AN: Hi guys! I know I haven't updated here in awhile, and that's probably not gonna change. I have loads of new stuff on archiveofourown (DorianWilde) and on my tumblr (wilderambles) though, I just can't be bothered with this format anymore. It's just too complicated and user un-friendly. Sorry. Hope you like this fic though ;)
"I cannot believe we're doing this again." Stiles banged his head against the dashboard of his car for emphasis. Seriously, he'd been home from his five months post graduation trip to Europe for three days, when Deaton called to ask him/demand a favor. "I should have stayed in Denmark. They have red sausages there," Stiles muttered, sulking.
Derek gave him an unimpressed look.
Then again, unimpressed was Derek's default state. Other expressions were frowning, glaring, manpain, smirking and smiling. The smiling was divided into four categories: Bitter smile, happy
smile, amused smile, and insincere 100kw do-as-I-tell-you-while-I-dazzle-you smile.
If Stiles had charts no-one had to know.
"I'll distract him while-" Derek began and Stiles almost felt nostalgic.
"Dude, no. We're stealing a safe. While I am flattered you think I'm able to lift a 200 pound safe and smoothly sneak out, I'm afraid my muscles are not quite up to the task of being more than eye candy in this case."
Amused smile. "Right." (Stiles decided to take that as Derek agreeing to Stiles' muscles being eye candy.)
"Don't worry, I've got sweet moves." Stiles grinned at him. "Come along Pond!" he cheerfully called
out as he slammed the car door behind him.
-'-'-
Stiles had the perfect plan. He'd planned the plan like a freaking plan master, okay? He knew deputy Parrish was on duty, which was good as he did not really know Stiles yet (not like the other deputies who had known Stiles from when he was a devious child to when he became a sneaky teenager who 'accidentally' stumbled over crime scenes and who's friend always seemed to find dead bodies.)
As he knew for a fact his dad, and most of his deputies, had been called away to help out at a car crash site where several cars and a truck had been involved, deputy Parrish would most likely be alone.
Stiles was going to saunter in, all Mr Confidence, and ask for his dad. Obviously his dad wouldn't be there. Stiles would then flaunt the fantabulous flirting techniques he'd picked up in France (Bonjour, j'adore tes fromage. Tu t'appelle Jean Claude? Je suis le petit chaperon rouge) while Derek sneaked in and stole the safe from the evidence room.
No problem.
Stiles sauntered – stumbled – up to Parrish's desk, gave him the Stiles-version of the 100kw insincere do-as-I-tell-you-while-I-dazzle-you smile (when he'd practiced it in the mirror he'd looked like a cross between overexcited Tenth Doctor and Isaac on a scarves sale.)
"Hiya, can I have a quick word with the Sheriff?"
"Sorry, he's been called away." Parrish smiled back, gently tapping his pen against the tabletop.
"Bummer." Stiles made a face before plastering the smile back on. "I wanted to see if he'd have time to have dinner with me." He raised the bag containing two (secretly empty) boxes. Master Planners 'r' us.
"That's nice of you, Stiles."
Stiles shrugged. "I'm a nice guy." His cheeks were beginning to cramp from smiling and his soul was beginning to shrivel from all the politeness. He made a show of looking around. "Seems pretty empty here, they went on adventure and left you here all by your lonesome?" Stiles teased.
"Yup." Parrish did a joking sad face.
"Sucks to be you, I guess." Stiles finally tuned down his smile. "Lucky you I showed up, huh?" he winked, making Parrish laugh.
"Very lucky," he agreed. "I'm told you used to hang out here quite a lot, too bad that's changed," he added, which, wow. Was he flirting? Like for real?
Be calm be cool people have flirted with you before, Stiles. Play. It. Cool.
"Oh you know, dad's really busy, he rarely have time to see me when I'm here ..." Stiles trailed off, doing his best puppy eyes.
"I'm not busy. I mean, I am busy. But not too busy. But I do work. Here," Parrish rambled. "What I'm saying is you should visit. Your dad."
"And you?" Stiles grinned, because it was damn flattering.
"Well, I wouldn't mind," Parrish shrugged, giving him a small smile.
A loud crash made both of them jump. Parish instantly got up, grabbing for his gun, which, no bueno.
Think quick think quick think quicker than Simba running from wildebeests.
Distasteful Stiles, he chided himself.
RIP Mufasa.
RIP Jeep.
Car.
Car crash.
Car trouble ...
Stiles quickly pulled his phone out, making a show of checking it. "Aw, man, I gotta go. Scott's tire blew, gotta pick him up. I, um, enjoyed our talk. Maybe I'll see you next time."
Parrish seemed torn, looking towards where the noise had come from, then back at Stiles. "Me too, and yes. I'll see you next time. Maybe you could text me when you're dropping by?"
"Sure-"
CRASH!
"Shit! I should- See you Stiles." Parrish ran off.
"Bye."
Stiles was flaying Derek, making a rug out of his wolfy stupid hide.
-'-'-
"Derek, what the hell?" Stiles exploded as the man slammed the car door behind him. And to think he'd actually missed his gorgeous stupid mug and sent him nine postcards.
"Yes?" Derek didn't look at him, suddenly very interested in the contents of Stiles' glove compartment (it contained a flashlight, a first aid kit, a bottle of water, a emergency supply of wolfsbane and two Snickers because Stiles was a sensible guy like that.)
"What the hell was that about?"
"I decided to open the safe," Derek informed him, closing the compartment with a bang.
"Twice. As loud as you could?" Stiles was seconds away from throwing his shoe at him, oh my god. He was so stealing his postcards back.
"I dropped the door."
"You yanked the door of its hinges?" Stiles exclaimed, gaping.
"He's too old for you," Derek snapped. "And him flirting with you, is fucking respectless to your dad. And he smells like cocoa-puffs." Derek glared out the window.
"... cocoa-puffs?" What?
"It's a sign of immatureness," Derek huffed, like that was an obvious conclusion. Derek logic. God.
"Right." Stiles threw him an unimpressed look. "Besides, aren't you guys the same age?"
"He was two years above me," Derek said sharply. "And he never washed his hands after using the toilet."
"And you know this how?" Stiles wanted to know.
"Common fact. Everyone knew it." Derek kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road.
"O-kay. Did you get Deaton's crystals?"
"They're in the trunk."
"Great." They continued the drive in silence.
"Didn't know you were into older guys," Derek muttered after a while, still glaring out the window.
"... how is this even a conversation we're having?" Stiles asked, brain not really keeping up as he stopped outside Derek's loft. Derek stared at him for a few seconds, before getting out of the car.
"Whatever. Drive safe."
Stiles thoughts progress went something like: ? …... …... …... wait ...? …... …... waaaait a minute. ….. Oh. OH!
He rolled his window down. "Derek," he called, knowing the other man could hear him. "Tomorrow. Pick me up at eight. I like burgers, pizza and X-men, just gonna throw that out there."
After a few minutes, his phone buzzed.
Derek Stiles
6.30. the movie starts at 8.15 xx
Stiles grinned, doing a victory fist pump.