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The first time it happens – well, Stiles honestly doesn’t remember much about the first time. He was at the pool, of course, like any sane person would be on a day as stupidly hot as this and he remembers flirting (or attempting to flirt) with Lydia, but then… then…
Yeah, he’s got nothing.
Well, nothing except for, fuck, he’s pretty sure he almost drowned, and, wow, maybe he needs to drown more often. Because the lifeguard crouching over him is possibly the most attractive human being Stiles has ever seen in his life, with his unfairly perfect stubble and eyes that seem to be about a million different colors at once.
Stiles really hopes he still needs mouth to mouth.
(Of course, it would probably be really, really creepy if he pretended to not be breathing in order to get Hot Lifeguard to perform CPR on him. Also, he doesn’t think that his ribs would hold up too well against the guy’s chest compressions – he’s fucking ripped, and not in a morbidly fascinating, but not terribly attractive, way.)
“Hey, kid, are you still with me?” Hot Lifeguard asks - growls, yum – shaking Stiles’ shoulder, probably to assess his level of consciousness.
“Uh,” Stiles starts before he starts coughing up pool water – which tastes absolutely disgusting, and is probably highly unattractive – and Hot Lifeguard helps him roll over onto his side so he doesn’t choke on his own water-vomit.
“I’m not a kid,” Stiles says petulantly as soon as he’s recovered enough to speak again, although his voice sounds a bit strangled.
“Yeah, nice try,” Hot Lifeguard replies, looking less than impressed. “No adult runs in the pool area when there are about a million signs specifically telling you not to run in the pool area.”
And oh – now Stiles is starting to remember bits and pieces. He’d been flirting with Lydia, and who should show up but Jackson fucking Whittemore. Jackson had growled at him and Stiles had, naturally, made a smart remark which prompted Jackson to snatch his glasses and throw them. Stiles had, of course, run after them, hoping in vain that he might be able to catch them before they landed on the hard concrete and smashed into a million little pieces.
Which had been an absolutely horrible idea, because, just as all of the signs around the pool promised, he’d slipped, hit his head on the side of the pool, and managed to fall into the water.
“How are you feeling?” Gruff but Sexy asks, bringing Stiles’ wandering thoughts back to the present. “Are you having any memory loss?”
“Uh, I think I’m fine now,” Stiles croaks, unable to tear his gaze away from the very attractive man leaning over him, his cheeks burning. “I can remember everything now.”
“Neck pain?” Hot Lifeguard questions, ever the professional, his large hand holding Stiles down as he tries to push himself up into a sitting position.
“No?” Stiles replies, frowning as he tries to think about it.
“Is that a question?” the guy interrogates, and Stiles can’t tell if he’s concerned or pissed off.
“No,” Stiles answers quickly. “I’m fine, so you can just…”
He tries to pry the lifeguard’s hand off of his chest, but he isn’t having much luck.
“You need to go to the hospital,” Hot Lifeguard proclaims and Stiles is scowling now, because he’s fine, goddamn it – he’s not even bleeding! “Erica! Take over for me while I drive this idiot to the ER.”
“What? No, I’m – ” Stiles squawks, finally managing to tear away Hot Lifeguard’s hands and sit up, but he almost throws up again from the wave of dizziness that overcomes him.
“Either I drive you, or I call an ambulance,” Hot Lifeguard says, but he moves to help steady Stiles and Stiles can’t help but admire that beautiful chest of his up close for a moment, because goddamn.
“I – okay,” Stiles agrees reluctantly, realizing that maybe he hit his head harder than he’d thought. “But I need my glasses first.”
Hot Lifeguard barks something at another unfairly Hot Lifeguard – a blonde woman who looks vaguely familiar to Stiles, but he can’t quite place her. She rolls her eyes at him but comes back with Stiles’ thick rimmed, black glasses a moment later. Putting them on seems to help reduce his headache slightly, but Stiles isn’t entirely sure that it isn’t just a placebo effect.
In a slightly better mood now that his glasses have been returned to him, Stiles can’t help but let himself enjoy the way Hot Lifeguard manhandles him away from the pool and across the parking lot. Stiles blinks as they stop next to a sleek black camaro, and, wow, he hit the jackpot – a hot guy in a wet swimsuit manhandling him into a sexy, sexy car. He could get used to this.
Well, minus the head injury and near drowning, of course.
Hot Lifeguard starts up the car and Stiles sinks back into the plush leather seats, closing his eyes for a moment and wincing, hoping that his head will stop spinning soon. Silence descends over them, but it’s not a particularly uncomfortable silence – probably because Stiles is a little too focused on keeping his nausea and dizziness in check to really bother to assess the atmosphere.
After a few minutes of breathing steadily and keeping his eyes closed, Stiles dares to crack open one eye and look over at his Knight in Shining – uh. Well. Shining swim trunks? Okay, so maybe Stiles shouldn’t be focusing too hard on Hot Lifeguard’s state of undress. Because that would make the situation awkward. Or, well, more awkward than it already is.
Fuck.
“So, uh. Thanks,” Stiles says, breaking the silence and looking anywhere but Hot Lifeguard’s perfectly chiseled face or the few water droplets clinging to his bare chest. “For, you know, saving me.”
“I don’t save idiots unless I’m getting paid to do it,” Hot Lifeguard replies, and Stiles feels his cheeks heating – this time in anger instead of embarrassment.
“Wow, way to kill the mood,” Stiles snaps, scowling again. “See if I ever save you from drowning.”
“Do you even know how to swim?” Hot Lifeguard snorts, and Stiles is really going to need to stop calling him that, because his attitude? Not hot.
“Why would I be at the pool if I didn’t know how to swim?” Stiles retorts, sliding further down into his seat and trying to will his cheeks to stop reddening.
“You’re right – you couldn’t have been sunbathing. Clearly you’d turn redder than a boiled lobster,” the guy says, looking utterly disdainful and Stiles is nearly overwhelmed by the urge to remove that expression from the guy’s face.
Possibly with his tongue. (Stiles has it on good authority that he’s excellent with his tongue.)
“Fuck you,” Stiles says, trying not to think about doing just that. “I’m not – ”
But he has to cut himself off as another wave of nausea and dizziness washes over him. He snaps his eyes shut again and lets out a little groan. God, he hopes he doesn’t throw up again. Just for the sake of the car, of course. Even though the camaro’s owner is a douche, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to violate such a gorgeous car in that way.
“Hey, kid, are you doing okay?” Douche-y Lifeguard asks, almost sounding concerned. “Just hang in there – we’re almost at the hospital. A couple more minutes, okay?”
Stiles nods slightly – or, well, he’s pretty sure he nods. He doesn’t really feel like moving his head too much at the moment.
The rest of the ride is silent which Stiles is simultaneously happy and disappointed about. It istn’t like he enjoys hearing the bullshit that came out of Douche-y Lifeguard’s mouth, but at least it helps distract him from the fact that Douche-y Lifeguard is also Hot Lifeguard. Therefore, Stiles is decidedly relieved when they pull up in front of hospital.
And, okay, if he lets the guy manhandle him again, steering him into the ER, well, it isn’t like they’re ever going to see each other again.
---
Stiles makes a very valiant effort to stay away from the pool. Really, he does. It’s just a little difficult when it’s nearly a hundred fucking degrees outside and his dad never bothered getting air conditioning installed. Granted, the house isn’t that bad, because at least it’s dark and quiet – which his concussion greatly appreciates – but he’s starting to go stir crazy. He isn’t supposed to read or watch TV or text for too long (or ideally at all) because of the stupid injury and he isn’t allowed to do any stressful exercise either, but sunbathing by the side of the pool and maybe sticking his feet in the water shouldn’t be too bad, right?
Plus, he totally has to prove to Hot-But-Douche-y that he can actually tan instead of just burning.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” a annoyed and horribly familiar voice asks and Stiles wonders how much it makes him look like an asshole when he slips his sunglasses slightly down his nose and peers up at the grumpy lifeguard.
“Tanning, can’t you tell?” Stiles says with mock innocence, and he can barely resist batting his eyelashes.
“Well, considering how you look exactly as pasty white as you did last week,” the lifeguard replies, and Stiles tries not to scowl at him, because that’ll mean that Douche-y Lifeguard is getting under his skin. “No.”
Which he totally isn’t.
“But I suppose I can let you stay here as long as you don’t try to actually go in the water,” Douche-y Lifeguard continues, and Stiles does finally scowl at that, because what the fuck?. “Or run.”
And okay, maybe the thing about not running is valid, but not even going into the water? Fuck Douche-y Lifeguard.
(Well, not literally, but he supposes that would be nice, too.)
“Dude, there’s no way you can ban me from swimming just because you had to save me last time,” Stiles protests, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the poolside chair. “Like you said – it’s your job.”
“Yeah, it’s my job to make sure you don’t drown,” Douche-y Lifeguard says pinning Stiles with an aggravated look. “Hence, I’m not letting you in the water.”
“You know, teaching abstinence only doesn’t work,” Stiles replies coyly, and okay, maybe it comes out a little flirty. Just a little bit. “It would be way more effective if you taught me about safe swimming.”
Stiles is more than a little surprised as he notices Hot-But-Douche-y’s cheeks start turning a little red. He’d been expecting annoyed glare at best. Not that he’s complaining, though – even though the guy is probably not even a little attracted to Stiles, it’s kind of a major ego stroke that he can get such a hot guy to blush with just an awkward double entendre.
But yeah, he should probably stop thinking about double entendres and stroking while talking to such an sexy guy, because then he’ll be the one embarrassing himself.
“Derek!” someone yells and Hot Lifeguard looks back over his shoulder at a highly attractive dark haired woman before sighing slightly. “Get your ass over here!”
Wow, now Stiles is thinking about Hot Lifeguard’s ass, too.
“You,” and now Hot Lifeguard – Derek, apparently – is looking back at him again and pointing a menacing finger at him. “If I see you in the water, I will drag you out by your hair.”
Stiles blushes as Hot-But-Douche-y turns away. It’s not like he has a thing for hair pulling, except he totally does.
Stiles scowls, stands up, and walks over to the edge of the pool. He’s sure to make eye contact with Derek before sitting down on the edge of the pool and slowly but deliberately placing his feet in the cool water. The lifeguard scowls and looks like he’s about to start walking over, but then a little kid starts making high pitched screeching sounds and Hot-But-Douche-y changes course to investigate the disturbance.
Mission accomplished.
---
It’s the last week of June and Stiles has been to the pool every day of the month. He always has to wait until after he gets out of work at the library, but that at least allows him to mostly avoid the large groups of summer camp children. His concussion has healed nicely – thankfully it was a fairly mild one considering his circumstances, and his last follow up visit was earlier that fine Friday morning.
Which means that he can finally swim again. Like, actually swim – not just dangle his feet in the water, playing a bizarre game of chicken with Derek-the-Douche-y-Lifeguard.
(He has, however, not managed to acquire a real tan, and he’s been through about five bottles of sunscreen already. His skin is totally less white than it was, though. And not in a red way.)
Anyway, Derek – who Stiles has found out is actually Derek Hale through strategic and totally not creepy eavesdropping and google searches – hasn’t spoken to him since that first day after the concussion. They mainly just glare at each other from afar.
“Hey, Stiles, fancy seeing you here!” a happy voice greets, and Stiles turns around to find Allison and Scott behind him, both looking sickeningly sweet in their brightly colored swimsuits with equally bright towels draped over their shoulders.
“But Allison, he’s been here, like, every day,” Scott says, frowning and Stiles lets out a little bark of laughter as Allison rolls her eyes.
“I was trying to be funny, Scott,” Allison sighs, but she’s smiling slightly, clearly finding Scott’s confusion endearing.
“Oh! Yeah, that, uh, makes sense,” Scott replies, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I would have laughed.”
“Hey, Stiles,” Allison says, sounding a little concerned, Stiles turning back to look at her. “Why’s the lifeguard giving you such a weird look?”
“Well, he kind of had to save me, like, four-ish weeks ago,” Stiles admits, glancing over at Derek and grinning at him obnoxiously, even adding a wink as the lifeguard’s glare becomes even more intense, if that was even possible. “He doesn’t like it when I’m near the water. Which is why, now that my doctor’s approved it – ”
Stiles pauses in the middle his declaration for a moment to pull his shirt off over his head and kick off his sandals.
“ – I’m going swimming!” Stiles declares, before running forward the couple of steps to the edge of the deep end of the pool, cannonballing in.
He hears Allison and Scott make small noises of protest as he undoubtedly splashes all over them, but he’s barely surfaced when he feels strong arms wrapping around his chest. He yelps and tries to pry them off, but in his struggle he accidentally swallows a large mouthful of water and he’s too preoccupied with coughing to really make a proper escape effort as whoever has grabbed him drags him out of the water. Not that he suspects that he would have been able to escape even if he wasn’t coughing, because the guy’s grip is damn strong.
“Dude! What the fu – ” Stiles starts in between coughs, but he cuts himself off as he stares up at Douche-y Lifeguard, wide eyed.
“I thought I told you – ” the lifeguard snaps while Stiles is momentarily distracted by soaking wet, scantily clad specimen of a man over him on his hands and knees, practically pinning him against the concrete.
“Fuck you!” Stiles retorts, his cheeks heating as he sits up, pushing against the guy’s chest to make him back off. “I have every right to swim – ”
“You’re going to drown yourself with your damn concussion – ” Douche-y Lifeguard yells, not backing off, and Stiles blinks, his brow furrowing in confusion as he detects a note of something that sounds suspiciously like worry in Derek’s voice.
“Wha – ? I got cleared by my doctor this morning!” Stiles exclaims, backing away slightly as he suddenly realizes just how close their faces are.
“You – ” the lifeguard starts, and now he’s the one blinking, clearly surprised. “Show me the doctor’s note.”
“What? You can’t force me to – ” Stiles retorts, but he’s cut off by another voice – a female one – and he looks over to see the dark haired women who he’d seen talking to Derek before marching over toward them looking furious.
“Oh my god, Derek! What are you – ” the lady yells, but Stiles quickly loses track of the conversation as he scrambles backwards and to his feet, eager to get away from Derek-the-Douche-y-Lifeguard, partially for the sake of his sanity, but also for the sake of his dick, which really shouldn’t be into someone like Derek, no matter how fucking attractive he is.
“Stiles, are you okay?” Scott asks, pulling him away from the two arguing lifeguards while Allison generously offers him her towel.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles says, still staring back at Derek and the dark haired woman as he clutches the towel around his shoulders and pushes his wet hair out of his face.
He looks back at Allison and Soctt and attempts a smile, waving away their concerns and trying to tune out the argument going on behind him.
---
“Do you want a popsicle?” a voice asks, making Stiles look up from where he’s been staring aimlessly into the overly blue depths of the pool, dangling his feet in the water.
“Well,” Stiles replies, as the woman who had dragged Derek off of him the other day sits down next to him, two popsicles clutched in her hands. “As much as I love popsicles, my father always did tell me not to accept candy from strangers.”
“I’m Laura,” she says, grinning at him, an amused gleam in her eyes. “And the popsicle is actually to apologize for what my brother did to you yesterday.”
“Your brother?” Stiles asks as he accepts the popsicle, unable to help himself from glancing over at where Derek is standing on the opposite side of the pool, his glare for once directed at a gaggle of middle school aged kids instead of Stiles.
“Derek,” Laura confirms, nodding. “He’s being an overprotective dick.”
“Overprotective?” Stiles echoes, scrunching his nose up and frowning. “He just hates my guts because I made him actually do his job.”
Laura lets out a sharp bark of laughter and Stiles shoots her an odd look. He really feels like he’s missing something now.
“I promise you he doesn’t hate you as much as you think he does,” Laura says, that mischievous gleam back in her eyes again. “Anyway, enjoy your popsicle.”
With that, she stands up again, stretching for a moment before leaving Stiles alone again with a still unwrapped popsicle which looks like it’s starting to melt already in the intense summer heat. Stiles shrugs, deciding that a bizarre apology popsicle from Douche-y Lifeguard’s sister is a popsicle nonetheless and unwraps it, licking stray bits of cherry juice off his fingers as some of it slides down the stick.
He laps at the side, a little annoyed as the stickiness is smeared over his lips – not that he actually cares all that much, because, dude, free popsicle. However, he pauses as he feels a prickly sensation wash over him, and he looks up to once again make eye contact with none other than the stupid lifeguard who got him into this whole mess. Stiles isn’t quite sure what to make of his expression at first – the guy’s eyes are a little wide, but at the same time he kind of looks like he wants to kill Stiles by glaring a hole through his head.
Stiles, naturally, glares right back. It’s a little hard to tell from this distance, but Derek’s cheeks look a little pink. Stiles blinks, surprised.
Then, he smirks.
And, okay, maybe what happens after that is a little cruel and more than a little underhanded, but, really, Stiles can’t help that he has a bit of an oral fixation.
And, you know, it’s kind of fun to see if he can actually make Hot Lifeguard squirm and blush, because Stiles isn’t exactly used to being the attractive one. He gets a bit of an ego boost every time the guy has to look away because Stiles has licked a long stripe along the underside of the popsicle or practically deepthroated it in an effort to cram as much of it into his mouth as possible.
And if an older woman with her two young children gives him a scandalized look, well, Stiles is completely innocent! It’s just that popsicles are sooo delicious. Especially cherry ones.
---
“Hey,” a horribly, horribly familiar voice says, and Stiles nearly falls into the pool he’s so startled.
“Yeah?” Stiles asks, trying not to freak out too much as Douche-y-But-Hot sits down next to him at the edge of the pool.
Stiles really hopes the guy doesn’t notice how he’s trying to subtly scoot away, putting a little more distance between them.
“I, ah,” Douche-y Lifeguard starts, sounding surprisingly awkward and unsure, avoiding eye contact like it’s the plague. “I just wanted to apologize.”
“Wait, what?” Stiles blurts out, thrown for a loop as he stares at Derek, wide eyed.
“I said I wanted to apologize,” the guy says, and it kind of sounds like he’s gritting his teeth as he utters the words, “for dragging you out of the water a few days ago. I was a little overzealous.”
“Dude, ‘overzealous’ doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Stiles answers without even really thinking about it. “‘Overzealous’ is for, like, putting too many sprinkles in your ice cream or hugging someone too tightly – not freaking tackling someone when they’re trying to swim.”
“Won’t you just let me apo – ” Hot Lifeguard snaps, looking adorably frustrated and embarrassed.
“Apology accepted,” Stiles interrupts, shrugging.
“Wait, really?” Derek says, clearly surprised.
Stiles shoots him a bright grin before jumping down into the water. When he surfaces, he’s pleased to find Hot-But-Maybe-Not-As-Douche-y-As-Before swearing and absolutely soaked from Stiles’ large splash.
Stiles laughs and ducks back down under the water before he can retaliate.
---
The next time they sit together on the side of the pool, Stiles drags Hot Lifeguard in by his ankles. The time after that, Derek dives in of his own accord.
Stiles isn’t sure if he should be pleased or disappointed about that.
---
Okay, so maybe Stiles speeds a little bit on the way to the pool, but he totally doesn’t run across the parking lot to the pool gates. Sure, he’s a bit late (an hour and thirty-two minutes late), but it’s not like he’s actually worried about it or anything. It’s nothing to stress about. It’s not like he’s worried that Derek’s shift has already ended or something like that. Because that would be weird.
Against his will, a grin breaks out on Stiles’ face as he gets closer to the pool and sees Derek standing near the gates, chatting with the blonde lifeguard from the first day who’d gotten Stiles his glasses for him. He looks adorably grumpy, and, okay, maybe Stiles feels a little annoyed that someone else has put that stupid pouty expression on his face, but he can’t feel too bad, because he knows firsthand how much fun it is to rile up Derek.
Stiles slows his stride as gets nearer, composing himself and trying to look casual. Derek’s back is to him, so hopefully he hadn’t noticed Stiles being all pathetic and desperate.
However, Stiles halts abruptly as he gets within hearing range.
“What? Stiles? He’s not – ” Derek growls, glaring at Blonde Lifeguard (or, well, Stiles assumes he’s glaring, because he can’t actually see Derek’s face that well from this angle). “He’s just annoying and – ”
Stiles is not heartbroken. He’s totally, totally not heartbroken, because that would imply some sort of emotional investment in their stupid irritate-each-other-to-death relationship thing. It’s not like he expected Derek to actually like him or anything. He certainly doesn’t like Derek.
Stiles turns abruptly on his heel and starts heading back to his jeep. It’s too late for him to have enough time to swim anyway.
---
It’s been four days since Stiles heard Derek’s comment about him being annoying. Incidentally, it’s also been four days since Stiles has been to the pool.
(Not that he’s been avoiding the pool because of Derek or anything. That’s ridiculous. He just hasn’t had time – plus, he has an entire season of Psych to catch up on. Priorities, man.)
The stalemate has to end eventually, though, and it ends today because it’s one hundred and three fucking degrees outside and he’s lost his water bottle. Not to mention that he’s used up all of the ice cubes in the freezer and he tripped on his fan’s power cord, breaking it. Therefore he finally relents and drags himself to the pool, because even he’s not stubborn enough to subject himself to this sort of torture.
At the pool, he does his best to ignore Derek – which actually isn’t that hard, considering how the lifeguard mainly just sulks in the one shady corner in the pool area. He doesn’t even bother sparing Stiles a glance, which Stiles is not disappointed about at all.
Stiles takes a little dip in the water and swims around in circles on his back for a while, but for some reason he just can’t get into it. His treacherous mind can’t help but wistfully think of how much more fun it would be if he could have a stupid splash fight with Derek again.
He drags himself back out of the pool and his throat’s feeling a little parched, but his water bottle is still as lost as ever and the drinking fountain is right next to Derek. Which, you know, Stiles has no desire to deal with right now.
Sighing, Stiles plops himself down on one of the poolside chairs and grabs the stupid sci-fi novel he’s been reading, hoping to distract himself. He’s able to get into it for a little while, but it’s just so damn hot outside and he can already feel a headache building behind his temples.
Stiles relents and puts his book down, pushing himself up off the chair in order to walk over to the drinking fountain, and, woah, he’s feeling a little dizzy, but –
He doesn’t faint. Stiles Stilinski does not faint. Maybe he passes out for a moment there, but he would never do anything as un-manly as faint.
When his vision clears again and his sluggish mind starts taking in his surroundings again, Stiles is surprised to find himself lying on the ground, Derek hovering over, a panicked and concerned look on his face as he runs his hands through Stiles’ hair as he (presumably) checks for head injuries.
Stiles’ blood boils.
“Oh my god! Can you just fucking stop?” Stiles snaps, pushing away Derek’s hands and struggling into a sitting position, trying to ignore the lingering lightheadedness.
“What?” Derek says, and Stiles feels a little bad, because he does look legitimately confused. “I’m just – ”
“Yeah, ‘doing your job.’ I get it,” Stiles continues, talking over the lifeguard. “But guess what? Your job isn’t to babysit annoying little shits like me! I’m not going to drop dead the second you stop paying attention to me!”
Derek looks taken aback at this declaration, a million different emotions that Stiles can’t even begin to interpret crossing his face before he finally settles on anger, as he always seems to do.
“Fine,” Derek snaps and he stands up, making Stiles feel a momentarily pang of regret at the distance between them. “See if I care if you get sent to the ER for heatstroke.”
And with that he turns on his heel and leaves, abandoning Stiles to try and haul himself to his feet on his own. Stiles considers yelling something nasty at the lifeguard’s retreating back, but he doesn’t.
It’s not like he’s feeling guilty or anything. Douche-y lifeguards who think he can’t take care of himself just aren’t worth his time.
---
It’s a little past midnight and Stiles is driving home from movie night at Scott’s. For the past few days he’s been taking a different route to Scott’s house – one that doesn’t take him by the pool – but there’s construction going on that’s forced him back on his usual route. However, as he drives by the pool, he can’t help but stop and stare.
After all, what are the lights doing on at nearly one in the morning? Stiles feels his heart rate increase slightly as he realizes that the gates are swinging open, too.
Naturally, being the son of a cop, he has to investigate.
Stiles walks tentatively towards the entrance, and, okay, he’s a little nervous, because, come on, he could be sneaking up on a murderer or something, but he continues on anyway, trying to move as stealthily as possible. He pauses as he gets to the gates, staring at the lone figure standing by the poolside. And, wow, his back is facing Stiles, but what a nice back it is.
“Hey!” Stiles calls out, against his better judgment, although he doesn’t get any closer. “Hey, are you – ”
The guy spins around and Stiles’ eyes widen as he recognizes Derek standing before him. However, Stiles frowns as he notices the slight way he sways and the uncoordinated nature of his movements. Stiles takes a step forward and Derek takes a step back –
– and he stumbles backwards into the pool.
Normally Stiles would find this hilarious, but it only takes him moments to realize that Derek isn’t moving with the sleek, confident strokes he normally does – in fact, it looks like he’s just splashing around aimlessly, desperately and ineffectively trying to keep himself afloat.
Stiles doesn’t even hesitate as he runs to the pool and jumps in after the lifeguard, clothes and all.
It takes what seems like forever for him to get a good enough grip on still struggling Derek in order to drag him over to the shallow end of the pool and the steps. Stiles is thanking god and all things holy that his dad made him take swimming lessons for years despite his protests as he and Derek finally collapse back on the solid concrete.
“S’les?” Derek slurs between coughs, looking up at his savior, clearly confused and dazed.
“Oh my god, are you drunk?” Stiles blurts out, trying to help Derek into a sitting position.
“I – ” Derek starts, but he cuts himself off, still staring at Stiles, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together.
He nods instead of attempting to answer Stiles verbally, and Stiles wrinkles his nose slightly at the scent of alcohol clinging stubbornly to Derek, despite how much the chlorine is trying to overpower it.
“Um. Okay,” Stiles says, trying to compartmentalize his thoughts. “Okay. We need to get you home – ”
Stiles is pretty sure he hears Derek grumble something about Laura, but it’s too quiet and slurred for Stiles to interpret it. When he doesn’t offer up any other useful information, Stiles sighs and tries rummaging through the pockets of the lifeguard’s wet jeans for his wallet and, hopefully, his driver’s license with an address.
Derek’s breath is hot against his neck as he continues to lean against Stiles, but Stiles valiantly ignores it in favor of squinting at the driver’s license in the dim lighting, relieved to find that the apartment address listed on it isn’t actually that far away from the pool.
“Okay. We have to – ” Stiles continues, trying to haul Derek to his feet – which is not easy, thank you very much – and feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. Except, you know, last time their positions were reversed.
He manhandles Derek back to his jeep, thankful that he doesn’t see Derek’s camaro anywhere nearby, because that at least means that he wasn’t driving drunk. He may be a douche, but apparently he isn’t completely stupid.
The ride to what he presumes is Derek’s apartment doesn’t take that long, and mainly consist of Stiles trying to navigate the dark roads and Derek trying to lean over onto his shoulder. When they finally arrive at their destination, Stiles is more than relieved to find that there’s actually an elevator in the building. He’s even more relieved to see a sliver of light coming from under the doorway. Hopefully that means Derek has a roommate or someone he can leave him with.
Stiles knocks on the door, readjusting the arm he has wrapped around Derek’s waist – for support, goddamn it! – as he hears someone shuffling around behind the door. A moment later, the door is wrenched open to reveal Laura standing in the entryway, blinking at Stiles and her brother in surprise.
Or, you know, maybe she’s staring because they look like drowned sewer rats. Well, not Derek of course, but Stiles. He looks like a drowned rat.
“Do I want to know?” she asks, cocking one eyebrow in amusement, giving Stiles an innuendo filled look.
“I was driving by the pool and noticed the lights were on. He was drunk, fell in, and I fished him out,” Stiles deadpans as he follows Laura deeper into the apartment.
She looks less than convinced. Stiles blushes.
“I’m not lying!” he protests, and Laura lets out a sigh.
“The sad thing is that’s probably true,” she says, leading Stiles off into a small bedroom. “For all his good looks, my brother has no game.”
Stiles kind of wants to melt into the floor and disappear. Doubly so when he realized that the room he’s been led into is probably Derek’s bedroom. He quickly deposits Derek onto the bed, who already looks like he’s halfway asleep, and tries to make his escape, but Laura catches him and artfully steers him into the living room/kitchen, making him sit down on the couch.
“Hey,” she says, and her voice is a little softer and warmer now, surprising Stiles. “Thanks, again. And I know that Derek’s been a bit of an ass lately, but he’d be thanking you, too, if he was sober enough, so…”
“Yeah, sure,” Stiles snorts, softly enough so that he didn’t think she’d hear, but Laura gives him a strange look anyway.
“I mean, he just thinks I’m an annoying kid who he needs to babysit,” Stiles explains, shrugging and trying not to sound too emotionally involved and pathetic.
Stiles looks up as Laura starts laughing her fucking head off.
“Oh my god,” she says once she’s finally settled down enough to form any coherent words. “You and Derek were made for each other.”
“Uh, no. I actually heard him telling that blonde lifeguard that he thinks I’m annoying,” Stiles protests (he absolutely does not whine), his cheeks burning. “He hates me.”
“Nope. You’re wrong,” Laura replies, shaking her head, and Stiles can still hear a hint of laughter in her tone. “He’s gone on you. Completely gone on you. I mean, why else would he say at the pool for two extra hours every day?”
“What?” Stiles says, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Derek works at the pool. He has to be at the pool.”
“His shift ends at three every day,” Laura counters, one eyebrow raised.
“Oh,” Stiles says, realization dawning on him. “I get there at two forty-five.”
“Yes. Yes, you do,” Laura replies, like she’s talking to a child.
Which, you know, isn’t that far off the mark. Stiles does feel kind of like a child at the moment. Or, you know, an oblivious asshole.
“Oh my god, I’m such an asshole,” Stiles groans, sinking back into the couch.
Laura laughs.
---
“Uh, hi,” Stiles greets, making Derek look up from the book he’s been reading by the side of the pool, his shift having ended about half an hour ago.
“Hi,” Derek replies, staring at Stiles, and Stiles feels guilty as he notices the bit of tension in the lifeguard’s shoulders.
“Popsicle?” Stiles asks, holding out one delicious, icy treat towards Derek, who just kind of stares at it.
“Um. It’s an apology popsicle,” Stiles explains, feeling horribly awkward when Derek still doesn’t make a move to accept it. “Because I was kind of an asshole last week. About. You know.”
Derek looks away from the popsicle and back to Stiles’ face, which automatically heats up in what’s surely a very, very bright blush.
“Thanks,” Derek says finally, taking the grape popsicle from Stiles.
Stiles smiles at him tentatively.
“And, ah, not just for the popsicle,” Derek continues, and, wow, now he’s the one who’s blushing. “I’m sorry you had to drag me out of the pool. It was – ”
“It’s okay,” Stiles replies, sitting down on the chair next to Derek and unwrapping his cherry popsicle. “Just, you know, consider it payback for the first time, when you saved me from drowning because I was an idiot.”
“I was just doing my – ” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off.
“Was your job why you stuck around after your shift every day to chat with me?” Stiles asks casually, hoping that Derek can’t tell that his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.
Derek doesn’t say anything and Stiles starts worrying that he’s fucked everything up now, but when he looks up, Derek cheeks are redder than he’s ever seen them and he’s staring at Stiles with wide eyes.
“Believe it or not, I don’t actually come here for the pool anymore,” Stiles continues, and he’s probably blushing even redder than Derek now. “Well, not just the pool.”
The lifeguard blinks, then smiles. Stiles opens his mouth to continue rambling, feeling awkward about the silence (or, well, relative silence, as there are two eight year olds screeching and splashing in the pool a few feet away).
However, before he’s able to get another word out, Derek leans forward, puts a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, and draws him into a kiss. Stiles stills for a moment, a little surprised, before melting into the kiss, mouth pliant as Derek practically devours him. He lets out soft moan at the feeling of Derek’s tongue against his lips and then against his own tongue. He leans over, one hand bracing itself on Derek’s thigh, and juice from his melting popsicle dripping across his fingers – abruptly reminding him of where they are and that someone’s probably going to start yelling at them about public indecency soon.
Derek breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away, resting his forehead against Stiles’ in an odd mirror of their pose the previous night. Stiles can still feel Derek’s breath ghosting over his lips and, yeah, Stiles has decided that he might have a bit of an oral fixation. Just a little one, though. Really.
“As much as I appreciate the apology popsicle,” Derek starts, and Stiles freezes, wondering what the catch is, “I really don’t think I can stand to watch you eat one right now. Or ever again, for that matter.”
“Well, then maybe you’ll have to find something for me to occupy my mouth with,” Stiles says automatically, not really filtering the words before they come out of his mouth.
“Okay,” Derek replies once he manages to find his voice again, although it’s still a little strangled. “I can work with that.”
Stiles laughs as Derek drags him out of his chair.
And Laura, who’s the current lifeguard, may or may not wink at him as they go.