Fic: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes) (20/20)
Title: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 2.5k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Chapter 8: Accidental Marriage (Or: Why does no one trust me?)
Chapter 9: Road Trip (Or: Screwed, and not in the good way)
Chapter 10: Dubious Consent (Or: Mother fudgesicles)
Chapter 11: Hurt/Comfort (Or: A sign from above, fate, and all that jazz)
Interlude
Chapter 12: Mixed Signals (Or: The light, it burns)
Chapter 13: Magic Spells (Or: Like the oracle, but with fruit)
Chapter 14: Soulbond (Or: Something out of a horror movie)
Chapter 15: Coming Untouched (Or: What did I tell you about being funny)
Chapter 16: Wise Old Woman with Unsolicited Advice (Or: What kind of spell uses red onion?)
Chapter 17: Angry Parental Figures (Or: Scott is a terrible liar)
Chapter 18: Grounded (Or: You’re taking joy in my pain)
Chapter 19: Happy Ending (Or: A kinda lame first date)
The following Saturday, Stiles was better prepared. Though now he felt stupid for spending two hours freaking out about his outfit. His dad had left shortly after ten with some excuse about picking up some extra hours at the station, leaving Stiles with nothing to do other than pace a hole through the carpet and wait for Derek to arrive.
Should Stiles even have been nervous? Was this a date? It felt suspiciously like a date.
Stiles was so not prepared for this.
At four minutes past eleven-not that Stiles was watching the clock obsessively or anything, because he totally wasn’t-the doorbell rang, and Stiles bolted to the front door and practically threw it open.
“Heeeeey,” he said, leaning back against the door frame with his arms crossed casually over his chest. “Derek. How’s it going.”
Derek frowned back at him. “Fine,” he said, before stepping past Stiles to come inside. He looked confused, disgruntled even, and Stiles thought he looked adorable.
How was disgruntlement adorable? That shouldn’t be adorable. What the hell was wrong with Stiles, god.
“Cool,” Stiles just said, backing away from the doorframe. “You should come in,” he added, flailing at Derek, even though it was pretty obvious that he’d already let himself in. “Make yourself at home, or whatever.”
Derek frowned back at him.
“Did you want something to drink? We have water. Obviously. I mean, who doesn’t have water? No one, that’s who. Maybe people who live way out in the country and there’s a drought so their wells have run dry, but not us! Yep.”
Derek was starting to look even more bewildered, the crease between his eyebrows furrowing.
“If you want alcohol, though, my dad has some decent scotch. Uh, and we have milk, two percent, which is clearly the best kind.” Seeing that Derek’s frown was just deepening, Stiles turned and opened up the fridge, starting to rummage through the cartons. “I’m not sure if we bought more cranberry juice, I kind of finished off the last of it earlier this week. Oh, right, and there’s orange juice,” he said, pulling out the carton and turning around to shake it at Derek, “I always forget because we mostly keep it around for when Scott comes over.”
By now, Derek was looking at Stiles with a sort of helpless confusion.
“So, uh, what’ll it be?” Stiles asked, staring back at Derek. “Do I need to repeat the options?”
“I don’t need a drink,” Derek said slowly.
“Okay, dude,” Stiles babbled, “way to be awkward, I mean, I was just trying to be a good host.”
“Stiles,” Derek said, and was that amusement creeping into his tone?
“Stiles, what?”
“Are we going to finish the movie?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Stiles turned around and shoved the orange juice canister back in the door before whirling back around. “I guess we can do that.”
Derek’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk before he turned and walked towards the living room. Stiles’ eyes flitted down as he walked away. That ass.
“You coming?” Derek called over his shoulder.
Shut up, brain.
***
This time they made it through the scene in the tavern with Strider, before Stiles blurted, “Is this a date?”
Derek was quiet. “Do you want it to be?”
Stiles could feel his face heat up, and he must have been silent for too long, because Derek sighed and shifted away from Stiles on the couch. “No, it’s not a date, Stiles.”
Stiles looked up at Derek, but his face was blank. After a moment of silence, Stiles said, “Well, that’s good.”
He was watching closely enough that he didn’t miss the flash of hurt on Derek’s face. It gave him enough courage for what he was planning to say next.
“Because sitting on my dad’s couch watching a movie seems like a kinda lame first date.”
Derek’s expression didn’t change, and for a second Stiles worried that he’d read him wrong.
“What would be a better one?” Derek asked.
Stiles bit his lip and thought. “It would definitely involve curly fries. And milkshakes.”
Derek was silent, and Stiles was pretty sure that neither one of them were watching the movie anymore.
“Or, you know, whatever,” Stiles blurted, at the same time that Derek started to say something.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“I just,” Derek said, looking distinctly uncomfortable, “was going to say okay.”
“Okay?” Stiles asked, his heart beating rabbit-fast in his chest.
“Curly fries,” Derek confirms.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice cracking slightly. He simultaneously wanted to vomit and to run around the room in circles, whooping.
“So did you want to finish the movie?” Derek asked, as onscreen the hobbits started listing off mealtimes, much to Strider’s annoyance.
“Sure,” Stiles lied, and spent the next hour hyper-aware of the heat of Derek’s body on the couch beside him.
***
Stiles spent approximately ninety-five percent of the following week analyzing the not-date with Derek, and trying to figure out what he had meant by “okay.”
He wasn’t freaking out, or anything.
Okay, he was totally freaking out.
Did Derek want to date Stiles? Was that what they were doing? Or was Derek his boyfriend? Were they even going on a date, or had Derek just been asking so he’d know what to avoid, so that he wouldn’t be leading Stiles on? Had Stiles been reading everything wrong? Maybe Derek really had just wanted to watch Lord of the Rings, and Stiles was the only person he knew who owned the extended edition. It wasn’t like the loft had a TV. Fuck.
“Stiles,” Scott said, huffing in exasperation, “you’re freaking out about nothing.”
“You’re damn right I’m freaking out about nothing! As in, literally nothing. The nothing in Derek’s loft that will play DVDs.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “He could always just use Peter’s laptop.”
“But that would involve Peter.”
“You’re impossible,” Scott muttered.
“He’s probably just as nervous as you are,” Kira pointed out, from her seat next to Scott.
“Whoah, when did you get here?” Stiles blurted.
Kira and Scott both frowned at him. “I’ve been here the whole time,” Kira said. “I eat lunch with you every day?”
“Lies!” Stiles shouted.
“Do you think this is why he always talks about me like I’m not here?” Kira asked Scott.
“Who knows,” Scott said, shoveling in another forkful of macaroni. “The Stiles works in mysterious ways.”
***
By the time Saturday rolled around, Stiles was a mass of jangling nerves and twitching muscles. Plus, no matter how much he hinted, his dad wouldn’t leave.
“Maybe you should go to the grocery store. I think we’re out of turkey bacon.”
Stiles’ dad stared at him from his spot on the couch. “We have plenty of turkey bacon, Stiles.”
“Orange juice, then! We need more for when Scotty comes by.”
“He still hasn’t finished off what we have.”
“Yeah, but there’s, like, a cup left. Or two. He could drink all of that and then we’d be out, and he’d be sad, Dad. Believe me when I say you don’t want to make Scott sad.”
His dad thumbed to the next page in his book.
“But, sad Scott!”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Derek coming over, would it?” Stiles’ dad asked, the hint of a smirk ghosting over his lips.
“What, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would Derek be coming over?”
His dad ignored him.
“Oh my god, you’re the worst. I just want to remind you that all of my bad genetics come from you.” Stiles stormed out of the living room, shouting over his shoulder, “You only have yourself to blame!”
Stomping out to the porch, Stiles had barely sat down on the steps when a familiar car rumbled to a stop in front of his house.
“Hi,” Derek said, stepping out of the driver’s side door.
“Hi,” Stiles said, and felt his cheeks heat up. Ugh.
“Is your dad home?” Derek asked, a small smile on his face as he strode up to Stiles.
Stiles frowned. “Unfortunately.”
“Okay.” Derek’s eyes flickered up to the front door. “I promised we’d talk to him before he left.”
“You what?” Stiles asked, his father’s insistent presence suddenly making horrible, horrible sense. “You told him? That we were going on a…”
Derek frowned down at Stiles. “Of course I told him.”
Stiles smacked his forehead with the flat of his palm. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Derek rolled his eyes and extended his hand to Stiles. “Get up and stop being a drama queen.”
Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and hoisted himself to his feet, trying not to think about how broad Derek’s palm was, or how soft his skin felt.
“I’m not a drama queen,” Stiles said, once he was standing next to Derek. “A king, maybe.”
Derek smiled at him. “The queen is the most powerful chess piece,” he pointed out, before turning and opening the front door.
Stiles gaped at his back for a moment before following him inside.
“Sheriff,” Derek said, nodding at Stiles’ dad, who was pushing himself off the couch and coming over to the entryway.
“Derek,” Dad replied, and holy mother of god, he was smiling at Derek. Why the hell was he smiling at Derek?
“Someone please explain what’s going on here,” Stiles said.
The look his dad shot him was not nearly so warm and friendly. “What’s going on here, is that one of the conditions of your grounding was complete transparency. Which you haven’t been doing.”
Stiles felt the blood drain out of his face. “What?”
His dad sighed. “Anything you want to tell me about your plans for today?”
Stiles twitched. “Derek’s going to come over?”
“Actually,” Derek said, “I was hoping we could go out.” When Stiles looked over at him, the tips of his ears were turning pink. “Get lunch, maybe.”
“Oh,” Stiles said, his mind flashing to curly fries and milkshakes and his stomach suddenly twisting in knots.
“Yes, oh,” his dad said, rudely interrupting Stiles’ revelatory moment. “Bring him back by three, text me when you get to the restaurant and again when you leave, and keep your phone on in case I need to contact you.”
“Yes, sir,” Derek said.
“I’m in the twilight zone,” Stiles said. “It’s the only explanation.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “Are you coming or not?”
Stiles managed not to say anything inappropriate, but only because his dad was staring at him with his judgmental face on.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, gaze flicking back to his father.
“If you get arrested for public indecency,” his father added, “I’m not posting your bail.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles squeaked, before Derek grabbed his wrist and tugged him out the front door.
“Well, that was mortifying,” Stiles said, once the front door had shut behind him and Derek dropped his wrist.
“Just a bit,” Derek said. He was avoiding Stiles’ eyes.
“So,” Stiles said. “Where are we going?”
Derek stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I was thinking Ruby’s.”
“You know, I think they have both curly fries and milkshakes,” Stiles said, trying to hold back the grin threatening to split his face in two.
“I had no idea,” Derek said.
Even without werewolf powers, Stiles could tell he was lying.
“Yeah, yeah, you big softie,” Stiles said, and walked around to hop in the passenger side of Derek’s car.
After Derek had closed the driver side door, but before he had finished putting the key in the ignition, Stiles took a deep breath. “Hey,” he said, his heartbeat picking up.
Derek grunted in acknowledgment, but didn’t look up.
Stiles swallowed. “You know that thing that we did a couple weeks ago? Can we, uh, do that again?”
Derek’s hand stilled on the key. “Watch Lord of the Rings? Sure.”
Stiles rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “No, dumbass, the other thing. That my dad wouldn’t shoot you for doing.”
Derek pursed his lips. “Order pizza? I was going to take you out to lunch, but...”
Stiles threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “Oh my god, stop being deliberately obtuse, I swear I’m gonna-” Stiles looked over at Derek, only to see him smirking. That asshole.
“You asshole,” Stiles said.
“Oh, I see,” Derek said, his smirk growing even wider. “You meant the kissing.”
“Yes!”
Derek tilted his head. “I’m good.” He resumed turning the key in the ignition; under them, the engine rumbled to life.
Stiles stared, open mouthed. “What do you mean, you’re good? Oh my god, you’re such a dick.”
Derek flashed him a grin before leaning in close. “Well, I was thinking we could make out on your bed later...”
Stiles felt his mouth go dry. “You better not be joking, Derek, I swear to god, I will-”
“You’ll what?” Derek asked, an inch away from Stiles’ face.
“I’ll, uh.” When had he gotten so close, anyway?
Derek leaned impossibly closer. Stiles could feel soft breaths ghosting against his skin. Their lips were almost touching. So close, and yet so far. Stiles was going to die.
“Hng,” he whimpered.
Derek flashed a grin, all teeth, simultaneously more vicious and more heated than Stiles had ever seen it.
“Guess that’ll have to wait until after your birthday,” Derek said, and then he moved back into his own seat, maneuvering the car into drive, and Stiles was left making impotent grabby hands in his direction.
“What? No!”
“I’m happy to lick you in wolf form until then, if you like.”
“Oh my god, I have the worst boyfriend in the world,” Stiles proclaimed.
To his delight, Derek’s ears turned pink.
“But I guess I shouldn’t expect you to put out before the third date anyway,” Stiles continued. “I mean, we both already know what we look like naked, so it’s not like there’s novelty there, though the touching should be new and exciting. Can I just say, I am really looking forward to you letting me put my hands on your di-mph!”
Score one for Stiles’ strategy of talking until Derek was forced to shut him up with his mouth.
Outside the car window, Stiles heard a faint yell. When he craned his neck to look, his dad was striding towards the car, a frown on his face.
“Oh, shit,” Derek said, and stepped a little too hard on the accelerator.
Stiles laughed all the way to the diner.
- FIN -
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 2.5k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Chapter 8: Accidental Marriage (Or: Why does no one trust me?)
Chapter 9: Road Trip (Or: Screwed, and not in the good way)
Chapter 10: Dubious Consent (Or: Mother fudgesicles)
Chapter 11: Hurt/Comfort (Or: A sign from above, fate, and all that jazz)
Interlude
Chapter 12: Mixed Signals (Or: The light, it burns)
Chapter 13: Magic Spells (Or: Like the oracle, but with fruit)
Chapter 14: Soulbond (Or: Something out of a horror movie)
Chapter 15: Coming Untouched (Or: What did I tell you about being funny)
Chapter 16: Wise Old Woman with Unsolicited Advice (Or: What kind of spell uses red onion?)
Chapter 17: Angry Parental Figures (Or: Scott is a terrible liar)
Chapter 18: Grounded (Or: You’re taking joy in my pain)
Chapter 19: Happy Ending (Or: A kinda lame first date)
The following Saturday, Stiles was better prepared. Though now he felt stupid for spending two hours freaking out about his outfit. His dad had left shortly after ten with some excuse about picking up some extra hours at the station, leaving Stiles with nothing to do other than pace a hole through the carpet and wait for Derek to arrive.
Should Stiles even have been nervous? Was this a date? It felt suspiciously like a date.
Stiles was so not prepared for this.
At four minutes past eleven-not that Stiles was watching the clock obsessively or anything, because he totally wasn’t-the doorbell rang, and Stiles bolted to the front door and practically threw it open.
“Heeeeey,” he said, leaning back against the door frame with his arms crossed casually over his chest. “Derek. How’s it going.”
Derek frowned back at him. “Fine,” he said, before stepping past Stiles to come inside. He looked confused, disgruntled even, and Stiles thought he looked adorable.
How was disgruntlement adorable? That shouldn’t be adorable. What the hell was wrong with Stiles, god.
“Cool,” Stiles just said, backing away from the doorframe. “You should come in,” he added, flailing at Derek, even though it was pretty obvious that he’d already let himself in. “Make yourself at home, or whatever.”
Derek frowned back at him.
“Did you want something to drink? We have water. Obviously. I mean, who doesn’t have water? No one, that’s who. Maybe people who live way out in the country and there’s a drought so their wells have run dry, but not us! Yep.”
Derek was starting to look even more bewildered, the crease between his eyebrows furrowing.
“If you want alcohol, though, my dad has some decent scotch. Uh, and we have milk, two percent, which is clearly the best kind.” Seeing that Derek’s frown was just deepening, Stiles turned and opened up the fridge, starting to rummage through the cartons. “I’m not sure if we bought more cranberry juice, I kind of finished off the last of it earlier this week. Oh, right, and there’s orange juice,” he said, pulling out the carton and turning around to shake it at Derek, “I always forget because we mostly keep it around for when Scott comes over.”
By now, Derek was looking at Stiles with a sort of helpless confusion.
“So, uh, what’ll it be?” Stiles asked, staring back at Derek. “Do I need to repeat the options?”
“I don’t need a drink,” Derek said slowly.
“Okay, dude,” Stiles babbled, “way to be awkward, I mean, I was just trying to be a good host.”
“Stiles,” Derek said, and was that amusement creeping into his tone?
“Stiles, what?”
“Are we going to finish the movie?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Stiles turned around and shoved the orange juice canister back in the door before whirling back around. “I guess we can do that.”
Derek’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk before he turned and walked towards the living room. Stiles’ eyes flitted down as he walked away. That ass.
“You coming?” Derek called over his shoulder.
Shut up, brain.
***
This time they made it through the scene in the tavern with Strider, before Stiles blurted, “Is this a date?”
Derek was quiet. “Do you want it to be?”
Stiles could feel his face heat up, and he must have been silent for too long, because Derek sighed and shifted away from Stiles on the couch. “No, it’s not a date, Stiles.”
Stiles looked up at Derek, but his face was blank. After a moment of silence, Stiles said, “Well, that’s good.”
He was watching closely enough that he didn’t miss the flash of hurt on Derek’s face. It gave him enough courage for what he was planning to say next.
“Because sitting on my dad’s couch watching a movie seems like a kinda lame first date.”
Derek’s expression didn’t change, and for a second Stiles worried that he’d read him wrong.
“What would be a better one?” Derek asked.
Stiles bit his lip and thought. “It would definitely involve curly fries. And milkshakes.”
Derek was silent, and Stiles was pretty sure that neither one of them were watching the movie anymore.
“Or, you know, whatever,” Stiles blurted, at the same time that Derek started to say something.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“I just,” Derek said, looking distinctly uncomfortable, “was going to say okay.”
“Okay?” Stiles asked, his heart beating rabbit-fast in his chest.
“Curly fries,” Derek confirms.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice cracking slightly. He simultaneously wanted to vomit and to run around the room in circles, whooping.
“So did you want to finish the movie?” Derek asked, as onscreen the hobbits started listing off mealtimes, much to Strider’s annoyance.
“Sure,” Stiles lied, and spent the next hour hyper-aware of the heat of Derek’s body on the couch beside him.
***
Stiles spent approximately ninety-five percent of the following week analyzing the not-date with Derek, and trying to figure out what he had meant by “okay.”
He wasn’t freaking out, or anything.
Okay, he was totally freaking out.
Did Derek want to date Stiles? Was that what they were doing? Or was Derek his boyfriend? Were they even going on a date, or had Derek just been asking so he’d know what to avoid, so that he wouldn’t be leading Stiles on? Had Stiles been reading everything wrong? Maybe Derek really had just wanted to watch Lord of the Rings, and Stiles was the only person he knew who owned the extended edition. It wasn’t like the loft had a TV. Fuck.
“Stiles,” Scott said, huffing in exasperation, “you’re freaking out about nothing.”
“You’re damn right I’m freaking out about nothing! As in, literally nothing. The nothing in Derek’s loft that will play DVDs.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “He could always just use Peter’s laptop.”
“But that would involve Peter.”
“You’re impossible,” Scott muttered.
“He’s probably just as nervous as you are,” Kira pointed out, from her seat next to Scott.
“Whoah, when did you get here?” Stiles blurted.
Kira and Scott both frowned at him. “I’ve been here the whole time,” Kira said. “I eat lunch with you every day?”
“Lies!” Stiles shouted.
“Do you think this is why he always talks about me like I’m not here?” Kira asked Scott.
“Who knows,” Scott said, shoveling in another forkful of macaroni. “The Stiles works in mysterious ways.”
***
By the time Saturday rolled around, Stiles was a mass of jangling nerves and twitching muscles. Plus, no matter how much he hinted, his dad wouldn’t leave.
“Maybe you should go to the grocery store. I think we’re out of turkey bacon.”
Stiles’ dad stared at him from his spot on the couch. “We have plenty of turkey bacon, Stiles.”
“Orange juice, then! We need more for when Scotty comes by.”
“He still hasn’t finished off what we have.”
“Yeah, but there’s, like, a cup left. Or two. He could drink all of that and then we’d be out, and he’d be sad, Dad. Believe me when I say you don’t want to make Scott sad.”
His dad thumbed to the next page in his book.
“But, sad Scott!”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Derek coming over, would it?” Stiles’ dad asked, the hint of a smirk ghosting over his lips.
“What, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would Derek be coming over?”
His dad ignored him.
“Oh my god, you’re the worst. I just want to remind you that all of my bad genetics come from you.” Stiles stormed out of the living room, shouting over his shoulder, “You only have yourself to blame!”
Stomping out to the porch, Stiles had barely sat down on the steps when a familiar car rumbled to a stop in front of his house.
“Hi,” Derek said, stepping out of the driver’s side door.
“Hi,” Stiles said, and felt his cheeks heat up. Ugh.
“Is your dad home?” Derek asked, a small smile on his face as he strode up to Stiles.
Stiles frowned. “Unfortunately.”
“Okay.” Derek’s eyes flickered up to the front door. “I promised we’d talk to him before he left.”
“You what?” Stiles asked, his father’s insistent presence suddenly making horrible, horrible sense. “You told him? That we were going on a…”
Derek frowned down at Stiles. “Of course I told him.”
Stiles smacked his forehead with the flat of his palm. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Derek rolled his eyes and extended his hand to Stiles. “Get up and stop being a drama queen.”
Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and hoisted himself to his feet, trying not to think about how broad Derek’s palm was, or how soft his skin felt.
“I’m not a drama queen,” Stiles said, once he was standing next to Derek. “A king, maybe.”
Derek smiled at him. “The queen is the most powerful chess piece,” he pointed out, before turning and opening the front door.
Stiles gaped at his back for a moment before following him inside.
“Sheriff,” Derek said, nodding at Stiles’ dad, who was pushing himself off the couch and coming over to the entryway.
“Derek,” Dad replied, and holy mother of god, he was smiling at Derek. Why the hell was he smiling at Derek?
“Someone please explain what’s going on here,” Stiles said.
The look his dad shot him was not nearly so warm and friendly. “What’s going on here, is that one of the conditions of your grounding was complete transparency. Which you haven’t been doing.”
Stiles felt the blood drain out of his face. “What?”
His dad sighed. “Anything you want to tell me about your plans for today?”
Stiles twitched. “Derek’s going to come over?”
“Actually,” Derek said, “I was hoping we could go out.” When Stiles looked over at him, the tips of his ears were turning pink. “Get lunch, maybe.”
“Oh,” Stiles said, his mind flashing to curly fries and milkshakes and his stomach suddenly twisting in knots.
“Yes, oh,” his dad said, rudely interrupting Stiles’ revelatory moment. “Bring him back by three, text me when you get to the restaurant and again when you leave, and keep your phone on in case I need to contact you.”
“Yes, sir,” Derek said.
“I’m in the twilight zone,” Stiles said. “It’s the only explanation.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “Are you coming or not?”
Stiles managed not to say anything inappropriate, but only because his dad was staring at him with his judgmental face on.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, gaze flicking back to his father.
“If you get arrested for public indecency,” his father added, “I’m not posting your bail.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles squeaked, before Derek grabbed his wrist and tugged him out the front door.
“Well, that was mortifying,” Stiles said, once the front door had shut behind him and Derek dropped his wrist.
“Just a bit,” Derek said. He was avoiding Stiles’ eyes.
“So,” Stiles said. “Where are we going?”
Derek stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I was thinking Ruby’s.”
“You know, I think they have both curly fries and milkshakes,” Stiles said, trying to hold back the grin threatening to split his face in two.
“I had no idea,” Derek said.
Even without werewolf powers, Stiles could tell he was lying.
“Yeah, yeah, you big softie,” Stiles said, and walked around to hop in the passenger side of Derek’s car.
After Derek had closed the driver side door, but before he had finished putting the key in the ignition, Stiles took a deep breath. “Hey,” he said, his heartbeat picking up.
Derek grunted in acknowledgment, but didn’t look up.
Stiles swallowed. “You know that thing that we did a couple weeks ago? Can we, uh, do that again?”
Derek’s hand stilled on the key. “Watch Lord of the Rings? Sure.”
Stiles rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “No, dumbass, the other thing. That my dad wouldn’t shoot you for doing.”
Derek pursed his lips. “Order pizza? I was going to take you out to lunch, but...”
Stiles threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “Oh my god, stop being deliberately obtuse, I swear I’m gonna-” Stiles looked over at Derek, only to see him smirking. That asshole.
“You asshole,” Stiles said.
“Oh, I see,” Derek said, his smirk growing even wider. “You meant the kissing.”
“Yes!”
Derek tilted his head. “I’m good.” He resumed turning the key in the ignition; under them, the engine rumbled to life.
Stiles stared, open mouthed. “What do you mean, you’re good? Oh my god, you’re such a dick.”
Derek flashed him a grin before leaning in close. “Well, I was thinking we could make out on your bed later...”
Stiles felt his mouth go dry. “You better not be joking, Derek, I swear to god, I will-”
“You’ll what?” Derek asked, an inch away from Stiles’ face.
“I’ll, uh.” When had he gotten so close, anyway?
Derek leaned impossibly closer. Stiles could feel soft breaths ghosting against his skin. Their lips were almost touching. So close, and yet so far. Stiles was going to die.
“Hng,” he whimpered.
Derek flashed a grin, all teeth, simultaneously more vicious and more heated than Stiles had ever seen it.
“Guess that’ll have to wait until after your birthday,” Derek said, and then he moved back into his own seat, maneuvering the car into drive, and Stiles was left making impotent grabby hands in his direction.
“What? No!”
“I’m happy to lick you in wolf form until then, if you like.”
“Oh my god, I have the worst boyfriend in the world,” Stiles proclaimed.
To his delight, Derek’s ears turned pink.
“But I guess I shouldn’t expect you to put out before the third date anyway,” Stiles continued. “I mean, we both already know what we look like naked, so it’s not like there’s novelty there, though the touching should be new and exciting. Can I just say, I am really looking forward to you letting me put my hands on your di-mph!”
Score one for Stiles’ strategy of talking until Derek was forced to shut him up with his mouth.
Outside the car window, Stiles heard a faint yell. When he craned his neck to look, his dad was striding towards the car, a frown on his face.
“Oh, shit,” Derek said, and stepped a little too hard on the accelerator.
Stiles laughed all the way to the diner.
- FIN -