Title: Ain't No Chicken

Rating: T

Characters: Derek/Stiles... the rest of the pack

PART TWO

Derek stood in the school parking lot leaning against his car as all the students began to trickle out of the front doors of the high school. He was waiting on Isaac and slightly anxious about seeing him as the kid had spent the weekend at his foster home. Derek hated having his beta away from him so long, especially given Isaac's past, but soon the kid would turn eighteen and then he could choose where he lived.

Arms crossed and body language casual, Derek cooly surveyed the faces of the kids as they left the school building and flooded into the school parking lot. He didn't want to catch too much attention, but it seemed like that wouldn't be much problem; the teens so wrapped up in their own little lives. A group of girls grinned slyly at him, bursting into giggles once once they were past, but otherwise, most paid him no mind.

He smirked to himself when he saw Scott and Stiles come down the front steps, talking animatedly together, their heads tilted toward each other almost as if they were stuck together like conjoined twins. Derek was feeling pretty smug after seeing how wide Stiles' doe eyes had gone when he had stepped into the kid's room the night before to leave him his offering of cheeseburger and curly fries.

It was obvious that Derek had finally gotten the best of the little shit. He had promised himself he would lay off after that, deciding he had tortured the kid enough, but he couldn't help but grin Stiles' way seeing him now.

"What are you doing here?" spat Jackson, capturing Derek's attention.

He turned away from the school entrance to focus on Jackson and the asshole's friend who were walking past. Jackson was glaring angrily his way, though Derek knew it was mostly a front for appearances, while his friend, Daniel(?) was giving him a much more interested look.

Derek didn't bother responding, letting his single raised eyebrow do his talking, and Jackson didn't pause in anticipation of an answer. Derek watched the two make their way to Jackson's porsche out of the corner of his eye. Jackson would submit like a good beta during training, but outside of the Hale property, his defensive walls of ugly attitude were back up and in full force.

Suddenly, an arm was sliding around his waist and a body pressed against his side. Derek had enough presence of mind to keep himself from flinching in surprise even though he was shocked someone had been able to sneak up on him. He kept his face neutral and glanced over at the new body. Even worse, it wasn't just someone who had managed to sneek up on him, it was Stiles.

"Hey, Derek-poo," cooed Stiles in a sing-song voice that might have sounded completely comfortable and confident, but Derek could hear the speed of Stiles' heart. The rabbit-quick pounding of it sounded one sudden movement away from a coronary.

Even if it was obvious that Stiles was more than a little concerned about how he would be received, the casual touch and feel of a friendly body pressed against his side threw Derek off. He could feel his own heart rate picking up. People didn't just touch Derek, not without intent to damage or, sometimes, to seek safety from damage.

He clenched his jaw and glanced over at Stiles who had shrunk down in stance a little so he could look up at Derek from beneath his thick eyelashes. It wasn't fair. Derek wanted to push him down and storm away. He could practically hear Laura laughing at him and calling him a stupid adolescent boy scared of the object of his infatuation, only able to make contact with them through hair pulling and pushing. It was perhaps a good thing Laura and Erica had never met.

He glanced sideways to see that Jackson and his friend had stopped talking, frozen in their spots on either side of the car. Jackson looked like he was holding his breath, his eyes shining with excitement probably at the prospect of Stiles getting his ass kicked. Daniel... David... Darren...? Well, he looked intrigued and a little contemplative. Derek glanced to the other side to see Scott looking pale, his hand clenched tight around his backpack strap. A few other teens were looking their way, too, mildly curious.

Stiles had obviously figured out Derek's game and didn't want to go out without a fight. He was smart, though, choosing a busy place with plenty of witnesses incase Derek decided to take a swipe at him for his efforts. Obviously, the kid didn't know Derek was all bark and no bite when it came to him.

Derek deflated and put an arm around Stiles' shoulders, feeling a bit mechanical in the movement, but forcing himself to loosen up and look more natural. If Stiles wanted to keep this thing going, then it was his funeral. Derek smiled and pulled him closer, his smile maybe a little too bright. He took a deep breath and decided to go for gold, pressing a dry kiss to the side of Stiles' head and chancing a quick inhale of his scent.

He could hear Stils' breath hitch in his throat and grinned a little more easily at that. There was no way Stiles could win at this game, the kid was too young and hormonal, his face and body language too readily to project every single one of his feelings. Derek had to hand it to him for trying, but there was just no way.

Jackson's jaw was hanging open and Damian was smirking in an almost swarmy way. It was obvious to Derek why those two were friends. Stiles had definitely been wrong saying Danny -oh, right, Danny- was too nice to be friends with Jackson. Maybe the kid had a nice guy persona that worked with most people, but Derek could see the kid's inner douche like he had a neon, flashing sign on his forehead.

Derek was about to release Stiles, figuring he had won the round, but then the kid leaned further into him and opened his damn mouth.

"So," said Stiles in a stage whisper so those nearby could hear, "my dad's not home tonight and I was thinking... you could come by..."

The flirty way he moved his eyebrows as he spoke was ridiculous and over the top. So, why did it make Derek feel like he had been punched in the gut? Why did the way Stiles let the sentence trail off as he wiggled his shoulder against Derek make Derek's knees feel like jelly? Actually, Derek would probably be better off to not answer those questions. It was also better if he stopped his mind in its current descent into the land of things that a teen might want to do with their boyfriend when they had a house to themselves. Yeah, definitely best to cut that thought process off at the ankles.

Derek swallowed heavily as he spent a few seconds to wonder on his best course of action. He could feel his fight or flight instincts wanting to kick in and he was leaning more to the flight than the fight. How would he ever show his face around his pack again if he ran away from Stiles, though?

"Sounds perfect, Babe," rumbled Derek, nearly choking on the ridiculous pet name as he spoke it. It was worth it, though, for how Stiles went stiff at his side. "We need some more lube, though."

He glanced sideways at Stiles to see bright pink beginning to blossom across his cheeks.

"Don't get the vanilla flavored stuff again," said Stiles, despite the nervous bobbing of his adams apple, "it tastes awful. I seriously don't understand why the makers don't ever take into account the way their flavors taste when coupled with..."

"OH-KAY," cut in Scott, suddenly. He grabbed Stiles' free hand and dragged him out from under Derek's arm. "Mom's expecting us and I'm pretty sure that nobody needs to hear the rest of that sentence, anyway."

Derek frowned as he watched Scott drag Stiles away while Stiles made a ridiculous 'call me' gesture with outstretched pinky and thumb in Derek's direction. He wondered if Stiles had been making that up or if he had first hand experience as to the taste of vanilla flavored lube and come.

"What was that about?" asked Isaac, finally walking up to Derek, a few textbooks in hand.

Derek let out a huff of breath before turning to give Isaac a long-suffering look.

"Those two are idiots," he said, simply.

Isaac smirked, before stepping around Derek to get into the passenger side of the car. Derek watched Stiles get into his Jeep, flailing as he yelled at Scott. Derek didn't bother listening in on their conversation from across the bustling parking lot, just shook his head and got into his car.

If Stiles wanted war, he had it.

It was a few days before Derek would see Stiles again. Of course, that didn't mean he had a reprieve from whatever this new competition was between them.

Tuesday morning saw Derek opening his front door to find a flamboyantly decorated box sitting innocently on his front step. It was jarring because he hadn't sensed anyone come by. He glanced around feeling conspicuous before turning his attention back down to the bright, shiny wrapping paper covered box. He took a deep breath in through his nose, but all he could smell was the distinct scent of baked goods, so he quickly plucked it up before stepping back into his house and kicking his front door shut.

There was a note under the big, fabric flower taped to the top of the box, so Derek pulled it off to read it. He didn't receive a lot of gifts, but Derek assumed it was normal for a note to be just that, a note. This note was more like an essay. He unfolded the paper and growled under his breath as he read it.

It was irritatingly written just like Stiles' speech patterns. Derek could practically hear the kid's voice saying each word to him. The note began with some terrible pet names for Derek, before turning into an explanation of Stiles being told by his grandmother that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach, before turning into an all out mess of rambling thought processes on whether or not werewolves could be allergic to peanuts. In any case, it had enough clues in it that Derek shouldn't have been all that surprised when he opened the box to find a dozen peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies.

He hid the box in the closet in his room after wolfing down (errr) a couple and being pleasantly surprised by Stiles' baking prowess.

Wednesday brought another garishly wrapped gift on his doorstep. After suffering through another overly long note in messy handwriting, he opened the gift bag to find a Red Riding Hood themed colouring book and a set of new pencil crayons. Derek spent an undeterminable amount of time simply staring, then blinking, then staring some more at the present in his hands. He made an unbelieving sound in his throat before stashing the gift in his closet with the box from the day before. Yes, he had finished off the entire dozen cookies in one day.

Thursday was a third gift on Derek's doorstep. This time a large fruit basket of all things. It was wrapped in cellophane and tied with a big, red, ribbon. This time the note was short, but still in the same chicken scratch printing.

By the time Friday morning arrived, Derek was irate over the mystery of how Stiles was sneaking to his house every morning before school completely undetected. He was even starting to feel a bit insecure about his alpha senses which was putting him even more on edge. It made no sense, he should have been hearing Stiles' Jeep rumble up the long, gravel road, smell the kid's presence, hear his clumsy gait as he fell out of his Jeep and stumbled up to the front step with the gifts in his hands.

Still, Derek stashed the fourth gift in his closet after reading the ridiculous note talking about the irony of the 'Sourwolf' having a 'sweet tooth'. Only after eating a few of the sugary rolls from the box of cinnamon buns, that is.

Derek was feeling strangely jittery by the time school let out that day. The pack was meeting at his place which usually meant that Stiles and Scott would tag along, too. They weren't officially pack, but sometimes Derek would catch himself thinking them as such. It wasn't his fault they weren't, though, it was Scott's. Scott was the one who had turned him down, who hadn't been receptive in the least to any of Derek's attempts at forming a brotherhood. Yet, the damn kid would show up to pack movie nights at Derek's as if it wasn't the biggest, ugliest mixed signal ever. Truly, despite being human, Stiles felt more pack to Derek than Scott did. So, when Derek ever felt his hackles rise over Scott, he just focused on Stiles instead.

Tonight, though, it was Stiles who was making Derek feel nervous and out of sorts. It was like the kid had been conditioning him all week for it. The gifts on his doorstep that arrived without any wind of the gifter, himself, had him both on edge and also feeling a little excited to see Stiles again. It was a strange sort of feeling and had him pacing the length of his front deck like a caged animal.

Some people might have felt inclined to call Derek a dick, but personally, he thought his response to Stiles' idiotic kiss had been hilarious. If those damn teenagers were going to involve him in their juvenile games, then he'd damn well rise to the challenge. Not that it was much of a challenge -a call to the local florist, a trip to Sonic, and a few incidents of ignoring social standards of personal space boundaries, and Stiles had looked ready to roll over.

Derek had done it to get back at him for using him in the stupid bet as if he were the neighbourhood senior the kids dared each other to knock on the door of and run away. Yeah, it was payback and also another opportunity to show the kids not to mess with him. What it definitely wasn't was an excuse for him to 'woo' his long-time crush under the safe guise of farce. Erika didn't know what she was talking about; Derek didn't woo and he definitely didn't have a crush.

The problem though, was this. It was the retaliation. Stiles had recovered way too quickly, not even giving Derek much time to enjoy his gloating over having freaked the kid out. He probably should have anticipated it, knowing Stiles, but really, who retaliates on a retaliation? There might not be an official rule book on the subject, but Derek was pretty sure the proper thing to do would be to let him have his revenge in peace.

And Stiles was good, of course he was, the conniving little brat.

It only amplified everything the kid pulled that perhaps there had been something to Erika's observation. Not that she was right, but maybe she hadn't been completely wrong. Derek hadn't received a gift since before the house fire. Despite them being silly and downright ridiculous (a red riding hood colouring book!? really?) at times, once Derek had realized the trend, he had found himself looking forward to checking his front step every morning.

When Stiles arrived, half leaping, half falling out of his Jeep like he had been folded into the vehicle and it was difficult to get his gangly, baby gazelle legs under him again, Derek could feel his pulse pick up just slightly. It made his face heat up and he had to duck into the kitchen for a glass of water to hide from the teens filling up his living room. Of course, Stiles was quick to seek him out, finding him in the kitchen straight away instead of sitting down in the living room with the rest of the kids.

"Heeey, there, Puppyface," cooed Stiles as he stepped around the kitchen island to grab a glass from the cabinet.

Derek paused, his own glass halfway to his mouth, and forced himself to give Stiles a judging look. Stiles definitely caught it, but only grinned and shrugged before filling his glass with water from the kitchen tap.

"Did you enjoy my gifts?" asked Stiles almost conversationally before leaning against the counter right next to Derek and taking a long drink.

Derek forced his features into an annoyed glare as he watched the long line of Stiles' throat and the bob of his adam's apple. He grunted his response, not allowing himself to speak just yet. Stiles set down his glass on the counter and gave Derek a bright smile that was slightly timid before bumping his hip and then his shoulder against Derek and then leaving the kitchen to join everyone else in the living room.

That evening, Stiles sat right next to Derek on the loveseat, which he had made of a point emphasizing the name of. The kid had edged his way closer and closer to Derek through the movies, and, because Derek refused to let on that his proximity was affecting him, was practically in his lap by the end of the evening.

It was torture. The teasing, the flirty grins, the coy smiles, the pet names (ridiculous and sometimes humiliating as they might have been) throughout the evening were building upon each other and giving Derek a strange, unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. Did Stiles even really know just how much power his coy smiles held? Did he realize how alluringridiculous he looked when he batted those long, dark eyelashes Derek's way? There couldn't be any way that he knew, or he'd have everyone he ever fancied wrapped securely around his finger.

Probably, the only thing giving Stiles the confidence to act in such a way so openly was that they both knew it was in farce. Still, it was throwing Derek off enough that he wasn't able to follow his plan of out-flirting Stiles. Instead, he felt the embarrassed frown on his face get deeper and deeper in his features as the night wore on. Once everyone left, he trudged up to his bedroom to throw himself on his bed and take a few deep, calming breaths.

Unfortunately, when Derek got there, it was to discover that his room smelled like Stiles had been there and his bed was covered in roses.

Derek was still wildly angry about the roses come Saturday. So, after a quick breakfast, a short shower, and a morning run through the forest (where he was slightly disappointed to find there was no gift on his doorstep when he opened the door), he got into his car and raced over to Stiles' house. There were vehicles in the driveway when he arrived, but Derek knocked harshly on the front door anyway. When no one answered and, after a few moments of intense listening where Derek confirmed the house was empty, Derek climbed back into his car, shutting the door with a little too much force, and angrily called Stiles.

"Good morning, Pookiebear," chirped Stiles into the phone when he answered. "What can I do for you this fine day?"

Derek ground his teeth.

"Where are you?" he asked in less of a question and more of a demand.

"Why?" asked Stiles either not catching Derek's mood over the phone or choosing to ignore it. "Do you miss me already, Sweetums?"

Derek growled in his throat, but chose to listen to the noise in the background instead of trying to get the information out of Stiles. There was a lot of voices and a distant clatter of kitchen items. Derek hung up and backed out of the Stilinski driveway before peeling off down the road toward the local cafe and ice cream parlour.

He felt a little smug when he pulled up in front of Susan's and saw Stiles' Jeep in the parking lot. He forced himself to walk calmly into the cafe instead of making an angrily frenzied entrance. He visually scanned the room from the doorway before spotting Stiles sitting with Scott, Lydia, and Allison in a booth near the far corner.

"DereBear," exclaimed Stiles happily when Derek strode up to their table and admittedly loomed over it, "I didn't expect to see you here, MuffinButt! Have you come for their delicious pancakes, too?"

Derek paused, despite his bubbling anger, and couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder to look at his ass in response to Stiles' words -MuffinButt? He shook his head and continued in his rage.

"Stiles," he ground out, before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him out of the booth.

Stiles went pale(r) in the face and sputtered unintelligibly as Derek duck-walked him out of the store to the sound of Scott's confused protests. He dragged Stiles around the corner, once they were outside and pushed him up against the alley wall to glare into his big, beautiful eyes.

"You put roses on my bed," he growled into Stiles' face.

"I.. er... that could have been anyone," squeaked out Stiles before flinching back more snugly against the brick wall at his back.

"You were in my room," Derek ground out, feeling slightly crazed with it. "No one goes in my room."

"No one?" asked Stiles. "Dude, that can't be good for your social life, if you know what I mean. Seriously, don't the ladies...or men... line up to be with you? And yet... you know, if you were to get laid on a semi-regular basis, maybe you wouldn't be so... growly."

Derek growled in response before wincing at the irony of it. Stiles had the audacity to snicker at that.

"Are you offering?" asked Derek in a low voice that he once heard Stiles jokingly call his batman voice. Stiles' eyes went even wider at that. Derek watched as the kid's adam's apple bobbed in his throat a bunch of times as he continued to nervously swallow over and over again. "Didn't think so," said Derek, giving Stiles one more rough push before letting him go.

He turned to leave and could hear Stiles quickly recover behind him to run after him in his clumsy gait.

"So, just to clarify," said Stiles as he caught up to Derek, "the bedroom thing was what crossed the line, but everything else..."

"Everything crossed the line," growled Derek, swinging around to point in Stiles' face. He wasn't sure he liked what it said about him that he so enjoyed watching the kid flinch and stutter.

"What," squeaked Stiles before clearing his throat and trying again in his usual voice, "What, you don't like being wooed?"

"Wooed?" scoffed Derek. "That wasn't wooing, that was creepy stalking."

"You mean like sending flowers to someone's workplace, or randomly swinging into their bedroom window with their favorite fast food combo in tow in the middle of the night-"

"It was eight o'clock," argued Derek in monotone.

"Not the point!" exclaimed Stiles. "How about the sheer creepiness of your entire existence? Who just hangs around a high school watching everyone with a frowny face? Creepy old pedophiles, that's who!"

Derek grumbled, his shoulders hunched up and his heart beating in his ears.

"I was looking out for my betas," he hissed. "And the rest of that stuff wasn't creepy, it was thoughtful and romantic."

"Thoughtful and romantic?" exclaimed Stiles in what looked like disbelief. "Thoughtful and romantic!? You want thoughtful and romantic? I'll give you thoughtful and romantic! You go on a date with me tomorrow night and I'll be so thoughtful and romantic that you'll have hearts and rainbows coming out of your eye sockets! I'll show you thoughtful and romantic!"

Derek furrowed his brow in confusion at the same time as he saw Stiles' eyes widen and his eyebrows race to his hairline in surprise at his own words.

"Um," Stiles stammered.

"Was that..." started Derek, taking a step back from Stiles where they had both gravitated to being right up in each other's faces and personal spaces. "Did you just... ask me on a date?"

"Um," stammered Stiles, his voice cracking. "No?"

"Was that a joke like everything else, or were you serious?" asked Derek, narrowing his eyes as Stiles.

"Well, um, that depends," answered Stiles.

Derek wanted to hate himself and Stiles for the hope that suddenly swelled in his chest. And where did that come from, anyway? Instead, he forced his face neutral.

"Depends on what?" he prompted.

Stiles looked down at his feet in a very un-Stiles-like manner, kicking at a pebble and looking incredibly nervous.

"It depends on whether you'll laugh in my face or not," he finally said, looking up at Derek with a vulnerability Derek hadn't seen there before.

Derek inched closer to Stiles, reaching to touch the side of his face. He moved slow, giving Stiles time to get away, but Stiles didn't move away, didn't even look like he wanted to. Derek brushed his fingers over Stiles' face, enjoying the sharp inhalation his touch earned him. It wasn't a frightened gasp, it was more anticipatory, and Derek found he liked that response a thousand times better than the flinches and gasps he earned from intimidating the kid.

"Does this make me a 'creepy old pedophile'?" whispered Derek as he leaned in.

"No, nope," stammered Stiles emphatically. "I'm nearly eighteen for one, and you're, what? twenty six?"

"Twenty four," corrected Derek, softly.

"Yeah, so, hardly any age difference there," said Stiles. "Like, in ten years from now it won't seem like anything."

"You asked me on one date and I haven't even said yes yet," said Derek, not able to keep from grinning in amusement. "Do you expect us to still be together in ten years?"

"Why?" asked Stiles, some of his confidence returning, even as his heartbeat continued to flutter at hummingbird speed in his chest. "Are you planning on dumping me? Because I'm pretty sure it isn't indicative of a healthy beginning if you are going into a relationship expecting to break up with that person. Not that this is a relationship and not that you are going into it or.. you know... are you... are you even gay? What is happening right now?"

"I've never been one for labels," whispered Derek.

He knew he was outright smiling at that point. It felt foreign on his face, but in a good way. Finally, he leaned in and brushed his lips against the lush, pink of Stiles' that he may or may not have developed something of a fixation on over the past few months. Stiles inhaled sharply again, before throwing his hands up to awkwardly rest on Derek's shoulders.

Derek took that as encouragement, tilting his head and leaning in to deepen the kiss. He could both hear and feel Stiles' groan before Stiles pressed into the kiss, opening under Derek's lips in a welcoming manner. He tasted like pancakes and syrup when Derek dared to swipe his tongue across Stiles' lips before sucking the bottom one into his mouth to gain another groan from Stiles.

When they finally pulled apart, Derek couldn't help but lean back in to plant a couple extra kisses to those lips. Stiles was grinning like an idiot when Derek finally let him go.

"So, seven o'clock tomorrow night?" asked Stiles, sounding winded. "I'll pick you up at your place?"

"I am not driving around in your jeep," stated Derek, letting his face fall into a familiar frown.

"Are you offering to let me drive your car?" asked Stiles, grinning.

Derek grumbled.

"I'll pick you up at your place," he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

"I'll be ready," replied Stiles, grinning broadly. "I'll see you then. I need to go finish my pancakes and then I have a busy day of driving glove shopping ahead of me."

"I didn't say I was going to let you drive my car, Idiot," said Derek, taking advantage of their still close proximity to cuff Stiles lightly on the back of his head.

"You didn't say you wouldn't, either," countered Stiles.

Derek watched as he bit his bottom lip and suddenly went bashful. He barely even had enough time to raise a questioning eyebrow before Stiles was leaning in to steal a quick kiss before turning to half run, half fall in his haste to leave.

"See you tomorrow Derry-Boo!" he called over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Derek let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head and wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.

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