Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s a little more than a week into summer break when Stiles’ comes to a realisation. It happens when he drops a dip-covered chip right on his crotch and he curses before glancing around himself for some paper towels or something. An enormous dragon straight up burns his ruggedly handsome werewolf avatar on his computer screen to a crisp while he’s distracted. His headset fills with the pissed off voices of his legion telling him to get a fucking grip and get back in the game.

“Sorry, guys, I’ve got a chip- and dip situation I’ve got to attend to, I’m gonna have to peace out of this,” he says and mutes them before they can complain too much.

He pulls off his headset and then rolls out of his slouched down position and off his chair. He gingerly makes his way across his room to grab the box of tissues sitting on his nightstand and attempts to clean the dip off his underwear. It leaves a suspicious looking white stain in its wake and Stiles grimaces when he notices that it’s not the first one. This is when the realisation truly hits when he catalogues all the different stains of various colors, shapes and sizes on his t-shirt and underwear. He lifts his gaze to let it sweep over his darkened room: his unmade bed, the many different food containers stacked around his desk like a fortress surrounding his computer, the overflowing trash can consisting mostly of intimately used tissues and focuses on the single cheeto laying in the middle of the floor between dirty clothes, shining with its bright orange artificiality.

Stiles is suddenly acutely aware of the smell, his smell, of his greasy hair and parched throat. A sense of claustrophobia descends upon him and he looks to the window, where the sun filters through the small cracks in the blinds. He stumbles towards it desperately, the cheeto getting crushed beneath his heel and pulls the blinds open. The sunlight is blinding and he hisses and squints when it hits him, but he perseveres and throws the window open. The fresh summer air hits his face and he gasps for air like a man drowning, hanging halfway through the window as he lets the world wash over him.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” a dry voice comments and Stiles snaps his head up.

Cora sits in the window directly opposite his in the house next door, looking effortlessly cool in sunglasses while she sips on a glass of lemonade. She’s leaning against the window frame with one tanned leg dangling out the window and a book resting on her lap.

“Wow,” she says, clearly unimpressed with his entire being. “You look even worse than last year.” She scrunches her nose. “You smell worse too.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“There’s no possible way that you can smell me all the way over there,” he argues, just for the sake of arguing. “But uh, you might be right.”

Cora snorts and Stiles cracks a smile.

“You wanna hang out later? I mean, after I’ve showered,” he asks.

“Seriously, Stilinski? You think you can lock yourself up in that disgusting man cave of yours for nine days and I’ll just sit here waiting for you to come calling?” Cora scoffs incredulously. “I’ve got plans.”

It’s Stiles’ time to snort.

“Yeah, right. With whom?”

“If you must know, Derek’s coming home in like an hour. We’re doing family stuff and you’re not invited,” Cora replies and sticks her tongue out at him.

Ah. Derek. Cora’s elusive big brother. The Hales moved in next door more than a year ago and while Cora and Stiles became fast friends, Stiles has yet to meet Derek who’s been attending college in New York. He has seen pictures though, scattered across the Hale household, and Derek is as pretty as the rest of them. Stiles remembers commenting on it once, which resulted in Cora snorting at him and telling him that her brother was completely off limits.

“Harsh,” Stiles gasps with a hand to his chest. “I thought I was an honorary Hale?”

“Nah, that’s your dad,” Cora replies and takes a sip of her lemonade with a smirk. “He’s the hot one.”

“Oh my god, ew, shut up!”

Cora cackles gleefully at Stiles’ pain.

“Sorry, not sorry. Now, seriously, go shower. There are all kinds of smells, none of them nice, wafting out of there. We’ll hang tomorrow when you resemble a human again.”

“Cool, cool, cool. Say hi to the fam!”

“Sure will.”

They salute each other in lieu of goodbye and Stiles ducks back into his room again, takes in the sad state of his surroundings once more. Ugh, time to break out the industrial black trash bags for this project.

It takes Stiles the better part of the day to clean up his room. He opens the windows wide to let the summer breeze in, strips the sheets from the bed and throws away all the semi-moldy food containers. By the time his dad comes home from work in the late evening, the floor has been vacuumed (rest in pieces, cheeto), his clothes have been washed and Stiles himself is squeaky clean and smells of delicious mango-papaya body wash. The Sheriff takes one look at him and lets out:

“Oh, thank god that’s over with,” which frankly is rude as hell, no matter how much Stiles secretly agrees.

---

Stiles wakes to the sound of a lawnmower. Well, wakes isn’t really the right word. It’s more like he’s viciously torn from his sleep by a lawnmower. What with Stiles’ sleeping schedule being somewhat inverted after his nine days of complete isolation, he had not been able to fall asleep before 3 am. And now his phone cheerfully informs him that it’s 8:04 am. Who in their right mind mows their lawn at such an ungodly hour?!

Stiles tries to go back to sleep, but it’s truly impossible with the incessant noise from the lawnmower. It seems to only get louder and louder, which means it must be next door. The Hale house. That’s when it dawns on him: it would be just like Cora to do this simply to fuck with him.

Fuelled by what could only be classified as pure, unadulterated rage, he throws his sheets off and stalks towards his open window. The scent of freshly cut grass is kind of nice and he would probably appreciate it at just about any other time than 8 in the morning. He can’t see anyone from the angle his window provides, which only seems to spur his anger. Before he knows it, he’s stalking down the stairs in a downright huff, slams the back door open and straight up climbs the hedge separating the two gardens. It’s not a graceful affair by any means, but it gets him where he wants.

The Sleep Disruptor isn’t Cora, but Stiles has worked himself up enough on his little trek over that he simply doesn’t care. The Hales and him are bros, and you don’t treat a bro like this. You just don’t.

“Hey, ASSHOLE!” Stiles calls out to who could only be Derek Hale, big brother extraordinaire who obviously moonlights as Satan’s Dick on occasion. He marches barefoot across the grass with the intention of giving this guy a piece of his mind.

Derek doesn’t even look up. Maybe he can’t hear him over the sound of the lawnmower. Maybe it’s a bit loud, hmm? Stiles waves his arms exaggeratedly when he gets within 14 feet and that finally seems to catch Derek’s attention because he looks up and notices Stiles’ presence with obvious surprise. He turns off the lawnmower just in time for Stiles to shove his phone in Derek’s face, the 8:16 am shining big and bold mere inches from his nose.

“See that? See that?” Stiles exclaims. “It’s basically midnight, everyone is asleep!”

Derek looks incredibly unimpressed as he brings his hand up and while shaking his head, makes some sort of motion with his pointer finger. Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up his face in obvious confusion, but Derek keeps moving. He touches his finger to his cheekbone and near the corner of his mouth in a fluid motion and then points to his chest, which Stiles just now realizes is unfairly muscular.

Stiles has absolutely no idea of what was just said, but that was obviously sign language.

“Oh, you’re deaf!” He says and this is the point where any human with a shred of decency in their body would reflect a little over the fact that they had stormed out of their house, climbed a hedge and shouted at their neighbor dressed in nothing but Batman underwear and a t-shirt with ‘Stud Muffin’ printed on it. Anyone else might have calmly communicated that it’s very early, and maybe the lawn could be mowed in an hour or so instead?

Stiles did no such thing.

“One sec,” he says with a demonstrative finger up in the air as he turns to his phone. The answer he’s seeking is a simple Google search away and very easy to find. Triumphant he looks up at Derek, who’s just looking incredibly bored by now, with a smug expression. He points to Derek before making an O-shape with his pointer finger and thumb. Asshole.

The result is instantaneous. Derek takes a step towards him and, oh boy, if looks could kill… Stiles would have been struck by lightning right about now. He’s signing something, but Stiles doesn’t understand and Cora chooses that exact moment to step into the garden.

“Stiles, what the hell?!” She calls out. “Did you just call Derek an asshole?”

“Well, he deserved it!” Stiles argues as she walks towards them. “He’s mowing the lawn at 8 in the middle of the night!”

Those words are accompanied by a gesture to the garden which is absolutely bathing in bright sunlight.

Both Cora and Derek are wearing equally unimpressed expressions now. Stiles deflates slightly.

“Could you tell him to hold off with the gardening until at least 10?” He pleads desperately.

Cora rolls her eyes but turns so she is facing Derek completely.

“Stiles would like to kindly ask you to mow the lawn at 10 am because he wants to sleep,” she says, her hands signing quickly and efficiently while she speaks.

Derek raises an eyebrow, his eyes moving to Stiles. Then, not once dropping Stiles’ gaze, he reaches down and pulls the starter handle. The lawnmower roars to life again. Cora cackles while Stiles gapes. There’s a smirk tugging on Derek’s lips and Stiles has never in his life wanted to wipe smugness off of someone’s face as hard as he wants to right now. He’s moving before he knows it, towards Derek, to do what he’s not sure, but Cora catches his arm before he gets there anyway.

“Come on, let’s get some breakfast,” she says around her laughter as she drags Stiles out of the garden.

“This isn’t over, asshole!” Stiles shouts, half-heartedly resisting detainment.

Derek, who’s watching Cora manhandle Stiles to the back door, flips him the bird before pushing the lawnmower into motion.

The disrespect.

---

It is quickly established that the presence of one Derek Hale brings out the absolute worst in Stiles and vice versa. It doesn’t take more than a week for Stiles to learn (and use) at least ten more insults in American Sign Language and Stiles will go to his grave claiming that Derek deserves every single one of them. For example, there was that time when Derek straight up snatched the last of Mr. Hale’s freshly baked croissants straight from under Stiles’ nose, knowing that Stiles had been eyeing it for the last ten minutes. Dick. Or that time when Derek managed to sneak up on Stiles while he and Cora were lounging in the garden, effectively scaring the crap out of Stiles when he dumped a cold glass of water over Stiles’ head. Stiles shrieked, glared and then grabbed his phone to look up how to say bastard while Cora and Derek were busy dying of laughter. There was also that time when Derek’s buddy Boyd came over when Stiles was there for dinner. Stiles was all cool like, “what’s up?” and Boyd was like, “nothing much” and then Derek signed something with a very pointed look Stiles’ way and they both started laughing! At Stiles! Piece of shit.

He keeps mowing the lawn at 8am. Stiles buys a big pack of tennis balls and tries to lob them at him whenever he passes by Stiles’ window. Stiles has only managed to hit him once, that first time, and that ball came flying back and hit him straight in the head.

Last week of June and the already sweltering heat turns even hotter. Stiles has taken to starfishing on the floor and staring aimlessly at the ceiling while he slowly melts through the floorboards. It’s a tried-and-true method, one he has used on many occasions. Cora, as per usual, is the one to disturb him.

“Hey, Stiles!” She calls through the open window.

Stiles groans in acknowledgement.

“Get off the fucking floor, Boyd is driving us to the lake,” she demands and her voice leaves no room for excuses.

While the thought of getting up from the floor is excruciating, Stiles cannot deny that going for a swim would be a welcome reprieve. Besides, the AC in Boyd’s car is actually working in contrast to the one in Stiles’ Jeep.

“Getting up!” He shouts.

“Good! See you out front in three!”

Stiles scrambles off the floor. He grabs his backpack and hurriedly locates his swimming trunks and a decently clean towel, which he shoves in the backpack. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t fall down the stairs at the speed he skips down it. He finds his wallet, keys and sunglasses before he’s out the door in record time, and yet Boyd’s car is already idling in the street. Erica, Boyd’s girlfriend, sits up front and Cora and Derek are squeezed into the back.

“Get in, loser!” Cora calls and Stiles jogs towards the car and gets into the seat next to Cora.

“Happy you could join us, Stiles,” Erica drawls and gives him a wink over her shoulder.

Boyd simply gives him a nod and eases the car into motion, while he doesn’t get more than a raised eyebrow from Derek.

“Did you pack sunscreen?” Cora asks, her hands signing effortlessly along with her spoken words, as she always does when Derek is with them.

“Oh, fuck no, I forgot that,” Stiles groans. “I’m going to turn into a lobster in three seconds.”

His phone pings in his pocket with an incoming text.

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:43am]
I’ve got sunscreen. You can borrow mine.

Derek is a scarily fast texter.

“Oh, cool! Derek’s got it covered,” Stiles exclaims and throws Derek a grin.

To Eyebrows McDickface [10:43am]
Thanx dude <3

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:44am]
Can’t have you getting burned, you would never stop whining.

To Eyebrows McDickface [10:44am]
UHM i literally never whine??

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:44am]
UHM it’s literally all you ever do.

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:44am]
How’s your head, by the way?

To Eyebrows McDickface [10:45am]
My face is still horribly disfigured, thank u 4 asking

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:45am]
Isn’t that how it always looks?

Wow. Oh wow. Stiles looks up from his phone to find Derek smirking at him. Cora is leaning forwards in her seat, chatting with Erica up front and doesn’t notice the exchange between them at all.

To Eyebrows McDickface [10:46am]
Just you wait until we get out of this car.

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:46am]
Oh yeah? What are you going to do?

To Eyebrows McDickface [10:46am]
I don’t know yet

To Eyebrows McDickface [10:46am]
but when i figure it out

To Eyebrows McDickface [10:46am]
you WILL be sorry

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:47am]
Wow, I’m so scared.

Stiles has never seen written words drip of sarcasm like that before, not from anyone but himself. The complete blank look Derek is throwing him over Cora’s back fit the words perfectly. Dammit. Derek is a sarcasm genius close to Stiles’ level. Stiles is begrudgingly impressed.

“Don’t you agree, Stiles?” Cora says and Stiles blinks in confusion.

“Hm? Sorry, I missed that.”

Cora and Erica engage him in a conversation about the party Cora is throwing next week, when Mr. and Mrs. Hale are out of town and the Sheriff conveniently is working a night shift and won’t be home until early morning (no, that wasn’t meticulously planned at all). It keeps him occupied until Boyd steers the car off the main road and into the Beacon Hills Preserve. From where they park the car it’s a five-minute hike to the secluded lake and the even more secluded, small beach where they put down their backpacks and change into their swimming suits. Stiles’ phone lights up with a text message right before he kneels down to stow it away in his bag.

From Eyebrows McDickface [11:05am]
I thought you were coming for me?

To Eyebrows McDickface [11:05am]
Just biding my time. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Stiles doesn’t get another text, but he can hear Derek snort behind his back. It makes Stiles smile, no matter how hard he tries not to. He puts away his phone and next thing he knows, two strong arms wrap around his midsection and lift him off his feet.

“Whaaa-?”

It’s Derek, of course, and Stiles has all of three seconds to marvel over his strength and of the feel of his bare chest against Stiles’ back before he realizes what is happening. Derek is taking long strides towards the water and Erica, Boyd and Cora are laughing. Stiles lets out a scandalised gasp and tries desperately to wiggle out of Derek’s grip, but to no avail.

“No, no, no, don’t you fucking dare! Derek, I will kill you!”

There’s no way for Derek to see what Stiles’ is saying, but Stiles figures that his body is sending pretty clear messages that are being resolutely ignored. Derek steps into the water until his own calves are covered in it and chucks Stiles in like he weighs absolutely nothing.

The cold water engulfs Stiles from all sides, a shock to his system after spending so many hours being overheated and for an indefinite moment, he just floats there before his brain reboots. Fuelled by a spike of adrenaline he shoots up from the water with flailing limbs and a croaky roar, like the Kraken rising from the depths of the sea to feast on unsuspecting seamen.

Derek is standing there, cracking up and still managing to look like something created by a horny, homosexual sculptor in Greece circa 500 BC. It’s not fair, especially not considering that Stiles is pretty sure that he resembles a drowned rat right about now. While Stiles has the sneaking suspicion that Derek might only look even better while soaking wet, he makes it his mission to make it so. The look on Derek’s face when Stiles’ manages to splash water all over his front is so incredibly satisfying that he has to do it again, and again and again. Derek retaliates and before Stiles knows it he’s laughing too, breathless hysterical laughter mixed with rather impressive shrieks whenever Derek gets too close.

His suspicion was right, of course. If Derek had looked gorgeous before, he looks goddamn ethereal when he takes a break to push his wet hair out of his eyes, eyes that sparkle with mischief. Water drops cling to his heaving chest and Stiles struggles with looking away. Not that Stiles would want to get on that, no, pff, absolutely not. It was just a purely objective observation of a handsome man. That happens to be his best friend’s big brother. You can recognize that someone looks good without wanting to bone them. That is totally a thing. Totally a thing that Stiles is experiencing right now. Definitely.

Stiles raises his hands to make the universal sign for timeout. He’s out of breath and a little bit shaky from jumping around in the water like that. Derek raises his hands as if declaring peace, and they make their way up to the shore. The others have spread out on their towels to soak up the sun. Erica is wearing the biggest sunhat Stiles has ever seen.

Stiles drops down next to Cora, who gives him a sly look.

“Having fun?” She asks and her tone is innocent, but Stiles knows her well enough to know that nothing she ever does is innocent.

“Derek is an asshole,” Stiles harrumphs, but he can feel his cheeks turn splotchy red and fuck, why do they always do that at the most inopportune times?

“If you say so,” Cora replies and drops back down on her towel.

Stiles knows that there’s more there, more that she wants to say, but somehow doesn’t. Maybe it’s mercy. Whatever it is, Stiles gladly accepts it.

Derek passes him to go sit by Boyd, but not before tossing him the earlier promised sunscreen. Stiles nods his thanks and starts slathering himself up. While trying to reach as far down his back as possible, one might think that an errant thought of asking Derek for help might slip through his defenses. One might think that he would, at least briefly, wonder how Derek’s hands would feel across his skin, but no. No sir, definitely not.

He rubs his sticky hands off on his towel before grabbing his phone from his backpack.

To Eyebrows McDickface [11:23am]
JFC WTF it was MY turn to retaliate

From Eyebrows McDickface [11:23am]
The best defense is a good offense.

Stiles glances across their friends to find Derek looking at him with that smug smile of his. Stiles sticks his tongue out at him and Derek replies with an eye roll. Asshole.

---

(Although Stiles is loath to admit it, there are times when Derek isn’t an asshole at all. Not even a little bit.)

---

Two days after their lake excursion a thunderstorm hits Beacon Hills. The clouds roll in from seemingly nowhere, hovering dark, rumbling and ominous up above. Lightning strikes across the sky and is quickly followed by a heavy downpour. It hammers against the roof of the Jeep when Stiles drives home from the grocery store, hard enough to nearly drown out the radio completely. It beats against the windshield and Stiles finds himself subconsciously lowering the speed. Or at least, that is what he initially thinks, until something within the vehicle makes a loud clanking noise that it is definitely not supposed to do.

“Noooo,” Stiles whines, a touch of panic to his voice as the Jeep slows significantly. “No, no, no, please baby, don’t do this!”

Despite his desperate pleadings, the car sputters to a stop at the side of the road and refuses to budge.

“Fuck.”

Stiles turns the key in the ignition not only one, but two, three and four times, and still, absolutely nothing happens. He begs and cajoles. The Jeep doesn’t respond. Stiles falls defeated back against the seat and closes his eyes to take a couple of heavy breaths. The lightning flashes and the thunder follows shortly after. It’s not far away at all.

His dad is working. He would definitely send a squad car if Stiles called, but Stiles doesn’t want to disturb. They probably have enough on their hands without rescuing the sheriff’s kid. Cora and Mrs. Hale are having their annual San Francisco long weekend, so calling Cora isn’t an option either.

Stiles weighs the phone in his hand, chews on his bottom lip while his mind whirrs.

Fine.

To Eyebrows McDickface [5:47pm]
are u busy??

There. Okay. And if Derek doesn’t reply or can’t come, then he’ll just call his dad, it will be fine. He guesses he could look up Boyd’s or Erica’s number, but that would feel kind of weird. Maybe Mr. Hale? Yeah, Mr. Hale would probably- his phone chirps.

From Eyebrows McDickface [5:48pm]
Why

Stiles snorts.

To Eyebrows McDickface [5:48pm]
my car kinda crapped out on me and i’m stranded. dad’s working

Stiles doesn’t know why he’s feeling nervous.

From Eyebrows McDickface [5:49pm]
Where are you?

To Eyebrows McDickface [5:49pm]
the road passing the old railroad depot

From Eyebrows McDickface [5:50pm]
I’ll be there in 5.

Stiles draws a shuddering breath. Cool. Cool cool cool cool.

It isn’t really a five-minute drive, especially not in this weather, but true to his word Derek’s Camaro slows to a stop next to the Jeep not more than five minutes later. Stiles grabs his phone and keys and jumps out of his car. He pulls the groceries from the backseat, shoves the door closed and locks the car as fast as he can. No matter how much he hurried, he’s still drenched by the time he drops into Derek’s passenger seat. His shirt sticks to his chest and his hair clings to his forehead. Derek grimaces, probably because Stiles is now dripping water in his pretty car, but helps him by moving the heavy grocery bags from his lap to the backseat. To Stiles’ confusion, he unbuckles his belt and shrugs out of his leather jacket. He promptly shoves it into Stiles’ arms. Stiles blinks at it in surprise for a second or two before understanding dawns on him. He nods his thanks. A warm sensation spreads from the pit of his stomach. The corner of Derek’s mouth twitches and he buckles up again before starting the car. The Camaro’s engine roars to life in an incredibly satisfying way after the Jeep gave Stiles the silent treatment. Stiles sinks deeper into the heated seat and drapes the leather jacket over himself. The jacket smells of Derek, a scent Stiles didn’t know that he had catalogued up until now. It’s a nice smell.

The car ride home is a quiet affair, except for the rain and thunder. Derek is fully focused on the slippery road and getting them home in one piece. If he notices Stiles stealing glances at him, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Stiles pulls up his phone and Googles.

The rain has eased somewhat when Derek parks in the Hales’ driveway. Stiles has cosied himself up beneath Derek’s jacket and doesn’t really feel like moving, but does so when Derek makes to get out of the car. Stiles reaches out to stop him with a hand on his shoulder. Derek turns his head and looks at him inquisitive, raised eyebrows.

Stiles, suddenly self-conscious, sits up a bit straighter and lets the leather jacket drop into his lap. The sign looked simple enough on the website he found when he Googled, but what if he fucks it up and accidentally signs something completely different? He raises his flat palm and touches his fingers to his chin, before moving it away from himself. Thank you.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot, if possible, even higher up his forehead and he sinks back into his seat as well. He’s surprised, clearly, and Stiles really hopes that he didn’t just call him motherfucker or something.

Then, Derek smiles. It’s a soft, tentative thing, in sharp contrast to the shit-eating grins he usually throws Stiles’ way.

Stiles kind of loves it.

Derek shakes his head a little and motions with his hand, as if saying that driving out in a thunderstorm to save Stiles’ stranded ass was nothing. It’s kind of a realization that it, in Derek’s eyes, probably was nothing. Stiles thinks that he would do the same for Derek in a heartbeat. He smiles too.

They get out of the car. Derek helps him lift the grocery bags out of the backseat and they make a trade - the groceries for the leather jacket, even though Stiles feels a little reluctant to let the jacket go.

Stiles hovers with uncertainty, feeling like he should be doing something more, something else, and this is when he normally would just be spouting out words and he knows that Derek is a decent lip reader, but he still bites down on a potential word vomit. Instead, he smiles and nods his head bye before he hurries up the walkway to the door. While fumbling with his keys, he throws Derek one last look. Derek, by his door, looks back. Stiles’ heart races.

“You’re up early,” the Sheriff comments as he walks into the kitchen the next morning to find Stiles already sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal.

“Wanted to get ahold of a tow truck for the Jeep as soon as possible,” Stiles explains around a jawn. “They’ll drop it off at Armor Tire & Service Center.”

“Good,” the Sheriff nods and pats Stiles’ shoulder while he passes by to grab a cup of coffee. “Let’s hope it’s nothing serious, huh?”

Stiles sighs and nods in agreement. Last time the Jeep had kicked up a fuss, it had been gruesome on the Stilinski household’s wallet.

“Did you thank Derek for picking you up?”

“Jeez, of course I did, dad,” Stiles groans. “You didn’t raise a complete asshat, you know.”

The Sheriff just levels him with a flat look. Rude. But also kind of a fair point. Stiles shovels the last of the cereal into his mouth and drinks the leftover milk.

“Is Cora still in San Francisco?” The Sheriff asks, sipping on his coffee.

“Yeah, she’ll be back tonight,” Stiles replies. He dumps his dishes in the sink.

“What are you going to get up to today then?”

“I dunno,” Stiles shrugged. “Probably marathon a show and become one with the couch. Or bother Derek for an hour or so. He’s got neat books.”

“Neat books?” The Sheriff questions with a raised eyebrow and Stiles’ heart thuds faster, unreasonably faster, considering that it’s not even a lie. Derek does have neat books. Rows of them in a super large bookcase, thick volumes of world history, myths and folklore. Because he’s a nerd.

“Yep. Neat books.”

“Neat books,” the Sheriff parrots with a blank, disbelieving stare.

“What? Why do you keep saying ‘neat books’ like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s code for drugs or something! I swear, I’m not doing cocaine with Derek Hale!”

The Sheriff rolls his eyes.

“You’re very dramatic, I hope you’re aware,” the Sheriff tells him with such an unnerving calmness that drives Stiles crazy and his dad knows that it drives him crazy.

“I’m leaving,” Stiles states and throws his hands up in the air with exasperation. “I’m walking away from this conversation now. Right now!”

“You do that, son.”

“Gah!”

Stiles stalks out the back door and settles on the porch steps. It’s only a couple of minutes past 8:30 am and the grass is wet from yesterday’s rain, but the air is already turning hot. He draws a shuddering breath. Typical of his dad to make things weird. Was he implying stuff? Does he know that Stiles sort of finds Derek to be kind of hot? He couldn’t possibly know that. How would he know that? He had barely seen them interact at all.

Stiles wonders if Derek is awake. He probably is. He’s probably been up for hours like a nerd. Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket.

To Eyebrows McDickface [8:38am]
R u up?

From Eyebrows McDickface [8:39am]
Yes.

See? Like a nerd.

To Eyebrows McDickface [8:39am]
can i come over?

From Eyebrows McDickface [8:39am]
Why

To Eyebrows McDickface [8:40am]
I dunno, TO HANG? That’s usually what people do

From Eyebrows McDickface [8:40am]
I’m not Cora?

To Eyebrows McDickface [8:40am]
I know??

From Eyebrows McDickface [8:41am]
Fine.

Stiles gets up from the porch steps and tiptoes across the lawn, his bare feet getting wet in an instant. He climbs the hedge, stumbles a little once he lands on the other side and makes his way to the Hales’ back door. Derek pulls it open before he reaches it, takes in his still sleep-rumpled appearance and rolls his eyes. He motions for Stiles to come inside.

Now, Stiles is the first to admit that he didn’t really think this through. He has absolutely no idea of what they could get up to. Or well. That’s a lie. But he has no reasonable ideas for what they could get up to.

Mr. Hale sits at the kitchen table, eating an elaborate looking sandwich for breakfast. He looks mildly surprised at seeing Stiles in his kitchen.

“Good morning, Stiles,” he says. “I thought it was against your principles to be up at this hour.”

“Morning, Mr. Hale,” Stiles replies and sits down by the table, eyes tracking Derek who’s pouring himself a cup of coffee. “It is, but I had a car in need of towing and then I decided to seize the day and not pass out again.”

Mr. Hale chuckles.

“Sounds like a fine idea.”

A hot cup of coffee is placed in front of Stiles. Stiles looks up as Derek drops into the seat next to him with his own cup. Oh.

“Thank you,” Stiles signs, because he knows that one now.

Derek merely smiles in reply, but it’s plenty enough for Stiles.

“I see you’ve been learning some ASL,” Mr. Hale comments, signing while he speaks. Derek snorts a little and Stiles suddenly feels self-conscious. He rubs at the back of his neck, a splotchy red blush creeping up his neck.

“Uhm, not really. It’s pretty much that and uh… insults,” he admits.

“Derek could probably teach you a thing or two if you wanted to learn more,” Mr. Hale suggests and there is some definite communication made through eye contact alone between Mr. Hale and Derek, but it’s far too complicated for Stiles to interpret.

“Would you?” Stiles blurts out, turning to Derek in wide-eyed excitement. “That would be awe- fuck. Fuck, hang on,” Stiles scrambles for his phone to write what he’s saying down, but Derek stills his frantic movements with a hand on his wrist.

Stiles freezes and looks up. Derek nods.

“You’ll teach me?”

Derek nods again, accompanied by a movement with his right hand.

“That means yes?” Stiles questions and Derek nods once more. “Cool!”

Mr. Hale gets up from his seat and disappears into the living room for a couple of seconds, before returning with a notebook and two pens. He places them on the kitchen table between Stiles and Derek.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” he says and grabs what’s left of his sandwich. “Have fun, boys.”

He pats Derek on the shoulder before leaving the room. Derek moves his hand away from Stiles’ wrist and Stiles misses it immediately. Derek grabs a pen and a notepad and scribbles Should we get started?. Stiles nods.

By the time Cora and Mrs. Hale come home in the late evening, Stiles and Derek have migrated to the living room. The remnants of both their lunch and dinner are spread across the coffee table, along with an endless amount of notebook paper covered in scribbles. Cora raises an eyebrow at the state of Stiles, slouched down at one end of the couch, half-covered in a blanket and giggling helplessly. Derek isn’t faring much better, his face buried in his hands while his shoulders shake with laughter.

“Having fun?” Mrs. Hale asks and Stiles shoots up straight, not having noticed them until now. He accidentally kicks Derek in the process, who grimaces at him before seeing that they have company.

“Derek has been teaching me how to sign,” Stiles explains.

“Has he now?” Cora says and there she goes again, with that sly tone that Stiles never can decipher. It makes his heart race like he’s been caught out.

“Yep. But uh, I should probably skedaddle now, it’s getting late. I’ll be around tomorrow, and you can tell me all about San Francisco, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Derek has schooled his face into something a little more somber by the time Stiles looks back at him.

“Thank you,” he signs, a soft smile tugging on his lips. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Derek signs back and Stiles doesn’t know why that makes his stomach swoop, but it does.

---

The Stilinskis haven’t made a big affair out of the Fourth of July for quite some time now, not since Stiles’ mom passed away. Their celebrations usually consist of them putting some burgers on the grill and Stiles trying to wheedle a beer out of his father. Sometimes he’s successful and sometimes he’s not. This year they’re invited to the Hales. They bring a salad, even though they were told not to bring anything, and it looks kind of bleak next to the literal mountains of food the Hales have prepared.

It’s a nice evening. The weather isn’t too stifling in the shadow of the tree in the Hales’ garden, where they’ve set up a large table for them all. The Sheriff and Mr. Hale drink one too many beers together and offer the unwilling crowd a rather emotional rendition of the national anthem. Cora FaceTimes with Laura and her family and they all get to coo at the new little baby, who’s soundly asleep on Laura’s chest. Derek eats all of the Stilinski salad, probably out of sheer pity, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. Stiles nicks a beer, which he sips on while they watch the fireworks.

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:20pm]
That shirt is hideous, by the way.

Stiles is wearing a t-shirt of the American flag with an eagle soaring across it, wearing sunglasses. It’s hideous and super patriotic, thank you very much.

To Eyebrows McDickface [10:20pm]
you’re just jealous that i love america more than i love you

Stiles hears the exact moment when Derek reads the text because he snorts with what Stiles chooses to interpret as amusement. Stiles looks over to see the bright colors of the fireworks dance across Derek’s face while he types. He’s smiling softly, privately, and Stiles wonders if it’s his doing.

From Eyebrows McDickface [10:21pm]
Yeah, that’s exactly it.

---

Mr. and Mrs. Hale leave on Mrs. Hale’s business trip right on schedule. It brings the party planning into Stage 3: All or Nothing, Ride or Die. Cora and Stiles aren’t exactly the most popular kids in school, but very few bored high schoolers say no to a parent-free summer party. Judging by the RSVPs on the Facebook event (HALE STORM SUMMER PARTY EXTRAVAGANZA 2K18), they’re expecting a full house. Cora appointed Stiles to Head of Snacks and Music, which is a job he takes very seriously. She also manages to bully Derek to go with Stiles to the store to help him shop, since he refused to buy them any alcohol. Erica, on the other hand, isn’t such a stickler for rules and with her assistance, they could check booze off the list.

D-Day passes in a blur of red solo cups arrangements, the mixing of heavily spiked punch and confetti (don’t ask).

“I’m nervous,” Cora says ten minutes or so before the party is about to start. No one has shown up yet, but they hadn’t expected anything else anyway. “Why am I nervous, it’s just a stupid party?”

“Probably because, no matter how cool you think you are, we’re all victims of societal expectations and a desire to fit in with our peers and is there a more perfect way to soar to high school royalty status or fall straight down to complete fiasco than through a summer party?” Stiles muses, thoughtfully chewing on a chip.

Cora glares.

“You’re not helping at all, you know.”

“Oh, you wanted help? Got nothing of that.”

Cora sticks her tongue out at him and he replies in kind.

The doorbell rings at 10:30. Stiles slides off the couch and makes his way to the door while Cora is busy trying to surreptitiously look herself over in the mirror.

Scott McCall, Kira Yukimura, Allison Argent and Isaac Lahey is on the other side of the door. Scott raises two bottles of Jack Daniel’s.

“Is this where the party is?” He asks and Stiles grins.

Stiles has seen his fair share of high school parties in his days and he feels confident enough to say that this one is a complete success, judging purely by the number of his classmates that have puked, currently are puking, or are destined to puke in the hedges separating the Hales’ garden from his own. He should probably hose it down for a good ten minutes before attempting to climb over it again. Ew.

The music is loud enough for Stiles to feel it in his bones and everywhere he turns there are people talking, dancing, groping, drinking. The air is stifling, despite the back door and windows standing wide-open. Many have searched their way into the garden, where there seem to be some sort of drinking game going on because all Stiles can hear is a chant of “Shot! Shot! Shot!”.

Cora is holding court by the couch. Her cheeks are red from the wine she has been sipping during the night, but her eyes and smile are still sharp as she keeps the attention of at least five seniors from the lacrosse team. They wish.

Stiles likes to think that at any other time, he would have loved this. He would have been smack-dab straight in the middle of it, making an absolute fool of himself and only remembering half of it the next day. Hell, that has happened before. Only now he finds himself hovering along the edges of the room, close enough that he possibly could break through whatever imaginary barrier he has managed to build between himself and everyone else in the room, but he’s not sure that he wants to. He’s been nursing the same red solo cup for the last hour and all he can feel is a burgeoning headache.

Maybe he needs a breather. Maybe he should just go home. That would feel like bailing on Cora though. She would understand, she always does, but it still doesn’t feel right. Instead, he slips up the stairs and tells himself that he’ll just hang out in Cora’s room for ten minutes or so, where he can close the door and shut out the noise for a while. It’s a solid plan, he thinks, right up until the point where he opens Cora’s door only to find Kira Yukimura with someone literally up her skirt. Stiles freezes, Kira squeaks and Malia Tate pops her head up to glare at him.

“Sorry!” He blurts once he truly realizes what he has walked in on and backtracks out of the room.

He stops in the hallway while his brain recalibrates. So. Cora’s room is definitely out of the question. Uhm. Yeah. Should he tell Cora that there’s some lovemaking going on in her room? Probably not.

Stiles ambles his way further down the hallway, to Derek’s door. He wouldn’t mind if Stiles just crashed there for a couple of minutes, right? Stiles has spent time there before. Looking at Derek’s neat books. No, he probably wouldn’t mind. After convincing himself that Derek would be super cool with this invasion of privacy, Stiles pushes the door open and slips inside, closing it neatly behind him. He turns around and comes face to face with Derek, who stares at him incredulously from his bed.

“Oh, Jesus!” Stiles exclaims and throws a hand across his suddenly racing heart. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Derek reaches towards his nightstand and grabs the notepad that’s resting there. He scribbles on it in big blocky letters and then flips it around. I could ask you the same thing.

Stiles walks over and plops down on the edge of the bed. Derek hands the notepad and pen over reflexively.

I didn’t know that you were home. Why didn’t you come down?

Derek snorts as he reads the words.

Sorry, hanging out with a bunch of drunken high schoolers isn’t exactly what I would call fun.

“Hey!” Stiles says, giving Derek’s shoulder a light shove. It hardly sways Derek and makes Stiles acutely aware of how firm Derek’s shoulder is.

Why aren’t you down there?

Needed a break. Cora’s room was occupied, sorry.

It’s okay. You’re not so bad.

Thanks??

You’re welcome.

Derek is smirking. It’s a nice smirk, dammit. Everything about him is nice. Ugh, this is the worst.

What are you doing?

Derek raises the book resting in his lap and waves a little with it. It’s one of those super thick volumes from the Neat Books Collection. Nerd.

Stiles bites his lip in concentration as he thinks back on some of the things Derek taught him the other day. He carefully tries to shape his hands into the right signs.

“Could you teach me more ASL?” He signs, or at least attempts to.

Derek’s smirk widens.

“Okay,” he signs back.

Stiles excitedly crawls all the way on top of the bed to sit down opposite Derek, his legs crossed in front of him. Derek mimics his pose and places the notepad and pen next to them, so both can easily reach before they go over the words and short sentences they had practiced last time. Stiles’ headache slowly subsides little by little, with every calm rise of Derek’s chest, and every gentle touch to his hands as Derek corrects the signs he fubs. Derek is a bit tired, Stiles can tell from the softness in his face and the slight redness in his eyes. Stiles has the sudden urge to dip forwards and bury his face in Derek’s neck. They could fall asleep like that, Stiles is a bit tired too. He wouldn’t mind that at all.

Derek taps him twice on the cheek and Stiles blinks as he snaps back to reality.

“Sorry,” he signs, a bit embarrassed about spacing out like that, especially considering what he was thinking about.

“You’re tired,” Derek signs in return. “Just one more.”

“One more,” Stiles agrees with a nod. Maybe he should go home afterwards. He doesn’t really feel like rejoining the party and he can’t very well crash in Derek’s room, no matter how much he wants to.

Derek raises both his hands, palm up and while pulling them back towards himself, his fingertips curl upwards, like claws. Stiles knows that one.

“Want,” he says and repeats the sign.

Derek nods in affirmation, smiling softly. Once again he raises both hands, his fingertips touching his thumbs, and makes the hands touch. That’s a new sign, one that Stiles hasn’t seen before and he shakes his head in confusion. Derek carries on though, finishing off the sentence by pointing to Stiles. You. Want, something, you. Well, Stiles wouldn’t mind if they skipped that middle sign altogether. Derek signs the sentence again, his eyes boring into Stiles’ with a kind of shy urgency that Stiles hasn’t seen before, as if he’s just willing Stiles to understand.

Stiles focuses. He gets the sensation that this is important for him to understand, that he wants to understand this right now. ASL is often logical, he tells himself, the signs often resemble the words. He watches Derek’s hands move, watches the shapes they create, fingertips to thumbs, fingertips touching fingertips, almost like pecking and now that he sees the motion over and over, it almost looks like two faces moving towards each other, colliding with each other like they’re-

Stiles’ eyes snap up to meet Derek’s and Derek’s hands still.

Kiss. It means kiss. Want. Kiss. You. WANT KISS YOU.

Stiles’ heart stutters. He grabs the notepad because he needs to be sure.

‘I want to kiss you.’ ??

“Yes,” Derek signs and Stiles heart is past all the awkward stumbling and has skipped right into somersaults.

“You want to kiss me?” Stiles mouths the words as he signs them.

“Yes,” Derek repeats, unwavering except for the slight blush dusted across his cheeks.

Stiles doesn’t hesitate.

“Kiss me,” he signs.

Relief washes briefly over Derek’s features, tension seeping out of his shoulders and a smile, small and private and just for Stiles, tugs on the corner of his mouth. He reaches up, taps his fingertips twice against Stiles’ cheek teasingly and it drags the breath Stiles has been holding right out of his lungs. Derek cups his cheek, draws him in and Stiles reaches out for him too, reaches to grab the front of his shirt and-

The door slams open and they jump apart as if burned.

“There you are, Stiles,” Cora says, triumphant, from the door opening. “You’ve been gone forever.”

Stiles shoots up from the bed.

“Yeah, sorry, I got a headache, so Derek let me hang here for a while,” he explains and jeez, does he look as dishevelled as he feels?

“Do you need an Aspirin?” Cora wonders, concern scrunching up her face.

“Nah, it’s cool, but uh… I’m kind of tired and figured that I’d just go home, if that’s alright?”

“Sure, of course,” Cora assures him.

“Cool,” why does he keep saying cool? “I’ll swing by tomorrow to help you clean up.”

Cora snorts.

“Yeah, I’m counting on it. If not, I’ll come and drag you over.”

“Coo-, right, I believe you. Uh, bye. Bye, Derek!”

He aims a wave in Derek’s general direction but doesn’t quite dare to look at him. What would he find if he did? Cora punches his shoulder good-naturedly and he flicks her forehead in retaliation before he hurries down the stairs and out the front door. The night air is a welcome change from the stifling heat inside the house and a shock against his burning cheeks. He runs his fingers through his hair as he power walks past the Hales’ driveway and then up his own, an adrenaline-fuelled current running through his veins and adding a shaky bounce to his steps. Well on his front porch he digs into his pockets to find his keys and that’s when a hand wraps around his arm.

“Oh my fucking god!” he gasps, his free arm flailing wildly in terror, but he’s getting swirled around and there’s Derek.

It’s Derek. Derek, whose chest is heaving, as if he had thrown himself down the stairs to catch up with Stiles. Derek, whose eyes answers any and all of the million questions running through Stiles’ mind. Derek, who wants to kiss him.

Stiles finds himself nodding in reply to a question that hasn’t been asked and Derek smiles as he steps closer, as his hands cup Stiles’ cheeks, large and warm on already rosy red skin. The music, the laughter and chatter from the party drown in the rush of blood in Stiles’ ears when Derek kisses him. Derek’s lips, somehow even softer than the look in his eyes before he closed his delicate eyelids, fairer than the fan of lashes across his skin, envelop Stiles’ as if he’s something to be cherished, even though Stiles’ lips are chapped and must taste like horribly mixed punch on Derek’s tongue.

Stiles whimpers, there’s no other word for it, when his hands bunch in the front of Derek’s shirt and he can feel Derek’s steadily thundering heart through his fists. It’s terribly mismatched with his own rabbitlike heartbeat, not one thump in sync, but it doesn’t matter, nothing seems to matter in this moment except for the points where their bodies touch, where fireworks explode beneath Stiles’ skin.

When Derek pulls back, he does it so mercifully slow, his nose bumping against Stiles’ like a caress, his lips brushing across Stiles’ cheek, his chin and jaw, the shell of his ear. It leaves Stiles breathless, it leaves him aching despite how gently Derek handles him. When Derek’s hands drop from Stiles’ cheeks, Stiles eases his grip on Derek’s shirt and let his eyes flutter open.

“Goodnight,” Derek signs.

“Goodnight,” Stiles replies, despite his hands feeling uncooperative and sluggish while signing.

Nevertheless, it makes Derek smile and he ducks in to steal a peck before stepping down the porch steps and walking back to his house. He throws one last look over his shoulder though, and Stiles bites down on his lip to fight off a grin.

---

Stiles is pretty sure that he hasn’t gotten more than a couple of minutes of sleep by the time that he gets out of bed the next day, and yet he doesn’t feel tired. He’s pretty sure that he’s still riding some sort of high from last night. Last night, when Derek Hale totally kissed him. Stiles can’t quite believe that it actually happened, that they actually touched lips. Wow. He hopes it wasn’t a one-time thing. It sure as hell didn’t feel like a one-time thing.

It takes Stiles an unusual amount of time to shower and get dressed. He’s trying to remind himself that he’s literally just going over to help clean up empty solo cups and quite possibly someone’s actual vomit and that the skinniest jeans that hide in the back of his closet wouldn’t be very practical. But if Derek’s there, he wants to look good. Should he text Derek? To ask if he’s there? Or is that clingy? He doesn’t want to come off as clingy. He’s so not clingy. He’s totally chill. The chillest. At least that’s what he’s telling himself in the mirror before jogging next door, having actively chosen not to wear his skinny jeans. It’s going to get too hot anyway, shorts are fine.

Stiles makes his way around the back, to let himself in through the back door. The garden is an absolute mess, with discarded cups, overturned patio furniture and three socks, a pair of underwear and one bra hanging from Mrs. Hale’s favorite rose bush. Stiles tiptoes his way to the door, wary of what he might step on if he’s not careful. He pushes the door open to reveal a living room in an even greater disarray than the garden.

“Cora! Are you up?” He calls out but gets no reply.

He makes his way to the staircase, only to find Derek at the top of it, blinking a little in surprise at the sight of Stiles. Stiles is pretty sure he loses his breath altogether. Oh fuck, did Derek somehow get even more beautiful than last night? Is that even possible? It can’t be, right?

Derek brings a finger to his lips to hush Stiles, throws a cautious glance over his shoulder before making his way down the stairs. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types for a few seconds. He shows Stiles the screen: Cora is still asleep. She didn’t fall asleep until 5.

Stiles nods in understanding. Fuck, his heart is beating so hard right now. He should have picked the skinny jeans. Derek is looking like a goddamn vision and Stiles feels like a goblin next to him.

Something in Stiles’ face, probably his deer in the headlights look, makes Derek soften around the edges and shake his head a little. His smile makes Stiles weak at the knees.

“Hi,” Derek signs.

“Hi,” Stiles signs back, heart in his throat.

He wants to kiss Derek. Desperately. He wants this, them, to be a thing. A real, solid thing, despite knowing that Cora will kill him. Cora can never know, Stiles thinks as he steps forward into the space in between him and Derek, eyes roaming across Derek’s face in search of something that could possibly be interpreted as an aversion to smooching. He finds nothing, so he kisses him. It’s brief, a chaste press of lips against lips, and even though he physically remains with his feet on the ground at the bottom of the Hales’ staircase, with what’s left of last night’s party scattered around him, with the silence of the morning pressing all around him, he feels like he’s soaring and the only thing that keeps him tethered to earth is the warmth of Derek’s hands on his waist.

Fuck, he’s so thoroughly gone on this asshole, how did that even happen?

Derek steps back, puts a little space between them and Stiles doesn’t like that at all. Derek signs something and Stiles’ face scrunches up in confusion, because he doesn’t understand. He fumbles for his phone, unlocks it and holds it out to Derek to type on. As previously mentioned, Derek is a wicked fast typer and texter, but Stiles still feels like he’s died and been resurrected about ten times over during the brief seconds it takes for Derek to write and hand the phone back.

You’re a good kisser.

Stiles doesn’t preen. He doesn’t, okay? His natural smile is just borderline hysterical. Derek rolls his eyes at the sight of it and snatches the phone back before Stiles can make a grab for it.

Don’t let it get to your already inflated head.

This time Stiles manages to wrestle the phone out of Derek’s hand, but not until he gives him a well-deserved shove. That guy thinks he’s cute, but he’s really not.

You’re totally into this PERFECTLY SIZED AND REASONABLE head so YOU PLAYED YOURSELF, BUCKO!

Triumphant and rebellious, he flips the screen so Derek can read the message. Derek looks incredibly self-satisfied when he replies.

Perfectly sized, huh?, the message reads and ends with the fucking eggplant emoji. THE EGGPLANT EMOJI. All the blood in Stiles’ body debates on whether to rush to his cheeks or his dick and his mouth drops open in shock. Shock!

I’ll have you know that you won’t get to see my eggplant until at least the third date. I’m super high maintenance.

Is that so? Better get on that then. Laser tag and burgers tomorrow?

It’s like Derek has gotten his hands on the limited edition hardcover version of How to Woo a Stiles and has devoured it from the first to the last page, committing it all, every tiny little detail to memory.

I lied, Stiles writes, I’m not high maintenance at all, I’ll drop my pants right now.

Derek just laughs when he reads it.

I won’t show my eggplant until after the first date, at least. Have some dignity.

There’s a smug smirk on Derek’s lips.

Cora wakes to the warlike noises of her best friend crashing through the living room, trying to beat her big brother into submission with a throw pillow and said big brother using empty solo cups as defensive ammunition.

---

---

At 4:15pm the very next day, Stiles shimmies his way into a pair of skinny jeans. It’s a calculated risk. He tells himself that he’s fully aware of the limitations put upon his body. He knows that he won’t be able to move as freely, or to kick as much booty as he normally would while playing laser tag, but… His ass looks so good. And if that means that it ramps up the chances of Derek putting his hands on said ass before the day is over, well, then his sacrifice is worth it.

Derek is leaning against the Camaro by the time Stiles locks his front door and skips down the steps. A smile curls his lips at the sight of Stiles, his eyes roving down Stiles’ body.

Worth it.

---

Sweat makes Stiles’ hair cling to his forehead and neck. He’s breathless, nearly delirious, and his knees are weak and shaky. The room is dark, the air sucked out of it, sucked out of his lungs. His body is aching, past the point of hurt and stumbling into pleasure. If it weren’t for the solid wall against his back, he’s not sure if he would know what’s up and what’s down. Derek sags against the wall next to him, eyes wide and wild, his chest heaving with exertion. His skin is glistening with perspiration in the vague neon lights scattered across the room.

Derek holds up three fingers and nods to the right of them. Stiles snaps his head that way, to catch the shadows of three people moving cautiously in between the pillars spread throughout the room. They’re on the hunt, weapons drawn and ready. On the hunt for Derek and Stiles.

They lost Stacey, age 11, early in the game. She tripped on her shoelace and bruised her chin when she hit the floor, and Bryce, age 12.5, swooped in in an extremely unsportsmanlike manner and shot her straight in the chest. Stacey was sobbing so uncontrollably that her mom had to come get her. Aaron, age 12, didn’t stand a chance when Petra and Logan ganged up on him and Jared… Damn, by the time Stiles had crawled across the trenches on all fours, Jared was already a goner. Derek had to drag Stiles away from him, just to keep them both in the game.

And now it’s just them, the two that remain from the once mighty Wolf Pack, against Bryce, Petra and Logan, the most ruthless killers Stiles has ever encountered. The kids maneuver through the room expertly, never leaving themselves vulnerable. They’re an unstoppable force. Stiles and Derek don’t stand a chance.

Stiles looks back to Derek. He sees the answer to the silent question on the tip of his tongue in Derek’s eyes. In this moment, they don’t need words or signs to read each other perfectly. They’re completely in sync. Stiles nods in understanding, somber but resolved. It’s what needs to be done. He grabs the front of Derek’s laser vest and pulls him into a heated kiss, a kiss for victory, for defeat, for the inevitable and the unknown. A kiss goodbye, if it comes to it. They share one last meaningful look before Derek starts the countdown.

Three.

Two.

One.

They jump in unison from their hideout, phasers blazing, shooting wildly at everything and anything that moves. Stiles may or may not be screaming. Bryce gets hit, that little punk, his vest flashing and he curses in a way a 12.5-year-old really shouldn’t. Petra, on the other hand, keeps her cool and gets both Stiles and Derek, one in the shoulder and one in the chest. She and Logan laugh, victorious, as Stiles collapses into Derek’s arms.

“Goodbye,” Stiles signs, gazing into the eyes of his lover one last time before the lights flicker on.

The incredibly bored voice asking them to please make their way to the exit over the loudspeakers is a distant echo in Stiles’ ears, because Derek is laughing, shaking his head incredulously at Stiles’ antics. Stiles’ belly floods with warmth.

---

They go for greasy burgers and even greasier fries. They eat them facing each other, too busy eating to share anything but smiles, mischievous looks and goofy giggles. Derek’s leg rests firmly against Stiles’ beneath the table during the entire meal. Stiles tries to steal Derek’s fries and gets his hand slapped for the effort. The silence could be weird, should be weird. It should be making Stiles’ skin crawl, should be leaving him bursting at the seams to blurt out everything on his mind, but it doesn’t. Not when Derek pushes the remains of his fries across the table to Stiles’ delight, not even when their hands brush against each other as they walk side by side back to the car, fingers playfully reaching for each other without really taking hold. Definitely not when Derek grabs him by the waist and lifts him onto the hood of the Camaro to kiss him until he’s sure that he can not trust his legs anymore.

---

Dating Derek is… pretty great. Stiles doesn’t really have anything to compare it to; he’s never had a boyfriend before. If that’s what they are. Boyfriends. He hasn’t asked yet, afraid of disturbing this bliss-like state he somehow has managed to stumble into. A bliss-like state where Derek sneaks out of his house at a quarter to midnight to walk with Stiles through the sleeping neighborhood. A state where they drive to the lake, on their own, to play in the water until their muscles ache and their throats are sore from laughing. Where they dry in the sun together, Derek running his fingers through a snoozing Stiles’ hair while he reads one of his nerd books. A state where Derek takes him hiking through the woods and Stiles whines and moans about the pebble in his shoe, the heat and his sore feet until Derek straight up turns so he can’t see Stiles’ dramatic signing and effectively shuts out any remaining complaints. Either way, Stiles ends up clinging to Derek’s back, his nose buried in his neck, as Derek carries him back to the parking lot.

---

---

It’s difficult to pretend like he’s not head over heels for Derek when others are around, but he thinks that he’s pulling it off relatively well. Cora hasn’t said anything at least, not even the time Stiles fell asleep on Derek’s shoulder during movie night. It’s not easy to get time for themselves, even though they try to steal touches and a stray kiss whenever they get a few seconds for themselves in between outings with Erica and Boyd or lazy days spent at the Hales’ house with Cora. It’s always fun, of course, Cora is Stiles’ best friend, Erica is a blast and Boyd’s deadpan humor is hilarious once you coax it out of him, but… but the truth is that Stiles has gone and become one of those guys that gets a boyfriend and forgets about everything and everyone else. It’s gross, he knows, he’s creeping himself out with it, but he can’t help it. Although, Derek is seemingly not faring much better, judging by the way his hands lingers on Stiles’ whenever they practice signing, or how he always drops down into the seat next to Stiles when Stiles is having dinner at the Hales’, just to press his leg against his. It’s fair to say that they’re equally gross. Stiles can live with that.

---

One late night, after one of their midnight walks, after Derek kisses him goodbye like he always does and after he turns to get back into his own house, Stiles stops him with a hand on his forearm. Derek turns back, eyebrows raised in a questioning arc, and Stiles lets out a shivering breath.

“Stay?” he signs, hopeful and nervous.

He’s been thinking about this a lot, asking Derek to stay the night when he has the house to himself. Stiles isn’t expecting anything, they could just sleep, but… well, he’d rather not just sleep. He’d rather that Derek touch him. He’d rather put his hands on Derek. It must be obvious, his shy eyes and splotchy red cheeks telling Derek what his words haven’t.

“I’ll stay,” Derek signs and Stiles grins in return, fumbling with his keys to get the door open.

It’s not like in the movies. It’s certainly not like anything from Stiles’ admittedly rather limited experience. They don’t seamlessly fall into each other’s arms, desperately hungry for lips and skin. There’s no tossing of clothes while they make their way up the stairs, no falling into bed, no romantic soundtrack in the background. Stiles doesn’t come in his pants either, a welcome change.

No, it goes like this.

Derek takes him by the hand. Stiles’ heart thuds so hard, on the verge of being painful, when they go upstairs and into Stiles’ darkened room. Derek motions for Stiles to sit on his unmade bed and god, he should have thought this through. He should’ve changed the sheets before he asked his boyfriend over for sex. Derek is rummaging around on Stiles’ desk, turning on the desk lamp which casts a soft light across the room. When Derek joins Stiles on the bed, sits down by his side, he holds a notepad and two pens. He hands Stiles one of the pens and as soon as it touches Stiles’ palm, he can feel himself deflate with relief. He knows how to do this. They share notes all the time.

Have you had sex before? Derek writes.

Stiles knee-jerk reaction is to lie. He wants to say that he’s a sex god. The immature boy he actually is wants to regale about his many, many sexual adventures. But Derek’s face is soft and open like he doesn’t care if Stiles is Virgin Mary or has slept with the entire town.

A few times. But never with a guy, he admits.

I’ve had two girlfriends and I’ve slept with a few guys, but never anything serious.

Stiles hesitates before he puts his pen to the paper again.

Is this serious?

Derek places his hand on the small of Stiles’ back, his thumb rubbing circles there while his lips leave a kiss on Stiles’ shoulder.

This is serious.

Stiles smiles, heart soaring.

For me too.

Derek smiles too, small and radiant.

Good. Tell me what you want. What you like. What you don’t like. Everything.

Stiles puts his pen to the paper and writes.

One might think that it’s horribly unromantic to meticulously list all your likes and dislikes, your curiosities and broach the subjects of what scares you. That it takes away from the spontaneity of the moment, making what’s fun and liberating about sex borderline bureaucratic. You want a blowjob? Then you must fill out form 69F. Sign here, here and initials here.

Stiles finds the reality quite the opposite. He didn’t think that he would, but there’s something deliciously intoxicating with having Derek pressed against his side while he writes down exactly what he wants to do with Stiles, what he’s been dreaming and fantasizing about. It makes Stiles’ skin run hot. Even more so when he writes himself, because Derek leaves lingering kisses along his shoulder and neck, behind his ear and along his throat. By the time they run out of words, Stiles’ hand is cramping from writing and the night has turned lighter outside the open window, a warm orange glow adorning the horizon. It’s easy to turn his head and catch Derek’s lips. It’s easy to let Derek undress him and to undress Derek in turn. It’s thrilling to feel his naked body against Stiles’ own, to let their hands, lips and tongues roam and explore. Stiles makes noises he’s never heard himself make before when Derek takes him into his mouth. Derek’s hair is impossibly soft between Stiles’ fingers.

---

---

---

“Hey, Stiles?” The Sheriff’s voice carries up the stairs and through Stiles’ open door.

It was only recently that Stiles dared approach his laptop and his gamer friends again, considering how it had ended up last time. He figured that this time around he had a pretty good incentive to return to the land of the living a bit more often, as Cora would say.

“Mmyeah, pops?” He replies distractedly, his eyes not once leaving the screen as his werewolf avatar rips the throat out of the weirdly humanoid lizards that’s currently attacking.

The Sheriff peeks in through the door and rests his weight against the doorframe.

“I was doing the laundry,” he starts, clears his throat. “And was emptying out the pockets of a pair of your jeans when I found this. Care to explain?”

Stiles throws a hasty glance at his father. He’s holding said pair of jeans in his hands, and a bright red little foil package that looks like-

His werewolf gets overwhelmed by the lizard people and ripped to shreds. Stiles can absently hear the shouts of his co-players in his ears, to respawn, to get back in the game and stop messing around. They’re so blissfully unaware of what it feels like to have one's dad find a condom in one’s jeans.

Stiles can testify that it pretty much feels like dying.

“Uh… I’d rather not?” Stiles replies slowly, pulling off his headset and pausing the game.

The Sheriff looks unimpressed. Probably rightfully so.

“I knew something was up with you,” he says. “You’ve been smiling like crazy for weeks now and I figured that something had happened, but I didn’t think… I suppose I should be happy that you’re smart enough to wear condoms at all.”

All the color has drained from Stiles’ face and his heart is beating out of his chest. Fuck, his dad knows. He knows. Fuck, what if he says that he can’t see Derek anymore? Derek is older after all. Fuck, technically they’ve broken laws. And his dad is legit a man of the law. Fuck, Stiles won’t know what to do if he can’t see Derek anymore, he can’t-

“Why didn’t you tell me that you and Cora are dating?”

It takes about two seconds for the words to sink in and Stiles can recognize an out when he sees it. He could say that he’s dating Cora. Cora would totally cover for him, he could make it work, if only he says the right words… but what comes out instead is a hysterical laughter.

“I’m not dating Cora, dad,” he says, shaking his head in between giggles.

His dad looks confused and far too disapproving for Stiles’ tastes.

“Are you having some sort of friends with benefits thing? Because Stiles, Cora Hale deserves better than-”

“Oh my god, dad, no! No! Cora, she’s not into me like that and I-”

The disapproval twists the Sheriff’s face further.

“Are you saying it was her idea? Stiles, you deserve more-”

“IT’S DEREK!”

Stiles slaps his hands over his mouth as soon as the words slip past his lips. The Sheriff stares at him for what feels like an infinite number of seconds, during which Stiles seriously considers throwing himself out the window. Would that kill him? Maybe. Or maybe just break every bone in his body. He’s not sure what he would prefer at this moment in time.

“Are you having sex with Derek?” The Sheriff eventually asks, his voice deceptively calm.

Stiles drops his hands in his lap.

“He’s, uh… sorta… my boyfriend,” Stiles admits quietly, eyes locked on his own hands.

He can, in the corner of his eye, see his dad move from the doorway to sit down at the edge of the bed. Stiles twists his chair reluctantly to face him.

“Are you gay?”

Coming out to his dad had always felt like… a non-issue isn’t the right word, but something of the sort. Stiles has never once in his life been scared that his dad wouldn’t accept him. It was such a sure, clear thing in Stiles’ mind. But sitting there, in front of his dad, with the words on the tip of his tongue, he can feel his heart ratcheting.

“Uhm… Bisexual, actually.”

The Sheriff’s hands, large and soothing, settle on Stiles’ knees. Stiles draws a shuddering breath and dares to look up into his dad’s face. As he always had anticipated, he can’t find anything but a comforting smile in his dad’s features.

“Thank you for telling me, Stiles,” he says, calm and so genuinely warm that Stiles feels a sudden thick lump of tears in his throat. He tries to swallow around it, but it must be incredibly obvious because the Sheriff pulls him into his arms and well… then he’s a goner.

He cries into his dad’s shirt, safely enveloped in his embrace, for what could be everything between a few minutes and half an eternity. The Sheriff murmurs soft, reassuring words into his hair, strokes the tears away with calloused hands. It feels like a weight has been lifted, like it leaks out of Stiles with every teardrop. It’s a relief unlike anything he has experienced before.

“So,” the Sheriff says once Stiles’ hiccuping has calmed. “Derek, huh?”

“Derek,” Stiles replies, wiping his nose on his shirt.

“He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“We’ll need to set up some rules, kid, but… If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Stiles smiles. It’s a little wet and shaky, but still a smile.

“I’m happy,” he says and means it.

---

All it takes is a text and next thing Stiles knows, Derek crawls over the hedges separating their gardens. They don’t really sign much, most have already been said through text. Derek just holds him until he feels at home in his skin again.

---

The Sheriff puts the new rules on the fridge.

1. The door stays open when Derek is over
2. No overnight stays
3. Curfew weekdays is 10pm, weekends 11:30pm
4. If you go out on dates, let me know where you are and when you will be back
5. No sex until you’re 18

Stiles swallows down whatever complaints that spill to the tip of his tongue and nods.

“Cool. I can work with that,” he says.

It takes Stiles approximately 11 hours post rule-setting to seduce Derek, with his irresistible vixenlike ways, into breaking rule no. 5. It’s when they’re starfished out on Stiles’ bed, on top of the covers, half-dozing side by side. The temperature has spiked and the air is suffocatingly hot as it lazily wafts in through the open window. There’s a half empty water bottle next to the bed, close to Derek’s hand which is dangling off the edge. Stiles is pretty sure that his underwear is glued to his ass with sweat and sweat alone. He’s hot, uncomfortable and so incredibly bored. In a heroic feat he grabs the notepad they had been using to practice signing earlier, finds an empty page and writes on it in big, blocky letters.

WANNA BONE?

He has to poke Derek several times on the shoulder to make him open his eyes, Derek groaning quietly in reply before he looks at the notepad. All he gives Stiles is a casual shrug, like sure. Stiles writes on the notepad again.

WANNA RIDE ME OR SHOULD I RIDE YOU?

Derek looks like he’s contemplating it for a couple of seconds, mulling it over in his head before he takes the notepad and pen from Stiles’ hands.

Whatever takes the least amount of effort

Stiles snorts inelegantly but agrees. He crawls across the sheets towards the nightstand and pulls lube and a condom out of the drawer, the ones hidden beneath an old collection of Pokémon cards. He tosses both at Derek, who catches them effortlessly, before shimmying out of his underwear and helping Derek to do the same. Stiles climbs on top of Derek to straddle his hips and while Derek offers to open Stiles up, Stiles waves him away. His hands are too hot on already overheated skin.

Derek almost always wears a smile whenever they have sex. Stiles is pretty sure he’s not even aware of doing it, of the way his lips curl softly at the edges when their eyes meet, when Stiles is buried within him, when he is buried within Stiles. It’s gentle and comforting, just like the way he runs his fingers through the sweaty strands of Stiles’ hair which clings to his forehead. It makes Stiles’ heart swell and steadies him when he sinks down on Derek’s cock.

It’s too hot in the room to do anything but slowly rut back and forth, in an endlessly agonizing tempo that never leads anywhere. Stiles throws his head back and gasps for air which escapes him, because there’s no goddamn oxygen left in the entirety of California, just strangling heat and sweat running down his back while they move together. Derek’s smile turns to a grimace, a frustrated V between his eyebrows and then morphs into amused laughter. Stiles stops and raises his eyebrows in question, but his lips are already twitching.

“This was a terrible idea,” Derek signs, which pulls an agreeing laugh from Stiles, a laugh that makes his shoulders shake.

“It really was,” he signs, nodding to emphasize.

Derek grapples for the notepad when Stiles’ ASL vocabulary fails them and writes down his next words.

Fast and hard to get it over with?

Stiles doesn’t have to do more than nod enthusiastically before Derek expertly flips them over and presses him into the sheets with unrelenting thrusts. They don’t stop until they’re both sticky and sated, until after Stiles cries out far too loud and Derek mouths across the freckles adorning Stiles’ shoulders.

They cool off side by side on their backs, nothing but their hands touching as they catch their breaths. Stiles thinks about how he wants to stay here forever, next to Derek, even if it means that he’ll have to stay sticky and gross and sweaty. Ugh, he’s gross both physically and emotionally now.

Derek is going back to school in just a couple of weeks, though. Back to New York, literally on the other side of the country. Would Derek even want to stay in a relationship with Stiles then? After all, he’s just some high school kid. There’s probably a bunch of hotties in New York. Stiles twists his head to watch Derek’s profile, his serenely closed eyes and the sharp jut of his jaw. He could get anyone he wanted.

Derek sighs then, loud and heavy, and twists so he can snatch the notepad and pen from where they’ve fallen to the floor. He scribbles quickly on a fresh piece of paper before handing it over.

I can HEAR you thinking

It’s such a stupid joke that it takes Stiles a few seconds to even get it. It makes him snort with laughter, turning on his side so he can give Derek’s shoulder a solid push.

That was the worst joke ever lmao

Made you laugh though. What are you obsessing about now?

Stiles sobers up a little at Derek’s question. Would asking Derek about the end of summer only complicate things? Would it taint their last few weeks together? Derek taps his cheek, effectively bringing him out of his quickly spiraling thoughts. With a heavy exhale, he puts the pen to paper.

What will happen when you go back to school?

Derek’s eyes flicker across the words more than once and Stiles’ heart quickens with every passing second. Derek rolls over on his stomach to write with the support of the mattress beneath them and Stiles follows suit.

I’ll miss you. We’ll facetime. There’s always Skype. I’ll be back for Thanksgiving.

The reply is so clear and to the point that Stiles is almost ashamed that he even entertained the thought of being some sort of summer fling for Derek. Derek wants to make this work. He wants to try long-distance, and what a distance it is, to keep being with Stiles. Stiles smiles, he can’t help it, wide and relieved.

Maybe I could come see you sometime, if I got the money.

Derek smiles back.

I’d like that.

---

The day Stiles gets his Jeep back, he takes Cora for a ride. It’s a sunny day, but windy enough that Stiles doesn’t sweat through his shirt. They drive downtown to the ice-cream parlour and get three scoops each. Cora chooses pear, strawberry and orange, while Stiles goes with chocolate, hazelnut and peanut butter. They leave the Jeep and make their way to the nearby park, Stiles chatting away until his ice-cream drips down his hand and forearm.

“My dad thought that we were boning,” Stiles says, trying to catch the chocolate droplets with his tongue.

Cora snorts inelegantly around a mouthful of strawberry ice-cream.

“As if I would bone you,” she replies, the corners of her lips turned up in a teasing smile.

“Uhm, excuse you, I am a catch,” Stiles retaliates, mock-offended. “I am a devoted and selfless lover. Like, tell me to go down on you and I’ll do it. With gusto! I will gladly slowly suffocate on vagina-”

“Oh my fucking god, just stop!” Cora says with a grimace, giving him a light shove, but there’s laughter threatening to bubble out. “I’m sure you’re a catch. I won’t bone you because you’re like my brother, idiot. But ya know, nice to know that you would gladly suffocate on my vagina.”

“Anytime, sis, anytime,” Stiles replies and that does make Cora burst out in laughter.

“You’re horrible, you know that right?”

“Yes, I am aware, thank you,” Stiles says and matches her grin with one of his own.

They keep on walking in a companionable silence at a sedate pace. They pass by a playground, children running amok with their harrowed parents in tow, and Stiles finishes his cone. Cora takes a little longer, but then again, half her ice-cream isn’t clinging stickily to her forearm either.

“So,” Cora eventually says. “Speaking of brothers. Derek.”

Stiles freezes. Or well, internally at least, because if he stopped walking she would know that something is up.

“Uh, what about him?” Stiles says, going for casual. He can feel Cora’s eyes on him and looks anywhere but at her.

“Remember when I said that he was off limits?”

“Not really, no?” Lie. Lie, lie, big fat lie.

“No? It was right after we met and you saw a picture of him and basically jizzed all over it just at the sight of him, and I said that he was off limits.”

“I didn’t jizz- but, okay, I remember now.”

“Good. Well, I just wanted to say that it would be okay if you were into him.”

Is this a trap? It kind of feels like a trap. A trap that makes Stiles cautiously optimistic, though. He dares to glance at her, but she’s busy innocently devouring the final bites of her ice-cream cone.

“Yeah?” He replies and tries to keep his voice as neutral as possible. It still weirdly breaks somewhere in the middle.

“Yeah,” she confirms with a shrug.

“Cool.”

They’re nearing the end of the park, where the gravel crunching beneath their shoes will be replaced by solid pavement and they’ll make their way back to the Jeep. Stiles thinks that, if he can just make it out of the park, this might not go horribly wrong. Cora might not find out that Stiles is totally into Derek and understand that they have been lying to her, for weeks, that Stiles totally broke the bro code and fucked the actual bro, and even worse, caught feelings for said bro. She might not find out and Stiles can stay in this little bubble a while longer, where he can keep both his best friend and his boyfriend.

“Stiles?” Cora says and they’re so close, so very close to the pavement, but Cora stops walking.

“Hm?”

He could keep walking, he thinks. He could just walk out of the park, walk away from this conversation altogether. His feet won’t move, though, they force him to stay immobile while his heart runs like all hell.

“Are you into Derek?” Cora asks, bluntly and to the point and Stiles holds his breath.

There’s a rant on the tip of his tongue. A ramble about how do you even define being into someone, lies about how he’s not and even if he was, it’s not serious, that Derek will leave for college soon and he probably wouldn’t be interested in being attached to some high school kid anyway, that whatever there is between them is nothing.

He meets Cora’s eyes, wide and knowing, and all of that vanishes. It’s not nothing. What he has with Derek is not nothing and he doesn’t want to pretend anymore. So Stiles exhales and tells the truth.

“Yeah.”

Cora doesn’t look surprised in the least. She doesn’t look angry or upset. She just nods.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

“It is?” Stiles questions with a disbelieving grimace, not truly accepting the careful relief spreading through his chest.

“It is. Just don’t tell me how much you want to suffocate on his dick. Or how much he wants to suffocate on your dick.”

Stiles laughs, too loud and maybe borderline hysterical. He feels a little shaky, his legs a little weak and Cora is looking far too calm. He narrows his eyes at her.

“He totally told you,” he says.

Cora doesn’t even bother denying it, her smirk says it all.

“He totally told me,” she confirms.

“That asshole,” Stiles harrumphs. The absolute betrayal. They had a deal!

“Dude, he’s my brother,” Cora says. “What did you expect?”

“Some loyalty to the guy that suffocates on his dick!” Stiles exclaims wildly, garnering a few disturbed looks from passers-bys.

“Stiles,” she sighs, rolling her eyes at him. “First of all, TMI. Secondly… Derek came to me because he’s super serious about you, you know that right?

Stiles does know, deep down. That doesn’t stop him from literally preening when hearing it from someone else.

“He came to me because he doesn’t want to hide,” Cora continues. “He wants to be with you and not worry about keeping anything secret.”

“He said that?” Stiles questions, the jittery sensations in his body abating.

“Yeah, but in a super gross and romantic way, I almost hurled.”

“Please tell me every detail of it so I can hold it against him in time of crisis,” Stiles begged.

“Maybe later. Just… know that we are cool.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

They stand there, smiling at each other like idiots for a couple of seconds before Stiles shakes himself out of it and throws an arm over her shoulders. Cora wraps her arm around his waist in turn. They make their way out of the park and head for the Jeep.

“Just FYI,” Stiles says. “This doesn’t mean that my dad is up for grabs.”

Cora just laughs.

---

The doorbell rings that evening. Stiles opens it to find Derek on the porch steps, holding pizza and wearing an apologetic smile. Even if Stiles was mad, he wouldn’t have been able to stay so after catching sight of Derek’s sheepish face. He motions for Derek to come inside.

“Something smells good,” the Sheriff comments as he walks in from the living room. “Hello, Derek.”

Derek nods in greeting and hands over one of the pizza boxes. The Sheriff’s eyebrows shoot up in pleased surprise and he signs his thanks. The look of absolute delight on Derek’s face should’ve been clue enough, but the Sheriff grimaces a little with insecurity anyway.

“I did that right, right?”

“You did great, dad,” Stiles assures him.

All three of them migrate into the kitchen, where Stiles collects a roll of paper towels and grabs two cans of Coke from the fridge before nodding towards the stairs.

“We’re going upstairs, dad.”

“Door stays open,” the Sheriff replies without missing a beat, despite already having half a pizza slice in his mouth.

Stiles just rolls his eyes. Like they’re going to bone when his dad is home, they’re not stupid. They make their way into Stiles’ room where Stiles puts down the paper towels, the cans of Coke and takes the pizza box out of Derek’s hands before he grabs him by the front of his shirt and kisses him soundly. He can feel Derek smiling against his mouth.

“You’re not angry?” Derek signs when they step apart and Stiles shakes his head reassuringly.

They settle on the floor to feast on the pizza, but not before Stiles grabs their trusted notepad and two pens. What had been a nearly pristine notepad at the start of summer is now almost completely filled, page upon page of their conversations, of their relationship.

I’m not angry. It was the right thing to do. I would’ve done it myself, I was just afraid that she’d be pissed.

She was a little pissed, but it passed. Threw a pillow at me, Derek admits with a wry smile.

Stiles snorts with amusement and takes a slice of pizza from the box.

You know in rom-coms where two people sneak around behind the backs of their family and friends? And the secret always gets out and there’s always anger and hurt and someone is crying? I didn’t want that to be us.

Sometimes it’s overwhelming to meet Derek’s eyes because they can get so intense. He likes to think that he’s a cool guy, but Stiles has found that oftentimes Derek wears his heart on his sleeve. Which he is doing now, when he looks at Stiles with such genuine warmth that Stiles wants to curl up in his arms and never leave.

You watch rom-coms? is what he writes instead, a teasing smile on his lips.

Derek shoves him hard enough to send the remains of Stiles’ pizza slice flying and Stiles howls with laughter.

“Asshole,” Derek signs, grinning despite himself.

Stiles sticks his tongue out at him in retaliation and Derek replies in kind, but it’s immediately followed by a light kiss to his shoulder.

Yeah, Stiles is totally in love.