Chapter Text
"Turn right in ... point three ... miles." a monotone female voice advised Derek, the directions barely penetrating his stormy internal monologue enough to register. Absently he turned the wheel, guiding his car onto the small side road that looked as if ten or fifteen years ago it would probably have been nothing more than dirt or gravel. On either side of the road were tall, feathery palm trees, green grass and splashes of color in the form of decorative flower beds. Derek couldn't help but roll down the window and take a long, deep breath, reveling in how drastically different everything felt from the dirty, crowded, grey and black urban landscape he'd left behind in New York.
Even the smells were different, from the scent of all the greenery and the salty ocean breeze to the increasingly strong fragrance of laundry, chlorine, coconut-scented suntan lotions, commercial-strength cleaners and something... intoxicating. Derek narrowed his eyes slightly, now sniffing at the air in earnest. No... not something... someone. He could smell them clearly now: a mixture of sweat, shampoo and... one of those trendy deodorants that was supposed to make women more attracted to you? Oddly something about the smell seemed vaguely familiar. Rounding a corner, the source of the strangely arousing aroma became painfully obvious—a shaggy-haired brunette guy who looked like he was in his late teens or early twenties was working up a sweat jogging alongside the road, the summer sun glistening on his tanned skin and tight, toned body. Furrowing his heavy brow in confusion and arousal, Derek clenched his jaw and dragged a hand across the two or three days growth of stubble there, cursing and praising the slow speed limit on these tiny side roads as he drove past the jogger, unable to stop himself from staring.
“Fuck.” Derek muttered, realizing a pair of the darkest brown eyes he had ever seen was now staring back at him, albeit with an eyebrow raised in an expression of confusion, amusement and perhaps a hint of concern. Momentarily Derek considered saying something or asking him if he needed a ride, in an effort to explain his behavior. Blushing deeply, Derek realized how intensely creepy that would sound and drove past, still glancing in the rear view mirror until the shirtless runner was out of sight.
“Your destination is on your left. You have arrived.” the stiff, monotone voice broke the awkward silence and Derek gratefully pulled past a large, seemingly hand-carved wooden sign that read “Casa de Piña” and into the parking lot of a complex of surprisingly modern white stucco buildings with classic Mission-style red terra cotta tiled roofs. Quickly, Derek found a spot and threw his car into park, almost jumping out of the vehicle in an attempt to get into the building before an even more awkward encounter with the handsome, sweaty jogger boy became inevitable. Hustling through the tiled courtyard and past a beautiful fountain that was circled by a ring of flowerbeds, Derek took no time to enjoy the lovely decor, instead making a beeline for the arched wood and glass double doors and ducking safely into the hotel's lobby. Derek heaved a deep sigh of relief, straightened himself and headed for the front desk, “Reservation for Hale?” he asked simply of the pale, skinny boy with buzz-cut brown hair who had just finished entering someone's information into the hotel computer, resisting the urge to smirk at how lucky he was to have avoided further embarrassment.
“Hale? Alright, let's see. Derek Hale? Weird. That sounds kind of familiar.” the boy trailed off, never turning his attention from the computer's monitor as he searched the system for the reservation and absently handed Derek a small paper envelope with a room number written on it, unconcerned with his lack of response. There was only one reservation for Hale, so confirmation seemed unnecessary. Finally glancing up from his work, the boy's mouth fell open as he took in the heavily muscled form before him, eyeing Derek up and down like a piece of meat, much like Derek realized he himself had been doing from his car window just a couple minutes ago. “Uhh... sorry about that! Dizzy spell, haha. They really need to get us a chair or something. Anyway, looks like you've already paid online, so if you wanna follow me I can show you to your room.” Derek could actually hear the boy swallow hard.
“That's alright. If you'll just point me in the right direction I'm sure I can find it. But if you could have someone bring up my luggage, that'd be great. It's all in the trunk.” Derek fished his keys from his pocket and dropped them on the counter.
“Oh,” the boy blinked once, nodded a bit and looked around at nothing in particular, “Okay. Right, well if you just head back out the front doors and take a left, you can follow the path back around the main building and yours will be the second building on your right. You... sure you don't want some help?”
“I'll manage,” Derek started, wanting nothing more than to head straight to his room, yet forcing a polite smile, “but thanks.” Turning on his heel, he practically bolted for the door, realizing the route to his room would put him in jeopardy of running into jogger boy after all. Closing the final few paces to the door, Derek began to reach for the handle only to see through the door's glass a pair of down-turned dark brown eyes and lean, sweat-drenched muscles pulling the handle on the other side. “Shit.” Derek whispered, freezing in his tracks.
The door opened and the jogger half sang, half hummed with his music as he turned it off, using his free hand to take his earbuds out and shove them in his pocket. Preoccupied, he remained totally oblivious to the scruffy, motionless black-haired figure on the building's interior. Derek's heart leaped into his throat and his entire body stiffened as a soft thud filled the room. Stumbling backwards a bit, the shaggy-haired jogger finally looked up at the wall of muscle he'd just collided with, his lips parting slightly as he inhaled sharply, then finally forming words, “You!” he gasped, then blinked and shook his head, “I mean... sorry. I guess I should watch where I'm going. Just not used to people standing right inside the doorway.” He laughed nervously.
“Oh! Scott! Hey!” the pale, cutely-speckled front desk attendant joined them excitedly, “You two know each other?”
“Stiles! N-no... not exactly.” Scott raised an arm and scratched absently at the back of his head, his gaze shifting off to anywhere but Derek, clearly struggling with what to say before coming up with, “I... er... I just saw him driving by a few minutes ago and uh... really liked his car.”
“Oh really?” the corners of Stiles' mouth turned down almost imperceptibly as he crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced, “Must've been a sweet ride! What kind of car was it?”
“It was... black.” Scott gritted his teeth and stared hard at his suddenly infuriating friend and co-worker, as if wishing he could bore holes into his skull with his eyes alone, “You know how I love black cars.”
“Fine.” Stiles threw his hands up defensively, retreating to the computer behind the front desk, “Just try not to crash into all our customers. I mean look how sweaty his shirt is now. We can wash that for you if you want, Mr. Hale. No charge, since it was SCOTT'S fault.” Scott and Stiles exchanged another series of looks that seemed to say something along the lines of 'Dude! Shut up!' and 'Hey, I'm not the one who forgot how to walk!'
Derek, who had been looking down at his black, short sleeved henley and the wet spots where Scott's sweat were soaking into the fabric, quickly looked up, wide hazel eyes flashing intensely, “No. It's fine. Just a little sweat. It'll dry. I'm just gonna head to my room. Don't worry about sending up my stuff. I've got it.” Derek quickly grabbed his keys and disappeared through the front door before either of them could respond.
“Who the hell was that?” Scott asked, staring at Stiles pointedly, then slugging him in the shoulder, “And thanks for having my back, man! Seriously! 'What kind of car was it....'” Scott huffed, leaving a shocked, overly-offended looking Stiles clutching his shoulder dramatically.