Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Come on, Derrreeek, just one more,” Stiles whined, pressing his face against Derek’s warm, broad shoulder as the other man huffed out a laugh into his ear. Derek had his arm wrapped around Stiles’s shoulders while the younger man was leaning heavily against him. Stiles felt warm and cozy inside and out despite the crisp, chilly air.

The neon red sign that simply said “BAR” in all caps was taunting Stiles like a siren’s call, though they had been to seven bars already. But wasn’t that the point of bar-hopping, to get as wasted as possible? And they had only had one cocktail at each bar, asking for the bartender’s recommendation at each place.

“Fine, Stiles, you win,” Derek relented, pulling Stiles toward the bar as the Christmas lights hanging on the outside trees and the street signs and stoplights swirled together in a kaleidoscope of colors that made Stiles pleasantly dizzy. He let out a laugh at absolutely nothing and the pair of them entered the bar.

The inside was dimly lit, but not unpleasant. There was a pool table off to one side and a few booths and high-seated tables. A few people were on the dance floor at the back of the bar, others were seated at the bar itself which was long with tall metal barstools. Derek and Stiles pulled out their IDs and showed them to the bartender, who was a blonde woman with brown eyes and red lipstick. She gave them a smile.

“Welcome,” she said, not unkindly, “What can I get for you?”

“What’s your best drink?” Derek responded, pulling out his credit card. They had been taking turns paying and Stiles had paid for the cranberry mint fizzes they had gotten at the last bar.

The bartender cocked an eyebrow, as if Derek had issued a challenge. Her smile turned into a smirk and she started mixing a drink without otherwise responding. She grabbed two old-fashioned glasses and scooped some ice into them. Then she poured in some vodka, adding a little flair and a wink at Stiles, who laughed as he watched. Next she grabbed some coffee liqueur and splashed it in, and finally, poured in some cream. She slid the glasses across the bar as Derek handed over his card.

“White Russians?” Stiles guessed, taking a sip and enjoying the burst of cool cream that mixed with the bitter coffee liqueur. He usually preferred fruitier drinks, like the spiced honey orange margaritas they had three bars ago, but he was sure Derek would like this.

“My specialty. Or, my favorite, anyway,” the bartender said. “You want to start up a tab?”

Derek smiled at that, and Stiles just stared at the other man for a few moments, captivated. “Just the two drinks, thanks.”

The bartender slid Derek’s card into the register and printed out the receipt. Stiles was still staring at Derek as the other man brought his glass to his lips, letting out a hum of contentment as he tasted it. Stiles knew he would like it. The bartender handed the card back and Stiles noticed when she leaned over that she had a nametag on her shirt that read “Erica” in smooth metallic cursive.

Erica slid down the bar to ask a couple of tipsy people if they wanted more drinks, leaving Derek and Stiles to their own cocktails. Stiles felt very warm, and was having trouble thinking about anything other than how pretty Derek’s face looked right now. Like, seriously stunning. Derek was ducking his head in a smile, hiding slightly behind his glass, gaze tilted downward, eyes scrunched closed. Stiles wanted him to open his eyes wider. He had the most gorgeous eyes. They were an impossible mix of green and grey and blue, and were maybe the prettiest eyes in the world.

“Stiles, you’re so drunk,” Derek said suddenly, and Stiles realized he had been babbling out loud, though he wasn’t sure exactly which of his thoughts he had spoken.

“You wish you were on my level, big guy,” Stiles said sagely, to which Derek just huffed and shook his head, though he was still smiling.

“I won’t envy you tomorrow,” Derek replied, taking a swig of his drink. He licked some cream from his lips as he brought the glass away, and Stiles was enticed by the motion, but he carefully darted his gaze away and took a drink from his own white russian to distract himself. The vodka burned at his throat.

“You’ve had...just as much to drink as me, buddy.”

“I handle my alcohol better.”

Stiles blinked, unable to argue with such sound logic. He nodded slowly, then held his head still as the movement made the room spin. Somehow his glass had ended up on the bar but he wasn’t sure he remembered setting it down, and it was already halfway empty, mostly just ice now. He picked it up and took another drink of it, letting the alcohol wipe his mind of thoughts to leave a pleasant blankness. He set the glass back down on the bartop.

Erica returned with a grin on her lips. Stiles vaguely heard Derek ask her something and then a glass of iced water was set in front of him while his previous drink was swept away. He took a drink of the cool liquid and felt the healing, hydrating power instantly. He felt a large, warm hand start rubbing his back.

“Stiles, are you doing okay there? You’ve been staring at the bar for awhile.”

“Huh?” Stiles looked up at the sound of Derek’s sweet voice, watching his lips move as he spoke.

“Are you ready to go home soon?”

“No! I’m great...let’s...play some pool!” Stiles insisted suddenly, pushing off the bar and grabbing the pool cue from off the table. Derek raised his eyebrows, standing up as well and approaching the other man.

“You sure, Stiles? You seem like you can barely walk.”

Stiles laughed and hugged Derek suddenly, the cue dangling precariously from his hand as he wrapped his arms around the other man, pressing their cheeks together and rubbing his face against Derek’s for a few moments before murmuring in his ear, “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Derek didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look very impressed when Stiles pulled back. Stiles stumbled and tried to roll the pool balls into the starting position, but was having a hard time of it. He started giggling, which drew a smile from Derek, who gently tugged the pool cue out of Stiles’s fingers and set it on the table again.

“Come on, Stiles, let’s get out of here.”

Stiles relented, wrapping an arm around Derek’s elbow as they left the bar. The cold air stung his face and gave the illusion of a slightly clearer head, and he looked up at the fairy lights strung around him with drunken awe. It had begun to snow lightly, tiny flakes fluttering around them, melting as soon as they hit the wet cement. It was a beautiful night and he felt so good. The pair of them walked in silence for a few minutes, Stiles glancing over at Derek every once in awhile, taking in his cold-pinkened face and the way his multicolored eyes glimmered under the streetlights. He was looking straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought himself. Stiles wondered what he was thinking about.

“Derek…” Stiles said, his breath catching slightly as Derek turned to look at him, his eyes intense under the falling snow, the moment charged in the quiet of the night as the pair of them stopped walking, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Derek’s expression didn’t change at all, and he continued to look back at Stiles for a few moments before he let out a breath, the warm air of it visible in the chill of the winter atmosphere. Stiles let out his own breath which he didn’t realize he had been holding.

“Tell that to me tomorrow, and I’ll believe you.”

Derek turned back to face forward and started walking again, and Stiles stumbled to catch up, feeling determined to confess again in the morning, when he was sober. He just hoped he was brave enough.