Head Canon vs. Hip Cannon

I'm sorry. This shouldn't have taken as long as it actually did, but I didn't know where my head was these last few weeks and I'll be looking for it for quite some time still, so. Sorry? ^^
Anyway, have chapter 4 of 'Head Canon!'

Chapter 4

Stiles' plans for the weekend had originally consisted of calling Scott first thing Saturday morning and griping about how awkward his double date with Erica, Boyd and Isaac had been; only, he hadn't been on a double date with Erica, Boyd and Isaac, but with Erica, Boyd and Laura. Scott had been the one to double date Isaac and some nameless girl, Stiles had survived a whole movie next to Laura Hale and ended up with Derek Hale as his…

Derek wasn't his boyfriend (yet, a small voice in Stiles' mind whispered gleefully), not exactly. They hadn't even gone on a date, not technically. Well, they had somewhat, and yet they hadn't. Stiles wondered if their next date – first date? – would be as awkward as their last not-date had been. Would Derek take him out for ice cream in the first place? Next place? (Maybe Not-)Dating was complicated.

So Stiles had finally found a new topic to flail over verbally to Scott; Scott who he was about to call, no matter the time. 7 am on a Saturday was a reasonable enough time, wasn't it?

"Hm…" grunted Scott his disaffirmation of that thought.

"Come on, dude, it's like, after dawn! The sun's up, why aren't you?!"

"Stiles, 7 am. Saturday." Scott wasn't usually this grouchy, Stiles knew. And he was usually all for complete sentences, not one word answers. Others were for one word answers, so why now?

He asked as much. And could have lived a happy live NOT knowing about how Allison and Scott got so worked up last night that they didn't get to sleep until 5 am, even though they had gone to bed around 11 pm last night.

"Fuck you, Scott!" Scott knew about Stiles' very imaginative mind, complete with images and everything.

Ew.

"Not today, Stiles. Still spent, you know." That asshole was smug.

"I made out with Hale last night!" Stiles positively shouted into the speaker before he ended the call and threw his phone onto the mattress next to him.

Okay, maybe he had exaggerated a little bit. Or a lot, sue him. Stiles was cranky, what with his best friend having had a great night with the girl that loved him (most of the time) and he loved (ALL of the time) while Stiles had spent an unhealthy amount of time jerking off to the memory of what effectively amounted to a peck.

Great.

Now that his second plan for the morning had gone to waste as well, Stiles realized to things at once:

1) He needed new friends, because it just wouldn't do that all his free time plans revolved around one single person; a single person as unreliable as Scott.

2) He needed something else to do or he would go crazy. It was still six days until Friday, when Stiles would go on a date with Derek freakin' Hale.

He would go on a date with Derek freakin' Hale! But before that, Stiles would go crazy. Like, now.

Oh. My. God!

;:;:;:;

A shower later (you could never be clean enough for a date, right? And starting early on the cleaning process only meant you were particularly thorough. And would probably squeak the whole time, whenever you moved. And now, a week before the date wasn't too soon to start squeaking) Stiles went back to his room, expecting several missed calls and some confused texts from Scott. He had dropped quite a bomb earlier, so some freaking out was to be expected.

Only, there wasn't.

No missed calls, no texts, not even WhatsApp or anything. Which brought Stiles back to his thoughts about finding a new Best Bro. There'd need to be some kind of casting; single requirement: Heartfelt Hugs®.

Stiles could already picture it: Thousands and thousands of aspiring Best Bros standing in line, their resume at hand and excitedly waiting for their opportunity to prove their 'huggy-ness' to Stiles. And Scott would be the one left in the dust. Or Allison's bed, whatever.

That's when Stiles' phone vibrated in his hand, making him rethink his replacement plans for a second until he read the caller ID. "Leerica calls" it said, not "Scotty Mc calls". Maybe Erica was the first one of thousands to audition?

"Hey, Erica, whassup?"

"Yeah, Stiles, whassup indeed. I hear you took Derek home last night?" Even Leerica's voice lived up to her nickname. The talking in italics never got old with the (Honorary) Hales.

"You were severely misinformed – I took Derek AND Laura home. Unlike you did with Boyd. Wanna tell me what that's about?"

"No deviating me, Stilinski, I'm onto you. So, Derek. Tell me!" Like hell would he tell her even one single thing!

"I took them home, and then I wanted to go home, but then Derek invited me in for a cup of coffee and then we were in the kitchen and then we drank coffee and then he showed me to the door and then he kissed me and then he text me and now we're going on a date on Friday." It all rushed out of Stiles in a single breath. Curse words! So maybe he would tell her one single thing. Or five.

Erica made an unimpressed noise over the phone. "And you're sure that's all there is to it? You were all over him!"

"I was what?! What does that even mean? And you really do NOT need to sound so bored, okay? Not everyone is as intrusive as you are, when it comes to boundaries. And anyhow, you weren't supposed to know in the first place!" And how Erica knew anything about what had happened (or she thought had happened) last night was a mystery all on its own.

"Not much is a secret in the Hale house, Stiles, I thought you'd know that by now." So Derek told her about them? Was that good or bad? Did he want Derek to tell his family about them? About Stiles? Or was it all a huge joke to Derek? "And Derek didn't even need to say a thing, the way you must've clung to him. He reeked of you."

"Hey, I showered!" And that was what he took from all that? Really?

"Of course you did, it was a date after all!" Erica laughed. Loudly. And at Stiles. Always a great feeling to make someone else's day – it was one of Stiles' not so hidden talents. Like juggling.

Most people didn't think him capable of juggling, what with his penchant to flailing and running into things. Only, that was exactly why he knew how to juggle; it was a skill honed by years and years of balancing trays with his mother's breakfast and later on juggling her bread rolls because she wouldn't eat them, but could always need something to make her laugh. And why was he thinking about juggling food again?

"You Hales, you're a crazy bunch; you know that, right? What with the smells and the eyebrows. I don't know why I still put up with you!" Stiles really didn't; at least not with Erica and Isaac – Derek was another story for another time. Friday, for example.

"Oh, but we all know who you'd put out for, dear Stiles!" Erica laughed again, but now it'd lost its appeal and Stiles hang up without saying good bye. Nuisances, all of them.

When his phone rang with Scott's personalized ringtone ('NOW you call, Scott, really?!') Stiles ignored it and buried his head under his pillows.

;:;:;:;

Stiles had dreaded the coming Monday, knowing there was no point in trying to hide from his friends. Isaac had shown an uncanny talent of appearing exactly where Stiles was about to hide, Erica had long since proven herself able to find Stiles wherever he hid, Boyd (even though not really a friend yet, he had to be considered part of the deal) simply tagged along and Stiles wasn't willing to even try to get through the day without Scott's hug. Not as long as he didn't have a substitute, at least.

When he turned the corner and saw his ragtag group of friends huddled around, looking like one giant pile of mockery at his expense, Stiles found himself reassessing his earlier statement. Turning around on his heel, he avoided the main entrance to their university and opted for one of the side entrances, hidden behind a worn down wall made of wood, a well known refuge for smokers on campus.

He hadn't quite made it inside when someone appeared from behind him and Stiles found himself blind.

"Guess who!" a female voice screamed in his ear and made him wince. "Oh, sorry, trying to tamp down on the volume, got it." And while the voice managed to reach a level where his ear-drums didn't feel like they were about to implode, the cloud of perfume engulfing him was nowhere near a tolerable level.

"Lauren! Hey, long time no see!" Stiles said, turning around and welcoming his fellow student with a wide grin. He liked her good enough, even though their interactions had become less and less frequent since Stiles' circle of friends had grown considerably over the last few weeks.

"Yeah, since last Friday. Time flies, hu?" A derisive eyebrow let Stiles know what Lauren thought of his observation skills – not much, apparently – and reminded him strongly of Derek's way of expressing his thoughts via eyebrows. "So, what you've been up to this weekend? I thought I saw you at the movies with some girl or such."

So, obviously his observation skills really weren't all that hot, or he had just been distracted by Laura's sudden appearance. But was that reason enough to give him judging eyebrows?

"Uh, yeah, I watched Thor with some friends."

"And that lady friend of yours? Anything I should know about? Someone I should know? You have to give me something, Stiles!" she openly begged, trailing behind him like a needy puppy and trying to convince him with a puppy eyed stare. Only, she really wasn't able to hold a candle to Scott's mastery of the Puppy Eyes; worse was only the Puppy Pout®.

"Eh, I don't think so? Was just a night out with friends, the movies, milk shakes, the likes."

"Oh, great! So you wouldn't mind going to the movies with me then? Say, coming Friday?" Puppy eyes to hopeful eyes in 0.2 seconds flat.

Stiles had heard about this 'aura', like how you were more desirable for other people as soon as you were in a relationship – not that he actually WAS in a relationship, but he wanted to be and maybe he and Derek were on their way to a relationship and maybe that counted for this aura thing already? Only, it wasn't exactly welcome right now and he wasn't into girls anyway and why was Lauren hitting on him now of all times? They had seen each other every week for the past two months! And this was sooo Erica all over again, it was a little creepy.

Figures, creepy girls were all over Stiles.

"Lauren, that's… nice! But, ehm, I can't? I might be seeing someone, maybe?"

"What aren't you telling me, Stiles? You said you were friends with that Hale bi—girl, nothing more, and now you're seeing someone? 'Maybe'?"

"See, Lauren, I'm sorry, okay, but I don't have to explain myself to you. It's nice of you to ask me to ask you out for a date, but I don't see that happening. Doesn't mean we can't still be friends, right?" They never had been 'friends' in the first place, but 'study buddy' sounded cheap in this context, so 'friends' would have to do.

"Right, friends. I have to go." Lauren didn't sound hurt, exactly, more like she was angry with him, but then again Stiles didn't know her good enough to be able to read her moods, so he let her go without another word. The look she shot him with her departure (sooo much dislike, it made him shudder) wasn't exactly asking for a friendly 'See ya' or anything.

Mondays weren't Stiles' days. At least he had managed to avert an awkward conversation with his friends for the time being…

"Guess who!" – "Dammit, Erica! Your fingernails are gorging my eyes out!"

"Ew, Stiles, did you shower in some kind of patchouli today? Ew!" And how was it whenever Isaac was around he told him he stank?!

;:;:;:;

Despite the dreaded awkwardness of having to face his friends after what had happened with Derek (and after what they assumed had happened with Derek, which actually made things worse), the next few days flew by and Stiles' excitement changed to nervousness grew to panickyness.

It was Thursday already (where had the rest of the week gone?!) and Stiles hadn't heard a single word from Derek for the past six days. Not since he'd gotten the text. The text he might have read about twenty times. Every day. So he'd read it over 120 times by now, and he was reading it again.

'Pathetic', a little voice in his head whispered, and it sounded suspiciously like Erica. 'Why don't you call him or text him? He would like that!'

"Ugh, my subconscious sounds like Erica," Stiles groaned at Scott, who was sitting next to him in the lecture hall. "Telling me what to do. My subconscious Erica is bossy!"

"No, idiot! I am bossy, and I sound like I do because I am Erica!" the Blonde Bombshell said behind him, emphasizing her point by poking Stiles in the ribs.

"I liked you better when you were still in my head. Less poking." But he couldn't be all that pissed at Erica, since she kept her meddling to a minimum and only whispered ideas into his ears every two hours or so. For the last four days, and even at night she'd bombard him with queued up emails. But, hey, every two hours was okay, right? It sure could be worse.

"Stop complaining, Stiles. You don't want to know what I'd be able to do if I only wanted to. And I DO want to, I just decided not to."

And Stiles really, really didn't want to know. The memory of Erica threatening him into submission back when Boyd was still to be wooed (by Stiles, for Erica) was still fresh in his mind and he wasn't up for a repeat performance, so he would endure two-hourly reminders for another day and be done with it.

That's when his phone vibrated in his pocket, signaling an incoming text. "I wonder who that might be…", Stiles mumbled as he reached into his pocket. His two hour reprieve wasn't over for another half an hour (Stiles may or may not have been keeping track of the time), but he wouldn't put it past Erica to grow impatient with his severe lack in approaching Derek BEFORE they were meeting. Which would happen the next day, anyway, so there wasn't any reason to come across as clingy and codependent just yet. Derek would learn that tidbit about him soon enough. Hopefully.

'Hey Stiles. Can I come get you around 6:30?'

Derek. And it had taken him only six days to write again – that had to mean something, right?

'course! ill be here! cant wait!' Stiles had typed his answer faster than he could think (and that's an achievement right there!) and hit send before he could doubt his actions. That didn't mean he didn't feel like a loser the second the text was sent. Who was that desperate for a first date?

Answering the second you got the first text, increasing number of exclamation points and 'cant wait'?! Really?! Pathetic, that's what he was.

'Great! See you tomorrow!'

And maybe Stiles wasn't quite as pathetic…

He still didn't know what they'd be doing on their date, though. And that was reason enough to get a little nervous again; even though Stiles wasn't a dark horse when it came to dating – he'd had a few of them back in the day, okay? – it still was something different this time around.

Derek was twenty-something, Stiles… wasn't. Derek was gorgeous, Stiles… wasn't. On the other hand: Even though Stiles had dated, he still was a virgin. Derek probably wasn't.

And Stiles would not think about sex right now, even less about sex with Derek. He wouldn't! He didn't!

He totally did. And it was awesome. And kinda frightening.

"Hey, Erica!" he shouted into his phone. "You free right now? I need help."

"I know, Stiles, but I'm not a shrink."

"No, but you are Blonde Bombshell! Fashion should be your middle name, if only there were a 'B' in there, but there isn't, yet you know how to dress. And I don't. Just move your boobs over here and help me!"

He could hear Erica laugh out loud until she ended the call. Stiles could only hope the result would make sacrificing his dignity worth it.

;:;:;:;

Judging by the astonished look Derek sported when Stiles stepped out of the door to his house, losing his dignity was, in fact, a small sacrifice to make. Too bad he wouldn't live to reap the fruit of his action, because. Because!

Because Derek stood next to his black Camaro, wearing black slacks and a white button down shirt, the top buttons undone and showing off his throat in a more than mouthwatering way and Stiles was done for.

Suddenly he felt inadequate, like he shouldn't be seen with Derek in those clothes. But he didn't want to miss out on their date, either. Maybe he could wear a paper bag over his head so no one would recognize the geek next to Derek? Some very fashionable bag, maybe? Louis Vuitton-fashionable, only in paper.

"You… You look great, Stiles," Derek said despite the absence of paper bags, swallowing around the words when he made his way up the driveway to the Stilinski household.

Only, Stiles really didn't look all that great. Yes, he looked sharper than he usually did, what with the body hugging plain navy shirt Erica had dug out of his closet (where she'd found this particular shirt would stay a secret forever) and the semi tight dark jeans (yet another one of Erica's miracles), but he was still Stiles, only without the multi layers; one layered and therefore almost naked. Figuratively.

Feeling the need to communicate his thoughts (and wasn't that unexpected?), Stiles said as much, adding "You though, you look… handsome!"

He'd wanted to say 'sexy'. Or 'mouthwatering'. Something along those lines, but 'handsome' seemed more mature, and Stiles wanted to appear mature. So that mature things could happen later.

"I… I do? Thanks. Ehm, let's go?" Never before had Stiles seen Derek this flustered and it was a nice change. So Stiles simply nodded and let Derek lead him to the car, staying half a step behind to ogle Derek's positively lickable ass in those slacks.

Until Derek held the passenger door open for Stiles and laid his hand on Stiles' lower back, guiding him around the door. Derek was all up in Stiles' personal space and for a second he thought Derek might try to buckle him in as well, he was so close. But he didn't, just bent down to smile at Stiles from very up close, closing his eyes and staying for a second, before he withdrew and closed the door silently.

"So, where are we going then?" Stiles asked when they both were sitting in the Camaro. Derek still had to start the motor, let alone pull out of the drive way.

"I was thinking La Volpe. I hear they have a great lasagna and their zuppa alla valdostana makes people cite poetry."

Stiles was about to cite poetry in the face of Derek speaking Italian, but refrained from further embarrassing himself and simply nodded. Italian restaurant he could do – he would simply stay away from both tomato sauce and spaghetti and he should be okay.

;:;:;:;

Figured it'd been pretty hard to steer clear of both tomato sauce and spaghetti – who knew the Italian cuisine depends so heavily on solanaceous herbs – but at least Stiles could choose between different types of pasta – and that's where the alternation comes into the kitchen, because, really? 'Dodici different delicacies' hadn't been the total amount of dishes on the menu, it had been the number of different noodle sorts!

Anyway, pasta. Of the harmless kind, hence the comforting lack of any stains on Stiles' clothes at the end of the date.

And no stains on his shirt meant Derek could pull him close against his chest when he had taken Stiles home and they were standing in front of the Stilinski home.

"Tonight was nice," Derek said into Stiles' ear, hot, humid breath turning perfectly fine skin into goosebumped shivers.

"Yeah," Stiles pretty much stammered while he fought for control over his blood flow and prayed for strength in his knees. What an end to an amazing date that would be – Stiles' legs buckling and having him kneeling in front of Derek, mouth at the same level as Derek's—STOP!

"Good night, Stiles," Derek said then, still breathing heavily into Stiles' ear, but Stiles could feel his lips twitch into a grin against his cheek. "Sleep well."

And just like that he took a step back and turned back towards his car. Stiles wouldn't have any of that. Instead he grabbed for Derek's (still very nice) shirt and turned him so that they were facing each other once more. He closed the distance Derek's step back had left between them, and turned his head just so. And waited.

And waited two seconds more and when Derek still had to give any indication that he was about to act on Stiles' actions, Stiles decided 'fuck it' and went in for the kill.

Their lips met with a muffled groan from Derek and a broken sounding mewl from Stiles, mouths closed. Derek was still grinning that very same grin he had pressed against Stiles' cheeks and it gave their kiss something playful, light hearted. It was… tame.

Nice, sure, but tame. And Stiles was done with tame for the night. When he opened his mouth and licked over Derek's lower lip, the broken sound emanating from somewhere deep in Derek's throat made it clear he was done with tame as well.

Stiles hadn't even finished stroking the tip of his tongue over Derek's lip when Derek delved into the kiss with fervor. Gone was the smile, gone were tameness and caution. They were left with passion and heat, gripping at each other's clothes and meshing their mouths. It was… awesome.

"I should get going," Derek mumbled against Stiles' lips at one point, but didn't make any attempts at untangling from the limpet grip Stiles had on him. "And your father's home. He might've heard us coming back."

Feeling Derek speak against his spit damp lips (probably red and swollen from all the kissing and nibbling Derek had done, on top of the general pricklyness of his face) made Stiles grin and he finally let go. Derek had a point; the Camaro's motor's purring was near unmistakable, even more so in their neighborhood where soccer mom vans and SUVs dominated the picture.

They parted ways, the Black Badass Beast slowly fading into the night, leaving Stiles under the swaying light of the lantern on their front porch.

Not before even the last hint of red from Derek's tail-lights had vanished did Stiles turn around and head inside. His father indeed was home, but having been caught was nowhere near likely, what with the sheriff slouching in his wing chair in front of the TV, snoring lightly.

"G'night, dad," Stiles whispered, turned off the TV and left the room in darkness, climbing familiar stairs in the dark of the night and finally falling onto his mattress. He got rid of his fancy clothes, now wrinkled by Derek's hands and Stiles lying on them on his bed, but he couldn't get rid of the tingling sensation on his lips, nor of the grin that still stretched the tingling parts of his face.

;:;:;:;

Luckily Stiles' beard rash had vanished until his dad came home from work the next day – when Stiles had gotten up and stumbled into the bathroom his first reaction to seeing himself in the mirror had been to slap both hands over his cheeks. In disappointment.

He had expected angry red marks, testament to how much Derek wanted him, had hoped for it, and all he got was a hint of pink around his lips and a trail of dried drool in the corner of his mouth.

Still, it made facing his father considerably easier.

"Hey dad, how was work?"

"Oh, you know. Beacon Hills is quiet, not many crimes going on. Not even when you've been out half of the night; I'm proud, son!"

"And what's that supposed to mean? It's been years since Scott and I've last gotten into trouble, I'll have you know!" Stiles was righteously indignant.

"Which probably means either you two are more cautious now or the police has gotten sloppy. But I wasn't talking about you and Scott…"

"I can hear the italics, dad. Just spit it out." Stiles wasn't even afraid of what was to come – the sheriff had been working when Derek had picked him up yesterday and had been asleep when they came back, so there was no way he knew about them.

"I've been to the arcades last night, some teens thinking fake IDs made of library cards were convincing enough for them to get drunk. In the end they got drunk on the two pints of nonalcoholic beer they downed after the barkeeper called us and we reached the bar. But swaying teens slurring their speech without any blood alcohol wasn't the only thing I hadn't expected to see. I met that Erica girl you were all over those last few weeks."

"You mean you met that Erica girl I've been telling you I have NOT been all over these last few weeks," Stiles interrupted, not seeing where this was going.

"Whatever. She DID talk about how she saw you naked that day, though."

Stiles blushed. "That's not what—"

"I know, son. The way she clung to that young man with her was quite obvious. That doesn't explain why you weren't able to dress yourself for a night of gaming with Scott, though. Or why you two chose two play in a restaurant rather than at Scott's. Or why you played footsie, not footie. Or why air-hockey at the arcades was replaced by tonsil hockey on our front por—"

"Enough!" Stiles was beet red by now and he could feel his ears burning with embarrassment. "You're delirious. I ban you from the coffee machine for today."

"Stiles, just tell me the name of that gentleman so I can thank him for bringing you home."

"Only if you tell me who told you all these things."

"Deputy Posey likes to take his wife out for their anniversary, and they usually go to a certain Italian restaurant. 'Volpe' ring any bells? And Mrs. Fristoe from next door is very observant when, and I quote, 'questionable men loiter in dark corners'. Apparently it's her duty as a concerned citizen to let the Sheriff know about these things."

The soft tone to his voice made Stiles look up and meet the warm, pale green eyes of his father; his gaze full of understanding and support. "Ehm, well, yeah. Uhm. I should've told you sooner, but I'm gay?"

"Are you asking me or telling me, Stiles?"

"Yeah, I'm gay. Have been for quite a while, actually. And I might be dating a guy already. Not for a while, though, just a week. Or maybe since yesterday, depending on how you look at it. Just… don't look to closely, okay? It's still fresh and I don't want Derek to run screaming because the Sheriff of Beacon Hills interrogated him in the fruit isle of Doose's Market."

"I would never-" the sheriff begins and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. "I'd do it near the meat counter. The meat and blood gives it a certain vibe that always works for that kind of talk."

Stiles buried his face in his hands and shook his head. How was this his life?

;:;:;:;

As far as coming outs went, Stiles' felt pretty boring to him. Uneventful and kind of lacking in the whole drama department, but still pretty fucking great for the feeling constricting his chest. As in: It was gone and Stiles felt like he could breathe easier, now that the hiding was over. Not that he'd had a lot to hide from his dad, what with the lack in anything even remotely resembling a love life, but now that there was the prospect of something good at the end of the (hopefully short) tunnel, it was nice to know his father had his back.

Even if he'd have to defend it from Mrs. Fristoe.

Speaking of which… "Good morning, Stiles!" Never before had she greeted Stiles, not even when he had greeted her first, or helped her with the groceries. And suddenly she was all cheery politeness, waving at him from under her wide straw hat while she was clipping away on her box hedge with what looked like glorified nail clippers. "Had a nice weekend?"

"Why yes, indeed I did. I'm glad you noticed!" Stiles couldn't quite keep the snideness out of his voice but he tried to cover it with a blinding smile. "It was good to let go of the week's bothers and enjoy a few days off."

What he meant was 'Back off', but Mrs. Fristoe obviously didn't get it.

"I have to admit I was a little worried. Did you know homeless people choose the porch of Beacon Hills' Finest for loitering in the night?"

Stiles put on an adequately scandalized face. "You don't say! Now, how do you know? I haven't noticed at all!" His eyes grew wider with every second, and his neighbor positively glowed at the attention she got.

"It was Friday night. I was watching TV when I chanced a look out of the window – and I was lucky I did, I'm usually not all that interested in gossip, you know me-" Yes, yes Stiles did. "But there were two dark shades on your front porch, and they looked like they were… You know."

"No, I don't, Mrs. Fristoe. What do you think you saw us doing?" The elderly woman was nothing if not amusing in her prejudiced philistinism.

When she failed to answer the question, obviously scandalized by the idea of the Sheriff's son engaging in anything shady, Stiles turned around and got into his Jeep. He had places to be, people to meet, stories to tell.

And Scott would suffer through every minute of Stiles' date with Derek, would relive every second of the most awesome kiss to be ever kissed after a first date, and maybe, if Stiles felt generous, would experience the renarration of Stiles' masturbathon after he had gone to bed.

;:;:;:;

In the end Stiles spared Scott the retelling of Stilinski Strokes and even abstained from describing the delicious scratchy feeling of Derek's stubble against his skin, all in favor of the big Coming Out that morning in the Sheriff's kitchen.

"So you're out?" Scott asked, bouncing up and down on his bed in his easily excited state. "That's great, man! And you did it for Derek? Does the Sheriff know about Derek? Did you have another sex talk?"

"Scott, Scott! Calm down! Jeez. No, he doesn't know about Derek and no, there wasn't another sex talk." Actually, his dad had tried to give him yet another sex talk, but Stiles had embarrassed him with the offer to supply their talk with view material – both in sights and sounds. His dad had squeaked desperately, then waved him out of the house under threats of bodily harm should he ever blackmailing him like that again.

Surprisingly Scott was way more invested in learning about the talk Stiles had had with his dad than he'd been learning about Stiles' date, but Stiles was in a charitable mood, so he indulged Scott for the time being. And it felt pretty great bragging about his great dad and how understanding he was.

Yes, Stilinski men were their very own brand of awesome.

That didn't mean at least one McCall man wasn't just as awesome, so Scott asked if Stiles had told Derek he'd come out to his dad. Had he known he hadn't been out in the first place?

"No, Scott, I haven't told him. Do you think I should? I probably should, hu? Would you want to know?" Stiles was working himself into a state of frenzy, tearing at his hear and generally flailing with every limb, until Scott dragged him into a headlock and laughed at him.

"Calm down, dude! Call him, drive over and tell him or something. It's no big deal – you're dating, after all. It's good when your father knows."

Thank god for Scott, like, seriously. Sometimes his Hearty Headlocks® were better suited for a situation than the Heartfelt Hug® was, and this was one of these moments, so Stiles gave in and hung limp in his best friend's arms.

"You think I should go see him? We only met yesterday, and I don't want to come across as some kind of creepy stalker."

"Dude, the Hales have been stalking you for months; they probably expect you to do some stalking of your own." And he had a point.

That's why Stiles found himself in the woods surrounding the Hale House.

A few moments ago he had been sneaking closer to where he'd hoped the building actually was. He'd left his Jeep parked down the road, opting for a stealthier approach through the underbrush, past thorny bushes and scrambling up hills and slopes. Looking at his long, long history of childhood injuries, obtained in this very forest, Stiles should have known better than to rely on his good luck.

Stiles fell. Into a well – again; and even though it rhymed, it wasn't really something to whoop for, so he didn't. What he did, though, was treading water and contemplating his situation.

If a Stiles fell into a well deep in the forest and no-one was around to hear him scream – would Laura still come and rescue him? Like the last time he'd found himself treading water in one of the Hales' wells?

Nope, unfortunately not. But Derek did. Awkward.

The Hale offspring peered into the well, his dark haired head halo'ed by the light sky visible over the well shaft, looking like a fallen angel. Or maybe that was just Stiles overreacting to the fact that he was caught in a deep, dark hole and his boyfr—the guy he dated had found him in this embarrassing situation.

"Hey, Derek, fancy meeting you here! You here often?"

Instead of answering Derek's head vanished from the small circle of the outer world Stiles could see, and instead his laughter filled the dark shaft, bouncing back from the walls and filling the air with amusement. It sounded nice, so Stiles didn't feel too annoyed by it.

"Oh my god, Laura should see this!" Derek wheezed before he pulled Stiles out of the well with a rope he had gotten from, well, somewhere. Stiles couldn't help but admire both Derek's apparent strength and the way his arms bulged under the strain of dragging 147 pounds of sarcasm out of a ten feet deep hole.

"Actually, she did once already. Let's just hope she forgot about it…"

When Stiles was greeted by a cheerful "Hey Timmy, how was your swim," even before he had entered the Hale House behind Derek, miserable and dripping mud everywhere, he knew she hadn't.

AN: I noticed my chapters get shorter and shorter. I want to apologize for that. Maybe the quality makes up for it? Let me know! ;)