Chapter Text
Derek is doing a slow jog and cursing his stiff new shoes when he spots his bus pulling over at the stop over half a block away. He makes a frantic dash for it, and has just twenty yards to go when the bus lurches and starts pulling away. He wants to yell, to chase after it until it stops, but his tired feet are already slowing down. So it’s going to be that kind of day.
He’s dragging his feet toward the stop, already anticipating a long, tedious, and groping-free bus ride ahead of him and thinking longingly of his Camaro still at the garage. Boyd the mechanic mocked Derek for hours on Tuesday evening for breaking some contraption or another in his attempt to fix the car on his own. If Derek casually let slip later that he could be persuaded to pay for additional maintenance, well, he's due for a routine checkup in a couple of (read: seven) months anyway, might as well, right? And asking Boyd to be thorough and to take his time was just him being considerate, though it’s coming back to bite him on the ass now.
He looks up when he hears a series of loud honking and notices the bus slowing to a stop in the middle of the street. He gapes at it uncertainly, not sure what happened, but then he sees the door open and a head with a distinctive buzzcut poke out. Stiles.
“Dude, what are you waiting for? A written invitation? Bob is only willing to wait for so long! C’mon!”
Derek snaps out of his daze and runs.
-
Derek gets his own welcome party when he finally scrambles aboard the bus. Over half of the other passengers offer him some form of greeting, though a few of them are scowling, likely in irritation for the holdup. Even Bob the driver deigns to roll his eyes at him before he yanks the door shut and wrenches at the gearshift.
Stiles is overjoyed, his grin so wide it’s threatening to split his face in half. “Dude! Who’s awesome and saved your ass again? Me!” he crows. “Ready to roll? Hold on tight!” he calls over the rev of the engine, a steadying hand warm on Derek’s shoulder.
Derek huffs out half a laugh and grabs hold of the handrail nearby, preparing for the bumpy ride. He doesn’t say anything about the hand on his shoulder, which is currently massaging his tense muscles and rubbing idle circles into the back of his neck. Derek can feel himself relaxing in increments, even though the bus is starting its rocky journey down the street.
It’s been three days and three bumpy bus rides since their first meeting. Derek is slowly getting the hang of riding on buses driven by crazy people. He only occasionally needs a hand to hold him up now, and he didn’t fall once after Stiles got off at his stop the day before. And he tells Stiles so.
Stiles tries to feign hurt and heartbreak, but his grin is too wide for the act to be convincing. “Aww, you're just going to discard me like damaged goods after you used me as a personal handrail so shamelessly for three whole days? Harsh,” he sniffles and pouts, mock affronted.
Derek snorts and raises an eyebrow at him. Stiles obviously takes this as a challenge and turns to begin teasing Bob for getting soft, which earns him and everyone else a particularly violent swivel at the next turn. Bob cackles vindictively as everyone scrambles to remain upright. Derek gives Stiles a look as Stiles sways and clutches his shoulder a little too hard.
“Never mind, you made your point, Bob,” Stiles sulks a little but recovers soon enough as he presses into Derek’s side with one of Bob’s signature crazy swerves. “So, you look all rumpled. Late night?” he says in a low voice, right into Derek’s left ear. He’s smirking when Derek turns to look at him.
“Yes.” Derek says shortly, barely suppressing a shiver as the warm gust of Stiles’s breath brushes the sensitive skin behind his ear.
“Oh? Hot date?” Stiles’s smirk is still teasing and it might be wishful thinking on his part, but Derek thinks his shoulders droop slightly, and he possibly pulls away a little when the bus makes another dramatic turn.
“Work.” Derek shrugs and clutches harder at the handrail, hoping Stiles will press close again.
“Oh! That sucks, man.” Stiles brightens and pats his back, giving the back of his neck a commiserating squeeze. He settles back in next to Derek and bumps their shoulders together companionably. Derek scoots over a little so they can share a handrail.
They share a moment of comfortable silence, arms pressed together with the constant rocking and jolting of the bus, but Stiles never stays quiet for long. He starts rambling about an interesting article about sea otters he was reading on the internet last night, but then his eyes snap to Derek’s hair and he stops. Derek cringes internally.
“Cute hair,” Stiles smirks and makes a show of giving Derek a thorough once-over, humming thoughtfully all the while, eyebrows dancing on his forehead. “Yup. It’s very endearingly floppy, and so at odds with the mountain man scruff thing you got going on, though the wild, bloodshot eyes might be a tad too much. And wow, color! Is that a t-shirt under your suit? You actually mix-and-matched? I’m impressed,” Stiles declares with a brisk nod.
Derek makes a face and shoves him half-heartedly. “Shut it. This is my sister’s fault. And I didn’t buy this stupid shirt. It’s not funny, okay?”
“Your sister sounds awesome. I feel like we would be the best of friends if we ever meet.” Stiles pauses. “Wait, what’s not funny? Ooh.” His eyes zoom in on Derek’s t-shirt and he starts poking at his suit jacket straight away. He catches sight of the green print hidden underneath before Derek can bat his hand away. He bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, this—and your face!” he gasps between fits of giggles. How he manages to keep his balance on the lurching bus while laughing until he’s close to tears will forever be a mystery to Derek. “I have a similar shirt,” he continues with a wheeze, “only with a six-pack instead of a beer belly. Oh man, we should totally wear them together sometime.”
“Not. Funny.” Derek knocks Stiles lightly with his laptop bag in protest, but he knows he’s blushing, both from mortification and from the implication that they’ll be seeing more of each other.
“It really is, man. I like it though!” Stiles finally calms down to just occasional chuckles. He smiles fondly at Derek’s offended look. “I’m serious! I like it.” He does look pretty serious, though the corners of his mouth keep twitching upwards.
Derek ducks his head to hide a smile and leans into Stiles the next time Bob slams on the breaks. He feels Stiles lean into contact and press even closer as the bus picks up speed again.
They not-cuddle like this for a while, just making idle conversation, and Stiles’s face keeps ending up shoved into Derek’s neck every time the bus wobbles. “Mm, you smell like coffee. And charcoal,” he says suddenly and leans in, resting his chin on top of Derek’s shoulder, sniffing appreciatively.
Derek doesn’t know what to say to that, and Stiles’s beaming face, so close to his own, is making him feel warm all over. So he tries to find a new topic. “My neighbors kept me up last night having loud, rowdy sex.”
Derek wants to slap himself for blurting out such an awkward thing.
Stiles bites his lower lip, visibly straining not to burst out laughing again. “Um, that must have sucked for you.” He purses his lips and then smirks. “Oh, you know what? You should totally have some loud, rowdy sex yourself as revenge.”
Derek sputters and blushes furiously.
Stiles tilts his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and leans in to whisper in Derek’s ear, “I can help you with that if you want.” He then glides past Derek, smacking his ass playfully on the way, and dances away toward the door, cackling.
Derek is frozen on the spot and can only stare after him, face burning, mouth hanging open, completely flabbergasted. He doesn’t even notice that they are almost at Stiles’s stop, so when the bus jerks to a sudden halt he was utterly unprepared and lands on his ass in an ungraceful heap.
Stiles punches the air and hoots triumphantly as he hops down onto the pavement. “You owe me one, Bob!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll bring cupcakes for you and Bambi on Monday, Bilinski. Now pay up, suckers!” Derek watches stupidly as Bob the driver gleefully accepts a couple of bills from several of the other passengers. He has just gotten back to his feet when he hears Stiles shout his name.
“Hey Derek, I meant what I said just now. Check you back pocket!” He’s still grinning and waving when the bus door slams shut again. “Bye! Don’t forget to hold onto the handrail!”
Derek finds a bright yellow sticky note tucked in the pocket of his jeans, a phone number scribbled on with a winking smiley face next to it.
The bus shudders into motion, and with a well-timed maneuver executed by Bob, Derek is thrown off balance again. He hangs onto the handrail for dear life, and when he looks up, Stiles is doing a silly dance on the sidewalk. Derek buries his face in one hand, but he can’t wipe the silly smile off his face, however hard he tries.