Work Text:
One of the nice things about college on a football scholarship, Derek thought, was that campus was basically a small town with everything he needed. He'd gotten up that morning and gone for a run on the trail that looped around the duck pond and down past a few of the modern art installations before doing some additional stretches in the tiny park that consisted of a tree, a bench, and a large rock with a plaque bolted to it. He'd had breakfast in one of the many dining halls and then gone back to his room for a shower because he had one of the nice singles that were a lot more like apartments. He'd grabbed coffee at the shop inside the student union, then went to his two classes for the day. Football practice was that evening, so Derek now had the option of either doing homework or hitting the gym for weightlifting. It only took him a moment of consideration before dropping his backpack off in his room and grabbing his gym bag instead.
The campus gym was one of the better ones he'd been in. State of the art equipment was everywhere, it was new enough that the stench of sweaty shoes and disinfectant hadn't permeated everything completely, and he never had to worry about middle-aged women trying to touch him inappropriately. He mostly used the free weights, anyway, so he never had to fight for time with them. It was better than it had been in high school where the weight room had been a little room of concrete blocks with no windows off the back of the locker rooms, or the YMCA if he felt like driving that far and dealing with the people.
Today, though, his usual weight bench was already occupied at 2pm, throwing Derek for a loop. It wasn't a problem to take the next bench; it was closer to the weights he used anyway. The person on his usual bench, though... Derek found himself watching the guy in an appreciative way. The guy was long and lean, pale and dotted with moles, and he was doing split squats like a pro, lunging into them with soft noises that Derek was trying not to focus on as he picked up his own weights, starting in on his first set of lateral raises to work on his deltoids. He paused between sets to breathe, then started the next set, his focus gone two reps in when the guy doing squats decided to take off his shirt and lay on the floor to work on his abs. It wasn't until one of his shoulders actually twinged with pain that he realized that he had gone far past the eight reps he normally did.
Forcing himself to pay attention to his own body again instead of the other guy's, Derek turned to arm curls, not wanting to give his deltoids too much further abuse. But, of course, the man had gone from sit-ups to oblique crunches, his knees pulled up and pressed to the side so that Derek had a great view of the curve of his ass through the jersey shorts he wore. For the first time in years, he dropped a dumbbell. It missed his foot, thankfully, but rolled across the floor halfway to the hot guy frozen mid-crunch and looking at him. "Sorry," Derek muttered as he stood up to retrieve the weight, wishing he had opted for kettlebells that day instead.
The guy laughed and sprawled out on the ground before moving his knees to the other side in a smooth motion. "Nah, don't be. It's nice not to be the only person who'd uncoordinated in the gym."
Derek's eyebrows pushed together, feeling insulted. "I'm not normally. I'm the quarterback. A certain amount of grace is supposed to go with that."
Lifting one eyebrow in response, the guy on the floor continued his crunches for a moment. "Am I supposed to be impressed by your bragging?"
Wincing, Derek picked up his weights and moved them back to the rack. "No. I was actually being insulting to myself. I... Fuck it. I think you're hot and want to take you out for pizza."
Sitting up, the guy smirked at him. "You don't even know my name, Derek."
"You know mine, though." Derek dropped down to the floor mats and started doing push-ups.
"I'm Stiles Stilinski. And, no, that's not my real first name, but it's what everyone calls me." He watched Derek for a moment, eyes glued to the flex of his muscles. "Pizza, you said? I could go for pizza."
Derek paused with his arms bent beside his head. "I have practice from four until six today, but I'm free after that if you'd like to take me up on my offer."
"I'll get out of practice at six, too." Stiles lay back and started kicking his legs out above him, his shorts riding indecently high as he did so. "Pick me up in front of MacMillan Hall at seven?"
"Definitely," Derek said as he moved to resume his push-ups, too distracted by watching Stiles to even wonder what in the world he had practice for. He assumed soccer from the focus on his legs and abs, but it didn't really matter. Stiles spent another ten minutes working out before giving Derek a smirk and a wave and heading out.
Football practice was hell for Derek that day. He had known his cleats were wearing down, but one had actually broken during the scrimmage match they did, ending up with him throwing a pass to the opposition as he fell and getting a clod of dirt in his eye. He'd missed out on most of practice thanks to actually getting a scratch from the dirt on his cornea, and had been running late by the time he finished up his shower and headed back to his room to get dressed for his date. His shoulders still ached from overworking them at the gym and his eye seemed to itch and throb with pain at the same time, and it was only pizza, so he didn't go too crazy. Jeans, a white v-neck t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. If Stiles was willing to go out with him after his amazing display of social skills at the gym, his clothes shouldn't matter.
He was a few minutes late to pick Stiles up solely due to the traffic coming out of the parking garage from what Derek assumed was a student tour group, but Stiles didn't seem too upset as he bounded over, sliding into the passenger seat. "Seriously? I thought you'd just be walking over and we'd take the bus."
After Stiles buckled himself in, Derek snorted as he started to drive toward the restaurant. "I considered it, but the only bus that goes from here to the place I'm taking you wouldn't get us there until almost eight. Have you been to Murphy's?"
Stiles shook his head. "No. I've heard about their wing night, though. I'm kind of excited. I'm a freshman so I haven't exactly gotten a chance to look around the town much yet."
Derek's eyes widened a little. "You're seriously a freshman? You... I guess you looked comfortable enough in the gym that I figured you were at least a sophomore. I'm a second year junior myself. It can happen when you decide to double major."
"Yeah, you know, I came here on a scholarship and put my nose to the grindstone there at first, but I realized I needed to get some energy out. I used to play lacrosse in high school so I figured I'd hop in the gym and go from there." Stiles shrugged. "What are your majors, anyway?"
Frowning, Derek thought through Stiles' words as he paused at a stop sign. "History, and International and Comparative Politics." He shook his head. "You said you had practice earlier but we don't have a lacrosse team, so what for?"
Stiles' lips pursed slightly. "Uh, well... Quidditch." His lips twisted into something of a scowl. "Seriously, I know it sounds lame, but it's fun and a good workout and I figured I might actually meet some people through it so-" He stopped himself. "I fully understand if you're no longer interested because I don't really get how you were in the first place."
Derek chuckled. "My sisters were total Harry Potter nerds. I've played Quidditch with them. Once. I can think of nicer ways to have that kind of burn in my thighs the next day. And don't be hard on yourself. The second I saw you, I was kind of gone."
"Really?" Stiles sucked his lower lip into his mouth and gave Derek a shy glance. "So, would it be especially weird of me to admit that I have a copy of the football schedule up on my wall even though I don't really go to the games?"
Remembering that the schedule that year was a large poster of him throwing a pass and focusing quite a bit on his ass, Derek coughed. "I can come autograph that for you, if you want."
Stiles snorted. "You have to actually buy me dinner before I invite you back to my room, loser."
Derek looked over at him as he pulled to a stop at a red light. "Why would I want to go to your place? I've got a single over in Westfield."
"You are totally a keeper," Stiles said with a wrinkle of his nose. "Just not the Quidditch kind."
Deadpan, Derek shrugged. "Fine. No hands on your Quaffles."
"You're kind of a nerd, too, aren't you?" Stiles let out a lazy sigh. "I love college. The hot quarterback is taking me for pizza and making nerd jokes. This is heaven, but better because there is no way your body is not a sin."
"That implies there's something immoral about my body, Stiles." Derek reached a hand over to touch the other man's knee. "The only thing immoral is what I want to do with it. To you."
Stiles' thighs tensed and he pressed his knee up against Derek's palm. "Dude, I already ride a pole twice a week. I am way up for extra training with you as a partner. Intramural fraternization and all of that."
"Good," Derek said, his fingers tracing slowly up the inside of Stiles' leg and feeling the tight muscle that had first caught his attention earlier that day. "I don't do a lot of fraternizing, so that... I could definitely go for that."
"Yeah," Stiles breathed out softly. "Definitely."