Derek's not sure how he ends up perched on a hard, wooden barstool at the crowded local dance club during happy hour. One minute, he's lounging around the loft, ready for a quiet, relaxing night. Dinner's prepped and brining in the refrigerator, a new recipe for thyme and rosemary pot roast that he's been wanting to try. The next thing he knows, Stiles convinces him to spend the night making sure he doesn't drink too many $3 margaritas. Last margarita Tuesday, Derek stayed home, and Stiles blamed the resulting all-day hangover on his absence since Derek is the one who keeps him in check.
Next time he can go by himself.
The air is hot, humid, and reeks of the cheap beer that's spilled all over the scuffed dance floor. The scent seeps through the leather jacket he refuses to take off, into his pores. Derek can't wait to get home and into the shower. It's not all bad though. He watches with amusement as Stiles attempts to dance with Erica. Attempts. He's still not sure that Stiles really knows how to do anything other than flail.
What is he doing?
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose; he needs something a bit different than the weekly special, so he orders himself a bourbon and sips it slowly. The warm, bitter whiskey slides smoothly down his throat.
Gangly limbs reach for him as Stiles settles himself on the adjacent stool. Stiles's hair is disheveled from running his hands through it, wiping away the sweat that beads up on his forehead. A stray drop rolls down his neck, and Derek's eyes chase the path until Stiles speaks, drawing Derek's attention back to Stiles's mouth. "Der-ek, you need to come and dance with me, dude."
"Don't call me dude." The words come out louder than intended, but his voice is competing with the booming bass pumping through the giant subwoofer. All the local bar needs are neon lights to complete the ambiance.
Thank God for small favors.
"Fine, Der-bear." Stiles bats his eyes playfully at the term of endearment. "Yo, barkeep, can I get another?" Stiles yells as he leans over the countertop, holding up his empty glass.
"Anyone else need one?" Derek asks, glancing back to the dance floor. Erica sways her hips in time to the music, drawing the attention of every heterosexual male. A predatory grin spread across her glossy, red lips. Boyd holds her close, an arm wrapped tightly around her middle, letting them all know that she's taken. Isaac and Scott jump in place, not too dissimilar to Stiles's earlier flailing. Neither are bothered by the slight stickiness of the floor, clearly too engrossed in each other's smiling faces.
"Nah, I think they're good. Besides, Boyd can get Erica's, and Scott's taking care of Isaac's tab." Stiles spins and faces him, a teasing smile on his lips as he walks his fingers up Derek's arm. "So. Derek. Are you really gonna sit over here all night? Why won't you come dance with me?" Stiles asks with a pout, making Derek think about biting and sucking on the puffed-out lip.
"Stiles, you know I'm not good at this. Being social," Derek says, gesturing to the too-crowded room. "But it's not like I'm not having a good time. I mean, yes, I'd prefer to be at home. But I'm also perfectly content watching you make a fool out of yourself." There's a twinkle in his eye, and he laughs when Stiles feigns indignation as if to say, "Who me?"
The bartender delivers Stiles's drink, and Derek's eyes are glued to his long fingers as they wrap around the glass. Stiles gets up, taking a sip of his drink before punching Derek in the arm. "Alright, well, I'm gonna go put on a show, I guess, so you have some entertainment."
Derek shakes his head with a snort at the wink he gets before Stiles twirls away, knocking into a woman standing close and almost spilling the rest of his drink. He chuckles into his glass when Erica takes Stiles's margarita and downs it in one gulp. Motioning to the bartender, he orders another one knowing Stiles will be back.
There's a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see a guy about his age. His eyebrows shoot up in question. "Can I help you?"
"Just checking if this seat is taken?" The guy wears a sly smirk, eyes trailing over Derek's body as he gestures to the stool to his right.
"All yours," he says, standing up from his seat. Derek's proud of the way he looks and works hard for it. Some people check him out subtly but others, like this guy, damn near eye-fuck him, which makes his skin crawl. Managing not to shudder, he grabs his drink and turns his back on the guy, heading to the dance floor.
"Stiles." He receives a wide grin when he's noticed and holds out the cold, fresh drink for Stiles to take. "Saw Erica abscond with yours."
Stiles places a chaste kiss on his cheek when he reaches for the glass. "Thanks, Der. You gonna stay and dance?"
"No, just wanted to get this for you and scope out somewhere new to sit."
Stiles glances towards his old location and scowl. "Someone 'bad touch' you? Cause I'll kick their ass, man."
"No Stiles. No 'bad touch.'" Derek says with a fond smile, shaking his head at Stiles's protective nature. "He just checked me out. Although it did border on grotesque," he says with a resigned sigh. Unfortunately, he's no stranger to being objectified by others.
"Rude." Stiles scrunches his face, amber eyes blazing as they narrow towards the figure at the bar. "You're not a piece of meat." The words are said vehemently before Stiles takes a sip of his drink. There's salt from the rim on the corner of his mouth, and Derek thinks about licking it off. His hopes are dashed when Stiles's tongue peeks out, doing the job for him. "I wish people would realize that. Yeah, you're pretty and work out, but you're so much more than that."
"I know, Stiles. I know. Thank you." Stiles's face softens at his words. He takes a sip of his drink and spots an empty booth along the wall. "I'm gonna head over there," he says, pointing in the direction of the new spot. When Stiles acknowledges the new location, he makes his way over.
Erica and Boyd join him when they get tired of dancing, falling against each other across from him. Erica's laughter rings in his ears as she wipes the sweat from her brow. Looking out into the crowd, Derek can see that Scott and Isaac have crowded around Stiles, all three men jumping around with their hands in the air.
What are they doing?
"Derek, he's killing me." The statement makes him glance back at Erica, who is staring bemusedly at the group on the dance floor.
"I mean, seriously. What even is that?" Boyd huffs a laugh at her tone. "It's like some weird mating ritual, isn't it? He's trying to peacock for you but doesn't know how."
"Erica." Derek raises a brow. A small shake of his head chastises her.
"Derek," she laughs as Isaac clutches his nose when Stiles's flailing limbs hit him in the face. "He's a danger to society."
Eyes, once again, locked on Stiles, he smiles fondly. "He's a menace."
Getting up to go back to the bar, he's knocked into the table when a body collides with him. "Shit, sorry, Der. Tripped."
He grips Stiles by the arms, helping him regain his footing. "It's okay."
"You know… If you don't join me out there, I'll just start dancing by the table…" The threat sounds more like a promise.
Groaning, Derek pinches the bridge of his nose as Stiles starts gyrating around him. "Please stop. Just— Stiles, no. Okay?" Though there's really no complaint when Stiles's ass rubs against his own.
"Um, Stiles, yes!" is huffed against the shell of his ear, and Derek can't help but groan when Stiles shimmies against his back.
Really?!
When Stiles has made his way to the front of his body, Derek reaches out and stops him from continuing his trek. "I'm gonna go and get another drink. Do you want anything?" he asks, leaning into Stiles's space.
"Just water." There's a flush to Stiles's skin. Red blotches on his cheeks travel down his neck and chest, disappearing beneath Stiles's sweat-soaked graphic tee. "I think I need to start winding down. You know I'm a lightweight."
"Alright, one water coming right up. Go back to dancing. I'll bring it to you." Stiles squeezes Derek's forearm in acknowledgment before dancing his back through the throngs of bodies to Scott and Isaac.
Derek's waiting on the bartender to bring the water when he feels a body sidle up beside him. It's a woman this time, dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she clears her throat and nods in Stiles's direction. "That guy bothering you? The one that was all up in your shit before you came over."
"Uhh..." Derek takes pause at the clipped tone of her voice. Bouncer, maybe? This is clearly someone that's had to kick way too many handsy men out of the bar.
"I don't put up with that stuff here," she says, holding her hand out for him to shake. "Braeden. This is my place. I saw that one guy earlier, but he didn't touch you and pretty much moved on when you left. But this one, he's been watching you, and I don't take kindly to unwanted advances. So, if he's bothering you—"
Derek snorts at the idea of Stiles bothering him but hides with a cough at the worry on her face. "Uh, yeah. A little bit. But, uh, he's my husband, so I kinda signed up for it."
She barks out a laugh. "Husba— Wow! Is he always— I mean, can I ask? What is he doing?"
Derek follows her line of sight and facepalms at Stiles's attempt to grind on thin air. Shaking his head and sighing in resignation, he says, "I— I don't even know anymore. But that is definitely the signal to have him drink this," he says, holding up the freshly produced glass of water, "and take him home."
Leaving her laughing at the bar, Derek makes his way to Stiles and smiles as Stiles's arms wrap around his neck when he gets close. "Der-ek, my love, my life. Bringer of hydration."
Derek slides an arm around Stiles's waist, drawing him impossibly close until Stiles is whispering in his ear. "I know how much you don't like me dragging you to the bar. But you come anyway. It's how I know you love me."
Pulling away, Derek smiles softly at the look of adoration on Stiles's face. He brings the glass up for Stiles to take, jumping when Stiles exclaims, "And this! You take care of me so well. How did I get so lucky?"
There's a dribble of water as Stiles gulps it down. "Ahh… thanks, Der."
Setting the empty glass down on a nearby table, Derek slides his arms back around Stiles and asks, "You ready to go home now?"
"Yeah, I guess. Kinda hungry, though. I'm feeling faint from lack of sustenance."
He rolls his eyes, knowing what Stiles is after. "Fine."
Derek turns and crouches on the ground and hears Stiles laugh. "Yet another reason I know how much you love me," is whispered into his ear as Stiles climbs on his back.
"Yeah, yeah… I'm guessing curly fries?" He looks over his shoulder at Stiles, who beams at him as he nods and presses a chaste kiss against the side of his mouth. "Alright, let's get outta here."