Disclaimer: See initial chapter.
A/N: Written to: Walk on the Moon's, "Anna Sun"; Stiles is 17, Derek is roughly 23 in this (set in between the first and second season). There is no underage relations going on in this (kissing only), and Stiles' father is aware of the dating. He will have to meet with Derek at some point, establish rules and all that, like he does here, kind of, with Stiles.
Prompt 6: Wearing Each others' Clothes.
"Where'd you get that shirt?" Stiles' Dad frowned and peered a little more closely at the shirt that Stiles was wearing.
Feeling a little self-conscious, Stiles took a step back, but his Dad followed him and touched the shirt in question. It was a little big on him. Okay, a lot big on him, but it was comfy, and it made him feel safe, which was a lot of power to put on a single shirt.
And, it smelled like Derek - woodsy and something spicy, like cinnamon, but not exactly cinnamon. Maybe cardamon, though Stiles wasn't sure what cardamon smelled like. For all he knew it smelled like Derek, or Derek like it.
"It's uh Derek's," Stiles said, batting his father's hand away.
He had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to fear in his father knowing that the black shirt he was wearing - had been wearing for the past week and a half - was Derek's, that the werewolf had given it to him to wear. Stiles had a suspicion that this was one way for Derek to 'mark' him, and, in a way, it was kind of sweet, and kind of creepy, but he ignored the creepy in favor of the sweet.
He'd offered Derek a shirt of his, but the wolf had declined, saying that he didn't think it would fit. But, Stiles did notice that one of his sweaters was missing. A light blue one that was a little too big on him (okay, so, it swallowed him, but his aunt had done her best with it, and it was the thought that counted).
His father raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. His eyebrow spoke for him though, and Stiles followed him into the kitchen. Unsure of how to broach the subject that needed broaching, he watched his father grab a beer and the cold cut sandwich that he'd made earlier that day. He tossed Stiles a soda, and sat down at the kitchen table.
Stiles sat down across from him, twirling the neck of the bottle of soda between his fingers before opening it and taking a gulp of it and nearly choking. When he was done sputtering, he saw that his father's eyes were on him, even though he was taking a sip of his beer. Stiles recognized the look - speculative - an inwardly groaned.
"Seems like you and Derek are getting pretty serious," his father said, and Stiles wondered if it was too late for the floor to swallow him.
He took a long sip of his soda, narrowly avoiding choking on it a second time, and then nodded.
"Yep."
Not his usual wordy self, but he was a little nervous, in spite of the fact that this was his father, and, since he could remember they'd been open with each other about almost everything. To be fair, though, he'd never been in a relationship before now, and this was brand new territory for the both of them. Awkwardness to be had all around.
His father cleared his throat, and took a bite of his sandwich. Stiles watched in dumb fascination as his father washed the bite down with a healthy swallow of beer, throat undulating in a way that made Stiles think of snakes, which was in no way conducive to having an adult conversation with his father. He needed to keep a tight reign on his impulses.
Reader Tip #7: When dating, Dads must be approached very carefully, especially if they're a gun-wielding sheriff, and can, potentially, get away with murder.
By the time his father had finished his sandwich, mopping up the crumbs with an index finger, Stiles' palms were sweaty, and he was close to babbling, because he and silence didn't mix well. Something that his father often used toward his advantage. No torture worked better on his son, than that of silence. It was the best way to loosen Stiles' tongue, and they both knew it. It wasn't like it was a big secret.
"So," his father said, resting his elbows on the table, the beer bottle dangling between his fingers. His eyes held Stiles' in a steady, soul-searching gaze.
"So," Stiles said, folding his hands on the table in front of him, mouth and throat unaccountably dry. He contemplated the soda, and pushed it away, because, two could play at this game, though he had no idea what the rules were. His father had never actually sat him down and discussed dating, probably never saw the need to before now. Of course, his father had probably assumed that he'd be dating a girl close to his own age, and not a man who was six years older than him.
"You're wearing his clothes," his father pointed out, rather needlessly.
"It's just one shirt," Stiles defended, plucking at it.
"And, you got it exactly how?" his father asked, taking a not so casual sip of his beer while spearing Stiles with a look that made him cringe.
He blinked at his father, mouth opening and closing, and cheeks flushing as he realized, a little late on the draw, exactly what it was that his father was really getting at. He reached for the soda with nerveless fingers, looking away from his father and taking a generous swig of the overly sweet drink, hoping that he could drown in it. His ears felt like they were on fire, and he so did not want to have this conversation with his father. Not now, not ever. And, what did his father know about this kind of thing anyway, it wasn't like his father had ever dated a man before...had he?
"Stiles, how did you get the shirt?" his father persisted, and Stiles forced himself to look away from the ring of water that his soda bottle had made on the table, and at his father. He suddenly felt small, and alone, and wished that a bell would ring somewhere so that he could be saved by it.
"Derekgaveittometheotherday," he muttered, words blending together in his nervousness, because he knew that, though the act had been completely innocent, and sex-free, his father would insist on having the talk with him.
"Stiles, I uh, realize," his father cleared his throat, and Stiles could see that red was slowly crawling up his face too. "I realize that you like, uh. Uh, that is, I -"
"I like boys," Stiles finished for his dad, taking pity on him, though it was clear his father was not going to take pity on him and end this awkward conversation any time soon. "And, girls, too, I like girls and boys, and, I just, well..."
His father cut him off with an upheld hand, and took another sip of his beer, before continuing. "I just want you to know that I'm okay with," he waved his hand in the air, "all of that. I just, well, I'm just concerned because Derek's, well, he's older son, and -"
"He's not taking advantage of me," Stiles quickly reassured his father. "He's not like that. He's the one who keeps insisting that we need to take it slow, that we should wait for...you know, until I'm eighteen."
His father's eyebrows went up to his hairline, and Stiles realized that he'd admitted to a little too much. He held his head in his hand, and gave his father a sheepish look.
"We haven't done anything," Stiles said, other than kiss, he didn't add aloud, because he really didn't want to go there with his dad.
"He gave me his shirt just, because." He was not going to tell his father his theory about Derek's possible need to mark him with his scent. That just wasn't going to happen, not in this lifetime. This was hard enough to get through.
His father gave him a look that said he wasn't fooling anyone, and Stiles rolled his eyes. "I promise, Dad, scout's honor." He made the sign of the cross over his heart.
"You were never a scout, Stiles," his father countered, though his lips were twitching, and Stiles inwardly sighed in relief.
"And, I understand that this is uncomfortable for you; it's uncomfortable for me, too, but I love you, Stiles. You're the only one I've got left in this world, and I want to keep you safe, and if that means -"
"Dad, Derek's been nothing but a gentleman with me," Stiles assured his father, a little too gentlemanly at times, he silently added. "He's good to me, and he's not going to hurt me."
"I just wish I could be so certain of that," his father said quietly, looking into his beer bottle.
"There's just...I don't know how to deal with this, you know." He raised his eyes to Stiles, and Stiles' chest tightened at the raw love and worry that he saw reflected in his father's eyes.
"I guess I just never thought I'd have to talk to my teenage son about dating an older man. I was so grateful that you were a boy, because I knew that I'd be all thumbs raising a girl, and I think I'm putting my foot in it..."
"I get it Dad," Stiles said, jumping out of his seat and rounding the table to wrap his father in a hug. He kissed him on the cheek. "You don't have to worry about me and Derek, promise."
"Son," his father sighed, placing a kiss on his head. "There's never going to be a time when I don't worry about you."
"I know, but, we're not...we're not uh, having sex," Stiles pushed the words past his lips, his insides feeling a little funny as he did so.
"Well, when you do decide to," his father pressed a finger to Stiles' lips when he opened his mouth to protest. "Son, you're a teenager, and, unfortunately, I do know exactly what it's like to be a teenage boy in the throes of hormones. One thing leads to another - it may start out as just kissing, but then you get caught up in the moment, and before you know it the two of you are naked and..."
Where is a black hole when I need one? Stiles thought, wishing for all the world that he could stuff his fingers into his ears and start singing at the top of the lungs, like he'd done when he was a little kid; that he could unhear what he'd already heard.
"Now, I'm not sure how it works between two men, but I've got an inkling, and well, do you have condoms and you know...lubrication?" His father was just about as red as he was when he finished, but Stiles had to give the man credit.
"Dad..."
"I'll take you to the store tomorrow. A man should always carry protection, because he can't count on his date taking care of things like that. Never assume that your partner's going to have a condom. Something that's the same no matter which gender you're dating," his father added with a small, triumphant smile.
"My dad told me the same thing when I was your age, uh, well, to be honest, I was a couple of years younger than you were." He glanced away, and scratched at his head, blushing again.
Stiles giggled, trying to picture his father in this very situation. At least his father had been in his shoes - kind of - and he'd had to endure this whole spiel.
"I love you, Dad," Stiles said, kissing his father sloppily on the cheek.
His father rolled his eyes and rubbed the slobber off of his cheek. His eyes were shining though, the love that he felt for Stiles evident. "I love you, too, son."
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