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Stiles cheered from his spot on the bleachers as the Beacon Hills High School lacrosse team stole the ball and started sprinting down the field toward the opposing team’s goal. There was a palpable excitement in the air that always came with getting this far into the season, and Stiles whooped along with the rest of the stadium when someone scored.
“Damn, kiddo, warn a man before you start screeching,” Dad muttered as he shot Stiles a dirty look. “I’m old, not deaf.”
“Hey, at least Lydia isn’t home this time,” he said, grinning when Dad rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers and gave his dad finger guns as he told him, “You’re just contending with sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm over here.”
“And Heaven help us,” Dad said and Stiles threw his head back to laugh. “It was good of you to come down for this, kid. I’m sure Derek appreciates the support.”
“Eh, I needed a break anyway.” Stiles sighed as he thought about the mountain worth of cases that would undoubtedly be waiting for him when he got back. “Some rest and relaxation will do me good since I’ve gotta beat Jackson. That asshole won last quarter, and I can’t have him getting too smug. He’s already working on trying to convince us he’s developed an accent. Can you believe that?”
“He’s been living in London for over a decade, kid. It’s not unbelievable.”
“Okay, but it’s Jackson.”
“Kid—”
Dad trailed off as a roaring murmur started up from the crowd. Stiles looked back at the field to see two players facing off, and he winced when he recognized the very, very familiar jersey of the BHH player.
The two players got into a shoving match before the player on their team was sent sprawling on the grass with a shout. It knocked his helmet off, and Stiles was standing before the boy had even looked up. He held his breath as he waited to see what would happen, standing tense as he murmured an incantation to enhance his vision.
He was about to force himself to sit down when Eli’s eyes flashed.
“Well, that sure went awry,” Stiles murmured as he jumped off the bleachers and hurried across the field before anyone else in the pack could react from where they were undoubtedly littered throughout the stands.
Stiles ignored whatever Coach Finstock shouted and then further ignored the other Coach, rolling his eyes as the balding man shouted at him. He beelined for Eli, sending a salute when he caught sight of Peter standing near the edge of the field and poised to move.
Eli’s eyes were still glowing. Shit.
“Hey, buddy, you doing okay?” Stiles asked as he slid on the grass. His jeans were undoubtedly messed up, but he focussed on the teenager and decided to worry about dry cleaning later. “Can the headlights, yeah?”
“Uncle Stiles?” Eli asked with wide eyes. He was still clutching at his ankle with a grimace, but his expression flickered between a smile and a pout indecisively. “What’re you doing here?”
“Your dad told me about your big game! I wasn’t going to miss it!” he got his arms under Eli’s shoulders and pulled him up. Then, he tapped the boy on the shoulder and warned, “This is gonna sting.”
He sent a spark of magic through Eli’s body that weakened his ankle and kept his wolfy healing at bay long enough for the kid to flail forward. Stiles caught him easily and held him steady before he dropped back to his knees and started doing a simple field check.
“Does it hurt when you turn this way?” he asked, loudly. He prodded at the kid’s ankle theatricality and told himself that Eli’s grunt of paint was just him being a very good actor.
Then Eli growled at him. Ugh, teenagers were so dramatic.
“Oh, c’mon Baby E! Don’t growl at me!”
“Don’t call me that!” Eli whined petulantly. He was opening his mouth to say something else when both coaches and a ref ran up to them.
“Who the hell do you—Bilinski? Bilinski? What the hell are you doing here?” Coach Finstock asked in what was very obviously shock.
“Who the fuck is this?” the other coach shouted, but Coach Finstock got right up in his face and told him off.
Huh.
That was hot as hell.
Coach turned all of his attention back to him and asked, “Bilinski, why are you on my field again?”
“I’m visiting my favourite nephew,” Stiles said with a serene smile as he patted Eli’s knee and told him to hop-to.
Thankfully another kid from their team had made his way over and started helping a still-glaring Eli away.
“We’re not related,” Eli muttered with an even fiercer glare. He hobbled a few steps away before he turned back and gave Stiles a dark look. “And I don’t need you jumping in to save me.”
“Hale! Get to the bench and cool off,” Coach shouted. Right in Eli’s face. Stiles winced, because that wasn’t actually ideal, and he tried sending Eli an apologetic look that he ignored. Before he could do anything about it, Coach was shouting again. “What the hell are you still doing on your knees?”
“I don’t know, Coach, maybe I just like the way you look from down here,” Stiles murmured with a grin he had been told, a time or two, was attractive.
He ignored the very audible sound of Eli fake retching from behind them and looked up at Finstock with his best set of bedroom eyes. The man was a little older, his hair a little greyer, but he still had the same manic energy that had always drawn Stiles in and made him Stiles’ favourite teacher.
That, and the way he’d never balked at Stiles’ tangent essays like the rest of his teachers.
Flirting up at Finstock now was basically just performing fan service to his teenage self, and he grinned when Coach sputtered.
“What, nothing to say to that, Coach?” he asked, and he didn’t even pretend that he wasn’t smug. “I can’t believe I’ve rendered you speechless. Are you lost in my eyes, or is it just the sight of me on my knees that’s got you so flustered?”
“I—you—but—” Coach slammed his mouth shut before sending Stiles a dark look. “Get off the grass, Stilinski! You’re getting all filthy.”
“Oh, is that an offer to help me get clean?” Stiles asked as he rose to his feet in one very, very practised movement. What could he say, he was a giver! “You know, I always thought about you and those showers when I wa—”
Coach blew his whistle. Really, really loudly. Right in Stiles’ face.
“Get off my field!” Coach shouted, but his face was red and his pupils were dilated, and Stiles grinned.
“Whatever you say, Coach,” Stiles murmured, his voice thick with innuendo as he sent the man a wink.
Then, he made his way to where he had been sitting with his Dad. Eli had made it back to the bench and was sulking with his arms crossed—Stiles was definitely going to have to talk to him after the game. Maybe he could bring a present? It’d worked when Eli was a kid, so maybe ice cream was still magical?
A familiar shiver ran down Stiles' spine in a way that meant he was being watched, and when he turned back Coach was totally staring at his ass.
His cheeks got really, really red when Stiles stopped walking and Coach’s gaze slowly trailed up his body. He raised an eyebrow at the blushing man but didn’t say anything. Instead, he waited for the other man to catch up with him and let him speak first.
“Stilinski,” Coach murmured. Stiles raised an eyebrow, and the older man said, “Find me after the game?”
“Sir, yes Sir,” Stiles whispered before he jogged off the field.
“You’re disgusting,” Eli spat at him, and Stiles replied with an equally spiteful, “I’ll muzzle you,” as he passed by.
Then, he vaulted up and over the bleacher stand in a very fluid move that he would have never been able to get away with in high school, and grinned at his dad.
“Was he watching? Did he see that? Did I look cool?”
“I am absolutely not talking to you about this,” Dad told him. “Did you really come all the way down here to hit on your old lacrosse Coach? Do you even know how many parent-teacher conferences I had to sit through with that man?”
“Aw, c’mon, Daddio, don’t be such a downer!” Stiles cried as he slumped into his seat and looked out onto the field to find Coach eyeing him. Stiles winked, and the man blushed before he turned around and started shouting orders. Chuckling under his breath, Stiles explained, “I’m just trying to make the most out of my visit. You can’t fault a man for trying, can you?”
“Oh, I absolutely can,” Dad muttered darkly. “Just for that, Jordan’s spending the night.”
“I am?” Jordan asked, because he was sitting beside Dad and had, thus far, been silently observing the game and letting them get the most out of their rare father-son bonding time. Now, though, he peaked up like an excited puppy. “That’d be nice. I missed you last night.”
Dad grinned sweetly as he sat back and tossed his arm around Jordan. The man all but melted into Dad’s side, which was so sweet and adorable that Stiles couldn’t even say anything about it because he was too busy wondering if his heart could physically melt into goo.
Then, Jordan shot him a shit-eating grin and asked, “Are you going to make me scream, sir?” and Stiles regarded him with a wide-eyed look of awe.
“I’ve met my match,” he whispered as Dad barked out a laugh. “Wow, it is good to be home.”