"Come dance!" Stiles yells over the loud music, trying to drag Derek towards the open space between tables that has become a makeshift dance floor. Derek digs in his heels—he, apparently unlike Stiles, is nowhere near drunk enough to be dancing to club music on a boat with his colleagues in the middle of the afternoon. Not that anyone else seems to be sober enough to remember anything that happens anyway.
Still, Derek doesn't want to dance regardless of whether anyone will remember or not. It doesn't matter how much Stiles pouts and tugs on his arm, despite the fact that Stiles, of everyone that Derek works with, is the most likely to be able to convince him to do things.
Okay, Stiles is probably the most likely of anyone that Derek knows to be able to convince him to do things.
But Derek would still rather stand on the sidelines and watch everyone else dance and make drunken fools of themselves than participate in it, especially given that he's liable to do something stupid if he does. Something beyond the usual dancing and harmless flirting that always happens at these events—something that Stiles isn't likely to forget about no matter how drunk he might be.
And besides, the view from the sidelines is infinitely better. From his spot by the side Derek has an unobstructed view out through the window—he's so rarely on a boat, he really ought to take advantage of it—not to mention the view of Stiles dancing like an idiot and shaking his ass to the music.
But right now Stiles still has a hold of Derek's arm, and his face has gone from exaggerated pouting to scrunched up confusion. Derek realizes that he must have zoned out, leaving Stiles's request for him to dance unanswered.
"Sorry," Derek says, shaking his head, "must've zoned out." He waves his hand vaguely toward the open roof. "Too much sun, maybe."
Stiles squints at him for a moment, but then his face brightens, splitting instantly into a broad grin. "Well you should come dance now that you've zoned back in!" Stiles tugs on Derek's wrist again, hand sliding until he's tugging on Derek's fingers instead.
Derek almost gives in.
Instead, Derek shakes his head once, hating the way Stiles's smile falls a little when he says, "I don't dance."
"Aww, c'mon, Derek," Stiles says, "you're missing out on all the fun!" Derek shakes his head fondly and doesn't move from his position. Stiles sighs, but then he tilts his head, analyzing, before he turns suddenly and begins to march away from Derek in the opposite direction of the packed dance area. Derek watches him go a couple of steps before Stiles turns to look over his shoulder. "If you don't want to dance, we should at least go enjoy the view from the front of the boat," Stiles says before continuing to walk.
Derek blinks after him for a moment, pushing himself off the wall to follow Stiles just as he disappears out the door onto the deck.
When Derek gets outside, he's surprised to find it completely devoid of people. He stops next to Stiles, leaning against the railing right at the front and looking out over the water. It's almost peaceful, despite the thump of the bass reverberating through everything and the din of the crowd inside that carries out to them.
"Better?" Stiles asks.
"Yeah, thanks," Derek says, more than glad for a few minutes of relative quiet with Stiles at his side.
They stay there for a little while, staring silently back at the skyline of the city. Derek doesn't think Stiles has ever been silent for so long all at once.
It's Derek who eventually breaks the silence, though he's loathe to do it given the look of pure contentment Stiles is wearing, eyes closed and mouth turned up in the faintest hint of a smile as the late-afternoon sun beats down on his upturned face and the breeze ruffles his hair.
Derek drops his hand lightly on Stiles's forearm, trying not to startle him. "I'm going to go grab some water. Do you want anything?"
Stiles shakes his head. "I'm good here."
"I'll be back," Derek says, turning to head inside to the bar.
"Mm, you'd better be," Stiles says quietly.
When Derek comes back, Stiles is bent at the waist, arms folded on the top of the railing as he looks out at group of colourful sailboats heading back to shore. He straightens up at the sound of Derek's footsteps, leaning his hip against the rail, face open and happy as he watches Derek approach.
Derek stops in front of Stiles and holds out a bottle of water. "I know you said you were fine, but I got you some water anyway," Derek says, shrugging it off like it means nothing.
Stiles smiles, hand coming to rest on Derek's wrist and using it to pull himself forward on the balls of his feet so he can press a fleeting kiss on Derek's lips. Before Derek can recover from his shock, Stiles is already rolling back onto flat feet, hand sliding from Derek's wrist to the bottle of water, which he slides out of Derek's slack hand.
"Thanks," Stiles says as he turns back out over the water, already tilting his face back up towards the sun, eyes closed and lips quirked in a relaxed smile.