Work Text:
"Here is your mail, Mr Hale-of-a-booty!"
Derek glared at his mailman. The guy seems to have a different pun every day, and it always seemed to be a pick-up line from one of these awful websites helping singles to find love -or a one night stand.
Like every day, he took his mail without a word, and tried not to look too obviously at the mailman's ass, his glorious behind snug in this tight-fitting uniform.
"See you tomorrow!" the mailman said joyfully, before riding his bike and Jesus, why was he doing it in such a sexual way? Derek averted his eyes; a little bit too late if the smirk on the mailman's sinful lips was anything to go by.
So what if Derek was having varied and numerous fantasies about his mailman? He was a lonely guy. And a writer. Not the ideal profession to meet people- and he wasn't a caveman, thanks, Laura. He was satisfied with his boring, lonely life. He had books.
He checked the mail- a postcard from his mother, who was in the middle of a trip in Europe, with her greetings and the advice to go out and see a bit of sun. Sun was overrated and could cause skin cancer, plus not everyone could have a tan-skin with moles and freckles, or a smile big enough to match with said sun. And he really had to finish his two last chapters or his editor was going to kill him sooner than any cancer, anyway, and then he would never be able to go out.
Erica was one crazy dangerous woman when he was late and didn't care if he never leaved his house, because she was invading it often enough, pressuring him to write and emptying his reserve of wine. He was praying every day for her to never be there when the sexy mailman was delivering his letters and his special brand of flirting.
She would never leave him alone with this.
He remembered the first time the guy showed up at his door, smile bright and eyes sparkling. It sure wasn't his old mailman, Mr Fidgey, and he had been so surprised he had asked him if it was a joke, Halloween or something- because let's face it, he looked way too young to have a job, his place was in high school and certainly not at his front door with a uniform two sizes too small.
That day, Derek had been in sweatpants and really hadn't need for an erection, so maybe he had been harsh with the guy, but the mailman had just laughed. It was a mistake everybody made, he knew he looked young, but hey, I can promise you I'm legal, he had added with a wink.
It was the day Derek knew he was doomed.
Maybe the guy was flirting with the entire neighborhood, but no one ever flirted with Derek. Maybe it was the glares.
He found himself jerking off to the guy and he didn't even know his name.
But today, Derek decided to treat himself. If he was able to finish his two last chapters, to finish his book, he would allow himself to make some research about the guy. Maybe he could ask his sister? No, she would know something was up. Maybe he could go to the station, tell someone that an important letter had been delivered already opened, and ask for the mailman's name?
He sat in front of his computer, opened a file at stared at the blank page during a minute or too.
The fact is that he was bored with his book. He was bored with the plot, the characters- they seemed to be flat, fake, and every time he closed his eyes it was to see the face of his mailman. This guy was a mystery, he was new, he was beautiful, and he was the perfect beginning for a book. But Derek just couldn't write about him. It was something he never did: writing about real people. He wrote fiction.
He wasn't creepy and wasn't studying his mailman to wrote his next book, no, not a plot about a bright guy new in town with access to everybody’s mail, not a fascinating thriller with an omniscient mailman witnessing all about the brave people of Bacon Hills.
Nope.
He wasn't thinking about the fact that a little bit of a love story in the side could be good- with the recluse writer of the town for example.
So, yeah, his current book wasn't really about to get published and he hadn't written a line in half an hour. He really needed to bust his ass or he would never be able to reward himself with the right to research his mailman's name.
His bell ringed, and he sighed. Getting up, he opened the door:
"Erica, I will tell you when the book's written..."
And saw his fucking mailman.
"Sorry, I... Obviously am not Erica, but... Good luck with that book? Anyway, I forgot to tell you this morning, we're selling calendars..."
"I know what fucking day we are." Please go away, I need to finish that book so I can ask everyone I know about you.
"Yeah, but you always need a calendar! Don't you have one?"
"No", he admits, gaze steady, don't wanting to be ashamed. He had a computer. People don't need calendars when they have a computer. Right?
"Then you definitely need one. Plus, this one has pics of all the Beacon Hills mail employees."
All of a sudden this calendar seemed way more interesting. Pics? Maybe names, even? Then he wouldn't have to talk to people. He could have all the information right know, and a masturbatory pic as an unexpected bonus.
Were they in uniform in these pics?
"Can you show me?"
"Sure, let me get one."
He didn't stare at the guy's ass while he got back to his bike to bring a calendar.
"Here, see, there is a pic of each of us, and a group pic on the front."
Derek made a show of hesitating, and even asked:
"How much for one?" His mailman was on the front, posing nonchalantly against a tree and looking fuckable as hell. He would pay a thousand dollars for this shit. This calendar already had a reserved place on the wall of his study. In front of his computer so he could stare at it like the creeper he was.
"You can give us whatever you esteem appropriate."
Derek tried to look at the calendar to see if the names of the employee were written.
"I don't know, I never bought one. How much people usually pay?"
The guys gave him a lopsided smile.
"I don't know, maybe you can pay me in other ways. Maybe you can buy me lunch?"
"I have a book to write", Derek panicked and he almost slapped himself right there when the mailman's face fell a bit. "How about tomorrow?"
The bright smile was back.
"Yeah, tomorrow could be good. I'm Stiles, by the way."
Fuck. Stiles. The name could roll so well on his tongue.
"It's a date, then. Just… Come at 12?"
"Ok, then. Here, your calendar..." The mailman- Stiles, fumbled a bit and handed him the calendar with his usual smile before going, and fuck, he was having a date with this guy, he wasn't ready, and his book wasn't written.
He needed to call Laura.
_________________
She looked at the pic on the calendar and laughed so hard she wasn’t able to breathe.
“You’re so fucked, he’s the Sheriff’s son.”
He was so fucked.
_________________
So, maybe, people were a bit wary around Derek. Maybe they were accusing him of small forfeits because he looked a bit grumpy.
Maybe he was seeing the Sheriff of Beacon Hills a little too often for a quiet citizen.
But really, it was his neighbor’s fault. Seriously, why Mrs Gruge was thinking it was always Derek kidnapping his cat whenever the fucking feline felt like going out for a few days?
And he definitively didn’t crashed eggs on the house next to his- it was kids, why would he do something so childish?
And it was the drunk guy passing by who had decided to puke in their garden. Seriously, Derek didn’t even drink- even if he wanted to, Erica was constantly emptying his bottles before he had the occasion to put a hand on it.
So yeah, maybe the fact that his date was the Sheriff’ son wouldn’t help his case.
So he decided to groom his beard, to put a buttoned shirt on, to wear an extra-dose of deodorant the next morning, and to forget about his half-finished book for once. He had a hot date, damnit! He hadn’t dated in ages, not since Kate, the fucking evil ex who forced him to have a social life and showed him off like a purse or an expensive pair of shoes.
This time it was different, and he even didn’t stare at the hot pic of Stiles on the calendar all night- just a few hours, and it was only because of the uniform. And maybe the moles; but he had so many, and Derek really wanted to know all of them! It wasn’t his fault!
He was ready by eleven and pacing in his living-room, thinking about his last disastrous thirty meetings with the good Sheriff at the station; and sweaty and nervous by twelve when his bell ringed.
Stiles was wearing a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt and his usual smile when he opened the door, and didn’t seemed to be aware that he was about to have lunch with his father’s nightmare.
“Hey, Derek! You’re… Wow, am I under-dressed? Are we going in some fancy restaurant?”
“I just thought that maybe you were tired of seeing me in my pajamas.”
“They are really fine pajamas, nothing wrong with them. I never complained before!”
“I can still put on some sweatpants, it’s not too late…” Derek teased, and then had to look elsewhere because Stiles was checking him out- thank you Laura for the advice, these jeans were uncomfortable and tight as fuck, but were doing wonders for his thighs.
“I think I can manage with your current outfit”, whispered the mailman, and Derek took this as his cue to grab his keys and go.
He walked Stiles to the Camaro (“Dear God, this car is almost as sexy as you”). The drive wasn’t really long, the little Italian restaurant he wanted to show Stiles being in town, but during the short delay he managed to learn that Stiles was back in town after studying in college, that he loved Italian food, that he was a Mets fan and had ADHD ("just tell me if you think I need to shut up").
The flow of Stiles’ voice was comforting, after years of living in silence- except for when Erica and his sister were squatting his house, and when he was in the station with handcuffs on his wrists and no way to leave, Derek never really had the occasion to listen to people talk.
It was making things easy; Stiles filling the silence in the car, then in the restaurant, making small talk for both of them. Derek even found himself answering with an unusual enthusiasm, giving him small pieces of information about his life, his books, talking about his sister easily.
It was a perfect date, until one of the Sheriff’s deputies entered the restaurant and looked directly at them with big, motherly worry. The Deputy, Tara, Derek remembered from too many interrogations, walked to their tables, feigning nonchalance.
“Stiles! Fancy see you here with… Mr Hale”. Derek noticed she had managed to spill his name with enough reluctance to alert Stiles that something was wrong.
“Hey, Tara! So you know my date?”
Innocent Stiles. Oblivious Stiles. Derek winced as the worry increased visibly in the deputy’s eyes.
“Yeah, he’s quite known in the station”, she answered elusively. “You too have been dating for long?”
“It’s our first”, Stiles said proudly. “I didn’t know Derek was involved in the station business. I mean, you’re a writer, Derek, right?”
“In fact, I did met your father once or twice.”
The deputy snorted. “Mr Hale over here is well known as a cat thief.”
“A cat thief?”
“My neighbors think I’ve got nothing better to do.”
Stiles laughed at that.
“And here I thought you were a dog person. I’m very disappointed. You didn’t bothered my dad too much, didn’t you?”
“No, Derek is like our new mascot.”
He relaxed and threw a relieved glance at Tara. Of course, everybody knew at the station that he wasn’t guilty of all the accusations his neighbors threw at him, but he was worried that it could be an issue with Stiles.
“Well, I know Derek is an handsome guy, but don’t objectify him too much, Tara. He has better things to do- like planning our next date.” Stiles winked at him, and with a few polite words, Tara left them.
“I swear, I’m not a cat thief.”
“Dude, I’m pretty sure you’re not even equipped to deal with cats, it’s a miracle I’ve been able to make you go out.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not used to… this.”
“It’s ok, next time we can eat at mine if you’re not comfortable outside.”
“My sister says I should go out more. Maybe she’s right, I mean, how can I write about people if I don’t see them interact?”
Stiles looked at him fondly.
“We’ll take it slow. Step by step. And you’ll be a real boy one day!”
Derek wondered briefly if this could entail doing his mailman.
_________________
“Stiles.”
“Hi! Hum, in fact, you don’t have any mail today, and I can’t stay long but...I just wanted to see you.”
_________________
“Stiles, can you pick me up when your day is over? I’m at the station.”
“I’ve still got on hour left, maybe you can have lunch while waiting for me?”
“Are you suggesting I should have lunch, alone, in a restaurant?”
“Ok, then invite my dad!”
“He just handcuffed me!”
“What did you do this time?”
“Wrap toilet paper on a tree, apparently.”
“Make sure my dad doesn’t eat red meat.”
“He’s the Sheriff, I won’t tell him what to eat! I have already enough problems with the representants of the law.”
“Son, don’t try to make your boyfriend do your dirty work, the guy is a kitten, he won’t be able to make me touch a slice of tomato.”
“Dad, it’s rude to listen to private conversations.”
“It’s my station, my phone, and if I want to eat a burger, I damn well will.”
“I will try to make him eat a salad instead of fries with the burger, I swear!”
“And pick some bread on your way!”
“But I will have to make a huge detour! I’m on a bike, dad!”
“We’ll take our time eating, so you can make all the detours you want. Think of Derek’s muscles, do you think that kind of thing appears without working out a bit?”
“Don’t ogle my boyfriend!”
“Can we please don’t talk about my muscles?”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie, and nothing all the ladies in town haven’t looked at.”
“I think Tara made the last call to warn us about Derek being a burglar, in fact. Beware, son, this man is like a juicy steak for this lady.”
“I think Derek’s enjoying it. I mean, have you seen how tight his jeans are?”
“My jeans fit perfectly, thanks. Did you see how your uniform fits?!”
“Son, do you thinks he’s talking about my police uniform?”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to make him eat salad, Stiles. Please come as soon as possible, I’ll give you some bread, but please don’t leave me alone.”
“I still have an hour of work left! What about a veggie burger?”
“I will take Tara to lunch with us, son, if you keep on brainwashing Mr Hale. It won’t be pretty. She will make him cry like a kid, you know that!”
“She won’t if she doesn’t want to receive all her mail a week late.”
“You’re a menace, son.”
“Love you too, dad. Love, you Derek!”
“See you soon!”
_________________
“Did you see who was with our mailman at the station’s annual barbecue?”
“Our handsome mailman isn’t single? You’re breaking my heart!”
“Mr Hale was at his arm!”
“Mr Hale isn’t single? Are all the good guys taken?”
_________________
“Honey, you need to call the Sheriff, the neighbor stole our cat…again!”
“No, it’s ok, he was just fooling around in the park, the mailman brought him back an hour ago.”
_________________
Derek was proud to be a writer. Sometimes, it was difficult for him to interact with Stiles directly, and to tell him everything he wanted.
Sharing was difficult. But it was easier to write it down. It was his job. It was one thing he was doing well.
So one morning he decided to pin a post-it with a few words of love for his mailman on his mailbox. The smile on Stiles’ face this morning told him it had been a brilliant idea, so it soon became an habit.
Derek wrote him every night, and every morning was up early to pin a letter with Stiles’s name on it on the wooden mailbox.
And every morning Stiles thanked him with a kiss, on the doorstep. Always wearing his too-tight uniform.
When Derek was feeling like taking his revenge, he answered the door with just his boxers on.
_________________
“Stiles, why haven’t I received any mail in a week?”
“Oh, you have.”
“So why isn’t it in my mailbox?”
“Because you’ll have to earn it.”
His new mailman was a dirty guy.
And Derek couldn’t be more happy about it.
Even if the station called him later this day to tell him the neighbors called to report a major case of public indecency. He knew he wasn’t guilty. He really had waited to be inside the house to strip Stiles. Mostly.
_________________
BONUS SEX SCENE:
“Stiles… Let me put my big letter in your tight mailbox!”