"So when are you inviting Derek over to dinner?"

Stiles flailed in surprise, accidentally overturning his desk chair and landing on his stomach, pinned under the rolling black deathtrap called office furniture. He looked up, chin resting on the hardwood floor, to see his dad standing in his doorway.

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow, but otherwise ignored his son's reaction, waiting for his response.

"Uhm," Stiles attempted. It was difficult to speak around the floor currently pressing against his jaw. He flipped around, getting out from under the chair most of the way. "When are you free…?"

The Sheriff sighed. "My schedule's been lax lately. I'm thinking Sunday will be fine."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I'll check. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Honestly, neither he nor Derek had much going on. They took care of the pack and each other, but the battle ground had been quiet recently. No monsters or other things trying to kill them as of right now. It was mostly hanging out and some training and anger control.

"Yeah. I'll talk to him." Stiles reassured his dad, who was still standing there.

He nodded and looked down at his son. "I'm looking forward to it."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his dad's retreating back. He didn't like the way that sounded. Not at all. He was up to something, Stiles could feel it. He had super sharp spidey senses when it came to this kind of thing.

To: Derek

Sent: 2:37

What are you doing this Sunday?

He righted his chair and sat down at his desk again, resuming his summer reading work. Stupid journal entries making him actually organize his thoughts. He usually didn't have an issue with writing essays, thank you very much, but this journal format was really annoying. He didn't really have much of an opinion on the book, other than the fact that it was okay and he didn't really find it spectacular. How do you write a deep journal entry when that was your emotional response?

From: Derek

Received: 2:51

Don't have anything planned. You have an idea?

To: Derek

Sent: 2:52

Yeah, but you might not like it.

Was it just him, or did it take him longer to reply than normal?

From: Derek

Received: 2:53

…

From: Derek

Received: 2:53

What did you do?

Stiles rolled his eyes at the screen.

To: Derek

Sent: 2:54

I didn't do anything.

To: Derek

Sent: 2:54

Except commit you to having dinner with my dad and me sometime. Eventually.

To: Derek

Sent: 2:55

If you're available. It's just better to rip off the band-aid.

From: Derek

Received: 3:00

Yeah, I guess you're right.

Stiles made an obscene victory gesture with his fist.

From: Derek

Received: 3:01

What time?

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Stiles had decided on a Stilinski family favorite for the Stilinski-Hale pow-wow dinner. Steak and potatoes. He was adding veggies to the menu because, you know, health and stuff. So he went to the grocery store and picked up lettuce and tomatoes and carrots and green beans and all the other supplies.

He was worked up to the point that he was tapping his hands against his leg incessantly. He probably bugged the total flaming crap out of the cashier, judging by the fake smile she gave him. But he took his bags and smiled back anyway.

Haters gonna hate, right?

Ugh, did he seriously just think that?

At home, he checked the clock and internally panicked when he realized he had less than an hour. How long does it take to cook steak? He really needs to learn to plan these things out.

He ran upstairs and picked up his laptop, clattering down the stairs with it under his arm. Only twenty-five minutes. That's good. He pulled the steak rub down from the pantry and prepared the steak and let it sit, not completely sure how long to leave it.

He cut up the potatoes while he waited, chopping them into more manageable pieces. He checked the time again and turned the oven on to 300 degrees. He slapped the steaks into a pan and snatched a large silver pot from a cabinet. As it filled with water, the timer for the oven went off. He left the pan, pushing the meat into the oven and setting the timer for twenty minutes and going back to the sink.

Where water was sloshing over the edges of the pot.

Shit.

He turned off the faucet and poured off the excess liquid. He put the pot on the front burner and turned it on high, salting the water a little. He made for the potatoes, but being the idiot he is, he failed to notice the water on the ground and slipped. Heart pounding, he knew probably looked like the most idiotic excuse for a person. As he grabbed for the edge of the counter, he ended up getting a grip on the knife instead.

He pulled back like he was burned, sliding to the floor and just giving up. The knife had fallen beside him. He cradled his cut hand to his chest and clenched his fist to put pressure on it.

Derek was going to laugh at him.

Derek.

Shit.

Derek was probably going to jump to the wrong conclusion and think he had gone back to his old ways. He was going to be mad at him. He was—

Stiles felt like he was going to barf. He felt his pulse accelerate and his eyes darted around the room, trying to find a way to get the knife away from him. He ended up grabbing the offending tool and hurtling it across the room. Probably not the best idea.

It didn't stop his anxiety.

This was bad.

This was very, very bad.

He was suddenly wishing to have that knife back. Just as he stood up to get it, his muscles seized. His legs buckled and he fell back against the counter. He blinked rapidly and started to hyperventilate.

Fuck.

Of course, as was customary, now is when Derek decided to make an entrance.

"Stiles, hey, it's okay. Deep breaths." He walked over to Stiles and gently pushed his head between his legs. "It's okay, whatever happened, it's over now."

Stiles counted his breaths, slowing them the way Derek and he had figured out. It worked really well, now that he'd been doing it for a while.

As his heartbeat returned to normal, Derek inhaled and picked up Stiles's bleeding hand. "You are honestly the most clumsy person I know." He said an exasperated affection in his voice.

Stiles let out a laugh at that, mostly relieved that Derek could put two and two together. It was a bit high pitched and breathless. "It's a gift. God, you're going to think I can't even make dinner without falling apart." He looked up at Derek, lurching to his feet unsteadily. "Hey, wait! You're not supposed to be here! I'm supposed to be making dinner and you're supposed to be surprised at how awesome I am." He said, disgruntled.

"I already know how awesome you are." Derek said, leaning in and placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "So, would you like some help or not?"

"Fine." Stiles turned quickly, plopping the potatoes in the now boiling water. "Uh, actually, there's nothing to do right now. We need to wait for the potatoes to soften and the salad will wilt if we make it too early. And green beans only take, like, five minutes to make."

"I guess we'll have to do something else while we wait." Derek said, smoothly picking Stiles up by the waist and setting him on the counter. He moved between Stiles's legs and held himself a few inches from the teenager's chest.

"Or, yeah—we can do this."

Derek chuckled darkly, leaning in to skim his nose along Stiles's jaw and nibble at his ear.

Stiles grunted. "We can definitely do this."

He tilted his head to give Derek more room. The older man took it, trailing kisses along Stiles's neck and down to his collarbone. Derek's fingers pushed the collar of his shirt out of the way so he could suckle on the skin below it. Stiles let out a breathy moan as he felt the gentle nip of teeth along his pale flesh.

Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek's hair with one hand and gripped a large bicep with the other. He felt an ache in his stomach and he moved his hand down to Derek's waist and pulled him forward so his large body was bowed against Stiles's. They both groaned openly at the contact. Now he could feel that Derek was every bit as interested in this as he was.

Derek cupped Stiles's face in his hands and pulled him into a kiss. Stiles got a grip on the back of his neck and reciprocated. Bravely, or so he thought, Stiles ran his tongue along the seam of Derek's lips. He was gratified when Derek captured his tongue and sucked on it gently. Stiles yelped quietly, but persevered. He took control of the kiss, caressing Derek's tongue with his own, tickling the place right behind his teeth.

Meanwhile, his hands found their way under Derek's shirt. He ran his fingers along the taut stomach, feeling his muscles clench under his hands. His hand settled flat along the small of his back. One of Derek's hands drifted down as well, latching onto Stiles's hip and dragging him forward to squash any space that might have been left between them.

Stiles wrenched his mouth away from Derek's, sucking in breaths between nips to his jaw. He traveled the expanse of Derek's throat as if it was a personal mission. He loved the feeling of stubble against his lips and tongue. His teeth scraped along the column of his neck, traveling north to his mouth.

All the while Derek's hand was guiding Stiles's hip in a rolling motion against him. This is great, this is so—

"Stiles?" The Sheriff's voice rang out from the front room.

Derek and Stiles froze, looking at each other with matching faces of complete and utter horror. Derek's expression could be interpreted as fuck, what do we do? Stiles flailed in his general direction before clearing his throat.

"Uh, yeah dad, we're in the kitchen!"

"We?" Derek hissed at him, putting several feet of space between them and turning around, probably to adjust himself. Stiles looked down at his pants and did the same.

"We?" The Sheriff called.

Stiles would have laughed at that if he didn't feel like his heart was going to beat right the fuck out of his chest. He jumped off the counter and went to check on the potatoes, trying to dispel all sex-related thoughts from his brain.

"Yeah, Derek is helping me cook." He yelled back. He turned to Derek, "Check on the steak will you?"

Stiles glanced at the timer as he walked to the fridge and pulled the veggies out of the crisper. He rinsed them in the sink and laid them on a paper towel to drain. He snagged the can of green beans from the counter and opened them, getting a pan while he waited for the can opener to work its magic.

"Where's the knife?" Stiles whirled around to find Derek standing in front of the cutting board and vegetables.

Stiles may have shuffled his feet abashedly as he pointed to where he had hurled the tool across the room. Derek walked over and picked it up.

"Why is it over here?" He asked, bewildered.

"I may have thrown it."

"May have? Well, you may have dented it beyond repair."

"Oh—motherfucker, are you serious?"

"It's fine, I'll take care of it." Derek said.

"Are you gonna use your wolfy powers to bend it back?" Stiles asked eagerly.

Derek rolled his eyes. "No, anything I do will just bend it more. I was going to use my money powers to buy you a new one."

"Aw, you're so good to me." Stiles crooned, kissing him soundly on the mouth. "There's another one in that drawer."

Stiles dumped the green beans in a pot and watched Derek chopping vegetables out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"What are you smirking at?" Derek almost growled at him.

"Oh nothing." Stiles said. "But, would you mind putting this on for me?" He held out a cooking apron with a pleading smile.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Aw, Derek, come on." Stiles moved towards Derek with the apron clenched in his fist.

"No." Derek eyed him warily as Stiles moved closer. Maybe poking him will help.

This turned into a small tickling battle, which morphed into Derek kissing him in order to make him stop.

"Am I going to have to knock before I enter a room?" The Sheriff asked.

The two broke away quickly, Derek looking sheepish and Stiles looking mildly annoying.

"I'm going to have to get you a bell." Stiles muttered. Derek's mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh.

"Derek." The Sheriff held out his hand. Derek almost flinched, looking at him warily. But the man only smiled. "It's nice seeing you outside of a crime scene, when I'm not here to arrest you."

Derek chuckled nervously as he shook the Sheriff's hand.

"Dad, shoo. I'm making food; you're not supposed to be in here. You're supposed to go relax while I make awesomeness."

His dad rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll go start on some paper work."

"Have fun. And hang up your gun belt." He added. "And no drinking!"

Stiles put the pan of green beans on a burner and turned it on, taking the potatoes off the stove and pouring them into a colander. "Would you grab that bowl for me?"

Stiles and Derek finished making dinner with no further incidents, and sadly less kissing. But he liked the way they worked together. They worked well as a unit, aware of each others' presence and needs and lending a hand here and there. Derek made up the salad while Stiles whipped up a quick dressing. Derek got checked on the meat while Stiles made fancy little olive bunnies. Derek got drinks while Stiles set the table.

"Dinner's ready!" Stiles called as he placed the last dish on the table.

"Smells good, son."

Stiles grinned, no longer worried about dinner. What was there to be worried about? He looked over at Derek, who probably didn't share this mentality. The guy looked like he was gonna puke.

"Don't worry," He whispered under his breath. "My dad isn't that much of a hard ass."

Derek looked at him, nodded briefly and sat down after the Sheriff had.

Stiles passed the salad bowl to his father after dishing some up from himself. He surreptitiously watched his father to make sure he had a good helping, while sending the other dishes around as well. He always liked to serve others before himself when it came to actual sit down dinners.

"So, Derek," The Sheriff started after taking a bite of steak. "What do you do for a living?"

Derek tensed slightly. "I'm actually out of work right now. I'm looking into a few things, mostly construction, since I have experience with my own place, but I haven't found many places that are hiring."

"Hm, that's too bad." The Sheriff mused. "Do you know anything about cars?"

Derek nodded.

"The local auto shop is looking for a new mechanic. Seeing as their last one was killed by a descending car, not many people are scrambling to apply." The older man took a casual bite of potatoes.

Stiles smirked at his plate, "Funny how that happens."

The Sheriff shot him a look. "Anyway, I could put in a good word for you. I doubt you'd need it, seeing as they really need help around the shop."

"Thank you, sir."

Stiles was slightly uncomfortable with the small talk. He had never excelled at small talk and didn't like partaking or listening to it. But they got through dinner with no particular disasters, so mission accomplished.

"Do you two have plans for fourth of July?" The Sheriff inquired, pushing his chair back and picking up his plate.

"Uh," Stiles looked at Derek. "I hadn't planned anything."

"You might as well, I'll be working most of the day. Do you know how many idiots buy firecrackers and set something on fire?" He sighed dramatically. "A lot."

Stiles and Derek picked up their own dishes. "Here, sir, I'll take it." Derek held out his hand to take the plate from the Sheriff.

Stiles's dad looked at him with surprise, but surrendered his plate. "Thanks."

He started to leave, but turned around. "This was nice, Derek. But relax. I'm not going to shoot you." He assured him. "I left my gun in the hallway."

Derek stared a little as the Sheriff left. Stiles attempted to hold back a laugh, but he just ended up snorting. Derek through a napkin at his face.

Somehow Stiles ended up watching Derek doing dishes. It was nice to watch him be all domestic and whatever. And, if Stiles liked to stare when Derek spilled water down his front which made his black Henley plaster itself to his stomach, then no one had to know.

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