Stiles huffs out a laugh. He can't argue with that.

"Alrighty then. Lead the way."


Derek: Don't hook up with Isaac.

Stiles stares at the text, wondering just how long he should continue to make Derek suffer. It's already been an hour since they left the bar. He's already showered and changed, and even watched an episode of Brooklyn 99.

Once Stiles crawls into bed, he finally decides to put Derek out of his misery, although he remembers what Isaac said about fucking with him.

Stiles: I thought that's what you wanted.

Derek: He's not good enough.

Huh. Stiles wonders just who Derek would deem 'good enough'.

Stiles: But he's hot and doesn't want anything serious. Sounds kind of perfect for me actually.

Derek: He's an asshole and a man-whore.

Stiles: You and Laura call me a man-whore.

That word never bothered him before, but knowing it's what Derek thinks of him makes Stiles feel unsettled.

Derek: Stiles, just please. Please tell me you didn't.

Jesus, why the hell does Derek care so much? And why does Stiles care what he thinks? Maybe it's time to actually put Derek out of his misery now.

Stiles: Well, as much fun as it's been to fuck with you, it's not nearly as entertaining since I can't see your face.

Derek: Asshole.

Stiles smiles down at his phone, unable to resist a little more teasing.

Stiles: Is that fondness I detect? Are we back to pet names, Der?

Derek: 🖕

Stiles: 💗

Stiles: Just so we're clear, I didn't hook up with him.

Derek: Not a lot of people would turn Isaac down.

Stiles: Yeah, I kind of got that feeling. Thanks for introducing me to everyone. They were great. Erica's already sent me a friend request on Facebook.

Derek: I figured the two of you would get along.

Another text comes in before Stiles can respond.

Derek: What are you doing next weekend?

Stiles: Heading to Beacon Hills. I didn't get to spend a lot of time with dad when we went to the wedding. I don't really have a reason to avoid going back home anymore, so I figure why not?

Derek's response surprises him.

Derek: Need your fake boyfriend to tag along?

Stiles blows out a breath, letting his phone fall to his chest. Part of him, the part that wants to spend any and all free time with Derek, screams at him to say yes. He doesn't know why Derek is asking; he can only assume it's because he's a great guy. It's one of the many reasons why Stiles is falling for him. It's also the reason he needs to say no. It wouldn't be fair to keep pushing the boundaries Derek's clearly outlined.

Stiles: Nah. It's okay. I'll let you know if I change my mind.

They make plans to meet up mid-week before saying goodnight. Stiles falls asleep with a smile on his face.


The week drags by so fucking slow aside from Stiles's dinner with Derek. Stiles heads over to Derek's apartment on Wednesday night with the food he picked up to watch the Dodgers play the Mets on Derek's big screen.

He's nervous as he stands in front of Derek's door. Their tentative friendship already carries more weight than most of Stiles's other relationships. There's just something about Derek that draws him in.

Finally, he knocks, stepping back when the door swings open. Derek stands in front of him, looking entirely too attractive in his dark-wash jeans and gray henley. He's clean-shaven today, and Stiles has an intense desire to pet his cheeks.

"Stiles?" Derek smirks at him knowingly.

Clearly, he missed something. "Huh? What?"

Derek laughs. "I asked if you wanted to come in. Though, I suppose, you can still see the TV from here if you really wanted to stay in the doorway."

"Ha. Ha." Stiles shoves the bag of food at Derek's chest, stepping into his apartment. "I bring sustenance."

Derek bustles over to the kitchen, unpacking the packages of Pad Thai from the bag and grabbing a couple of plates from the cabinet. The TV is already on since the game's about to start. "Want a beer?"

"Yeah, sure." Stiles looks around the one-bedroom apartment. Pictures of Derek's family hang on the walls. Stiles walks over and recognizes the Grand Canyon in one of the pictures; Derek stands in the middle, with his parents on either side of him. Another is of Niagara Falls with Laura and Cora beside him. There are also pictures of Derek skiing with snow-covered mountains in the background, an arm wrapped around another man.

"That was at Sundance Mountain Resort. We went there a few years ago for my uncle's 30th birthday."

Stiles nods, pointing at the man in the photo. He seems vaguely familiar. "Peter, right?"

"Yeah. C'mon, let's eat." Derek hands him a plate and beer, leading him to the couch to sit. He reaches for the remote on the coffee table, turning the sound on the television up as the announcers start talking.

It's comfortable sitting next to Derek. The silence between them isn't unsettling. Usually, Stiles finds some way to fill it, but this is nice: just two guys eating, drinking, and watching baseball.

After a while, though, Stiles finds himself watching Derek more than the game. He notices that Derek picks all the peanuts from his food, setting them along the edge of his plate. Stiles does the same with his bean sprouts. Without thinking about it, he reaches over and carefully scoops some up with his fork, popping it in his mouth.

Derek raises a brow. "Uh…can I help you?"

"You can't waste the peanuts, Derek. They're the best part! Meanwhile, the bean sprouts are gross. They have no place in there. No one eats Pad Thai to be healthy."

"I do. It's a well-rounded source of protein, vegetables, and carbohydrates."

"Trade?" Stiles holds his plate out, waving it so Derek gets the hint and puts all the peanuts on his plate. Derek surprises him by not only complying but scooping up his pile of bean sprouts. "When I make this for myself, I leave out the bean sprouts."

"Do you like to cook?"

"Mmm," Stiles hums his affirmative as he stuffs his mouth with noodles. "I'll make it for you. Extra peanuts," he teases.

Derek playfully shoves him.

Stiles volunteers to clean up once they're done eating—not that it's a lot, considering their beer bottles get tossed in with the recycling and they used paper plates and plastic forks for their meal. While he's in the kitchen, Derek calls his name. Stiles looks up to see Derek glancing over his shoulder.

"Bring another beer?"

Stiles nods, pulling two from the fridge and plopping back down on the couch beside him. They clink their bottles and settle back to watch the game. Maybe it's a little too comfortable, a little too domestic, but it's nice.

During commercial breaks, they talk about work. Derek asks about an article Stiles wrote regarding the role of various law enforcement agencies in apprehending violent criminals. Stiles isn't surprised by Derek's next question.

"Y'know, since your dad's a sheriff and you like criminal justice, how come you didn't follow in his footsteps?"

Everyone assumed Stiles would. In truth, though Stiles would peek at his dad's case files anytime he got the chance, it wasn't something he was passionate about. He tells Derek as much, and then switches the topic of conversation at the next break.

"So, I know I said your friend group was odd, and you guys called me out on stereotyping, but seriously, how the hell did you guys meet?"

"We all went to San Francisco State University. Boyd was my roommate freshman year." Derek takes a sip of his beer before continuing. "I met Isaac at an event hosted by the Queer and Trans Resource Center on campus."

"Did you guys ever…?" Stiles knows that Derek understands what he's asking.

Derek chuckles. "No. We never hooked up. I did kiss Danny once. You haven't met him yet."

Yet.

The game sits forgotten, playing in the background as Stiles listens raptly to Derek talk about his friends. Their friendship reminds him of his own with Scott, Lydia, and Parrish.

Stiles's gaze drops to Derek's lips as he speaks. The urge to kiss him builds, especially when Derek's eyes crinkle at the corners, his whole face scrunching up when he laughs. It's getting harder and harder for Stiles to remember why he shouldn't kiss Derek; every night, Dream Derek haunts him, whispering all the dirty things he wants to do to Stiles. Stiles's dick damn near chafes from the constant jerk-off sessions that leave him laden with guilt. "So, uh, did you think about this weekend at all? Want me to tag along?" Derek asks, clearing his throat as he scoots away.

Stiles never thought he'd be the type of guy to pine over someone.

It's clear he needs to put some distance between them before he plows right through Derek's boundaries, jeopardizing their friendship. The truth is that Stiles isn't sure one is possible with Derek anymore.

"Nah, I think I'm good." Stiles swallows thickly, looking back at the TV. He rubs his hands on his thighs, standing when he notices that the game has ended. The past three hours flew by way too quickly. "Damn, I didn't realize it was over. I should get outta here."

He tries not to read into the disappointment on Derek's face. Instead, he plasters a smile on his face and says, "Thanks for the invite. It was fun."

"Yeah. We should do it again."

No. No, that'd be a bad idea. Stiles isn't sure how much longer he can hold back. Not when all he wants to do is rub himself all over Derek.

"Sure," he says, making his way to the door, tripping over the table in the entryway. "Yeah. Text me."

"Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh. Yeah, definitely. Just gonna—"

Stiles is out the door in a flash, vowing to put Derek out of his mind. Instead, he thinks of Jackson, wondering how he's doing after being outed in the news. Stiles's gut tells him to message, so he does, asking if it's okay to stop over before he drives to his dad's for the weekend.

Jackson gives him his address.


Once Saturday hits, Stiles finds himself standing outside the media circus that's in front of Jackson's building, wondering how the hell he's supposed to get in. He pushes past the crowd of people until he's in front of the doorman.

He mumbles his name so the vultures behind him don't hear, but the guy speaks it into his walkie loudly. Then, it hits him: the guy isn't a doorman; he's Jackson's security.

Flashes go off behind him, but Stiles keeps his body angled. There's no way he's letting any of them get a picture of his face. He barrels through the lobby, following the guy's directions to the elevators, and takes it to the top—the penthouse suite.

Jackson meets Stiles at the door. The sun streams in through the large window; Stiles can see that Jackson's eyes are sunken in like he hasn't slept for days—which he probably hasn't—and his hair is disheveled, not the perfect coif that Stiles remembers from their college days. Jackson's even wearing ratty sweats and a tank, one that exposes his hard, chiseled muscle but allows Jackson's boyish innocence to peek through, making Stiles feel sorry for him.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" Jackson steps aside, letting him pass before closing the door and walking over to the marble floor that separates the kitchen from the rest of the large, open room. "You want a story, or have you come to yell at me, too? Go ahead; I probably actually deserve it from you."

Stiles's face scrunches in confusion. "Who the fuck is yelling at you?"

"It doesn't matter. Just—" Jackson sucks in a breath. He pulls out a glass from his cabinets, setting it on the kitchen island before grabbing a pitcher of juice from the fridge. He fills the glass, gulping down half of it before asking again, "Why are you here?"

Stiles shrugs. He's still not really sure.

"Because we were roommates? Because of what…because of what happened between us? It's gotta suck, being outed the way you were."

Jackson's eyes widen in shock. "You should hate me, though. I misled you."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You didn't force yourself on me. I could have told you to stop, and you would have. Right?"

Jackson nods. "Yeah. Of course."

"Then you didn't do anything wrong."

"I told you I was straight."

"I told you I was straight." Stiles shrugs at Jackson's bewildered expression. "Apparently, I'm bi. It's new."

"I'm not. I'm…I'm actually gay."

Stiles shrugs again. "It's cool."

Jackson drinks the rest of the juice, filling his cup again and puts the pitcher back in the fridge. His face falls as he turns to Stiles.

"So, what, you thought because you're bi and I'm gay, that'd we could hook up again? Because that's not—"

"Whoa!" Stiles holds his hands up in surrender, vigorously shaking his head. "No way, man. I'm just here as a friend. I don't know exactly what you're going through, but everyone in my hometown thinks I'm gay. It's a long story that I don't really wanna get into. I just figured I've been through something like this, and it's not fun to do by yourself."

"It's not fun to do at all. Listen, I don't need a pity visit, so if that's what this is, there's the door." Jackson nods towards the entrance and walks past Stiles to the living room, sinking down on the plush-looking couch.

"It's not a pity visit. I recently met some people, and it's made me realize that this shit is a lot easier to deal with when you have support. That's all."

"Definitely don't have that," Jackson mumbles. "You said everyone in your hometown thinks you're gay?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah. Definitely makes for a fun visit home."

"That's where you're going now, right?"

"Yeah."

"I can't even go down the block to Starbucks without a swarm of people getting in my face."

That doesn't really surprise Stiles considering what he walked through just to get into the building. Something niggles at the back of his mind, though.

"Wait. When was the last time you left this place?"

Jackson scratches his jaw. "I dunno. A week? Whenever that article came out."

"Alright." Stiles slaps his hand down on the back of the couch. "C'mon. You're getting out of here. I can almost guarantee that no one's gonna look for you in Beacon Hills."

"Really?" Jackson almost seems hopeful.

Stiles turns it over in his head. "Sure, why not?"

The trip is an escape to get Derek out of his head, so maybe it'll help clear Jackson's mind.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 8: Derek

Chapter Text

Laura: You fucked up.

Derek stares down at the message, confused until another message comes in right after. This one has a link to the same site that outed Jackson Whittemore the previous week. Dread coils through Derek, urging him not to open the link.

He does.

Inside are photos of Stiles and Jackson, both shirtless as they enter a motel room in Beacon Hills.

"Guess I know why Stiles didn't need me to go home with him…" Derek closes the link and flings his phone to the other end of the couch.

It's not like Derek can even be mad. It's not like they're together. Derek made that fact perfectly clear every time he pushed Stiles away. Except now he's pissed, even if he doesn't have the right.

Another week passes. Stiles texts a few times, even calls, all of which Derek ignores. The last thing he wants is to hear about Stiles's new relationship with Jackson. Derek buries himself in his case files, volunteers at the local cat rescue and lounge, and binge watches House M.D. in an attempt not to think about Stiles. Which is difficult since his face—and Jackson's—are splashed all over the tabloids. Not that he's looked.

Okay, he has. It's sad and pathetic.

So, when his phone pings with a message from Danny inviting him over pizza and beer, Derek readily agrees.

After a quick shower and shave—yes, he's been neglecting self-care during his pity party—he heads over to Danny's townhouse. As he climbs the steps, the front door opens. All he can see is the silhouette of someone standing in the doorway, looking into the house.

"No, I'm gonna go. He wouldn't want me here."

Derek recognizes that voice. Sure enough, when the person turns around, it's Stiles.

Shit.

Stiles's eyes go wide. Someone steps up behind him. Of course, it would have to be him. Jackson wears a ball cap, pulled low on his head as if he's trying not to be recognized.

"Stiles. Jefferson," Derek says as he walks by, purposefully calling Jackson by the wrong name.

Jackson looks confused. "Uh, it's Jackson, actually."

"Whatever." Derek goes straight to the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge. He narrows his eyes at Danny. "You didn't mention you invited Stiles."

"He didn't." Erica approaches Derek, giving him a quick hug.

"Traitor," Derek whispers before she can slip away.

"Hey, don't give me that attitude. Turns out Danny and Jackson went to high school together."

Boyd slaps Derek's chest, walking by to get to the kitchen. "Besides, I thought you wanted us to be friends with Stiles. Wasn't that the whole reason you introduced us?"

"Dude." Stiles steps up, shoving Derek's shoulder gently. "I've been calling you. Are you avoiding me or something?"

"I've been busy," Derek says. His beer bottle is suddenly the most fascinating thing on the planet, given how intently he stares at it.

"Seriously?" Stiles frowns.

"What? Why?" Derek asks with a scowl.

Stiles glares at him. His amber eyes are molten gold with anger. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"No." Derek holds his ground. More like he's being an asshole, but whatever. "I'm good here, thanks."

"Oh?" Stiles says sarcastically. "That wasn't a request."

Danny sucks air through his teeth. "I think someone's in trouble. Stiles, you can take Derek upstairs. First door on your right."

"Thanks." Stiles grips Derek's arm, barely giving him time to set his beer down before dragging him out of the living room and towards the stairs, up to Danny's guest room. It's the room Derek usually crashes in when he's too lazy to go home.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Stiles yells.

That's definitely new.

"Nothing."

"Really? That's what you're going with? Nothing? Y'know, when you avoided me a few weeks ago, I at least got the courtesy of excuses, but now I just get…nothing?" Stiles says the word like it offends him.

"I'm surprised you even noticed with all the time you've been spending with Jason."

"Jackson."

"The tabloids seem to really love you guys. I can see it now: Stiles and Julian: the 'It' couple of football."

Stiles's eyes widen for a moment before they narrow into slits. "Is that what this is? Are you, are you…jealous?"

"No. I couldn't care less what you and Jayden do."

Stiles breaks into a smile that pisses Derek off. "So what I'm hearing is that Mr. You-Should-Hook-Up-With-Everyone-Except-Me doesn't like the fact that I'm spending time with another guy."

"No. I'm wondering why you're bothering with me when you have Jameson."

"Holy shit, Erica was right. God, you're an idiot." Stiles runs a hand through his hair, chuckling mirthlessly. "Jackson and I are just friends. I stopped by to visit him on my way out of town last weekend. He was a fucking wreck, so I asked if he wanted to come home with me so he could get away from all the paparazzi. I fucked up by booking his hotel room under my name—which had two beds, by the way. Either someone leaked it to the tabloids, or they overheard his security mention it when I stopped by his place, but yeah, they found out where he was staying. Nothing happened."

"Oh." Well, on top of being an asshole, Derek now feels like a jackass.

"Yeah, oh." Stiles sighs heavily. "You'd have known all this if you had answered my calls or texts. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing, and I could have used your help. I thought, 'Hey, Derek was great when he helped me figure my shit out; maybe he'll help Jackson, too.' So, thanks for making me look like an idiot."

"I'm sorry, okay? I was—" Derek cuts himself off. It's hard to admit that he was jealous.

"You were what, Derek? What?"

Derek's mouth opens and closes as he tries to say the word.

Stiles scoffs, brushing past him towards the door, apparently done with the conversation.

Shit. Don't let him leave, don't let him leave, don't let him leave.

Derek's hand goes over Stiles's head, pushing the door closed so he can't escape. He presses up against Stiles's back, breathing slowly.

"I saw the pictures of you and Jackson, and I—it drove me crazy. I was jealous, okay?"

The seconds tick by slowly. Derek can't tell if Stiles is angry or turned on, but it doesn't matter because Stiles suddenly turns and crushes their mouths together.

Derek welcomes it willingly, eagerly. For weeks, he's tried to be strong and hold back, but now he realizes it would have been impossible. Not with how drawn he feels towards Stiles.

Derek pushes him up against the door, deepening the kiss. Desire curls low in his stomach when he rolls his hips and feels Stiles hardening against him.

All from a kiss.

After weeks of fantasizing about Stiles, Derek's hands shamelessly roam over his body. He threads his fingers through Stiles's hair, yanking tightly to force his head back as he trails his lips down Stiles's neck. His free hand slides down, rubbing over the bulge in Stiles's jeans, making Stiles whimper. Derek slips his leg between Stiles's, gripping his ass and encouraging him to rub off against him.

The sound of a glass breaking followed by loud laughter rings through the door. They jump apart; Stiles's eyes are glazed over, wild with want.

"You wanna—"

Stiles nods even though Derek hasn't finished asking the question.

"—get out of here?"

"Yeah. Yup. Yes." Stiles's voice is sex-drenched.

They need to leave now; otherwise, Derek's going to pin Stiles against the wall and fuck him until he's a moaning, babbling mess. He pulls Stiles from the room, bypassing all his friends—and Jackson—in the living room.

Erica calls out, "Derek—"

"Can't talk now," he growls.

Stiles calls out a hasty goodbye to Jackson as the door slams behind them.

"Did you drive?" Derek asks. His Camaro is just down the street, but he can't see the familiar sky-blue Jeep anywhere, just a flashy silver Porsche.

"Jackson drove us."

Derek growls at the mention of Jackson's name, making Stiles grin.

"God, that shouldn't be as hot as it is."

Derek uses his key fob to unlock his car, holding the passenger door open for Stiles. "Your place or mine?"

"I'm closer." Stiles's fingers trail over the cool leather interior, and he practically mewls as he sinks into the seat. "Fuck. I love your car. Forget about going anywhere. I'm having vivid fantasies involving you bending me over the hood."

"Fuck." Derek slams the door shut, racing around to the driver's side. The engine purrs to life and he peels out of the parking spot, making a U-turn to head in the direction of Stiles's condo.

Stiles lays his hand on Derek's thigh. His pinky finger is torturously close to Derek's erection, and Derek is sure it's purposeful. "Looks like you've got a problem there. Want me to take care of it?"

Derek grits his teeth. "Not if you wanna get home in one piece."

Stiles removes his hand. Derek instantly misses the heat of his palm. He looks over, clenching his fists around the steering wheel as Stiles starts rubbing himself through his jeans.

"That's too bad. I saw a video on Pornhub about this guy jerking his boyfriend off while they were driving. It was hot."

"You've been watching gay porn?"

"For science," Stiles says with a shrug.

Derek focuses on the road instead of the way Stiles is writhing in the seat, his breath coming out in short gasps. "Did you enjoy it?"

Stiles bites his lip. "Only when I imagined it was you."

Derek presses down on the accelerator, barely making it through the stoplight before it turns red. Stiles throws his head back and laughs.

"Deputy Hale. Did you just run a red light? Naughty, naughty."

It's hard keeping his eyes on the road when Stiles keeps stroking himself. Thankfully, they make it to Stiles's condo without incident.

They push, pull, and drag each other through the lobby. Derek pins Stiles's arms above his head in the elevator, grinding their hips together as he kisses him deeply. When they get to Stiles's door, Derek pushes up against him, kissing the back of his neck. He rests his hands on Stiles's hips, his thumbs dragging over the small strip of skin above the waistband of Stiles's pants, making him struggle to get the key in the lock.

Stiles curses, dropping his keys twice. It makes Derek chuckle at how adorable Stiles is when he's flustered. He leans over, picking the keys up from the floor and dangling them in front of Stiles.

"Why don't you let me try? Can't be that hard."

"You know you're kind of a jerk, right? Why do I like you?"

"Must be my devastating good looks and charming personality," Derek says as he unlocks the door.

"Yeah. That's totally it." Stiles grabs him by the collar, crushing their lips together again. By the time they fumble their way through Stiles's condo, undressing as they make their way to his bed, they're both completely out of breath.

"I just wanna warn you," Stiles says, sprawling out on top of his mattress, "that I'm seriously about to blow. I've imagined this for weeks."

At that admission, Derek growls, crawling over him. A voice in the back of his mind makes a paltry plea for him to slow down but it gets pushed away by his needy dick. Derek's rational side—or maybe it's his horny side—reassures him that this isn't like what happened with Nate.

Stiles is sober. Stiles has expressed interest. Multiple times.

But the most significant factor is that Stiles isn't Nate. It runs like a mantra in Derek's head.

Stiles isn't Nate. Stiles isn't Nate. Stiles isn't Nate.

It's been so long since Derek's done this that he forgot how good kissing can be, but it's not nearly enough. Not with Stiles. Every breathy little pant and moan that Stiles lets out goes straight to Derek's dick. He wants more, needs more. Derek kisses a path down Stiles's body, tasting as much of him as he can until he's faced with Stiles's dick, hard and leaking as it strains against his stomach.

Stiles looks down at him with fire in his eyes. "You have no idea how many times I've dreamt of this."

It's probably about the same number of times Derek has, but Stiles's breathless confession spurs him on. Derek's deep-throating skills are a little rusty, but that doesn't stop him from taking Stiles to the back of his throat.

"Fuck!"

Derek grins as much as he can around a mouthful of dick. He wants to savor Stiles, to make him completely fall apart, so he relaxes his jaw and breathes through his nose, swallowing around him. The hot, demanding way Stiles watches his dick disappear into Derek's mouth has arousal roaring through him. Stiles curls his fingers in Derek's hair, gripping the roots tight enough to sting. Derek groans around him, his own dick throbbing.

Stiles's thighs tremble as he bucks into Derek's mouth. His head is thrown back, eyes closed as his mouth hangs open in ecstasy. "Oh shit. Der-ek."

Derek loves the way his name sounds coming from Stiles's lips, broken apart by his pleasure. Still, he wants more. He pulls off of Stiles's dick. "Lube?"

Stiles mutters a curse, flailing around to reach the nightstand. A bottle of lube lands beside him as Stiles flops back, one arm over his face as he pants heavily. "Are you—are you gonna prep me?"

Derek chuckles then kisses the inside of Stiles's thigh. As much as he wants that, tonight's not the night. "Someone's been researching."

"For science."

Derek warms the lube between his fingers before pressing one against Stiles's hole. "Have you ever touched yourself here before?"

Stiles runs his tongue over his lower lip before raking it with his teeth. "Y-yeah. I imagined it was you."

"Did you like it?"

"God, yes."

Derek pushes his finger in, sucking Stiles down at the same time.

Stiles calls out something unintelligible that Derek takes as approval. As Stiles relaxes—moaning and mumbling incoherently—Derek adds a second finger, rubbing against Stiles's prostate with every skilled thrust of his hand.

Derek pulls off Stiles's dick with a pop, licking his lips. "Next time, I'm gonna lay you down and have you open yourself up for me with those gorgeous fingers. Gonna watch you stretch that pretty pink hole of yours open until you can take all of me."

"Oh, fuck." Stiles's desperation and arousal transmit palpably through the air. His back arcs off the bed when Derek swirls his tongue around the tip before taking him deep again.

Watching Stiles fall apart has lust spiking through Derek's body.

A sharp tug on his hair and a small gasp are the only warnings Derek gets before he gets his first taste of Stiles's cum, heady and salty as it fills his mouth. Derek sucks him down, swallowing every last drop until Stiles whimpers.

Derek quickly climbs up the mattress, straddling Stiles's waist. He squirts some lube into his palm and wastes no time stroking himself, his hips jerking mindlessly as he fucks into his fist, grunting with every pull.

"Oh, fuck. That's so hot." Stiles stares up at him, his pupils blown wide with lust. He reaches out, wrapping a hand around Derek's. "Yeah. Cum on me."

Without warning, Derek's orgasm slams into him, and he cums all over Stiles's stomach and chest. He keeps stroking until he has nothing left and his muscles stop convulsing.

Derek falls to the side, sliding off of Stiles. Without the lust clouding his brain, it doesn't take long for doubt to seep back in.

What the fuck did I just do?

Will Stiles freak out now?

Logically, Stiles shouldn't. It's not like that was his first blowjob from a guy. Still, they should have talked first. Derek should have asked what Stiles would be okay with.

"I'm sorry," Derek says as insecurity and vulnerability seep in.

"Dude, for what?" Stiles flips to his side, propping himself up on an elbow.

This is good. There's a blissed-out smile on Stiles's face, and his skin is flushed pink. Sweat clings to him, matting his hair to his forehead.

"That was so good. Better than good. Ten out of ten, we're definitely doing that again. Seriously, high five."

"I'm not giving you a high five," Derek says with a huff of laughter when Stiles holds a hand up expectantly.

"That was awesome, and you deserve a high five."

Derek rolls his eyes, but when Stiles doesn't show any sign of lowering his arm, he reaches out and slaps Stiles's palm lightly. "You're an idiot."

"There you go, using pet names and sounding all fond again."

Derek smiles for a moment before doubt makes it slip off his face. The absolute last thing he wants is a repeat of what happened with Nate.

"I should have made sure you'd be okay with what we did. With what I did. We didn't even talk about positions or anything. I feel like you should know that I prefer to top."

Stiles shrugs like it's not a big deal. "Okay. That sounds good to me."

"I don't wanna do anything you're not comfortable with. My college boyfriend and I were both virgins and underprepared. It hurt. A lot. Even now, with all the lube in the world, it's difficult for me to come that way."

"Which is why you prefer to top. Got it. But how am I supposed to know if I'll like it unless we try? I really liked you fingering me. I mean, I'm pretty sure you swallowed the evidence of how very okay I was with it."

"My fingers are a little different than my dick."

Stiles snorts, then looks down at Derek's dick which is still sizable even when it's soft. "I should hope so."

"Yeah, but—"

"Hey, Der?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." Stiles grins, leaning over to kiss him. It's soft and tentative and over too quickly. "Being with a guy might be a new experience for me, but I'm not some blushing virgin. Now, I'm gonna go to bed. Are you gonna stay up and continue to freak out, or are you gonna join me?"

Stiles wants him to stay?

The only logical response is a resounding 'Hell, yes.'

As Derek is about to lean in and pull Stiles closer, he realizes that Stiles is still covered in a fair bit of cum. If Derek were home, he'd use the wipes he keeps next to the bed to wipe it all up, but since he's not, he rolls out of bed and heads for the bathroom.

Stiles's smile falters. "You're leaving?"

Oops. In typical Derek Hale fashion, he forgot to use his words.

"I'm just getting something to clean us up," Derek calls out over his shoulder.

"Washcloths are in the cabinet to the left of the sink."

The faucet squeaks when Derek turns the knob. He makes sure the water is warm before wetting the washcloth, then wrings it out and walks back to the bed.

"So considerate," Stiles says with a fond smile as Derek wipes off his chest and stomach. Derek rolls his eyes but feels the tips of his ears grow hot in a blush.

Derek steals another kiss after tossing the soiled cloth behind him in the direction of what he hopes is the dirty clothes hamper.

They flop around for a second, getting comfortable under the covers. It's almost natural how Stiles fits when he's pressed against him, with his back to Derek's chest. Like it's where he's meant to be.

Chapter 9: Stiles

Chapter Text

Stiles wakes up in bed with someone pressed against his back.

Not just anyone.

Derek.

His body seems to recognize it, too, based on how hard he is right now, and it's not morning wood. It probably has something to do with Derek's dick pressed against the crease of his ass. He bites his bottom lip, holding back a groan.

The events of last night come rushing back—the way Derek looked with his lips wrapped around his dick, the sounds of Derek's deep grunts and moans as he brought them both to completion.

Fuck.

Yeah, Stiles definitely wants a repeat.

It's an odd sensation, considering his propensity for one-night stands, never the same person twice. Except, he wants Derek in a way he's never wanted someone before. It should scare him, but the week they went without contact had left Stiles unsettled and wanting nothing more than to be in Derek's presence again.

Stiles turns in Derek's arms with mild reluctance, taking a moment to study him as he sleeps. Sunlight trickles in through the curtains, casting a glow over Derek's face. His eyes are shut, black lashes framing his sharp cheekbones.

Stiles smiles softly.

Honestly, he had been worried that he'd wake up to an empty bed. Even though it's clear that Derek likes him—considering how jealous he got at the mere thought of Stiles being with Jackson—he was sure Derek would have second thoughts after their hook up.

It wouldn't have surprised Stiles if he'd woken up to find Derek had taken off in the middle of the night so he wouldn't have a repeat of what happened with Nate.

Stiles brushes his fingers over Derek's cheek and neck. As he continues down his arm to his hip, Derek's dick twitches. Stiles pulls back slightly to look and huffs a laugh when Derek's arm tightens around him. His mouth waters, wanting nothing more than to take Derek inside his mouth.

Stiles's dick jumps in anticipation as he wraps his hand around Derek's considerable length.

"What're you doing?" Derek's voice is rough with sleep. His piercing hazel eyes bore straight through Stiles.

"I didn't really get to touch you last night."

Derek bucks up into his fist as Stiles swipes his thumb over Derek's tip. When he speaks, it sounds strained and gravelly, like he's trying to hold himself back. "Sure you don't regret it?"

"Fuck no."

"As much as I'd—" When Stiles twists with his wrist, Derek gasps. "—like to continue this, I need to go home. I have to get ready for work."

"Me too." Stiles says, still not stopping. In fact, he doubles down and sucks on Derek's neck as he speeds up his strokes. "Y'know. I usually have a morning routine."

"Yeah?" Derek pants, his expression hazy with lust.

Stiles shivers when Derek moves, aligning their dicks and wrapping a hand around the both of them. "Mmhmm. Breakfast. Food. Coffee." He punctuates each word with a moan.

Christ. He can't even think right now. Not when the pressure teeters on the edge of pleasure-pain. "Goddammit," he says, throwing his head back. "I really wanted to suck your dick."

"Next time." Derek pulls Stiles in by the back of his neck with his free hand, kissing him hard as he jerks them both off.

The promise of a next time sets Stiles off and his dick pulses rhythmically between them. Derek follows shortly after, shaking through his own release.

Before Derek can wipe his hand off on the sheets, or get up to clean himself, Stiles grabs his hand. He brings it up to his mouth and licks a stripe up Derek's palm.

"Mmm…not as bad as I'd thought it'd be."

"Jesus Christ." Derek damn near growls before crushing their lips together again. "You have no idea," he mutters against Stiles's lips.

When the kiss breaks, Stiles sighs in content. "What time do you work?"

"Nine."

Stiles glances at his alarm clock. He grimaces when it reads 8 o'clock. "I hope you have a uniform at the station, otherwise, I don't think you'll make it."

"I do. In my locker. Is it cool if I use your shower? Then I can just head in. Or, shit, what time do you work?"

"I'm off today. Go ahead and take a shower. Spare toothbrushes are in the second drawer on the left, and there's an extra towel on the shelf."

Derek grunts, tightening his arms around Stiles before releasing him. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. Now go. I'll make us some coffee."

When Derek rolls out of bed, Stiles swats his ass. The glare he earns makes him laugh, warm and happy, as it fills his heart with a new feeling he doesn't quite understand. He makes his way to the kitchen after finding his boxers and pulling them on.

Coffee first, then breakfast.

Stiles heats a pan on the stove and scrambles some eggs. He also fries some bacon and sausage and even makes toast, buttering the slices lightly. Carefully balancing two plates on one arm, Stiles manages to grab two coffee mugs, holding them by their handles with his other hand. He sets everything down on the table just in time to hear the shower cut out.

It's so domestic and, if he's honest, fulfilling—as if everything is happening as it should.

"What is all this?" Derek asks, walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Breakfast. Most important meal of the day. Now hurry up and get dressed so you can eat."

"I usually just have a protein shake or something after my workout." Derek walks over, scooping up some eggs and shoveling them into his mouth before gathering up his clothes that are strewn about the condo. "This is definitely better."

Stiles grins. The steam from his coffee warms his face as he blows on it before taking a sip. "Gah. Yes. Coffee."

Derek yanks his pants on and holds his hand out. Stiles passes over the other coffee mug.

"Mmm…just the way I like it."

Stiles smiles, letting his eyes rake over Derek's body.

"Hey. My eyes are up here." Derek smirks when Stiles looks up at him.

Stiles shrugs, not feeling the least bit guilty for ogling him. "Oh, shut the fuck up. You know what you look like. I blame you for any and all fantasies I have now."

Once his shirt is on, Derek pulls out a chair at the table. It groans as he sits.

"Yeah? What fantasies are those?"

"Two words: wall sex."

Derek sputters around a mouthful of food, sending half-chewed eggs flying across the table. "Jesus, Stiles. Your mouth."

"Yeah? What about it?" Stiles asks coyly, choosing that exact moment to wet his lips.

"It should come with a warning," Derek growls.

Stiles grins happily, nibbling on a piece of crispy bacon.

After a few more hurried bites, Derek pushes back from the table, taking his plate to the sink. "That was delicious. Thank you."

Stiles nods, getting up to walk him to the door since he knows Derek needs to leave. Though, he hopes he can see Derek again soon. "Of course. Call me?"

"Yeah."

The door creaks open, letting in a rush of warm air from the hall. Before Derek can go, Stiles presses up against him, giving him a searing kiss. Derek tastes like coffee and toothpaste and the cheese he put in the eggs, and the moan Stiles lets out is almost pornographic when he feels Derek grow hard.

He reluctantly pulls away.

When Derek chases his lips, Stiles snorts, pushing him out the door. "Go. You're gonna be late for work."

Derek mutters a curse, pressing his palm against the bulge in his pants as he walks away.

Mission accomplished.


"Where the hell did you disappear to after the meeting?" Laura appears over Stiles's cubicle, frowning when she looks at him. Stiles really should have expected the question since he usually walks with her to her desk in the editor's nook, along with all the other copy editors. Lately, though, he's been sneaking off after their meetings a lot. "Did you sneak off for a quickie?"

Shit.

It's been four days, three hours and thirty-seven minutes since Stiles hooked up with Derek. Not that he's counting. And it's like he's perpetually horny. Seriously, he's never jerked off so much before. However, if his mind isn't occupied—which it isn't when Kennedy, the managing editor, drones on and on about fluff pieces, feature profiles, or the local government beats—then Derek inevitably intrudes into Stiles's thoughts. It leads to an embarrassing amount of ill-timed boners.

Which leads to an all-time low: jerking off in the bathroom at work. More than once, considering this wasn't the first time it's happened.

"What? No," Stiles says incredulously, playing with the hem of his Beatles shirt. He had splashed water on his face before going back to his desk in hopes of cooling the flush on his cheeks. Apparently he failed, since Laura gives him a look that says she doesn't believe him.

"Seriously, the meeting ended fifteen minutes ago, though I thank you for thinking I'd be able to pick someone up that fast. However, I'd also like to think I'd have enough finesse not to fuck and run."

She gives him another look.

"Listen. I might have slept around a lot, but it was never a quick fifteen-minute fling. And never at work. I have more tact than that, fuck you very much." He punctuates the statement by flipping her off.

Laura laughs. "Yeah, okay. Sure. But you can't tell me that you never hooked up with any of those chicks you were grinding on whenever we went to the club."

"Uh. No. I most certainly did. It just wasn't fifteen minutes," Stiles says with a wink.

"God, you're an ass. I'm actually glad my brother won't hook up with you."

Heat rises in Stiles's cheeks and he fumbles with his computer, turning it on. "Yeah, whatever."

"No offense, Stiles. I love you, but you're kind of a heartbreaker."

Stiles frowns, thankful that he's kept his mouth shut about him and Derek.

"Oh, shit. Stiles, I'm sorry. I know you like Derek. It's better this way, though. Now you can—"

She's interrupted by Kennedy walking by his desk. "Stilinski. My office."

Stiles jumps up, grateful for the escape so he doesn't have to listen to Laura clarify how much she apparently doesn't like the idea of him hooking up with Derek, despite her previous encouragement. He rushes to catch up to Kennedy's quick steps, closing the office door behind them with a soft snick before slumping down in the chair across from her desk. The desk appears sturdy, but he knows it's been battered by years of abuse from busy editors.

"I considered what you pitched—"

Stiles grins, pleased that she likes his idea. He'd asked about doing a story on the health code violations in low-income school districts in the meeting.

"—but I need more information."

"Of course." Stiles sits up as he relays his sources: faculty members and cafeteria workers who were willing to speak to him. He also informs Kennedy of the meetings he's already set up with a former secretary for the superintendent and food suppliers. "I already have evidence in the form of expiration tags and shipping logs that one of my sources has been collecting for me."

She nods, steepling her fingers under her chin. "It's a promising start. Get the first round of interviews on my desk by the end of the month."

"Thank you. I will." Stiles gets up, ready to dive into something that will keep his mind off Derek.


The reprieve doesn't last long.

Once he walks into his condo, his phone rings. Lydia's face fills his screen with an incoming FaceTime request.

"Hello, my beautiful goddess," Stiles says as soon as he accepts the call, smiling. From the looks of it, she's at home in her living room. There's a familiar painting of Oski the bear—UC Berkeley's mascot—on the wall. It was a gift he made for her when Laura dragged him to a paint night on campus.

"What's going on with you and the hot deputy?"

Stiles woefully regrets talking to her the weekend he visited his dad. Lydia had called him out on how sullen he seemed when she came over for dinner. Stiles then confided in her his newfound attraction to men—specifically, Derek.

Unfortunately, their conversation was similar to the one he just had with Laura, reminding him of his past, and he'd rather not have a repeat.

"Nothing's going on. Like I told you, he made it perfectly clear that he wasn't going to hook up with me."

"Well, that sounds like a challenge that you'd usually take up."

Stiles scoffs. "It's not like that. Derek's not a thing. Anyway, hooking up is the last thing on my mind right now," he says, desperately wanting to change the subject. "My article on health code violations in low-income school districts was approved, so I'm—"

"About to get lost in a research spiral."

He smiles at the fact that she knows him so well.

"Don't think this gets you out of talking about Derek," Lydia says, waving her hand dismissively. "Well, go on. Tell me about it."

"So, remember junior year? There was that article that exposed how the cafeteria food contained salmonella, and…" Stiles sits at his dining room table and pulls his laptop from his briefcase, outlining his plan to get samples tested.

When he glances at his phone, he sees that the background has changed to Lydia's home office. Her phone is propped up, and he can see her fingers flying over her own keyboard.

"I'll see what labs are near you."

It reminds him of high school when they would team up to write papers. His phone pings with an incoming text, interrupting them as he types out her suggestions.

Derek: Are you free tonight?

Stiles smirks at his phone.

"Who is that?" Lydia asks.

"No one!" Stiles says hastily. "Listen, I gotta go. More research and, and, uh, stuff."

"Mmhmm…" She purses her lips and raises a perfectly groomed brow. "Tell Derek I said hi."

"Love you, Lyds." He hangs up and responds to Derek's message.

Stiles: It just so happens that I'm free. I'm home if you want to come over. We can watch a movie or something

There. That's friendly enough. No pressure for anything more, though Stiles absolutely would not be opposed.

Derek: Be there in 30.

Stiles: Sounds good

Thankfully, Stiles's condo isn't too messy. Still, he does a quick run-through to make sure all his dirty clothes are off the floor and that his bathroom is clean. He leaves his laptop and papers on the dining room table, figuring he and Derek will eat in the living room while they watch a movie.

"Food, food, food." Stiles bites his bottom lip, going through his pantry and fridge to see what he can make.

The rice noodles call out to him as soon as he spots them. He bustles about the kitchen, getting everything ready to make Pad Thai. As the water boils for the noodles, Stiles mixes the ingredients for the Pad Thai sauce, then slices the chicken into thin strips. He puts on music while he cooks, dancing around as he stirs everything together in his wok.

With perfect timing, he's garnishing Derek's portion with extra bean sprouts—while his own has extra roasted crushed peanuts—when the knock comes.

"Just a second!" Stiles yells, doing one last glance around the large room to make sure the room is clean on his way to the door. He throws it open, smiling brightly at Derek. His hair is damp, like he recently showered. "Hey, you."

It's not like they haven't talked since they hooked up. In fact, they've talked every day, so he has to stifle a laugh when Derek seems nervous, like he's not sure how to greet him.

Stiles rolls his eyes, grabbing Derek by the shirt and pulling him close. He gives him a brief but firm kiss, suddenly conscious of his dry, chapped lips.

"C'mon. Make yourself comfortable." He gestures towards the living room. "I'll grab the food."

"You didn't have to make anything," Derek says, kicking off his shoes by the door before walking over to the couch and sitting.

"Pfft." Stiles shakes his head, grabbing their plates from the kitchen along with a couple of beers. "You just got done with work, right? Did you eat dinner yet?"

"No." Derek's eyes go wide when Stiles hands him the plate piled high with peanuts. "Uhh…thank you."

It's really hard not to find it endearing that Derek would politely take a plateful of something he didn't like. Stiles has no doubt that Derek would even eat the peanuts so he didn't appear rude or ungrateful.

"Dude, I'm just kidding. This one's yours. Chock full of gross bean sprouts."

"Oh, thank God." A look of relief washes over Derek's handsome features.

Stiles snorts, taking the spot next to Derek on the couch. He puts the beers on the table and snags the remote. "You're ridiculous. You would have eaten it too, wouldn't you?"

The tips of Derek's ears tinge pink. "You cooked…" he says with a shrug, not offering any other explanation.

"Again, you're ridiculous." Stiles turns on the TV, pulling up the VUDU app. "Anything in particular you wanna watch?"

After scrolling through his movie selection, they settle on Zoolander after Stiles finds out that Derek's never seen it.

"Derek…Muriel Hale." Yes, Stiles went full name on him; it's that serious. Though, he did have to come up with a middle name on the spot, considering he still doesn't know if Derek even has one.

"Did you just…? That's not even my middle name."

"I watch a lot of Friends, but that's not the point! This is one of my favorite movies. I literally quote it on a weekly basis."

"I don't watch a lot of comedies. I prefer sci-fi and fantasy. Action, too," Derek adds with a shrug.

"Well, it's settled. We're watching Zoolander," Stiles says definitively, starting the movie and sitting back on the couch.

Derek nods, taking a bite of food. "This is so good," he moans.

Stiles bites back a grin.

The movie starts. They eat in companionable silence except when Stiles quotes the lines along with the actors. As soon as Milla Jovovich appears on the screen, he makes a pleased sound.

When Derek looks at him curiously, Stiles motions to the TV. "That red corset…chef's kiss."

Derek makes a considering face and then nods. "Ahh, yeah, she's beautiful."

Stiles does a double-take. "I'm sorry. What? But she's a woman?"

"I'm gay, not blind, dumbass," Derek teases, but Stiles hears the fondness in his tone.

"There you go with the pet names again."

Derek rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips pull up. Stiles leans against his shoulder, batting his eyes. "It's almost as if you like me or something."

"Get off of me," Derek says, laughing as he pushes him away.

Stiles gathers their empty plates. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "Popcorn?" he calls out from the kitchen.

"We literally just ate," Derek says incredulously.

"We've had this conversation before." Stiles pops a package of Redenbacher's in the microwave. "I'm a growing boy, Der."

He listens to the kernels pops, waiting until the popping slows to pull it out, dumping it in a large bowl and sprinkling some salt over top before joining Derek back on the couch.

As they continue to watch the movie, they laugh and make comments about the actors. Derek teases him mercilessly for knowing all the lines, especially when Stiles gets into it.

"What is this?" Stiles asks, mimicking Zoolander as he walks over to the model of his future children's center. "A center for ants?"

"And you called me ridiculous." Derek throws his head back and laughs.

Stiles grins, chucking popcorn at his head. Derek quickly catches it in his mouth.

"Oh ho ho," Stiles says, wholly impressed. He throws more popcorn until Derek retaliates. It's a mess of limbs as they goof off until Stiles realizes that he's straddling Derek's waist. His laughter dies down, and he swallows thickly before Derek surges up, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. It's like he's a live wire, all coiled, sparking energy as lust spikes through his body.

Stiles reluctantly breaks the kiss. "I want you to fuck me."

Derek has this primal and feral look in his eyes until he shakes his head. "Not yet."

Stiles drops his head to Derek's chest, whining.

"I'm not saying no." Derek's hands slide down Stiles's body, cupping his ass. Stiles keens, grinding his hips. "We'll work up to it. Besides, you might not even like it."

The dildo in Stiles's nightstand might beg to differ, but he understands Derek's hesitance.

"Okay. Okay, yeah. But until then…"

"Until then," Derek rocks up into him, his breath ghosting over the shell of Stiles's ear. "There's plenty we can do that doesn't involve penetration."

"Yeah?" He leans in to whisper in Derek's ear. "Show me."

Derek flips them over with a growl, proceeding to show Stiles how much fun they can still have.

Many times and in many ways.

Chapter 10: Derek

Chapter Text

Wake up. Work out, drink a protein shake, brush teeth, shower, get to work on time. Patrol, paperwork, patrol, paperwork. Throw in lunch or dinner, depending on his shift. Drive home. Work out some more. Sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

The only variation in Derek's day is Stiles.

It's easy to get lost in his slow napalm smile, the one that sets Derek's entire body aflame. All Derek's reservations for hooking up have flown out of the window since Stiles is so willing and eager for everything. Like last night, when Derek introduced him to the wonderful world of rimming.

Derek closes his eyes, remembering how responsive Stiles was, writhing and trembling as Derek slowly swept his tongue over Stiles's hole. Derek didn't stop—couldn't stop—even after Stiles's back arched high off the bed, moaning Derek's name as his orgasm crashed over him. It wasn't until Stiles swatted at him that Derek finally pulled away.

He had grinned, pleased with himself when he looked up to see Stiles's hair stuck to his forehead and his face shining with sweat.

He did that. Derek. He'd reduced Stiles to a mewling, quivering mess.

"What the hell's got you so happy?"

Erica's voice snaps Derek back to reality.

Shit. He forgot he was at work.

He looks up from his desk, her eyes almost golden in the sunlight. They remind him of Stiles.

Fuck. Okay, he really needs to focus.

"What? Nothing." Derek scowls, returning his gaze to the paperwork he was filling out. "You act like I'm never happy."

"I never said that. But you're definitely smiling a lot more." She perches on the corner of his desk and snatches the pen out of his hand. "Wanna know what I think?"

No, he absolutely does not.

"Aren't you supposed to be out with Farrow?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair.

Naturally, she doesn't allow the change in subject.

"I heard from Danny, who found out from Jackson, that you and Stiles have been hooking up."

Derek rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure everyone knows that we hooked up that night after Danny's."

It's not really a lie. He's just not ready to divulge the whole truth.

"Oh. So, you're not the reason Stiles is asking Jackson about anal sex and blowjobs?"

Derek stands up quickly, slapping a hand over her mouth as he looks around frantically to make sure no one heard her. "Christ, Erica. We're at work."

She grins beneath his palm.

When the sheriff walks by, Derek releases her, giving him a nervous smile even though he's more than used to their antics.

"Hale. Reyes. Is there a problem?"

"No, sir. Not at all," they both say at the same time.

He raises a brow, looking between them before settling his gaze on Erica. "Reyes, shouldn't you be out with Farrow?"

"Trevor suffered an unfortunate incident with the coffee machine, sir. He's changing real quick before we head out."

"Well, I'm sure there's something else you could do to occupy your time instead of messing around with Hale."

"Of course, sir. I'm sure Boyd would rather I mess with him." She smiles brightly.

The sheriff gives her an unimpressed look, but Derek can tell he's fighting not to smile as he walks away.

While Erica is distracted, Derek snatches his pen back and sits back down, hunching over his paperwork. Her shadow still looms over his desk.

"We're going out tonight," she says, leaning over and whispering in his ear. "Bring Stiles."

"Fine," he says, even though he has no intention of doing so. Things are complicated enough as it is.


It's only been thirty minutes since Derek walked into the club and he already wants to go home. Instead of a fun night laughing and joking with his friends, he sits through them pondering his relationship with Stiles.

Derek rolls his eyes at the conversation. It's all teasing and taunts as they give him shit for dragging Stiles out of Danny's apartment. They playfully tease him when Jackson—who Derek refers to as Jonah or Jasper or Jeffrey, anything other than his given name—informs everyone of the insightful conversations he's had with Stiles regarding his newfound curiosity in all things anal. Thankfully, Derek's spared any further ridicule when the focus shifts to Danny and Jackson, who've apparently rekindled their high school romance.

Derek tunes out the rest of the conversation. His thoughts wander to Stiles as he briefly contemplates ducking out of the club and calling him. Maybe it's kismet when his stomach swoops. It's like a calm breeze washes over him, and all he can think is StilesStilesStiles. Derek's head snaps up, his eyes scanning the club and, sure enough, Stiles is there.

Derek can't help but stare at him. If it wasn't for the lack of graphic tee, Derek would assume Stiles had come straight from work, but the fitted black shirt is by far the tightest thing he's ever seen Stiles wear. Even the chinos Stiles has on appear tighter than Derek remembers.

Stiles walks over, greeting everyone as he makes a place for himself next to Derek.

It's difficult sitting next to Stiles in the booth, being so close but unable to touch him in the way Derek wants. It doesn't get any better when Danny and Jackson leave to dance. Erica and Boyd follow them, and then Isaac gives Derek a glance. Derek glares at him; it's a look that screams, I dare you to ask me, knowing what Isaac wants since they're the default pairing whenever they go dancing.

Isaac rolls his eyes and sighs, asking Stiles instead.

It's not so bad at first. 'Dancing' turns out to be more like flailing with the way Stiles moves.

Though the room is dark, lit only by black lights and a flashing strobe, Derek can make out Stiles through the throngs of gyrating bodies on the dance floor. Isaac's gone; in his place is some woman. Stiles's hands rest on her hips as they sway to the obnoxious music the DJ pumps through the speakers.

"I hate you," Derek mutters when Erica returns.

Erica sits across from him in the red leather booth. The color matches her lipstick perfectly, along with the manicured nail she taps on the table. She raises a brow at him, looking far too smug.

"See, here's the thing. I know you, Derek. You may have said 'fine' when I told you to bring Stiles, but that was just so I wouldn't keep bothering you. So, yeah, I invited him myself. You're welcome."

"'You're welcome?'" Derek scoffs, looking back at Stiles who's still dancing with that woman. He grips the glass in his hand and slams back the remainder of his drink, unable to stop himself from wondering if Stiles misses being with a woman.

Erica clears her throat, drawing his attention again. "Whatever stupid shit's going through your head, just stop. That man might hate commitment, but anyone with eyes can see he's crazy about you."

Sometimes he hates how easily Erica can read him.

"Besides. Look."

The woman is nowhere to be seen when Derek turns back to look at Stiles. As soon as they lock eyes, Stiles smiles brightly and waves enthusiastically. The dork.

But then a guy comes up behind Stiles, pressing up against him. The man's hands grip Stiles's hips, directing his movements as he leans in. His mouth moves, seemingly whispering in Stiles's ear.

In a perfect world, Derek would take a deep breath, slam back another drink, and remind himself that Stiles isn't his. Whatever this is between them is temporary because Stiles doesn't do relationships. Unfortunately, at this moment, the haze of jealousy is so strong that he sees red. It quickly becomes impossible to think logically.

Derek pushes away from the table and stalks through the throngs of people. Maybe it's something in his expression, but they damn near part like the Red Sea. As soon as Derek is in front of Stiles, it's like a magnetic pull, drawing them together, the other man completely forgotten.

It's an awkward dance for a moment as Derek sways his hips without rhythm. He can't be blamed, though. It's hard to concentrate with Stiles so close, especially after holding back while they were sitting. It's when Stiles slots a leg between his and grinds that Derek loses all rational thought. Though public displays of affection are very out of character for him, Derek draws Stiles in by the back of his neck. He kisses him greedily and possessively, not caring that they're in the middle of a packed club surrounded by strangers.

There's nothing innocent about the kiss. Between the slow glide of their tongues and the heat of Stiles's body, Derek wants so much more.

Instead of continuing to stand under the haze of strobe lights, Derek loops an arm around Stiles's waist, hauling him back towards the bathrooms for privacy.

"What are we doing?" Stiles asks, nibbling on Derek's earlobe.

Derek groans, ready to press Stiles against the nearest wall, but warning bells go off in his mind—reminders that he's a deputy and that he should know better. The last thing he's thinking about is his job and the consequences of what he's about to do.

They stumble into the bathroom. Derek squints against the glaring fluorescent lights that illuminate the room, a stark contrast against the darkness of the bar. The walls mute the too-loud music of whatever song spills through the speakers. It takes a second to get his bearings, but he backs Stiles into the closest stall as soon as he does. The kiss is more aggressive and possessive than Derek intends, but Stiles's arms are tight around his neck as he moans in earnest. They make out for minutes, or maybe it's hours. Time loses meaning when he's with Stiles.

Derek rubs his palms over Stiles's chest, sweeping over a stiff nipple in a way that makes Stiles shudder. He continues his path down to Stiles's hips, gripping a handful of his ass and sucks in a sharp breath when their dicks rub together through their clothes.

Derek pulls away when his lungs scream for oxygen and takes a moment to look at Stiles.

Stiles's eyes are the definition of bedroom eyes: glassy, pupils dilated, lids half-lowered, his gaze directed under his long eyelashes. He strokes Derek's cheek, his fingers brushing up against Derek's stubble.

"Do you like this?" Derek asks, bucking his hips rhythmically.

Stiles bites his lip and groans. "Fuck, yes. Do it again."

Derek does.

"I want you to fuck me."

"You want me to fuck you?" Derek breathes against the shell of Stiles's ear. "You want me to bury myself inside you, dragging out those greedy little moans that drive me crazy?"

"Yes," Stiles hisses.

Derek kisses Stiles again. As much as he wants that too, there's no way he's fucking Stiles for the first time in a dirty bathroom in the back of a club. Instead, he unbuttons and unzips Stiles's pants, pushing them down along with his boxers. He ruts against Stiles's leg as he wraps a fist around Stiles's dick, jerking him off, slow and steady until Stiles whines into his mouth.

Desperate pleas fill the air as Stiles begs for release. Derek wants it. He encourages it, grinning when Stiles's body goes taut, coming hard. Derek chants Stiles's name, embracing the tingles down his spine and finally surrendering to the orgasm crashing through his body.

The high is short-lived when the bathroom door slams open. Raucous laughter pours in along with the loud music as whoever entered makes their way over to the urinals.

Derek's heart races at almost being caught, but it's so worth it to see the fucked-out look on Stiles's face and the way his chest rises and falls erratically as he tries to catch his breath. As quietly as he can, Derek grabs some toilet paper to clean them up. Before he gets a chance to wipe the cum from his hand, Stiles grips his wrist, brings it to his mouth, and licks Derek's palm.

'I hate you,' Derek mouths. His traitorous dick jumps at the sight, proving otherwise.

Stiles smirks.

The sound of running water fills the silence as they wait for the person to wash their hands and leave. Once they're alone again, Derek breathes a sigh of relief.

Stiles pulls his pants back up, buttoning them while Derek finishes cleaning himself up as best he can after cumming his pants.

Yeah, he's definitely going home now.

It seems Stiles has the same idea when he says, "So…your place or mine?"


Derek groans as he awakens to the shrill sound of his phone ringing. He slaps out his hand, silencing it.

Who the fuck…?

Even though the sun streams through the curtains, it's far too early to be awake. After he and Stiles left the club the night before, they went back to Derek's apartment for rounds two and three, which featured Stiles showing off his newly acquired blowjob skills.

It was amazing. Of course it was, considering Stiles's enthusiasm and eagerness to please. The reality of Stiles's lips wrapped around his dick was so much better than the images Derek had conjured up over the past few weeks.

His phone rings again, this time followed by the sounds of someone banging on his front door. Derek contemplates ignoring it, especially with Stiles sprawled over him, but a quick glance at his phone says that idea would be fruitless.

Laura's face flashes on the screen. It's a safe assumption that the obnoxious knocking is also her.

As carefully as he can, Derek slips out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants. He smiles softly when Stiles mutters his name and then wraps himself around the pillow Derek was using, moving into the warm spot he's leaving behind.

Yeah, Derek definitely hates his sister right now.

He closes his bedroom door with a soft snick so they don't wake Stiles.

"Good thing this wasn't an emergency," Laura says as soon as the door is opened.

Derek steps aside to let her in. "Good morning to you, too."

She marches right over to the kitchen, slamming cabinets open then closed. "I need caffeine."

Derek casts a quick glance over his shoulder towards the bedroom, grimacing at all the noise she makes. He covers her hand with his own to prevent her from slamming another one shut. "You act as if you've never been here before." He points to the cabinet with the mugs while he grabs the carafe to fill it with water so he can brew some coffee.

"Do you have someone here?" she asks.

Shit. She must have seen him look towards his room.

"So what if I do?"

"I didn't realize you were seeing someone." Her voice is accusatory, though he doesn't know why.

"I'm not."

"Uh-huh. Sure. You forget that I know you. There's not a casual bone in your body."

Derek flips her off.

"I mean, I know there's a reason that you wouldn't hook up with Stiles."

Ah. There it is. It's actually kind of cute that Laura's offended on Stiles's behalf. If she only knew the truth.

"It's good that you didn't, though. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's my best friend. But he sleeps around a lot and has vowed to never fall in love, and you're kind of a serial monogamist, so…" She shrugs like it's not a big deal. "I'd just hate to have to break his face for breaking your heart, y'know?"

Derek's not really sure how to respond, so he stays silent.

"I will say, though, I've never seen him take an interest in someone like this before. I just want him to be happy." She shrugs and puts down the coffee cup she pulled out of the cabinet. "Anyway! I didn't realize you had someone over, so I'll get out of your hair." She presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek when she passes. "Oh! And mom wanted me to remind you about the family dinner next week, so don't forget, okay?"

"I won't."

As quickly as she arrived, Laura's gone, leaving Derek standing in the kitchen alone.

The bedroom door creaks open, revealing a sheepish-looking Stiles. He rubs the back of his neck, making his shirt ride up. Or, rather, Derek's shirt, and his sweatpants, too. It probably shouldn't turn him on so much to have Stiles wearing his clothes, but it does.

"Yeah, that's not awkward at all."

Derek clears his throat, turning back to the coffee maker. "She's always been overprotective."

"It's understandable." Stiles presses himself against Derek's back. "Besides, it's nothing she hasn't already said to me."

"Wait, what?" Derek looks over his shoulder. "What do you mean? What'd she say to you?"

"Exactly what she just told you: that she's glad we didn't hook up. I probably should have told you."

Derek frowns when Stiles pushes away, especially when he turns around and sees the dejected look on Stiles's face. "Wha—?"

"We probably shouldn't do this anymore."

Oh, hell no.

Derek reaches out for Stiles, drawing him close. "Hey. I don't care what Laura says or thinks. She's not my keeper."

"No, but she's your sister. And she's right. I don't do relationships, Derek, and 'flings aren't your thing.'"

Derek scoffs. "I can do a casual relationship. Like friends with benefits."

"Do we have to label it?" Stiles asks with a groan. His head thumps on Derek's shoulder. "I mean, that doesn't sound right, either."

"I don't really care what we call it. Though…" Derek hesitates for a moment, rubbing Stiles's back. Yeah, he's fine with casual, but after last night, it's clear he's not okay with the idea of Stiles being with anyone else either.

"Though…?" Stiles lifts his head, tilting it slightly.

"I'd prefer that as long as we're doing…whatever this is, that it's just between the two of us. If that's alright." It really wouldn't be a shock to Derek if Stiles flees now that he's mentioned exclusivity, but Stiles surprises him.

"Oh. Yeah, of course. That's fine with me. I don't like to share anyway."

"And we don't tell Laura."

This time Stiles looks surprised. "You don't—"

"You know how Laura is. She'll plant herself in the middle of this, of us, with questions and criticisms and judgments." Derek can already hear her complaints about having to choose sides when all this ends.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course, I am." After twenty-four years, Derek would like to think he knows his sister pretty well.

Stiles snorts. "Do you have to work today?"

"No."

"Good. Neither do I." Stiles grabs Derek's hands and leads him back towards the bedroom, wearing a smirk full of promises.

Derek barks out a laugh. "You're insatiable."

"Yeah, but I think you like that about me."

He does. He really, really does.

Chapter 11: Stiles

Chapter Text

It's been a week since they've last seen each other because Derek's been working late shifts and Stiles has been buried in research for his article. Still, Stiles decided to put off researching today since Derek had an early shift. Stiles is planning a relaxing night for them that involves spending some time at the batting cages and a home-cooked meal. A meal he intends to make Derek help with.

They arrive at the sporting complex and make their way to the cages. When Derek runs his hands over the row of bats lined up outside the cage, Stiles pokes fun at him.

"Is this an 'If you build it, they will come' type thing?" he asks. They'd just watched Field of Dreams the other day. "You waiting for a bat to speak to you?"

"Nope. The bats who speak to you are shit because they won't stop talking to keep their eye on the ball."

"Funny guy."

"You started it." Derek picks up a bat and closes himself in the cage.

Surprisingly, Stiles's gaze isn't stuck on Derek's firm ass the whole time as he takes swing after swing. From his long arms to his powerful muscles, Derek's impressive with a bat. And now Stiles is thinking about his bat and wondering how much longer it'll be before they can leave.

While he loves baseball, Stiles never thought it could be such a turn-on.

Derek comes out of the cage sweaty but happy. His entire face glows, and his posture is somehow proud and relaxed at the same time. "Your turn."

Stiles isn't as lucky in his swings. Each ball whizzes past his face, hitting the net behind him with a loud thwap. Eventually, he gets the hang of it, managing a few hits before he calls it quits.

It only takes a few minutes to put their bats back, then they pile into the Jeep to head back to Stiles's condo for dinner.

"So, what are we making?" Derek asks.

"Um, bacon-wrapped pork chops stuffed with gouda, with a side of asparagus and mashed potatoes. And you're helping me."

Stiles already ogled Derek's arms while he was batting, so he tries not to stare when they work together to get the potatoes peeled. Once the spuds are in the pot boiling, Stiles has Derek light the grill on his patio while he stays in the kitchen to mix the cheese, parsley, and black pepper.

"The grill is lit," Derek announces when he comes back inside.

"Awesome sauce." Stiles directs him on how to properly slice into the pork chops: going all the way to the bone but leaving the sides intact. They each stuff the cheese mixture into the pockets Derek's made and close them with a wooden toothpick. "I'll let you wrap these bad boys in bacon while I get the asparagus ready."

Stiles coats the spears with olive oil, parmesan cheese, garlic, salt, and pepper, smiling as he watches Derek. Then he arranges the spears onto a baking sheet and directs Derek to brush the meat with oil.

"Okay, now you wanna season with salt and more black pepper," he says, slipping the baking sheet into the preheated oven.

Stiles checks the potatoes, deeming them ready. "You wanna grill these, or would you rather mash the potatoes?"

"Hmm." Derek makes a considering face. "Potatoes might be safer for me. I honestly can't cook. I pretty much live on take-out."

Stiles grabs his heart. "Dude, seriously, you're killing me. Alright, drain the potatoes first, then mash them. You do know how to use a potato masher, right?"

Derek flicks him off. "It's the only thing my mom lets me help with for Thanksgiving. Peeling and mashing the potatoes."

"Okay, well, you do that, and I'll grill the pork chops. The asparagus should be done soon; just set them on the counter."

Derek gives him a two-finger salute.

The pork chops grill beautifully, and thanks to an apparently secret family recipe that Derek refuses to divulge, the potatoes are light and fluffy and full of buttery goodness.

They sit on the couch since Stiles doesn't have a dining table.

Derek moans upon taking his first bite, and the sound goes straight to Stiles's dick.

"Good, yeah? Maybe we'll make a cook out of you," Stiles jokes. He's pretty sure the dining establishments near Derek's apartments would go out of business if he suddenly stopped ordering in.

Derek flicks him off again and Stiles grins.

When they're done eating, Derek wipes down the table and counters while Stiles loads the dishwasher.

"So, what was all this?" Derek asks.

Stiles washes and dries his hands before answering.

"I, um, I wanted to plan something nice for us. Something other than hanging out with your friends. Not that I don't like them, or something, but I just—I don't know. I wanted a night that was just us."

"A date? Is that what this was? Because that sounds an awful lot like something people in relationships do. Y'know, like boyfriends," Derek points out.

Stiles sucks in a breath. It's so stupid that the word boyfriend makes his pulse skyrocket. Especially because he genuinely likes Derek. If he were to date anyone, it'd be him. Derek is the only person he's ever wanted to be with since high school.

It's not even that Derek's mere presence turns him on. Despite his gruff exterior, Derek's kind and patient. Every look, touch, and sensation is a new experience. Stiles often finds himself thinking about Derek randomly throughout the day and checking his phone to make sure he hasn't missed a call or text. He finds himself looking forward to spending time with him—which is saying something, considering his bedroom door used to be a revolving one. Besides Jackson, Stiles has never hooked up with the same person twice, and now—no matter how many times they've fallen into bed—he can't seem to get enough of Derek.

"Oh, shut up."

Derek barks out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah. We're friends. With benefits. In fact…" A slow grin spreads across his stupidly handsome face and his gaze is heated. "I think we should make use of those benefits right now."

Faster than Stiles previously thought was humanly possible, they race to the bedroom and shed their clothes. Stiles pushes Derek down on his bed, climbing over the top to straddle his waist.

"I missed this," he says, crushing their lips together.

Derek's touch is reverent. His big hands slide around Stiles's hips like he's trying to memorize the shape of them. "Me too," he murmurs against Stiles's lips.

They rut against each other, but Stiles wants more. His sexual exploration hasn't been daunting at all. In fact, he's quickly found that when it comes to Derek, he wants everything. But Derek still insists on going slow, as if Stiles is suddenly going to decide that no, he doesn't actually like dick.

In truth, his entire body floods with want at the thought of Derek fucking him. Over the past couple of weeks, Stiles has become an expert at handjobs and blowjobs, but they have yet to take it any further. He understood Derek's initial hesitance in not wanting to push him too far too soon, but now he's beyond frustrated.

He breaks the kiss, panting harshly as he hovers over Derek. "Are we ever gonna have sex? Like, penetrative sex?"

"I don't wanna do anything you're not ready for," Derek repeats.

"Derek, I want this. Isn't that clear by now?" Stiles huffs. "I've been preparing for this. Watched a lot of gay porn and like…talked to people." One person. Jackson. Stiles had soaked up everything about handjobs and blowjobs and rimming, using all his knowledge to—hopefully—impress Derek whenever they finally hooked up. Now, he's ready for more. "Like so much. And I-I really wanna try this."

"Porn can be misleading," Derek says, rubbing his hands up and down on Stiles's hips. "They generally edit out the prepping part."

Stiles legitimately whines, collapsing against Derek's chest. "I swear to God, you're so fucking stubborn. For one, I think it's clear by now that I, one hundred percent, enjoy your fingers in my ass. And did you miss the part where I said I've been preparing?"

"What does that even mean?"

"It means…" Stiles pushes up. He hovers over Derek, noticing how his irises are damn near black, his pupils blown wide with lust. If it weren't for that reason, he'd probably be embarrassed by his newfound love of ass play. "…that I went shopping."

"Shopping?" Derek asks, quirking a brow.

Stiles reaches over to his nightstand, flinging the drawer open so hard that it slides out, its contents spilling onto the floor. Derek leans over the bed, and Stiles hears him inhale sharply.

Derek's gaze snaps back to Stiles, his mouth hanging wide. "Is that—did you buy a dildo?"

"And plugs. Um, the butt kind, not electrical."

Derek growls. He wraps an arm around Stiles and flips them over, pressing Stiles down into the mattress. He licks the shell of Stiles's ear before sucking on his earlobe. "Have you used them?"

Stiles lets out a shuddery breath. "Y-yeah. I can take the, um, the large size. I was gonna—hnnng! Oh God!—IwasgonnawearoneforourdatebutIthoughtit'dbeabadidea!" The words rush out of his mouth as Derek kisses down his chest, sucking his nipples. His whole body trembles with anticipation.

"Roll over," Derek orders, his voice hoarse.

Stiles shivers and flips onto his stomach. He tenses at movement behind him, the bed dipping when Derek leans over the edge. The dildo, along with a condom and lube, is tossed on the bed beside him.

Derek pulls him up until he's on his hands and knees. Stiles instinctively spreads his legs wide as Derek palms his asscheeks.

"Jesus. You have no idea how hot you look right now."

The telltale sound of the lube cap opening already has his dick leaking.

Hmm, interesting. Stiles has developed a Pavlovian response to lube.

There's no time to dwell on it because Derek's finger slides inside of him.

Oh, fuck yes.

Ever since that first night, when Derek fingered him, Stiles goes there every chance he gets. Now he craves the pressure there, and when Derek hits that spot inside him, he swears sex has never been this awesome.

But it'll be different this time.

It'll be more.

When Derek removes his finger, Stiles lets out an unmanly whimper. He covers it by grunting—deep and guttural—earning a chuckle from Derek.

"Just a sec, Mr. Impatient." Derek fiddles with the lube again, and then the cool, soft feel of silicone trails down Stiles's ass.

"Goddamn it, sonofamotherfucking fucker," Stiles rambles as Derek inserts the toy, inch by delicious inch.

He can hear the smirk in Derek's tone. "I love it when you don't make sense."

As Derek twists the dildo, Stiles looks over his shoulder and freezes. It's an odd moment to have an epiphany. But given the intimacy of it—Derek playing with his ass, getting him ready so they can fuck—he suddenly doesn't give a shit about labels. He looks at Derek and realizes how much he wants him. And not just for tonight.

This feeling of wanting to belong to someone is strange, just like the possessiveness that comes with wanting to be the only one who puts that look of desire on Derek's face. Stiles has no idea if this is temporary or long-term, but he doesn't want it to go away. He's never wanted anyone more than he wants Derek.

It's not even about sex. If it was, Stiles would've ditched Derek as soon as he found out about his issues and hooked up with Isaac or found some chick to bang. He wouldn't have listened to any of Derek's concerns about not doing anything he's uncomfortable with. He wouldn't have taken the time to make sure he's prepared and ready just so Derek would take this next step with him. Something like this might be insignificant to most people, but for Stiles? It's momentous.

His breath hitches when Derek finally pulls the dildo free. He drops his head when Derek kisses the small of his back.

Derek presses against him, one arm slung around his waist as he whispers in Stiles's ear, "Are you sure?"

Stiles looks at him and nods. "I want this. I want you."

The warmth of Derek's body leaves him momentarily. Then he feels the blunt tip of Derek's dick against his hole. There's a bright sting of pain blending with an intense pressure that carries the promise of pleasure beneath it. Forget about catching his breath—Stiles has forgotten how to breathe entirely.

"I'll go slow," Derek murmurs, pressing kisses against his back.

Naturally, Stiles tenses.

"I need you to relax, or it'll hurt."

Stiles nods. "How far in are you?"

"Just the tip." Derek doesn't push in any further but starts massaging Stiles's ass and lower back, trying to get him to relax. He squirts more lube into Stiles's crease, and it works enough for him to slide in a bit more.

Derek's groan has Stiles's dick twitching. The poor thing is confused; it doesn't know whether to be turned on or go flaccid from the pain in his ass. The sting of the stretch makes his arousal waver since Derek's much bigger than any of his plugs, much bigger than the dildo, but he knows it'll be worth it as soon as—

"Oh, fuck!" Stiles cries out as Derek brushes against his prostate.

Instead of moving, Derek reaches around, fisting Stiles's dick. "You have no idea how good you look right now."

Stiles's chest rises and falls in shallow pants. His face and skin burn up as he drops his head, biting his bottom lip. His ass still aches, but it's an exquisite agony that makes his dick throb and leak. "Fucking hell."

The stretching pain diminishes as Derek rolls his hips in small, shallow thrusts, a rhythm that forces Stiles to accept the fullness of him.

"Does it hurt?"

Stiles shakes his head vigorously. "Fuck no. I want more."

Derek tests out a bigger thrust. It feels so fucking good. The pain is completely gone, replaced with a growing need for more.

"Keep going," he pants.

Derek slowly picks up the pace as the heat builds inside of Stiles, and then Derek shifts on his feet and tilts Stiles's hips a little. When he pushes back in, Stiles's entire body lights up.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Yesyesyes.

Derek's fingers dig hard into Stiles's hips, his dick dragging against that spot inside Stiles that sends small shocks of sharp pleasure through his body. Derek reaches around again and starts stroking in time with his thrusts, which are now frantic and needy. Heat pools in Stiles's groin, and his balls draw up tight. His whole body is on the precipice of euphoria. Finally, Stiles lets go, his body tightening and giving in simultaneously as his orgasm shoots through him.

Derek follows soon after, shuddering above him before collapsing onto his back. Unable to support both their weights after such an intense orgasm, Stiles falls in a heap onto the mattress.

Derek rolls off of him and onto his back, breathing heavily. Stiles can't help but wince when Derek's dick leaves him. Yeah, he's definitely going to be sore tomorrow, but right now, he couldn't care less.

"Did I hurt you?" Derek asks quietly, running a hand down Stiles's back.

Stiles shakes his head. "A little sore, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. That was…indescribable. I didn't realize it would be like that."

"But it was good?"

"So good. Better than good. I'd high-five you again, but I can't feel my arms. I'm not even sure I can feel my face."

Derek snorts, rolling out of bed. "Let's get you cleaned up."

The faucet in the bathroom turns on, shutting off after a second. Stiles closes his eyes, sighing contentedly when a wet washcloth is dragged over his ass. He turns slightly to pull Derek down for a kiss, startling when his phone rings.

"You gonna get that?" Derek mutters against his lips.

Stiles shakes his head, deepening the kiss. Every important contact has their own unique ringtone, so the call likely isn't critical. Except his phone pings again, probably a voicemail. Stiles continues to ignore it, but when it pings a second time, Derek pulls away.

"Are you sure you shouldn't check?"

Like a petulant child, Stiles whines. "Fi-ine."

Derek chuckles, moving off of him so he can grab his phone. "Don't be a baby."

"It's the property manager," Stiles says, flipping onto his stomach to check his notifications. "They have this stupid system where they call, text, and then email any notices." He ignores the text and voicemail, knowing they're just asking him to 'please check your email for an important notice.'

"That sounds annoying."

Stiles hums his agreement. He reads the notice informing him that maintenance found a problem in the unit next to his after his neighbor, a man he only ever saw in passing, moved out. There's mold in the walls and, effective immediately, Stiles will need to vacate his condo while they take care of the problem.

"Oh, fuck me."

"Already did that," Derek says, the smirk evident in his voice. "What is it?"

As Derek presses up against him, stroking a hand down his spine and kissing his shoulder, Stiles angles the phone for him to read the email.

"Damn. That doesn't sound good. But hey, it says it should only take a few days. Just come stay with me."

Stiles's lips quirk. "Oh? Are you going to use my misfortune for your benefit, Deputy Hale?"

"Damn straight." Derek kisses the back of Stiles's neck before pulling away, heading for Stiles's closet. "Now, where's your suitcase?"

Though it might be better for him to stay with Laura or even get a room at a hotel, the idea of being away from Derek after sharing such an intimate moment isn't appealing. Stiles would much rather spend the next few nights continuing to explore his newfound love of bottoming. With renewed energy, he quickly jumps up to help pack a bag.

Chapter 12: Derek

Chapter Text

Apparently, the mold is worse than anticipated. A few days turn into a week, which then turns into nearly two weeks. Not that Derek is complaining. He enjoys waking up next to Stiles every day, though he wonders if they're moving too fast.

Somehow, they've already become accustomed to each other, forming new habits. On the days Derek works early, Stiles makes breakfast while Derek works out. Then they eat together before Derek jumps in the shower. Stiles crawls back into bed, and Derek knows not to wake him as he finishes getting dressed and heads off to work.

If Derek has a late shift, Stiles sets his alarm an hour earlier to get up and cook breakfast. Derek joins him. Before walking over to make coffee, Derek always takes a moment to appreciate how adorably disheveled Stiles looks with his hair in disarray. It stands on end as he complains about Derek's outdated appliances and lack of counter space. Derek always kisses the nape of Stiles's neck, sliding him a mug along with creamer and sugar as he waits patiently for breakfast to be ready.

After almost two weeks, that hasn't changed.

It probably only works because, other than breakfast, they barely see each other. In fact, if it weren't for their breakfast routine, Derek probably wouldn't have seen Stiles at all.

Is it weird that they already have a routine? Probably.

Does he care? Not really.

Of the ten days that Stiles has been there, they've probably only spent a handful of them together, thanks to crappy work schedules. The time they have mostly consists of them eating dinner with their feet propped up on the coffee table, wearing only their boxers, with their thighs flush against each other. Or, they lay sprawled out together in bed, with Stiles snaking a leg between Derek's and cuddling as they watch whatever cooking program Stiles has on.

Oh, and, of course, there's the sex.

That means fucking and sucking each other at will: in Derek's room, in the Jeep, in the Camaro (an impossible fit, but they did it!), and even the shower. It turns out the poor, old water heater for Derek's apartment didn't have as much stamina as they did, something they inconveniently discovered mid-fuck with Stiles's hands braced against the wall, the water cascading down Derek's back as he pumped into him. With little warning, the water had turned lukewarm for three seconds before shooting straight to an arctic-ice flow. They both shrieked like hyenas and stumbled out; Derek had to catch Stiles as he slid on the tile.

Derek contacted his leasing office after that. The new water heater works great.

Derek has never been so consistently and rampantly horny, yet so satisfied at the same time. He can't help but wonder how long it'll last.


It's ten past seven when Derek unlocks his front door. It's the earliest he's gotten home in the past few days, but he had promised Stiles the night before that he'd try to leave work early today. The guilt had weighed on him as he crawled into bed behind a sleepy Stiles, who mumbled something about food and trying to stay awake. Derek could only assume it was so they could spend some time together. In an effort to keep that promise, he'd gotten Boyd to cover the remainder of his shift, much to Erica's annoyance.

The aroma of garlic is overwhelming as soon as Derek enters his apartment.

"Thank God. I was hoping that smell was coming from my kitchen."

When he rounds the corner, he stops and leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Stiles moves around the small space as if he owns it. Derek watches Stiles's ass as he shimmies and shakes to whatever song is playing through the earphones plugged into his ears, concealing Derek's arrival.

By the time Stiles notices him, Derek's dick is at full attention. "I think I should switch my shift more often."

"Huh?" Stiles yells, yanking out an earphone. "What'd you say?

Derek chuckles. He pushes off the wall and walks over, pulling Stiles into his arms and kissing him deeply. "I could get used to this."

"What?"

"Coming home to a hot guy cooking me dinner."

"So…funny story."

Derek's heart sinks at the guilty look on Stiles's face.

"Is this a goodbye dinner? Is your condo ready?"

"Uh, no. Actually, I got another email from them. It'll be a few more days, but this isn't about that."

Relief floods through Derek because it means Stiles is staying without Derek having to admit he wants him there. He worries the admission will scare Stiles off. For a supposed man-whore, Stiles has adjusted to the situation surprisingly well. Still, part of Derek wonders if Stiles is freaking out about being thrust into a semi-serious relationship when they had agreed to take things slow. They haven't used the 'B' word yet, but they're practically living together. Derek keeps waiting for 'I need space' to come out of Stiles's mouth.

Okay, maybe Derek's getting ahead of himself, but he's always been a relationship guy. Sure, he's had his share of hookups, but he wants someone to come home to at night. This is why he resisted Stiles for so long. Even during the few times they hooked up before Stiles started staying with him, it feels like they've started in the middle. Being thrust together hasn't helped in trying to take things slow, but the thing is, Derek doesn't give a shit about slow anymore, not when he's had Stiles in his bed every night.

For someone who insists they're not good at relationships, Stiles is so thoughtful, and he looks at Derek like he's the only guy in the world. If Stiles didn't want Derek to fall in love with him, he's done a crappy job of keeping that from happening. But he knows better than to say anything, lest he upset the delicate balance of their relationship.

"You know how we decided not to tell Laura about…this, because she's so intense?" Stiles says.

Right, that's another thing—they haven't told his sister or family that they've been seeing each other. Except for the sheriff, that is, but Stiles never told his father the truth as far as Derek knows. That's something they should probably talk about. Among other things.

"I believe the word we used was insane, but yes, go on."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, well, she may have cornered me at work today. I didn't think when I got dressed this morning, and I wore one of your shirts. I didn't realize she paid that much attention to your clothes, but I guess she bought the damn thing for you."

Derek steps back, looking at Stiles's clothes, and sure enough, it's his maroon sweater. Laura got it, saying it would help him look more approachable. Something about the thumbholes helping him look soft.

"Shit. So, she knows? About us?"

"Yup." Stiles looks back at the clock on the stove. "And she's coming over for dinner. In like fifteen minutes."

"She's going to yell at both of us."

Another snort. "I think I already endured my share at work. Pretty sure this is all for you."

"Great."

"If you want…" Stiles's eyes glance down at the bulge in Derek's pants before turning off the oven. Then he sinks to his knees and looks up at Derek through hooded eyes. "I can take care of your little problem before—"

His words are interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

Derek groans, throwing his head back. "Goddammit."

"Might wanna adjust yourself there," Stiles says, pulling himself up.

Derek flicks him off. "I need a beer for this. Grab the door?"

"Yup."

As Stiles walks off, Derek does some strategic readjusting to conceal his hard-on.

"You are in so much trouble." Laura's voice comes from the entryway to the kitchen.

"What are you going to do? Beat me up?" Derek asks without turning her way.

"Oh, I don't need to do that. I've done one better."

"Hi, Derek, honey," says a feminine voice he knows well.

Derek spins and sees two people he hasn't seen in a while. Not because he avoids them, but because he's always too busy to make the two-hour trek to Sacramento.

"Hi, Mom. Dad."

Shit.

"So, uh," Stiles appears in the small space that feels like it's only getting smaller by the second and runs a hand over his hair. "I didn't cook enough for all of us."

"It'll keep for tomorrow. We're going out for dinner," Laura announces. "Mom and Dad can't wait to get to know Stiles better."

In other words, they can't wait to grill him.

Laura flashes her trademark grin: part-triumphant, part-smug, and part-vindictive. No one does punishment like his sister.


"So, this is the new boyfriend," Nate's mom, Aunt Evie, says once the waitress takes their drink orders.

Derek sits at the table, sandwiched between Stiles and Laura. It was an unpleasant surprise to find out that Nate's family was also invited to dinner; though, he's silently grateful that Angie's not present. Their first meeting was awkward enough as it is.

Laura is seriously the worst sister ever.

"The new boyfriend Derek didn't tell us about," his mom says, piercing him with her dark eyes. "We had to hear it from Laura."

"We're really new," Derek says, swallowing hard as he casts a curious glance at Stiles to see whatever look is on his face at being called Derek's boyfriend. Hope springs eternal because Stiles appears unaffected, like the label doesn't faze him.

"Oh, but Nate says he met you a few weeks back," Uncle Nick says conversationally.

Crap. Derek doesn't know what lies to keep up with now, so he says nothing.

Unfortunately, his dad's question doesn't help steer the conversation away from them. "So, how did the two of you meet?"

Laura answers with a giggle. "Funniest story ever."

"Laura," Derek warns, but it's not as if he can tell her why she can't tell the story. He clenches his jaw, pointedly avoiding Nate's knowing gaze and the reminder that Nate thinks Stiles is straight and pretending to be his boyfriend. It's a painful reminder that they've yet to define their relationship.

"So, when Stiles—" Laura begins, but Stiles cuts her off with a glare.

"I needed a fake boyfriend to go to an ex's wedding."

"An ex-girlfriend," Laura says. "He lied and told her he was gay to break up with her when they were eighteen. Stiles didn't know he was bi until he met Derek." She laughs again.

"That seems to be a favorite pastime of Derek's, hitting on straight guys," Nate says.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Laura and Stiles ask at the same time.

Thankfully, the waitress comes back over. As soon as his beer is placed in front of him, Derek chugs it.

"It was a joke. Geez," Nate says, but there was nothing funny about it.

Laura stands. She places her hands on the table and sneers, "It's you, isn't it?"

"Laura," Derek says. "Stop."

Betrayal shines in her eyes. "Oh my God, it makes so much sense. You used to be so close. You really think Derek tried to turn you?" she yells at Nate.

"Can we please not do this here?" Derek asks. His eyes dart around the small restaurant and he wishes the ground would swallow him whole. He really does not need his sister involved in this.

Thankfully, Stiles must sense his distress. He stands, giving Laura a sharp look. "Laura. Outside. Now."

As soon as Laura and Stiles are gone, Derek starts to sweat.

"What's going on with you two?" his mom asks.

"It's nothing," Nate says.

"Bullshit, it's nothing," Derek's dad growls, glancing between the two of them.

"He kissed me," Nate blurts.

Kill. Me. Now.

"Actually, you kissed me." And liked it. It's probably best if Derek doesn't mention that point. Instead of staying there and being subjected to any more humiliation, Derek pushes away from the table. He mutters a quick apology and goodbye to their parents as he leaves.

"I'm going home," he says to his sister when he finds her and Stiles outside. "Can you go back in there and—"

"I'll figure it out." She wraps her arms around him. "I'm so sorry, Derek."

"I know." Derek kisses her cheek, playfully pushing her away so she knows they're okay.

As soon as she's gone, Stiles takes Derek's hand. "You okay?"

"Yes," he says automatically. "Actually, no. I don't know."

"C'mon. I think I know a way to cheer you up."


As soon as they're back in Derek's apartment, Stiles starts stripping out of his clothes, leaving a trail on his way to the bedroom. Between his pert cheeks is the familiar flared end of his favorite butt plug.

Derek trips in his haste to follow, stumbling into the back of the couch. By the time he gets to the bedroom, Stiles is sprawled on the bed, lazily stroking his dick, the plug tossed to the side like a second thought.

"Fuck." Derek kicks off his shoes and yanks his shirt over his head. His pants fall as soon as they're unbuttoned, and he jumps out from where they pool on the floor. He crawls up the bed, kissing up the length of Stiles's body. "You have the best ideas."

"You didn't say that when we almost got caught in the bathroom that one time." Stiles's breath hitches as Derek sucks a nipple into his mouth.

"Didn't wanna get arrested for public indecency." Derek sits up, slapping Stiles's hand away so he can wrap a hand around both of their dicks. He strokes slowly, holding his free hand out.

Stiles grabs the lube, squirting some into Derek's palm.

Derek watches as Stiles's lips part, a little gasp that turns into a low moan.

"I wanna have sex," Stiles says, "but I didn't know what time you were getting home. I had this thing up my ass all day. I need to cum."

"I know. I know." Derek can tell Stiles is close when he throws his head back. As much as he'd love to bury himself inside the tight heat of Stiles's body, he's also keyed up. Plus, he loves watching Stiles fall apart as his whole body shakes and trembles. It doesn't take long for Stiles to spill over Derek's fist.

Derek keeps stroking until Stiles has nothing left and his muscles stop convulsing. Then he lets go, moving up to Stiles's chest, rubbing his dick faster and faster. When Stiles grips his thighs, the pleasure builds like a cresting wave until Derek drowns in it. His whole body goes rigid, and he cums on a strangled cry.

"Goddamn." Stiles squeezes Derek's thighs. "You're so fucking hot when you cum."

Derek snorts. He drags a finger through the mess on Stiles's chest. "You look so fucking hot covered in my cum," he says before feeding it to him as Stiles moans around Derek's finger.

Derek's dick gives a valiant effort at the sight, twitching against his thigh, but there's no way he can go again this soon. He grabs the wipes off his nightstand, cleaning them up before sliding behind Stiles.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head, then presses kisses along the back of Stiles's neck. "No. It's done. I've pretended Nate doesn't exist for over a year, and I can keep doing it. I just don't want it to mess up the friendship our parents have."

"I'm sure it won't. After the shit with Heather, my dad's still friends with her parents. It'll be okay."

"Mmm…" Derek sighs contentedly, holding Stiles in his arms. "I'm really okay though, Stiles. I'd rather just forget it and look at the silver lining."

"Yeah?" Stiles cranes his neck, looking over his shoulder. "What's that?"

"I won't have to be his best man now."

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, I guess that's somethin'."

"Seriously, I'm okay." None of the stuff with Nate matters with Stiles in his arms—in his life. "Go to sleep."

"Mmkay. Night, Der."


A few more days fly by, and Stiles's condo still isn't done. Derek's selfish enough to admit that he's glad. If there was a way to keep Stiles in his apartment permanently, he'd do it.

You could always ask him, dumbass.

Or, he could continue to be a huge chicken shit and avoid the topic entirely while continuing to live in ignorant bliss.

Yeah, that sounds perfect.

Still, it hasn't stopped Derek from wanting to make future plans with him. But Derek knows not to say these things out loud. Stiles would run the other way. It's only been a few weeks. A great few weeks, but it's way too soon, especially for someone like Stiles who isn't a long-term guy, even if his actions suggest otherwise.

It's not even about sex anymore. Not even the tender moments afterwards when Stiles curls up against him, sighing happily when Derek brushes his hair from his forehead and presses soft kisses against his temple. No. It's about the way Stiles brings Derek lunch on the days he forgets it. Or how Stiles volunteers with him at the cat shelter so they can spend extra time together.

And there's something to be said about having Stiles there when he gets home every night—even if Stiles is already asleep. There's always a glass container in the fridge, leftovers that Stiles packed for him to eat when he works late.

He wonders briefly if Stiles realizes that they're basically dating.

Derek texts Stiles as soon as he leaves the station because he knows Stiles is hanging out with Laura tonight. Boyd drops him off, and as soon as Derek reaches the entrance to his building, a cab pulls up in front.

"I think this belongs to you," a slurred, high-pitched voice yells.

Derek turns to find Stiles stumbling out of the cab. Behind him, Laura—and Cora!—are squished up against the rear passenger window.

"Looks like you guys had fun," Derek says.

"Awthsome night. Woulda been betterer if you were there."

Derek laughs as he wraps an arm around Stiles's slumped shoulders, pulling Stiles against him so he stops swaying.

"Awthsome and betterer? How drunk are you?"

"About ten and a half drunks."

"I'd say that's the right amount of drunks." Derek waves his sisters away and drags Stiles upstairs to the apartment, where Stiles promptly swan dives onto the couch. "I'll grab you some water and Tylenol."

Stiles bolts upright into a sitting position. "Do I remind you of Nate?"

Derek freezes on the spot, halfway to the bathroom. "What?"

"Never mind," Stiles says, waving him off. "Forget I said anything."

Derek stalks over to him, kneeling in front of the couch. "Nuh-uh. What did you mean by that?"

"Hanging out with Cora…she said some things about Nate. Might've said I looked…wait, I want to get the wording right." Stiles speaks low, in a mimicking voice. "'You look a fuck-ton like Nate. Can anyone say Nate's replacement?'"

Fucking Cora. She might actually usurp Laura as the worst sister ever.

"Is this why you're hammered right now?" Derek asks.

"Naaah. We were all drunk waaaaay before that. Seriously, wine coolers with cheap chasers are not a good idea. The chasers tasted like lighter fluid. I'm surprised Laura was still standing in the end."

"You can't listen to Cora when she's drunk. I'm sure she didn't mean any of it. Or, she was so drunk, she actually thought you looked like Nate—"

"I thought that too, y'know. When I first met the asshole. I wondered why you wouldn't hook up with me when I was clearly your type." Stiles's speech is no longer slurred; this conversation is clearly sobering him right up.

Derek joins Stiles on the couch, pushing him down and blanketing his body. "You are not Nate's replacement in any way. Sure, you both have the same eyes and hair, but your similarities end there. You might've been an asshole to your high school girlfriend, but deep down, you're kind, thoughtful, and awesome. And nothing like Nate…" Derek punctuates each statement with a kiss to Stiles's cheek and then his neck before claiming his mouth.

Derek pulls away at the taste of lighter fluid in his mouth. "What the hell did you guys drink?"

"Who the fuck knows," Stiles mumbles.

"Want to go to bed?"

"Fair warning, I'm way too drunk to get it up."

Derek bursts out laughing. "I meant to sleep."

"Mm, sounds good."

It's a tangle of limbs getting Stiles to the bedroom and undressed. As they get comfortable in bed, Derek can't help but smile. He kisses the back of Stiles's neck and closes his eyes, letting sleep take him.


Derek wakes to the sun peeking through the thin curtains and the smell of fresh brewed coffee. He must have forgotten to shut off the timer. Sometime during the night, he'd gone from being the big spoon to having Stiles sprawled over him like a blanket.

Stiles snores softly, but while Derek hates the idea of waking him, he needs to pee. With slow movements, he wiggles out from beneath Stiles, padding his way across the room to the bathroom.

He relieves himself, washes his hands, and grabs the Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. Derek will be surprised if Stiles doesn't have a hangover. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand, briefly contemplating climbing back into bed with Stiles, but his mind is awake.

Figuring it's as good a time as any to work out, he changes into his running clothes.

He goes to the kitchen, shutting off the coffee maker before grabbing a glass of water for Stiles. Footsteps slap on the ground behind Derek as he opens the fridge.

"I'm never going out with Laura again," Stiles grumbles, sounding like an old man as he drags his ass into the kitchen. The groans that come from his mouth could be confused with a zombie looking for its next feed.

Derek laughs. It's a good thing he hasn't left for his morning run yet. "Coffee?"

"IV drip."

Stiles looks like death warmed over. His hair sticks up in every direction even after he rakes a hand through it. There's drool on the side of his mouth and creases in his cheek from his pillow after he passed out in bed.

Derek kisses the side of Stiles's head before pouring him a cup, complete with sugar and cream. He watches Stiles swallow a couple of Tylenol down with the coffee and wonders if he remembers their conversation the night before. Part of Derek feels like he should give Stiles a reprieve, but he wants to know where Stiles's head is at.

"So, uh, do we need to talk about last night?"

"Shit. I went all insecure on you, didn't I? I didn't mean…I mean, I…"

Derek's arms wrap around Stiles from behind, followed by a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Now that you're sober; I want you to hear this again. You are not Nate. He and I haven't been close since high school. Yeah, we were good at keeping up appearances for our families, but that was all."

"So, you won't care that he called off his wedding?"

"He did?" Derek almost feels guilty for his lack of empathy, but honestly, Nate's doing what he's always done, which is run.

"I overheard Laura and Cora talking about it. Apparently, after that awkward as fuck dinner, he called it off."

"Y'know, there was a time where I would have cared and felt sorry for the guy, but he only ever cared about himself. I don't want him to suffer, but I don't want to be involved in his life anymore. In fact, if I'm being frank, if you reminded me of Nate, it'd be a turn-off because of what he put me through."

"Are you sure?" Stiles averts his gaze.

"If I didn't like you for you, do you really think we would've survived the last few weeks living together in this shitty apartment?"

Stiles snorts. "It really is shitty. I cannot wait to have my shower back. And my kitchen."

Derek purses his lips. So much for asking him to stay. "Right."

"Don't get me wrong. I'm more than grateful for you letting me stay here, but I'm ready for my own place again."

"Of course." Derek steps back, leaning against the kitchen bench. "How's that going anyway?"

"Actually, it'll be ready on Monday. I meant to tell you last night, but I clearly had other things on my mind."

"Like getting drunk with my sisters." Derek's tone turns distant. Cold.

"Priorities," Stiles says dryly.

Derek folds his arms across his chest. "So, you're leaving."

"Uh, yeah, but not until Monday, so we still have the weekend. Unless…"

Derek's eyebrows shoot up. "Unless what?" God, it's pathetic how hopeful he sounds.

"You tell me. You've gone all weird again. You want me to leave earlier? I know I've stayed longer than originally planned, but—"

"No. I was, I was…" Derek breathes deep and gets his next words out in a rush. "I was kinda hoping you'd stay."

Stiles's eyes go wide. "Stay?"

"Fuck, I'm freaking you out." Derek leads Stiles to the couch, sitting him down. "It's too soon. I get it."

It would be comical how Stiles's mouth gapes like a fish out of water if Derek weren't kicking himself for bringing it up. Just because Stiles is going home doesn't mean that whatever this is between them is ending. Or, at least, that's what he hopes.

"Stiles, it's okay. Forget I said anything."

"It's not that I don't like being here. It's just really soon to be thinking about that step. And it's, y'know, like really, really serious. Like boyfriend levels of serious."

Derek clenches his jaw. After weeks of being together—living together, meeting each other's family and closest friends—Stiles still thinks they're friends with benefits?

"I know we haven't sat down and defined what's going on between us, but I thought our relationship would classify as something more than fuck buddies," Derek spits out.

"I can't…I can't be here. I'm not good at this, Derek. I'm not good at relationships. I'm especially not good when people make plans for me that I don't want."

Is that what Stiles thinks? That Derek's making plans for him? "That's not what's going on. We don't have to—"

But Stiles isn't listening. He's too riled up. "I let Heather do it for way too long. I won't let anyone interfere with my life again."

"Bullshit! You let your ex keep you from going home for five years, and then you pretended to be gay at her wedding just so you wouldn't have to admit the truth. And you're best friends with Laura who, I guarantee, interferes all the time."

"Yeah, but I love her."

His words are like ice in the pit of Derek's stomach. If Stiles can't even admit that they're dating, there's no way he's ready to say that he loves Derek. The only problem is that Derek's pretty sure he's in love with Stiles. Though Derek really should have already realized that considering Stiles has never even told his dad the truth.

"Good to know."

Stiles's eyes widen. "Wait, Derek, I—"

"I'm gonna go for a run to clear my head. I don't want either of us to say something we'll regret, and I'd rather talk to you when you're not losing your shit." With that, he grabs his keys and leaves the apartment.

Derek drives to his favorite running trail, then pushes himself until his muscles burn and pushes himself some more as he thinks things through.

This is a misunderstanding. They just need to sit and talk. All he needs to do is explain to Stiles that he wasn't trying to force him to move in. Honestly, Stiles is right. It was stupid to even consider that until they talked about their relationship. Which is something they need to do.

Even if Stiles doesn't want to admit it, Derek knows Stiles cares for him. It's obvious in every look, every touch, and every kiss. They'll work through this. He just knows it.

When Derek finally gets home, he calls out for Stiles, but there's a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The apartment is abnormally silent. Stiles's keys are missing from the kitchen counter. His Converse aren't kicked to the side by the entryway for Derek to trip over. In the bedroom, Stiles's clothes aren't next to the bed where Derek remembers tossing them after helping Stiles undress. In fact, all of Stiles's things are missing.

Derek grabs out his phone from his pocket, pulling up Stiles's contact information. The call goes straight to voicemail.

"Stiles, I understand why you're freaked out, but this is a misunderstanding. I swear. We just need to talk. Please call me back."

Derek sits on the edge of the bed, his knee bouncing as he tries calling again and again, garnering the same result.

Shit. Stiles's condo isn't ready yet, so where would he go?

Laura.

The smart thing to do would be for Derek to call her first, but he doesn't want to give Laura a chance to lie or hang up on him, not that he thinks she would. Though Stiles is her best friend, she could slam the door in his face.

Fuck it. It's a risk he's willing to take. With a nod, Derek gets to his feet, racing back out of his apartment and doing the only thing he can.

Hope.

Chapter 13: Stiles

Chapter Text

Stiles sits idle in his Jeep, staring up at his childhood home. Beacon Hills is the last place Stiles ever thought he'd find himself, but as soon as Derek walked out of the apartment, it was the only place he wanted to be.

Thankfully, the cruiser's not in the driveway, so he doesn't have to answer any of his dad's questions. He got enough of that the weekend he had taken Jackson to Beacon Hills. With a heavy sigh, he shuts off the engine and heads inside.

The house is quiet and dark. Stiles grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before heading upstairs to the hall bathroom. He pulls out the bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet then goes to his room, promptly falling face first into the bed he shared with Derek just a few months ago.

Five years ago, Stiles ran from his problems, and now he's back where he began, running. Maybe in five years he'll have to take a girl to Derek's wedding and pretend to be straight.

Yeah, no. There's no way he'd ever survive seeing Derek marry some other guy.

His brain likes to confuse him. It made him yell at Derek for suggesting they live together, but now it's reminding him that Derek only said he was hoping Stiles would stay. It told him to run home to Beacon Hills and switch off his phone, and now Stiles is sitting here, wondering what the fuck he's doing.

Why is he running away from someone he doesn't want to leave?

He's running away from the best thing that's ever happened to him, all because of a fucking teenage relationship he was too chicken shit to put an end to. Why was he so reluctant to break Heather's heart, when he has no problem telling Derek that he doesn't want a relationship with him?

Which is bullshit because Stiles does. Stiles wants Derek more than he's ever wanted anyone or anything. Hell, they've already been dating, even if Stiles was stupid enough not to acknowledge it. The word boyfriend flowed so easily off his tongue before, and he didn't balk when Nate or Derek's mom said it during that awkward-as-fuck dinner. Even Derek's friends accepted him so easily, and he never has issues when they talk about double dates and stuff.

So, why is it so hard for him to let everything go and allow it to happen?

His mom's face immediately fills his mind.

Ah, yes. That's right. The grief his dad experienced after his mom's death isn't something Stiles ever wants to experience. He's trying to save himself the heartache of letting Derek in, because if something happens, it'll leave him just like he is now, broken and alone. At least this way, Stiles is protecting himself from getting hurt by doing it on his own terms.

Oh fuck.

The crappy thing about this panic is that it doesn't magically disappear just because he acknowledges it.

Stiles flips to his side. He tosses his phone, wallet, and keys onto his nightstand before popping two Tylenol and chugging some water that will hopefully quell the ache between his eyes. Stupid drinking and even stupider fighting. Especially since it's his whole damn fault.

Now there's an aching chasm in his chest: a Derek-shaped hole. It's a presence Stiles was somehow always aware of but didn't realize until now. It's impossible to explain, and one of those things that he'd never believe until experiencing it himself.

Sleep eludes him. He loses himself to the memories of the past few months with Derek—his smile, his laugh, and the way his eyes sparkle when he catches Stiles dancing in the kitchen as he cooks. There's even the game night with Derek's friends where Stiles knows—he just knows—that Derek lets him win even though Derek's extremely competitive. Stiles had been so overwhelmed with the realization at the time that he stopped playing and crawled onto Derek's lap just to hold him.

He's about ready to give up on sleep when the bed dips beside him, startling him awake. He must have fallen asleep, after all. There's drool on his pillow, and the late afternoon sun streams through his window, glinting off his dad's sheriff's badge.

"Kiddo?" His dad stares down at him. Prominent worry lines crease on his forehead as he frowns. "Is everything alright?"

It's like déjà vu. His dad asked him that same question during the weekend he stopped by with Jackson. Stiles can't even remember the lies he spewed so his dad wouldn't worry about his relationship with Derek. At the time, it was because he was still hoping that something would progress between them. Now, it's because he doesn't want to admit that he fucked up.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright, dad. Just thought I'd stop by for a visit."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Wanna tell me what's going on between you and Derek?"

Stiles groans. Damn his dad and his stupid perceptiveness, but Stiles supposes there's a reason the man was elected sheriff. "I don't want to talk about it."

"As much as I want to respect your wishes, I think maybe you need to talk about it."

God, he hates it when his dad is right. "Fine."

Even though he doesn't want to, Stiles admits everything. With sweaty palms, he goes all the way back to the beginning—to Heather and his lie about being gay, to his commitment issues and why. Stiles pauses, fully expecting his dad to say something, but he doesn't, so Stiles barrels through, telling him about Jackson and how confused he was at the time and how he ultimately wrote it off as experimenting. He reluctantly admits the truth about Derek—that their whole relationship during the wedding was fake, and how it made Stiles question his sexuality again—and then how they started hooking up, and how Stiles fucked it up by being himself.

When Stiles buries his face in his hands, his dad pats him on the back.

"Y'know…I thought something was fishy during the wedding and again when you visited with the Whittemore boy, but I figured you'd tell me in your own time. Then you'd call and I'd hear Derek in the background, so I put it out of my head. But, Stiles, you need to make it better. You need to talk to Derek. You can't run away. This isn't a problem that you can ignore and hope gets better on its own."

Stiles shakes his head. "He hates me. I was so fucking stupid, dad. There's no way he wants anything to do with me anymore."

"Well, considering he's downstairs, I'm pretty sure he's open to communication."

Wait. Derek's here?

Stiles scrambles over his dad's lap and flails out of bed, hitting his head on his desk chair. His feet bang loudly against the stairs, hitting every loose floorboard as he rushes downstairs.

When he sees Derek, he's standing next to the couch with his head hanging low. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of the jogging pants he was wearing when he left the apartment this morning. He's got a windbreaker over his grey tank and his shoelaces are coming undone. His shoulders are hunched like he's trying to make himself smaller. Or worse, brace himself for rejection.

Hate is a strong word, but Stiles truly hates himself for making Derek second-guess things between them. Sure, they might not have defined their relationship from the outset, but he told Derek he wouldn't be like Nate, and then at the first sign of trouble, he goes and shuts Derek out.

Fuck.

Stiles rushes over to Derek, practically knocking him down as he kisses him hard. Derek stumbles back, but his hands go to Stiles's waist, and his mouth takes everything Stiles has to give.

Kissing Derek is like second nature. Stiles has memorized the feel of Derek's lips, his commanding tongue, and the way Derek pushes against him just a little bit harder than anyone else. Everything always seems right when he's with Derek.

Stiles tries to express everything he feels for Derek, everything he hasn't been able to say or admit out loud—that not only does he want a relationship, but that he's in love with Derek.

He wants this. He wants everything.

Derek pulls back slightly, his hands still on Stiles's waist.

"I was expecting more yelling, maybe accusations of being a stalker. Or maybe an 'I never want to see you again,' but a kiss?"

Stiles's dad clears his throat. He's changed from his uniform into jeans and a polo shirt. "I'm gonna give you boys some space to talk things out."

"Where are you going?" Stiles asks.

His dad levels him with a look that probably serves to remind him that his father is an adult. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up."

The front door slams shut. As soon as Stiles hears his dad's car drive off, he looks back at Derek.

"How did you know I was here?" He hadn't even told Laura where he was.

"The tracking app on your phone," he says simply. When Stiles's mouth drops open, he smirks. "What, I can't make jokes?"

Stiles shoves him playfully.

"When you weren't with Laura, I figured this is where you would go. After a stern lecture about fucking it up with a guy who actually puts up with my shit, she told me to give you some space, but I-I couldn't. I mean, I tried. I went to Danny's. Jared told me to stop being an idiot—"

Stiles barks out a laugh. "Are you ever going to say his name?"

Derek shakes his head, talking over him. "I'm not giving you up—us up, without a fight. I lo—I care about you too much. I couldn't let you go without—"

Stiles cuts him off with a kiss. "I'm an idiot. I got scared when you asked me to stay, and I—"

"That's just it. I wasn't asking you to stay."

"Wait. You weren't?" The thought fills Stiles with a crushing disappointment. Probably because he's just realized the depth of his feelings for Derek.

"I mean, I was. I want you to stay. I like coming home to you and waking up next to you. But it was stupid of me to suggest moving in when we haven't even talked about what we are."

"Boyfriends!" Stiles says quickly before ducking his head. As heat rises in his cheeks, he scratches the back of his neck. "I really, really like you. And I want to be with you. That's what I meant when I said I was an idiot. I was treating you like Heather, and you're nothing like her. You've never made me do anything that I didn't wanna do, but I was too freaked out. I've lived my life scared of getting hurt and went into flight mode because apparently sarcasm isn't my only defense. Ignoring my problems and running away are pretty fucking strong contenders. But I don't wanna run anymore. Especially not from you."

Derek's face lights up like Times Square. "You'll come home with me now?"

"Until Monday."

Derek's smile falters, and that just won't do.

"Der, I love living with you, but your apartment is a fucking shit-hole." Stiles rubs his hands over Derek's chest, wrapping his arms around Derek's shoulders. "What if you move in with me?"

Derek's eyes widen in apparent surprise. "Are you sure? This is a big step. That sounds an awful lot like something people in relationships do," Derek says quietly, though his voice sounds hopeful. "We don't have to live together. You can stay at my place some nights, and I'll go to yours for others. We can take it slow."

"No. I know what I want. I'm jumping in headfirst with my eyes wide open. I'm acting instead of wishing, and I want you to do it with me." Stiles swallows hard and forces himself to say the words he's been too scared to admit. "Because I love you."

Derek smiles. "I fell in love with you weeks ago but didn't want to scare you off."

Stiles's cheeks hurt from the grin that spreads on his face. "I have a confession to make."

"You're actually married and have three kids?" Derek teases.

Stiles looks at him in mock horror. "You know about Stella and the triplets?"

Derek snorts. "Stella? Really?"

"First name I could think of," Stiles says with a shrug. "What I was going to say is that I think I fell in love with you weeks ago, too."

Derek's mouth drops open in apparent surprise. "You never said."

"Well, um, you were fucking me with a dildo when it happened, so…didn't really think it was the best time to bring it up," Stiles says as Derek barks out a laugh. "But really, I just didn't understand that's what it was at the time. I remember thinking that you were everything to me, but it could have also been my dick talking. I realize now that it was the first time I knew what you meant to me. And I really want this. I want to be with you, and I want you to move in with me."

"Look at you. Planning a future," Derek teases.

Stiles smiles for a second before it drops. "I don't like fighting with you."

"I agree. Fighting sucks, but—" Derek brushes his lips down Stiles's jaw. "—there's always the makeup sex."

Stiles snorts. "Well then, maybe you're a dickhead."

"Are you picking a fight right now so I can fuck you again?"

"Is it working? Assface?"

Derek throws back his head, barking out another laugh. "You have the sweetest pet names."

"Damn right, I do." Stiles takes his hands, leading Derek up the stairs to his room. "Now, c'mon. I'm gonna call you names until you can't take it anymore."


EPILOGUE - (six months later)

"Oh fuck! Yes," Stiles hisses, pressing his face against the shower wall as he sticks his ass out, clenching his thighs for Derek to fuck. The last thing he wants to do is sit in a car for four hours after having Derek's monster dick up his ass. "Told you my shower was better."

Derek grunts behind him, one hand on Stiles's hips while the other turns his head to the side so he can nibble on Stiles's ear. "It's been six months. Are you ever gonna let me live that down?"

"You…" Stiles moans when Derek's dick rubs against the underside of his balls, "wanted us to live—Oh, God! Don't stop!—in your crappy apartment."

"Can't believe you're still talking." Derek punctuates each word with a hard thrust that has Stiles crying out in pleasure, playing in surround as the sound bounces off the walls. "You wanna cum?"

"Fuck. Yes. Please."

It's not long before the tension gathers as soon as Derek wraps a fist around Stiles's dick. The knot of pleasure coils tighter and tighter until, finally, his orgasm shoots through him. Stiles's whole body goes rigid, and he cries out Derek's name.

Derek's fingertips dig into his hips hard enough to leave bruises. "I'm close. Where do you want it?"

"My mouth." Stiles pushes back until there's enough room for him to spin around and drop to his knees. Derek fists a hand in his hair, tugging his head back to fuck Stiles's mouth in fast, shallow strokes. The only warning he gets is the way Derek's stomach clenches before his dick pulses. Stiles moans as he swallows every drop.

Stiles licks his lips, resting his head on Derek's thigh as he tries to catch his breath. "Goddamn."

Derek pets the top of Stiles's head. "C'mon. We've gotta get moving, or we're gonna be stuck in traffic."

"Mmm." Stiles kisses Derek's hip before coming to a stand on shaky legs. "I need a second to recover."

Derek chuckles, looping an arm around his waist to hold him up. "You started it. Shouldn't have been rubbing my dick while we were eating breakfast."

"Uh, I seem to remember someone mouthing at the back of my neck while I was cooking it. So, I think this one was on you, buddy."

They hurry through the rest of their shower, bickering over who initiated sex so they can assign blame when they inevitably arrive late. It's his dad's birthday, and they're spending the weekend hanging out, doing a little family bonding.

It's a good thing Derek insisted they pack last night, so all they have to worry about now is getting dressed, loading the Camaro, before hitting the road.

There's a little traffic as they head out of the city, but once they're on the interstate, it's smooth sailing. The drive is surprisingly quick. They pass the time playing I-Spy, pointing out all the different license plates from various states, and punch buggy. Stiles is glad that Derek insisted on driving because it gives him a chance to play his favorite game: tempting Derek with road head until he gives in.

It only takes thirty minutes before Derek has to pull over.

The rest of the drive is spent talking about their plans with Lydia and Parrish, and the fishing trip with his dad that they promised him the last time they were in town. Stiles looks forward to seeing Scott, who's visiting with Allison.

Stiles isn't sure why, but when they pass the 'Welcome to Beacon Hills' sign, he's overwhelmed by the need to see his mom. He's visited her grave with Derek before, but Derek usually hangs back, giving Stiles the time to be alone.

Not this time, though. Stiles pats Derek's shoulder, pointing down a side street.

"Take this turn. I wanna stop by the cemetery first." He blows out a breath as Derek parks. "I want you to meet my mom."

"I would love to." Derek smiles softly and gives Stiles's hand a squeeze before getting out.

They walk the long winding path until they're in front of his mom's headstone. Stiles kneels down, brushing leaves away from the base before trailing his fingers trail over the name etched in stone: Claudia Gajos Stilinski.

"Hey, mom. I want you to meet someone."

Derek clasps Stiles's shoulder; Stiles closes his eyes, brushing his cheek over Derek's knuckles. "Hi, Mrs. Stilinski. My name's Derek."

Stiles sniffles. "I just wanted you to know that I found my forever person. He puts up with my bullshit, but he also calls me out on it."

"Someone has to," Derek teases. "Especially when you wield sarcasm like a weapon."

"Oh, come on. Sarcasm is great. You can say anything and pretend you're joking. People think I'm hilarious when in reality I'm actually an asshole."

"Yeah, but you're my asshole…Oh God, that sounded extremely wrong."

Stiles snorts. "Maybe that should be in our wedding vows." He gets up, reaching out to steady Derek when Derek stumbles. "Shit. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Derek grips Stiles's hips in reassurance. "You caught me off guard when you said, 'wedding vows'. As if that's a possibility. You shouldn't do that to a guy."

"Why wouldn't it be a possibility?"

"Because you're you, Stiles."

"Like that's a reason?" Stiles asks, mildly offended. He likes to think he's jumped some significant hurdles over the last year.

"You could barely get the boyfriend label out of your mouth at first," Derek reminds him, "so I'd hate to see what you'd be like with 'husband'. And you practically broke up with me when I suggested we live together."

"But that was before." Stiles knows what he wants now: him and Derek, together forever.

Derek shrugs. "I just figured being with you meant no wedding in the future, and I'm okay with that. I just want a life with you. That doesn't have to include marriage."

"But I want to marry you, though. I wanna be with you and make this work." Stiles snorts, because now it looks like Derek's the one that's going to be sick. "Talk about a role reversal. You look like you're going to pass out."

He walks Derek over to a bench and sits down next to him.

"Listen, I know we're not there yet, but I meant it when I said you're everything I've ever wanted. For the first time in my life, I see a future with someone, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I want you to know that one day, when we're both ready, I'm going to ask you to marry me."

"You know I don't expect you to change for me, right?" Derek says. "The only things that matter are you and me. Nothing else. I love you, Stiles."

Stiles sighs contentedly. He has no idea how he managed to find the perfect person for him—his one in seven billion—someone so patient and who knows him so well.

"I love you, too. Always. You're my forever, Derek."

Derek's smile turns him inside out, and the realization hits Stiles like a tidal wave, that he gets to be on the receiving end of that smile for the rest of his life.

Notes:

while i made some changes/modifications to better fit stiles and derek (as well as the TW universe) all credit for this wonderful, incredible, and amazing story belongs to the ever-talented Eden Finley. if you enjoyed this fic at all, please—seriously, you have to—go and read her Fake Boyfriend series!

thanks for reading! if you liked it, great! if you didn't, that's cool too, but pls don't leave rude comments. this might be published but this is ao3, NOT amazon. comments are NOT reviews! we (not just myself, but most writers) write for fun. we post for ourselves and maybe our friends. we're not posting to be criticized! if you still leave something rude or mean after that, then you're just not nice!

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