The bed is empty when Derek wakes up in the morning and it startles him to realize that emptiness is what woke him up. He rolls over and stretches out for his phone, sees that he has a good 45 minutes before his alarm goes off, and seriously considers going back to sleep. But a glance at the bathroom reveals that Stiles is out of the suite and Derek thinks he should probably make sure none of his family members are taking advantage.
Still, he takes another moment to sink into the barely there warmth, the lingering scent of Stiles on his sheets, and pushes away any thoughts that lead down a road of what if.
Once he's pulled sweats and socks on, he makes his way downstairs.
Stiles is the only one in the kitchen and he's being rather quiet as he mixes something by hand.
"Morning," says Derek, a question in his voice.
"Good morning," answers Stiles. "Sleep well?"
Derek nods. "Better than I have in ages. You?" They're both keeping their voices low, to keep from waking anyone else.
A small, contented sort of smile plays at Stiles' lips. "I slept well too. There's coffee by the sink. I just used the French press to keep the noise down."
Derek goes to pour himself a cup, while Stiles explains that he wanted to do something nice and he woke up early, so he decided to make a coffee cake for breakfast. Since he's already got the coffee in hand, Derek tops off Stiles' mug, adding a splash of whip cream and two shakes of the cinnamon container to it, just the way Stiles prefers his coffee.
"That was nice of you. My dad loves coffee cake and I love my mother, but baked breakfast goods are not her forte."
"Pastries are a special skill," smirks Stiles.
Derek laughs, then snorts uncontrollably when Stiles slaps a hand over his mouth. "Ssshhh!" Stiles removes his hand and wipes it on his sweats, making a face. "Gross."
"You put your hand there," notes Derek.
"Yes, and I know where your mouth has been," retorts Stiles, wrinkling his nose. The possibilities of his words hit them both at the same time and Stiles blushes while Derek snickers all over again.
"Shut up," mutters Stiles, but he's laughing as he says it. He finishes the coffee cake while Derek makes up a fresh press of coffee and sets up the main coffee maker so it's ready as soon as others start waking up. The next twenty minutes are spent cutting up fruit and making up sausage patties for the griddle.
The easy banter continues to flow, the way it always does at the cafe between himself and Stiles, and Derek's struck once again by how different this could be if Stiles wasn't just another college student, if he was actually someone more settled down, who's future wasn't wide open and likely to take him away. Not that Derek is interested in something serious. But still, it'd be nice if life worked out a little better.
Stiles is all smiles and laughter as they work, teasing Derek about little details and telling him he should include a little booklet of favorite recipes in his writing projects, as food brings families together.
Boyd is the first to walk, in a bleary-eyed Sammy in his arms, just as Stiles is taking the coffee cake out of the oven and preparing to drizzle frosting over the top.
"Aren't you two domestic?" observes Boyd as he pours juice for his son.
"I'm just the sous chef," says Derek, and he leans in to kiss Stiles' cheek, playing up the role of adorable boyfriends. "Stiles is the real talent. You're just lucky I brought him along."
Stiles' smile is almost too bright as he says "best breakfast cook in town, that's me," and he focuses a bit more than Derek thinks is absolutely necessary on the frosting, before moving on to say good morning to Sammy.
He thinks about asking Stiles if something was wrong, but the rest of the family starts trickling in, and soon he's distracted from his concern by the hustle and bustle of the day. They're on the way to the ski resort before Derek even realizes that he's barely been able to speak to Stiles since Boyd walked in that morning.
Derek finds he doesn't know what to think about Stiles the rest of the day. They mix with his family on the ski runs, splitting up at times, skiing together down back trails, just going along with the others. He has more fun than he has with Sammy in ages when they work to teach him how to go on the bunny hill.
Stiles skis with Cora and Boyd a fair amount, as all three like the trick runs, while Derek and Laura race their parents through some of the trails and a couple runs set up slalom style.
Aria sticks with Sammy most of the time and as per usual, Peter decks himself out in the latest winter fashions and then sits in the lodge sipping coffee and judging people all day.
Stiles asks Derek about it at one point and Derek just shrugs it away. "Peter enjoys it and he grouches if we make him go out on the slopes," he'd explained and that had been enough.
Derek's thoughts from the morning stick with him. Stiles flirts and teases, in a way that fits their fake boyfriend deal, but there are moments when Derek is certain Stiles was staring at his ass or watching him in some way. It makes him wonder if it would be so bad if they hooked up over the weekend. A good hookup was all he really wanted in the first place, and this deal they've got could be enough to insure that it's a weekend thing and that's it.
Derek's pretty sure that would be fine. He still wants to know what Stiles would be like in bed. This way there's no real pressure. Like a holiday fling.
After that he'll go back to talking to Stiles at the cafe, no pressure. Derek spends a lot of his time on the slopes convincing himself. He finally reasons that they're too far apart in age, definitely after different things in life-him being career focused while Stiles is in college-but he wants this. Now he just has to play his cards right and hope Stiles is interested in the same thing.
While Derek isn't exhausted by the end of the day, he's more than ready to relax. The smell of chili fills the house and Talia promises to put cornbread in the oven while everyone changes into more comfortable clothing.
Stiles is already in sweats by the time Derek makes it up to their room, tugging his under-shirt over his head to change.
Derek looks and aches to touch, but holds himself back, going to change his own things. This isn't real. He has to stop thinking that he'll get anything beyond this weekend. "I hope Cora didn't tire you out," says Derek. His youngest sister had commandeered Stiles' attention for most of the afternoon.
"Not too much," says Stiles, bending over to sort through his suitcase for a shirt. Derek wonders if he's doing it on purpose. He changes his own shirt and watches Stiles stretch, his back muscles rippling with the movement. "Though I imagine I'll be sore tomorrow. I haven't been skiing in a while."
Derek shimmies into his flannel pajama pants and pads barefoot across the room. He's being incredibly forward, but he places his hands on Stiles' back and rubs his thumb against the lower muscles. "Let me guess, right here feels a little achey?"
"Yeah." Stiles leans into Derek's touch, and Derek puts a little effort in, actually massaging at the tension in Stiles' back. "Okay, you're never allowed to stop doing that."
Derek keeps working his thumbs against Stiles, his hands holding his waist. He possibly tilts his fingers down as he works, hovering along the edge of the waistband, though he's careful to keep his presence of mind and not go below. One is excusable, the other crosses boundaries. Derek badly wants to keep exploring though. Wants the freedom to slide his fingers under the edge, tug Stiles' pants to his feet.
Derek would keep his hands where they are, use them to bend Stiles until he's braced against the dresser, then he'd spread Stiles' thighs and taste his fill, let his fingers knead the taut ass in front of him.
Stiles groans in front of him. "Fuck, it's like your hands are magic."
The sounds makes Derek wonder what other sounds he could get, if he could make Stiles beg. He'd make him speechless, eat him out until his asshole is slick and loose, then he'd turn Stiles around, shove him up on the dresser and fuck him until the walls shook. His dick twitches in his pants, just as Laura yells "Dinner!" from downstairs and Derek takes his hands away, trying not to be too obvious.
"Guess we should go eat," says Derek.
"Yeah. Um, thanks, for that." Stiles sounds awkward so Derek tries to ease the tension. "Sure. If you ask nicely tomorrow, maybe I'll do it again. Since I apparently missed my life's calling."
Stiles grins. "Oh I can be nice."
As soon as he's dressed, Derek leads the way back downstairs. They fill bowls with chili in the kitchen, Derek puts a large piece of cornbread on the edge of his chili while Stiles breaks his into chunks and mixes it in. With dinner and sodas in hand, they both join his family in the living room, where most everyone has already claimed a seat.
The only open spot is the oversized chair, usually claimed by whoever is feeling coupley. Derek knows his family is just trying to be nice, but he still feels bad for Stiles, who has been nothing but considerate through all of this. He hesitates for a minute, not sure how to make this work. Stiles solves the problem as usual, taking Derek's bowl out of his hands. "Sit," he directs, then hands both bowls back to Derek. The sodas go on the table next to them. Stiles sits perpendicular, his butt on the chair and legs over Derek's lap, and takes his chili. "This okay?" he asks in a low voice.
Derek nods. "I'm sorry about this."
"At least they're buying us," whispers Stiles, before taking a spoonful of chili and turning back to the others. "Yum. This is amazing Ms. Hale."
"Thank you, Stiles. It's an old family recipe."
Derek eats and ignores the gooey faces Laura keeps making.
"Any chance I can convince you to share the recipe with me?" asks Stiles. "Di Caife could use a good chili."
"Your boss will let a barista pick recipes?" asks Cora, her tone echoing Derek's silent surprise. His comes more from the fact that Di Caife has a very limited menu.
Stiles looks puzzled. "Well first, I think that any employer who isn't willing to listen to employee feedback at every level is asking to fail. But also seeing as I am the boss, I can't see it being much of a problem."
"Owner? Derek said you were the barista," pipes in Laura.
Derek panic and clenches his fist behind Stiles. He's possibly about to have everything fall apart, because this is the sort of thing he should know, but he's also pissed that Stiles apparently owns the coffee shop and has let him think he's merely a barista all this time. And also, how the fuck does that work if he can't afford college?
"I ask most people who know me to just say I work at Di Caife," says Stiles, covering smoothly. "I love being hands-on and getting to know the customers and unfortunately when people learn who I am, their treatment of me vastly differs from how they treat my employees. I don't care for preferential attitudes, and I really don't like people who dismiss my staff as though blue collar workers don't matter."
"I suppose you probably don't have too much paperwork for one coffee shop," adds Laura, catching onto Stiles' pissed off tone at the idea that customer service employees are lesser.
Stiles shakes his head. "For one, no. I'm lucky enough to have a good team to manage my company and I take the time to pay well and offer excellent benefits, so the turnover is limited."
Derek has a million questions, not the least of which is how old is Stiles then, why didn't he think any of this information mattered in their getting to know each discussion, does he not trust Derek with this information, and why the fuck is Stiles willing to go on this trip and take his money if he's doing fine on his own? Not that he can ask any of them considering the ruse he's trying to keep up.
"You have turnover eventually though. As employees move onto bigger and better things?" Derek's father Paul joins in on the discussion.
"Not necessarily. I find that a lot of people enjoy the flexibility of coffee shop work, particularly those in creative fields, and really just need the benefits and socialization aspect. But no matter what level the job, people just want to be treated fairly." Stiles reaches around Derek to put his empty bowl down and wiggles a bit in the chair against Derek's leg as he seems to be warming to his subject. "It's also not easy to get a job at one of my cafes. Employees have to put in a minimum of a year at one of the cart locations, and prove they deserve the cafe spot. I've had very few employees turn out to be a poor decision."
Paul nods approvingly. "Can I ask how many cafes you've been able to sustain off this model? Unless that's inappropriate."
Stiles shakes his head. "Totally fine. Besides it's pretty easy information to find online anyway. As of the location we opened a few months ago in Chapel Hill, Waking Dead Coffee operates 17 cafes and 95 coffee carts in college towns across the Eastern seaboard."
Derek isn't the only one who's jaw drops. He expected an answer of five, maybe six at the most.
Cora speaks for everyone with a "Well hot damn."
Stiles laughs. "It sounds a lot more impressive than it really is. The majority of my profits go right back into the stores, so I won't be on any top CEO list anytime soon. I just like coffee." He pushes himself off Derek's lap. "Anyone mind if I get seconds?" he asks, disappearing into the kitchen as Talia shakes her head.
When Stiles comes back, the subject has changed to caroling, as is Hale family tradition.
"I think Stiles and I are going to stay here," says Derek.
"Oh I don't mind going."
"Yeah, but we haven't had any real time alone since we got here," insists Derek. "Mom and Dad don't mind, do you guys?"
His parents shake their heads in unison. Stiles is clearly confused, but doesn't contradict Derek's words, and within the next hour the dishes are done and the house is empty.
"What the hell?!" snaps Derek as soon as he sees the last car drive away from his bedroom window. They've got a good three hours alone now, and Derek's anger has been growing by the minute.
"Excuse me?" Stiles spins around, the book he'd been looking for in his suitcase in hand. "What crawled up your ass and died? Seriously, you've been acting weird ever since dinner."
"Because you lied to me!"
"About what?"
"Oh gee, I don't know, owning a successful chain of coffee shops. Not being in college. Taking the money for doing this. Hell, the fact that you're clearly older. How many secrets are you keeping?" Derek glares at Stiles, folding his arms and leaning against the wall, righteous in his anger.
Stiles' eyes flash with his own fury. If Derek wasn't so upset, he'd be turned on right now. "I never lied to you about anything. I work at Di Caife. I told you my full name, if you didn't choose to look me up, that's not on me. Technically you haven't even paid me yet for this and I didn't even plan on taking the money anyway. It's called a favor to a friend, which I thought we were. And when the fuck did I ever say I was in college?"
"You spent an hour ranting about the unfair costs of tuition," returns Derek.
"Because the costs are unfair. I never said I was suffering from them!"
Derek opens his mouth to argue, only to realize that Stiles is right. All this time he's been making assumptions, thinking he knows who Stiles is, when the reality is that he never bothered to ask. Unlike Stiles who's actually been very inquisitive. Stiles is still yelling at him though, cutting off any attempt Derek might make to apologize.
"I can't believe you right now! You're the one who dragged me into this mess for some bullshit reason because you don't know how to talk to your family and then you get pissed at me for trying to do you a favor? Fuck you." Stiles has stalked his way across the room at this point, face only inches from Derek's. "What the hell is your problem?" His eyes are lit up, his cheeks flushed, and Derek knows he should apologize, should talk this out, should do a million different things.
He kisses Stiles instead, hard and insistent, his hands reaching out to hold Stiles' forearms, holding him close. Stiles makes a protesting noise for a split second, and then his hands are coming up to clench in Derek's shirt, and he opens his mouth to Derek's tongue, a soft little moan escaping as Derek pushes closer.
Derek pulls away for a moment, breathing heavily, staring into Stiles' eyes. "You've been my problem for months," he manages, his voice heavy. "So why don't you tell me how to fix it?"
"Fuck me," breathes Stiles. It's an invitation.
Derek takes it, twisting Stiles around so his back is against the wall and kissing him again, this time with purpose. He slides his hands under Stiles' shirt, pushing it up so he can swipe his thumbs across the nipples. He pulls away from Stiles' lips, tilting his head down to bite at the raised bud, before soothing it with his tongue.
"Derek," begs Stiles above him.
He pushes the shirt further up, licking and biting little marks into Stiles' flesh, letting him pull the shirt the rest of the way off. Stiles' hips roll against him and Derek grins at the feel of the hard cock against his thigh.
"Tell me what you want." Derek works his way back up Stiles' lips, swallowing his moan with another kiss.
"Fuck me. Please. I've wanted this for fucking months." Stiles tugs at Derek's shirt and Derek obliges by removing it.
He continues his suggestions. "The bed's right there. I could lay you out on it, suck you off until you can't even think."
Stiles shakes his head. "I need...I need..."
"Tell me," says Derek again, thumbs hooking in Stiles' waistband and dropping the pants to the floor in one smooth movement. He positions his thigh between Stiles' legs, letting one hand cradle Stiles' neck, while the other strokes his cock. Stiles grinds against him, clearly desperate for friction. "C'mon baby," says Derek. "What do you need?"
"I want it rough," answers Stiles. He's practically humping Derek's leg at this point, rubbing frantically. "Want you to fuck me against the wall. Fuck me so deep I can taste it."
Derek twists Stiles before he's even done talking, pressing him against the wall, his hands moving away. "Stay," he orders. He quickly removes his own pants, then grabs a condom and lube out of his nightstand before returning to Stiles. Derek slips two fingers into Stiles' mouth. "Suck," he orders. His dick rubs against the cleft of Stiles' ass, prompting Stiles to move back against him.
The only sounds are the slurping noises Stiles makes around Derek's fingers, the wetness of his tongue soaking into the skin. There's a small voice in the back of Derek's mind saying if he there's no turning back if he doesn't stop this now, but he's willing to deal with this blowing up in his face tomorrow if he gets tonight. This is all he wanted in the first place anyway. He kisses the back of Stiles' neck, nipping at his collarbone and gently tugs his fingers out of Stiles' mouth.
Stiles pushes his legs further apart as Derek slides a finger in his ass, and Derek relishes the way Stiles keens at the sensation. "God you feel good," he says, crooking his finger and making Stiles cry out. "I can't wait to be inside you."
He pushes the second finger in, moving them back and forth. The tight heat is almost overwhelming and Derek has to focus to keep from coming like a teenager.
"I'm good," pants Stiles . His ass pushes back against Derek's fingers, trying to take him deeper.
"You're still so tight."
"I said I'm good," snaps Stiles. "Put the damn condom on and fuck me you bast..." Derek bends his fingers again, hitting just the right spot and he cries out and jolts upwards. "Bastard!" finishes Stiles. Derek just grins. But he also obeys, slipping out and rolling the condom over his cock, then slicking himself up.
He lines himself up, finger tracing along the edge of Stiles' pucker, before he slowly presses him. If rough is what they both want, Derek's more than happy to oblige, but he fully intends for this to be good for both of them. The sight of his dick disappearing into Stiles' tight ass is one of the hottest things he's even seen.
Derek pauses for a second once he's all the way in, then pulls halfway out and thrusts in again, harder this time. He keeps it up, working his way to a punishing pace. "This rough enough for you?"
"Yes, yes, jesus fucking moses yes." Stiles reaches down to stroke himself and Derek bats the hand away. "No. Hands at your side or pinching those pretty little nipples."
Stiles opts for the nipples, working himself and begging. "Please. Derek, please touch me."
"I've got you," says Derek, one hand gripping Stiles' hip while the other reaches around to stroke his cock. "You're so needy."
"Mmm. Need you."
Derek wraps his hand tighter, intent to get Stiles off first. He can tell Stiles is close, the cries are less coherent, just wordless pleas at this point. "Come for me, baby," he whispers and Stiles shoots all over Derek's hand, going almost boneless in his relief. Derek fucks him slowly as he recovers, and then Stiles is bending forward, bracing himself against the wall and Derek moves in powerful thrusts, once, twice, coming hard on the fourth one, and collapsing over Stiles' back with a loud cry.
After a few minutes, Derek pulls out and throws away the condom, then wipes the come off his hand and tugs Stiles into bed, kissing him and running his hands up and down Stiles' body, touching everywhere he can get his hands on.
He manages just enough presence of mind to throw a sheet over them in case anyone checks on them later, before he's falling asleep, arm splayed over Stiles' chest, Stiles' head on Derek's shoulder.