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The kegster is in full swing by the time Derek ventures downstairs from the reading room after his smoking break, feeling pleasantly light and floaty. He doesn’t want to ruin his calm high by getting wasted, so he only grabs a beer on his way to the living room, promising himself it’ll be the only one tonight.
Chowder and Farmer are playing beer pong against a couple of guys from the football team, and Derek fist-bumps them both for luck as he passes, even though they don’t seem to need it, going by their matching smug grins, and the annoyed scowls on the football bros’ faces. Ford and Bitty are huddled together in a corner, giggling at something on Bitty’s phone, and Tango is sitting on the couch next to the girl from his math class he claims he doesn’t even like all that much, his eyes wide and his face bright red.
Derek smiles to himself, and ruffles Tango’s hair just to be a shit. The rest of the team is scattered around somewhere, for sure, so Derek goes to lean against a window sill, content for now to sip his beer, people-watch, and let the sounds and noises of the party wash over him.
He talks to the cute girl from his slam poetry group for a while, but declines her invitation to head over to her friend’s house for some other party; it’s the first kegster of the new semester, and he’s technically on new tadpole watching duty, even if they’re all behaving so far. She pouts at him, but puts her number in his phone anyway, telling him to text if he’s ever up for grabbing a coffee together, as friends or something else, no pressure.
She’s a lot of fun, and he’ll definitely take her up on it, especially now that a lot of his non-hockey friends have graduated. He walks her out when she leaves, ready for some fresh air himself, and they part with a hug, and promises to meet up soon.
After a quick detour through the kitchen for a bottle of water, Derek throws himself back into the fray. He makes the rounds saying hi to the people he knows, helps a guy off the bathroom floor and into a cab, dances, sneaks some of the leftover pie from the fridge, and keeps an eye out for Dex all the while.
Things between the two of them have been better lately, and Derek has a vague plan of bugging Dex into going out for post-kegster ice cream. It has become a tradition of sorts since the start of the semester, to go out together on Saturday nights. Nothing fancy or too outrageous, just to share some fries or grab some hot chocolates, but Derek’s come to treasure those few hours every week.
Saying that they’d had a rough start would be an understatement, but Derek likes to think they’ve come a long way since being two young, dumb freshmen. Derek’s self-aware enough to acknowledge that some of the assumptions he’d made about Dex in the beginning had been based on his own prejudices and some general stereotypes, while he still believes others were entirely justified. He has actively tried to get rid of those he knows were wrong, though, and he isn’t the only one who’s put in work.
Derek has no idea what prompted Dex to start making changes, but it definitely hasn’t gone unnoticed. Dex had come back to the Haus after Christmas last year, and while he’d still been the same old, always slightly grumpy Dex, it had been pretty fucking obvious to everyone that something about him was different. He’d seemed more settled, for one, less tense and high-strung, which had, surprisingly, opened the gates for a whole new kind of friendship between them.
Now, Dex actually listens when Derek talks to him, and doesn’t automatically assume every word out of Derek’s mouth is an attack on his person. He’s able to hear Derek when Derek tells him he’s out of line on certain topics, and even asks questions back, and puts effort into understanding, and adjusting his behaviour.
Derek had never really thought that Dex was trying to be homophobic or racist or sometimes ignorant—he’d liked to think Dex would’ve been smart enough not to move halfway across the country to attend Samwell if he were—and he’d felt vindicated after meeting Dex’s parents during a game their sophomore year. Derek’s moms and his father have all done their best to raise Derek right, and he doesn’t usually like to talk bad about people he barely knows, but damn, the Poindexters are not nice people. And that’s putting it mildly.
Being raised a certain—read: shitty—way doesn’t excuse all of the shit Dex has said and done, but it certainly explains some things. And if Dex is willing to work on himself, Derek’s not about to push him away as some sort of belated punishment.
The crush he’s been harbouring honestly has very little to do with it. Derek might, on occasion, let his romantic heart get the better of him, but he’s so over letting stupid but pretty white boys play with him. He’s 100% done with that.
Unfortunately, though, Derek can’t find Dex anywhere on the main floor of the Haus. He’s about to go upstairs and see if he’s hiding in their room when a group of guys standing around one of the folding tables draws his attention. They’re laughing, which isn’t really anything unusual at a party, but something about it makes Derek’s hackles raise; it sounds mean, taunting, even from where he’s standing several feet away.
As he’s carefully inching closer, trying to be sneaky, he catches a challenging, “C’mon, dude, don’t be a pussy. Just do it.”
Derek rolls his eyes, wishing Shitty was still here. Or Lardo. Not that the current Haus residents can’t deal with assholes like these, but it’s always a treat to watch a half naked Shitty really tear into someone, or see mostly grown men flee when faced with Lardo’s eyebrows of wrath.
They’re not here, though, and no one else from the team is close by, so Derek steels himself to intervene in case the situation escalates.
“No way, bro,” another of the guys laughs, all fake bravado, “don’t come at me with that gay shit.”
It takes a lot for Derek not to laugh when he finally sees what’s actually going on; there’s one of the golden, glittery plastic bowls Bitty’d bought for one of their themed kegsters last year sitting in the middle of the table, filled with some disconcertingly pink liquid, ice cubes, pieces of fruit, and a bunch of candy penis straws. And the four dumbasses gathered around it are, apparently, goading each other into drinking through them.
Derek is considering doing it himself to diffuse the situation—it’s not like it’s a big deal, for crying out loud—when he finally spots Dex. He’s standing pressed against the wall, tense, shoulders up around his ears, and glaring at the hollering group, trapped behind them and the table unless he wants to make himself known.
Before Derek can decide what to do, one of the guys grabs a straw out of the bowl, waving it in one of his friends’ faces, making him stumble backwards with an, “Ew, dude,” and right into Dex. Dex reaches out automatically to steady the guy, and smiles tightly when the guy thumps him on the shoulder in thanks, and laughs drunkenly, “Bro, have you seen this crap?”
He tugs at Dex’s arm, tugging him closer to the table, and gestures at the bowl with the straw he’s still holding. “What kind of fag comes up with something like this?”
Dex’s jaw twitches, but his voice is admiringly steady as he points out, “There’s girls here, too, you know. And don’t use that word, man, it’s not cool.”
There are collective boos and eye-rolls from the other guys. One of them jostles Dex, grinning like a shark. “What? You’d actually do it? Yeah, right.”
Derek is rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open, as Dex leans down without a hint of hesitation, wraps his lips around one of the straws, and takes a few sips. When he straightens back up, he takes the straw with him, and Derek’s pretty sure the feeling in his chest when Dex sucks the dick-shaped gummy into his mouth with a challengingly raised eyebrow isn’t entirely healthy.
It manages to shut up the other guys for a moment, at least until one of them cries, “Bro, what the fuck?”
“It’s a straw. And candy,” Dex says dryly. “Get over yourselves.”
The guys exchange looks, clearly not sure how to handle any of this. One of them decides, “It’s still gross, man.”
“Well,” Dex says, and grabs another straw to eat the candy off of it, “usually I suck real dicks, and they don’t taste like apple or cherry, so this is kind of a refreshing change.”
Derek isn’t sure if he actually makes a noise—although, internally he’s definitely fucking cheering—but Dex’s head snaps up, eyes growing impossibly wide when he sees Derek. Then, just as quickly, he shuts down, face going blank, and pushes past the table, making for the stairs.
Without sparing the idiots still gaping dumbly another thought, Derek follows. He only stops when Bitty catches his elbow, looking worried. “What happened? Do you want me to go talk to him?”
That makes Derek pause. He knows Bitty and Dex are close, but not if Bitty knows that—if Bitty knows. And if he doesn’t, Dex won’t really be able to explain why he’s upset. Derek, even if it wasn’t intentional, already knows part of it, though.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he says, seriously tempted to down one of the shots on the tray Bitty’s carrying. “I’ll ask him.”
Bitty nods, satisfied, and pats Derek’s arm. “Let me know if you need me, honey. Either of you.”
“I will,” Derek promises, smacks a kiss on Bitty’s cheek, and hurries after Dex.
The door to their room is closed when he gets upstairs, and Derek knocks tentatively. “Dex? Hey, man, can I come in?”
“It’s your room, too,” comes Dex’s muffled reply, making Derek huff out a quiet laugh.
“Okay, I’m coming in.”
Dex is sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees, and head bent. Derek plops down next to him, leaving some space between them to give Dex room to breathe, but knocks their knees together in silent support.
“Are you okay?” he asks eventually, stupidly relieved when Dex shoots him a flat look. “You know what I mean.”
“That wasn’t—I didn't really plan any of this,” Dex sighs, ruffling a hand through his hair. “But, uh. Surprise, I guess?”
Derek bumps his shoulder against Dex’s, and Dex pressed back, leaning against him. “Does anyone else know?”
“I told my family, over Christmas.” Dex grimaces, which already says more than enough, but he still adds, “It didn’t exactly go well. I’m glad I did it, though. It—it feels better, now. Not having to spend so much energy on hiding it.”
“Yeah, I feel that,” Derek agrees. “Still sucks, though. I’m sorry.”
Dex smiles slightly, eyes still fixed on his hands. “And, uh. I told Shitty, way back in freshman year when he took me aside to yell at me about being an insensitive douchecanoe,” he says, obviously quoting. “Chowder figured it out because goalies, you know? And I told Bitty after I came out to my parents.”
That’s more people than Derek would’ve thought. He’s genuinely happy for Dex, though, that he’s found people he can trust and confide in. Sure, he wishes he’d been one of those people, is a little hurt that he wasn’t, but that’s not the point right now. He tries not to let it show, but Dex knows him too well by now for Derek to get away with it.
“Look, Nurse, it wasn’t about you, not really,” he says, worrying at his lip. There’s a flush spreading across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. “I just—I couldn’t tell you, okay? It’s complicated.”
Derek can’t help but snort at that, because wow. What a cliche excuse. When he says as much, though, Dex actually looks up at him, sheepish but determined. “No, really. I couldn’t tell you. Not you. I couldn’t.”
He stares at Derek intently, a little shyly, expression begging Derek to get it, to figure it out. And, after a moment, Derek does.
“Oh,” he breathes, and then again, higher, more of a squeak, “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Dex’s mouth twists, eyes looking sad. “Surprise. Again.”
“How much did you drink tonight?” Derek blurts, making Dex blink, startled.
“Uh. Like, two beers, maybe? A couple of hours ago? Why?”
Derek doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns sideways so he’s properly looking at Dex, and lifts a trembling hand to cup his cheek. “Tell me if this isn’t okay?”
It is, all in all, a pretty terrible first kiss. Derek nearly misses Dex’s mouth at first, and has to quickly readjust his angle, and for a few seconds after their lips meet, Dex is completely stiff and frozen, not moving at all.
But then Dex lets out a shuddering sigh, his own hands coming up to squeeze Derek’s shoulders, and whispers, “Derek,” right against Derek’s mouth before finally, finally kissing back.
When Bitty comes knocking some time later, Derek has Dex spread out on the bottom bunk, lips red and swollen, and hair a complete disaster. Both their shirts are lying crumpled somewhere on the floor, Dex’s fly is open, and Derek’s managed to lose his shoes and socks, shorts shoved haphazardly down over his ass.
Bitty takes one look at them, and turns right around, calling out, “Good for you. Maybe look the door.”
Dex giggles into Derek’s neck, as happy and carefree as Derek’s ever seen him, flushed all prettily, and Derek really can’t be expected to resist kissing him again, then.
It takes another ten minutes, and a vicious game of rock-paper-scissors before Derek finally stumbles up to get the door. And Dex doesn’t even laugh at him when he stumbles over the shorts tangled around his feet. Not much, anyway.