That Pivotal Moment

(Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal)

1. Pixies

Stiles flashed back to over two years earlier when they'd been in exactly the same position – Derek waiting in the car while Stiles took a look inside at what should've been a harmless situation, just looking out for anything suspicious that could lead then to their quarrel. This time, though, their quarrel was not a psychopathic uncle who wasn't quite as comatose as they expected, but a gang of pixies. Pixies! They were supposed to be cute creatures who mended shoes, not vicious killers who preyed on small children and animals. Yes, so it was similar to last time what with the murders and Stiles feeling way out of his depth, creeping around a dark building late at night. All that was missing was-

"Stiles, get out of there, now! The pixies are here!" Derek yelled at him through the phone.

Exactly that. That was exactly what was missing. Derek shouting at him that their little search had not gone unnoticed by the enemy. His voice was muffled enough to make Stiles think he'd shifted and his fangs were getting in the way. If he'd shifted then danger (and, by extension, pain) were imminent. Stiles quashed all negatives thoughts and vile expletives in favour of madly looking around the dentist surgery he was in. Derek had said to get out, but he knew it was too late for that now and his next best chance of survival was hide. And quickly. He ripped open the door closest to him and threw himself in, hoping that there were no creepy pixie warriors in there. When he had reassured himself that he was alone, he leant against a wall and sank down to the floor, taking the opportunity to look around his hiding place.

There were shelves and shelves of weird tooth products, bottles of dangerous blue stuff, boxes of coveralls and a selection of brooms leaning against each other in the corner. It was stuffed full of all the things necessary to keep a dentist running. Oh, it was also frigging tiny - far too small for Stiles to be comfortable. Only 4 feet square with a low ceiling.

Damn, why did it always happen to him? Why not one of the invincible werewolves he's surrounded by? Why not their Alpha? Why was it always the scrawny human?! Why did they pick on the weakest link all the damn time?! He could feel himself getting hysterical, breath short and sharp like someone was squeezing his windpipe and frying his lungs in one of those deep fat fryers that they have at places like Taco Bell that taste heavenly, but are really bad for cholesterol...

He heard a car door slamming, reminding him that Derek was still waiting for him to say something – anything – to confirm that he was still alive.

"Derek, the walls are closing in, I'm not sure that's normal." Stiles managed to spit out between panicky, laboured breaths, "It's only normal if you're in one of those funfair things but then it's totally safe!" He dragged in another breath. "This is not a funfair, Derek!"

"Breathe, Stiles!"

"Still breathing," He snapped, the assertion only being slightly spoiled by the lack of oxygen in his lungs. "Or, I'd probably, be dead, right now."

Derek huffed a bit in his best approximation of a laugh then became serious again.

"Talk to me Stiles, you need to stay calm." He said. Stiles thought briefly about how much he loved the way Derek lisped his name when he had his fangs out and wondered what that would sound like if Derek was short of breath and sweating... Making Stiles come apart for him. "Stiles!" There it was again. Ugh.

"Crap, what?!" He whispered angrily at the phone in his hand as if it was directly responsible for interrupting his fantasy.

"Talk to me, stay calm, I'm coming for you now."

"What's taking you so long? You were right outside!"

"Stiles!"

"Derek-" Stiles stopped talking immediately when he started paying attention to his environment. There was someone walking around in the surgery outside his door. "Crap." He muttered to himself, hanging up on Derek in case he started speaking again. Besides, his creeper would find him eventually. Crap! He'd been running with werewolves for two and a half years and he was going to die at the hands of pixies, cowering in a cupboard? No, he'd go out fighting, god damn it! Derek would kill him when he found out. If you're not already dead, a very nasty voice at the back of his head hissed.

Stiles got to his feet as quietly as possible and reached over to grab his weapons of choice. He then wrenched open the door and started attacking, swinging the broom like a hammer, satisfied when he made contact and his victim made an oomph-ing noise, which was soon cut off by the bottle of what claimed to be polycarboxylate that Stiles threw in his face. Headshot!

He didn't take any chances after that. Hopefully his victim/assailant would be shocked by his little assault but he didn't wait to check, he simply turned and ran. Or, more correctly, he tried to run. He got two steps before he was pressed again the pale blue wall of the waiting room, a familiar warm weight holding him right where he was.

"That was rude." Ugh, that lisp.

"Derek?" Stiles turned his head ever so slightly and saw Derek's red Alpha eyes and pearly white fangs right next to his head. Haha. That's funny because we're in a dentist. "Do you shift when you're brushing your teeth?" Damn it. Once again, his filter deserted him when he needed it most. He saw the confusion in Derek's eyes as they slowly faded back to that weird hazel/green colour. Seriously, what colour even is that? It's sinful. "Never mind."

Derek loosened his grip just enough that Stiles could spin round, still surrounded by an unholy amount of pure Derek – his smell and his warmth and his slightly terrifying, insanely intense glare. Stiles tried so hard not laugh, he really did, but Derek looked a bit like his face was melting because of the congealing polycarboxylate.

"Uh," he said, coughing to cover his mini laugh, "you'll want to get that off, ASAP."

"No, really? I quite like it where it is." Derek's sarcasm kind of made Stiles feel proud. He felt like he'd taught Derek an emotion.

"Haha. Funny. Seriously, though. It's practically pre-mixed cement." Stiles said and then looked on as Derek's features turned from sarcastic, to confused, to panicky, to annoyed… And settled on annoyed, like he usually does where Stiles is concerned. "You have about 30 seconds before your face sets."

Derek didn't say anything, merely grabbed Stiles by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the bathroom with him.

…

As Derek scrubbed viciously at his face, looking in the mirror every now and then to see if he'd missed anything, Stiles thought back and noticed a flaw in what they were doing.

"Derek, where are the pixies?" His voice rose by around six octaves as he spoke.

"Gone."

Stiles waited, he truly did, before saying anything more, but some things just can't change and Stiles wasn't a patient person.

"You're so forthcoming with information tonight." He deadpanned, aiming for the same effect Derek gets. He gets close enough to appease himself. "Pray tell, almighty Alpha, where have they 'gone'."

"Not my problem right now."

"Fantastic. Just fantastic." He hit Derek's arm and Derek just looked at him unimpressed and blankly. "You scared the crap out of me! All that 'Stiles, run! Get out now! We're all going to die!' stuff? You nearly gave me a panic attack! Were they here at all? Were you just kidding me?"

"They left when I arrived."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Stiles flailed his hands a little bit and started pacing behind Derek, who was still washing around hairline.

"You hung up on me. I was trying to find you when you attacked me." Derek met his gaze in the mirror managing to look annoyed but proud at the same time. Stiles floundered again. There was no way he was letting this go.

"Is that...? No..." He placed a hand over his heart and pretended to wipe away a tear from his cheek. "Actual pride? From the Sourwolf? Aw, Derek!" For all the acting, Stiles was feeling strangely touched by the look that Derek still had on his face. Touched enough that he would launch himself recklessly into a hug with the Alpha, the Alpha with huge fangs and claws that Stiles had momentarily forgotten about. Derek shoved him into the wall again, one hand pressing again Stiles' stomach and the other at his neck to keep him pinned where he wanted him.

Stiles tried to ignore how obviously his heart rate had skyrocketed. He knew Derek could hear it too and, in that moment, something shifted between them. Derek's hands turned softer against Stiles' skin and there was a glint in Derek's eyes that took his breath away, turned his brain to something resembling melted marshmallow. He lifted his right hand to Derek's shoulder to keep his balance. With Derek's hands being less I'm-pinning-you-against-a-wall and more I-want-to-touch-every-part-of-you-until-you're-moa ning-my-name, Stiles could only rely on his own body to keep him standing and he sure as hell didn't trust his body. Not with the way a certain area below his waist was betraying him right now.

Derek's eyes followed Stiles' movement with something resembling panic and he backed away quickly, looking anywhere but at the boy he'd just victimised, because that's exactly what it was – he'd pinned the kid against the wall and felt his stomach muscles, stroked the smooth skin of his neck. Derek felt sick with himself.

"Come on, it's late." Derek muttered, striding purposefully out of the dentist surgery and ignoring the heavy breathing behind him. Stiles took a moment to recover then followed Derek to the car park with one thought at the forefront of his mind: What the hell was that?