Stiles has become so spoiled with Derek taking his pain, he just sticks his arm or leg out whenever there’s a slight ache somewhere. And Derek just mindlessly takes it, until he’s like, “wait, what? What is this? I can’t even feel this.”
Stiles pulls his sock down and there’s a little bruise on his ankle, and Derek is like, “there is no way that hurts, Stiles”.
Stiles just pouts. “It hurts to me. Come on, pain sucker. Do your thing.”
Derek lets go of his leg. “I’m not taking your baby pains.”
“Rude dude alert.”
Derek blinks. “…What?”
“We’ve got a dude in here and he’s rude.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Hey, you’re the one who denies your human sweet relief. Use your powers for good, wolf man.”
“It’s literally the tiniest bruise I’ve seen in my life.”
“So you hate me.”
Derek takes Stiles’ ankle again, but he just rests his grip there, not doing any pain sucking.
“Feel better?” he asks.
Stiles sighs happily. “Mhm, that’s the stuff.”
Derek snorts and rolls his eyes. At least he's cute.
“It’s fucking not,” Stiles scoffs. “First of all, he is a fag and that’s not an insult to him either. Jackson would agree. And second of all, I’ve sucked enough dick to earn the right to say fag. If the assholes I went to school would reasonably call me it, I’m allowed to reclaim it. And third of all—”
Stiles cuts himself off when he realizes Derek looks like he just swallowed a lemon. Normally Derek’s faces range from bored to gently amused to quietly homicidal, and this is…different.
“Shit,” Stiles sighs, “you’re gonna be weird about this. That’s kind of hypocritical for someone calling me out on homophobia—”
“I’m not,” Derek huffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not homophobic. We just don’t talk about—sex.”
It’s true, they don’t. They talk about monsters and magic and weird wolf stuff; sometimes, in their more normal moments (although that depends on how one defines “normal”) they talk about movies and cars and the general cultural development of Beacon Hills. But the closest they’ve come to talking about sex is Derek being weird about that time Stiles found women’s panties in his laundry.
“Sorry,” Stiles mutters at the book in front of him. (He’s at Derek’s new place, a townhouse that doesn’t have any holes in the walls, with central air and a real kitchen, and a bedroom instead of a big bed in the fucking middle of the living room. They’re meant to be looking through their combined collections of occult sources for information about a weird weather pattern Stiles is sure he’s noticed, but they’ve been chatting over Cherry Cokes and a big bag of Cheetos while pretending to read.) “Although I’m not that sorry—so what, dude? You think I spent all that time away at school not getting laid?”
“I didn’t say that,” Derek says with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “I’m sure you—” He winces gently; Stiles is pretty sure his skin is turning red. “Let’s stop talking.”
“So it is the gay thing,” Stiles says, mostly to himself. “Well—the bi thing. You know, straight guys think fellatio is a submissive act, but—”
Derek closes the book in front of him pointedly, two halves slamming together. “I’m not straight. I thought you were.”
Stiles blinks. “What?”
“I’m not straight, and I’ve sucked more dick than you have and I still think you shouldn’t call Jackson a—you know.”
Stiles’ whole brain is flooded with the hypothetical image of Derek Hale on his knees for some guy even bigger and beefier than he is. Or—maybe a different type of guy.
“Stiles.”
“How could you possibly assume I was straight?!” Stiles knows that’s probably not the chief issue at the moment, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “I fucking—you knew that I—are you a fucking idiot or just incredibly unobservant?”
Derek sighs, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back in his chair. “I should’ve known because you walked around as a teenager smelling like arousal? That’s how most teenagers smell ninety percent of the time.”
“The ogling!” Stiles all but shouts. “That time in my room with Danny—that was so fucking obvious!”
Derek’s face turns inquisitive, head tilting like he’s trying to recall. “The only people I remember you ogling were women. Girls. Lydia.”
“Holy shit,” Stiles exhales. “That’s crazy, dude. I’m, like, super bi. Horny for all genders. Interested in hotties of all identities.”
“I got it.”
“I thought you were straight.”
One of Derek’s perfect eyebrows arches up. “I wax my chest, Stiles.”
“Straight guys wax!”
“Not any that I know.”
“You’ve only—I’ve only ever heard about you with women.”
“You should be more observant,” Derek says.
“I should be more observant? Me? I was making fuck me eyes at you for two years and you had no idea.”
Derek scoffs. “That look was intentional? I thought you were just naturally twink-ish.”
A stab of embarrassment shudders through him. So Derek did know, at least partly, even if he didn’t understand the meaning. Bastard. “God, I’m glad you’re not so fucking depressed anymore but I liked you better before your ego tripled in size.”
Derek smirks at him. “That was a lie. The second part.”
“Fuck you,” Stiles says without any real heat. He’s defensive, internally cringing at the raw feeling that accompanies dredging up his teenage crush. “So fine, neither of us are straight. Good talk.” His shame sends him to his feet, legs knocking the dining chair out of the way with a too-loud knock against the hardwood floor. “I’ll take these and—”
“If I’d known,” Derek says, interrupting his spiral, “I would’ve said something earlier.”
Stiles hesitates, fingers poised to scoop a pile of books into his arms. “What? About being bi? Yeah, dude, no worries. We can form a queer caucus in the pack—although that’s most of us, to be fair.”
“I would’ve said something about being interested in you.”
For a second, Stiles is pretty sure he heard that wrong. Or—he’s asleep. Dreaming. He’s in bed right now and his hindbrain has resorted to evil trickery because the normal nightmares just aren’t enough; his subconscious has to taunt him with Derek-shaped fantasies too. But he counts ten fingers and he can feel the pain of holding his breath, which means—he’s awake. Jesus.
“I really didn’t know,” Derek says. “It’s not like we really talk about our private lives with each other. We only spend time together for pack stuff.”
“But if you’d known,” Stiles mutters.
“I’d have said something.”
“Something like—what?”
A gentle smile curls at the corner of Derek’s mouth. He’s amused, which is better than the alternative. “Stiles, would you like to stay for dinner?”
Oh, man. Stiles has a lot of ideas about how that dinner would go. Especially the end of it. (Derek Hale sucks dick, his brain helpfully reminds him.) “Fine,” he agrees. “But only if you’re buying. Even your unobservant ass can’t have missed that I’m queer and broke.”
“I can cook. And I have ice cream for dessert.”
Stiles’ cheeks tingle as blood rushes to his face. The look Derek’s wearing isn’t just amused; it’s kind of—hungry. “You’re thinking about me sucking your dick, right? That’s why you got weird—because it turned you on when I said that I suck dick.”
“Stiles.”
“Yeah.”
“Sit down if you’re staying.”
He doesn’t really have to think about it. It takes two seconds for Stiles to drop firmly back into his chair, pulse thudding in his ears. Yeah, he’s definitely staying.
Stiles let himself into the loft, the door closing softly behind him, amd jumped when Derek suddenly appeared in front of him.
"Jesus! You almost gave me a heart attack!" Stiles gasped, clutching his chest with one hand.
Derek rolled his eyes and stepped closer, pulling out a bundle of yellow flowers from behind his back. "Flowers for my love."
Stiles accepted them, ducking his head to hide his flushed face from Derek. "Ugh, who knew Sourwolf was so sappy under all the growls and eyebrows?"
"Only for you," Derek murmured, wrapping Stiles up in a hug. His nose immediately tucked into Stiles' neck, chasing the sweet cinnamon scent. The flowers grazed Derek's back as Stiles put his arms around Derek's waist.
"Okay, you're freaking me out now," Stiles drawled jokingly, snuggling into Derek's embrace. "Next you're gonna tell me you picked these flowers yourself."
Derek remained silent, face hidden in Stiles' neck but Stiles could feel his smile against his skin.
"Did you?"
"They're primroses. Dad used to pick some for mom everytime we went into the preserve for a run. I hadn't come across any until today," Derek whispered. "Maybe I wasn't looking before."
Stiles bit his bottom lip, trying to keep the tsunami of emotions from erupting out of him at Derek's words.
"You can cry if you want," Derek teased, chuckling. Stiles felt his warm breath against his neck and shivered, a tingling warmth spreading in his tummy.
"Asshole," Stiles muttered, lightly punching Derek in the arm as he pulled away and rushed into the kitchen.
He carefully laid the flowers down on the counter and started rifling through the cupboards, trying to find a vase to put the them in. He noticed when Derek strolled in but pointedly ignored him. He stilled when Derek came up behind him, pressing his chest to Stiles' back. He reached up to the cupboard Stiles was looking through, pushing some dishes aside and revealing a vintage glass vase. He pulled it out, setting it in front of Stiles on the counter.
Stiles spinned around and pulled Derek down towards him, claiming his lips in a gentle kiss. "I love you and I love the flowers and I love you, so so much."
Derek smiled and raised his hands to cradle Stiles' face, thumbs brushing the betraying tears away from his cheek. "I love you too, baby."
"I promise I'll take really good care of the flowers," Stiles vowed, fingers tangling in the short hair on the back of Derek's head.
"I know you will," Derek replied, pressing his lips to Stiles' forehead.
Baseball player Derek Hale was nervous, he’s never been this anxious about a game before but this was an important one since this one determined if he could make it into the big leagues. His coach Finstock tried giving him a pep talk earlier in the locker room but it did nothing to calm down his nerves.
Derek took a deep breath as his team walked out into the field where the crowd instantly erupted into loud cheers. Derek put on a smile and turned to look at the seats where he knew his pack was sitting at.
What he didn’t expect to see was Stiles standing in between Isaac and Jackson laughing and dancing to a song that was blasting from the speakers. Derek couldn’t believe his eyes because wasn’t Stiles supposed to be in Chicago?
And yet he was there, in Beacon Hills. There to see Derek and support him during his big game. He felt his face break out into a smile as he waved at the man and Stiles grinned even wider and waved back. Then he turned around, Isaac and Jackson following along as they all showed off matching burgundy t shirts with ‘HALE’ printed in bold letters on the back.
Derek realized then that this was exactly what he’d been missing, Stiles and the rest of the pack supporting him meant the world to him and suddenly the upcoming game didn’t even seem so scary.
Derek’s team ended up winning and as he made his way towards the bleachers, all of a sudden he had armful of Stiles crushing him into a hug so tight that even as a werewolf it was slightly harder to breathe. It took a second for him to catch up to what happened but in an instant he hugged the man back, burying his nose into the other’s neck, inhaling the scent that he’d secretly missed so dearly.
Stiles pulled back a little, his arms still around Derek’s neck. He was slightly out of breath and eyes so bright and hopeful that Derek couldn’t hold back anymore. Without thinking he pulled the man in by his shirt and crushed their lips together, his other hand snaking into Stiles’s messy hair.
Stiles let out a surprised squeak that was instantly muffled by Derek devouring his tongue and soon enough both of them were just making out in front of hundreds of people in the middle of the field.
None of that mattered though because Derek finally knew what it felt like to kiss Stiles breathless and that was more important than anything else going on.
There have been whispers around the school that Mr Stilinski and Mr Hale are dating. They decide to set the record straight.
They’ve heard the whispers circulating the school, a buzz of chatter filling the school halls like a swarm of bees.
Mr Hale – the English teacher – and Mr Stilinski – the history teacher and assistant coach for the lacrosse team – are dating.
They weren’t quite sure when it started, but whispers of their alleged relationship had spread throughout the school. Snippets of gossip and rumours would trail back to them.
“Did you see the way Mr Hale looked at Mr Stilinski today?”
“I’ve never seen Mr Hale smile, but Mr Stilinski makes him smile.”
“They’d make such a cute couple.”
“I saw Mr Stilinski in Mr Hale’s office the other day.”
“Mr Hale helped Mr Stilinski put away the sports gear after practice yesterday, and they were in the equipment room for quite some time.”
“Mr Hale and Mr Stilinski always spend their lunch breaks together in their classrooms.”
For the most part, they were amusing, harmless gossip and stories made up by kids who had watched a few too many romance movies, but it was starting to get out of hand. So Stiles and Derek decided to address the rumours.
They called all their students together and gathered in one of the larger classrooms. Students crammed in where they could, sitting in chairs or on the floor, a few perching themselves on the cabinets that lined the far wall. The room was filled with a quiet buzz of chatter, a mixture of confusion, concern, and excitement.
Derek stood in front of his desk. His arms were crossed over his chest as he leant back against the edge of the desk. Stiles stood beside him, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.
“Alright,” Derek said gruffly.
The room fell silent.
“We’re heard quite a lot of talk around the school about whether or not Mr Stilinski and I are dating,” Derek started.
The students started cheering. Some let out excited gasps and a few students shouted, “I knew it!”
Derek drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He waited for them to settle before continuing, “We’ve decided to clear this up, once and for all. Mr Stilinski and I are not dating.”
The room filled with shocked gasps, hushed whispers and a one student who was brave enough to shout, “Yet!”
Stiles ducked his head, hiding his smirk as he struggled to smother his laughter.
Derek waited for the room to fall quiet, his stern stare hushing the room.
“Mr Stilinski and I are not dating,” he reiterated. Pausing for a moment – waiting to see if the students would object again – before adding, “We’re married.”
The room burst into a cacophony of noise: cheers, screams, applause. You could have sworn they were celebrating winning the nationals, not finding out their teachers were married.
Stiles couldn’t hold it in any more, he burst out laughing, turning away from his students so that they couldn’t see how bright red his face was.
Derek glanced over at him, his harsh features softening as he smiled lovingly at Stiles and let out a quiet chuckle.
Stiles drew in a dep breath, gathering himself as he raised his voice above the noise to say, “And nothing happened in the equipment room.”
The members of the lacrosse team and a few other students who had heard that rumour started laughing.
#27 "I can't believe you lied to me" Sterek mayhaps if you are feeling it... Or Buddie as a backup 😁
Nicole I will always write Sterek for you, even if it takes me two days longer than expected.
Pants on Fire
"I can't believe you lied to me," Scott says from the doorway to Stiles' bedroom, the door banging into the wall with the force of how hard Scott opened it.
"Lied to you?" Stiles pokes his head out from the pile of blankets he's under. He's pretty sure he fell asleep in the office midway through researching their latest supernatural issues, so Derek must have carried him to bed.
Derek groans from next to Stiles, his hand warm and possessive on Stiles' hip. Derek, who Stiles told Scott wasn't getting back into town until Monday because he wanted a weekend alone with his — his friend? Roommate? Fuck buddy? Definitely not his boyfriend, Derek doesn't like him enough for that. And anyway, Derek isn't just here for sex. He's useful. He brought books and some herbs Stiles has been looking all over Northern California for.
"Go away," Derek grumbles, sticking just the top of his head out of the blankets. He looks like a grumpy cat, eyes squinted, brows drawn down. "Too early."
"You weren't supposed to be here until Monday!" Scott says, not leaving. In fact, he does the opposite of leave, he sinks down into the arm chair in the corner of the room and glares at them. "You told me you had a 'big breakthrough' and 'needed time to focus'. I didn't realize fucking Derek was a part of your focusing."
"Dude," Stiles huffs, rolling out of Derek's warm embrace with some effort, Derek clinging to him like he's worried Stiles might disappear. "I am researching. Derek's helping me."
"Then where the fuck are you pants? Did they burn up from all the lying?"
"I —" Stiles looks down to see he was, in fact, completely naked. Huh, so that middle of the night, too horny to keep their hands off of each other sex wasn't a dream. Christ, that means they'd fucked five times in the 18 hours since Derek arrived in San Fransisco. That's not a record for them, but it's close. "No, they didn't burn up from all the lying. Good lord, are you 12? I'm just good at multitasking."
"Gross! So gross. I didn't need to know that," Scott closes his eyes as Stiles gets up and pulls on boxers.
"Can you get out?" Derek asks from where he's still cozy under the covers. He's clearly talking to Scott, but his eyes are on Stiles, his gaze heavy and soft all at once.
"Not yet," Scott sighs, turning back to Stiles now that he's at least a little covered. "Did you find anything?"
"Actually, yeah," Stiles says, making to leave the room. Before he can, Derek reaches out and grabs his wrist, reeling him in for a kiss.
"Come back to bed when he's gone," Derek's breath is warm against Stiles' cheek. "I missed you too much for just one night of catching up."
"Why is it grosser when you're being romantic?" Scott asks the room at large. Stiles flips him off, kissing Derek again before following Scott out of the room and across the hall to the office/den combo.
"So our best guess is sirens," Stiles says, getting right down to business and pulling out the book Derek had brought with him from Mexico. He'd brought a lot more than just the one book, but this book was the most useful thing in his bags for their current problem. He's got a map of the bay with pins marking all of the suspicious drownings or near drownings on his cork board that he gestures to. "Ear plugs should filter out most of the sound."
"Dude," Scott flicks Stiles on the forehead, clearly ignoring Stiles' useful information. "Why didn't you just tell me you and Derek are together?"
"I — because we're not?" Stiles says, but it comes out like a question. There's a thud from the bedroom, but Stiles ignores it. "I'm a convenient place for him to crash when he's in town and. Just. Don't. It's fine, I'm good with whatever he's giving me."
"Does he know that," Scott asks, eyes looking over Stiles shoulder toward the door.
"It was his idea," Stiles shrugs. It was Derek's idea. Stiles had moved into a nice little two bedroom in San Fransisco when he graduated from his master's program four years ago and Derek had said something like 'I'll help with rent if you let me crash when I'm in town' and Stiles had agreed easily enough because rent was expensive and Derek had had his hands down Stiles' pants when he suggested it. He'd then said something about 'casual' and 'easy' and Stiles had gone along with it because Derek Hale is the hottest guy he's ever seen and he's been more than a little in love with him since he was 17.
"No it wasn't," Derek's voice makes Stiles jump. He whips around to see Derek handing in the doorway, a pair of Stiles' boxers on and nothing else. "That wasn't what I meant."
Stiles sees Scott grab the notes off Stiles' desk and snap a picture of the map. "This is helpful, man. If we need you before Monday I'll call."
"You don't have to go," Stiles says, sounding unconvincing even to his ears.
"Yes he does," Derek says, eyes still on Stiles. "See you Monday, Scott.
There's a solid sixty seconds of silence after the front door opens and closes. Stiles hasn't felt uncomfortable around Derek in over a decade, but he feels uncomfortable now as the silence stretches between them.
"I'm in love with you," Derek says from the doorway. It feels a little like the world stops turning at the words. "I thought — I thought this was all you wanted. That you didn't want more."
The 'didn't want me' goes unsaid, but Stiles hears it anyway.
"Dude," Stiles steps toward him. As soon as he moves, Derek is out of the doorway and right in front of him, hands hot and comforting on Stiles' waist. "I've been in love with you for like, 12 years. I thought it was pretty obvious."
Derek noses at Stiles jaw before pressing a kiss to the underside, "I thought it was wishful thinking."
"You live here," Stiles says after a beat. "We live together."
"Yeah," Derek's laugh is warm against Stiles' neck. "Mrs. Chernowski thinks we're the cutest couple in the building."
"Did everyone know but me?"
"Yeah," Derek huffs again. "Now can we go back to bed? It's cold."
"You're just a baby," Stiles says, but he follows Derek back across the hall to the bedroom. "Mexico makes you soft, you're always so clingy when you get home."
"No, that's because I miss you," Derek admits, pulling Stiles down on top of him. "I can't believe you liked to Scott about when I was getting home."
"I wanted you all to myself," Stiles grins into Derek's shoulder. "Now shut up, someone woke up at 3am and just had to get off. I'm exhausted."
"You, that was you," Derek pinches Stiles' side.
"I didn't say it wasn't," Stiles mutters, letting his exhaustion and the steady rise and fall of Derek's chest lull him back to sleep. Just as he's about to slip under he murmurs, "I love you."
The soft, "I love you too," from Derek is the last thing he hears before sleep takes him.
Finally, he can’t take it any more. Can’t handle Derek leaning close all the time, looking like that. His dark hair looks surprisingly soft up close, his lips are pink and there’s a tiny bit of blood from where he’s bitten one trying to keep his cool. Stiles can see the indents in his skin, feel the warmth of his body radiate out, and he can’t fucking take it anymore. Derek has his T shirt fisted in his hands as he holds stiles flush against the wall, face impossibly close, and stiles loses it— leans forwards and licks a thick stripe up dereks cheek. His facial hair prickly against his tongue and his skin tastes faintly salty, he smells like alpha.
