Work Text:
(made by em)
It's half past midnight when Stiles's Jeep breaks down. After an 18-hour shift at the general store, all he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for the next two years. Forget taking a shower. Forget changing. He's not even going to eat, even though he barely touched his lunch today since they were so busy. He's planning on throwing himself head-first into bed and promptly passing out.
"Fuck my life," he groans, banging his head against the steering wheel. The sky shines bright every few minutes with flashes of lightning and the Jeep rattles as thunder booms overhead. He continues to bang his head as the slow pitter-patter of rainfall quickly becomes a torrential downpour.
"Please start, please start, please start…" Stiles chants in prayer, turning the ignition.
Nothing.
He mutters a curse at the realization that he's stuck, stranded on the side of the road. He can't even call anyone to help since he has no phone. Maisie, his best friend and step-brother Scott's dog, may have eaten it. Okay, not eaten, exactly, but she did use it as a chew toy and rendered it completely useless, and lord knows Stiles doesn't have enough money saved up for a new one.
Stiles twists around and searches the backseat, hoping that maybe—yes! A flashlight! At least now he can pop the hood and possibly figure out what's wrong with the Jeep. Yes, the Jeep, not his Jeep, because his Jeep, Roscoe, would never betray him like this. Oh, who is he kidding? Yes, she would.
He glances in the back again, this time searching for an umbrella, but...Sigh. Of course not. Why would he keep an umbrella in the Jeep? Fuck it. He pulls up the hood of his jacket and braces himself for the worst. Of course, he also forgets that this has become the worst night of his life and immediately slips in the mud.
"Son of a bitch!" he yells, grabbing his left ankle, which is now throbbing painfully. He sighs in defeat, trying to hold back frustrated tears, and thumps his head against the Jeep. Deep breath in through the nose, hold it, out through the mouth, repeat. A few more of those and—okay, he can do this. He finally musters enough strength to pull himself up and hobbles around to the hood of the Jeep to check out the engine. The rain dying down makes navigating the treacherous terrain easier.
Just as he's about to unlatch the hood, headlights barrel down the wet pavement toward him. Thank God! Or not? He is in the middle of nowhere since he always takes the backroads home to avoid traffic, and he's seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre enough times to know that this could turn very bad very fast. These kinds of situations never end well for guys who are 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones—not to mention how bad his luck has already been tonight. No, stop! He's a grown man; he is not scared. Pfft! So what if he stumbles to the passenger side to pull out his trusty bat? Don't judge. Anyone would be nervous in this situation. Yeah—nervous, not scared.
Suddenly, a siren wails, cutting through the thunder, and red and blue lights start flashing atop the other vehicle. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," Stiles says as he throws his head back and breathes a sigh of relief. The rain has finally stopped, and now he has a savior who's come to rescue him. Things are finally looking up.
A sheriff's cruiser pulls up behind his Jeep. Stiles holds up his flashlight, careful not to blind the deputy but giving them enough light to be able to see him. He hears the door open and sees a tall figure walk towards him, but the moonlight isn't enough for Stiles to make out any details.
"You have no idea how happy I am to see you, depu—" Stiles stops short. The deputy is now in front of him—directly in front of him—and, Jesus wept, he is undoubtedly the most gorgeous man Stiles has ever seen. His eyes slowly trail down and then back up, the deputy's body, taking in a uniform that fits so snug, so perfect, that it's just shy of indecent. From the slacks that hug his muscular thighs and hips to the shirt clinging onto the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, this guy looks like absolute sex on legs. God, and those arms!
Stiles can't help but imagine those muscular, tanned biceps holding him up against a wall as the deputy thrusts—Wait, no, stop! Down boy. Stiles bites his lip and averts his eyes, willing himself to think of something else, to no avail. Okay, fine! Two words: wall sex. Mind, meet gutter.
Stiles looks up to his savior's perfectly sculpted face—high cheekbones that are perfectly accentuated by a well-groomed beard. And his eyes! A brilliant hazel with sunbursts of gold, surrounded by a deep pool of green and framed by a dark blue rim. Perfect, beautiful eyes...that are currently looking at him curiously.
"Car troubles?" Deputy Adonis asks with a smirk, nodding towards the Jeep. Stiles blushes in embarrassment, clearly having been caught ogling the deputy. His dad does always say that Stiles is about as subtle as a gun.
"Yeah," Stiles says, clearing his throat as he wills himself to calm down. "She just stopped all of a sudden, and I can't get her to turn back on."
Deputy Hottie raises an eyebrow. Who knew eyebrows could be sexy, let alone one of his turn-ons? "Well, let's pop her hood so I can take a look." Stiles limps over to follow him, but Deputy Sex on Legs stops him after a couple of steps. "Are you alright? Why are you limping?" He pulls out his flashlight and shines the bright LED light up and down Stiles's body, checking for injuries.
"I, uh, slipped getting out of the Jeep." Stiles offers with a slight shrug, trying to downplay the pain.
A long line of heat burns through his wet flannel when Deputy Irresistible presses against him, his rock-hard arm snaking around Stiles's middle and taking some of his weight. "Lean against me. Why don't we have you take a seat in the cruiser while I look at your Jeep?"
Stiles nods as he's half carried, half dragged to the other vehicle.
"Roscoe," Stiles informs him.
"Hale."
Stiles raises a questioning eyebrow at Deputy Wet Dream as he walks to the back of the cruiser. "What?"
"Deputy Hale. Derek Hale. I thought we were introducing ourselves?" The deputy returns with a blanket draped over his arm and a shy smile. "C'mon. You're soaked. Shirt off."
Stiles swallows thickly as Deputy Hale tugs his flannel off before wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and rubbing his arms. "No, my, uh, my Jeep. Her name is Roscoe. I'm Stiles. Stilinski."
“Stilinski? As in Sheriff Stilinski?”
"Former Sheriff, but yeah, that's my dad." Stiles's eyes cast downward as he remembers why his dad retired. His father had been shot in the line of duty two years prior. The bullet had pierced his left lung, just under his heart. Between the blood loss and oxygen deprivation, the doctors hadn't been sure he would make it through surgery. The road to recovery had been long and hard—for both the sheriff and Stiles—and Stiles had been secretly thankful when his father not only survived but also decided to turn in his badge.
"Mr. Stilinski?" Deputy Hale places a gentle hand on Stiles's shoulder. "Stiles?"
Stiles blows out a harsh breath and looks up into the deputy's concerned eyes. "Sorry, yeah. J-just remembering…"
"He's alright now. He's strong, and he survived, and he's alright." Stiles nods, exhaling shakily, as he locks eyes with the deputy. "Okay, I'm gonna go check your girl and see what's going on. Just sit here and warm up. Don't want you catching pneumonia. Actually...I have an extra pair of sweats in my gym bag if you want. I didn't end up going today so they're clean."
"No, it's—I just wanna go home."
"Okay. I'll be right back then."
Stiles watches Deputy Hale walk back towards his Jeep. He seems like a nice guy, and Stiles should feel wrong about objectifying him in his mind, but he can't seem to do so when the view is oh-so-lovely.
The warmth of the car makes Stiles shiver involuntarily and pulls him from his train of thought. He looks down at himself and groans, realizing he has mud caked on almost all of his lower body. Looks like tomorrow's going to be laundry day.
Just as Stiles starts fiddling with the vents to direct more heat towards him, the driver's side door opens, and Deputy Hale settles into the driver's seat. "So, I'm no mechanic, but I think it might be your alternator."
"Yeah, wouldn't surprise me. She's an older lady, and I don't take her in for regular checkups."
"You know, if you're going to keep an older model vehicle, you should really take better care with its maintenance," Deputy Hale advises, voice laced with concern.
Stiles chuckles humorlessly. "I know. Believe me, I know." He rubs his face. "She was my mom's and I—I try." His breathing starts to get erratic as he gets worked up. Oh sure, why not add a panic attack to what's already such a fantastic night? "I really do, but it costs money, and my job will only allow so much overtime. I can't get a second job with my sc-schedule at the st-store." He scratches at the back of his neck with trembling hands as he gets more and more distressed. "And I've got bills! I need fo-food! And gas! An-and my phone! I need to replace my cell ph-phone! I couldn't— I c-couldn't even call any—"
"Whoa! Hey, hey. Take a minute. Breathe..." Stiles's arms tingle where the deputy is rubbing soothing circles. Deputy Hale's soft voice guides him through his panic. "Deep breath in, slow exhale. Good. Again. Stiles, look at me." The worry of the deputy's voice draws Stiles's eyes to his handsome face. "Deep breath in. That's good. Now hold it. And three. Two. One. Now exhale slowly. Three. Two— That's it. You're okay."
A sense of calm settles over him as his breathing regulates. He whispers a trembling thank you through a shuddering exhale. "Sorry. I've just— It's been a long day, followed by an awful night."
"Well, then let's get you home so you can warm up and crash. Your car will need to be towed, though. Do you have another mode of transportation?"
"I mean, I could probably borrow either my dad's or brother's car. Do you have— Could I use your phone? I, uh, I can give them a call to come get me."
"Stiles…" The look Stiles receives is full of compassion. "We're not waking someone up when I can easily drive you home myself. Unless you're not comfortable with that?"
"No, it's not— It's not that…I just don't wanna inconvenience you."
"Stiles, I am a deputy of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's department. It is literally my job to help the citizens of the community." The deputy looks at him expectantly.
"Okay. Thank you, deputy." Stiles says, giving a slight nod.
"Call me Derek. Please." The deputy—Derek—squeezes his arms reassuringly before letting go. "Alright then. I'll call dispatch to get a tow sent out. Any particular mechanic shop you prefer?"
"Yeah, actually, I go to Lahey's on Madison. Could you have it taken there?"
Derek answers with a nod and grabs the radio.
"I'll go get my keys real quick," Stiles offers, reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt but stopping short when Derek shakes his head, holding up one hand to show the keys dangling from his fist.
After receiving confirmation of a tow truck being sent, Derek turns to him. "Does your ankle still hurt?"
Stiles rotates his ankle and grimaces at the tiny spark of pain. "A little."
"Do you need anything else out of your car?"
Without a garage at home, Stiles parks his Jeep in the driveway each night. His neighborhood is relatively crime-free, but he was a rebellious teenager once, so he knows better than to leave any valuables in Roscoe. "No. I don't really keep anything in there."
"Alright, do you want to remove your car key then? They'll need that at the mecha—" Stiles shakes his head and takes the keys from the deputy.
"Isaac has a copy." He gives Derek a half-shrug, continuing when he receives a confused look. "I told you… She's an old lady who needs a lot of work—Isaac's my mechanic. At least, he is when I have the money to take her in. He's been working on her regularly for four years now. When my mom was alive, she took Roscoe to Isaac's father, who originally owned the shop."
Derek nods in understanding and shifts the cruiser into 'drive.' "Alright then. Let's get you home."
After Stiles gives Derek his address, the car ride is quiet. While he can feel Derek's eyes shift over to him occasionally, he doesn't want to overthink it. Stiles decides to use the drive to think about his budget. Isaac and his father have always been kind to the Stilinskis, never charging for labor and always finding the best deals on parts. The boys had grown up together since their mothers became friends after meeting at one of their first prenatal visits. The deaths of both women brought the families even closer together, and Isaac is still one of his best friends to this day.
Stiles has one more week of potential overtime he could ask for, and he's sure if he asked, he could pull more at one of the other stores since each district groups its inventories. He supposes he could also stick to Ramen and sandwiches as a meal plan, if needed, and possibly postpone the purchase of a new cell phone.
Before he knows it, Stiles realizes that Derek is pulling into his driveway and shutting off the car. "Thank you so much, Deputy Hale. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't driven by. I mean, I do know. I probably would have slept in my car and then started walking home in the morning. So really, you saved me from—"
"Stiles. First of all, please call me Derek. Second, it's fine, really." Derek's voice is full of compassion and understanding. "You're welcome. Again, I was just doing—"
"Yeah, I know." Stiles nods his head. "You're just doing your job. I can still be grateful, though." There's a minute of awkward silence as Stiles fidgets in his seat. "Well, I should just—" Stiles begins as Derek says, "Lemme help you—" They both burst into laughter, and Stiles stares in awe at the beautiful smile he sees on Derek's face. He shuts his mouth and gestures at Derek to continue.
"Please let me help you inside. I'd like to take a look at your ankle. If it's still giving you trouble, that is."
"No, it's okay. Doesn't hurt as much. I don't think it's twisted or sprained. I'm so exhausted that any aches and pains are just amplified right now, so I think it's more in my mind." Stiles shrugs, rubbing at his tired eyes.
"If you really feel that way…Although, I would feel better if I could check you before I leave." Stiles wants to protest, but he's held in place under Derek's gaze, and as though Derek can read his mind, he immediately follows up with, "It's not an inconvenience."
"Okay. Yeah. Thank you."
A smile tugs on Stiles's lips as he watches Derek exit the vehicle and run to the passenger side. Derek opens the door and pulls Stiles up, helping him to the front door.
"Cute house. It's got, what do you say, hmm, curb appeal," Derek compliments, eyeing the garden that lines the path to the front porch.
"Thank you. I grew up here," Stiles responds shyly. "My dad and I try to keep up with the landscaping. It was more my mom's forte, but we try, y'know? As a kind of tribute to keep her memory alive." He unlocks his front door, allowing Derek to lead them into the living room. "It was just my dad and me for a long time; then, once he and Melissa got married, he opted to move in with her. He gave me the choice to stay or sell, and I couldn't—" He sighs heavily. "I love this house. It's my home."
Derek wears a fond expression, and warmth spreads through Stiles's chest. "Well, it's a beautiful home. You've done a great job. I think your mom would be proud." There's a moment where it seems that Derek looks at him with fascination, but it's broken when he gestures towards the couch. "Do you want to…?"
Stiles looks down at his feet. "I really don't want to keep you. You've already gone out of your way to drive me home, and I'm sure you need to get back to work. I'm seriously just gonna shower and crash."
Derek's eyebrows do this thing that Stiles just knows means he's not leaving. "Ugh, fi-ine. But please, make yourself at home. My dad always chucked off his uniform almost as soon as he entered the house. Not that you're going to chuck off your uniform! I just know the belt is clunky," he sputters, realizing it sounds like he's trying to get into Derek's pants. "I just— I'll be back in a sec." He shakes his head, shuffling down the hall towards his room before he can embarrass himself further.
Not wanting to keep Derek waiting, Stiles doesn't even wait for the water to warm before stepping under the spray. Though, he does debate the merits of quickly jerking one out because Derek is so insanely hot that his dick twitches just thinking about him.
"We can be patient. We can wait until the hot deputy leaves." Because bartering with his dick totally makes sense right now. "I will give you whatever you want if you just please go down."
Apparently, it does—or maybe it's the still-cold water—because his dick finally cooperates.
Stiles quickly scrubs himself clean, shuts off the water, throws on the clothes he slept in last night—still strewn haphazardly on his bed—and speed walks back to the living room.
When he returns, he notices that Derek has taken off his duty belt, and untucked and unbuttoned his uniform top. Underneath the shirt is a white tank, so tight he can see Derek's six-pack and a curly tuft of black chest hair peeking over the low neckline.
Stiles gapes at him and sees a slight flush to Derek's cheeks in apparent response. "I hope this is still okay? You were right, the belt is clunky…"
Stiles barely manages to stammer out a response, voice squeaking as he tries to calm down. "Y-yeah, that's, uh, yeah. That's, ahem, that's fine, totally okay, more than—" He gulps audibly when Derek takes a step towards him.
We had a deal! Stiles mentally scolds his dick when it starts trying to get hard again.
"May I?" Derek places a hand on Stiles's arm and gently nudges him down onto the couch. He feels a dip next to him as Derek sits and directs him to turn until they face each other. Stiles is thrown by how delicately Derek lifts his leg to place it on his lap.
(art by JD Gray - Twitter/Instagram)
Derek's unexpectedly soft fingers brush over his skin, causing Stiles to let out a small gasp at the contact. His dick twitches with interest—the traitor—and he mumbles under his breath, "We are so not friends anymore."
"What was that?" Derek smirks at him with one perfectly groomed brow raised on his stupidly handsome face.
"Nothing." Though, Stiles still mentally berates his dick for going back on their shower agreement. It probably would have been a better idea to put on a pair of thick pair of sweats instead of his thin jersey sleep pants. Derek's touch ignites something he hasn't felt since his failed relationship with Matt in college.
He feels Derek massage his ankle with tender care. The touch is so comforting that Stiles melts into the couch, his eyes fluttering shut with a sigh. Even with a quiet voice, Derek startles him when he finally speaks. "I think you were right. I don't think there's a sprain. I would just get some rest and keep your ankle elevated for the night." After a heavy moment, Stiles's leg is gingerly placed on the couch as Derek gets up. "I'll let you rest now." There's a pregnant pause before Derek picks up his duty belt and walks towards the door.
Stiles moves off the couch to walk him out. "Okay. Thank you, Derek." As he walks towards the door, his head hangs low at the loss of contact and the prospect of not seeing Derek again. Stiles isn't paying attention, however, and he's stopped by the brick wall that is Derek's chest.
Derek grips his biceps to help steady him. "Whoa there. Trying to hurt yourself to keep me around?" Derek's eyes sparkle with delight as they look at him, and Stiles is instantly mesmerized—lost in the kaleidoscope of colors. Something like determination flashes across Derek's face then, and he nods to himself resolutely before speaking. "Can I give you my number?"
"Wait. What?" Stiles blinks, eyes scrunched up questioningly. There's no way he heard that right. He must have hit his head when he slipped and now he's hallucinating.
"In case you need a ride to the mechanic, I mean," Derek clarifies.
Stiles can't help the sad sigh that slips through his lips. Of course. Derek's just being courteous. It all makes sense now. He probably just thinks Stiles is a helpless mess who can't care for himself.
Before he has a chance to answer, however, Derek continues, "Oh my God. I'm so stupid. Do you— Do you have a home phone? I know you said something about replacing your cell phone. How are you going to get a hold of someone? How do you plan—"
Stiles huffs a laugh as Derek gets flustered. The deputy is downright adorable. "I have a home phone. It's in the kitchen. And don't worry about a ride. My dad or Scott will take care of me."
"Scott," Derek says with a frown, much to Stiles's confusion since he's pretty sure they don't know each other. His confusion only grows when Derek releases his arms and takes a significant step back. "Right, I shouldn't have— I'm sorry. I should— I should go now."
"Derek?" Stiles reaches out to touch his arm but stops short, dropping it back to his side.
"I thought…I thought you were flirting and, I mean, of course, you weren't. I assumed, and I don't want to— I mean your boyfriend will prob—" Derek cuts himself off with a sigh, raking his hand through his hair.
"Boyfriend?" Since when does he have a boyfriend?
"Scott?"
"Brother. Well, step-brother. My dad married his mom a few years ago…" He trails off as Derek takes a step closer, looking hopeful.
"So, I can give you my number?" Derek asks, his sparkling eyes boring into Stiles's.
"I won't need a ride," Stiles says, hopeful and optimistic that if Derek still wants his number, it's for less than courteous reasons.
"Tell me if I'm reading this wrong."
"No, not wrong. Definitely not wrong. In fact, it's the total opposite of wrong." Stiles stammers, his voice laced with intent.
"How about breakfast tomorrow? Can I take you out?" Derek asks hopefully.
"I think after my night I'll be passed out until at least noon."
"Late lunch then. Wherever you want. And after I can take you over to your mechanics," There's confidence in Derek's voice now, and Stiles can't help the wide grin that breaks out on his face.
"Yeah, I'd really like that," Stiles says, feeling giddier than he has all day.
"You got a piece of paper?" Derek asks, patting his pockets.
Stiles nods and walks over to the desk in the corner of the room, pulling out a sheet of printer paper and a pen, just in case Derek needs that, too.
Derek jots down his number. "I'm off tomorrow so just call me when you're up and I'll come over."
Stiles grins brightly. "Will do."
He walks Derek to the door, opens it for him, and watches Derek jog to the cruiser as it starts raining again.
Derek looks back before getting into his car. They lock eyes and smile at each other, neither wanting to look away, and Stiles bites his bottom lip at the shy smile he receives. With one last glance and a single nod, Derek slips into his cruiser and drives away.
When the cruiser's tail lights disappear around the corner, Stiles finally steps back inside. He leans against the door once it's closed and sighs, a small smile slowly spreading across his face. Maybe tonight wasn't so bad after all.