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“This is nice,” Derek says, leaning back in his chair.
They’re sitting on Stiles’ back porch, sipping ice cold water as the afternoon sun slants through the trees. The summer heat has wilted the grass, so they’re running the sprinklers, and the low, repetitive sound of them is soothing to Derek.
Stiles doesn’t like to be outside much this time of year, not with the amount of clothes he wears, but he’s willing to shed most of his layers here, in the privacy of his own back yard. He sits next to Derek in just a baggy shirt and jeans, and stopped crossing his arms defensively over himself several minutes ago.
He nods in agreement, but he still seems like he’s being carried away by his thoughts, the corner of his mouth just starting to turn down.
So Derek blurts, “What do you want most, right now, at this very moment? It can be anything.”
Stiles stares at him for long enough that Derek begins to wonder if he’s made a mistake. Then he smiles a little and says, “It’s tied, I can’t decide.”
“Between what?” Derek says curiously.
“Well, I really want to run through those sprinklers,” Stiles says, and he’s grinning now. “But I also really want to eat an entire pot of mac and cheese.”
Derek laughs. “I don’t see why we can’t do both,” he says. “But we should do the sprinklers first.”
Stiles sends him a look then, a sort of nervous, shifting glance, then away again. Stiles still won’t let Derek go to the gym with him, and he wonders if this is just something else Stiles doesn’t want him to see.
Instead, he says, “You’d really do it?”
“Run through the sprinklers?” Derek asks, surprised. “Of course I would, it’s a great idea. And I can make some delicious mac and cheese, too.”
“You know I was joking when I said I could eat a whole pot of it, right?” Stiles says, eyebrows raised.
“That’s good,” Derek says, winking. “How else would you share it with me?”
Derek has Stiles grab some towels, so they won’t have to drip through the house after their sprinkler run. Stiles returns with a huge stack, and Derek laughs.
“You realize it’s only the two of us, right?” he asks, eyeing the pile Stiles sets down in his vacant chair.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Never hurts to have extra.”
He leans over and pulls of his socks and shoes, rolling up the cuffs of his jeans as he does. Derek follows suit, and makes sure to leave his phone and keys on the porch where they won’t get wet.
Stiles’ smacks his hand against Derek’s chest as he runs past, leaping off the porch steps and sprinting through the sprinklers at full speed. He loops around and comes back through them again at a more moderate pace, letting out the most delighted, carefree laugh Derek has ever heard.
He stares in wonder, feeling his heart pound, and only snaps out of it when Stiles flicks water at him and says, “Are you coming in, or what?”
“Definitely,” Derek says, grinning, and jumps out into a spray of water.
It feels incredibly good in the heat, and the refreshing effect is worth the discomfort of wet jeans. He jogs through a couple more of the sprinklers, his feet slipping through the grass, and heads back toward Stiles.
He’s standing with his back to one of the sprinklers, and Derek watches the water cascade down his shoulders for a moment, mesmerized, before joining him.
“Are you wishing you had a pool?” he asks, just as Stiles dips his head down to get his hair soaked.
“Nah, we’d never manage the upkeep,” Stiles says, shrugging. “And this is pretty great, anyway.” He pauses then, his eyes lingering on Derek’s face. “I forgot to ask earlier, but. What do you want the most, right now?”
“I want to kiss you,” Derek admits immediately, because it’s true.
“Really?” Stiles says, sounding genuinely surprised, and leans in, closing the distance between his lips and Derek’s.
They’ve kissed before, but only shy nervous pecks that last for a second or two. This kiss, though—Stiles’ hands are digging into his shoulders, holding him close as he opens up to Derek, and when Stiles changes the angle Derek can feel his wet hair dripping on his cheek, but he doesn’t care—it’s amazing, and Derek melts into it.
When Stiles pulls away, he looks shy again, but it’s only for a second. Then he’s jumping away from the sprinkler, letting the spray hit Derek full on, and running across the yard, laughing.
Derek stands there a moment longer, knowing there’s a ridiculous smile on his face, before sprinting after him.
They play for a while longer, yelling and flinging water at each other, until Stiles figures they’re gonna flood the lawn, and turns the sprinklers off.
They get back on the porch, completely sodden, with Stiles still snickering at the line of mud down Derek’s side. He’d be embarrassed that he fell, but how hard Stiles had laughed while repeating oh my god, your face between breaths made it totally worth it.
Stiles hesitates in front of his pile of towels, nervously picking at the hem of his shirt, so Derek turns away and busies himself stripping off his own clothes. He almost groans in relief at getting his wet, constrictive jeans off, and the warm breeze feels amazing on his bare legs and chest.
He decides it’s probably best to keep his underwear on, since they’ll dry fast anyway. When he turns around, he sees Stiles has come to the same decision. He already has towel draped across his bare shoulders, and is wrapping another around his waist, hiding his colorful boxers from view.
Derek drags his eyes from the soft curve of Stiles’ waist quickly, because he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Stiles doesn’t like Derek seeing his body, says it’s ugly, but Derek doesn’t think so at all.
He hasn’t quite convinced Stiles of that, though.
He gently scruffs his hand through Stiles’ hair on his way into the house, laughing at the outraged noise he makes. He gets the water boiling, pulls out all the ingredients he needs, and finds that he’s really hungry.
Stiles hurries past moments later with their clothes, and Derek hears the clang of the washing machine lid.
“I’ve got our clothes washing, hopefully that mud won’t stain your shirt,” he says, just a little teasing.
“It’ll be fine if it does,” Derek shrugs. Even if it’s ruined, it was worth all the fun he had with Stiles. “Will you grate some of the cheese?” he asks, stirring the noodles.
Derek’s had a lot of practice making this dish, so he gets everything done pretty quickly. And though he expects Stiles to go upstairs and change into dry clothes, he seems content to stay in his towels, helping Derek in the kitchen.
“Wow, this is really good,” Stiles says after the first bite.
Derek sits down across from him at the table, and takes his own helping. “You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he says, grinning. “Some alphas can cook, you know.”
“I just meant—I’ve only had the kind that comes out of the box,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I feel very spoiled, eating this.”
And Derek can’t help preening a little at that, as he’s always wanted to do things to make Stiles feel valued, cared for. “I’m glad you like it,” he mumbles, a little embarrassed that he’s getting sentimental over macaroni and cheese.
When they’re nearly done eating, Derek finds himself looking at Stiles, tracing the slope of his nose and the strong line of his jaw, and the warm, captivating color of his eyes.
Stiles catches him right away, of course.
“What is it?” he asks, sounding a little nervous.
“Remember how I said that neither of us was perfect?”
“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
“Well, I just changed my mind,” Derek says, returning his smile. “I think maybe you are perfect.” He knows Stiles isn’t ready to hear that Derek is in love with him, barely believes that Derek likes him at all, so this is the closest he can get to saying it, for now.
Stiles huffs out a laugh. “Derek, I’m in therapy.”
He sounds more confident about it than he did last week, when he’d nervously admitted that he was going to talk to someone. “That doesn’t disqualify you,” Derek says gently.
There’s a long gap of silence, then Stiles shoots him a worried glance before looking away. “And I don’t—I haven’t had a heat in a while. Months.”
“I know,” Derek says, because there was really no way to miss that. He goes to school with Stiles, and was hanging out with him and his friends most weekends. Stiles hasn’t had to miss class or cancel a sleepover for a long time. “It’s okay.”
Stiles looks back over at him in surprise. “I—really?”
“Yes,” Derek says, as firmly as he can. “I like you, Stiles. And I’ll keep liking you, even if it never happens.” He’s never been the kind of alpha that’s desperate for sex, and he certainly doesn’t want to pressure Stiles into it.
Stiles nods, looking almost hopeful. “Okay,” he says.
Derek slides his hand across the table, gently touches Stiles’ wrist, because he doesn’t look completely reassured. “After our clothes are dry, do you want to go see a movie?”
“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling. “I’ve always wanted to make out in a theater.”
That startles a laugh out of Derek. “We can definitely do that,” he says.
“Awesome,” Stiles says, standing up. “I’m gonna go put our clothes in the dryer.”
When he comes back, Derek has just finished clearing the table. He uses the towel around Stiles’ shoulders to pull him into a soft kiss, and feels Stiles’ grin against his lips.
Perfect.