Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Derek presses the power button on his laptop for the 10th time, this time with a bit more anger than the past few times.  The screen flickers to life, and, just like the previous 9 times, a message flickers across the screen before the machine abruptly shuts down again.

“Hard Drive Failure. Error number 10032391. Please contact Dell Tech Support at 1-800-624-9897 or Dell.com/support.”

“Crap,” Derek swears, and he reaches for his phone. He’s only had this laptop for a year, how could it already have crashed on him? He knew he should have listened to Cora and bought a Mac.

He types in the Dell Support number and hits call.  He hates phone calls, but knows it’s probably the quickest way to get his computer fixed.  Plus, the fact that his computer is broken means emailing isn’t going to happen.

He listens to the automated voice that tells him that’s he’s on hold.  Ten minutes later he’s still waiting, when suddenly the music stops and a young, chipper, male voice sounds through the phone. “Dell Tech Support. This is Stiles. How can I help you?”

“Uh, hi,” Derek says. “My, uh, my computers not working.”

“Okay, and what seems to be the problem? The voice, Stiles, asks calmly.

“It just…when I hit the power button it tells me the hard drive has failed.”

“Uh oh, that’s not good,” Stiles chuckles.

“No, no it’s not,” Derek deadpans.

Stiles clears his throat. “Right, sorry. So, I’ll see how I can help you. What’s the service tag number? Should be on the bottom of the computer.”

Derek lifts up the computer and reads Stiles the long list of digits that are printed there.

“Okay,” Stiles says, “And can you confirm your name for me?”

“It’s Derek-Derek Hale.”

“Alright Derek. So I’m gonna say something you’re probably not gonna like. Feel free to prepare yourself accordingly.”

Derek can’t help but chuckle a bit at that. “Go for it.”

“So your hard drive has failed…obviously. I guess it’s already told you that. So we’re gonna need to put in a new one. To do that, we’ll have to send you a box that you can put the computer in and send back to us. Then we’ll take a few days to install the new hard drive, and send your laptop on back to you.” He says it a little speedily, like he’s trying to rush through the bad news with as little pain as possible.

“Oh,” Derek says.

Stiles jumps back into the conversation. “But the good news is, the fix and the shipping will be free. So all you’re really losing is time.”

“What about the stuff that’s on the hard drive?”

Stiles hesitates for a moment. “They’ll try to recover everything, of course, but there is a chance that you might lose it.”

“Great,” Derek responds.  Normally he’d be feeling pretty angry by now, but something about Stiles’ sappy voice and ridiculously positive attitude is somehow putting him more at ease. “So when will I get the box?”

“I’ll set it to ship out tomorrow morning, so you should get in within 3 business days,” answers Stiles.

Derek runs a hand across his face. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Anything else I can help you with?” asks Stiles.

“No. That’s it. Thanks again.”

“No problem.  Thanks for calling Dell Tech Support…and, Derek? Try not to get too down. We’ll get the problem fixed as best as we can.”

“Thanks,” Derek stupidly says for the third time.

“Have a good night!” calls Stiles.

Derek hangs up the phone.

 

 —

3 days later, Derek still hasn’t received a box. He gives it another day, just in case, but once 4 days has passed he gives in and dials Tech Support again.  After waiting through the hold music, he’s surprised to hear a familiar voice.

“Dell Tech Support. This is Stiles, how can I help you?”

“Hey, Stiles. This is Derek.”

An awkward silence falls. Derek curses inwardly. Of course Stiles wouldn’t remember him, he probably gets dozens of calls a night.

Derek tries again. “Derek Hale.  I, uh, called a couple nights ago about my hard drive? I’m supposed to be getting a box?”

“Oh yeah!” Stiles calls out. “Failed hard drive, right? What makes you call me-us back so soon?”

Derek suddenly feels guilty about calling with a complaint, even though he didn’t do anything wrong. “I hate to be this person…” he starts, “But I didn’t get that box. And it’s been 4 days…” he trails off as the guilt curls in his stomach. He doesn’t want to be a mean customer. He hates means customers.

“Hmm,” Stiles hums. “Let me check on that for you.” He can hear Stiles clicking away for a few minutes before he speaks again. “It says the package arrived 2 days ago.” Stiles says.

Derek looks around the room as if the box is supposed to just suddenly appear. “Well, uh, I didn’t get it,” he says.

“350 28th street? New York City?” Stiles asks.

Derek groans. “Crap. No. I moved. I should’ve said that. I live in California now.”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry,” groans Stiles, with such sincerity that Derek can feel it through the phone. “I should have double checked the address before sending it out. This is totally my fault. What’s your actual address?”

25 FoxTrot Lane, Beacon Hills, California,” Derek rattles off.

Stiles makes a noise of surprise. “No way! I grew up in Beacon Hills. My dad still lives there, actually.”

“Small world,” Derek chuckles.

“Yeah,” Stiles continues, “I know FoxTrot Lane well-it has that awesome bakery on it. LaLuna? They have these raspberry scones that are seriously out of this world. I always make sure to go their multiple times whenever I’m home. Last time I was there-“ He suddenly seems to remember what he’s supposed to be doing- “Um, sorry. I have a rambling problem.  I’m changing your address in the system.  They’ll send out a new box tomorrow. I’m gonna give it priority shipping, so you’ll get it overnight this time. No charge.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Derek says, even though he’s actually really grateful.

“No, I definitely do. I’m really sorry. It’s completely my fault.”

Derek sighs. “It’s okay. I should have double checked the address. We can share the blame.”

He hears Stiles pause. “You’re being remarkably cool, dude, thanks.” Then Stiles gasps. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have called you dude. I meant sir. Thanks for your patience, sir.”

Derek lets out a hearty laugh at that. “It’s fine. I’m not old enough to be called ‘sir.’”

“You’re not?” Stiles asks. “My bad, man. It’s pretty hard to tell people’s ages over the phone.”

“I’m 25,” Derek says. Then, before he thinks any better of it, he asks, “How old are you?”

“20,” Stiles responds.

Derek is surprised. “You’re already working there at 20?”

“Yeah, well I just work the Tech Support night shift a few times a week during the semester.”

Derek nods before realizing that Stiles can’t see him. “So you’re in school?” he asks.

“Yeah, at San Diego State. Computer Science Major. I interned here this summer and they let me stay on this semester.”

“Working the Tech Support lines seems a little beyond intern work,” Derek says, impressed.

Stiles laughs, and it rings in Derek’s ears. He can’t remember the last time he made someone laugh. “Believe me, I started with the regular intern grind. Fetching coffees, making copies, and all that jazz. I worked my way up. But it took the whole summer.”

Derek can’t think of any response to that, so he just says, “Glad I never had to do any internships.”

“No? What do you do?” Stiles asks.

Derek taps his fingers on the desk in front of him. “Oh…I’m an author. I write history books.”

“Sweet,” Stiles says. “History nerd.” Then- “Sorry. I don’t mean that in a bad way. You’re probably not a nerd at all, uh…”

“No, I am,” Derek laughs. “But I’ve got a manuscript due in two weeks. Hence why I need my computer up and running.” Suddenly he remembers why he’s on this phone call in the first place.

“Right,” Stiles says, seeming to remember as well. “Well, I put in the order for your box, so if you don’t get it by the day after tomorrow, feel free to call and yell at me.”

“I will,” Derek jokes, buoyed by the fact that he’s just had a somewhat successful phone conversation.

Stiles chuckles again and then simply says, “Well, this conversation has been pretty unprofessional, so I’m just gonna sign off now before it gets worse and they fire the intern.  Have a good night.”

“You too, Stiles,” Derek says.  He listens for the click that means that Stiles has hung up and stares at his phone for just a few moments afterwards.

 —

The box arrives for Derek the next day, a day early, which surprises him. He sees that it had been labeled as Priority, first class mail.  He puts his laptop in it and is able to get it back in the mail by the end of the day.

On his way back from the post office, he passes LaLuna. Remembering his phone conversation with Stiles, he pauses outside, then decides to make his way inside. It’s a quaint place, hardwood floors and shelves, and smells like rich coffee and warm sugar.

He buys a raspberry scone, because, he tells himself, it was recommended.  He eats it on the way home and is surprised at how delicious every bite is.

A week later, his computer arrives. As soon as he gets it, he turns it on, eager to start working again.  The computer boots up, but then the screen goes black and a message in white text appears on it.

“To complete system reboot, please enter reboot code.”

Derek searches through the box to see if there are any papers with instructions on them, but finds nothing.  He hopefully types in “REBOOT,” but, unsurprisingly, the screen doesn’t budge.

He finds the Dell Tech Support number in his recent calls and dials, waiting through the hold until the hold music stops. He’s about to start talking when a voice answers, “Hello, you have reached Dell Tech Support. This is Mark, how can I help you?” It’s an older voice and it takes Derek, who’s gotten used to Stiles’ young and easy voice, off guard.

“Um-is Stiles there?” Derek manages dumbly.

“Who?” Mark asks.

“Stiles. He’s been, um, helping me.”

Marks voice is flat and bored. “Sorry, I don’t know who that is. Probably works a different shift. I’m sure I can help though.”

Derek knows that’s Mark could probably give him the reboot code pretty quickly, but something keeps him from asking for it.

“Do you know when the night shift starts?” he asks instead, then immediately regrets it.  He stands up and paces around the room. “I just-it’s a complicated situation and I’d rather not go through all of it again.”

He hears Mark sigh heavily. “Should start at 8, sir. But, like I said, I’m sure I can help you.”

“No, that’s alright. Thanks. Bye,” Derek says quickly and hangs up.  He feels like an idiot, but he just didn’t want to deal with someone new. Or that’s what he’s telling himself anyway.

 —

At 8:07, Derek calls again.  This time, when the hold music stops a shrill young female voice comes through. “Dell Tech Support, this is Lydia, how can I help you?

Derek figures he’d already gone to ridiculous lengths so he might as well continue. “Is Stiles there?” he asks bluntly.

“Um…” Lydia pauses before continuing. “Yes, he is. But he’s actually on the phone with another client right now. I’m sure I can help you, though.”

“Oh,” Derek says. “I guess-“

Lydia interrupts him. “Oh wait, he’s off now. Do you want me to transfer you over to him?”

Derek pauses, not sure if that’s too creepy. “Sure,” he finally says.

“Okay!” she says cheerily. “Patching you through.”

A few moments later, Stiles answers. “Hello?” he asks warily.

“Hey, Stiles, it’s Derek. Derek Ha-“

“Derek! Hey man! What’s up? Please tell me you actually got the box this time.”

Derek smiles. “Yeah I did. It came in record time, thanks. I’ve actually already gotten my computer back.”

“And you’re already calling again? Uh oh,” Stiles says.

“It’s um-it’s asking me for a reboot code?” Derek asks as he opens his computer up again.

Stiles groans. “Okay. The Tech guys should have done that for you. But it’s DXD3920. Type it in, let me know if it works.”

Derek types in the code, and his screen spring to life. “I’m in. Thanks.”

“Yeah man, no problem. I, uh, I see in the system here that your hard drive was irrecoverable. Sorry about that. I know you have a due date coming up,” he says genuinely.

“It’s okay,” Derek responds. “I saved most of it on an external hard drive. I’m probably missing one or two chapters, but it’s not Shakespeare. I’m sure I can redo it.”

Stiles chuckles. “I don’t know man, my buddy Isaac is a history major and he says your stuff is pretty good.”

Derek’s voice catches in his throat and he clears it before responding. “He-how-you mentioned my work?”

Derek hears a faint thud in the background, and Stiles’ voice comes through a little strained and hesitant. “Well, uh, he’s from Beacon Hills too. So, uh, it came up. Anyway, your computer is fixed, right? So that’s good.”

“Right,” Derek responds casually, despite the wide grin on his face. “Thanks again.”

“No problem. That’s what I’m here for. Well, uh, have a good night sir-Derek.”

Derek grins wider. “I thought I told you not to call me sir,” he teases.

“Sorry!” Stiles chortles. “My bad. I’ll get it right next time. I mean…hopefully there won’t be a next time.” Derek furrows his brow. “Because you won’t have any more computer problems. Hopefully,” Stiles continues hastily.

“Hopefully,” repeats Derek.

“But uh, if you do. My extension here is 5713,” says Stiles. But I only work after 8.”

Derek almost knocks over his pencil jar in effort to write the extension down before he forgets it. He pretends he doesn’t already know Stiles’ work schedule.

“Okay. Cool. Thanks again,” Derek says casually. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” says Stiles before hanging up.

 —

The next day, Derek pretends he isn’t thinking about Stiles at all.  He works on his book, but the extension number he has scrawled on the sticky note on his desk keeps taunting him.  He makes it until 8:23 before picking up his phone and dialing the extention.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles says immediately.

Derek’s almost drops his phone in surprise. “How did you know it was me?” he asks.

“Recognized the number,” Stiles says coolly. 

Derek can’t ignore the way his heart beats just a little bit faster at that.

“So what’s the problem tonight?” Stiles asks.

Derek realizes he doesn’t actually have anything computer related to talk about. So he decides to just be bold instead. “I went to LaLuna last week,” he says. “Tried a raspberry scone.”

There’s a pause before Stiles responds, slowly. “Yeah? What’d you think?”

“Maybe the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” responds Derek.

Stiles laughs heartily. “Dude, you should try their lemon muffins. Out of this world. When I get back to town after finals, I am going straight there.”

Derek tries to be casual. “When are your finals?”

“Oh, um, next week.”

Derek drums his fingers on his keyboard, carefully selecting his words. “What if I met you there?”

There’s a pause that feels minutes long to Derek before Stiles warmly responds. “At LaLuna? Yeah. Sure. I’ll be back on the 13th.”

Derek smiles and says, “How about if we meet at 3?”

“Yeah-definitely-I think I could do that,” Stiles says.

“Okay,” Derek repeats. “I’ll see you then.”

“Okay,” Stiles repeats.

“Oh, and Stiles?”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks.

“Since you already have my number-feel free to use it.”  

Chapter Text

Derek’s palms are sweating. He’s suddenly starting to think that this is a terrible idea.  Every shred of confidence he felt on the phone when he asked Stiles to meet him has suddenly disappeared now that it’s actually about to happen.  

He’s chosen a seat in the back of LaLuna, hiding himself behind a shelf littered with novelty coffee mugs. From his spot he has a pretty decent view of the front door between an “I <3 my dog” mug and a thermos, and he’s mostly sure that he can’t be seen by anyone who comes in.

He checks his phone again. 2:50pm. There are still 10 more minutes before he’s supposed to meet Stiles.  Sighing, Derek idly opens his text messages and surfs through the ones they’ve been exchanging over the past week.

When he’d first told Stiles to use his number, he wasn’t sure that he actually would.  Making a move that bold was completely out of Derek’s character, but something about Stiles’ easygoing manner had made Derek go for it.

To Derek’s surprise it had taken less than a minute for Stiles to text him after they’d hung up. All he’d said was “Hello sir ;)” and that’d been enough.

Since then, he and Stiles had been texting nonstop, about everything and nothing.  Derek had talked about his next book, Stiles had talked about his upcoming exams; they’d both talked about their intense love for action heroes and the Discovery Channel. Derek was liking him more and more with every conversation they have.

Derek taps his phone on the table in front of him nervously.  Stiles’ last text to him says, “I’ll be wearing plaid. As usual. You should probably get used to it. Actually if you don’t like plaid you actually probably shouldn’t come.”

Derek chuckles at the message again before his stomach re-churns with worry. What if Stiles is completely different in person than the easygoing, good-humored guy he seemed to be over the phone? What if they have no connection when they come face-to-face?

A bell rings as the door swings open and Derek quickly shifts to hide behind the shelf and peer through the mugs.

Plaid.  His eyes trace up the orange plaid shirt at the front of the cafe…to a girl’s face. Not Stiles then.  Derek slumps back down in his seat.

He checks his phone again.  3:02.  A sense of dread begins pooling in Derek’s stomach as he wonders if he’s about to be stood up. Just as he starts to spiral into a dark hole of rejection, his phone beeps.

He looks down to a new message from Stiles. “Also…I’m late maybe 99% of the time. Should probably just be up front about that now.”

Derek laughs out loud and types a response. “ETA?”

His phone lights up immediately. “Oh. Now.”

Derek’s heart rate doesn’t even have time to speed up before he hears the bell on the front door ring.  He ducks down again and assumes his previous surveillance position.

A guy walks through the door, looking around with an enthusiastic energy.  Derek’s eyes immediately fall to the blue plaid shirt he’s wearing.  It’s pushed up around the elbows to reveal frankly sinful forearms with impossibly long fingers attached to them.  Derek’s eyes flicks up to the guy’s face and his heart stutters in his chest.

The guy-Stiles-has short brown hair, amber eyes, and a dotting of moles decorating his face.  His body is lean, yet just the right amount of muscular, and he has a pair of black framed glasses sitting on his slightly turned up nose.  To put it simply, he is exactly Derek’s type.

Derek groans and slides back further behind the display case.  Shit. Derek looks down at himself.  Stiles is all lithe, clean cut, soft features.  And Derek, he thinks, is-rugged, to say the least.  He suddenly feels way too built, regretful that he didn’t shave, and definitely like he should have left his leather jacket at home.

He and Stiles are total opposites.  Derek knows there is no way a guy who looks like that would be into a guy who looks as course as Derek.

He peers through the mugs again to see Stiles pulling out his phone and typing on it. Derek’s own phone beeps on the table. Crap. Derek lunges forward to pick it up and read the message. It’s from Stiles.

"You here man?” it reads.

Derek has no idea what to say.  He never told Stiles what he looked like, maybe he can just sneak out, pretend he didn’t show up, text Stiles some kind of excuse later….

His phone goes off again. “Pretty sure I heard your phone ping.”

Another beep. “There it is again.”

“Shit,” Derek swears silently as he fumbles to put his phone on silent.  But he can’t do it fast enough to quell the assault of text messages coming in.

“And again”

“And again”

“And again”

Stiles is rounding the corner, phone in his hand, still typing as he approaches Derek.

“Aha!” he texts just before he looks up.

Derek straightens in his seat as Stiles looks him in the eye…and then immediately drops his phone.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles says involuntarily, still staring straight at Derek.  Derek’s stomach drops.  Definitely not the reaction he’d been hoping for, but no more than he’d expected after actually seeing Stiles.

Stiles glances down as he realizes he’s dropped his phone. “Fuck,” he repeats, as he bends down to retrieve it.  Derek really didn’t need that visual.  He could have lived just fine without ever knowing anyone on the planet had an ass that fine.

Stiles straightens back up and just continues to stare at Derek, saying nothing.

Derek rolls his eyes and pushes himself out of his seat. “It’s fine,” he states calmly. “We can just…forget this happened. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go.”

He reaches down to pick his phone up off of the table and tries to make his way out of the café.  Unfortunately, the only way is directly past Stiles.

Stiles runs one of his ridiculously long hands through his hair and sighs. “Okay, fine. If that’s what you want…” he says slowly.

 “You really…You don’t have to explain yourself.  I get that I look like this, and you look like that…” Derek trails off.

Stiles’ face contorts into something that looks vaguely hurt. “Wow. Okay. Yeah. That’s direct, but yeah.”

Derek sighs. “I can tell that I’m not what you expected.”

Stiles chuckles a bit. “Yeah, I’ll say.”

“Sorry,” Derek mutters, standing next to Stiles feeling huge, and stupid, and stupidly huge.

Stiles quirks his head at Derek. “I’ve never heard someone apologize for being insanely hot before.”

Derek takes a step back, feeling the air rush out of his lungs. “Wait, what?” he manages.

“That’s a new one on me.  Appreciate it though, I guess…” Stiles says as he pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“No, wait-“Derek holds a hand up in the air. “You think I’m…you find me…attractive?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “Well, duh.”

Derek huffs out a laugh. “You’re kidding. You?”

Stiles hangs his head. “Wow, okay. You were so much nicer via the phone.  You really don’t have to be such a dick about it.  I already know we’re in completely different leagues.”

Derek finally lets himself genuinely smile. “You mean where you look like an Abercrombie model and I look like I’m part of a motorcycle gang? You’re right.”

“An Abercrom-wait, do you think I’m attractive?” Stiles asks, pointing at himself.

Derek huffs a laugh. “Yes. Very.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes open and Derek has a very hard time not staring at it.

“Maybe we should start over,” Derek says.

“Yeah. Maybe,” Stiles responds and then sticks out his hand with a grin. “Hi.  I’m Stiles.  It’s good to actually meet you.”

Derek chuckles and takes Stiles’ hand. It’s soft against Derek’s own rough ones. “Yeah, you too. Want to sit down?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No.”

“…No,” Derek repeats as his face falls.

“I think we should just leave,” Stiles continues, smiling wickedly.

Derek is confused. “Why?” he asks.

“Because,” Stiles says, “I think we’ve done enough talking. And I’m not huge on PDA.”

Derek intertwines his fingers with Stiles’ as they head out the door.

Chapter Text

Stiles and Derek are walking down the street, Derek trying desperately to keep his hand from getting too clammy where it’s attached to Stiles’. He’s vaguely aware that they’re headed in the direction of his apartment, but isn’t focusing on it. Too much.

Stiles is rambling on about one of his classes at school and Derek is…captivated. He’s generally not much of a talker, but Stiles seems to talk enough for the two of them.

Most people take Derek’s silence for granted and trample over it, leaving him no room to contribute. But Stiles keeps sneaking little glances at Derek and occasionally nudging him with questions that Derek answers probably very ineloquently. Derek wants to kiss him for it, but he thinks maybe now isn’t the time. He tunes back in to what Stiles is saying.

“Which is how I ended up in tech support.”

Derek nods, “It seems like a good fit for you. You have to like talking as much as you do if you’re going to be on the phone with strangers all of the time.”

Stiles pales. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ his voice softens. “I know I talk a lot. I didn’t mean to like, overpower you. I get that a lot.”

Derek can’t help barking out a laugh. “No, Stiles. I didn’t mean it that way. You definitely weren’t overpowering me. I don’t like talking that much-I’d rather listen.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, cheering immediately.

Derek squeezes his hand. “Really.”

Stiles smiles brightly at him and squeezes his hand back. “Well you have to tell me something about yourself. How’d you get into history? No offense, but just looking at you, you wouldn’t strike me as a history nerd.”

“That’s probably a compliment,” Derek responds.

Stiles laughs and then continues to look at him expectantly, reminding Derek that he hasn’t actually answered his question.

“Oh. How did I get into history…I don’t know, I’ve just always liked it. There’s something fascinating about hearing about how people lived in a different time period and the things they dealt with. I like seeing how we deal differently with the same types of situations now.”

“And writing?” Stiles asks.

Derek can feel himself blushing a little. “Well. I liked history a lot, but…I just wanted to be able to tell it in my own way. Put my own perspective on it. Make history something of my own, you know?”

Stiles has stopped walking and is staring at Derek with his mouth slightly agape. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he finally says.

Derek quirks an eyebrow at him. “That I like to write?”

Stiles chuckles and brings a hand up to lightly touch Derek’s stubbled cheek. “No. That you’re blushing.”

Derek feels his face flush even more. “Oh,” he whispers.

“Even better,” Stiles says, bringing his other hand up to lightly trace Derek’s ear, which he’s can feel is also bright red.

Derek suddenly becomes very aware of how close he’s standing to Stiles. Slowly, he brings his arms up and draws them around Stiles’ waist, pulling him even closer.

He looks down at Stiles’ perfect mouth, just a few inches from his own, and then flicks his eyes back up to Stiles’ for a moment too long before leaning forward.

Their lips touch, gently at first, getting used to each other. After a few moments, Stiles presses forward, and Derek returns his intensity. Their kisses get more and more impassioned until Derek has a hand sneaking underneath Stiles’ shirt, and Stiles’s hands are wound up in Derek’s hair. At some point Derek works his thigh in between Stiles’, and it becomes very apparent that they are both very interested in what’s happening between them. In broad daylight. In the middle of the sidewalk.

Derek slowly walks them toward the side of the building next to them as they kiss, keeping their bodies pressed together as he does so. After a few minutes of them pushed up against the wall, he gathers up the strength to pull away for a moment before sending a quick nod above them and saying. “This is my building.”

He immediately resumes their kiss until Stiles eventually breaks it a few moments later.

“I know,” Stiles says, “Why do you think I walked us in this direction?” His voice is shaky, out of breath, and it sends a shudder up Derek’s spine.

Stiles’ presses forward again and Derek forgets what he was going to say until he hears Stiles moan into his mouth and feels a leg pressing up against his groin.

Derek breaks his head off to the side, barely keeping himself from engaging in some serious dry humping in public. “Should we-“ he begins, but he’s interrupted by the sound of a siren going off very close by.

“Shit,” Stiles swears.

“What is that?” Derek asks with a grimace, briefly considering prying his hands out from under Stiles’ shirt to cover his ears. But that’s clearly not possible.

Stiles gingerly removes his hands from Derek’s hair, and drops them onto his arms instead. “It’s nothing.”

Derek turns his head to the side to see a cop car pulled up so that it’s sitting halfway onto the sidewalk. “Um. Is there something I should know about you?” Derek asks. “Are you on the run or something?”

Stiles sighs and squeezes Derek’s biceps lightly. “That’s my dad,” he admits, not meeting Derek’s eyes as he says it.

“Your dad?!” Derek asks incredulously.

“Yeah, he’s the Sherriff,” Stiles sighs at the same time as a man steps out of the car.

“Stiles,” the man says slowly.

“Yeah, dad?” Stiles asks, scrunching up his face slightly but still looking determinately down at Derek’s chest.

Derek wants to turn and run, thinks he should probably at least move away from Stiles, but there’s no way his boner wouldn’t be completely noticeable. Actually, both of their boners. So instead he stays silent, still completely flush against Stiles’ body, trying to slow down his breathing as he stares at a spot in the distance above Stiles’ head.

“You do realize that public indecency is a thing that people get arrested for, right?” the Sheriff is saying.

“Of course, dad. But that wasn’t what was happening here,” Stiles says in a voice that’s so shaky and wrecked that it makes Derek’s stomach flip with want.

“Oh really? So what was happening here?”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s arm again. Derek wishes he wouldn’t. It really isn’t helping the situation he has happening in his pants. “We were just getting to know each other,” Stiles states confidently.

His dad sighs. “Right. Well. Couldn’t you get to know each other somewhere else? Out of the public eye?”

“We were planning on it,” Stiles mumbles, but luckily the Sheriff doesn’t catch that.

“Who are you anyway?” the Sheriff asks, and it takes Derek a moment to realize the Sheriff is talking to him. He lifts his head up reluctantly and turns to look at the Sheriff. He’s met with a hard glare that makes him want to look away again, maybe bury his head in Stiles’ shoulder for all of eternity. “Derek. Derek Hale. Sir.”

“Do you have a record, Hale?”

Derek shifts his eyes toward Stiles and finds him looking up at him. He glances back at the Sheriff. “Maybe a small one.”

“What?" Stiles hisses. Then, under his breath, whispers, “So hot.”

“I got in some trouble in high school. For a senior prank. I was 18 at the time, though, so it went on my record…” his voice trails off.

“And how did you meet Stiles?” the Sheriff asks. Derek’s starting to sweat a little bit uncomfortably, but the interrogation is doing wonders for lowering his state of arousal.

He sighs. Derek has a feeling this part isn’t going to go over well. “I…was having computer trouble. Stiles helped me out when I called tech support.”

The Sheriff runs a hand across his forehead. “Wait. So is this is the first time you’ve actually met in person?”

"…Yes.”

The Sheriff claps his hands together. “Okay, nope. This-is not happening. You two are going to get to know each other in another context before you continue-whatever this is,” he gestures at the two of them, still intertwined against the wall. “You’re coming to dinner. Now.”

Derek knows better than to argue. Instead, he sneaks a glance at Stiles who simply shrugs.

“Okay, sir,” Derek says.

“You can sit in the back,” the Sheriff responds, pointing into his cop car.

Stiles grimaces a bit. “Could you maybe, uh…just give us a moment?” Clearly the interrogation isn’t working as well on Stiles’ libido as it is on Derek’s.

The Sheriff sighs heavily before nodding and getting back into the vehicle.

Slowly, Stiles steps back away from Derek until they’re ready to be seen without looking obscene.

“Sorry in advance,” he says with a wry smile.

--

When they roll up in front of Stiles’ house, Derek starts getting nervous. The car ride has been…awkward at best. Stiles’ hair is stuck up on one side, presumably from where Derek had his hands in it, and Derek has spent the majority of the ride resisting the urge to reach a hand over and smooth it out. When the Sheriff gets out of the car, Derek stops resisting and does so while Stiles offers him a small grin in return.

They walk into the house and the Sheriff immediately busies himself with preparing dinner.

“Anything I can do to help?” Derek asks.

The Sheriff shrugs. “You can help Stiles set the table. I’m just reheating leftovers, so it shouldn’t take long.”

Derek follows Stiles around the kitchen as he shows him where the table supplies are, and they set the table quickly and quietly.

Before long, they’re seated at the kitchen table in a very uncomfortable silence.

Unfortunately, the Sheriff decides to break it. “So, Hale, you seem to be a good bit older than Stiles-what is it that you do?”

Derek looks up at him. “I’m an author. I write history books.”

“Great history books,” Stiles interjects. The Sheriff doesn’t even spare a glance his way.

“And that gives you enough to live off of?” the Sheriff asks with narrowed eyes.

“It does. It pays the bills.”

“Oh my God, dad,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

The Sheriff ignores him. “What about savings?”

Stiles bangs his head down onto the table and Derek has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

“I have those as well, sir,” Derek says with a small smile and a nod.

The Sheriff returns the nod thoughtfully. “And what do you parents do?”

Derek’s chest clenches as it always does whenever someone asks about his parents, and he hears Stiles audibly groans beside him.

Derek looks back down at his plate and pushes the green beans around with his fork. “My parents aren’t alive, sir.” He hates the way his voice sounds when he says it, he always has. It always feels like he’s showing too much emotion and yet not enough at the same time.

He feels Stiles sit up next to him and Derek finally peeks up to meet the Sheriff’s eyes. The Sheriff, however, is looking over at Stiles.

Stiles picks up his fork and twirls it heavily in the air. “My mom died. When I was a kid,” he admits.

Derek always hates people’s reactions to hearing that his parents died. They’re always too forced, too awkward, or uncomfortably sympathetic. But being on the other side of things he suddenly understands how hard it is to react appropriately to that kind of loss.

He settles for subtly sneaking a hand under the table and dropping it onto Stiles’s thigh. It’s a move he’s pretty sure the Sheriff doesn’t miss. “I’m sorry,” Derek says, looking at Stiles and then at the Sheriff as well.

The Sheriff nods at him. “Me too.” Derek looks back down at his plate, at the green beans straight from the can, and chicken straight off of the warmer at the grocery store. It’s a dinner than reeks of the absence of a mother, and reminds him too much of his own nightly dinners at home.

He feels Stiles’ hand drop onto his own and give it a squeeze. “So, now that we’ve gone through the both the interrogation and emotional baggage unpacking phases to this dinner, can we talk about something fun?” Stiles asks with a smile. Derek is extremely grateful for someone who can shift the mood of the room so easily.

The Sheriff grunts and Stiles launches into a discussion about baseball. When he’s done, the Sheriff pins Derek with a look. “Yankees? Or Mets?” he asks.

Derek hesitates for a moment, wondering whether to be honest or give the answer he thinks the Sheriff wants to hear. He decides to be honest. “Mets.”

Both Stiles and his dad visibly sigh and say in unison, “Thanks God.”

Derek laughs. “No way. I thought for sure you’d be Yankees fans. Everyone is.”

“Not everyone,” the Sheriff says. “Only incredibly unoriginal people who can’t think for themselves and don’t believe in the power of pure talent.”

The dinner atmosphere loosens up considerably after that, and Derek finds himself relaxing as he as the Sheriff lowers his defenses.

--

When they’re done with dinner they all pile back into the cruiser so Derek can go back home and Stiles can get his car from LaLuna.

When they pull up in front of Derek’s apartment, both he and Stiles get out of the car. Stiles walks him to the front door and gestures to a blue Jeep sitting just in front of the building. “That’s my baby,” he says.

Derek quirks an eyebrow at him. “You parked in front of my apartment?”

Stiles flushes instantly. “Wishful thinking?” he jokes warily.

“Explains why you were late,” responds Derek with a grin.

Stiles nudges him playfully and puts a hand on Derek’s arm before glancing back over his shoulder. “Okay, looks like my dad’s not leaving.” The Sheriff gives them a cheeky wave from the front seat of the cruiser.

Stiles leans forward slightly, but Derek pulls back. “I’m not about to kiss you in front of your dad.”

“Why not? You did it before,” Stiles pouts.

Derek huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, but I didn’t know it at the time.”

“Whatever,” Stiles says with a wave of his hands. “So…I guess we’re gonna need a rain check on heading upstairs. Unless my dad scared you off. Which is understandable. That was pretty intense for a first date.” Stiles suddenly looks nervous and Derek can’t help but find it completely charming.

Derek decides to mess with him, just to see Stiles’ eyes widen a little bit more. “That was a date?” he teases.

“Um, yeah. I thought it was. Unless you didn’t think so. I was kind of hoping we could go on another one, but if you don’t want to…” Stiles trails off and lets his hand drop from Derek’s arm.

Derek grabs his hand back immediately.

“I was kidding, Stiles.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, visibly relaxing. Then he smacks Derek on the arm. “You scared me you dumbass.”

“Need me to spell it out for you?” Derek teases.

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. “Actually, that’d be good.”

Derek just smiles at him. “Yes, Stiles. That was a date. And I’d like to go on another one too. Maybe a few of them.”

“Really? So my dad didn’t freak you out too much?” Stiles asks, grinning broadly.

“Really,” Derek says, leaning in closer. “Your dad was great. Once we got past the horribly awkward introduction.”

"I blame you for that," Stiles declares.

“Me?” asks Derek incredulously.

Stiles nods. “Yes, you. If you weren’t so hot with your blushing and your ridiculous stubble and the way you roll your hips… “

Derek blinks at him. “Okay. We’re definitely going to need a rain check on going upstairs.”

Stiles bites his lip and looks up at Derek cheekily. “Is my dad still looking?” he asks.

Derek raises his eyes to see the Sheriff still staring straight at them.

"Yes," he says quietly.

"Well then he’d better shut his eyes," Stiles whispers before leaning in and pressing his lips against Derek’s.