The sharp tap of Lydia's nails against the desk wakes Stiles from his nap. Any attempt he could make to say that he actually was paying attention is thwarted by the lines pressed into his face from sleeping on his binder. He knows he shouldn't be dozing in the middle of Beacon Hill's school newspaper's weekly meeting (The Beacon, which has to be the most unoriginal name Stiles has ever hear of) but it's not like they ever really involve him so he uses the time to squeeze in a nap every Wednesday at the weekly meeting.
It's Stiles and almost half a dozen other kids jammed into a room the size of a broom closet. He's pretty sure it was one at one time and when the newspaper was founded they stuffed them in the abandoned storage area to have a place to work and meet. The walls are lined with past articles covering everything from sports to a small section about when they used to have a gossip column; it was quickly shut down because of the lack of anything exciting happening in Beacon Hills.
Stiles covers the cafeteria specials; his job is done without any work on his part. The cafeteria workers have gotten tired of him hanging around, trying to get the scoop on hot lunches and what gossip was brewing between the lunch ladies. They've started typing up what would be served at the beginning of every week and banished him from coming to the kitchen. He just has to give a copy to Lydia and – ta da! – job complete.
This was not what Stiles signed up for when he joined the newspaper. He'd wanted to write hard hitting, eye opening stories that graced the front page of the paper every week. Instead, he had been stuck with highlighting the lunch specials in the cafeteria every week in a small column on the third page.
Lydia's constant answer whenever he has asked for a bigger story stays the same: "You've got to start somewhere." She takes her job as Editor of the school newspaper very seriously, in Stiles' opinion maybe a bit too seriously; she goes as far as too take away jobs from certain people she deems unworthy and redistributes them to others. She seems to think Stiles was just not ready for anything more serious than the one job she barely trusts him with.
The staff of the Beacon are seated around the small table in the center of the room, stacks of papers litter the table. Everyone's knees are pressed together while being jammed around the small table. Lydia stands at the head, she has just enough room to pace in front of the group with a clipboard in hand as she goes through the notes for the meeting.
"Greenberg is sick. I need someone to start on this article about the captain of the lacrosse team ASAP. Anyone?" Lydia asks. She looks frantic, her usually perfectly coiled hair starting to lose its bounce.
Stiles' hand shoots up, waving frantically in the air as Lydia's eyes pass right over him. This is it. His big chance to prove to her and to the rest of the staff that he's ready for bigger things, and honestly, if Greenberg can do it, so can he.
"Danny? What are you working on for next issue?" Lydia looks right past Stiles and zeroes in on Danny where he is sitting with his back turned to her, hunched over his laptop.
"A pre-SAT study guide," he informs her without turning around.
"Is anyone free?" She can hear Stiles silently chanting, me me me, under his breath. Pretty much everyone at the table can hear him. "Anyone?"
"Lydia, give him a chance." Danny suggests without turning around from his spot in the far corner. She glares holes into the back of his head.
"He seems-" Danny turns around to look at Stiles, with his hand still waving in the air, leaning so far forward in his seat that he is this close to actually climbing atop it. "Eager," he finishes with a snort and turns back around.
No one moves. Lydia's lips are a tight line; finally she looks at Stiles.
"Fine." She lets out a huff of air. "Stilinski, do you think you can handle it?"
He nods eagerly. Danny is an angel. Not even an angel in disguise, he is an angel and everyone knows it. Stiles will definitely be getting him a present this year for his birthday. Or at least a really nice card.
He has always been sympathetic towards Stiles. Everyone on the staff knows Stiles works hard for the paper, when Lydia will let him. They can all see that he is itching to do more and to write bigger stories than the cafeteria lunch specials. It isn't hard to imagine why, considering they are a high school newspaper and the biggest story they have covered so far was the time a student rear ended the principal's car and fled the scene.
Lydia gives him a curt nod, taking in his slightly flushed face and the grin that he's sporting now that she has finally given in.
Lydia pulls him aside after the meeting, gripping his collar tightly and pressing him into an empty chair. This is how a lot of his fantasies tend to start, except instead of a glare it's a look of lust in her eyes.
"This is the biggest moment of your life. Don't mess this up." Her tone is as sharp as ever. She has a hand on either side of his chair boxing him in with her face so close to his that he can smell her strawberry lip-gloss.
She turns away from him abruptly, her hair whipping his face. He sits there for a few more moments and when he doesn't leave immediately she clears her throat from behind her desk. She's holding out a piece of paper with the Lacrosse captain's contact information for him then points to the door dismissing him.
Stiles looks over the paper on his way out. The name Derek Hale is written across the top in bold writing followed by contact information, a small write up about him and some suggested questions to ask with a note at the bottom stating their first meeting will be after school today. Stiles' stomach only flips a little bit at seeing Derek's name.
Ever since Stiles watched his first Beacon Hills lacrosse game and saw how Derek handled a stick he became a big fan. Not the kind of fan who waits outside of the changing rooms to catch a glimpse of Derek all sweaty and glistening post practice, he leaves that for the freshman girls. But, he goes to every lacrosse game to support Scott while he bench warms with the added benefit of getting to watch Derek actually play and dominate on the field.
Stiles' mind races with possible angles. He hasn't heard any headline-worthy news about the team; news about their winning streak is tame compared to what Stiles wants to write about, but he can find an exciting angle. He just has to dig deep. Having Derek Hale as his topic of interest will make things much easier.
The only way Stiles can justify the fact that he has been watching Derek eat his lunch in the cafeteria for the last 20 minutes is to claim that the first rule of journalism is to know your subject. It is not stalking. It's research. Definitely research.
He's starting to think Beacon Hills is some sort of genetic experiment. Case and point: Derek Hale. Everyone knows who Derek is: senior and captain of the lacrosse team and way too good-looking to be in high school. Also, Stiles' main subject for his article.
Derek surrounds himself with fellow jocks and pretty people. Jackson Whittemore seems to be a constant at Derek's side. Which isn't that bad except for the fact Jackson is a jerk and his only purpose seems to be to make out with Lydia, play lacrosse and make Stiles' life hell.
Stiles watches the two of them, surrounded by the rest of the team, eating their lunches. Derek doesn't seem to talk much but occasionally looks up from his lunch and nods along with something someone says. The only time he seems to actually speak is when he talks directly to Jackson.
"Dude, your staring is getting creepy." Scott throws a fry, hitting him smack dab in the forehead.
"It's not staring, it's research," Stiles informs him and pops the fry in his mouth.
The constant tapping of Stiles' pencil against the table is starting to earn him attention from the librarian, but he ignores her. Stiles glances down at the clock on his phone for the seventh time. 3:49pm.
He had Derek's number typed into his phone, all he has to do is press the call button but his finger just hovers over it. He can only imagine how disastrous that call would go.
He and Derek were supposed to meet at 3:00pm according to Lydia. He's considering packing up his stuff, counting today as largely unsuccessful, when he spots Derek through the glass windows of the library. Stiles is not letting him get away. He scoops up all his supplies and bolts from the library.
Derek has his back to Stiles, rummaging through his locker, oblivious to Stiles standing right behind him. When he does turn around he has to take a step back, pressing his back against the locker, to get some space between them. Derek gives Stiles a curt nod before ducking around him and towards the doors.
Stiles kind of hoped Derek wouldn't recognize him. Being a year younger than Derek and clearly not within the same social circle as him gave Stiles an advantage. The only time the two of them had actually come into contact with each other before was the one time Scott dragged Stiles out to lacrosse tryouts which had turned out to be a disaster. Neither of them shows an inkling of talent handling a crosse. Stiles smartened up and learned quickly that with his long gangly limbs came no coordination. Coach made sure of it that he didn't step back on the field after whacking their old goalie in the face while winding up for a shot.
Scott on the other hand continued to try out every year only to end up a benchwarmer.
"Derek—" Stiles calls after him. The only response he gets is Derek's shoulders tensing as he speeds up his walk. "I know you can hear me." Stiles catches up and flings himself in front of him. He puts his hand out to shake Derek's but ends up dropping half of his things.
Much to his surprise Derek kneels down on the floor with him and helps pick up his stuff. He pushes a couple textbooks into Stiles' chest when they stand and tries to walk past him.
"I'm Stiles. I'm from the newspaper and I'm writing an article about—"
"No."
Stiles gapes and he knows he probably looks like an idiot right now but he overlooks that because, seriously, the guy is not shutting him down this fast. His first chance at possibly getting an article on the front page of the paper is not going to be ruined by some hardheaded jock.
"Yes," he says firmly. He's tempted to stomp his foot but wants to avoid looking like a five year old in front of Derek. "Lydia told you that we would be meeting today. It really won't take long."
"And I told her I'm not interested." He turns his back on Stiles to answer his cell phone and walks away. "I'll be out in a second. Bye." He says into the phone before ending the call.
Apparently Stiles is feeling extra ballsy today and he grabs Derek's shoulder, Stiles' fingers digging into the soft leather of his leather jacket, forcing him to turn around. Stepping over some of his remaining things still strewn on the floor, they come standing toe to toe. He points a thin finger at Derek's face, almost pressing against his nose.
"We are doing this." Stiles stares him down. They are the same height, which makes his attempt at intimidating Derek a bit easier. "If you cooperate I will get an article on the front page of the newspaper and you'll get something nice to take home to mom and hang on the fridge. Win-win."
The exit behind them flings open just as Derek lets out a loud sigh of annoyance. Neither of them are willing to lose the staring contest they are in and turn to look.
Stiles' eyes are starting to water and he's sure by now Derek's eyebrows have become one thick line across his forehead considering how furrowed they are.
Derek ends up losing when a girl throws her arms around his shoulders, startling him. Stiles steps back warily. The girl, who Stiles assumes is Derek's girlfriend by the way she has draped herself on him, flashes Stiles a smile while looking him over. The drag of her eyes slightly predatory and Stiles has no interest in being prey. She's staring at him like he's a piece of meat and Stiles pulls his hoodie tighter around himself out of instinct. Derek shrugs her off, his frown deepening when he notices the look on her face.
"Who's your friend, Derek?" she asks, not moving from how she's pressed against his side.
"No one," Derek grounds out. "Let's go." He grips her forearm in an attempt to drag her out of the school with him. "Laura," he hisses at her and she plants her feet and pulls her arm from his grasp.
"I'm Stiles," He speaks up and sticks his hand out to shake hers warily.
"I said I would be out in a second," Derek says over him, sighing loudly when Laura takes Stiles' hand enthusiastically.
"Why don't you come home with us? Laura suggests. "You're from the school paper, right? So it must be important." Any weird vibes he may have been getting from her are gone when she starts smiling at him, his hand is warm in his and she doesn't seem to letting go.
The look of surprise from her suggestion is evident on Stiles' face, she can't have heard what they were talking about earlier. He wants to ask about her apparent super hearing but doesn't want to come off as weird, so he drops it.
"Actually, I—" He's at a loss for words with her staring at him. Now that Stiles has had a good look at her, he can see they are definitely related, with the deep green eyes and strong features; her eyebrows are definitely more tamed than his. Or maybe they're one of those weird couples that start to look like each other after dating for so long. "I really don't want to impose. I'm sure you two—"
"Nonsense." Her hand wraps around his wrist, pulling him closer. "Mom's making lasagna tonight; there'll be plenty."
Sister. She's Derek's sister. Stiles totally doesn't breathe a sigh of relief at that.
Stiles nods in agreement and Laura immediately starts to drag him out of the school. HE chooses to ignore Derek's grumbling as they exit the school. Laura's hand still wrapped around his wrist as she chats to him easily. They squish him into the back of a Camaro, he has no complaints because it easily has to be the nicest car that he's ever ridden in. He stretches his arms up and the hits the roof; nicest but definitely not the most spacious.
He can barely fit in the back without having his legs pressed up against his chest; he can't imagine what it would take to get another person back here. He's sure that Derek has had more than his fair share of ladies back here.
He can only imagine what it would be like to have Derek back here with him; the steady press of warm fingertips into his sides, the drag of teeth along his neck as the windows start to steam up.
"You okay back there?" Laura catches his eye in the rearview mirror. Stiles nods curtly and duck his face to hide the flush that is definitely creeping up his neck.
Derek is waiting for Stiles when he steps back into the house from calling his dad to let him know his plans for the afternoon. They're alone in the kitchen and the house is oddly quiet. He knows Derek has a large family, but at the moment no one seems to be around. Even Laura has disappeared somewhere.
This family apparently is into dramatic entrances. The kitchen door swings open and a hoard of people come spilling in. Everyone is talking over each other and it's a bit overwhelming. With it just being him and his father at home, seeing all these people bustling around is a change for him. No one notices him; they all walk around him seamlessly. He counts at least four heads belonging to people who are shorter than him but it is hard to tell by the way they rush past.
"Mom, this is Stiles," Derek half-heartedly introduces him with a wave in his direction. Derek stood in the threshold of the kitchen and just itching to get out of there.
Derek's mom turns to look at them from where she is digging through one of the cupboards. She pulls out two large pans that look big enough to feed at least twenty people.
"Oh, hello." She beams at him, she has her hair pinned up in a messy bun that looks one stray bobby pin from coming undone. Stiles can see where Derek and Laura got their defined cheekbones and sharp eyes. He has the urge to keep his eyes down but she approaches him quickly with a hand outstretched. Her hand shake is quick and firm, she releases his hand quickly and heads back to the fridge. "What are you too working on? School project?"
She moves quick and efficiently around the kitchen collecting all the ingredients for what could possibly be a monstrous lasagna.
"Yeah," is all Derek provides, trying to herd Stiles out of the kitchen, but Laura blocks their way suddenly. She smirks at Derek before taking a obnoxiously loud bite from her apple.
"Stiles is actually from the school paper and he's writing about Derek, mom." Laura adds as she passes them to sit at one of the bar stools around the island.
"That's so exciting that someone wants to write about our Derek." Mrs. Hale smiles and it lights up her whole face. She looks over at Laura who is feigning excitement. "Will you send me a copy once it's published?"
With the smile she gives him, he can't say no.
Derek's house is huge, Stiles could easily take a day just too explore every but of it. Not including the expanse of forest he can see through the windows as Derek herds him upstairs and into his room.
Stiles sets up his laptop at Derek's desk, careful not to move any of his things. There isn't much on it except for a stack of papers, a photo of him and his large family and another of him with Lydia, Jackson and Danny.
Derek's room is big, a bit bigger than his own and there's stuff everywhere. The closet looks like it's been vomiting sports equipment and multiple pairs of ruined cleats layer the floor. It's painted a deep green that reminds him of the forest outside. Stiles wants to ask Derek questions about everything he has lying around, like the stacks of books in the corner of the room with the edges all frayed and the spines cracked or how from what Stiles can see Derek only has a few shirts in his closet that aren't black or a shade similar.
He also wants to know about what's not there; walls covered in posters of girls in bathing suits draped over chairs or any posters period. The walls are surprisingly bare compared to his own room at home. Also clear lack of blankets on his bed despite the fact that it's starting to get cold outside.
"So," Stiles says dragging the word out until Derek looks at him with an eyebrow raised. Stiles claps his hands together. "Let's get started."
He turns back to Derek who's been watching him the whole time with an expression Stiles just can't decipher.
"Nice room." He clears his throat in an attempt to break the tension. "I really like—"
"Let's get on with it," Derek mumbles gruffly.
"Uh, alright." Stiles is flustered now and slightly irritated. He imagined the writing of this article going more differently, a lot smoother. And it would have been if Derek were anyone else. There were a few nice guys on the team that Stiles would be more than happy to interview. And he has the mind to tell Derek that, but with the way Derek is known to tackle on field, Stiles keeps his mouth shut.
He pulls from his bag an old tape recorder. It's definitely seen better days but it gets the job done. He places it on the edge of the desk so it won't pick up the sounds of his typing, only Derek's voice.
"Is that even from this decade?" Derek's staring at the recorder as if it's somehow offended him. Stiles shakes his head and runs an appreciative hand over it.
"It helps me go back over our conversations in case I miss anything you say, or I misquote you." It's old, his father's when he was in high school and a part of the newspaper. Apparently back then writing for the paper was considered cool and not just used for extra credits and as something nice to put on one's college applications.
He goes through the standard questions; the ones he's expected to ask (and probably won't use). They're simple questions but with Derek it was like pulling teeth. His one-word answers were getting them no where, and Stiles has the mind to tell Derek off. Because seriously, how does one answer, "How are you feeling about the big game next week?" with only, "Fine," after minutes of thinking?
"What made you want to play lacrosse?" Stiles asks, he's tapping his fingers along the edge of the desk as Derek thinks over his answer. He's waiting for the obvious: my older brother used to play, keeping up with tradition. But, instead Derek just shrugs in and lays back on his bed.
Stiles clears his throat and motions for him to continue but Derek just rolls his eyes and keeps his mouth zipped shut.
"Any promising players on the team this year?"
"Yeah, I guess." Derek responds. He's started throwing a ball against the roof over his bed, the steady sound of it hitting the roof is really starting to get on Stiles' last nerve.
"I have a friend on the team, Scott, well, he's more of a benchwarmer—" Stiles tells him, he figures maybe if he talks it might give Derek the idea to actually hold on conversation.
"I know him." Derek cuts him off. Stiles waits for him to continue but Derek shuts up after that. Stiles swivels around in his chair after turning the recorder off.
"Your answers are shit. Like, you're not giving me enough to do anything with," Stiles complains. He doesn't mean to actually tell him but he's so frustrated at the lack of progress. If he had his way he would be able to pick Derek's brain and get the answer he wants.
He cringes and waits for inevitable blow up after he gets it off his chest. Derek doesn't yell at him, or do anything really. He pushes himself up so he's leaning on his elbows looking more amused by Stiles annoyance than angered.
Derek is so evasive and it's driving Stiles mad. He doesn't go out much and isn't really seen hanging around with other kids from school. It makes Stiles so damn curious.
"There's something weird about you," Stiles admits, and that might have been the wrong thing to say but it's too late to take it back. When Derek still doesn't say anything, just stands up as if alarmed, Stiles feels the tips of his ears start to turn red. "And don't take that as some weird pickup line. They only work for guys like Ryan Gosling or someone like you," he adds hastily. Derek stays silent, much more amused with watching Stiles scramble to make sense of what he's saying.
"Well, let me know when you figure it out." He steps closer to Stiles and reaches past him to grab his phone of the desk then flops back onto the bed.
Stiles may have thought one of the most embarrassing things that can happen to a person is when their stomach decides to gurgle and make noises loudly during a test in a silent room. It's ten times worse when it happens when you're alone in a quiet room with Derek Hale.
He presses a hand over his stomach in an attempt to silence it but from the bark of laughter Derek releases he clearly hears.
"Dinner is ready." Derek tells him. Mrs Hale calls them down to eat a few seconds later.
Somehow Stiles makes it through dinner with the Hales. How he did it, he can't remember; it all turned into a blur of Derek's thigh pressed against his and Laura forcing him to take seconds and then thirds. There were too many people at the table for Stiles to remember all their names.
The kids sitting at one end were loud and rowdy, barely sitting still for a moment to actually eat their food, but the sharp look Derek's mom sends in their direction quiets them down instantly.
As soon as Stiles follows Derek up to his room after dinner he collapses onto the first surface he can find, his body shutting down and going into a food coma.
"This is your bed, isn't it?" Stiles asks with his face squished into a pillow. Boundaries. Clearly Stiles has none from the way he's sprawled across Derek's bed. It's totally not fair how good his bed smells, what teenage boy has such a clean smelling bed?
"Uh, yeah," is Derek's hesitant reply. Stiles scrambles up and sits next to Derek where he's perched on the edge of the bed. The sound of him clearing his throat seems incredibly loud in the quiet room.
"I know you probably have a lot of things to do, homework or whatever." Stiles mumbles.
Derek has his shirt pushed up at the elbows, his veins visible through his skin because of how he had his fist clenched. They're sitting close enough on the bed that Stiles' can feel Derek's body heat, he wants to reach over and press his hand against his exposed forearm just to feel how hot his skin actually is.
Stiles can feel Derek's eyes on him, they're practically boring into the side of his head but he refuses to look up.
"What about you?" Derek says after clearing his throat. His fist are relaxed now but he's gripping his knees tightly. "Do you play a sport?"
Stiles looks at him, clearly Derek doesn't remember his pathetic attempt at trying out for the lacrosse team and he'd like it to say that way.
"No, pen and paper is more my thing." Stiles tells him with a forced laugh, he smacks his hand against Derek's thigh in an attempt at breaking the tension but ends up removing it just as quickly.
"It doesn't matter, this article is about you." Stiles says, his voice full of forced cheeriness. Derek nods, his eyes locked on the floor. "I think we're done today." Stiles says, walking from this bed to the desk and slams his laptop shut. He starts rummaging through his things for his cell phone. "I'll just call my dad to come get me."
Derek doesn't let him get a ride home with his dad. Well, it's actually Laura who comes bursting into the room insisting that Derek can drive him and won't let Derek say no or let Stiles call his dad.
Stiles thought he was the one with the staring problem, but right now Derek is going to give him a run for his money. He can feel Derek's eyes flickering between the road and him as they drive back to his house.
"Okay, see you tomorrow." Stiles scrambles from the car as soon as Derek shifts to park. The car ride back was filled with silence and Stiles doesn't feel the need to extend it any longer.
He takes a few steps toward the house, before turning back to the car. Stiles leans over the driver's side window, tapping his fingers against the glass until Derek rolls it down.
"I really appreciate you agreeing to do this," Stiles says sheepishly. He really hopes that the blush that was surely spreading up his neck wasn't too visible in the dark.
"Stiles, you can call me, uh, if you have more questions," Derek offers.
Stiles nods and can't help the smile that spreads over his face. Maybe Derek isn't as bad as he seems. He keeps nodding and gives Derek a small wave before disappearing into his house.
Derek picks up on the second ring and for a moment Stiles is stunned into silence. Despite the fact it was Derek who offered that Stiles could call him he didn't think he would actually pick up.
"Stiles?" Asks Derek after a moment of neither of them saying anything.
"Uh, yeah, hi." Stiles responds, he is really regretting calling now. Would accidentally hanging up be considered rude? He could always blame if on faulty phone lines.
"Did you have a question?" Stiles nods before remembering that Derek can't actually see him.
"Yeah, I wanted to know what you thought about the team uniforms?" Stiles cringes, because, really? That was the best thing he could think of? Next time he calls someone he's going to have an actual purpose for doing so, but at this point despite having spent the last few hours with him, Stiles just wants to hear Derek's voice.
He closes his laptop quietly and shuffles over to his bed.
He feels like he's in one of those ridiculous romantic comedies where the two leads are both laying in bed, phones pressed against their ears while they listen to each other breathing. But, really he's just waiting for Derek to give an answer to his dumb question. He doesn't really care for the answer; it won't make it into the article.
He doesn't catch most of Derek's answer except for the part where he complains about the shorts being a bit tight when he does certain things. Stiles could seriously get used to hearing Derek's voice on a regular basis; it's not as deep as would be expected coming from someone like him, but it unarguably suits him.
"You're still there?" It seems like Derek asks just to fill the silence.
"Yeah," Stiles' replies after a moment. He's struggling to come up with something, anything, to say that can save this phone call.
"I—uh, should go." Derek says over the phone, Stiles can't tell if he's whispering or it's just a bad connection on the phone. Stiles' stomach drops as Derek says it, but he can feel himself getting close to saying something he might regret.
"Ok," Stiles tries to not let the disappoint come out in his voice. Derek says a quiet good night before he hears the clock on the other end of the phone as the call disconnects.
If you recall we planned on meeting at 3 in the library. Sent at 3:16
It's past 3. Sent at 3:28
:( Sent at 3:43
Patience is a virtue that Stiles does not possess. It's not the waiting a part that bugs him, but being stood up. He thought they were kind of making progress, in the sense that Derek seems to be able to tolerate Stiles and not threaten him with bodily harm like the majority of the lacrosse team.
He can't stop replaying their phone call over in his head. He cringes at the thought, they barley spoke during the call. When Stiles went back to check the call time they had been on the phone for over ten minutes but without anything really said.
He has his phone in his hands and considers calling Derek now but would rather avoid another awkward phone call.
He manages to finish his trig homework and start on an English paper before he gets antsy. The librarian shoots him a glare when his fidgeting becomes distracting to other students.
It's a bit after four when he decides to just pack up, since there's only so long he can wait. He skips on the text warning Derek he's leaving. He's gotten the hint by now.
"How come you're not following me around today?" Derek asks. He stops Stiles in the hall on the way to class. Stiles tries to pull his arm from Derek but he just pulls him closer as students rush around them. Stiles really doesn't have time for this, he's going to miss is study group for Chemistry.
"It's nothing. I've, uh, got to—" Stiles doesn't get far before Derek pulls him back and into an empty classroom. He locks the door behind him and stands in front of it with his arms crossed.
"Spill." Derek demands. Stiles runs a hand through his hair and turns his back to Derek. He wants to slam is books down on the desk, he's on a schedule but apparently that means nothing to Derek.
"We could have been talking yesterday. In the library. Where we planned on meeting," Stiles snaps, it comes out a bit harsher than he intends it too, but he's spill pissed about being forgotten.
"Shit." Derek drops his arms to his side, stepping away from the door and closer to Stiles. "Sit. We can do it now."
Stiles stares longingly at the door. "I don't know."
"C'mon, I know you have a million questions to ask."
Stiles agrees with a sigh, pulling his laptop from his bag and shuffling through his papers while rattling off questions. Stiles is surprised when Derek doesn't say anything when he pulls the tape recorder from his bag and sets it on a desk between them.
They get into a rhythm; Stiles rattling off questions while Derek answers at a much slower pace. Stiles takes to humming the Jeopardy theme song when ever Derek can't think of an answer fast enough.
His fingers fly over the keyboard of his laptop, taking down all of Derek's answers. Stiles has a pen in the corner of his mouth, his lips pursed around the end. He can't help the way he bites down on the pen a bit tighter every time Derek answers a question in a way he's not expecting. He's managing to be surprisingly eloquent today, Stiles wants to throws his arms up and fist bump every time
"Okay. Next question." Stiles only has about five more, he's sure they can make it through them before the bell rings.
"I wasn't done." Derek snaps, stopping Stiles from his next questions. "Like I was saying, we have really upped our defense strategies. We know what the other team expects of us but we're going to surprise them with all new plays." He sounds smug as he finishes.
Stiles could kiss him he's so happy, but he wouldn't cause it would most likely end up with him on the receiving end of black eye. Having Derek actually elaborate on a answer is monumental, Stiles can barely contain his smile as he finishes typing it up.
"Derek?" Stiles is waving that pen in front of Derek's face. "Your favorite position?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Derek blanches.
"To play on the field. You seem to be versatile." Stiles adds on, he doesn't miss the way Derek's ears have turned red but he spares him and doesn't say anything about it.
"Oh, I'm an attack wing mostly." Derek answers after a moment, his voice quiet.
Stiles hums and nods his head, putting the pen back in his mouth. It's just barely hanging in the corner of Stiles' mouth. He absently flits his tongue out and runs it over the cap before.
The bell rings, startling both of them. Stiles jumps but the pen stays between his lips, and leans back a bit when he notices how close Derek is now sitting.
Stiles is frozen as Derek leans in closer, he wraps his fingers around the pen and tugs it out from Stiles' mouth. They lock eyes for a moment, neither moving.
Stiles can feel Derek staring at his lips before his eyes flicker up to stare into his. Derek looks shocked as if he doesn't understand his own actions. Frankly, Stiles doesn't really either.
Derek stands up abruptly, Stiles' pen still in hand.
"Okay. Thanks for this but I have a few more quest—and you're leaving. With my pen."
"Pen chewing is a bad habit." Derek reprimands him before he ducks out of the room.
"Something on your mind?" Jackson's eyes trail down to the pen Derek has been chewing on for the majority of class.
Derek freezes, pen dangling out of the corner of his mouth, before jamming it into his bag and sitting back in his chair. He ignores Jackson's questioning stare.
There's a brand new pack of Stiles' favorite pens taped to his locker after school.
Stiles can't stop his leg from bouncing as he waits for Derek to meet him in the library. He can't afford to be stood up again. He's starting to feel like he's getting nowhere with the article. He's been spending more time staring at Derek and imaging all the things he'd like to do to him (that involve his mouth, just not answering questions) than actually getting anything done. Right now all he's got is a bunch of nothing that he can't even attempt to piece together and make worthy of the front page.
Stiles is sure he will never get over what happened with Derek earlier. He can't get the look on Derek's face as he stood with the snatched pen in his hand.
Is there polite way of saying, "You plucked my pen right from my mouth, does that mean something?" Because Stiles would sure as hell like to know.
Stiles can't help but smile when Derek walks into the library after school, right on time.
"I'm really close to finishing. If we can meet up tonight, it won't be long," Stiles says in lieu of hello.
"How about at dinner?" Derek suggests a restaurant, which is way out of Stiles' price range. Not a place where many high school kids go to eat on a Friday night, unless they want to blow a month's pay.
"How about the library?" Stiles offers, because he definitely can't afford more than breadsticks there.
"Okay." Derek nods. He bows his head as he traces a swirling pattern into the table. He clears his throat before speaking again. "Actually, There's this party tonight and if—"
"Yeah, that's fine. I won't take up too much of your time." Stiles knows about the party. Everyone in Beacon Hills knows about the party. It's one of Lydia's, which always end up being talked about for weeks after; the kind of thing Stiles is never invited to.
He tries not to let the annoyance show on his face. He won't admit it, but having to hear about Derek's plans put a sour taste in his mouth. Stiles' constant exclusion from all the cool parties seems to be based on the fact that he's the Sheriff's son, and the fact that his only friend is Scott. At least he hopes those are the only reasons.
Stiles does his best to not let his disappointment show, but the way he starts typing a bit harder on his laptop should be a clear indicator.
"Let's get you out of here, I guess we can skip the questions today." Stiles says, he's going to regret it later. The deadline for the article is weighing heavily over him. "We need to get a few pictures taken of you for the article. I'll meet you by the bleachers after you've changed." He slams the lid of this laptop shut. Avoiding Derek's eye he bolts from the room.
Stiles keeps glancing down at his watch, it's getting cold out and he's tired of standing around but he'd rather stay standing and spare his butt from the cold metal of the bleachers.
He's waiting with Erica on the sidelines of the lacrosse field. She became the newspaper's photographer after their old one Matt kind of fell off the earth. She scheduled them a spot after school on Friday; she likes to pretend she's in high demand.
"He's a stud." Erica has the lens up to her eye, watching Derek through it as he walks closer to them.
"And you have a boyfriend," Stiles reminds her. Erica and Boyd have been going steady since the ninth grade.
"Not like I can't look." She huffs and turns back to Derek who looks more than extremely uncomfortable with the way she's eyeing him. Erica doesn't seem to care as she takes a few pictures of him without warning then hums happily down at the screen.
"Lydia says that this will probably make the front page," she tells Stiles. "As long as your article doesn't blow," she adds as an afterthought.
"You took your time." Stiles remarks, ignoring Erica's comments, when Derek finally makes his way to them. Derek just shrugs in response. Erica pulls him away to sit on the bleachers in a pose she calls the sexy/angsty jock pose.
Erica has way too much fun moving Derek's body around into whichever poses she wants him in. Her hands trail over his stomach as she moves him lean back a little more, her fingers wrapped around his wrists, moving his arms into a more relaxed pose.
It feels like they've been out there for hours with Erica moving Derek from the bleachers to the stand on the sidelines and then to pose near the goal posts.
"I can't seem to get a decent shot." Erica stares down at the screen of her camera, her eyebrows furrowed and lips tense. "There's a glare on your face in every one."
She clicks through all the pictures quickly, not satisfied with any of them.
"Why don't you take a few from a distance? Like of me running?" Derek suggests, but Erica doesn't think it will change anything. She's convinced that it's glitch with the camera and she will finally get the chance to get a new one paid for by the school.
They make Derek run around the field a few times, it's mostly so they get some action shots and not at all to watch how his butt looks in those shorts.
Erica continues to snap away, even after Stiles decides to call it a night. She almost squeals when looking back over some of the shots. They end up both liking a shot of Derek's profile; he's got his crosse slung over his shoulder, holding the ball and he's laughing at Stiles who is just off camera. He looks happy and relaxed, and Stiles knows it's a front page worthy the moment Erica shows it to him.
"So, the library later?" asks Derek. They're walking side-by-side back to the school, their shoulders bump occasionally but Stiles stills and stops.
"Actually, I don't think we need to meet up tonight." Stiles holds his bag to his chest. He looks back toward the parking lot. The walk home usually takes him around fifteen minutes and he wants to be home before it gets dark. "Have fun at the party."
Stiles is slumped over his laptop staring at the two paragraphs of nothing he has written about Derek. He had been relying on his ability of being able to spew out random facts and information when writing like he does in whenever he's assigned an essay. But this isn't the case, he wouldn't be able to write and article about the treatment of horses in the 18th century and have it published on the front page.
He was starting to panic because he hasn't been asking Derek the right questions for what he wants to write. All the time Stiles has spent with him over the last week as been pretty much wasted by him staring at Derek.
The ping of an email gets his attention. He was dreading this, but there it is. "Read and reply ASAP," says the subject line.
I want the finished copy of your article in my inbox no later than 1 pm tomorrow. Bring in any notes and references you used to write.
Don't disappoint me, Stiles.
Lydia
Editor of The Beacon
He lets out a long sigh. He's fucked. Unless he makes up the rest of the article, there is no way it will be finished for his deadline.
He plays over some the recordings he has of Derek, his voice deeper and a bit quiet in parts from the quality of the tape. Stiles keeps rewinding it back to the same couple of seconds when Derek says his name. It's not in annoyance, like when his teachers call his name, or in exasperation, like the times when his dad says it right before Stiles is about to be reprimanded. He could get used to how his name sounds on Derek's lips.
Stiles doesn't get any new info from the recording that he didn't pick up on before. Eventually he resigns himself to sending Derek a quick text. If he wants to get this done he's going to need help.
Hope you're not too hung over from last night. If you're free could you stop by for a bit? Sent at 10:34am
An hour passes with no reply. Someone seriously needs to teach Derek how to use a cell phone.
As much as it may seem like Stiles has no life he does have things he needs to do. One of those things is grocery shopping. Maybe taking a break is what he needs then he can demolish the article. He figures he can stretch the bit of writing he has done into a full length article.
His dad finally gave him the keys to the jeep, calling it an early birthday present, so Stiles grabs his keys and is halfway out the door when he bumps into something solid.
It's Derek, standing there attempting to look sheepish, but he comes off more pissed as he holds Stiles an arms length away. They stare at each other for a moment before Stiles steps back, pulling his arms from Derek's grip and slamming the door in his face.
He presses his back against the door and is so thankful that it's solid wood so Derek can't see him attempt to catch is breath from the other side. He takes a deep breath and calms himself before opening the door again.
He's greeted by Derek still standing there with a raised eyebrow and a small smile.
He holds the door open and motions for him to come inside. "You can stop standing there and come in. My dad's gone to the station for a few hours. I only have a few more questions to ask."
Derek follows him slowly up to Stiles' room. Stiles notices how he seems to run his hands over every surface he can on the way—the walls, the books on his shelves—and at one moment he feels Derek's hand pressed against his back, but the feeling is fleeting.
Stiles reboots his laptop, his back turned to Derek. He's not going to say anything about his little touching habit. If Derek wants to touch him a bit more he wouldn't complain. When he turns around Derek is sitting on his bed, looking tense with his hands clenched on his lap and his nostrils flared.
Stiles prides himself on how he only jumps a bit when Derek reaches over him to press the record button on the recorder sitting on his desk. Derek doesn't move way quickly, just stands hovering over him with his chest almost pressed against Stiles' back. Stiles tell himself it's because Derek's attempting to be nosey and read what he's finished on the laptop.
"Dude, you were the youngest captain the team has ever had. You've been captain since grade 10 and you were able to bring the team from losing every game to being undefeated." Stiles is trying not to fangirl over him, but he's been a fan of Derek's ever since he managed to stop the team from sucking. He holds no hard feelings over not making the team, since he knows lacrosse isn't really his forte.
"What do you see for the future of the team now that you're graduating?" Stiles asks. He's not typing anymore, his laptop sitting behind him unused. He'll just go back and listen to the recordings later on.
"I know who will replace me as captain and I'm confident he will lead the team the same way I did. They will be just as successful," Derek says. He's being careful not reveal who next year's captain will be, although everyone pretty much knows it will be Jackson. Stiles refrains from calling him out on it.
Stiles is a bit embarrassed by his next question, but he asks it regardless.
"Lydia gave me some questions to ask." Stiles has the list that Lydia gave him with contact information, a small back ground about Derek and some questions, he pulls from his back pack.
"You're a straight A student and captain of the lacrosse team." He rubs at the back of his neck and cringes a bit before asking. "Are you seeing anyone? Not that I want to know, the people, Lydia said the people, like other students would want—"
"I'm not dating anyone."
"How do you not have a girlfriend? There's always girls hanging off of you!" And really, if Derek Hale doesn't have a girlfriend, what chance does Stiles have?
Derek just shrugs in lieu of answering.
"I need you to work with me here." Stiles throws his hands up and stands from his chair, pacing the length of his room. "I want people to see you for more than a grumpy, lacrosse-stick wielding, mono-syllable jock."
"Is that what you think of me?" Derek doesn't even sound offended, just amused.
"No. Well, yes. I did before. But, now I know you a bit better," Stiles flounders. "I've learned that you're able to use more than one syllable when talking. When you want to." He stops pacing when Derek reaches out and grabs the back of his sweater. "You're so—" Stiles stops himself. He can already see this conversation going downhill. "Anyway, two more questions then we're done. What do you—"
"I'm so what?"
"Nothing. No, you're not nothing. You're something. But, that's besides the point." He throws himself back into his computer chair.
Derek spins Stiles in the chair, forcing him to face him, and braces his arms on both sides.
"Tell me." Stiles holds his gaze, but Derek's not breaking. Once he starts he won't be able to stop and there's no way he can handle the embarrassment of revealing that he has a somewhat weird kind of crush on Derek.
"You're you—" He makes a jerky gesture at Derek. "Captain of the lacrosse team and on the honor roll. You're probably being fought over by some great universities. You're well rounded, handsome and charming albeit a bit grumpy. But, you've been really unhelpful this week and it makes me want to shake you."
Derek's eyes flit down to stare at Stiles' lips for a moment before moving forward faster than Stiles' eyes could catch, and presses their lips together. Stiles lets out a sound of surprise and flings himself back in the seat at the first touch of Derek's mouth against his.
Derek pulls away just as quickly, his face falling. He's managed to put so much space between them in a couple of seconds that Stiles doesn't have a chance to process everything that just happened.
There is no way Stiles will let an opportunity like this pass. Sure, he was surprised, but it isn't everyday that someone like Derek kisses you without warning. Stiles lurches forward, grabbing onto any bit of Derek he can and pulls them back together
He stands from his computer chair, not letting Derek's face move from his and pushes his body against his.
"I read your articles every week," Derek manages to get out when Stiles' arms warp around his neck, his hands entertained behind his head.
"About school lunches?" Stiles laughs and presses a kiss to the corner of Derek's mouth. It's getting harder for him to string together a coherent thought with Derek pressed against him.
"Yes, I find cafeteria food fascinating," Derek tells him, his hand gripping Stiles' waist so they're pressed chest to chest.
"Liar, nobody—" Derek silences him by pushing him to sit on the bed while pressing their lips together.
Stiles isn't even bothered by the fact that his bed didn't smell nearly as good as Derek's did. All he can focus on is the feeling of Derek's hands pressed into the top of his thighs as he leans into him and the slide of Derek's lips against his own, easy and smooth, neither of them fighting for dominance but moving against each other.
Stiles' hands scramble at Derek's back, searching for more skin. He reluctantly breaks the kiss so he can pull Derek's shirt off. Stiles' hands roam over the hot expanse of his skin and the taut muscles of his stomach.
Stiles knows he isn't built like Derek, that he's more of the tall lanky type, but he does have muscles and isn't embarrassed when Derek tugs his shirt off of him. If anything, the appreciative look Derek gives him just confirms that he is definitely into what Stiles has to offer.
This is all in the name of journalism. Stiles likes to take a really hands-on approach to his work.
What did you title the article - Derek
Not telling. But I did have a few really good ones that Lydia wasn't too fond of -Stiles
I'm sure me and her both – Derek
Something tumbles out of Derek's locker as soon as the door swings open. A picture of himself on the front of the newspaper, adorned with a swirly moustache and blacked out teeth, lays at his feet.
Thank you for being semi-cooperative, reads the sticky note stuck onto the picture.
Derek finds Stiles in the library later, hunched over his homework. He doesn't look up as Derek approaches, too engrossed in his writing.
He slams the paper on the desk, successfully breaking Stiles' focus. It earns Derek a warning look from the librarian but he doesn't care.
"I'm going to need another copy of this. Although your artistic skills are…" He looks over the bleeding of the ink, the hastily colored in teeth. "…imaginative. I don't think my mom would want to keep this."
"I—yeah, here." Stiles produces another copy of the paper from his backpack, free of any additional drawings.
"You could give it to her yourself." Derek sits with him and starts pulling out his own homework. "Tonight at dinner."
Stiles nods, a bit wrapped up in finishing the last bit of his essay for English.
"Dinner. I can do that." Stiles nods again, this time more eagerly, trying to not let his mouth hang open too far.
"You might want to bring a few extra copies of the article. I don't think your drawings will impress Laura."
Stiles' next article in the paper is definitely going to be titled: "How to Woo Someone Without Even Trying."
When he becomes a famous journalist and there's a biography written about his life, it will definitely be titled: "How He Got the Hottie: the Stiles Stilinski Story."
Come see me RIGHT NOW - Lydia Martin
Stiles' stomach drops at the text. It's not often she will actually text him unless it's really important. He walks slowly, and sticks his head into the room used for the newspaper first, fingers crossed that she might not be there. But, she is, and the look on her face makes him want to turn and run.
Lydia hates the article; he knows it. She's going to kick him off the paper because he messed up and he won't have anything to put on his college applications.
"You wanted to see me?" He stands across from her desk, but far enough away that he can still make a run for it if he needs too.
"What is this?" Lydia is holding his tape recorder in one hand.
"I know it's kind of old, but you have to have seen a—"
"I know what it is," she snaps. She presses the play button on the recorder. Stiles' ears instantly turn red and he almost runs from the room. The sounds of him and Derek making out fill the room, and seriously, how did she get it to go that loud?
He can just make out bits of their conversation between kisses, which is not that bad, but then of course it gets worse. The sounds of rustling clothes and the slight creak of his bed as Derek presses him back against it is unmistakable. He lunges forward and grabs the recorder from Lydia's hand, stopping it before a very embarrassing part is played, which he knows is coming up.
"Don't worry, I've already listened to the whole thing." She looks at him like Christmas came early. "Someone's keeping your mouth busy and you still manage to be unbearably vocal."
Lydia does end up liking the article, much to her surprise and Stiles. Stiles is eternally grateful Greenberg was out with tonsillitis for the week.
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Beta read by the awesome constantcomment.