Danny and Jackson are the only ones in the pack who immediately clock that Derek Hale isn’t straight. Everyone else sees this testosterone bomb of a manly man, while they see a guy who wears extremely tight-fitting jeans, buys expensive hair gel, and waxes.
Stiles is moping because he thinks he’s crushing on the straightest guy on the planet, and when Danny and Jackson find out, they're like, “Stilinski, are you blind? And also deaf? Because Derek just spent the past fifteen minutes talking about his favorite gay club in New York.”
Stiles still doesn’t believe them, he’s like “Yeah, but what if he just hung out there? As like...an ally?”
Danny and Jackson decide that Stiles is an idiot, and then decide to just ask Derek.
“So, Derek," Danny says. "You’re not straight, right?”
Derek snorts. “Me? No. I thought that was pretty obvious.”
Stiles comes crashing in from another room like “Wait, you’re not??”
Derek actually looks a little offended. "What?"
Stiles shrugs, and half jokingly says “So, that means that technically, hypothetically, if I hit on you, you wouldn’t be disgusted?”
Which of course—because Derek is Derek—earns him a smirk. “I said I’m not straight. I didn’t say I don’t have standards.”
“Oh, that’s dangerous territory for you, buddy. Are you sure you wanna go there?” Stiles says, eyes narrowing.
Derek visibly cringes. Yeah. No. He doesn’t.
“What, are you gonna hit on me?” he asks instead.
“I would,” Stiles says. “But apparently you have standards now. I mean, I think I'm a step up from an evil, dark druid, but who knows.”
Danny rolls his eyes, because this is getting painful to watch. “How about you actually try flirting with him, Stiles? Say something nice for once instead of being a dick.”
“He was being a dick first!”
“Okay, well. Go and be dicks together then. Or ride each other’s. I don’t care.”
Jackson finds that hilarious, but Stiles ignores them. He looks at Derek, who, thankfully, doesn't look like he's going to murder him, despite the fact that Stiles totally just went there. He actually looks kind of amused. Aiming for casual, but feeling weirdly vulnerable, Stiles tries his luck. “Um, so…do you maybe want—I mean. We could—would you like…dinner?” he stutters.
There’s a small smile on Derek’s lips, and he still looks like he wants to say something kind of mean, the bastard. Instead he steps closer. Stiles feels his heart start to race as Derek leans in, hot breath against Stiles' ear, making him shudder.
Stiles flushes hard as Derek pulls back, looking smug as all hell. And also very hot. Goddammit.
Behind them, Danny and Jackson are losing it.
Stiles grabs Derek's hand and starts dragging him away, flipping them off with the other. “See ya, dickbags. I have a date with a hot guy who has terrible taste and no standards whatsoever. I win. You lose. Buh-bye.”
Later, both Danny and Jackson might feel a little bit of regret for not hitting on Derek first, when Stiles comes back, bragging about how Derek isn’t just into guys—he’s also got a lot of experience with them.
“Like, you guys should have seen what he did with his tongue, it was awesome. I didn’t even know that was a thing—”
“Okay, Stilinski. We get it,” Danny cuts in. “You hit the jackpot. Jesus.”
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