a/n: i just finished reading all of the reviews for the story (you are all so sweet oh my gosh *hugs you*) and i realized i haven't told you guys how things are going. so here it is:
the rating will change. yep, that's right! it'll be going up pretty soon, and i'll make sure to make a author's note telling you all about it.
chapters, all the chapters. multi-chaptered fic, but you guys can already guess that. i have no idea how many of them will be (right now i'm writing chapter 5), but as soon as i have an estimate, i'll tell you. the only thing i can say is that all of them will be over 10k words long ~
someone asked me for chapters of their first date & first time & meet the families? yes to all of that. that will be happening. just wait for it.
to the rest of you, thank you so much for leaving reviews and following the story and just being amazing 3
"You look like you're gonna throw up."
"Shut up."
"Do you want me to get you some ice chips?"
"Shut up."
"Water?"
"I'm going to hit you."
"Maybe some tea?"
"I'm not kidding."
"Do you want me to rub your tumm-"
Scott gets interrupted by Stiles tackling him, both of them falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs, Scott getting the air knocked out of him when Stiles manages to punch him in the stomach.
Stiles suddenly regrets all those times he made fun of Scott for being nervous about going out with Allison.
Because now he gets it, okay?
He gets the jitters and sweaty hands and upset stomach and the urge to curl into the fetal position and never have to stare anyone in the face again, much less the person he actually wants to see.
It's been a little over a month since he last saw Derek in person, and now that the day they're supposed to meet is finally here, Stiles's nerves are wrecked.
At the same time he wants the hours to speed away until he gets to see Derek, he wants them to pass by as slowly as possible so he doesn't actually have to see Derek.
He knows how crazy he sounds.
Everyone he's met already took the time to repeatedly tell him he's being ridiculous.
The number of texts exchanged between them went up after Derek told him he wouldn't take no for an answer for them to go out on Friday, so much so that Derek sent him a message saying he had to upgrade his plan.
From: Derek
I now have an unlimited texting plan.
From: Derek
This is all your fault.
Stiles couldn't help but feel a little smug when he read that, weirdly happy about how Derek must talk to him so much that he had to do something about it.
To: Stiles
omg baby i'm so proud of you
To: Stiles
and i'm so going to text you all the time now you'll get tired of me
It took him about three seconds after he hit send to realize that he had called Derek baby, but by then he already had got a reply from Derek that made his heart skip a beat.
From: Derek
I'd never get tired of you.
Just that sentence was enough to make Stiles' day when he got it, and also enough to make him really fucking anxious about seeing Derek today.
Sometimes he thinks he's only this nervous because he's not talking to Derek.
Whenever they're texting or the little free time they get to call each other and speak on the phone, Stiles is fine.
He's more than fine, actually.
It's like as soon as he hears Derek's voice or reads something he has to say, everything is alright in Stiles' life.
Sometimes Stiles wonders if it's possible to be this co-dependent on someone he's barely ever...
He can't say met anymore, not really, not when he's come to learn so much about Derek's life this past month and vice-versa.
It's just that they haven't met in person more than twice.
So maybe it is possible.
Maybe it is possible that he feels this connected to Derek when they haven't seen in other in a while, because they still talk everyday.
Derek still tells him about how Boyd is out of the hospital but has to do some physical therapy because the injury affected the movements of his left hand, and that his girlfriend, Erica, cut back her shifts at the garage so she could help him at home, and about how Isaac and Cora are looking for their own apartment in town, and that Laura and his Uncle Peter are helping their mother with the legal part of opening a bar and making sure she has everything she needs.
And Stiles still rants about his dad's diet to him, and how Danny started doing yoga and has a crush on one of his instructors, Ethan, and how Lydia and Allison won the love of the hospital nurses when they stood up to Dr. Harris when they saw him being disrespectful to one of the new girls on staff, about Scott and Jackson's ongoing bet on who can rescue more kittens from trees, and Mrs. McCall's new brownie recipe that is to die for.
They know what kind of person the other is, and they know stuff about each other's lives.
Their relationship is not based merely on having seen each other in person, but it's about the things they have shared with each other during the almost two months since they've met.
And that's all going to come to a head.
Today.
So yeah, Stiles is terrified of seeing Derek.
And he sort of also can't fucking wait.
Which is why he lets go of Scott and slides to the floor beside him, both breathing hard.
"I'm sorry I ever made fun of you for being nervous about going out with Allison," Stiles tells him, because it's never too late to apologize for something.
Scott pats him on the stomach with the back of his hand, "It's okay, dude."
"You're only saying that because now I'm the one about to hurl, aren't you?" Stiles turns his head to the side to stare at his best friend.
"Yep," Scott beams at him, getting up from the floor and extending a hand to help Stiles to his feet.
"Are you two done rolling around the floor together?" Allison asks as she walks into Stiles' living room, sitting down on the couch and opening the bag of pretzels she has in one hand.
"Yes," Scott grins, flopping down beside her and sticking a hand inside the bag.
Stiles rests his hands on his hips and looks down at his friends, biting back a smile.
"Are you two going to tell me what you're doing here?" Stiles asks them, spreading his arms and gesturing to his apartment. "In my house? Just before I go out with Derek?"
"We just want to make sure you're doing okay," Allison says, and then adds, "And Lydia made me promise to help you find something decent to wear."
Stiles purses his lips together at that. "I don't really know whether to be offended or find that really sweet."
Allison just nods at him around a mouthful of pretzels, shifting around on the couch until she can lean her shoulder against Scott's chest.
Stiles shakes his head at them, at how cute they are together, and turns his attention back at Scott.
"That explains what your girlfriend is doing here," Stiles points a finger at him. "But not you."
"I have to make sure Derek's clear," Scott says as he goes for more pretzels, missing the way Stiles' face shuts down as he hears that.
"You have to make sure Derek's clear," Stiles repeats, not really believing what he's hearing.
"Yep," Scott agrees. "I have to make sure he's a good person before you two go out."
"And how do you plan on doing that?"
Stiles doesn't really want to know the answer.
He already has an idea of what Scott is going to do, and he knows he's not going to like it.
At least he's lucky Lydia's at the hospital and not sitting right here with them.
Because whatever she'd do would be a thousand times worse than what Scott has planned.
"I'm going to talk to him," Scott tells him, like it's no big deal.
"You're going to talk to him."
"Yep."
"You're not going to talk to him, Scott," Stiles says slowly, narrowing his eyes when Scott turns to look at him.
"Yes, I am," Scott says, raising an eyebrow before breaking into a smirk. "I promised your dad."
"You what?" Stiles shrieks, hands clenching into fists by his side as he gapes at him best friend.
Scott's smile drops at Stiles' reaction, replaced by a frown. "We're worried about you."
"Why? I'm not fifteen anymore, Scotty. So, why?" Stiles knows that's a dumb question, because they're doing this because they love him, so he quickly adds, "You don't even know him. You've never even spoken to him in your life. He's never given any of you any reason for you to think he's not a good person. So what the fuck, Scott?"
"You said it," Scott says. "We don't know him. We have no idea what kind of person he is, so of course we're worried. We love you, man, we don't want you to get hurt."
"Could you at least for once in your life believe that I'm a good judge of character? And that when I say Derek's a good person, I actually mean it? And that I know what the fuck I'm doing when it comes to wanting him?" Stiles snaps, running a hand through his hair. "And yeah, Scott, I might get hurt. But it might not be because of Derek. It might be because my dad and my best friend in the whole world don't trust me when it comes to deciding what's best for me. Did you even think of that before coming here? That this isn't your choice to make? Or your life to live? And that I appreciate your concern, and I even love you for it, but I don't need it?" Stiles rolls his eyes. "Well, at least not now. But if I one day decide that I think fruit in my pizza is the best thing ever, please be concerned."
Stiles is breathing a little hard after he's done saying his piece, his lips pressing in a thin line as he sees the wounded and at the same time apologetic look on his best friend's face.
Allison has her hand on Scott's arm, her eyes darting from Stiles to Scott, her face carefully blank of emotion.
"Pizza isn't supposed to be healthy," Scott says tentatively, breaking the silence that fell over them after Stiles' speech.
Stiles tries to keep his lips from curling up, but he can't.
He knows that this is Scott raising his white flag without having to say that Stiles has a point, because as much as his friend can see that his worry is being seen as he and Stiles' dad keeping Stiles from living his life the way he wants to, he still thinks he has a right to be concerned about Stiles.
Because he loves him.
So by making a joke Scott is showing that he gets what Stiles is trying to say and will let him make his own decisions from now on, won't stand in his way, will let him be his own man and take his chances.
Stiles knows he's also saying he'll be there for him in case whatever it is that he and Derek have falls through.
So Stiles just shakes his head at Scott and says, "It's really not."
"You two have the weirdest friendship I've ever seen," Allison remarks as Scott gets up from the couch and hugs Stiles', both of them giving each other taps on the back before letting go.
"Thank you," Stiles says, feeling oddly touched.
Scott lets out a snort as he sits beside Allison again, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "It's impossible to have any other kind of friendship with Stiles."
"I resent that," Stiles mock glares at his friend.
"You and Ally bonded over who had seen the worst exposed fracture wounds in a person," Scott shakes his head at him, exasperated. "That's weird, dude."
"You mean awesome," Allison corrects him, fist bumping Stiles when he raises his hand at her.
"You two are gross," Scott scrunches his face up at them, nose wrinkling.
"You love us!" Stiles says loudly as he flops down on the couch beside Scott, smacking a kiss on one of his cheeks as Allison places one on the other.
"Oh god," Scott mumbles, face being crushed between the two of them.
Stiles and Allison both pull back laughing, Allison kissing Scott on the nose as Stiles punches him in the shoulder lightly.
They all sit there in silence for a few beats, Stiles and Allison both trying to catch their breaths while Scott wipes at both of his cheeks with mock disgust in his face.
"So," Stiles says, looking past Scott to Allison. "I remember you telling me you're here to help me not make a fool out of myself."
"Yes, I am," Allison grins at him. "I'm also supposed to take pictures and send them to Lydia for future reference."
Stiles groans, "Great."
"At least she's not here," Scott whispers, earning an elbow to the stomach from Allison. "What? She's scary."
"She really is," Stiles says in agreement.
Allison presses her lips in a thin line, not saying anything.
"But you're even scarier," Scott tries, offering her a sweet smile.
Allison rolls her eyes at him and places the pretzel bag on his lap, getting up and tilting his her at Stiles.
"Let's go," she says, resting her hands on her hips. "We have work to do."
Stiles latches on to Scott, winding his arms around his best friend's waist as he yells, "Save me, Scotty!"
Allison grabs him by the ankle and starts dragging him forward, Scott sliding down on the couch in the process, bag falling to the side, all of them laughing.
"Dude, your girlfriend's seriously strong," Stiles comments as Scott tries to hang on to the back of the couch.
"Thank you," Allison grunts as she tugs at Stiles' leg, nails biting against his skin.
"Oh my god, Stiles," Scott huffs, wiggling as he tries to shake Stiles' grip on him. "Just go with her."
"She's going to make me try on clothes," Stiles whines, holding him tighter and pressing his face against Scott's chest.
"You want to look good for Derek, don't you?" Allison asks sweetly, taking hold of Stiles' other ankle and walking backwards.
Scott slides further down the couch at that, his shirt riding up and pants being tugged down when Stiles refuses to let him go.
"Yeah, man," Scott nods, letting go of one of the couch cushions to try and pull his pants up. Or shirt down, Stiles' not sure. "You want to make a good impression don't you?"
"He first saw me when I was in my bunny suit," Stiles reminds them, shaking his legs and trying to dislodge Allison's hands from his legs. "I think I could be wearing orange tights and a blue blazer and he'd still want me."
His voice goes a little breathless at that.
Now if it's because of the thought of Derek wanting him even if he is dressed horribly or because of the way he still hasn't managed to make Allison let go of him, he doesn't know.
"We don't want to take that risk, do we?" Allison asks, giving one final tug and sending Scott and Stiles to the ground.
Stiles admits defeat when a few cushions plop down on the floor after them, one of them hitting Scott in the face as he tries to pull his shirt down from where it's rumpled up under his arms. He makes Stiles finally let go of him by kicking him in the thigh, Allison letting go of his ankles when she's sure he's not going to run away from her again.
"No, we don't," Stiles pouts, getting up from the floor and walking up to Allison. "Alright, Ally, make me look good."
"I'll try my best," Allison nods solemnly, linking their arms together and leading Stiles to his room.
"Sure," Scott yells after them. "Just leave me here on the cold hard ground. Alone."
"Sure thing, honey!" Allison throws over her shoulder, giggling when she looks back at Stiles and sees him grinning.
She pushes Stiles to sit on his bed while she opens the doors to his closet, crossing her arms over her chest as she takes a first look at what she's working with.
"Do you know if he's picking you up with the bike?"
Stiles shrugs, reaching a hand into his pocket for his phone. "I can ask."
"Do it," she nods. "Because if he is, then you're going to need a jacket."
To: Derek
we riding your bike tonight?
It takes everything Stiles has in him not to type out and send or something else? after that.
Because one of the many cons of not seeing Derek for a month and having met him in two is that Stiles hasn't slept with anyone.
Not that that has anything to do with Derek per se, mostly because Stiles hadn't slept with anyone in the seven months before even knowing Derek existed anyway, but he likes to think Derek had something to do with it.
Like Stiles was just waiting for Derek to burst into his life so he could bust a nut.
Heh.
From: Derek
Yes, we are.
"Yes for bike riding," Stiles tells Allison, not keeping the excited smile off his face.
The promise of having Derek that close to him was doing things to his body again.
Namely, his dick.
"Stop that," Allison says, throwing a shirt at him.
"Stop what?"
"With your I'm thinking dirty things about Derek face."
Another shirt follows, hitting Stiles in the face as he sputters.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he presses his lips into a thin line, forcing the blush to recede from his cheeks.
Allison just turns from raiding his closet and raises an eyebrow at him.
"Oh my god, fine!" Stiles throws his arms up in defeat, staring down at the shirts in his hands. "Are these options?"
One of them is a light blue button down from Stiles' high school days. It fits a bit snugly across his shoulders and chest now, and the only reason he still keeps it in his closet is because it was the shirt he wore when he went out on his first date.
He's sentimental, sue him.
The second option is a black short-sleeved henley that was a gift from Lydia. He was a bit surprised when she gave it to him, since such simple and comfortable clothes always seemed to be beneath her personal taste. When he told her as much she only rolled her eyes at him and said that nice clothes were clothes that fit well and looked good, no matter how much they cost.
"Yes," Allison says without bothering to look back at him. "The blue one is in case you want to look nice, and the black one if you want to look hot."
"You want to look hot," Scott pipes up from the where's he's now standing by the door, stepping into Stiles' bedroom and sitting on the bed beside him. "You can look nice when you bring him to the Weekly Dinner."
Stiles just blinks at Scott when his best friend smiles, because Stiles knows he's talking about the Weekly Dinner.
As in, the McCall-Stilinski Weekly Dinner.
Where his dad and Mrs. McCall will be.
He still remembers when Scott brought Allison to introduce her to his family, mostly because Stiles had to help Scott run interference between Scott's mom and her, and how they all went out to get drunk after it was over.
Mrs. McCall has grown to like Allison since then, love her even, but that first dinner was rough.
All the questions about why a doctor would want to be with a firefighter and the intimidation and Mrs. McCall saying she just wanted to make sure Scott had found someone good for him.
It actually wasn't until Allison went to help her pick up dessert from the kitchen that she told Mrs. McCall Scott was like no one she had ever met: that he was a good guy and sweet and caring and that she was the luckiest woman in the entire world to have him for herself. And she knew that.
Dinner went smoothly after that, with Mrs. McCall taking a step back in trying to intimidate Allison into breaking up with Scott.
But still, Stiles doesn't even want to think about what his dad will do to Derek.
It might not be as horrible as what Scott told him happened when he went to have dinner and meet Allison's family, but he doubts it'll be anything good.
Especially since his dad takes a special kind of joy in interrogating his boyfriends and girlfriends and making sure they know he has guns and knows how to dispose of a body so no one will find it.
"I don't think I like you that much anymore," Stiles shakes his head, eyes looking down at the shirts on his lap.
"I promise to help you protect Derek against your dad," Scott pats him on the shoulder.
"No one can protect Derek against my dad," Stiles says, dropping his head on Scott's shoulder. "But thanks, buddy."
"No problem."
Allison decides to start throwing jeans at Stiles right then, hitting him both in the head and chest as she starts going through his pants and finding clothes for him to wear.
Stiles doesn't even have to take a long look at what he has in his hands now to see Allison picked the skinniest jeans he has in his closet, both also a present from Lydia.
Every change of the season she drags him shopping, saying that someone needs to keep his closet updated and who better to do it than her.
Stiles has long come to accept that whenever Lydia decides to go on a shopping spree, he should just go along and let her do whatever the fuck she wants. Arguing won't take him anywhere, and refusing to try out clothes will only mean she'll start tugging his pants down in the middle of the store until he gives in and goes to a dressing room.
"I don't think you should wear tight pants while riding a bike," Stiles muses out loud, pursing his lips together when Allison turns to him with a frown. "You know, mobility and all."
She turns to Scott then, only to have him shrug, "I don't know. I don't wear tight pants anyway, so it's never been a problem."
Allison huffs and turns back to the closet, rummaging through Stiles' collection of jeans as he occupies himself with staring down at the shirts she chose.
"So," Stiles starts, turning to Scott as he presses the black henley against his chest. "This one, yeah?"
Scott nods his assent, grabbing the black shirt from Stiles as he starts taking the one he's wearing off.
Just as he's pulling the shirt past over his head, he gets hit in the stomach by another pair of pants, Allison's muffled voice saying, "I think this one will look good."
Stiles gives her a thumbs up and finishes taking his shirt off, wondering when it became a normal thing in his life to strip while your best friend and his girlfriend were in the room.
He takes the henley from Scott and slips it on, the fabric stretching over his shoulder and chest and clinging tightly over everything else.
Allison motions for him to get up, so he does, doing a little twirl so Scott and Allison can see how the shirt fits his body.
"I like," both of them say at the same time.
Stiles makes a face at them, picking the jeans Allison last threw at him from the floor and walking to his bathroom.
He refuses to take his pants off in front of both of them.
They might not have a lot of boundaries, but this is where Stiles draws the line.
He closes the door behind him and wastes no time in getting rid of the khaki pants he's currently wearing, trading them for the pair Allison gave him.
Stiles can't help the little sigh of relief he lets out when he sees it's one of his older pairs: the dark blue fabric washed out in some parts from use, the little rip on his left knee from when he and Scott were helping Mrs. McCall clean out her garage and his pants got caught on a loose screw, and the white tiny splatters of paint on one of the back pockets from helping Danny paint his kitchen cabinets.
Thinking about it, these are the most wrecked pair of jeans Stiles owns, so he steps out of the bathroom with a frown on his face and says, "Allison, these are my hobo jeans."
Scott lets out a snort and goes back to hugging one of Stiles pillows, smiling at Allison when she rolls her eyes at Stiles and says, "These are your I don't care what kind of pants I wear because I know I'm hot anyways jeans."
What?
"What?"
"These jeans fit you," she explains. "You've worn them enough times now that they look good no matter what you wear them with. They've also been through enough washes that they're comfortable and give people the illusion that they can see your underwear," Allison squints a little as she stares at Stiles' ass. "Especially considering the little rip they have just under your right back pocket."
Stiles opens and closes his mouth a few times before going to stand in front of his full length mirror, turning around and looking over his shoulder so he can indeed see the little rip Allison is talking about.
Depending on the way he moves his ass, he can see the dark shade of red of his boxer briefs peaking through.
"I can't wear these," Stiles tugs at the waistband of his jeans as he turns to Allison, wide-eyed. "I can't go around flashing people my underwear."
"You're not going around flashing people your underwear," Allison comes to stand in front of his and rests her hands on his shoulders. "You're going around flashing Derek your underwear."
"I don't like where this conversation is going," Scott mumbles under his breath, frowning down at Stiles' pillow.
"That little glimpse is only going to make Derek want to see more," Allison continues, ignoring her boyfriend. "He's going to be thinking about wanting to see all the rest of you, and not just that tiny little part of you."
Stiles purses his lips together as he thinks about that.
The argument that keeps coming back to mind is that Derek already saw him wearing his bunny suit, so it's pretty much a given that Stiles could go meet him while wearing nothing but a pair of knee-high striped white and pink stockings and Derek would still want to date him.
And he has to admit that although these are the type of jeans he wears when he's hanging around his apartment doing nothing but drinking beer, playing video games with Scott, or marathoning Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, they look really fucking good on him.
They stay low enough on his hips that if he stretches his shirt rides up and people can see the waistband of whatever boxer briefs he's wearing, they hug his ass like they were made for it with the way they tighten when he has to bend over to pick something up, and they make Danny whistle every time he sees Stiles wearing them.
A whistle from Danny is like the highest form of compliments.
Especially if he's told you repeatedly he doesn't want to sleep with you.
Stiles would know.
So he sighs and looks down at himself before looking back up at Allison and saying, "Okay, I'll wear them."
"Good," she grins at him. "Now, shoes."
"Can't I just wear my-"
"If you say black and white Adidas I'm going to call Lydia and make her come here," Allison threatens, narrowing her eyes at him.
Stiles looks at Scott for help, only to be met with Scott shaking his head and mouthing do what she says at him.
"Ugh, fine," Stiles sighs, flopping down on his bed. "Do your worst."
Stiles ends up with a black pair of worn out sneakers, Allison continuing her task as she starts focusing on finding a jacket to go with the rest of Stiles' clothing.
"Why do you own so many hoodies?"
"Because I like them," Stiles scowls at her. "They're comfortable."
"I think you look good in them, dude," Scott pipes up, poking Stiles' in the ribs with his foot.
"You have to say I look good in everything," Stiles dismisses him with a hand. "You're my best friend. It's in the job description."
"Well, I'm not your best friend," Allison says, glancing from a gray blazer to a black leather jacket Stiles didn't even know he owned before throwing the jacket at him. "And I say you're not wearing a hoodie to your first date with Derek."
"Is this mine?" Stiles looks down at the jacket. "I don't think this is mine."
"I think Danny gave it to you," Scott frowns down at the leather. "Or maybe Lydia. Or Jackson? I don't know, man, but it's definitely yours."
"And you're wearing it," Allison crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at him, defying him to say no.
Stiles grits his teeth together and tries to remember that he likes Allison.
He slips the jacket on and goes to stand in front of the mirror again, eyes widening a little in surprise when he sees how he looks.
"Dude," Stiles breathes out. "Your girlfriend made me hotter than I normally am."
"Thanks," Allison beams at him, coming up behind him to hook her chin over his shoulder. "Derek is going to love you."
Stiles' stomach flips at that.
"I think he already does," Scott says from his place on the bed, grinning when he sees Stiles biting down on his bottom lip as his cheeks redden. "I think this is only going to make him love you more."
Scott goes as far as winking at him when Stiles shifts in place and mumbles a "Shut up" at him, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Okay," Allison says, sticking a hand on Scott's front pocket and grabbing his phone. "Picture time."
Stiles rolls his eyes and wills his blush to go away, letting his arms fall to his sides as makes a face at the camera and lets Allison take a picture of him for Lydia.
"Done," Allison nods, typing out a message to Lydia as Stiles turns to look at himself in the mirror again and starts running his hand through his hair.
"Dude," Scott shakes his head at him. "You know the only thing your hair does is stick up everywhere. Except when it's wet."
"And I don't want wet hair while riding a bike," Stiles says dryly. "Yes, mom, I know."
"We should probably get going," Allison announces as she flops down on top of Scott on Stiles' bed, Scott's arms snaking around her waist and holding her tightly to him.
Stiles panics a little at that, freezing with his hand halfway up his head again.
"It's like we can see him starting to freak out," Scott whispers rather loudly, smirking in Stiles' direction. "Look at the way his hands are twitching."
Allison hits Scott on the arm, "Don't be mean to him. He's nervous about seeing Derek."
"I am," Stiles nods vigorously, swallowing hard. "I really am nervous about seeing Derek. Holy god. I'm seeing Derek. Like, tonight. In an hour. Oh my god. Oh my god."
"Fuck," Scott curses as he pushes Allison off his lap, walking up to Stiles and making him sit on the floor, resting a hand against the back of his neck and positioning his head between his legs. "Deep breaths, man. Deep breaths."
Stiles raises his head only long enough to glare at Scott, dropping it again and going back to trying to calm his breathing.
Allison joins them on the floor behind Stiles, pressing her chest against his back, her hands lying flat against his stomach.
"Come on," she says gently. "You're okay. It's okay. Everything will work out tonight, and you know why? Because you're amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have met you, let alone go on a date with you. So you don't have to worry about seeing Derek because, if I'm right, and I you both know I often am, he already likes you so much he won't even care about anything other than being able to spend some time with you."
"Yeah, Stiles," Scott chimes in. "And I know you're nervous about seeing him for the first time after a month, but you're both going to be okay. And Derek's going to be okay too. Actually, I think Derek will be so okay he'll jump you as soon as he lays eyes on you," Scott scrunches his nose up. "And that's something I don't wanna see, dude."
Stiles has to let out a chuckle at that, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he lifts his head and stares Scott straight in the eye.
"Thanks," he rasps out as he leans back a little against Allison before pulling back, tapping his finger against the back of her hand so she can let him go. "I needed that."
"Anytime," they both say, Scott throwing an arm over his shoulders as Stiles gets back up. "You know how good I am at pep-talks."
"You learned from the master," Stiles gives him a small but genuine smile.
"Damn right."
"Do you want us to stay a little longer?" Allison asks him as Stiles grabs his jacket and steps out of his bedroom and into the living room, his friends trailing behind.
"Nah," Stiles shakes his head, his voice still sounding a little raw. "You guys can go ahead. I'll just stay here with my bag of pretzels and wait for him to call me."
"You sure, man?"
"We don't mind staying," Allison gives him a soft smile, dimples making an appearance.
"I'm sure," Stiles tells them. "I'll be okay. I'll call you if I'm not, but I will be."
"Good," Scott says, walking up to him and pulling him in a hug. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Allison is next, kissing him on the cheek. "And wear condoms."
Well, fuck him.
From: Derek
I'm outside.
Stiles is not particularly proud at the way he falls off the couch when he reads Derek's message, his heart going into overdrive and his stomach flipping as he grabs his jacket, wallet, and keys and steps outside his apartment.
The entire elevator ride is filled with Stiles pacing the small room and running his hands through his hair, trying not to hyperventilate as he gets closer and closer to seeing Derek.
In person.
Outside his apartment building.
On his bike.
He jumps a little in place when the elevator doors open, licking his lips as he walks forward and makes his way outside.
Only to promptly feel like he got punched in the face.
Because Derek is leaning against his bike with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes glued to the entrance of Stiles' building.
His eyes glued to Stiles.
Stiles, who currently has to biggest fucking grin splitting his face, because Derek is right there, staring at him.
He walks down to Derek as if in a haze, barely aware of putting one foot in front of the other, hands itching to reach out and touch the closer he gets to where Derek is standing.
Derek is staring at him as if he's never seen him before, eyes soft and warm and lips tugged into a smile, a real one, not really as big as Stiles' but still there, making itself known.
He looks so fucking gorgeous in dark jeans, white shirt, and a light jacket thrown over him that Stiles wants to throw himself over him.
Stiles almost gets what he wished for as he stops right in front of Derek, hands clenched at his sides so he doesn't give in to the urge to touch.
"Hi," he says breathlessly, not really believing that he has this: Derek in front of him, after weeks of not seeing each other and having to rely on texts and phone calls to pass the time.
"Hey," Derek answers quietly, moving so he's not leaning over the bike anymore, but standing tall in front of Stiles.
And really fucking close to him.
"Can I say that I missed you?" Stiles blurts out, because he kind of did. "Am I allowed to say that? Because I know we've only seen each other twice before, so I don't know if missing you is something that's okay for me to be doing? But we've spoken practically every day since that day at the hospital so I feel like it is okay for me to be feeling that way. Like I miss you. And like I'm glad you're here, in front of me. Finally."
He does that when he's nervous.
Babbling.
It's a thing that happens and that he's not particularly fond of, but it's a part of him he's long learned to deal with.
He hopes Derek doesn't mind.
And judging by the way he's inching closer and smiling a little bit bigger, he doesn't.
"Yeah," Derek nods, and Stiles can see the way his Adam's apple moves as he swallows hard, can feels his breath ghost over his cheek. "You can. And I did, too. Miss you, that is."
Stiles finds a little bit of comfort in knowing that Derek is still as awkward as ever.
He also finds Derek fucking adorable, but that's par for the course by now.
And he also really wants to hug Derek.
And press his face against the side of his neck to see if he still smells like leather and wind and fucking pine needles.
And then kiss him.
Breathless.
Maybe forever.
So of course his mouth runs ahead of him and he asks, "Can I hug you?"
Derek looks a little taken aback by that, but before Stiles can say that he's sorry and that forget I said anything, Derek hooks his fingers on Stiles' belt loops and tugs him forward.
Stiles topples straight into Derek's chest, unbalanced.
That is until Derek gets his arms around Stiles' waist and props him up and keeps in place, his stubbled cheek scraping against the sensitive skin of Stiles' neck.
Stiles melts against him, winding his arms around Derek's shoulders and squeezing him tight, his nose smashed against the place between Derek's neck and shoulder, breathing him in.
He gives an entire body shudder, fingers playing with the fine hairs on Derek's nape, and he doesn't want to let go.
Ever.
Especially when he feels Derek hold him tighter, closer, tilting his face to the side so he can press his lips against the little spot behind Stiles' ear.
Stiles has to pull back at that, taking in Derek's flushed face and blown pupils, licking his lips when he sees Derek's eyes lock on his mouth.
"I really want you to kiss me right now," Stiles tells him, voice low. "I've been wanting you to kiss me since I saw you on your bike with bunny whiskers drawn on your face."
"Fuck," Derek curses under his breath, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as if hearing what Stiles has to say pains him.
Stiles just leans in closer until their noses are touching, his breath ghosting over Derek's parted lips.
"Derek," Stiles whispers. "C'mon."
The words barely left Stiles' mouth before Derek is on him, lips soft but demanding against his. He nips at Stiles' bottom lip before tracing his tongue over it, asking for permission to get inside, which Stiles gladly gives to him. He opens up to Derek and lets him lick his way inside his mouth, tongues tangling together as Stiles learns the taste and feel of Derek's mouth on his own.
He doesn't know how long they stay like that, locked together, kissing.
It might have been minutes or hours or years, all Stiles knows is that he never wants to stop.
And by the way Derek chases after him everytime he pulls back to change angles and kiss him again, Derek doesn't want to, either.
All the worries he had vanished the minute Derek's lips crashed against his.
The only thing that's left is that warm feeling spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers that are currently running through Derek's hair.
Because this is it.
This is what he's been waiting for.
And it's just as wonderful as he had imagined.
Derek kisses him, this time softer, close-mouthed, again and again and again, stopping to rest their foreheads together and pant against Stiles' parted lips.
"Fuck," Derek mutters against him, darting his tongue out to lick his swollen lips and tracing Stiles' upper lip instead.
Stiles laughs at that, his happiness no longer able to be contained, because Derek is here.
His entire body shakes as he cups Derek's face between his hands and starts pressing tiny kisses all over his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth, everywhere.
Derek is smiling and chuckling as he lets Stiles have his fill, his hands spasming against Stiles' hip as Stiles moves in to kiss him again.
"You done?" Derek asks when Stiles pulls back, lips red and used and still curled up in a smile.
"Nope," Stiles beams at him, shaking his head. "I don't think I'll ever be done."
Derek's small smile turns into a grin, eyes glinting as he leans in to peck Stiles on the lips one final time before saying, "I. Yeah. Good."
"So," Stiles starts, not making any moves to take his hands off of Derek or even take a step back. "Where are we going?"
"We have options," Derek says, leaning back against the bike and pulling Stiles more firmly against his chest in the process.
"I like options," Stiles nods, biting on his lips to keep himself from adding and I also like your face.
"We can go eat first," Derek explains. "Or we can take a ride first."
Stiles makes a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat as he pretends to consider it.
By the way Derek shakes his head at him and rubs their noses together, he already knows what Stiles' answer is going to be.
"For how long can we ride before grabbing something to eat?" Stiles asks, because he wants to be as close to Derek as long as he possibly can.
"A couple of hours," Derek shrugs one shoulder. "The whole night. Doesn't matter."
Stiles raises his eyebrows at him. "The whole night? Really? What kind of place that doesn't have a drive-thru or is in my own kitchen serves food whenever we want?"
Derek just keeps grinning at him, not saying anything.
Stiles blinks, fingers curling against the back of Derek' neck as an idea forms in his mind.
"Are you going to cook for me?"
Stiles doesn't think he can handle that.
Derek cooking.
Derek cooking for him.
Derek in a kitchen chopping veggies and stirring sauce and wearing an apron.
The images alone are too much for him, let alone actually seeing it happen.
Derek tilts his head so he's mouthing at Stiles' jaw, teeth raking lightly over the skin as he leans back a little and says, "I guess you'll find out."
Stiles lets out a choked-up groan at that, getting his hands on Derek's hair again and tugging.
"Let's go, then," Stiles tells him, smacking a kiss on his cheek. "No more waiting."
Derek snorts at him and lets him go, turning around so he can grab the spare helmet and hand it to Stiles, picking his from their place on the handlebars before slipping it on.
He lets Stiles use his shoulders to brace himself as he throws a leg up and straddles the bike, scooting back as soon as Stiles is in place.
Stiles, for his turn, wastes absolutely no time in getting his arms around Derek's waist and pressing in close to him, his chest glued to Derek's back. He goes as far as getting a hand under Derek's shirt and jacket, laying it flat over the hot skin of Derek's stomach, the muscles shifting under his palm.
The bike roars to life and it's like Stiles is in heaven, the vibrations going through him and doing absolutely nothing to help the way his dick is already starting to react to having Derek's ass this close to him.
The hand that Stiles doesn't have under Derek's shirt taps him on the stomach once to let Derek know he's ready to go, Derek tracing the back of his hand with his fingers in acknowledgement, and then they're off.
If Stiles wasn't so attached to the Jeep as he is, he would have bought himself a bike long before even Scott thought to get one.
He loves the feeling of freedom he gets as he rides, the road stretched out in front of him, going on and on and on. He loves the wind against his face, bruising his cheeks, chapping his lips, the smell of asphalt and dirt and fuel filling his nose. He loves the way he can't hear anything past the sound of the motor running, the cars around him, his heart thumping wildly against his ears.
He loves how everything is a blur.
Everything but the miles ahead of him.
He and Derek ride for hours, the night getting darker and darker, street lamps shining bright, the streets filled with less and less people as more time passes.
Stiles bumps his chin against Derek's shoulder at the same time he slides the hand under Derek's shirt up, his palm coming to rest against his stomach and making circling motions as he tries to tell Derek to stop and I'm hungry.
Derek seems to get the gist of what Stiles is trying to say because he changes course, now riding with a destination in mind.
It doesn't take long for them to get where Derek wants them to be, Stiles climbing out of the bike as soon as Derek parks it and waiting for an explanation as to why it seems like they're both standing in front of an abandoned building at the edge of town, bars and diners surrounding it.
Derek takes Stiles' hand in his, entwining their fingers together as he walks up to the empty place, and Stiles notices it that it doesn't look as abandoned as much as it just looks empty, half-finished, like it's waiting for something or someone to decide what to do with it.
And it's not until Derek is reaching inside his jacket's pocket and coming up with a key that Stiles notices the sign hanging above the door.
"It's a triskele," Derek explains when he sees him looking. "It's a family thing."
"A family-," Stiles' eyes widen in understanding. "This is your mother's bar!"
"Yes, it is," Derek says as he pushes the door open, hand against the small of Stiles' back as he directs them inside.
It's pitch black inside, Stiles stopping as soon as he takes two steps in front of him and Derek shuts the door behind them, not wanting to risk tripping over his own feet and ending the night with a broken nose before they even got to do anything.
"Are you going to turn on the lights?" Stiles asks, squinting as he tries to see a feet in front of him.
He feels rather than sees Derek getting behind him, his warm breath ghosting against the shell of Stiles' ear as he says, "Close your eyes, and don't move."
Stiles takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, but not before seeing the light on Derek's phone turn on and illuminate a little bit of the place around them.
Not that he can really make out anything other than Derek's face.
Not that he really wants to, either.
"Is this the part where you do turn on the lights and I see you brought me to your dungeon instead of a nice place where you could feed me?"
"I could feed you in my dungeon," Derek's voice comes from a few feet ahead of him, and Stiles' stomach flips at the implications of what Derek just said, of how confident he sounds in the dark. That is until he adds, "If you were good. And if I had one."
"I don't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved," Stiles admits loudly, ears straining to hear the sound of Derek's footsteps as he walks further into the bar.
"We'll leave the kink negotiation talk for some other time," Derek says, and a few seconds later he's turning the lights on, Stiles screwing his eyes shut at the sudden brightness.
When he opens them it is to find Derek leaning against the bar counter, arms crossed over his chest and an expectant look on his face.
What catches his attention first, besides the impressive collection of liquor bottles shelved up behind the bar, is that part of one of the walls behind Derek is covered with pictures, all of them different sizes and in different frames, some even black and white instead of in color.
He can't really distinguish anything from where he's standing, but he'll bet one of his balls that some of them are of Derek.
The second thing that catches his eyes is that all of the dark wooden tables that must cover half the floor are shoved up against another wall, chairs stacked on top of it, making the space between the door to the end of the bar even bigger than it already is.
The third and final thing that gets him is the one table and two chairs in the middle of the room.
The table that is set, with silverware and plates and glasses and napkins and a fucking red table cloth thrown under all of it.
The only thing missing are candles.
Stiles is biting down on his lip so fucking hard to keep himself from squealing that it's really not his fault his attention is focused on that and not on the words coming out of his mouth.
Those words being, "Oh my god, you're a romantic."
And judging by the way Derek's entire face twitches and his lips tug downward is a clear indicator that that was not the reaction he was hoping for when he decided to do this.
But before he can say anything or tell Stiles to get the fuck out, Stiles is already half-way across the room, cheeks red and eyes bright and smile huge as he walks up to Derek and throws himself at him.
Derek stumbles back against the counter, arms coming around Stiles to keep them from toppling sideways and to the ground.
"Oh my god, you're a romantic," Stiles repeats, voice high as he laughs against the skin of Derek's neck. "That's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
When he pulls back Derek is looking a little bit confused and a lot fond at him, his lips pressed together as if he wants to smile but doesn't think he should.
"Seriously," Stiles shakes his head, smirking at Derek. "I thought you were more of a late night diner cheap beer and ice cream kind of guy."
"We can do that too," Derek says quietly, awkward once again now that the lights are on and Stiles can see him. "If you want to."
"I want all the things," Stiles kisses him once. "With you." Twice. "Please." One more time.
Derek gets a hand on the back of Stiles' neck and keeps him in place at that, deepening the kiss, their teeth clashing together because they're both smiling too wide to make it good.
They still somehow manage to make it great, though.
And Stiles knows again that he never wants this to go away.
Never wants to let go of Derek and not have him here, with him.
"We can have that too," Derek says softly as he breaks the kiss. "If you want to."
"I wanna," Stiles nods, nose bumping against Derek's.
Derek's face softens at that, lips curling up in a smile before he holds Stiles tighter only to let him go a second later.
"Come on," Derek says, grabbing his hand and walking past the counter. "I have food to cook."
Stiles curses under his breath as Derek leads them to a door behind the bar, pushing it open to reveal a kitchen.
Because Derek is going to cook for him.
And he'll get to watch.
He must make an involuntary noise because Derek turns at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.
"I can't be held responsible for my actions," Stiles starts, making Derek frown. "Because I'm pretty sure watching you cook is going to be the death of me."
"As long as you don't jump me while I'm handling knives," Derek shrugs one shoulder, turning back.
But not before Stiles can see the smirk on his lips.
Or the faint blush now starting on the tip of his ears.
Stiles suddenly really wants to kiss him.
So he does, leaning forward and brushing his lips against the back of Derek's neck.
Derek's hand tightens against his, the back of his neck flushing deep red as Stiles pulls back and smiles smugly at himself.
And then Derek is stopping, crowding him against one of the kitchen counters, hands under his ass hoisting him up so that he's sitting on top of it, Derek moving in between his spread thighs.
Stiles barely had time to let out a whimper before Derek's lips are-
Not on his.
An inch away from his, instead.
His eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Don't move," Derek tells him, placing a kiss on the corner of Stiles' lips before pulling back.
He walks to the fridge and starts taking things out, back turned to Stiles.
Stiles, who's torn between wanting to stick a hand down his pants and finish what Derek started, or walk up to him and punch him in the stomach for walking away.
He settles for watching Derek as he works, peering curiously at all the ingredients he's setting on the counter.
"What are we eating?" Stiles can't help but ask, stomach growling.
Derek lets out a snort as he hears the noise, Stiles' hand coming to rest against his own stomach a he offers Derek a sheepish smile.
"Don't worry. I promise I won't leave you waiting long."
"Good," Stiles nods. "We've done enough of that for a lifetime."
"Yeah," Derek agrees. "We have."
"But seriously," Stiles says after a few beats of silence where Derek grabs a knife and goes to work. "What are we eating?"
"Spaghetti," Derek starts, lips twitching up when Stiles gasps delightedly at the prospect. "With marinara sauce and-"
"Meatballs?" Stiles asks, excited.
"Meatballs," Derek nods, resigned. "Just like-"
"In Lady and the Tramp," Stiles fills in, grinning wildly.
Derek had called him a few weeks ago while Stiles was grocery shopping, walking around the store aisles and trying to think of something to make for his turn at cooking for the Weekly McCall-Stilinski Dinner.
He immediately roped Derek into helping him, even though all he could do was throw ideas at him through the phone and listen as Stiles slowly went out of his mind as he vetoed each and everyone of them on the basis that he was a twenty-something year old paramedic who barely had time to make himself tuna sandwiches and order takeout, let alone actually cook something complicated for dinner.
"My skills are somewhere in between not burning popcorn and successfully cooking pasta with meatballs and rice," Stiles had whined pathetically to him, letting his head drop so his forehead was resting against his shopping cart handlebar.
"Pasta with meatballs," Derek repeated thoughtfully. "You can go with that."
"I can't," Stiles sighed. "I always go with that. Dad and Mrs. McCall already told me the next time I cook them pasta with meatballs they're going to make me eat it all and then they'll order pizza for themselves."
"Where did you learn to cook it, anyway?" Derek asked, adding, "Tell me about it while I think of something easy that won't make you burn down your house or lose a limb."
"You're hilarious," Stiles said flatly, and then took a deep breath to brace himself for telling him about his history with pasta and meatballs. "My mom taught me. Well, sort of. I was really big fan of the Lady and the Tramp when I was little, because my dad used to let me play with the police dogs before they went up to training and I love dogs. So when I saw the movie and saw them eating-"
"Pasta with meatballs," Derek interrupted him, sounding fond.
"Yep," Stiles said. "I kind of got obsessed. Especially with the meatballs. I'd ask my mom if I could have only them for breakfast and then eat the rest of it later with pasta for lunch and dinner. At one point I would eat anything with meatballs. Salad, sandwiches, cake, soup, even more meatballs. So she thought it'd be fun if we could learn how to make them ourselves."
"So she taught you," Derek filled in.
"She did," Stiles nodded, even though Derek couldn't see him. "I didn't learn how to make pasta until a few years after she died, but the combination always makes me think of her. And how I never got to do the whole spaghetti kiss thingy from Lady and the Tramp. It's kind of a dream of mine."
"Really," Derek deadpanned. "Your dream is to share the same plate of spaghetti with someone, grab the same line, and kiss."
"Yep," Stiles said solemnly. "And if you make fun of me, I'll never take your calls again."
Derek hadn't made fun of him, he had just chuckled slowly and told him to go with cheesy baked rice instead.
And now Stiles is sitting here, on the counter of Derek's mom's bar kitchen as he watches Derek make him meatballs.
Stiles thinks he's in love.
Not that he's going to say anything about it.
Other than, "You're kind of amazing, Derek Hale," that is.
The tip of Derek's ears flush deeper, him gruffing out a rough, "I- Thanks," as he minces onions.
"Can I help?" Stiles bites down on his bottom lip, fingers itching to do something.
"You don't have to," Derek tells him, frowning a little. "That's not why I chose to-"
"I want to," Stiles interrupts him, shaking his head. "I want to help. I want to do this with you."
And truth is, Stiles really does.
Because the only memories he has of this is with his mom, when she could still stand and move around in the kitchen without have to sit down and rest every ten minutes.
And then after she died, when Stiles tried to bring that little piece of her and them back and ended up having to get stitches because he was a kid who cut his finger while trying to chop onions.
His dad made him promise not to do anything like that again.
And he didn't.
Not until years later when he knew how to be more careful, knew how to put pressure on a wound to make it stop bleeding, knew how to put a small patch of burned skin under running water until it didn't hurt that bad anymore.
So he wants this, with Derek.
He wants to make new memories to add to the old ones so they don't hurt so much anymore.
"I want to," Stiles says again, voice soft. "Really."
Derek looks at him for a beat or two before nodding, frown being replaced by an amused smile when Stiles throws his arms up in celebration and slides off the counter.
"Grab a bowl. Water. Eggs. You know what to do, right?"
Stiles beams and nods, all excited energy to be able to not only watch Derek as he cooks, but also be a part of it.
He grabs a bowl from one of the cabinets behind Derek, filling it with water and grabbing the eggs Derek laid out on the counter.
They cook in silence for a while, just basking in each other's company as Stiles waits for Derek to finish with the onions so they can start combining everything.
Stiles feels incredibly at home here, with Derek, both of them sharing the same space and working together to make something.
He can't help but feel really fucking happy as he notices how well they move around the kitchen, the ease in which they help each other without any of them having to say anything first, just filling in the gaps like it's second nature to have Derek hand him a cloth so he can dry his hands or him wiping away a few bread crumbs that got stuck on Derek's stubble when he scratched his chin.
He likes to think this is a sign of how their relationship will work, how they'll be good together and how they'll complement each other.
The night gets even better when it's time for them to start rolling the beef into tiny meatballs, their hands dirty and sticky as Derek leans in to place a kiss on Stiles' cheek, the side of his neck, the corner of his mouth.
Stiles feels like he's in cloud nine, his eyes bright and warm with joy as he returns all of those kisses and more, plastering himself across Derek's back after he's washed his hands and Derek starts arranging the meatballs in a broiler pan.
"You look really sexy like this," Stiles says against Derek's shoulder, nose pressed against the warm spot behind his ear, breathing him in.
"Smelling like raw beef and onions?" Derek asks, trying to sound put out but failing miserably. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Stiles teases, letting go of Derek so he can finish up with he's doing. "And I meant like this, handling a knife, knowing your way around a kitchen, cooking me food."
"Do you have a barefoot-and-in-my-kitchen kind of fantasy I should know about?" Derek raises an eyebrow at him, bringing a hand up to cup Stiles' cheek before saying, completely devoid of emotion, "Because I ain't nobody's woman."
Stiles blinks at him before bursting out laughing, head thrown back and exposing his throat, shoulders shaking.
He cuts off abruptly when he feels something warm and wet against the hollow of his throat, making its way up until it reaches his chin.
He trades his fingers through Derek's hair to keep him in place, letting out a low moan when he feels teeth follow the same path, scraping lightly over his skin.
Stiles makes a happy sound when Derek mashes their lips together, licking past the seam of Stiles' lips and into his mouth, letting Stiles suck on his tongue as he gets his hands under Stiles' shirt and rests them against the small of his back.
Stiles feels them like a brand, the warmth of Derek's palms running up his spine, making him shiver, making him press closer to Derek's chest, making him want.
He doesn't deepen the kiss, though, nor does he make it more than the slow rhythm Derek has going, taking his time savoring Stiles, like he has all the time in the world to do this, like he wants to learn everything there is to know about Stiles' mouth, how he likes to be kissed, what makes him sigh and moan and melt in Derek's arms.
Stiles likes this almost as much as he thinks he'll like finally having Derek.
Because this, what they're doing right now, is getting to know each other.
They're learning about each other's bodies and what makes them tick and the fact that Derek wants to take his time to do that is enough to make Stiles feel like the best person in the world.
It makes him feel wanted and cherished and Derek's.
He lets his hands fall to Derek's chest, resting against his heart, feeling the beat rapid but steady under his palm.
Stiles doesn't push him away, but doesn't bring him closer, either.
Doesn't think he can.
Because Derek feels as close to him as he's going to get without them losing their clothes, and Stiles doesn't think that's appropriate behavior when standing in the middle of a kitchen.
Or sanitary.
He still makes a sound of protest when Derek breaks the kiss, though, fingers clutching at the fabric of his white shirt to keep him from pulling away.
"We should start with the pasta," Derek says, sounding a little dazed.
"Fuck," Stiles groans, letting his head drop against Derek's shoulder. "I don't think anyone has ever made cooking sound as hot as you just did."
"It's a gift," Derek says flatly.
Stiles lifts his head up lo stare Derek straight in the eye.
"I think I've gotten better at figuring out when you're joking now that you're in front of me."
"You've had practice," Derek gives him a small smile.
"Yes, I did," Stiles agrees. "But let's never do that again, okay? Having to wait over two months just to see was torture."
"I'm make sure to tell Boyd not to almost die next time I see him," Derek tells him. "Wouldn't want to inconvenience you."
Stiles winces, scrubbing the back of his neck as he eyes Derek from under his lashes and asks, "How is he, by the way?"
"Therapy is going well. Boyd can already close his hand almost all the way to a fist." Derek says, hands rubbing circles against Stiles' back under his shirt. "Erica, though?"
"Still terrorizing everyone?" Stiles guesses, smirking when Derek shakes his head.
He has about twenty texts from Derek that start with I'm going to kill Erica, all followed by the most recent story of how she's driving everyone crazy.
His favorite one is when she sent Derek a text telling him to come quick i need your help. When he got to her and Boyd's apartment after breaking about five traffic laws, it was only to find out the emergency was that she didn't have anymore beer in the house and couldn't go out to buy it in case Boyd needed something.
Stiles laughed for days.
She was his kind of girl.
"Mom said the next time she gets a call from Erica asking to come over and help her with something, she's going to shank her."
"Your mom is kind of scary," Stiles tells him, remembering about how calm and collected she seemed when Boyd was hurt. "And I always wondered why she didn't freak out when Boyd almost lost his head."
"The kids in our family used to get hurt a lot when we were kids," Derek explains, a shadow passing over his eyes, gone before Stiles can figure out what it is. "We were always running around the property, climbing trees, going places we shouldn't. People coming to her with cuts or broken bones is something she's used to."
"Scott's mom is like that," Stiles says, smiling a little as he thinks of her. "Sometimes I don't know if it's because she's a nurse or because Scott and I pretty much spent our entire childhood with some kind of injury or other."
"You hit walls a lot, huh?" Derek smirks at him.
It takes Stiles a moment to remember he's referring to the way Stiles hit his elbow when they were in the elevator that day at the hospital.
And then his mind goes to the way he felt then, pressed closed to Derek, pretending to be his partner, having Derek tell him he couldn't wait for them to have kids of their own.
His throat dries up as he stares at Derek right now, in front of him, face going from teasing to worried as more and more time passes without Stiles saying anything.
"Hey," Derek starts saying, only to be interrupted by Stiles blurting out, "I want that."
He snaps his mouth shut with a click as soon as the words tumble out, trying to take a step back from Derek, only to have him snake his arms more firmly around Stiles' waist and hold him in place.
Stiles knows this is too soon, knows that if he tries to explain what he meant, he'll scare Derek off.
But at the same time he wants to lay all his cards on the table, tell Derek that he wants him and that he's worth it and that he wants everything Derek's willing to give him and more.
In the end he doesn't have to say anything, though, Derek filling in the silence for him.
"The mom," Derek says slowly, as if he's thinking and stringing sentences together in his mind before letting them out. "At the hospital. The one who thought we were a couple."
Stiles nods when Derek doesn't continue, worrying at his lower lip so he doesn't end up saying anything to mess things up.
"That's. I. You want that?" Derek asks, tilting his head to the side as he stares at Stiles intensely.
Stiles can feel Derek's heartbeat speed up under his palm.
"Yes," Stiles says without hesitation. "I want that. I want us. I want there to be an us," he licks his lips. "If that's alright with you."
Derek's lips twitch up and up and up until he's full on smiling, teeth and dimples showing, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Stiles thinks he's never look this gorgeous before.
It physically pains him to stare at Derek in the eye right then, so he closes his and leans forward, Derek's breath ghosting over his lips as Derek whispers, "That's alright with me," and kisses him.
They kiss and kiss and kiss until the timer chimes, telling them the meatballs are ready.
"We should probably start on the rest of the food," Stiles says, pecking Derek on the lips. "I'm hungry."
"As you wish," Derek says, patting him on the ass before letting go of him and moving to the stove.
Derek breaks the wine while they wait for their food to be ready, turning on the radio they found in one of the hidden corners of the kitchen and talking as music plays lowly on the background.
Stiles loves how they don't struggle to make conversation, both of them already comfortable enough with each other to always have something to talk about.
He loves how Derek seems more and more relaxed as the time passes, his smiles wider and his eyes warmer as he listens to Stiles tell him about having to listen to Danny wax poetically about his yoga instructor's flexibility and about how he thinks his dad is going to move in with Mrs. McCall and how Scott plans to propose to Allison sometime soon.
He loves the way Derek's voice sounds incredibly fond as he talks to him about Isaac and Cora's adventures in apartment hunting and how they can't wait to move out of the house his uncle and mom and Laura live in, how his Uncle Peter is thinking about passing him the ownership to the garage, how Erica convinced Boyd to let her paint their living room red when he was doped up in painkillers, and how Laura and his mom are having the time of their lives setting up the bar.
And Stiles especially loves how this is the nicest first date he's ever been on, and they haven't even gotten around to eating yet.
His heart almost bursts out of his chest when Derek deems the pasta and sauce ready and places a big plate on the counter, giving Stiles a smug grin when he hears the high-pitched "oh my god" and breathless laugh he lets out.
Derek spills the pasta on the plate, covering it with sauce and then strategically placing an even number of meatballs all over it.
"Grab the wine?" Derek asks, balancing the hot plate on his hands and trying not to burn himself.
"Yes, dear," Stiles bats his lashes at him, getting the wine and their glasses before following Derek outside and to their table in the middle of the bar.
It's when they both sit down, on across from the other on the table, that Stiles looks from the big plate of pasta to the normal ones both he and Derek have.
"So," Stiles clasps his hands together, eyeing the food with determination. "How are we going to do this?"
"You look like you're going to war," Derek comments when Stiles starts rolling his shoulders.
"I'll probably get sauce on my shirt sooner rather than later, anyway," Stiles waves a hand in front of him. "But really. We have the big plate and little plates and I want to know if we plan on doing this like actual grown up human beings or reenacting the kiss scene from my favorite childhood movie and making this the best night of my life."
"If I knew it only took spaghetti to make you this happy, I would have done this sooner," Derek says lowly, and then frowns. "And should I be offended that this is so far not the best night of your life?"
Stiles rolls his eyes at him, trying not to look too pleased at Derek's words.
"I know what you're doing."
"What is that?" Derek asks him, failing to look innocent.
"You, big guy, are fishing for compliments," Stiles points a finger at him. "Compliments you don't need because you already know you have me."
Derek blinks at him, face softening as his cheeks flush and he gives Stiles the most unguarded and vulnerable look Stiles has ever seen in his life.
It makes him want to go to Derek and wrap him in his arms and never ever let go.
"Yeah?"
Stiles reaches a hand across the table and takes Derek's hand in his, entwining their fingers together and giving it a squeeze, "Yeah."
"Good," Derek nods, clearing his throat. "That's- I'm glad."
"Me too," Stiles says softly, the moment they're having ruined when his stomach growls.
Stiles makes a face at his belly, missing the way Derek smiles but hearing the sounds of his laugh.
"C'mon, Bunny," Derek teases, eyes glued to the rosy patches that appear on Stiles' cheeks and neck. "Time to feed you."
They decide to eat on their plates first, Derek serving him about the double of meatballs he got for himself, trapping Stiles' feet under the table between his legs when Stiles looks at down at his food like he's about to cry.
"You gave me almost all of the meatballs," Stiles mutters, pressing his lips together to keep himself from doing something.
Like bursting out crying.
And he thinks it says something about what kind of friends he has when someone giving him their share of the food is almost enough to bring him to tears.
The last time he tried to fight someone for the last spring roll, Lydia almost blinded him with her chopstick.
"You like them more than I do," Derek shrugs as if it's nothing.
And then when Stiles doesn't make a move to grab his fork and start eating, he reaches a hand across the table and starts pushing a meatball with his knife around the plate, much like Tramp does with his nose in the movie.
"You're supposed to do that with your nose," Stiles reminds him, trying to make light of how affected he is by a stupid fucking meatball.
Derek rolls his eyes at him.
"We'll share a pasta string and kiss later," Derek promises. "Now eat your food."
"Alright, alright," Stiles mumbles, doing as he's told.
They eat mostly in silence, which is something Stiles appreciates.
He doesn't really like having to hold up a conversation with people when he has half-chewed food in his mouth.
Or when Derek is picking the end of the longest pasta string and sucking it into his mouth, offering Stiles the other end with his fork.
Stiles can't really concentrate on sucking the pasta because he's smiling so much, eyes bright as he takes in Derek's furrowed brows in concentration and the flush on his cheeks, ears, and neck when he notices Stiles looking.
When they finally meet in the middle Stiles doesn't think a kiss has ever taste this sweet, or felt this good, or made him feel like he's on top of the world.
There's even less talking after that, Derek too busy blushing down at his plate to say anything, and Stiles still trying to keep himself from smiling too wide.
Stiles does tell Derek how amazing everything tastes after they're finished, though.
"Thanks," Derek answers, lowering his head and trying to hide a pleased smile from Stiles.
"Anytime," Stiles says, not calling him on it. "Really. Feel free to cook for me whenever you want."
"I will," Derek nods, grabbing his glass. "As long as you feel free to help me do it."
"Oh," Stiles teases, not really able to help himself. "I'll help you do it."
Derek almost chokes on his wine, glaring at Stiles as he picks his napkin up from the table and wipes the liquid running down his chin.
"Just for that," Derek tells him. "I'm not telling you what we have for dessert."
"We have dessert?" Stiles practically yells, leaning forward on his seat and giving Derek his most pleading look. "What is it?"
"Not telling you."
"Please?"
"No."
"Derek?"
"Stiles."
"Ugh," Stiles huffs, and then smiles wickedly as he looks at Derek. "Is that because the dessert is you?"
"I don't put out on the first date," Derek tries to say casually, failing when Stiles notices the way his shoulder tense and the hand he has on top of the table closes into a fist.
"Hey. I'm not expecting you to," Stiles says, and when Derek doesn't relax completely he adds, "We can take this as slow as you'd like. Or as fast as you'd like. Whatever pace you're comfortable with, I'm comfortable with. I just want to spend time with you."
Derek looks up at him, then, swallowing hard before nodding stiffly back at Stiles.
Stiles bites down on his lower lip before getting up and coming to stand behind Derek, bending forward so he can get his arms around Derek's shoulder and rest his cheek against Derek's own.
"I like you," Stiles says, ignoring the way his heart speeds up as the words come pouring out of his mouth. "And I am attracted to you. But that's not why I want to be with you. And, trust me, I want to be with you. Like, all the time. I want to get to know more about and your family and how you were as a kid and if you hate watermelon as much as I do. And I want to be with you because I like the kind of person you've shown yourself to be these couple of months since we've met."
Derek's body loosens the more and more Stiles keeps talking, his hands coming up to curl around Stiles' wrist and keep him where he is.
"So what I'm trying to say is-" Stiles starts.
"This is not about sex for you," Derek finished for him, turning his head to the side so that his nose bumps against Stiles' cheek.
"Right," Stiles agrees, licking his lips and smiling a little at Derek, ignoring how close to each other they are. "Not the most important parts, anyway. I want to sleep with you, but only when you feel comfortable enough to let us do that."
"Okay," Derek says quietly, brushing his lips against Stiles'.
"Yeah?"
Derek nods, and then says, "And we have mint and chocolate ice cream for dessert."
"With sprinkles?" Stiles asks hopefully.
"The rainbow kind," Derek kisses him again, Stiles' hand coming up to cup his jaw, finger tracing the stubble on his skin.
"You're too good for me," Stiles sighs as he pulls back and lets Derek get up, helping him with the dishes as they walk back to the kitchen.
"I think you're okay," Derek says, placing the dirty plates on the sink and batting Stiles' hands away when he goes to turn on the water. "Leave it. I have a deal with Cora."
"Your little sister?"
"I'm letting her and Isaac say over at my place until they find one of their own," Derek explains.
"That's nice of you."
"In exchange, she has to do everything I ask," Derek continues. "In this case: dishes."
"You're a mean big brother," Stiles states, sounding all kinds of surprised.
"I'm wonderful," Derek deadpans, opening the freezer and taking a pint of ice cream and a bag of sprinkles.
"Oh, baby, you so are," Stiles coos making grabby hands until Derek hands him the ice cream and goes in search for spoons.
Stiles can't help but moan at the first taste of mint and chocolate and rainbow sprinkled goodness against his tongue, going as far as closing his eyes and tilting his head back in ecstasy.
And then opening them up again when he hears Derek's sharp intake of breath, his eyes glued to Stiles mouth as Stiles licks the ice cream gathered at the corner of his lips.
He leans in and locks their lips together, his cold against Derek's warm ones, letting Derek suck his tongue into his mouth and taste the sweet and fresh flavor of mint.
They spend the rest of their date like that, quietly eating together, stopping only so they can make out or have tiny fights over who gets to eat what spot on the ice cream.
Stiles likes the middle, Derek letting him have it so he can trace the edges and slowly eat his way in.
They don't say anything as Derek locks up, Stiles with an arm around Derek's waist and Derek with his thrown over Stiles' shoulder, keeping him close.
They walk together like that until they reach the bike, Derek leaning back against it and pulling Stiles over to him by his belt loops.
"I think we've done this before," Stiles muses out loud, laughing when Derek tries to kiss his smile off his face.
"And I think I remember you saying you didn't think you'd ever be done with this," Derek says back, nuzzling against the juncture of Stiles' neck and shoulder.
"You're correct," Stiles tilts his head to the side to give him better access.
"So you won't mind if we keep doing this for a little while longer," Derek mutters against his skin, placing tiny kisses all the way up Stiles' neck until he reaches his cheek.
"Nope," Stiles says, patiently waiting for Derek to get to his lips and kiss him again.
"Good."
And then he doesn't have to wait anymore.
Stiles stares at himself in the mirror as he gets home, takes in the his red and swollen lips from kissing, the way his hair is matted across his forehead from wearing a helmet, the stubble burn against his neck and chin and cheeks and collarbones, and the quickly darkening hickey placed just above the collar of his shirt.
He looks wrecked and absolutely one hundred percent completely blissed out.
He takes off his clothes as he walks to his bathroom, not paying attention to anything but the fact that he and Derek are together now.
That they went out on their first date and made out and ate spaghetti together and had the best night of Stiles' life.
And that as Derek parked in front of his building and took off his helmet to kiss him goodnight, he murmured "Night, Bunny," against Stiles' lips and didn't even bat an eyelash when Stiles said, "Night, baby," back.
And now Stiles flops down on top of his bed in only his boxers and grabs his phone from where its placed on the nightstand, face split in a grin as he types out a text.
To: Derek
hey derek, guess what
It takes about fifteen minutes for him to get an answer, time he spends staring at the ceiling, silly smile on his face, reliving everything that just happened tonight.
From: Derek
What?
To: Derek
i think i have a boyfriend now
Stiles licks his lips, heart beating fast as he waits for Derek to respond.
Because as amazing as tonight was, and as much as they both admitted that they want to be together, there was no talk about whether they were going to start thinking of the other as being their boyfriend.
Which is something Stiles really fucking wants.
To introduce Derek to his friends and family and the entire world as his boyfriend.
And that's why his heart almost leaps out of his chest when his phone buzzes in his hand.
From: Derek
Only think?
Stiles giggles.
He's not proud of it, but he does.
He buries his face against his pillow and fucking giggles, thinking he's about to burst from all the joy he's feeling at that.
To: Derek
okay i know i have
To: Derek
and he's great
To: Derek
and i really like him
Is what Stiles sends when he's gotten a hold of himself, sitting up indian style on the bed as he waits for Derek.
From: Derek
I think he really likes you, too.
To: Derek
only think?
From: Derek
Know.
And the giggles are back, Stiles having no control over himself as he types out a 3 and hits send, flopping back down on his bed and laughing out loud in the quiet of his room.
Because tonight was the best night ever, and nothing will ever make Stiles feel as good as he's feeling right at this moment.
And then his phone buzzes again.
From: Derek
3
Stiles suspects that if people can die from feeling too happy, he'd be dead by now.
So he closes his eyes and tries to will himself to calm down, the memory of Derek' lips against his own, tasting wine and sauce and Derek, the ghost of a smile firmly attached to his flushed face flashing across his mind.
Seriously, best first date ever.