Work Text:
"Dude, are you trying to turn me on?"
Derek paused mid-sit up, his hands poised behind his head, fingers locked together, buried. in his sweat beaded hair. A tiny grunt of exertion died on his lips as he stopped, holding his position as he furrowed his brows and looked around the room.
It was a Friday afternoon in the middle of spring, rain beating a gentle staccato against the wall of windows, providing a soothing soundtrack for his workout regimen. With the full moon only a few days away, he was feeling a bit restless, an itch under his skin that he couldn't scratch.
Usually, a run through the preserve would be enough to settle his nerves, the sun on his face and the wind in his hair never failing to soothe him, no matter the issue. Recently, the other members of the pack had taken to doing the same around the full moon, feeling the same restiveness and jittery uneasiness.
But with the rain showing no signs of stopping anytime soon, any hopes for a nice run through the woods were completely dashed. He knew firsthand how muddy the trails in the preserve good get and he would rather not get soaking wet.
So, he had decided to just work out at the loft, endeavoring to burn off his extra energy the only way he knew how. For hours he had been doing as many cardio exercises he could think of, from jumping rope to doing burpees, even jogging up and down the spiral staircase.
The result was a sheen of sweat over his body and a slight lessening of the pull of the approaching full moon, still feeling extremely restless no matter what he did, even when he began feeling the effects of exertion. He had switched to less grueling exercises after awhile, finding a spot on the polished concrete floor to do sit ups on, the floor cool against his back.
He was only twenty sit ups in when Stiles asked his disarming question, freezing Derek in his tracks. Taken aback by the unexpected comment, Derek peered over at the human who was sitting cross-legged on the couch.
Stiles had shown up at the loft about an hour earlier with a backpack full of spiral notebooks and heavy textbooks and the beginnings of bags under his eyes. Derek had been in the middle of doing some squats when Stiles had let himself in with the spare key he had taken the liberty of making himself.
Uncharacteristically taciturn, Stiles had explained that for whatever reason he could not focus at home and really needed to study for his upcoming finals. He had dropped his bag on the couch as he made his way to the kitchen, helping himself to the fridge and grabbing a can of soda and some leftover pepperoni pizza.
Derek had just nodded, mostly to himself as Stiles had been busy raiding his kitchen, and told him to take as much time as he needed, launching right back into his workout. Stiles had sent him a grateful salute as he shuffled back over to the couch, plopping down beside his backpack and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
Now, Derek peered over at Stiles who had his nose buried in his psychology textbook, alternating between nibbling his lower lip and gnawing on the end of a hot pink highlighter. He seemed perfectly nonplussed, occasionally scribbling something in the margins of his textbook, squinting down at the various charts and graphs on the page.
If Derek had not heard the unexpected question himself, he wouldn't have believed that Stiles had actually said anything at all, the human not showing any signs of having said a single word. But he had heard it and he certainly wasn't going to let it go unnoticed.
Pushing himself the rest of the way up, completing his sit up, Derek rested his forearms on his knees. Looking over at Stiles who was furiously crossing something out in his notebook, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips, Derek raised an eyebrow and asked, "How am I trying to turn you on? I'm just working out."
"Yeah, shirtless ," Stiles countered without bothering to look up, the duh only implied but Derek heard it loud and clear nonetheless, blinking in surprise. He watched as Stiles circled something in his notes before reaching over to the coffee table to grab his can of Sprite, taking a long sip.
"You've seen me shirtless before, Stiles. Dozens of times," Derek pointed out, running a hand through his messy, sweaty hair, noting that he would definitely have to take a shower when he finished his workout. Tabling any thoughts of bathing for the time being, he refocused on questioning Stiles, announcing, "You've never accused me of trying to turn you on before."
Stiles scoffed. "I didn't 'accuse' you of anything."
"No, I guess not," Derek conceded, tilting his head to the side. A smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he tacked on, "But now you're avoiding the question."
He didn't miss the way Stiles' cheeks flushed a delicate pale pink, providing a backdrop for his constellations of dark moles. He also didn't miss the way the room suddenly smelled of embarrassment, using it to his advantage as he pressed, "So what else about me working out is me trying to turn you on? Besides the shirtlessness."
"That doesn't even sound like a real word," Stiles grumbled, the faintest hint of a pout on his lips as he glared down at his psych textbook as though it had personally offended his family's good name. It was rather ironic that Stiles always called him a grumpy puppy whenever he was in a foul mood when he looked like a dejected little pup who had been denied a treat.
Raising his other eyebrow, Derek pinned Stiles with an unamused look. "How about avoidance? That sound like a real word?"
He huffed out a laugh as Stiles hunched his shoulders, refusing to raise his eyes from the page of his textbook, glaring unseeingly down at the words. The blush on his cheeks flushed a darker shade of red and spread to the back of his neck, crawling up to color his ears as well.
While usually as patient as one could be, Derek was having too much fun to wait any longer for a response. Dabbing some sweat off his upper lip with the back of his hand, he intoned, "I'm waiting."
Stiles dropped his pencil into his textbook which he promptly slammed shut, raising his chin to glower over at Derek who simply stared back, completely unaffected by the heat in Stiles' eyes. He knew by now that the human's bark was worse than his bite. Of course, he would never dare say that aloud. It would just give Stiles more fodder for dog jokes.
There was a twitch of muscle at Stiles' temple as he grit his teeth, folding his arms over his chest defiantly, looking extremely annoyed. But it wasn't as though Stiles really needed to study, probably already knowing everything about whatever chapter they were on, so Derek didn't feel too bad.
"I dunno," Stiles started with a stiff shrug, aimlessly gesturing his hand in Derek's general direction, "The shirtlessness, the sweat, the ridiculous workouts, all the fucking grunting."
"That was me trying to turn you on?" Derek questioned, tilting his head to the side as he scratched the back of his neck, scrunching up his nose a bit. An amused smirk twisting his lips up at the corner, Derek raised a brow and wondered aloud, "That's all it takes?"
"I'm a sexually frustrated bisexual nineteen year old, dude," Stiles said as though that was enough to explain away everything, actually rolling his eyes like Derek was the one being ridiculous. And maybe he was, but he didn't feel like he deserved an eye roll. He pushed his indignation aside though, as Stiles was still talking, casually announcing, "A light breeze could turn me on."
"Is that so?"
Stiles just shrugged, cracking his textbook open and picking his pencil back up, launching right back into his studying as though Derek had never said anything. And while Derek would usually just let it drop, he was feeling a touch more reckless than usual, more impudent, less inhibited. He blamed it on the moon.
Forcing himself to suppress his smirk, Derek rolled to his side a bit and pushed himself to his feet, wiggling his toes in his running shoes. With a surreptitious glance over at Stiles who was frowning down at a blurb of words on the page, Derek began to stretch.
He moved his neck around in a circle while flexing his shoulders, letting his eyes fall closed as he did, breathing deeply and evenly. He stretched his legs out, his careful facade of indifference almost shattering when he caught a teasing, telltale whiff of Stiles' arousal.
He also didn't miss the way Stiles' eyes darted over in his direction when he stretched his arms over his head and cracked his back with an exaggerated moan. Nor did he miss the fact that Stiles shifted in his seat, his cheeks blotchy and red and incriminating, drawing Derek in like a moth to the flame.
Or a bug zapper. It remained to be seen which it was. But he definitely wanted to find out.
With carefully measured steps that bordered on predatory, Derek made a casual beeline for the couch. Bracing a hand on the back of the couch, he leaned over Stiles to grab the gray tank top he had stripped out of and draped over the back of the couch when he had been an hour or so into his workout.
He breathed out a laugh at the indignant sound Stiles made high in his throat as he jerked back a few inches, raising his brows at Derek. Straightening, Derek brought the threadbare tank top to his face, wiping away the drops of sweat that had beaded at his temples and on his forehead.
He balled up the tank top afterwards and, just to be obnoxious, tossed in the general direction of the back of the couch though he was really aiming for Stiles' head. The tank top hit its mark perfectly, Stiles ripping it off of his head and chucking it onto the floor, letting out an irritated huff and glaring daggers at Derek.
Merely smirking at Stiles' glower, Derek shifted his attention to nudging the coffee table out of the way, pressing the side of his foot against the nearest leg and pushing it aside to give himself more room. Stiles snatched his can of soda off the coffee table as Derek moved it, setting it down on the side table instead, rolling his eyes.
"Don't mind me," Derek said as he sat on the other side of the couch, his legs stretched straight out as he laid his palms down on either side of his hips, lightly clutching the cushion. Scooting to the edge of the seat, hands still firmly planted on the couch, Derek launched into yet another exercise, this time dips: lowering himself down until his ass nearly touched the floor before lifting himself back up. Rinse and repeat.
He would be lying if he said he hadn't been letting out a few more grunts than strictly necessary. It was a relatively easy workout, for him at least, barely making him break a sweat, but that certainly didn't stop him from groaning like he was in the middle of the most excruciatingly grueling exercise of his life.
And it certainly had the desired effect. Stiles' gaze was firmly riveted on him, his textbook and notes suddenly chopped liver.
Biting his lip, Stiles stared at Derek's chest, tracking over the rivulets of sweat that were making their way down his pectorals and towards his abs, pooling in his navel. His gaze strayed from the beads of sweat to watch the rippling bulge of Derek's arms as he smoothly lifted himself, seemingly captivated by him.
"This doing it for you?" Derek inquired, turning his head to the side to look at Stiles, not faltering in his exercise for a second. Trailing his eyes down from Stiles' shocked expression, Derek glanced emphatically at the juncture of Stiles' thighs, commenting, "Sure looks like it."
He was expecting the deep red blush that colored Stiles’ face but he didn't expect the spike of anger in Stiles' scent. He didn't expect Stiles to slam his textbook shut loudly and snap, "That's it! I'm done!"
He didn't expect Stiles to shove his textbook and his notebook back into his bag and swiftly rise to his feet. And he certainly didn't expect Stiles to rush over to the front door while grumbling something incomprehensible under his breath.
Derek scrambled to his feet, uncharacteristically clumsy and uncoordinated in his haste, nearly landing on his face as he pushed himself off the couch. He did end up knocking his knee against the other side table, cursing as he hobbled after Stiles to the heavy steel front door, crying out, "Stiles, wait!"
He managed to slam his hand against the door before Stiles could wrench it open, holding it closed even after Stiles released his white-knuckled grip on the handle. Panting a little bit, from an amalgamation of his rigorous workout and the mad dash to the door, Derek hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing out a single question, "What's wrong?"
"You're making fun of me," Stiles growled through grit teeth, his hands curled into fists at his sides, looking and sounding like he was ready for a fight. The scent of Stiles' anger was enough to nearly suffocate Derek, sharp and almost spicy as it filled the loft, chasing away any traces of arousal or contentment that had been there a moment ago.
Derek cautiously raised his free hand and laid it on Stiles' upper arm, feeling how unbelievably tense he was, so different from his usual relaxed, casual self. Guilt threatening to drown him alive, Derek gently squeezed his arm, his thumb rubbing small circles into Stiles' shoulder as he softly assured, "Stiles, I'm not making fun of you."
"Yes, you are!" Stiles answered in a shout, so loud Derek had to jerk his head back to spare his sensitive ears, his senses even more heightened by the approach of the full moon. Still bristling, his whole body somehow tensing even more, Stiles continued on, snarling, "I get it, okay? You know I like you. But you don't have to be such an asshole about it!"
"Stiles..." Derek tried to speak but the words shriveled up and died in his throat, only a shocked wheeze escaping his lips. His brain had been reduced to a jumble of confused thoughts and questions he was dying to ask but couldn't find the words to actually say them, both of which got all mixed up together in an incomprehensible vichyssoise.
He shook his head a bit, like a dog who had gotten water in their ear, sure that his own ears had betrayed him. But werewolf hearing was impeccable.
There was no way he could have misheard, even if his more wishful thoughts had whispered the same exact words in Stiles' voice. Though those specific thoughts usually lacked any accusations of him being an asshole.
His werewolf hearing did not miss any discrepancy in Stiles' heartbeat, either. Because there was none. When Stiles uttered the words 'I like you' he was telling the gods honest truth.
Derek dropped both of his hands, warily curling his arms over his chest Stiles' waist, not wanting to frighten him or make him uncomfortable. When he shivered a bit, goosebumps rising on his arms, Derek instinctively let out a small huffing whine, brushing his cheek against Stiles'.
"I wasn't," Derek murmured very, very softly, his stubble rasping gently against the smooth skin of Stiles' mole dotted cheek. To elaborate, he tightened his arms around Stiles and explained, "Making fun of you, I mean. Was just trying to tease you a little. I didn't know..."
Stiles snorted. "Don't bullshit me, Derek. There's no way you didn't know."
"I can prove it," Derek announced, raising his head a few inches as Stiles whipped his head to the side, raising a thoroughly skeptical brow. Unwrapping his arms from Stiles' waist, Derek set them on Stiles' hips instead, encouraging him to turn around to face him, pressing their foreheads together. "If I had known, I would've done this a long time ago."
Squatting a bit, Derek slid his hands down from Stiles' hips to grab him by his thighs, effortlessly lifting him up and carefully pinning him to the door. His backpack dropped to the ground with a dull thud as his hands scrambled for purchase on Derek's broad, sweat slick shoulders.
Tilting his head up, Derek did what he had wanted to do for so very long and pressed his lips to Stiles in what was the best first kiss of either of their lives.