She leads them to a back corner booth, and then sets down the menus. “Your server will be with you shortly.”
Stiles slides into the near side, knowing from experience that Derek won’t be comfortable with his back to the door. Derek, however, doesn’t sit on the far side. Instead, Derek crams in next to Stiles. Which, okay, they have room, but is weird.
“Um,” he says, scooting over until his shoulder is touching the wall.
Derek shifts, making the vinyl seat squeak. “Are you comfortable?” he asks.
“Um,” Stiles says again, because he’s not rude enough to say “hell yes.” But Derek must get the message, because he slides out of the booth, rounds the table, and sits on the far side. He picks up a menu and glares at it like it’s done him wrong, silence descending over the table.
Stiles puts up with it for as long as he can, which, admittedly, isn’t very long. Then says, “I thought you hated this place.”
“The shakes are good.” Derek doesn’t look up from his menu.
“The shakes are just shy of heaven, is what they are,” Stiles corrects. “And the fries. The fries. Better than sex.”
That gets Derek to look up. “You haven’t been having good sex.”
“What?” Stiles flails a bit. “Yes I have.”
“No, you haven’t.” Derek shakes his head, his voice flat, but his eyes dancing. “Not if you think deep fried potatoes are better than it.”
Stiles makes a face. “Dude, it’s an expression.”
“You could be,” Derek says, eyes dropping back down to his menu.
“I could be what?” Stiles asks with a frown.
“Having good sex,” Derek glances up, his eyes smoldering with the look on his face he uses when he’s trying to seduce something out of someone and no.
“Dude,” Stiles says, pissed as hell. “Dude, that’s not cool.”
Derek’s only response is to give Stiles a wounded look, like Stiles is the one being the dick here when, in fact, the opposite is true. Derek is being the king of dicks right now, actually, and that’s not okay. He doesn’t get to say things like that, not with that stupid come-hither on his face. Not to Stiles. That’s not how they work. The way they work is that Stiles pretends like he doesn’t think Derek is hot like fire and Derek pretends like he doesn’t know that Stiles thinks he’s hot like fire and neither of them make jokes about at all.
But here Derek is, sitting across from Stiles, joking about Stiles’s massive, unrequited crush like it’s nothing. And isn’t that just the perfect cap to his shitty day? Stiles shakes his head and slides out of the booth. “Enjoy your shake, asshole,” he says before he starts walking towards the door.
“What the hell, Stiles?” Derek’s voice sounds hurt, of all stupid things, but Stiles can’t be bothered enough to turn around. “Stiles!”
Stiles would ignore him and keep walking, but Derek’s suddenly in front of him, glaring for all he’s worth. “Get out of my way,” Stiles tells him through gritted teeth.
“Stiles,” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off with a shake of the head.
“Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
He moves around Derek and hurries towards the exit, ignoring how everyone seems to be staring at him. Stiles slams out the door into the fresh air and starts walking down the street back towards his apartment. He knows that Derek is following him, but he’s not saying anything, so Stiles can ignore it.
Or at least he can until Derek’s hand is closing around his bicep, pulling him to a stop.
“Fuck off,” Stiles snaps, trying to pull free. But, of course, he can’t because Derek is a freaking werewolf. He turns towards him, ready to say something cutting, but the contrite look on Derek’s face stops him.
“I’m sorry,” Derek says softly, letting his hand drop. “I should have known...” he trails off with a frustrated sound. “I’m sorry,” he says again.
Stiles gives him a tense nod. “Apology accepted.” He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, contemplating the best way to explain why he reacted so badly. He lets out a breath and lifts a shoulder. “Look, I know it was just a joke. I get that. And normally I would just laugh it off, even though it’s really a shitty joke to make, but today... It’s Valentine’s Day, okay? And I got stood up for my date. Which shouldn’t even matter since it wasn’t even a proper date to start with, but still. I’m just not in the mood to deal with,” he gestures at Derek, “whatever this is.”
“You had another date?” Hurt flashes across Derek’s face before it goes carefully blank.
Stiles blinks at him. “Another?” he narrows his eyes. “Derek,” he says slowly, “did you think we were on a date?”
Derek jerks back like Stiles slapped him. “What else would it be?” Derek grits out.
Stiles lets out a laugh, he can’t help it. “Dude, you just showed up at the same place I happened to be at. That’s a coincidence, not a date.”
“Coincidence?” Derek’s eyebrows are pulled down and he’s frowning for all he’s worth. “What are you talking about, Stiles?”
“I’m talking about you just happening to show up at the dinner I was waiting for my mystery valentine at. Duh.” Derek gapes at him, which, for the record, is not a very good look for Derek. “You okay there, big guy?”
“It’s me.”
“What’s you?”
“The mystery valentine,” Derek says.
Stiles gives him a confused look. “What about my mystery valentine?”
“It’s me.”
Stiles shakes his head. “Derek, are you alright? You’re not making sense.”
“It’s me.” Derek’s voice is rising. “Me. I’m the valentine!”
He ends in a near shout, causing the old couple passing by them to startle and give them both concerned looks, but Stiles doesn’t care because it’s Derek. Derek is his mystery valentine. Which, wow.
Mind officially blown.
Stiles is fairly certain that, if his life were a movie, this would be the part where he confesses his epic and apparently not unrequited after all crush by saying something touching and-slash-or endearing. But his life isn’t a movie, so Stiles skips the confession and goes straight for the kiss.
The awkward, messy and hot as well kiss. Complete with nips, hands in hair, and the best case of beard burn Stiles has ever had the pleasure of receiving.
*
On February fifteenth, Stiles wakes up alone in his bed, feeling achy and well used. He lets out a groan, stretches, and glances at his alarm clock. There is a bright yellow post-it note stuck over the numbers. Stiles reaches out and pulls it free, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he brings it close enough to read.
Getting you breakfast. Will be expecting to be rewarded with sex when I return. Good sex. Love, The Valentine You Need
The word “good” is underlined three times and Stiles can’t help but to grin.
Stiles slides into the near side, knowing from experience that Derek won’t be comfortable with his back to the door. Derek, however, doesn’t sit on the far side. Instead, Derek crams in next to Stiles. Which, okay, they have room, but is weird.
“Um,” he says, scooting over until his shoulder is touching the wall.
Derek shifts, making the vinyl seat squeak. “Are you comfortable?” he asks.
“Um,” Stiles says again, because he’s not rude enough to say “hell yes.” But Derek must get the message, because he slides out of the booth, rounds the table, and sits on the far side. He picks up a menu and glares at it like it’s done him wrong, silence descending over the table.
Stiles puts up with it for as long as he can, which, admittedly, isn’t very long. Then says, “I thought you hated this place.”
“The shakes are good.” Derek doesn’t look up from his menu.
“The shakes are just shy of heaven, is what they are,” Stiles corrects. “And the fries. The fries. Better than sex.”
That gets Derek to look up. “You haven’t been having good sex.”
“What?” Stiles flails a bit. “Yes I have.”
“No, you haven’t.” Derek shakes his head, his voice flat, but his eyes dancing. “Not if you think deep fried potatoes are better than it.”
Stiles makes a face. “Dude, it’s an expression.”
“You could be,” Derek says, eyes dropping back down to his menu.
“I could be what?” Stiles asks with a frown.
“Having good sex,” Derek glances up, his eyes smoldering with the look on his face he uses when he’s trying to seduce something out of someone and no.
“Dude,” Stiles says, pissed as hell. “Dude, that’s not cool.”
Derek’s only response is to give Stiles a wounded look, like Stiles is the one being the dick here when, in fact, the opposite is true. Derek is being the king of dicks right now, actually, and that’s not okay. He doesn’t get to say things like that, not with that stupid come-hither on his face. Not to Stiles. That’s not how they work. The way they work is that Stiles pretends like he doesn’t think Derek is hot like fire and Derek pretends like he doesn’t know that Stiles thinks he’s hot like fire and neither of them make jokes about at all.
But here Derek is, sitting across from Stiles, joking about Stiles’s massive, unrequited crush like it’s nothing. And isn’t that just the perfect cap to his shitty day? Stiles shakes his head and slides out of the booth. “Enjoy your shake, asshole,” he says before he starts walking towards the door.
“What the hell, Stiles?” Derek’s voice sounds hurt, of all stupid things, but Stiles can’t be bothered enough to turn around. “Stiles!”
Stiles would ignore him and keep walking, but Derek’s suddenly in front of him, glaring for all he’s worth. “Get out of my way,” Stiles tells him through gritted teeth.
“Stiles,” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off with a shake of the head.
“Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
He moves around Derek and hurries towards the exit, ignoring how everyone seems to be staring at him. Stiles slams out the door into the fresh air and starts walking down the street back towards his apartment. He knows that Derek is following him, but he’s not saying anything, so Stiles can ignore it.
Or at least he can until Derek’s hand is closing around his bicep, pulling him to a stop.
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“I’m sorry,” Derek says softly, letting his hand drop. “I should have known...” he trails off with a frustrated sound. “I’m sorry,” he says again.
Stiles gives him a tense nod. “Apology accepted.” He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, contemplating the best way to explain why he reacted so badly. He lets out a breath and lifts a shoulder. “Look, I know it was just a joke. I get that. And normally I would just laugh it off, even though it’s really a shitty joke to make, but today... It’s Valentine’s Day, okay? And I got stood up for my date. Which shouldn’t even matter since it wasn’t even a proper date to start with, but still. I’m just not in the mood to deal with,” he gestures at Derek, “whatever this is.”
“You had another date?” Hurt flashes across Derek’s face before it goes carefully blank.
Stiles blinks at him. “Another?” he narrows his eyes. “Derek,” he says slowly, “did you think we were on a date?”
Derek jerks back like Stiles slapped him. “What else would it be?” Derek grits out.
Stiles lets out a laugh, he can’t help it. “Dude, you just showed up at the same place I happened to be at. That’s a coincidence, not a date.”
“Coincidence?” Derek’s eyebrows are pulled down and he’s frowning for all he’s worth. “What are you talking about, Stiles?”
“I’m talking about you just happening to show up at the dinner I was waiting for my mystery valentine at. Duh.” Derek gapes at him, which, for the record, is not a very good look for Derek. “You okay there, big guy?”
“It’s me.”
“What’s you?”
“The mystery valentine,” Derek says.
Stiles gives him a confused look. “What about my mystery valentine?”
“It’s me.”
Stiles shakes his head. “Derek, are you alright? You’re not making sense.”
“It’s me.” Derek’s voice is rising. “Me. I’m the valentine!”
He ends in a near shout, causing the old couple passing by them to startle and give them both concerned looks, but Stiles doesn’t care because it’s Derek. Derek is his mystery valentine. Which, wow.
Mind officially blown.
Stiles is fairly certain that, if his life were a movie, this would be the part where he confesses his epic and apparently not unrequited after all crush by saying something touching and-slash-or endearing. But his life isn’t a movie, so Stiles skips the confession and goes straight for the kiss.
The awkward, messy and hot as well kiss. Complete with nips, hands in hair, and the best case of beard burn Stiles has ever had the pleasure of receiving.
*
On February fifteenth, Stiles wakes up alone in his bed, feeling achy and well used. He lets out a groan, stretches, and glances at his alarm clock. There is a bright yellow post-it note stuck over the numbers. Stiles reaches out and pulls it free, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he brings it close enough to read.
Getting you breakfast. Will be expecting to be rewarded with sex when I return. Good sex. Love, The Valentine You Need
The word “good” is underlined three times and Stiles can’t help but to grin.
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