Author's Note: This chapter is a little longer than the last few have been. You can blame that on my obsession with snarky banter. :D
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Chapter 8: Unpurchased Swim Trunks
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The following day, Derek was engrossed in his book, just before the part where Frodo was stung by Shelob, when his phone buzzed in his pocket with a new text.
From Stiles: I'm outside
Derek slid his bookmark into place and shrugged into his leather jacket before going down to the street.
"So, uh," Stiles said, as Derek climbed into the passenger side of his jeep, "hot springs, how about that?"
"Just drive." Derek fastened his seat belt and then looked over at Stiles with eyebrows raised.
"Right, drive, yes, do that, I will do that, I am doing it…" Stiles rambled as he pulled away from the curb.
Derek shut his eyes, focusing on the rumble of the engine and the wavering cadence of Stiles' voice.
"So I figured," Stiles said, "we could start out at Goodwill or something, I mean, I don't know if you're super picky about your swim trunks or something, do you care where we buy them? Do you require some sort of special Ralph Lauren brand of swimwear or are you okay with wearing the same thing as the regular plebeians?"
Derek cracked open an eye. Stiles was gesturing with his right hand, the other gripping the wheel.
"Stiles," Derek said, and Stiles stopped mid-ramble.
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
Stiles flushed and he darted an irritated glance in Derek's direction. "Oh, yeah, real original, Derek, thanks. I've never heard that one before."
Derek let his eyes slip closed again. "Why are you nervous?"
"Nervous? I'm not nervous."
Derek snorted.
"Right, well, yeah, maybe I'm just not looking forward to someone who could make a living as an underwear model seeing my naked torso, 'cause, you know, it's not really comparable with werewolf torso, my torso is not all ripped and perfectly sculpted."
Derek opened his eyes and sat up straight in his seat. "What are you talking about?"
Stiles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes darting back and forth. "Ha, nothing, I mean, yeah, no, it's fine. I'm just vomiting my insecurities everywhere, don't mind me. I don't know when to shut up because my mouth has a habit of running at the most inconvenient times and oh God just kill me now, can I just crawl into a pit and die of mortification? That would be just great, thanks."
Derek reached out to squeeze Stiles' shoulder. "Stop thinking." Stiles' heart started racing at the touch, and Derek jerked his hand away. "Sorry."
"No, don't—" Stiles shook his head. "Don't apologize."
"Can I roll down the window?" Derek could hear Stiles' heart thumping steadily in his chest, smell the building arousal. He tried breathing in through his mouth, but it wasn't really helping.
"It's like forty degrees outside, dude. I don't know if you've noticed, but I am not a super furnace like your wolf butt, I cannot heat myself on threats and self-loathing alone."
Derek's mouth was getting dry. He tried swallowing, but his tongue felt thick. "You could wear my jacket."
And, shit, that was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Stiles' arousal spiked suddenly. "You'd let me wear your jacket? Your leather jacket? The one you use to impersonate part of an unnaturally attractive biker gang?"
"It's not a big deal," Derek said, trying desperately not to think about Stiles wearing his clothing, Stiles wrapped up in his scent, Stiles marked as his. "How long until we get to the store?"
Stiles glanced over, his scent growing increasingly nervous. "Uh, dude, I was just going to the Goodwill, remember? It's like, five minutes away."
Derek grit his teeth. "Fine." He could survive for five minutes, even trapped in a car with Stiles' scent. He just needed to think about something else. "How's school going?"
"Huh?" Stiles frowned. "It's fine."
"Your dad. How's your dad?" he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. From Stiles' responding look of bewilderment, he didn't think he was succeeding.
"My dad's fine, thanks. Uh, he was looking at cold cases a couple weeks ago." He paused to change lanes. "I mentioned you could help him with that. Like, if they were werewolf related, or something."
"You did?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, you know supernatural stuff first hand, right?"
Derek swallowed.
"Uh, so." Stiles scratched the back of his neck. "This is going to be super awkward the entire time, isn't it?"
"No," Derek blurted.
"So that's a yes."
Derek glanced over at the same time that Stiles was sneaking a glance at him, and for some reason, the ridiculousness of the situation was enough to overcome his anxiety. His face twisted into a smile, and Stiles snorted.
"Oh, my God," Stiles said, "we're both idiots, aren't we?"
"Speak for yourself." Derek glanced over, and Stiles was smiling.
"Speaking for myself is my specialty, dude, don't tempt me."
There was a moment of reasonably comfortable silence before Derek said, "So, how long have you and Scott…"
Stiles shot Derek a sidelong glance. "Known each other? Since second grade. Been friends? Also second grade."
Derek just glared when Stiles paused, smile hovering on his lips.
"Oh, you meant how long have we been dating? About a month." He smirked. "Unless you wanted to know how long we've spent making out?"
Derek coughed on his own spit at that last one. "No, I'm good. Thanks."
"Over-sharing is my other specialty."
Derek grimaced. "How long until we get to the Goodwill, again?"
"Oh, ha ha. That's like one step away from 'Are we there yet?' Not cool, dude." He elbowed Derek in the ribs before moving back to the steering wheel. "And, yes, actually, it's just up ahead, in that strip mall with the lame-ass smoothie shop that only makes things that taste like grass mixed with Pepto-Bismol." He tilted his head. "I thought you knew that."
"I don't shop at Goodwill."
"Well, I'm so sorry, mister high-and-mighty. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have subjected you to the horrors of second hand clothing stores. I didn't realize I was offending you with my bourgeoisie tastes."
Derek sighed. "You're not… offending me."
"Oh, that's right, I forgot. Your face always looks like that."
Derek mock-growled.
"Don't let it get stuck that way, you'll frighten off all the small children in the vicinity," Stiles said as he pulled into the parking lot.
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"Swim trunks are usually in the back," Stiles said as he rushed through the front doors, "but they're out of season right now, so they probably won't have much variety." Derek had to lengthen his stride to keep up with his manic pace. There was something odd in Stiles' walk, and Derek glanced down to examine Stiles' legs, but he couldn't see anything obviously wrong.
"Are you okay?" Derek asked after a moment. "You're walking strangely." He tipped his head to indicate the strange hitch in Stiles' gait.
Stiles stopped suddenly and Derek swiveled to look back at him. His neck and ears were flushed red. It occurred to Derek that the most likely explanation for Stiles' stiff-legged gait had to do with Scott.
"Never mind," he said. "I don't want to know."
"What?" Stiles frowned. "Wait, what are you thinking?"
"Nothing. Keep up."
They walked all the way to the back of the store, stopping in the men's clothing section. There was one shelf of swim trunks between the pajama sets and the hoodies, next to the fitting rooms.
"Hey, look, they come in black," Stiles said, gesturing at a plain pair of trunks in the middle of the shelf.
"Contrary to what you may believe," Derek said, "my favorite color isn't actually black."
Stiles raised his eyebrows.
"I've been informed that my soul is black, though." Derek let a smirk curl onto his lip.
Stiles blanched. "What? Oh, my God, can we not talk about that? I was drunk, okay?"
"You were drunk when you bought the party decorations? That explains a lot, actually."
"Fuck you, that was a great party," Stiles said, picking up a pair of plaid trunks and inspecting the size tag.
"Except for the part where you broke up with your boyfriend in front of everyone."
Stiles grinned over at Derek. "Except that part, yeah," he agreed, grabbing a pair in black.
Derek grabbed the black swim trunks Stiles had initially pointed out. "You're buying more than one pair?"
Stiles looked down at the pair in Derek's hands quizzically. "Uh, no?"
Derek nodded down at Stiles' hands. "Then why are you holding two?"
Stiles blinked. "Oh, man, do you not check the fit first? Let me tell you, I made that mistake once, but never again. It was not pretty."
Derek lifted an eyebrow.
"Turns out the pair I bought was too big. I'll give you one guess as to what happened."
Derek's eyes widened and he took a step back. He did not need to be thinking about Stiles naked right now.
Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed a third pair, this time in orange. "Yeah, it's probably even worse than you're imagining."
Derek was now imagining Stiles dripping wet and naked; it would be difficult to get any worse. "I doubt it," he managed, voice strained.
"So, um," Stiles said, apparently oblivious to Derek's imminent nervous breakdown, "if not black, then what is your favorite color?"
"Green," he replied, after a beat of hesitation. Laura had said he should wear more green, since it matched his eyes. Pears, apples, honeydew, kiwifruit: all came in green and tasted of sweetness and summer. Derek had always felt at home in the forest, surrounded by green; green meant calm and home and safe.
Stiles smiled at him, soft at the edges, and pulled a dark green pair from the shelf, setting it on top of Derek's black pair. "Try those," he said, biting his lip, then turned and fled for the fitting rooms.
Derek stared down at the green swim trunks for a beat before grabbing a navy pair and setting off after Stiles.
