Just a little something I'm going to do whenever I get bored of my other fics. Enjoy!
Derek's just succumbing to sleep, so relaxed and so comfortable, which is a rare enough event as it is, when his phone buzzes on the bed side locker. He groans as he stretches across the sheets to reach it, groaning louder when he reads the name lighting the screen.
"How did you get my number," he says flatly, hearing nothing but very loud breathing from the other end to the point where he thinks something must be wrong, until Stiles hiccups and then supresses a muffled giggle. So he hasn't been kidnapped then.
"Heyyy, sour wolf," he greets brightly, slurring his words. Derek sighs, rolls over onto his back in preparation for Stiles to talk his ear off because Stiles is even more mouthy when he's drunk, if that's even possible. This way, when he falls asleep during Stiles' consistent babbling he'll be in a comfortable enough position.
"Your drunk," he says, and something scratches against the other end of the line, like Stiles is nodding his head.
"Yup," Stiles replies, popping the 'p'. "'nd I need you- I need you to bring me more alcohol." Derek's heart almost stops when Stiles stutters, but settles again when Stiles continues.
"I think you've had enough," he says, and tries not to show too much disappointment in his tone. But then again, he spends a lot of time being disappointed in Stiles so he probably won't be able to tell. That, and he's wasted.
"Nuh-uh," he argues. There's a low beat to be heard distantly in the background, some cheering, and he realizes that Stiles is in a club, but the music isn't loud enough for him to be at the bar.
"Where are you?" Derek asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Bathroom," he answers, hiccupping. "Needed to g'way. Guys keep hitting on me and now I'm 'fraid to go to the bar. S'why I called you, sexybrows." Derek doesn't need to hear how much action Stiles is getting, especially when it's not from Derek. And he certainly doesn't need to hear things like 'sexybrows', because he knows it will never go any further than terrible flirting.
"I'll see you in the morning Stiles," he says quickly, moving to hang up the phone until he hears a very loud 'no' as he does so, before slowly lifting the phone back to his ear.
"Don't go. I- come pick me up? Pleeaase," he whines, and Derek almost says no, but decides to be realistic about it and says yes. Stiles is only going to complain about it until Derek pretends to be annoyed with him but goes anyway, so he cuts straight to the point.
"Thank you thank you thank you thank you love you bye, Derek!" Stiles calls and then the line goes dead. Derek lies back, staring into the dark as he hears his last words echo in his ears, before crawling out bed, slips on his leather jacket over his pyjamas and leaves.
He only realizes when he's driving that he didn't even ask what club Stiles was in, but with Stiles' track record he assumes it's Jungle so decides to check there first. The street is full to the brim with cars parked on the curbs, so he ends up in a parking lot a small distance away from the club.
As it turns out Stiles is in Jungle, or was as it happens, because he's now standing on the sidewalk with his face pressed against the glass of Beacon Hill's Pet Shop cooing over the puppies in the window display. Derek clears his throat loudly, catching Stiles' attention, and he turns to look over his shoulder at Derek with a big dopey grin on his face that makes Derek's heart hurt.
"Derek look at the puppies," he points enthusiastically, and it's such a Stiles thing that Derek's not even sure if he's drunk or sober. But the way Stiles tips over from pointing and practically falls into the window tells him Stiles is still, in fact, plastered. "They're soooo cute."
Derek joins him by the window, humming along non-committedly. They are pretty cute, he thinks, in one of those moments where he thinks something that he'll never admit out loud, but his attention is caught by Stiles humming the tune to 'How Much is that Doggie in the Window'.
Derek huffs as he pulls Stiles along, which is definitely the wrong idea because Stiles trips and falls against the door frame of the store. "Don't worry, grumpy wolf, no puppy will ever replace youuu." He reaches up to pinch Derek's cheeks, but Derek wraps his fingers around Stiles' wrist before he can have any of the satisfaction. "You're my wolf puppy 'n m'gonna keep you."
Derek hopes Stiles ignores the flush on his cheeks as much as he does, so he spins around and hoists Stiles up onto his back in one fluid motion that has Stiles gasping in shock. Derek tries not to settle on the thought of his hands cupping the bottom of Stiles' ass for a moment.
Stiles decides to not be Stiles and settles against him in favour of flailing around and complaining that he's not a damsel in distress that needs saving. He has no complaints now, but he'll probably bitch and moan at him tomorrow when he remembers. Right now, he settles against Derek's back with his face against the side of Derek's neck and sighs.
He tries not to focus too much on that either, but it doesn't matter, though, because by the time they get to the car Stiles is asleep and snoring quietly. It's cute, but Derek doesn't have much time to dwell on it as Stiles wakens just as Derek's sliding him into the front seat.
"Where y'goin'?" he snuffles against the leather jacket Derek laid across him as Derek turns towards Stiles' house.
"Home," Derek says, looking at him briefly before his eyes fixate back on the road.
"M'nope. Take me back to yours, pretty wolf." Derek wonders how many variations of wolf he can be all in one night but doesn't fight Stiles on the matter, instead takes Stiles back to the loft for some unknown reason. Stiles still can't walk, or is just being a lazy little shit, but either way Derek ends up carrying him up the stairs.
"We on our honeymoon?" he giggles, commenting on the fact that Derek is subconsciously carrying Stiles bridal-style.
"Shut up, Stiles," he says back with little bite, ears burning.
"No, you interrupted me before. On the phone," he elaborates before Derek can ask. "I was talking about all the guys," he hiccups, "hitting on me."
"I remember," he slides the loft door open with his elbow, tries not to sound too bitter about it this time but isn't quite as successful this time.
"M'not interested in the other guys," he argues, and his heartbeat that Derek can hear in the background doesn't stutter, there's not even a blip. "M'not," he repeats, just before Derek flings him onto the bed, and a small smile forms on his face as he bounces. He half-heartedly pulls on Derek's sleeve, tugs him lower.
"I'm interested in you, idiot," he says soberly, pulling Derek in for a surprising, but brief, chaste kiss. He then falls back onto the bed, eyes closed and asleep, that suggests that he wasn't so sober after all. It takes about a minute for Derek to process what just happened, feels the ghost of Stiles' lips against his and amazing such a simple touch could feel.
"We can talk about this in the morning," he says matter-of-factly, albeit to no one. Stiles hums, shaking his head with an adorable crease to his brow.
"No, we can bone in the morning," he says before turning over and ending the conversation completely. Derek just stares at him for a moment, before going to the closet and taking blankets out to sleep on the couch. He finds that he gets pretty comfortable pretty quickly, and before he knows it he's asleep, not thinking about Stiles being in his bed.
Maybe a little.
They do talk, but they don't 'bone' as Stiles so crudely puts it. No, that comes after the dinner they have the same night. Stiles still regrets his hangover, but thinks it was totally worth it. He gives Derek such a bitch face when he remembers that Derek carried him, but Derek thinks that it was totally worth it, too.